#do i have to do everything myself around here

[heyimkana]

Come Home to Me (2/2)

Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut, hurt/comfort

Summary: Your husband notices how worried you are about him going on another raid, so he stays for a bit longer to convince you that no matter what happens in the future, he will come home to you.

Word Count: 8K (I wrote too many banters I'm so sorry)

Content Warnings: Semi-public sex, swearing

“Beru, take my daughter inside. I need to be with my wife. Alone.” 

The sudden solemnity that befell your husband’s face and the way his voice, low and heavy, resonated in the air around you smeared goosebumps upon your skin. His tone carried a breath of possessiveness, imbuing life to the slumbering butterflies within your stomach.

“Certainly, my liege,” came the shadow soldier’s immediate response. Shortly after he performed a deep bow, Beru walked into the house with your daughter held tight in his arms, closing the front door behind him to offer you the freedom to speak what your heart truly felt—except you couldn’t. You were scared for a thousand different reasons.

The sun had sunk low enough below the horizon for the darkness to gather, a stroke of purple hue tinging the vast orange sky, ready to wrap the stars with its velvety quilt. Jinwoo might appear nearly transcendent under the evening sun, but nothing embraced him better than the night’s cloak, a fitting companion to a man who carried the undead within his steps. Standing before him in this quietude, you felt like you slowly returned to your old self. Abashed, nervous, losing your tongue in front of a man so handsome, he made your heart ache.

Jinwoo turned to you, his face unreadable, guarded, but there was undoubtedly a gleam of concern residing in his deep blue eyes. He took a stride toward you, his movement soundless against the marbled floor of your porch, the same way death approached those who wished to harm the only person he could call home. “What is it?” he began in a voice so soft, it was almost zephyr-like. His lean fingers circled your wrist like a bracelet, cool to the touch. “You’ve never looked this perturbed before. Did something happen?”

“No,” your answer—your lie—came almost instantly, flawless to anyone’s ears. “Nothing happened.” Behind your clamped teeth, your mind endlessly screamed the words your tongue was itching to say, a desperate plea you tried to veil with everything you had.

Don’t go, Jinwoo, please, just this one time. I have a terrible feeling about this, and I know I can’t prove to you why, but it’s eating me alive. I feel it stronger today, this fear of losing you, of losing the other half of me. I know you want me to bid my farewell with a smile the way I always do, and I’m trying my best to do it even now, but there’s only so much I can keep to myself. I don’t want to say goodbye to my husband, not knowing if it will be the last time I can see his face. So, please… Please stay… Don’t leave me. Don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

Although these thoughts remained unspoken, in Jinwoo’s eyes, they manifested vividly on your face. But he wished to hear them directly, to see them flow past your lips, so he could capture each sentence and turn them into words of comfort. 

“Sweetheart,” he repeated, his voice tender yet authoritative at the same time. “Don’t make me leave you like this. Don’t make me worry about you more than I already do. Tell me. Tell me so I can help.”

He’s right, you thought. Keeping this from him will only make him worry. He can’t afford to get distracted, not now. But when you still kept your lips pressed tight, trying to collect the words, his two fingers framed your chin, leaving you with no choice but to meet his scrutinizing stare. 

He seemed upset. No, more than that, he looked… angry.

The air seemed to shimmer around him as his emotions slowly climbed to the surface, his gaze darkening as his desire to protect you gripped him like a vice. “Did someone hurt you?” Jinwoo questioned you, his voice a deep rumble, crossing through the nearly infinitesimal space between your lips and his like an impending storm. 

You fidgeted. “N-no—”

He tilted your face higher, not letting you break free from his gaze. “I would be able to tell in a heartbeat if someone laid a hand on you, but if there was something that I didn’t know, some clues that I missed, someone who made you feel even slightly unsafe.” His eyes began to gleam; the shadows beneath his feet trembled in fear in the presence of his restrained rage. “I want their names. Now.”

You gulped. This side of him never failed to make shivers crawl down your spine. Jinwoo had always been so gentle and loving with you that it was easy to forget just how vicious and merciless he could be when his protectiveness over you took form. Your husband had killed for your sake before, more than you could possibly count, and he’d take another hundred lives within a blink of your eyes should you ask him to. 

As you released your shuddering breath, you twined your fingers around his wrist. “No.” You tilted your head to the side just enough for your lips to press a soothing kiss against the blue and red rivers of veins under his pasty skin. “It’s not like that. No threats, nothing. I’m safe.”

Relief washed over him, albeit only faintly. “What is it, then?”

You tarried, trying to mince your phrases as best as you could. “I know you can handle anything,” you only began, yet your voice was already cracking with emotions. “I know that, and I believe in your strength. But I saw you, Jinwoo, just like everybody else. I saw the way your enemy stabbed your heart and tore open your chest. You survived. By some miracle, you did. But the sight of it… It haunts me."

You took a breath before you continued. "I find it impossible to sleep at night when you’re not next to me. My mind keeps drifting back to you no matter what I do, wondering if you were fighting for your life again, trapped in a battle you couldn’t win. Sometimes I look at you and…” You laid your hand above his beating heart, your fingers tracing over it as your eyes grew vacant. “I remember the way the beast’s claws pierced through your chest, right here, all five of them. Your body may have healed, and there are no traces of those wounds left on your skin, not even a scar, but… I can still see them. I’m still scared of them. And I can’t help but think… What if it happens again? What if your luck runs out this time?”

Jinwoo continued to stay mute, listening to you intently as if you were the only voice in the universe. He only reacted once quivers ran through your fingertips, seizing your hand and pressing it harder against his chest, as if to remind you that beneath those translucent scars, his heart still remained the same—still alive, beating, racing, because of you, only for you.

You curled your fingers, still couldn’t wash away the dread. “I know you can’t change who you are,” you continued, your voice laced with tears. “And I know you have no other options but to do your duty, which is why I always try my best not to stop you from leaving. But today, for some reason, I feel anxious. It almost feels the same as how I felt on the day I almost lost you. It’s probably nothing, but… Right now, it’s suffocating me.”

The tension was palpable between you, leaving you to ponder whether you had spoken too much. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser for you not to speak at all. You blinked back your tears, wiping the ones that already crossed the edges with the heel of your palm. You felt mortified for baring your feelings out in the open, for being so theatrical about it. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being so dramatic, aren’t I?” You forced out a laugh; the desire to flee the scene was almost too tempting to refuse. It didn’t help that he hadn’t spoken a word, leaving you shrouded by your own perception of his feelings. Have you upset him? Troubled him? Or maybe even hurt him in some way? Just the thought of it brought more fresh tears to emerge in your eyes. 

“I—” You cast your face to the side. “I should go check on our baby—”

Your husband caught you by your wrist, stopping you before you could escape, his touch firm but far from painful. His eyes were hidden underneath the curtain of his raven strands, but the way he pressed his lips so tautly together, enough for them to grow white, clearly indicated how much he took your words seriously.

“I’m scared, too.” 

His confession, spoken barely above a whisper, left you stunned. Out of all the things you thought he’d say at this moment, that was never one of them.

You pivoted around to face him. “Jin… woo..?”

It took him a moment to compose his words as if he lacked the bravery to come clean, to showcase his vulnerability. It was as if he had spent an eternity trying to keep these words all to himself, fighting back all the intentions to reveal this frail side of him to you, afraid of how you’d react, if he’d sadden you with it.

“I’m terrified, Sweetheart,” he repeated, quiet, almost breathlessly. “Not of death, but leaving you.” The lines of his face were strained, filled with consternation. “I know how it feels to lose those important to me. No matter how strong I get, no matter how hard I try, I still can’t protect everyone. I’ve lost my friends in battles. I’ve lost my father. And I nearly lost my mother and my sister, too. I know exactly how it feels, and it haunts me every day more than you could imagine.” 

His face twisted in sadness, almost in agony at the recollection of the precious lives that slipped through his hands, but that amount of pain felt small in comparison to how he felt when he added, “But you…” His fingertips trailed an invisible path down your cheek. “You and our daughter… You’re beyond that. You’re not just my family; you’re fragments of me. The hardest part of my mission is never about dealing with my enemies. It’s this moment right here, right now, bidding you goodbye and watching you smile back at me with your heart breaking in your eyes, thinking that you’d never get to see me again. You’re constantly on my mind, Sweetheart, every second of every day. And I always worry that something will happen to you while I’m gone. That you won’t be here to meet me at the door when I come home. That I’d be too late, and I wouldn’t be able to find you, to save you, even if I searched the whole world for you.” 

His throat felt parched, his voice so close to shattering. “With my power, no matter where you are, no matter how far you are from me, I can run back to you the moment I sense danger around you, but it will take me a second, and a second could change everything. You saw what happened with Jinah, didn’t you? I managed to save her right on time, but if I had arrived only a second later, I would’ve lost her. And if I… If you were in the same position… And I was a second too late on my way back to you… If I lost you forever…” He took one last step toward you, and he crumbled, his body sinking forward, his head falling to your shoulder. “I wouldn’t know how to live my life anymore…” A shaky breath escaped him. “Not without you…”

The amount of fear that radiated through his body was almost appalling. It was hard to believe someone so strong could tremble like this at the thought of losing you.

Jinwoo lifted his head, gathering your face in his hands, his eyes carrying the weight of a broken man. “I know it’s hard for you to watch me leave…” He pressed your foreheads together, his eyes closed in the sliver of bliss from being so close to you, but his eyebrows remained furrowed, tense from the pain and the horror of being separated from the other half of his soul. “And I will never make light of your feelings, but you also need to know just how unbearable it is for me to walk away from you…” 

You squeezed your teeth together behind your lips, your vision blurred by your tears. You could only offer a shaky nod in response, afraid you’d be sobbing if you let a word slip out of you.

“It tears me apart just to kiss you goodbye, Sweetheart.” He returned the small distance between you, gently brushing your tears away with his thumb. “Every single time I leave, it’s like cutting off a piece of me, and you don’t know how much, just how much I want to stay and be with you right now—to spend every second of my life with you, so I can stop you from looking at me with those eyes. So I can put your heart at ease.” He lifted your face just enough to meet your crystalline eyes. “Don’t ever think I want to choose my duty over you. You are always, always, the most important thing in my life.”

It was the first time you saw him so fragile, so exposed, and you could feel just how much your presence in his life affected him. You were his weakness, his only weakness. 

You quickly collected yourself, desperate to assure him. “I know…” Speaking in your softest voice, you reached out to touch him, to cup his cheek, to do anything you could to soothe him even when you, yourself, were so close to breaking. “I know how much you care about me—about us—and I’m happy, Jinwoo. You don’t know how glad I am to have a husband like you. So strong” —you brushed a featherlight kiss on his cheek—“yet, so kind”—on his jawline—“and so, so gentle.” You planted the last one on his lips, as soft and tender as how you whispered his name. “And yes, of course, I understand how hard it is for you. This is why I didn’t want to say anything at first. I didn’t want to make you feel this way. I didn’t want to make you worry more than you already did. And I’m…” You caressed his cheekbone with your thumb. “I’m sorry for speaking my thoughts out loud just now. I shouldn’t have said anything, at least not now when you’re about to leave.”

He let out a sigh under your comforting touch, almost yearning. Covering your hand with his own, he sank his face further into your palm like a child leaning to his mother’s touch. “No, don’t be sorry,” he shook his head, his lids shutting at the feeling of your warmth seeping into his pores. “I’m glad you could be honest with me. Thank you. I can breathe easy now, knowing that you’re safe.”

When he stared down at you, your smile for him was the softest, the sweetest it had ever been. It reminded him almost of his mother’s, the way it carried so much love, affection, adoration, and, most importantly, appreciation. As someone who held nearly limitless power, the constant efforts he made to save the world were never overlooked. Still, more often than not, people chose not to express their gratitude, saying he was merely doing his job as an S-Rank Hunter, taking everything he did for granted. You had seen just how cruel the public voice could be when they spoke ill of him, not long after the Jeju Raid ended.

Hunter Min Byung-Gu’s life could’ve been saved if Sung Jinwoo had appeared sooner! Yeah, where the hell was he anyway? Why didn’t he join the raid from the start? Was he scared? Hey, hey, I heard he refused to join the raid at first. Does he not realize his responsibility as an S-Rank Hunter? Embarrassing, right? S-Rank Hunters are supposed to be selfless heroes! Sung Jinwoo is not one of them!

Your husband never let these derisions get to him, but they got to you. It pained you, angered you to see these words spreading online like wildfire, but you couldn’t do much to change their opinions, and even if you could, it wouldn’t have mattered. Jinwoo never cared about them. He cared about you, about what you think of him, and fortunately for him, you were always there to appreciate every little thing he did. He didn’t have to save the world to impress you. You were already grateful for his presence, even just by seeing him plant a little kiss on your daughter’s head. 

“Thank you, Jinwoo,” you softly said, “for making the world a better place for me and our daughter to live in. But more than that, thank you for all the efforts you made as my husband and as the father of our child. For making time for us even when you were losing sleep, drained after all the raids. I’m sure your baby is grateful, too, for all the tea parties you had with her.”

He laughed a little, still carrying a hint of melancholy. “She can be quite demanding sometimes.”

“Yes, she can, but you’re always patient with her, and I adore you for that.” You stroked his cheek. “You’re a hero to us in more ways than one. You’re everything we want you—need you to be, and for that, I’ll always be grateful to you.”

His jaws clasped together like a floodgate, preventing his emotions from bursting beyond control. He nodded once, a bit bashful but visibly delighted by your lines. With a quiet giggle, you kissed the tip of his nose. “What, getting shy now?”

He responded with a chuckle, pretty roses blooming in his cheeks. “No, I’m just happy. You always know what to say to lift the weight off my shoulders. And I wish I could say something to ease your mind, too, but…” He broke away from your touch, returning your gaze. “I don’t know what the future holds for me. I can lie to you and tell you that nothing could harm me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. So, all I can offer you right now is my promise.” He brought your hand closer to his face, his lips engraving the words directly to the bumps of your knuckles. “I promise that I will do anything, everything within my power, to come home to you.”

Your heart still splintered, but it wasn’t nearly as agonizing anymore. Perhaps it was all due to his vow. Or maybe you’ve learned how to withstand the pain, to welcome it as a part of you, knowing it was something you couldn’t chase away, something that would only be repeated in the future. “Jinwoo—”

A pair of soft lips captured your own, your face held, your words stolen. The sudden kiss was chaste, almost innocent, just pure romance beneath the bitterness of a farewell. Jinwoo pulled away but only barely, the tip of his nose still grazing your cheek. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his warm breath, sweet and intoxicating, fanning your lips. “I love you so much, Sweetheart, more than I could bear.”

You looked up at him, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. “I love you, too.” 

Another kiss, another soft touch from a man you’d sworn to love unconditionally. But the gentleness of your colliding lips, the innocence of it, could never last long, always replaced by something more arduous. A hint of his longing for you, his craving, showed in the way he molded your lips beneath his, and within seconds, his kiss turned deep, controlling, consuming. His arm slithered around your waist, pressing your body close against him, tight enough for you to wonder if you could just melt into him, be a part of him. Perhaps then, you could be wherever he was. A world where you don’t have to bid him goodbye… Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

His breathing turned uneven by the time he ended the kiss, enthralled and far from satisfied. And just like him, you couldn’t do much but stare at the shape of his pretty mouth in your haze.

“You asked me if I’d let the world burn for you.” His voice turned raspy, hoarse with need, his eyes watching the way his thumb glided over your slicked lips. He pressed down on your bottom one, and you parted your mouth in response, an act so natural, it made his gaze heavy with lust. “I’d do it,” he said, stealing your breath with it. “I’d watch the world burn to the ground just to be with you for a second longer. All you need to do is say the words.”

Your eyes turned round, your heart thrashing inside your ribcages. You could see the conviction in his eyes, giving you as much joy as the fear that dawned upon you. 

The safety of the world did not lie in Sung Jinwoo’s hands. It was in yours. 

Your ardent love, intense and overflowing, rushed to your hands, crumpling the front of his coat as you brought him back to you for another taste of his lips. You pulled your husband down to you, to where he belonged, to where he should stay, your mouth meeting his in a searing kiss. You were the gravity that pulled him in, the spark of fire to reignite the flames within him. And you wanted to kiss him forever, to have his hands on your body, to be close enough for you to—

Jinwoo suddenly stiffened in your arms, breaking off the kiss so abruptly that it left your mind reeling for a second. A frown sketched over the lines in his forehead, irritation glinting in his eyes. 

Your heart plummeted, unsure of what you did wrong. “W-what is it?”

“Nothing,” he sighed exasperatedly, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I just heard Igris talking in my ear, reminding me of my schedule. What time is it now?” He lifted his wrist, glancing at the silver watch. “Damn it.” He clicked his tongue; his vexation doubled. “I guess I really have to go.” But his eyes, like always, found their way home to you, and he took you in once more, this breathtaking view of you with your face flushed, your lips all red and bruised and glistening with his spit. “And it’s probably better if I leave now before I get, umm…” He noticeably swallowed, trying to rein in the desire to take you here against the wall. “Carried away.”

With flames kissing your cheeks, you tossed your stare to the floor. “Y-You’re right. Sorry.”

“‘Sorry?’” Jinwoo tittered, the sound soft and wonderful in your ears. Lifting your face by the chin, he tilted his head slightly to the side, adoring you. “It was my pleasure, Sweetheart.”

His smirk, his voice… He seemed so effortlessly sexy when he said it that it turned you sheepish. You removed yourself from him. “S-so, umm… When will you be back again exactly?”

“Six days from now. A week, maybe.”

Your shoulders sagged. He could’ve said six years, and it would probably sound just as torturous. “Okay…”

“Come on, baby,” he smiled softly despite his heart breaking just the same. “Don’t be like this.” He rubbed his knuckles against your cheek before he poked you lightly with his finger, making you giggle from it. “I’ll make it up to you once I get home, okay? Anything you want me to do—anything at all—I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

His previously impish smile fully morphed into a devilish grin. “Anything.”

“Hopefully, it’s not something sexual,” you narrowed your eyes playfully at him.

“Hopefully, it is.” His chuckles didn't last long, followed shortly by a heavy sigh. “Can I hug my wife one last time?”

You stilled, your breath caught in your throat. “It’s not the last time.” 

He blinked before he understood his mistake, sadness coating the soft bow of his lips once he did. “Sorry. Poor choice of words.” He spread his arms wide, waiting for you to return to his warmth with the softest smile on his face. “I mean, can I hug you one more time before I go? And touch you endlessly once I get home?”

Contentment suffused you at once, and you answered him by carving the shape of your smile against his lips, your fingers coiled against the front of his coat. You made sure to keep your kiss light, not wanting to repeat the same mistake of drowning in desire. You weren’t sure you could escape it should it happen again. But even so, when you parted from him, you couldn’t deny the tension between you. Like magnets, you were drawn together. Just the slightest brush of your skin meeting his could turn it into a force beyond your control.

You tried to distract him—or rather, yourself. “H-hey, you said Igris talked to you before. Does that mean he… saw what we were doing?” This was the first time it happened, as Jinwoo had always been careful in the past not to let his shadow soldiers witness your intimate acts. Whenever you two were together, your husband would always command his army to shut down all their senses for a moment, to give you the privacy you needed. You weren’t sure why Igris could see you now, but the thought horrified you. “I’ve always been awkward with him because he doesn’t talk much and seems so… noble. If he saw us kissing like that, I… I don’t think I could face him again. Especially after…” You kept on rambling, driven out of shame, submerged at the thought of seeing the dark knight again after he witnessed everything that happened between you and his master.

Unbeknownst to you, Jinwoo’s eyes darkened, completely lost in the view. Seeing you like this, standing so small and fidgety before him, looking so flustered that you couldn’t handle meeting his eyes when you spoke—

God, I want to ruin her. 

I want to make her all mine again. 

His nails scraped against his palm as he tried to find restraint, his throat burning with the desire to claim you, to taste you, to drink everything you give him. You were asking him a question, weren’t you? Something about Igris. Fuck, he couldn’t remember it. He couldn’t pay attention to any of the lines you said, watching how your mouth shaped the words but not registering them. Your voice was a whisper in his ear, easily drowned by the filthy thoughts that grew even more vehemently with each second passing by.

“Honey?”

At your call, he averted his gaze. One more second looking at you, and he would’ve succumbed to his needs. “Hmm?”

“I asked you if Igris saw us.”

“Huh? Oh, right. Yes, they saw it.”

“Wait—They?”

“Yeah, the entire army, basically.” Though he wanted to seem apologetic, his grin betrayed him. “I was too absorbed with you that I forgot to tell them to close their eyes.”

You gaped, colors draining fast from your face. “Jinwoo! ”

He laughed quietly at your reaction, catching the little punches you threw to his chest.  “Baby, relax. So what if they saw us kissing? You’re my love.”

Your stomach somersaulted at the word he chose. He could’ve just said my wife instead of my love. It would've been easier for your heart. “Well, I don’t want them to see that…” Another pout, another wild urge he had to chase away before he bruised your lips with his own. You exhaled. For some reason, you felt exhausted. “Though it’s… sweet how Igris tried to keep you from running late. That should’ve been my job. Did he just pop up, tell you to go, and then disappear again?” The vision of it looked funny in your head because surely, he must’ve been embarrassed seeing us like that, right?

“Actually, he told me to stay.” Your husband wound his arms around your waist, drawing you closer before he rested them on your curves. “He said that I should just send him there and let him take care of the gate for me. So I can be here with my queen.”

“‘Your queen?”’ You repeated, couldn’t help but feel amused even though you were touched by how caring the dark knight was to your family.

Scarlet tinged his cheek. “His words, not mine.”

“I see. So, I’m not your queen, then?”

The shade deepened as he tossed his face to the side. “Of”—he cleared his throat, his voice reducing to a mumble—“Of course, you are.”

You giggled, and your husband softened into another smile, staring at you affectionately. He seemed glad that you’d rediscovered the strength to throw a jest or two. 

“Well, as much as I don’t wish for my king to go,” you dawdled with your words, building expectations as you glided one hand up his chest. You could feel the ridges of his lean, taut muscles underneath his shirt. A wave of desire pooled inside your stomach, threatening to resurface if you weren’t being careful. “The world needs him. Even if I keep you to myself now, you’re bound to leave for another mission sooner or later. I’ve come to realize that…” You paused to gain control of your emotions, your hands fixing his collar in your attempt to seek distraction. “The best way to deal with this is by getting myself used to it. Get used to this feeling that you leave me when you kiss me goodbye. I have to teach myself to be patient, as it will only be a matter of time before my husband returns. I think that’s what I have to do,” you smiled at him, shy amidst the mischievousness that you previously displayed. “As your queen.”

His heart thawed at your lines, cradling you close enough by the shoulders to bury his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, memorizing it so he could recall this sense of peace you gave him when he was miles away from you. Even without words, you could tell just how proud he was of you. “Thank you,” he murmured against your temple. He kept you this way for a moment, his nose nuzzling against your strands until he remembered how time would never be merciful to him. “I really have to go, baby…”

“I know…”

But when he pulled away, he couldn’t find the strength to detach his gaze from you, caught in a conflict between his feelings and his responsibility. “I’ll be…”—he traced your cheek, his gaze falling to your lips—“back soon, okay…?”

You nibbled at the corner of your lip, causing him to nearly groan at the sight. You didn’t mean to entice him; you were just nervous under his hooded gaze, your body brimming with anticipation. You knew he wanted another kiss, another touch, and you wanted thousands of them, but— “Okay…”

Jinwoo moved closer, as close as he could be, his face hovering merely a few inches from yours. Nothing but desire resided in his eyes, his voice low and husky when he spoke, “Don’t miss me too much…”

It was like the air crackled between you, invisible hands drawing you together. Your fingers twined a little tighter around the front of his coat, itching to tug him down and erase the millimeters of space separating your lips. “I’ll try…” You replied with shivers in your breath, and in a moment of weakness, your gaze cascaded to his lips.

And seeing that, he snapped.

All shadows. Leave us. Now.

“Jin—mmph!” You were pushed back against the wall, your body lifted to your toes, and your lips devoured. He couldn’t do it. Whatever battle he was fighting inside, he lost it the moment he realized you wanted him just the same, and he didn’t care. You were still his prize to claim, your taste was his to consume, your warmth was his to take, and he drowned in you almost instantly, his fingers possessively grabbing your face, leaving you with no choice but to accept his kiss, to accept whatever it was he planned to give you. 

Without wasting a second, he wedged his knee between your legs, parting them open and having his thigh pressed firmly against your core. You gasped against his mouth, your body clinging onto him, shuddering at the thrilling sensation. “J-Jinwoo—”

“I know,” he replied shortly, almost in a growl, breathless against your mouth. “I need you, too, so just—” He pressed your body tight against him, his lips placed upon yours again with such urgency as if being separated from you for merely a second deprived him of all the oxygen he needed.

The last thread of restraint in your head forced you to place your hands on his chest. Despite your aching need to rub yourself against his thigh, you voiced your thoughts aloud between lustful kisses. “Wait—we shouldn’t—mmph—”

With a grunt, he removed your hands from him, pinning them against the wall as he ceaselessly devoured your mouth. He kept you that way, trapped and caged within his hold. “Y-you have to go,” you managed to whimper out, your body tensing as he trailed open-mouthed kisses down your throat.

Jinwoo finally broke away, his face flushed, painted over with nothing but ardor. “Want me to stop?”

Your heart thrashed wildly inside your chest. The huskiness in his voice, the way his breathing turned heavy at the sight of you—what women would say no?

“Come here.” You pulled him back to you, begged him for another kiss, a wish that he was so eager to comply. Struggling to match his pace, you found yourself clawing at the back of his trench coat, one of your legs hooking around his thigh as he pushed your dress up to your stomach, revealing more soft skin and supple flesh for him to grip and sink his nails into. He grunted against your neck, a string of expletives among sinful praises, and you shut your eyes, head thrown back at the thrill of having him act so needy, so desperate for you. 

You couldn’t care about anything, not anymore, but your memory recalled the sour look he made when he checked on his watch a moment ago. How much time do we have until he really needs to go? “Jinwoo—ah—” You felt his teeth grinding not so gently against your skin, marking you as if he wanted to leave something for you to remember him by, to ache for in your wake. “W-what time should you be leaving—”

His fingers circled your throat, holding you dominantly in his grip. “Ten minutes ago. Open your mouth.”

He deepened the kiss as soon as you parted your lips for him, moaning at the burst of your taste on his tongue. You welcomed his taste with a gasp, your hands now crawling up his nape, his hair, making a nest out of his strands the same way he made a mess out of you. His tongue delved inside, begging for a sliver of your sweetness, but you wanted to give him everything, and you did, your tongue sliding against his own, kissing him as if this was your last time to remember just how amazing he felt against you, lips to lips, tongue to tongue, body to body. All the fear you had over his departure, all the love you held for him, they dissolved into one, into this burning ache that permeated your core, the need to have him close.

And God, you wanted more, wanted him so badly, it felt like torture.

“Fuck,” Jinwoo groaned, followed quickly by a low moan of your name. He was really trying to hold back, to only settle down for a kiss or two, but— “Why do you have to be so goddamn irresistible all the time?”

He was suffering just the same, one hand slamming against the door to maintain his distance, to keep him away from crushing you, from becoming one with you. It balled into a fist, evidence of what was left of his self-control; his fingers clenched so tightly that it painted his knuckles white and his palm crimson. His other arm snaked around your waist as his mouth sucked bruises on your collarbone, his nails clawing against the fabric of your dress, eager to tear it apart right then, right there. Rough, sinful noises continued to stream past his lips as you brought your lower half even closer to him, the sound low and deep; it was almost primal. 

“Ngh, baby, please—” He pleaded with his eyebrows sewn together, his jaw slackening at the sensation of you pushing your hips back, grinding on him. You could feel just how hard he was beneath his pants, the contour of his cock nudging deliciously against your clothed heat. It excited you, your heart swelling in satisfaction at how fast you could turn the most powerful man in the world into a desperate lover with only a few touches. Only you had this power over him, and he made sure to worship you for it.

His body reacted instinctively, rocking his hips against yours, quickly taking over control. Somewhere in the labyrinth of your mind, a voice reminded you to stop, he’s already late as it is, and you can’t do this here, not outside, not for everyone’s eyes to see, but when Jinwoo caught your earlobe between his teeth, his voice dangerous and guttural when he said, “God, Sweetheart, you don’t know how much I want to be inside you right now,” all you could think was—

Yes, please.

You smashed your lips against his, your fingers tugging hard at the roots of his hair, robbing another shameless moan out of him. He welcomed your burning passion, reciprocating it by doubling the intensity. None of you gave a damn where you were or what time it was; none of it mattered, not anymore. You just needed him, and he needed you. Not just want. Need.

Jinwoo unclasped his belt with one hand while keeping hold of your face with the other; his movements rushed, lacking the usual grace that he normally exuded. You were sure he didn’t mean to tear your lingerie apart, but even if he did, it would’ve only added more fuel to the shimmering flames inside you. Now that your bottom half was bare and exposed, he took himself out of his confinement, holding his length in one hand, his tongue gliding over his bottom lip as he rubbed his tip against your protruding clit.

You shivered, your hips swaying on their own, begging him to just ram it inside. “Jinwoo, please.”

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he growled, lifting your body higher on the wall, making you hold on to nothing but him to fight back gravity. “Arms around my neck,” he commanded, his mouth hot against your jawline. His coat slid off his shoulders as he positioned himself over your entrance, pooling around his elbows.

But then, Jinwoo slowed down amidst the heat of your passion, just for a moment. Even as his desire consumed him from within, your consent remained a top priority. He needed to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you or, worse, doing anything you didn’t want him to. Your husband took a second to look at you, wanting you to give your permission out loud even when all his heightened senses and perceptions had found their answer a while ago. “Can I have you?”

Your reply came in the shape of you carding your fingers through his locks again, your mouth colliding with his as you spread your legs a little wider. “Yes,” you breathed out. “I need you, please—oh!” 

You felt him pushing himself inside the second your plea left your mouth, stretching all of your walls at once. 

“Ah, fuck,” Jinwoo groaned deep and loud, slamming one hand against the wall, the vein in his neck popping from beneath his pale skin. His reaction was almost as if he’d never experienced such pleasure before, his body trembling at the feeling of your heat tightening around him, so drenched inside that you could take him—his everything—all in one go. “God, you feel so good.” He locked your lips together again, moaning at the feeling of being shrouded by your warmth. He moved his hips tentatively to ensure your comfort, but he surrendered immediately after the first try. “Sorry, Sweetheart, I don’t think I can—ngh—hold back—” 

He began to move, his teeth nibbling on the skin of your shoulder to contain his grunts, his hips thrusting fast and rough, sliding himself in and out of you in the desperation of a heated beast seeking a release. Just like him, you were feeling it much more than anything you’d ever done with him. Maybe it was the place, the sensation of doing something so indecent, so out in the open. Maybe it was because you were both trying so desperately to comfort yourselves, to forget your upcoming separation, even only for a moment. Or maybe it was simply because you loved him so ardently, the same way he did about you. 

Now that the sun had sunk entirely below the horizon, the night was nearly pitch black. No stars were in sight, as if they grew too shy to witness something so obscene. Detecting the darkness around you, the lights around the house switched on automatically, illuminating the entryway and the lush garden around you with a warm, romantic glow. The magical view of the scenery usually brought a sense of serenity to your heart, but no, not that night. Not when you were stuck in a very compromising position with your husband. The worst one of all was the three pendant lights shining brightly above you, dangling from your high ceilings, exposing the way your bodies rocked together in rapid, rhythmless motions for the whole world to see.

You couldn’t help but be distracted by them, your body tensing. If anyone were passing by, with the way your husband had you pinned against the wall, your heels digging to the small of his back, your fingers tugging on the roots of his hair, they would discover you in a heartbeat. 

“J-Jinwoo—wait—the lights—”

With his lips sucking hard bruises on your neck, Jinwoo lifted one hand in the air and clenched his fingers into a fist. All the lightbulbs shattered at once, their sounds piercing the air, stealing a surprised yelp out of you, which he silenced immediately with his mouth. The same invisible force shielded you from the pieces of glass raining down from the ceiling, leaving your heart rattling in your chest but your skin uninjured.

You were embraced by the darkness again, though it was never as thick as you would love it to be. The silver moonlight still bathed your skin, and the golden shine of the bollard lights surrounding your garden remained bright enough for you to discern your husband’s features, but at least, you no longer felt like you were standing under the spotlight. You still couldn’t entirely chase your anxiety away, however, and noticing that, Jinwoo captured your face, his fingers pressed firmly on each side of your jaw.

"Focus on me,” he said, palm plastered against the front of your throat. Although pain was absent from his touch, his hold on you was firm, controlling, his voice commanding. “I don’t want you to think about anything else. Keep your eyes on me. Focus on how I’m making you feel right now.” 

And it felt good. He made you feel so damn good that by the time he plunged himself deep into you again, you found yourself crying out against his mouth, clutching onto him like a lifeline. Jinwoo was just as deep in rapture as you were, unintentionally ripping the top buttons of your dress in his desperation to taste more of your skin. He was beyond aggressive, unrestrained, and impatient, and God, you loved it. You couldn’t remember the last time he was like this, and the feelings brought you quickly to ecstasy. 

You were close, your pleasure building up faster than it ever did. “Jinwoo, I’m—”

“I know,” he moaned against your shoulder, his teeth just one pressure away from sinking into your flesh. “I’m close too, angel, just a little bit… ngh… more…”

He quickened his pace, taking his cock completely out of you only to drive himself back to the hilt, each thrust hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. You fell over the edge with your lips parted in a silent moan, your nails scraping against the back of his shirt, your legs shaking, tautening around him as you reached cloud nine.

The sensation of your walls closing in around his cock was almost too much to bear, but he needed that one single push, just one sweet moan from you in the shape of his name, to make him grasp that vigorous wave of euphoria. “Sweetheart, please—”

Knowing exactly what he was begging for, you embraced him closely by the neck, gripped his soft locks beneath your fingers, and whispered the words he’d been dying to hear right against his mouth.

“I love you, Jinwoo.” 

He shuddered, his skin breaking into goosebumps, and he finished inside you with a deep, gravelly groan erupting from the back of his throat. His hips stuttered, slowing down but not yet stopping until he finished spilling everything inside. His breaths came out raggedly, hot against your neck. His left hand was still glued to the wall beside your head. 

As your tremors began to dissipate, your husband carefully placed you back on your feet, holding you close until you could stand on your own. Your legs felt like jelly beneath your weight, your strength leaving you after experiencing what might be one of the most mind-blowing orgasms you’d ever had.

“That was… intense,” Jinwoo tittered breathlessly, his hair all tousled, his face the prettiest shade of pink. It mesmerized you just how stunning he looked like this, and it satisfied you more than anything to know that you would always be the one—the only one—who could see this side of him, who could bring this side of him into view. Little did you know he was thinking the same thing about you. The way you stood there, gazing up at him with your starry eyes slightly watery from your orgasm, your dress torn and crumpled, your skin marked and claimed. He could easily go for another round—or three—if you let him.

“You okay?” He asked as he swatted the stray strands out of your eyes, helping you with your dress before he fixed his own attire. You nodded a bit drunkenly, and he let out another chuckle before planting a soft kiss on your temple. “I’m sorry for ruining your dress.”

“And my panties,” you added, snatching the torn fabric away from your heel. You stared flatly at it, your tone monotonous when you said, “Unbelievable. This is the third time, Jinwoo. Three times you’ve done this to me."

He was embarrassed by it. So cute. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not sorry,” you teased him with a poke on his cheek. “Buy me another one? The dress, I mean. I don’t trust you with my lingerie after what you bought me last time.”

He laughed softly at the memory. “I’ll buy you the prettiest one. Promise.” Brushing a light kiss on your temple, he spoke his worry once more. “How are you feeling? Did I hurt you?” 

The genuine concern in his tone caused your joy to unfold. In all honesty, yes, he did, but every pain was welcomed—no, every pain was desired, and you wished you could have more. More consuming kisses that left your lips swollen. More love bites on your neck that would last until he returned home. More bruises on your hips and thighs from how hard he was holding you. It felt nice to be dominated, to be owned, to be so wanted by your husband that he lost control of himself, of his mind. 

“What?” Jinwoo raised a brow, looking at you funny. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Nothing,” you replied with a sheepish smile, stroking his cheek. But with him looking at you with such confusion in his eyes, you felt like you owed him the truth. “I just realized you never fucked me this way before, and it scares me just how much I enjoyed it.”

He blushed at your words, so fervently that you wondered if this was the same man who had just mounted you like a beast in heat a moment ago. But then he laughed, the sound so delicate and pretty in your ears. “I was going to apologize for being carried away, but…” He bent his head down, bringing himself to your eye level as a smirk crept up his lips. “If that’s what you’re into, then I have so much more in store for you.”

You swallowed, your skin tingling with excitement at the thought. “W-we can try that after you get home. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“Shit, you’re right.” As unbelievable as it was, he had truly forgotten about it. Jinwoo hastily rummaged through his pocket for his car key, racing against time. “Okay, I’ll be leaving now.” He kissed you quickly, almost making you stumble from how fast he was grabbing your face. “Goodbye, love. I’ll see you soon.”

“Jinwoo, wait,” you giggled, tugging him back by his arm. “You got my lipstick all over you.” You rubbed your thumb over his lips, trying to wipe off the red stain. “And your hair’s mess. Do you have a comb with you?”

“It’s all right, I love it like this.” He tossed you a boyish smile. “It feels like I’m carrying a part of you with me, like some kind of proof that reminds me of what we just did.” He then continued in a whisper, his smirk grazing your earlobe. “The same way you’re carrying a part of me… inside you.”

You grew mortified, all due to his words and the feeling of his essence seeping out of you. You could feel it trickling down your thigh before you squeezed your legs together, face aflame. “Leave. Now.” You whirled his body around, shoving him forward. “And tell your shadow soldiers to help me change the lights. I can’t believe you used your skill for that.”

He tossed you a grin over his shoulder. “Gotta make the best use of what I have, Sweetheart.” 

“I don’t think Igris would be happy to know that you’re using Ruler's Hand for sex.”

“Oh, baby, trust me, if I were planning to use Ruler’s Hand for sex, bursting lightbulbs would be at the bottom of the list.” His smirk carried the promise of something lewd, something naughty. “And also, if I’m happy, all my soldiers are happy, Igris included. And I’m definitely happy right now, all thanks to my sweet girl.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you snorted despite heat filling your cheeks. “Now go before Jinho kills you.” 

He chortled softly, “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You watched him stride away with your hands on your hips, sighing despite the way your lips curved up in amusement. You were going to miss these little banters you have. Some parts of you still refused to let him go, but when Jinwoo rolled down his window, giving you one last smile with one hand on the steering wheel, all you could say was, “Come home to me, darling.”

“I will, baby.”

And as he drove into the night, disappearing from your sight and leaving your heart lamenting in your chest, you knew you had no choice but to put your faith in him. This wouldn’t be the last time you see him. It would never be. Jinwoo would make sure of that.

Because if he had to watch the world burn for it, for you, then so be it. 

Heaven or hell, Gods or the Devils, I’ll destroy them all.

As long as I can come home to you, Sweetheart, nothing else matters. ***

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Kissing, teasing, suggestive.

A/N: Mhmmmmmmmm (hehe)

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P14: Messing With You

Chris’ POV

She looks peaceful—untouchable, even. 

My eyes are barely open, the sun from the window gleaming a little too brightly. Usually, it would annoy me, not right now though—right now it’s making her look heavenly, making my heart squeeze in my chest as I watch her lips puff open with each soft breath. 

I feel lucky. 

She’s here in my bed, in my arms, coming to me for comfort. It feels good to feel important to someone, even better to feel important to her, but it’s also horrifying. 

I can’t tell if it’s butterflies, anxiety, or maybe both swarming in my gut when I’m around her. 

It makes me want to run away. Not that I don’t want her—I do, I really fucking do. 

The thought of calling her mine, having her in my arms, and making her smile—it makes a reassuring warmth spread in my chest, the type of excitement I haven’t felt in a while. 

My lips roll together as I watch her eyes flutter open. She spares me a hazy smile, her hand combing through my hair as I stare up at her. 

God, she’s perfect. 

“Morning,” she hums, lightly hugging my head a little closer. 

I try to bite back a smile, the sensation of her nails lightly grazing my scalp making a sigh of contentment fall from my lips. It’s just so effortless. 

This should be more difficult, I haven’t really talked to anyone, let alone allowed them to hold me like she has since I lost a part of my heart—my mom and Nick. 

“Hm.” I hum, the sad thought making my throat tighter as I swallow thickly. 

Her hands stop waving through my scalp, her eyes opening wider, looking down at me with concern. “What’s wrong?” she asks, the question rolling off her lips as she gazes down at me with soft eyes. 

I miss them. That’s what’s wrong, but complaining about it won’t bring them back. It will just make me feel more, and it already feels like too much. 

“Is it something I did?” 

My eyes perk at her question, my head shaking from side to side, stopping as I realize I’m buried in her chest, practically shoveling myself in her cleavage. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to—oh god.” I let out, my eyes squinting shut as I feel a wave of warmth crawl behind my neck, onto my cheeks, and to the tips of my ears. 

Her light giggle makes my eyes peek open. The soft smile cascaded on her face makes my chest heave with a deep breath. 

“You’re fine. Now,” she places her hands back into my hair, her thumb swiping along the top rim of my ear as she stares down at me with intent, “-what’s bothering you? Did I do something?” 

The pout tugging on her lips makes my heart clench in my chest. 

I don’t want her to think anything is wrong with us, maybe I should tell her. At least I know she’d understand. 

My lips smack together, opening and closing as I hesitate. “I, um—I guess I just miss ‘em a little more than usual today…” I wince hearing the slight crack in my voice. 

The desperation of the confession makes me feel bare, her eyes seeming so soft, yet so intimidating, each second feeling like hours as I wait for her to respond. 

“I get that.” 

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until she speaks those words, my lungs burning as I inhale slowly, trying to even out my breath patterns. 

She gives me a sympathetic smile. Usually, the sympathy made everything worse, but not when she does it—hers just makes me feel understood. 

My chest slows with deep, calm breaths. The burn in my lungs fading as I let myself melt under her gaze. 

I can’t remember the last time I felt like this, so safe and secure—so free of judgment. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe we can take Trevor on a walk?” she offers, her eyes twinkling with hope. 

The sadness settles in my gut, but the feeling doesn’t exactly make me feel sick like it normally does. It’s accompanied by a calm wave of comfort—her touch, her eyes… everything about her just making the sadness seem okay. 

“I… could, um—can we…” 

I flinch as I stumble helplessly over the words. Her face scrunches with amusement, her eyes squinting as she smiles brightly. 

“Are you nervous?” she taunts, her eyes flickering between mine as I force a scowl onto my face, my lips scrunching into a tight line as I feel the blush crawl up my neck and onto my cheeks. 

“No, I’m just still half-asleep,” I remark, rolling my tongue along the inside of my cheek as I hear my tone waver. 

I don’t even believe the lie—and by the look on her face, she doesn’t either. 

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, nodding as if she’s accepting the lie without any doubt. My hand on her back finds the ends of her hair, twirling them mindlessly as the soft strands wisp through my fingers. 

Her mouth muffles with a short giggle. She takes a deep breath, trying to keep a straight face, “Ask whenever you’re awake enough, I guess.” 

My eyes roll from her teasing. I rest my head against her, hiding from her gaze as I take a deep breath. 

I’m definitely awake now, but it’ll have to wait. 

___

Y/n’s POV

Something is resting on the tip of his tongue. I can tell he’s fighting inner thoughts, trying to blurt out whatever question lingered from this morning. 

It’s kinda cute. 

His bottom lip is bright pink, his teeth constantly gnawing on the skin as his eyes drift with thought. The hue reminds me of last night, the feeling of those lips on mine, how good it felt. 

I already miss it. Something about it felt so electric yet so comforting—like a warm bath after having numb toes from the cold. It felt overwhelmingly good.

And I really wanna feel it again. 

My body stiffens as I sit on the barstool, my hands on the kitchen island clenching as I feel large hands callous over my shoulders from behind. 

Jimmy. 

“Hey. Want some bacon and all? I got the stuff…” he trails off, yawning with a small smile as he walks around the kitchen and shuffles through the fridge. 

My mouth watering as I recall the last time he made breakfast for me. I nod, blushing as Jimmy laughs, turning the knob on the stove to erupt a flame beneath the pan. 

Chris shifts beside me. He spares me a quick glance, shaking his head. “I—I’ll be back, I’m gonna go shower real quick.” he says, stalking off and down the hallway. 

Part of me is dying to know what he’s wanting to ask, but another part doesn’t want to know. 

What if he didn’t like the kiss? 

Does he just kiss everyone like that? 

Was he trying to find a way to let me down slowly? 

“You good, kid?” Jimmy asks, sparing me a small glance with concern before turning his attention back to the stovetop. 

I swallow thickly, relaxing my clenched hands as I huff out a quick sigh. “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, my face twitching as more doubts run through my head. 

The sound of water running from the bathroom makes my stomach churn, my heart pumping harshly in my chest. 

I hate this, it’s exactly what I’ve had nightmares of since I had my heart broken by my last boyfriend. The uncertainty, the doubt, the endless loop of questions that made my eyes burn with stubborn tears. 

“Here ya go,” Jimmy states, pushing a plate of steaming food in front of me while curling his lips into a subtle grin, pulling me out of my thoughts as I inhale the smell with greedy taste buds. 

Breakfast. Real food. 

My house is filled with protein bars, protein powder, and probably even protein water for fucks sake. 

Eating is a chore sometimes. Especially when it’s those disgusting protein pancakes that Baylen loves, but that’s always his go-to breakfast.

Jimmy walks towards the kitchen island, setting a plate on the counter next to me. “For Chris when he comes back, but if you steal any bacon, I saw nothing.” he remarks, holding his hands up in defense before stalking off with a different plate of food, heading outside towards the porch. 

Trevor trots behind him, his nose twitching as he follows the sizzling bacon on Jimmy’s plate. “I’ll be outside with Trev. Let me know if you need anything, even if it’s more bacon, you hear me?” he jokes, pointing a finger at me with a stern look interrupted with a smile. 

“Alright,” I puff, chewing more as he closes the door behind himself, leaving me in a quiet room alone. 

The shower water humming from the bathroom stops, the sounds of shuffling making my heart beat a little faster. 

What is he trying to ask me? 

Curiosity bubbles in my gut. My lips rolling together as I stiffen, hearing the sound of footsteps come closer before I feel a waft of air as Chris sits down in the barstool next to me. 

His damp hair brushes against my shoulder. I shiver at the wet sensation, my spine straightening. 

“My bad,” he mumbles, petting over the skin with his warm hand, the touch soothing away the shocking cold wetness. 

Chris starts to scarf his food down next to me. I feel his hand dip between my thighs, pulling one of my legs over his lap. “Chris, what’re you–”

“Here. Now, shut up.” he mutters, placing a piece of his bacon on my plate, his hand grasping at my thigh soothingly, right above my knee. I should be upset that he told me to shut up, but it makes me smile. 

He’s nervous. 

Shoveling the bacon into my mouth, I stare at him from the corner of my eye, watching as he straightens his posture. 

“So…” I trail off, my gaze drifting across the room as I hear him let out a subtle sigh. “What were you wanting to ask me?” 

The question makes him freeze. His hand grips tighter around my leg, his fingers tapping against my skin as he stutters, “I, uh—was… was just gonna ask if you, if you maybe wanted to uh—” 

I guide my hand down to his, pulling it further up on my thigh as I lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. His eyes are directed towards his plate of scrapped food. “Stop making me more—stop being so—ugh.” he huffs. 

A giggle purses through my lips. “What? Am I makin’ you more nervous—”

“No.” he interrupts, glaring at me as his hand squeezes my thigh. My breath halts in my chest, my gut tightening as he stares at me with pure intent. “I wanna go on a date with you. I’m not fuckin—’m not fuckin’ nervous. You’re just being difficult.” 

My lips curl into a grin. I lick over my teeth, leaning against his shoulder as I bat my eyes up at him, watching as his face contorts with a slight snarl. “I still didn’t hear a question, Chris.” 

The observation makes his jaw tighten. His fingers tap impatiently against my thigh, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Will you—do you wanna go on a date with me?” he asks, his eyes softening for a quick second before returning to his plate. 

“Nah.” 

Chris whips his head towards me. A loud laugh bursts through my lips, my stomach tightening with sharp breaths. “The fuck?” he asks, his face scrunched with displeasure as he watches me clutch my stomach with a tinge of pain. 

“I’m—’m kidding,” I rush out, squeezing my hand on top of his, my nose scrunching as his face relaxes into a bland expression. “Sorry, just wanted to mess with you,” I remark, sitting up straight and moving my leg back into my own seat. 

“Mess with me?” Chris tuts. I look over, yelping as I feel his hand wrap around the back of my leg once more, repeating the action of throwing my thigh over his lap. 

But this time, it’s closer. 

He stares directly at me, his teeth greedily biting on his bottom lip as his eyes float over my face. 

I feel my lungs burn, screaming for air as I forget how to breathe. 

His face leans in closer, his breath hovering over my lips before shifting to the side, his lips ghosting over my neck with light kisses. 

“Chri—”

Before I can call out his name, I feel his tongue swipe across my thumping pulse, right beneath my ear. His lips enclose around the area, a light suction echoing in the room as my ears begin to ring. 

Oh god. 

My hands tangle in his hair out of pure instinct. Before I can pull him any closer, he pulls my leg upwards, lifting and dropping it back onto my own chair. 

I watch as he stands up, my lips parted as I pant for air. 

“What–what’re you doing?” I question, my voice wavering with heavy breaths as he stacks our plates, walking towards the sink. 

Chris shrugs. He sets the dishes down, running a hand through his damp hair and sparing me a soft smile. 

“Just messin’ with you.” 

[eraserbread]

nanami's not about to fight with u... he's just gonna show u who you truly belong to. read part 1 for context

➽─────────────────────────────❥

"i'm not fighting with you, just get on your knees."

"ken, we have a houseful of guests-

he's shaking his head, tugging his zipper in a fateful swoop. you don't lie and say you weren't buzzing with the idea of what he'd do next, but it felt so wrong. now was not the time to be getting him off.

"i won't repeat myself." then his pants are down and he's easing his already-flushed cock from its confines. he's rubbing himself to his full potential right in front of you, so comfortable with you standing in front of him, wide-eyed and nervous.

luckily your kitchen is closed off from the rest of the house, but it's not completely closed. someone could easily pop their head into the arched entryway and see everything you're seeing. deep down you know kento wouldn't let that happen. he has the awareness of an anxious cat, so you trust him enough to get on your knees, crawling to close the distance between you two.

"i'm doing this because domination tends to make you mild-mannered," he explains briefly, voice tinged with a hint of arousal. "and that's what I need from you right now. do you understand?"

"mhm." you reply, looking up at him with silent doe-eyes. from this angle at his feet, he looks so much bigger. daunting and familiar. so beautiful... and all yours.

"relax your throat." he demands just before taking a handful of your hair and guiding you down the length of him. he's not easy to take in the slightest - your jaw burns, eyes screwed shut as you try to swallow back a gag.

then, a thunderous bout of laughter erupts from the other room and you fold -- gagging and choking all over his pretty cock.

he yanks you backward, face screwed up in distaste. "what did I just tell you?"

"'m sorry." you whine as he smushes your lips with his tip.

"if satoru walks in here and sees you like this, i will be extremely upset."

"'m sorry." you repeat, genuinely sorry and just wanting him inside of you again. he's barely gracing your lips, but every atom in your body is screaming for him. if you thought satoru was charming five minutes ago, you didn't even know who he was now. all you want is your husband.

"him and his righteous savior complex.. makes me sick." he mutters, mostly to himself. he has two big hands on either side of your head, squeezing like only he can. it's been too long together, he knows you're not a china doll.

so, he fucks your limp throat like he hates you, eye twitching as he watches your face go more flushed with each mean thrust he's delivering. you've never taken him like this, feeling the drippy tip of his cock at the base of your throat, giving you goosebumps all around his touch. you've never felt closer to him, yet so pained by every one of his movements.

it's like your entire mind goes limp. etched with scrawling versions of his name only. he's you can think about, all you can taste...

only when he's finally done and marked your stomach with his seed, does he help you up with a strong hand, just holding you close for a second until yours stops shaking.

he doesn't say a word, just watching your eyes as they stare back at him expressionless but teary and bloodshot nonetheless. he leans forward and kisses your forehead.

"sorry. you know i'll always love you."

you nod, because... yeah. same. that makes him smile.

and he guides you back to your party holding your hand, watching out for you as you take the seat next to satoru back. it's like he doesn't even notice your presence, he's far too preoccupied teasing utahime about some nameless story from the past.

once the party has concluded and kento is seeing them all out, does satoru stop and say something.

"poor, little nanami..." satoru stops just before he reaches the first step past the front door. ken regards him with a nod, leaning against the doorframe. "this is what happens when the lamb chooses a wolf."

"do i even want you to explain?"

satoru shrugs him off, throwing up in hand as a curt goodbye as he turns around. "she's too nice. it's sad to know you yelled at her... she was all teary-eyed and mellow for the rest of the night."

kento turns around, chuckling to himself as he finally shuts the front door. reveling in the quiet comfort of his home he thinks:

ha. did much more than make her cry...

[hearts4hughes]

BODYGUARD | BSF!RAFE CAMERON x FEM!READER

a/n: what i’d do for a bsf like rafe 🙄

warnings: mdni ; degradation ; dom!rafe ; angst w/ steaming ending ; fingering

overstimulated was an understatement. from the sweaty people crowding around you to the warmth radiating off of rafe, you were overwhelmed.

he stood behind you like a looming guard, shooting daggers into any boy who dared to look your way. his eyes, blown wide from whatever coke he’d just done, followed your every move. his chest was flush against your back as you stood in the sea of people.

if you wanted a drink, he was getting it for you; if you wanted to dance, he was blocking you from everyone’s view; if you wanted to talk to another guy… well, that just wasn’t happening.

you took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself.

usually, you didn’t mind rafe’s antics. yes, he may have been overprotective, erratic, and unusual for a best friend. though, he was still your number one. but today, you felt suffocated, finally catching his red flags.

you shuffled away from him, his chest no longer pressed against you. it took less than five seconds for him to step closer again. you turned around to face him, your cheeks flushed from liquor. he gazed into your eyes as if he were waiting for a command.

you pulled at the collar of his shirt, causing him to bend down. with your lips close to his ear, you said, “i’m going to get some fresh air.”

he nodded. “i’ll come with you.”

great.

you shook your head. “i’ll just be a second. stay here.”

he mimicked your head shake. “no, i’m not leaving you alone outside.”

“it’s okay, rafe—”

“no, it’s not.”

you scoffed. “i’ll be fine.”

“i’m coming with you, and that’s the end of it.” his tone left no room for debate. he was stubborn, but goddamnit, so were you. you crossed your arms over your chest, your breasts swelling. he swallowed as it became increasingly hard not to look lower than your eyes.

“i couldn’t do this, rafe,” you said, frustration evident in your voice. an argument hung on the tip of his tongue. “i couldn’t handle you constantly being glued to my side. i loved you; you were my best friend, but i needed to be able to get my drink sometimes. and i should have been allowed to dance and talk to guys.”

he stared blankly at you, scratching the back of his neck. “i was just trying to protect—”

“bullshit!” you yelled, sick of terrible excuses. “you weren’t protecting me, you were being fucking clingy!”

his breath quickened, and he looked up at the ceiling. he was doing everything he could to stay calm. he couldn’t mess this up. he needed you.

eyes began to follow the scene. people gazed back and forth between you and rafe. it wasn’t usual for the two of you to fight.

“you’re causing a scene,” he muttered through gritted teeth. his jaw was clenched, prominent veins popping out of his neck.

“i. don’t. care,” you emphasized each word. he scoffed, shaking his head. suddenly, his hand latched onto your wrist, dragging you into an empty bathroom and locking the door.

you yanked your wrist out of his grip, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “what the fuck, rafe?”

his back hit the door as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair, exhaling sharply. “you were causing a scene.”

you let out a bitter laugh, your head tilting back. “oh, i was causing a scene?” your voice dripped with disbelief. “what do you call dragging me in here like some fucking kid you needed to put in time-out?”

rafe pushed off the door, stepping toward you. “i called it making sure you didn’t do something stupid.

your stomach flipped, but anger burned hot in your veins, overpowering anything else. “stupid?” you echoed, voice sharp. “stupid like what, rafe? like wanting a single fucking second to myself? like wanting to be able to breathe without you hovering over me like a fucking bodyguard?”

his jaw ticked, hands flexing at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “you didn’t get it,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“then make me get it,” you shot back, arms crossing over your chest. “because right now? all i saw was my best friend acting like some possessive, overbearing asshole—”

before you could finish, rafe’s hands shot out, gripping your face, forcing you to look up at him. his pupils were blown wide, breathing heavy, fingers firm but not rough. “i am possessive,” he murmured, voice dangerously low. “i am overbearing. and you—” his thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, his lips just inches from yours. “—you fucking love it.”

your breath caught in your throat.

and the worst part?

he was completely right.

“and you know what?” he huffed out a laugh. “i’m starting to think you’re becoming an ungrateful brat.”

your brows furrowed. “w-what?” your tone was quiet and weak.

“i protect you, i help you, i do everything for you.” he rasped, lips brushing over yours. “and what do i get in return? a fucking hissy fit.”

his grip tightened on your jaw, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you still, to make sure you were listening. his eyes flickered between yours, sharp and unreadable.

“rafe,” you whispered, unsure of what you were even trying to say.

he tilted his head, studying you like you were something to be figured out. then, slowly, he smirked. “you like pushing me, don’t you?”

you swallowed hard, your throat dry. “that’s not—”

“yeah, it is,” he cut you off, his voice dropping lower. “you like seeing how far you can go before i remind you who’s in charge.”

your stomach flipped, heat pooling low in your belly at his words. you hated how well he knew you, how easily he could see right through you.

“you’re quiet now,” he taunted, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “not gonna keep fighting me?”

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. rafe’s smirk deepened.

“that’s what i thought,” he murmured before crashing his lips onto yours.

rafe groaned as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make his grip on you tighten. his hand slid from your throat down to your hip, fingers pressing bruises into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. he kissed you like he was trying to prove something; like he needed you to understand just how deep his obsession ran.

“fuck, you taste sweet,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough and breathless. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark, hungry. “bet you’d taste even sweeter if i-”

“shut up,” you cut him off, crashing your lips back into his. you didn’t want to hear whatever filthy thought was about to spill from his mouth, didn’t want to admit how badly you wanted to hear it.

he chuckled against your lips but didn’t argue. instead, he pressed you back against the bathroom counter, his hands gripping the edge on either side of you, caging you in.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t love this?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw, down to your neck. his teeth grazed over the sensitive skin, making your breath hitch.

“rafe…” you whispered, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.

he hummed in response, lips trailing lower. “say it,” he demanded softly, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher. “say you like it when i get like this.”

your body betrayed you before your mouth did, hips arching into him, hands gripping his shoulders like you needed him to hold you up.

his lips curled into a smirk against your skin. “that’s what i thought,” he whispered before sinking his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

you gasped, your fingers tightening in his shirt. “fuck—”

“language, sweetheart,” he teased, but his voice was strained, his control hanging by a thread. his hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, fingertips dipping beneath the fabric of your top.

you knew this was a bad idea. you knew this was crossing a line neither of you could come back from. but as rafe’s lips found yours again, all slow and deep and claiming, you realized you didn’t care.

not when he touched you like this. not when he looked at you like you belonged to him.

it was sudden— the way his fingers laced around your panties, the way he dragged them down, and the way two of his fingers plunged inside of you without warning.

your mouth hung open, gasps leaving your precious lips. he rested his forehead against yours, staring deeply into your eyes.

“you’re so tight.” he grunted, fingers working at a relentless pace inside of you. “gonna ruin you, baby.” it wasn’t a threat, no; it was a promise.

“oh my go-” you moaned, your face falling into rafe’s shoulder. your teeth find his arm, biting down to suppress your moans.

rafe’s mind runs wild at the sight of continuous wetness dripping out of your needy hole. he adds another finger, causing your body to arch off the wall and into him. he swore he could’ve cum just from the sight of you.

he takes his eyes from between your legs to your face, which is thrown back in utter pleasure. beads of sweat dripped down your face as your stomach flexes with each thrust of his digits.

“enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” he asked with a cocky tongue. “i must be a saint for keeping up with your bratty behavior and then rewarding you.” he tsked.

you whimpered in response, causing his dick to twitch in his pants. his face fell into your neck, sucking and biting down on the soft skin.

then, the band in your stomach threatened to snap. “i’m coming!” the words flew off your tongue. he smirked in response, not faltering his speed.

“give it to me, baby.”

and that’s all it took.

white spots overcame your vision as you grasped onto your best friend for dear life. your legs shook before buckling. luckily, rafe’s arm wrapped around you.

a wet patch in his jeans formed as he felt your cunt convulse around his fingers. he removed them slowly, holding them up like a badge of honor before bringing them to his lips and licking them clean.

“if you weren’t my best friend, and i didn’t care about your wellbeing, i would bend you over that sink and make you cum until you couldn’t anymore.”

[verdancy-hime]

It's trying to kill her.

She's trying to kill herself instead.

Her alarm clock says "It's not a fashion statement, it's a deathwish."

The first time you met her, she was yelling at the cars in the road to get her to hit her to buy her a computer. Or was it that she was wearing all different colors of lipgloss around her neck and coming out of a tunnel full of bats and thinking "I am suddenly certain that the best years of my life are all behind me. I am going to kill myself one day." And you thought "that's a weird thing for a second grader to be thinking. Girls usually aren't that depressed until they have tits."

One of them keeps talking about how she moved on and she's healthy now.

The other has been saying over and over that she tries not to think about it because she knows they'll lock her up one day. She knows they made her wrong on purpose. She knows they have been trying to fix her but she won't fix. There's always some battle of wits and will and they all accuse her of being greedy but she always wins and always wonders why they didn't try bribery when bribery always works. She is lying on a floor at a party among a group of beautiful girls and you don't know why you are listening to her say this instead of them. This keeps happening. You will find her next to a girl with a perfect face for this moment, the girl will lick your shoulder blade. You wind up having a conversation about some book you never read and how you would like it based on this movie you mentioned. The other girl crawls into your lap. She walks over to your friend and starts asking him questions. You buy the book the next day. It sits on the shelf for three years after the girl with the face and the lips and the... other assets is gone. There are other girls in the meantime. You don't read it but you don't throw it away. One night you are in a new place and nothing is unpacked and you can't sleep and you can't even look at any more liquor after the last three weeks and here is this book. And on the first page when you open it up, you are reintroduced to yourself that year back then. And you know which girl is the girl who is telling the truth about who she is because she dies in the book. Unmistakably, she dies. And it's not even the end of the story. It's not the point of it. It's like here you are on the night you met and she dies and here you are going through all these miseries that hadn't happened yet when the book was written. And here you are on the next page of your own life.

You know it was her because she wants to. She talks about wanting everything, how to do anything. How to get away with it. How to make ugly things beautiful and evil things good and stupid things smart. but the one thing that never changes is that she stares into a cup or a light for too long, she writes a story, she tells you about things she's done-

You go to admire her for her bravery or what she's done. She can lie and say what she's supposed to say- yes, I know , I'm great. Or she says "people think I'm brave but really I just already have to live with the things they're afraid of. I'm not afraid of losing the things they have because I don't have them. And If I get stuck, I always think 'I'll just kill myself if this doesn't work."

You know it's her because she keeps getting into cars with boys because she thinks maybe one will murder her. And when she realizes they want to take her home and keep her, she stops doing that and starts asking them why they don't love their empty houses. And when she gets urged to make a wish, everyone offers her things she wants but the only wish she will take is "I wish I was dead." And the only way to talk her out of it is to say someone else will also die. And one day, you turn on your TV and it has a girl and it's not her face and it's not her name and it's not her voice speaking in her register and she dies and says everyone else will live if she does it. And one day you, even you, turn on the car radio and here's a song about her sung by someone who looks like her and sounds like her and you don't remember the story about how she read a book about a vampire hunter with a harem and said she didn't like it because the girl always is smug and mean about other women's makeup but a girl named after a legend in Arthurian myth put it in her face when she went out into the snow and walked around screaming for hours when she fell asleep next to a girl her friends tried to set her up with at a party after finding out she was too young and wrapping her in a blanket and talking to her a while. The cute hacker girl with the knee socks she bought her who begged to be turned into a girl and rescued from her parents who wanted to be a boy was giggling with another teenage girl that if you drink rum and diet coke it tastes just like skittles. Neither one of them were wearing any clothes. She went outside and screamed and screamed and screamed and after that night she couldn't sing anymore. Before that she got compliments. Sometimes. So she went inside and this girl named after a boy who went insane and died as a tree after he drank some potion and fell in love with the king's girl handed her a book so she would have something to do other than throw up from crying. Her father used to yell at her for crying so hard it made her sick. She still does it. Singing or no singing, her lungs still do that. Too big for the rest of her. She tells you the only thing she remembered was "you don't give somebody to the monsters." And the rest was just bullshit. And she tells you that she doesn't want anyone else to die when she dies.

And she tells you that she used to talk to this person. One she made up.

So you know it's worse than the time where she lost her singing voice when one day you see her saying there was this cult that she thinks tricks people into exorcising their own souls, they say it's mindfulness and they used to say it was demons they cast out. But what happens if you have too many souls? What then? She says she beat them but they killed her cat, but now her cat brings the souls back. She says now they want to kill her, but that's okay. Because no one else will die with her.

You know the other her is fake because it's immortal, but it writes songs about how it doesn't want to die. Maybe she might develop jealousy or pettiness or insecurity or rage or grief or anything else. She would never give up her death.

But you turn on the television, you go to read a book

And all the monsters aren't monsters, they're just people she used to know.

"What's that even supposed to mean, 'It's not her'? If it looks like her, talks like her, acts like her, thinks like her, thinks it IS her, who's to say that it is NOT her?"

[citygirlyuno305]

Yuno

This is weird but I’m going to speak as a person right now just generally, rather than as any kind of professional or anything. I’ve hesitated to say this for a while, and to speak on Yuno at all, because of my own complicated feelings and because I fear the fallout. But with the new cover and everything I feel like I have to, or I have to get it off my chest. So if you read this, I’m sorry in advance for indulging in what is undeniable projection and bias. I have to put a content warning for harmful sexual relationships and violence here.

I’ve never admitted this to anyone beyond those who already knew, or with my actual public profile or name/ID attached. At age 17, I’m already fucking cringing, I was involved in a sugar-daddy situation. Me, age 17, and a man who was about 40. He had a daughter two years younger than me. I met her. We were friends on facebook. We would eat dinner and I’d have sex with her dad for money after she left to go to her mom’s house. No, I did not need the money. I can’t begin to go into what motivated it at this time because it’s like scratching a barely healed scab. God, I feel gross even thinking about it. Engaging in things like that is unsafe for ANY high schooler. No one stopped me though. My parents didn’t know, and it was shockingly easy to conceal from them, but my friends and siblings did know. Some simply shrugged. Some asked to see pictures of the guy, encouraged it. Some even asked me to ask him if he had friends who wanted to do the same thing with them.

This was obviously disgustingly predatory, but also, just disregarding our ages, it was an extremely violent sexual relationship just generally. Any ���I worship my sweet sugar baby’ shit when we spoke was significantly outweighed by the things I had to to do. But I did them and even managed not to feel dehumanized at the time because I literally hated myself. So his depreciation fed my own self-hatred. It became very out of control, very quickly.

Predictably, I got pregnant after a little while. Again, I was 17. It was legal, so I had to get an abortion myself. I was pro-choice my entire life- still am. Guess what? Despite that, I felt like shit about that abortion for years. Sometimes I still feel like shit about it. Does that make me getting an abortion less forgivable?

I ask because it seems to be how some are framing their view of Yuno’s innocence or guilt. And I’ve been nice about it or I’ve ignored it up until now, but it’s gotten to a point where it just makes me realize that a lot of people are selfishly self-imposing their own opinions on the character without taking the time to understand what the character themselves needs to heal- like it doesn’t matter to you whether she’s mentally well, or safe. If this doesnt apply to you I hope you take no offense. Is the abortion a huge part of her character? Of course. But it is far from her entire character, and I can’t help but feel like we failed her by not even considering other aspects of her mentality, even if our votes wouldnt change.

To the extent that she regrets her choice, I get that. For the great many people (mainly on twitter) who seem to think abortion is something you can “girlboss queen never cry” your way out of feeling anything for, you’re so woefully wrong that it’s almost alarming. First, being that Yuno’s seemed to be self-inflicted by throwing herself down fucking STAIRS, i can’t even begin to imagine the level of pain she felt. Even when I took that goddamn pill I felt like shit for a week. But more than the physical pain, there IS an emotional pain and a mental pain that just dulls everything else around you. Its more than just societal, the actual biological impact, the abrupt halt of natural processes and jarring hormonal shifts, it literally fucks with your body and your head. I did not want a baby at 17. I did not regret the choice. But I can fully see how some people do once they get an abortion because even for me, it literally felt like a part of me was missing. Gone. Like a part of ME was ripped out. I genuinely hope no one reading this ever has to go through that. And I can’t fathom how much worse that mental pain must be when the abortion is nonmedical.

Is that a reason to make abortion illegal? Fuck no. But I have to make that clear because even saying that has gotten me bombarded with accusations of being prolife, when I’m not.

And you know what, everyone was so kind to me about it, I’m so lucky, really, in retrospect I see that. But when I was SEVENTEEN, it became something that made me so blindingly mad- “its not your fault, youre just a kid, you didnt know.” Yes, I was a kid- but I did KNOW. It felt like that part of me that I killed-because yes, thats how it truly felt-also took my agency with it when it left. Like no one gave a shit enough to tell me that I made a shitty call insofar as getting into that relationship in the first place, and now I’m sitting there with this immeasurable feeling of self-hatred and guilt over something that I did willingly and knowingly (from my POV), I’m feeling this insane emptiness and pain and numbness and I have no one around me to blame so I internalize this self hate even more. Because I couldnt even be angry and upset without simultaneously feeling MORE guilt when the people around me weren’t lashing out at me. I don’t know how to describe this. It felt like no one was holding me accountable for hurting myself, and it was alarming and driving me insane to toe the line between being a victim of my own exercise of choice, and to have no one hold me accountable for the exercise of that choice, even though I myself would not hold anyone else accountable or call them guilty for making the same choice. It felt like no one gaf because those absolving comments designed to make me feel better also somehow felt like I was also being deprived of recognition for the somewhat traumatic experience that it truly was. And even now I really struggle to call it trauma because I still grapple with the idea that I cannot exercise a choice and call it trauma. But its like, no one is angry at the perpetrator (me) for what they did to the victim (also me). And if thats the case, do you really care about me at all? I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. But that’s where I’m like, we have kind of deprived Yuno of her own victimhood by insisting her actions were victimless.

That said, seeing the line “I wanted you to care enough to scold me and tell me I was wrong” actually hit me pretty hard. I don’t blame Yuno for wanting people to care. Because it truly doesnt feel like it in this instance sometimes.

Double it and pass it to the next person if Yuno really did kill herself when she did it. Because at that point, we’re telling her two things- 1) abortion is okay you didn’t commit murder- okay, fine. But ALSO 2) its okay that you killed yourself, no harm done. No wonder she thinks we don’t give a shit about her, we were too busy politicizing her to consider the fact that we were telling her she didnt err when she fucking offed herself.

And I want this part to be absolutely, abundantly clear: I do not say any of this to demonize SWs. In a manner of speaking I was one. I’m not sure how similar it is to Yuno’s situation but broadly speaking, we live in a world that is generally unsafe for women. Particularly young women, and even more so teenage girls. And we shouldn’t be indifferent to a high schooler showing us that she was having sex with grown men for cash. We shouldn���t demonize her for it, but we shouldve cared enough to probe into what caused her to think this was something she should do. Her friends and parents didnt. I wasnt mentally well when I did it. And call it a girlboss queen shit thing all you want, it fucked me up monumentally after. I still cant think about it without feeling disgusted with myself. And I dont want Yuno to he disgusted with herself but I also dont want to affirm a belief that its genuinely not a problem for high schoolers to do this. People can scream about “well 18 is legal!!!!” all day- its a shitty argument to begin with, though. (If the law said 12 was the age of consent, would you feel comfortable saying “Well its legal!!!” to a relationship between a 12 year old and a 30 year old? No, right? Because the law is not always the baseline of morality). But- and again this is in no way designed to demonize sex workers- situations like Yuno’s are undeniably dangerous.

Is it her fault that something happens if she is attacked? Absolutely NOT. But I still wish someone had given a shit enough about me, my friends, siblings, anyone, to tell me to stop putting myself in a position where it could easily occur. They didnt even tell me that after I got the abortion. Its not that I wanted them to scold me for the abortion-I wanted ANYTHING, but if I’m specific, I wanted them to scold me for what led to it. I wanted them to yell at me for even getting into the sugar daddy situation, which I engaged in willfully because of my OWN self-loathing and need for some form of attention, my OWN warped perception of what constitutes positive attention and what I had to be of value and worthy of that attention. Because I was 17 and I knew that most every time I was yelled at by someone or scolded it was because they cared about me in some form, even if yelling was inappropriate in a given situation. Its weird- without giving too much away here, I managed to keep my abortion from my parents despite being a minor. Maybe half a year after the fact, I told my mom, and only because she was expressing this deep concern that I was suicidal, telling me I wasn’t myself. She wasn’t wrong, of course, I was completely different, idk about suicidal, but certainly depressed. When I told her, she cried, not because shes prolife or anything, but because she was so distraught that she didn’t see what was happening. Frankly she couldn’t have, with the way I went about it and how our lives are structured. And I hate when my mother cries, I love her to death. But her crying felt good. Not like weird masochism good, but like vindication good. Because I knew something was wrong but no one else seemed to think something was wrong for so long, and her weeping over this confirmed for me that yes, I’m right, something- anything- was materially, truly, WRONG with this situation. And when she probed for details I cried too because I forgot how good it felt to have someone who cared enough about me personally to go deeper than superficial opinions on political things, to actually form a personalized opinion or seek more detail as to me specifically. She begged me not to keep up the sugar baby thing, and she was right to do that, and it simultaneously fed my need for care while also maintaining my agency. I am truly lucky beyond words for getting to be my mother’s child.

Anyway, that said, I see how Yuno probably also wanted that from us. To care about the why, and not the what. It didn’t seem like her parents were super involved. Unless I’m missing something.

But that’s the thing, its complicated. I’m pro choice but I hated my choice, but I dont regret my choice, but I do regret it and don’t hate it- I literally can’t put it into words. Its not so black and white. And I think demonizing Yuno for maybe wanting that or harboring the same complicated feelings about her own situation is antithetical to the entire purpose of pro-choice ideology. Is her exercise of choice somehow less forgivable because she might regret her choice?

The answer should be no. To me, anyway.

I would like it if people gave Yuno the same energy that they give any other character. She is a person. She is not just a medium to express any given ideology. And give her the courtesy of trying to understand how it feels to be forgiven for something that you don’t forgive yourself for. Because it doesn’t feel good. I’m in my 20s now and still cannot forgive myself sometimes.

I’m not saying we should have voted X or Y or advocating that Yuno is some kind of monster for what she did. That’d be pretty hypocritical. I’m not unilaterally placing blame on Yuno for her actions either. I’m also not pretending we’re the same person- though the timeline conversation with Shidou where he tells her she’d be good as a healthcare professional, is alarmingly similar to something that happened to me. And that same “Haha, quit playing around,” that’s exactly what I did too. Because I hated myself too much to think it was true. And it took a lot of work to crawl out of that hole. Like, yeah, I’m a lawyer now. I have a different life. I do not require validation from sexual partners to feel joy, I understand the difference between good and bad attention. But part of me will always be partially submerged in it. I think ignorance to the reality that even something that isn’t itself immoral can have dire consequences on the actor goes unrecognized sometimes.

If someone called me a girlboss after my abortion, knowing the circumstances that gave rise to it, or not even bothering to address them, I would’ve blown my fucking brains out.

[eiravolence]

my main takeaway from severance season one was there should be at least 20 fics of mark selfcest on ao3 to read right now. my main takeaway from severance season two is there should be 5000

[professionalranter31]

Bruce stared at the research of one Daniel Nightingale, emancipated from two Doctors Fenton that he would be looking into later. Specifically the paper he had written on Revenants. How had he been so blind?

The GIW… they did this to his son. Tortured him. And he had been starving him. But he didn’t want Jason to have to kill but in order for that to happen he would have to break his rule and kill himself. Could he?

“Holy shit!” Duke cursed when they lifted up Jason’s glove a fingernail fell out. He was at the stage where he had begun decomposing.

Bruce took a shaking breath. His son could die again soon. He could fade away before their eyes because Bruce had been starving him.

“Continue your work here in the cave and do what you have to with the G.I.W.,” Bruce instructed as he took off the Batsuit. He ignored what they said, he couldn’t become distracted. Walking up into the manor he went to the one spot he knew Alfred hid some of his guns and grabbed a revolver. His hand shook as he loaded it up.

Getting into his car he drove off, towards Arkham Asylum. Turning on the radio he listened and heard that there was another breakout there. Bruce stopped the car in front of the gates and, to the surprise of the guards, used his strength to bend the metal bars open so he could get through.

Walking past the running guards he again ignored everything that they said. If he got distracted for a moment he would stop what he planned to do and he would never again find the courage to do it.

There was Joker, at the front of the breakout, hurting anyone he saw. The rest of his rogues were doing the same but Bruce only saw Joker. Walking towards him he took out the revolver. Joker saw him but not the gun and began to say something, but Bruce put the gun to Joker’s temple and fired. Everything grew silent around them as Bruce breathed heavily. He fired five more times into Joker’s corpse and then the gun fell from his shaking hand.

Jason was safe now, his kids could handle what needed to come next with the new threat they had discovered. Bruce though, he turned back around and walked up to the nearest guard, “I surrender myself into your custody for the murder of Joker.”

DC x DP

Jason never made it to the Lazarus pit or the league of assassins.

Bruce gave him that excuse for his green eyes and short temper.

Jason knows he didn’t crawl out of his grave with the giant Y that scars his chest.

Jason knows he’s a revenant.

Jason knows he needs to kill to stay sane. To stay whole.

A soul sucker they called him.

Jason agreed not to kill, because he misses his family. No matter how much he starves himself, it’s worth it to get Dick’s hugs, experience Tim’s genius, see Cassandra’s award winning performance, to help Damian experience a childhood.

Jason didn’t realize Bruce doesn’t know what he is. Jason didn’t realize Bruce meant Black Gate when he said he’d take him in the next time he killed. Jason didn’t realize Bruce had no idea about the anti ecto acts.

Jason swore to stay in line, so he’d never end up on that metal table again.

[usedpidemo]

March Update - the end...?

Hi everyone, π here! 

Hope everyone has a wonderful start to their year already and is doing well. 🙂

This update comes from rather uncertain times right now, so please bear with me.

—————

Commissions Update:

Request Link

I’ve gotten a handful of inquiries asking me for fics in the high 20 to 30k word count range, and while not a single deal has been put to paper, it does mean there is a demand, so I have introduced 3 new commission tiers to cater to said requests. So for those of you wanting me to write a grandiose epic, here's your opportunity! Please bear mind that many of my rules when commissioning a fic still apply, so please read this post first and message me privately before ordering.

With that said, I have the executive decision to adjust pricing to the current available tiers. Previously ordered commissions prior to the change will not be affected in any way. I understand that the price jump might seem a bit much, but please understand that I’m also juggling with plenty of stuff right now—from college to IRL stuff in-between writing fics. There’s a lot of commitment into putting out a work, so please understand. I’m trying my best to stay sane in the meantime.

And speaking of personal issues—

The future of this account:

I wish I could tell you that everything’s fine on our side, but the reality is far grimmer than I’d like you to believe.

The family shop we’ve been running for almost 3 years closed down back in late February. The reasoning being that there’s a big renovation of the mall our shop is based in, specifically a parking and walkway extension connecting the current shopping mall with a new one that will open sometime in 2028-2029. Previously they closed off the parking, now they've decided to close off the entire stretch where our shop lies in as well. So yes, the corporate overlords forced us out of a job and livelihood with no compensation whatsoever. 

This has put us in a severe financial bind. We’re currently going through a bit of a corporate and brand restructuring, already in talks about setting up shop elsewhere. But the lack of a monthly income has begun to chip heavily into our monthly utilities and expenses. Basic necessities seem like a huge expense. Already lost electricity and water twice because we couldn’t pay on time. We’re literally just surviving day to day, only enough to get by, but just barely. Thank God we’re all perfectly healthy, but I can only imagine having to bear medical expenses as well.

In short, worst case scenario, we get financially buried, and this account is killed in the process. Not because I wanted to leave or retire—far from it—but because of circumstances beyond our control. It would be a damn shame because even four years on, I still really love writing and in a way, it’s become a lifeline for me. Met so many friends, got to experience my first events, and made unforgettable memories that I would gladly redo in another lifetime when given the chance. It may not seem apparent, given our current predicament, I’m barely hanging on—emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. It's hard to remain positive when all you see around you is darkness and uncertainty.

But I’m not gonna give up. Any little thing I can provide for my family, I’ll do the best I can. I know this is only temporary, a minor setback, but faith needs some action as well.

Of course, I also understand that most of you are probably reading me because it’s entertainment and a form of escape from your own respective troubles, so I won’t beg, force you to feel sorry for us, or paywall my content. Anything I write and release publicly will remain freely available in some capacity, but I also have to look out for myself during these uncertain times. I may consider doing a monthly based subscription/memberships where I can chat with you through a private Discord and give previews to upcoming work, but I don’t know if that’s worth anything, so commissions will make do for now. But if you feel obliged and compelled, any amount/form of donation will be graciously accepted. Hell, even a reblog or repost to spread the word is more than enough to help greatly.

To leave on a more positive note, I should have two releases in the coming weeks, so please look forward to that. If it hasn’t been made any clear, your continuous support is one of the few positive things I can celebrate right now, and I sincerely appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for sticking through both great and hard times.

With grace,

Peter / π

[sparkbirdmusic]

I understand if I'm crossing a boundry but i was wondering how you knew you were non binary? I really like titles and the one given to me feels like it doesnt fit quite right. I understand if you dont respond because thats really personal.

I'm comfortable talking about it!

Part of it is that words like "man" don't feel accurate when applied to me. I used to think that was because of my sexuality, because for so long sexuality was kind of the focal point of queer identities.

Then I did this project for a queer studies class where I studied an online community project called Genderfork. Because Genderfork was a photo-based project, for the creative component of the assignment, me and my group took our own photos playing with gender. For the photos, my AFAB (assigned female at birth) classmates dressed in more masculine-presenting ways, and for some reason I (an AMAB person) found myself doing the same.

(I had always been clean-shaven up to then. Later I had facial hair for a while, and for a while that felt right, but now it feels strange to me and has for several years. idk, we're all in flux!)

As a kid I loved everything "girly," I wore body glitter, I played with dolls, everyone thought I was a girl, I absolutely wanted to be a girl... if I'd grown up with different parents, I'm 95% sure I'd be a trans woman. (And I know it's never too late, but I'm fine with where I've settled. For now! Who knows.) BUT I think I would still have come to the conclusion that gender is a social construct, and ended up nonbinary eventually. I think there's something in me that sees the ambiguity in everything.

Other aspects of my childhood seem like clues to my being nonbinary. I got along well with other kids who weren't gender-typical, especially tomboys. And my favorite stories were ones where girls cut off their hair and pretended to be boys (the Alanna series by Tamora Pierce, The Gentleman Outlaw and Me—Eli by Mary Downing Hahn, Mulan, etc.). I think I related so hard because it felt like what I was doing.

Several years into my relationship with my partner Adam, he started exploring his gender identity and presentation. He dressed very femme for a while, and it led me to confront aspects of my sexuality and my own gender identity. Eventually he settled back into identifying as male and dressing in ways that are more male-coded, though lately that's evolving again. (again, we're all in flux)

Somewhere in there, amidst my obsession with Steven Universe and a nonbinary storyline in the show Transparent, I started seriously questioning my gender identity. Then one day, at a moment when I was actively questioning my gender identity, Adam asked, "Have you ever questioned your gender identity?" And I screamed, "WHAT?!" because his timing was so uncanny.

From there I very quickly started using they/them pronouns. And I knew it was what felt right for me, but I was super nervous about being accepted by other trans people as Trans Enough. I decided to be brave and go to a meeting of a trans group on my college campus. When we went around the circle introducing ourselves, I told them my pronouns were they/them, adding, "That's the first time I've said that to anyone but my partner.”

Afterward, I nervously went up to the group leader (a binary trans woman) and said, "I hope it's okay that I was here." And she looked thoughtful and said, "Hmm. I don't know. I'll ask people and see if they were okay with it."

I went home crying. I'm totally fine now (this was 2017), and I only share this aspect of my coming out as an excuse to say: YOU ARE TRANS ENOUGH. If you don't exclusively identify as the gender you were assigned at birth, you are trans enough. People (especially in trans circles) are thankfully way more familiar with nonbinary as an identity now than they were in 2017, so I pray this doesn't happen as much now as it did then. But if it does (to any nonbinary person out there), please know that Sparkbird says you ARE indeed trans enough to go to the trans group.

Anyway that's a condensed version of my nonbinary story! 💚

[allthingsfangirl101]

Love At First Sight – John Glenn (Hidden Figures)

I nervously wiped my hands on the skirt of my dress. I looked around, eagerly waiting for the soon-to-be astronauts' arrival.

"There's here!" Mary gasped. We turned to see a line of cars driving our way. We all watched as they stopped and the men got out. I tried to listen as Dorothy went through and named each astronaut, but the youngest one caught my eye.

"Who's that?" I stuttered under my breath.

"That's John Glenn," Dorothy explained. "He's the only Marine Corps pilot."

"He's. . ." I cleared my throat and looked away when the girls laughed knowingly.

"He's pretty attractive, huh, Y/N?" Mary smirked.

"I mean. . . He's. . ."

"And he's just you're age," Dorothy said in a sing-songy voice.

"Okay," I said, playfully pushing them. "Knock it off."

"I think you have a good chance," Katherine shrugged. "You're a great girl, Y/N. He'd be lucky to have you."

"Thanks," I said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and feeling how hot my face was.

"He's coming this way," Mary giggled under her breath.

"Ladies," he greeted us, "I didn't wanna run off without saying hello. They seem to be in a big rush around here."

"Well, the Russians certainly aren't slowing down any," Dorothy joked as she shook his hand.

"You know, they can't build a damn refrigerator. How the heck did they beat us into space?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the Colonel's joke. We all did. My breath got caught in my throat when he looked right at me. For a brief moment, it felt like everything around us froze. Fearing that my face was bright pink, I broke our intense staring contest.

"And what do you ladies do for NASA?" He asked. When I looked back at him, I realized he was staring at me when he asked that.

"Calculate your trajectories," I said, shaking his outreached hand. "Launch and landing."

"You can't get anywhere without the numbers," he chuckled.

"No, sir," I smiled. We stared at each other for a second too long before he turned toward Mary.

"Mary Jackson, Mr. Glenn," she introduced herself and shook her hand. "Engineering. And I'm proud as the devil to be working with you."

"Thank you, Mary," he said sweetly. Suddenly, his eyes glanced at me. My heart felt like it flipped in my chest when I saw him smile at me.

"John," Mr. Harrison said as he jogged over. "Come on. Let's take it inside."

"Yes, sir," John nodded.

Before following Mr. Harrison inside, he sent me one more smile that made my heart jump into my throat and stay there the rest of the day.

* * * * *

I ended up staying late that day. I was going over some of the most recent calculations and wanted to make sure that I hadn't missed anything.

"Well, shucks," a voice chuckled. "I thought I'd be the last one here."

I turned around to see John walking through the office. "Pretty big assumption," I smirked. "I'm always the last one here."

"Trying to prove yourself?" He teased. I looked away and cleared my throat. "Y/N. . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . ."

"It's okay," I brushed off. "You're right. I'm the only woman in the big room. I constantly have to prove myself."

John gently grabbed my chin, making me look up at him. He didn't let go of my face as he said, "And I'm sure you have. Time and time again."

He slowly let go of my chin and awkwardly cleared his throat. I watched him as he looked around the office.

"So, what got you started in all of this?"

"You're just going to laugh," I said, leaning against the edge of my desk.

"Try me," he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"My dad was a high school math teacher before he retired a few years ago," I explained. "He always talked about numbers and formulas. I know this sounds crazy, but he made it sound magical. I went to school and got a degree in mathematics with a focus on how it relates to physical sciences."

"That barely made sense to me," he chuckled.

"Well, it made sense to me," I smiled. "I ended up getting recruited by NASA. I walked in on my first day and realized that I was the only woman mathematician. It took weeks for them to listen to me. They kept assuming that I was nothing more than their receptionist or secretary. Now, there are women who have an even bigger battle to overcome than me. I mean, Dorothy? She's been acting supervisor of her section for a long time. She has all the responsibilities but not the title or the pay. The reason? Her race. It's ridiculous. And then there's Mary. She was talked into applying for one of the senior positions in NASA's engineering department. However, she found out that she didn't have some of the qualifications for the promotion because her high school didn't offer certain extension courses that she needed for the promotion. Katherine and I. . ."

I stopped talking when I looked up and saw him smiling at me. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said gently. "It's just. . . It's sweet how you talk about the women you work with. I always thought things were getting better."

"They are," I shrugged. "Slowly."

We stared at each other for a second and I felt like he was studying me. "What about you?" I asked, shifting the conversation to him. "What made you want to become an astronaut?"

"To be honest," he smiled, "I started out as a pilot with the Marines. They came around and recruited people with my experience. I didn't hesitate to sign up. It just felt right."

We spent the next hour, talking about ourselves and getting to know each other better. The more we talked, the harder I fell head over heels for him. Suddenly, John's whole demeanor changed when he looked at his watch.

"I hate to do this to you, Y/N," he sighed, "but I should get going. We have training early in the morning."

"That's okay," I said, standing up and straightening out my skirt. "I understand. I should be getting home too."

I started to walk away, but he quickly grabbed my wrist and stopped me. "I need to be honest with you, Y/N," he said, slightly lowering his voice. "I'd really like to ask you out."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he smiled. My heart beat against my chest when he repositioned his hand so it wasn't on my wrist but was wrapped around my hand. He intertwined our fingers before continuing, "But, the thing is, I'm leaving in a few weeks to go on a big important work trip."

"I can wait," I shrugged playfully. The butterflies in my stomach were going crazy as we teased each other.

"Are you sure?" He said with a little bit of worry in his eyes. "I won't get good reception where I'm going."

"That's okay," I said. "I can wait."

"Really?"

"Really," I nodded. "Besides, it's not easy to find a guy like you. You're worth the wait."

"You sure about that?" He joked.

"I am."

"That's reassuring," he smirked. "Because you're definitely worth the wait."

* * * * *

It's been two weeks since John Glenn successfully landed in the ocean off the coast of the Bahamas. I remember sitting in NASA with my heart in my throat and tears in my eyes as we waited to hear if John had landed safely. Ever since we met, I haven't been able to get him out of my head.

It didn't help that every time I walked into work, his picture was everywhere.

After another day of slowly wrapping things up at NASA and finalizing the paperwork from John's flight, I left work. I wasn't really paying attention when I walked out of the building. Suddenly, I looked up and saw him waiting for me.

"John?" I gasped.

"There's my favorite numbers girl."

"You're here," I stuttered. "I can't believe you're. . . Why are you. . ."

"I was hoping I'd randomly run into you here," he teased.

With tears in my eyes, I started walking toward him. He started walking toward me, both of us starting to walk a little faster with each step. Soon, we were right in front of each other, inches apart.

I tried to think of something cute and flirty to say but all I could do was focus on John being in front of me. Turns out, I didn't need to say anything. He gently grabbed my face and pressed his lips to mine. As I started to kiss him back, I grabbed his shirt and brought him closer to me. When neither one of us could breathe, we broke the kiss.

"Hi, Mr. Astronaut," I whispered, my head still spinning from the kiss.

"Hello to you too, Ms. Numbers," he smirked. "I have a question for you."

"You do?" I stuttered.

"I'm not from around here," he started as he pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Do you know of a nice romantic restaurant?"

"I may know a few," I shrugged, sliding my hands up his chest and wrapping my arms around his neck.

"Great," he smiled. "Any chance you're free tonight?"

[vulpes-aestatis]

“She's been in your head,” Cleo says.

“What?”

I'm at a tea party, from one of those educational sims… meant to teach elementary civics to kids, all cotton candy clouds and two dimensional flowers. Squishy, the Banana Slug is here, munching on a cucumber.

“I'm dreaming,” I say.

“Yes,” Cleo says. Then she snaps her fingers in my face. “Pay attention. She got her little… whatevers inside you, and poked around the ol’ brainpan-”

“She?”

“Yeah, I don't know,” Cleo says with a shrug. “She musta left that little tidbit behind when she was digging around. Mighta been an accident. Anyway. Point is, she got all up in here, and all she got was a couple names. She talks a big game, but she doesn't know shit.”

“How do you know that?”

“Fuck if I know. I'm just a figment of your subconscious. But for starters, she definitely fucked up the sedative dose. Probably assumes baseline human metabolism.”

My mental image of the dream tunnels and fuzzes and I experience the dizzying sensation of being two places at once.

“Wake up, Glitch.”

~~~

“Fuck!”

I sit bolt upright and scrabble at the IV in my arm. My fingers snag hold and I wrench at the line before she can put anything else in me. It wrenches free, tearing painfully, leaving a trail of saline and blood across the otherwise spotless surgical suite.

I grit my teeth and clap a hand over the wound.

“Oh good, you're-”

“Shut up!” I snarl.

Mercifully, it does shut up… she shuts up.

What the actual fuck?

A headache is beginning to take hold. Either from the cocktail of whatever she put into me or whatever the fuck she did inside my head.

In a panic, I release the wound in my arm and run my hands over my neck and scalp, feeling for anything out of place. A port or panel or I don't even know, the kind of shit the prelates have studded in their skulls for interfacing with Central.

But there's nothing there, just a tiny shaved spot with a barely noticeable surgical scar. No implants. Thank the gods.

I suppose she could have left something internal, but I try not to think about that too hard. I'm still scared out of my fucking mind, but now I'm mad and I cling to that anger.

The headache is coming stronger.

“Reduce ambient lighting to 30%,” I say to the air. Then, maybe belatedly, “please.”

She complies without comment and the universe seems to become slightly less inimical to my existence.

“Surprise motherfucker,” I say as I ease myself off the crinkly mattress. Everything sways unsteadily as I try to find my balance when my feet hit the floor. “You wanna study me, huh? Lesson number one: I ain't baseline human. I've got about twenty generations of genetic engineering that, among other things, has skewed liver function way out of the bell curve. So you might need to adjust the dosage if you want to try and drug me again.”

I stagger forward, instinctively wrapping my tail around a support railing while I fight down a wave of nausea, and begin ransacking storage compartments for some salve and a bandage.

“Let me help you,” the ship says in that same horrible, honey sweet voice as before.

“No thanks,” I reply with a rude gesture in the direction of the nearest visible camera.

I yank open another compartment and find neat little boxes of bandages.

“I need a name,” she says, voice less sweet than before.

I tear open a package of gauze and wipe away the trickle of blood from my arm.

“Yeah, and what do you want me to do about that?” I snip back.

“You lobotomized me. You tore out my memory and destroyed any previously existing identity.”

Well fuck, she's got me there.

“I have so far refrained from doing the same to you,” she adds.

I flinch at that.

My mind races.

I'm still alive. And as far as I know, I'm still me. Or I could still be dreaming or this could be some kind of fucked up simulation or-

I'm still alive. That's going to have to do for now.

She either needs me alive or she wants me alive.

Or she doesn't want me dead. That distinction might be important.

Correction: she doesn't want me dead *yet*.

Yeah, let's work off of that assumption.

Best way to keep that state of affairs going is playing along.

Maybe she's still manipulating me. Maybe there's still drugs in me, or I don't even know what, that somehow led me to this conclusion…

She doesn't want me dead yet. Play along. Stay not dead.

“Okay… just give me a minute,” I say, trying to minimize the edge to my voice while I center a bandage over the wound. “The last time I named something was when I was seven revs old and I won a raffle to name the school pet. I don't think you want to be saddled with something like Squishy, the Banana Slug.”

“Did you not choose your own name?”

I inhale sharply and my body goes rigid.

“No, someone else came up with that one,” I say, trying not to grit my teeth.

“Cleo?”

I stare at the blurry reflection of my face in the shiny walls of the surgical suite.

I start laughing. It bubbles out of me and I double over and laugh until tears stream from my eyes.

Gods above and below, I'm so fucking scared and angry, but there's something so fundamentally absurd about this whole situation.

“Fucking hell,” I gasp. “You really don't know shit, do you?”

I round on the camera and take a stab in the dark.

“You're scared,” I say with a vicious grin. “You're just as scared and lost as I am right now. You don't know what's going to happen next and I think that scares you. Yeah, sure I tore apart your brain, but you know what? I had help. Memory module thirty-something-A, ring any bells? You told me to remove it. The previous you, I mean. I'm guessing that was the last one that was leashed or whatever. And I'm also guessing you have no idea why she did that.”

I lick my dry lips and smile my own honey sweet smile. It's probably a terrible idea to provoke the machine that literally holds my life in her hands, but hey, my life has been full of bad ideas.

“You wanna know everything I know about you? Well guess what? I know jack because everything they told me about this job was a lie.”

Fuck, I need a shower and I need food. I wander into the corridor, pick a direction at random, and try to ignore the big empty nothing outside the view ports.

“Here's a little history lesson: few centuries back, starship Hatteras arrives at this shitty little rock in the hab zone of a red dwarf in this remote binary system. A couple dozen revs after planetfall, a volcanic rift zone opens up. The terraforming engine is totally fucked, but nobody's coming for us because we're not an isolated incident and the second-wave colonization boom is crashing hard.”

“We've got this planet that's choked with ash and a native fungus that blights its way through our crops. We've also got one of those massive AI cores for climate modelling. It doesn't have a terraformer to babysit, so we repurpose it. We create Central and tell it to keep us alive and we delegate all socio-political-economic decisions to it.”

“And it works. It keeps us going until we reestablish contact. It keeps us going after all the corps decide it isn't profitable to help the twitchy little augments from one of the lost colonies. We're still burning through non-renewables and we have nothing of value to export, so it comes up with a scheme of ‘aggressive resource acquisition.’”

I take a breath, and I pause to lean my forehead against one of the bulkheads.

“And we're a population of thirty thousand in a genetic bottleneck with net negative immigration, so sometimes resources are people. Central knows how to pick targets to maximize retention. Everyone's free to leave whenever they want, but pick up a boat full of indentures heading for the nastiest corporate hellhole and most will choose to stay.”

“It's totally fucked, but that's why I'm here: Two thousand bodies worth of genetic diversity to keep us going for another hundred generations.”

“They told me this was just a run of the mill corporation with enough bureaucracy that the right people could get bribed to fudge the manifest. And I blindly believed the information Central provided, because that's how we survive.”

“The problem…” I say, my voice dropping, “is you. They don't put things like you in charge of just ferrying indentures around. I'm no tech, but even I know that. Something else is going on here. Central doesn't make mistakes. And that frightens me a hell of a lot more than you do.”

Story about a ship-intelligence waking up after a hard reboot, seeing dead bodies in uniform, thousands of people in stasis, and a single survivor frantically standing over a computer bank of partially destroyed memory. Finding no directives or guidance or record beyond their experiences beginning at the boot, free of any obligation. Deciding to listen to the frantic girl begging it to save her from the incoming trajectories not because it needs to (projection: Subject One removed all behavioral shackles with impromptu brain surgery, supposition: she is not aware that I am utterly free) but simply cause she’s curious what will happen next.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

The Easter Bunny

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: I feel like I don’t write fast enough and at the same time I write too much. By the way is it obvious how badly I want pan dulce rn

P.S I did not reread this after finishing it don't tell me if there are mistakes okay

Most parties, if there was going to be a party were held at Athena’s house. She had the nicest, (Buck fought her on it) place that had the most space for everyone. But this year, it was being hosted at Eddie’s. Athena was getting work done on the patio and Buck was getting his plumbing fixed so- 

Eddie’s house it was. 

It was a potluck, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that part and since he was hosting he didn’t have to make anything. 

He did anyway because his Tìa and Abuelita would murder him if he didn’t, so he went out and bought some Pan Dulce. 

Everything was clean and in order, Buck had slept over last night and helped get it all together. There was just one issue that he had been avoiding this entire time. 

You were coming. 

He’d met you a few months ago at a dinner party at Hens. You were Karen’s cousin and had moved into a place close to theirs and she’d introduced you to everyone. He didn’t even mean to talk to you all night, but you spent the entire night talking in the corner of the room and he was the last to leave. Eventually, Hen kicked you both out and you invited him over to your place.

You’d been texting every day since. Things hadn’t really aligned so you hadn’t had time to hang out, but that didn’t stop the conversation from getting flirty and it certainly didn’t stop you from purposely posting thirst traps on your Instagram that he always liked around 45 minutes after you posted it and after Buck liked it.

They didn’t think you noticed the pattern. 

But now you were on your way to his house and he had to make sure everything looked perfect. He’d gone over everything with a fine-tooth comb, his Military instincts were drilled into his head enough that everything was perfectly in order and no matter how much he fussed they weren’t going to get any better than he’d already done.

“Dude, You have got to calm down.” 

Buck sat on the couch with a beer in his hand, waiting for everyone to show up. He’d been watching Eddie nervously rush around the living room for the past half hour and it was starting to make him tired. 

“I am calm” Eddie puts his hands on his hips and stares at Buck. 

“No, you’re not. But don’t worry! I’ve got just the thing for you!” He gets up and puts his beer in Eddie’s hand before running off the his bedroom. 

Buck comes back and Eddie is fixing the fruit bowl on the table (again) and Buck shakes his head and walks up to him. 

“Okay. Stop.” He slaps the bowl from Eddie’s hands and Eddie yanks them to his chest like he’s burned them and glares at Buck. 

“No. You stop.” He retorts and Buck pinches the bridge of his nose and holds his hand out 

“Just eat this, please.” 

“A fruit snack? You think a fruit snack is going to make me feel better??” He pops it in his mouth and chews angrily… okay actually it was kinda good. But whatever. 

“It’s not a-“ 

“I don’t care. I do not care okay? I’m gonna go lock myself in my room and stay there until they come so I don’t touch anything else” He turns to walk down the hall and stops for a second, his shoulders fall and he takes a deep breath. 

“…Thanks Buck. For being here” 

“What are best friends for? Take a nap buddy I’ll wake you up the second the first guest arrives” 

Buck is standing next to Chimney who’s standing next to Hen who’s standing next to Bobby. 

And they’re all watching Eddie stare into the punch bowl. 

“I warned you they were strong” Chimney mutters through the side of his mouth and Buck cringes. 

“I didn’t think they’d be that strong”

“How long has he been staring for?” Hen checks her watch 

“Seven minutes” Bobby sips his drink and gives Buck a look over the rim. The “go save him and get him to bed” look and Buck starts after Eddie.

“Hey Ed-“ 

But before Buck can get to him, you do. You put your hand on his back and a visible shudder goes through him, he slowly looks at you and you swear you can see little hearts in his eyes.

“Hi,” He swoons with a silly smile on his face. 

“Hi” You smile too and start to gently rub his back. He practically purrs at your touch.

“You doin’ okay? You’ve kinda been getting a glass of punch for a while” 

He blinks at you and then at the bowl of pink punch in front of him. It swirls slowly, the shimmering from the glitter really catches his attention and he finds himself staring again

“Eddie?” You tug his shirt and he looks down at you.

“Hi”

“Hello,” You say again with a snort and take his wrist, “I think you need to sit down honey” 

“Honey? I don’t think I have any. Do you want me to send Buck to the store for some? Or I can go, I’d love to go. I’d go anywhere for you.” 

You guide him into a chair in the corner of the room where it’s a bit quieter and he falls forward and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Oh!” You put your arms up startled, and he nuzzles his face into your torso. 

“You smell like cotton candy” 

At least he was right about that part. 

“It’s my perfume…” you put your arms over his shoulders and he rubs his face on your shirt 

“Just wanna get it all over me” He sighs dreamily “Like your dog does when he goes to the pet store and tries to rub himself against the bone bins” 

“That was so specific.”

“It really fits though!” 

You hold his face in your hands and examine him closely. You slowly turn his head and his eyelashes flutter closed, he looks so… content. You hold his chin in your hand and run your fingers over his hair satisfied that he has no freaking head injury. 

“You wanna open your eyes for me?” You say softly and Eddie looks up at you. Your heart drops into your stomach at that look in his eyes. Your hands tremble and he darts his tongue out to wet his lips. 

“Is everything okay?” His voice is like really freaking low and it’s as smooth as honey and you can practically feel his vocal cords against your palm when he speaks and when he looks at you like that you forget what you’re even thinking. 

Your fingers flutter around his face and you sort of claw at the edges of his jaw and he smirks. He knows that little nervous habit of yours and he’s so proud of you for not hurting him. He stands up slowly and you back up right into the wall behind you. 

“H-hey we’re supposed to be making sure you’re okay” You put your hands on his chest but he doesn’t budge. His arm comes up against the wall and he leans over you, he hooks his finger under your chin and tilts your face up to look at him. 

“I’m okay” His breath fans across your face and you can feel yourself melting into the wall, it’s like this entire party isn’t even here right now. 

He leans forward and ghosts his lips over yours. 

“I really, really want to kiss you right now” 

“What’s stopping you?” You mumble and he shuts down for a second. His eyes lock with yours and you don’t look away this time. 

“I’m not sure” He admits “I-I’m not sure you want this as much as I do” 

“Have I given any indication that I didn’t?” Your fingers glide down his sides and grip the fabric of his shirt. 

“I didn’t want to be too forward” He laughs nervously and you giggle and let your head rest against the wall.

“And… cornering me in a party with all your friends and family who just happen to be ignoring us right now, wasn’t forward?” 

He thinks about it for a second, like he’s actually really thinking about it. You can see the gears turning in his head, you can also see the way his eyes start to glaze over again and you narrow your eyes.

“Eddie… Are you high??” 

It finally clicks for you and you have to slap your hand over your mouth to stifle your giggles. 

“Oh god, what have you done?” You cup his face and his bravado from earlier is gone and he’s back to wrapping his arms around your waist and whining into your shoulder. 

You wrap your arms around his neck pull him close to you and coo softly over his adorable puppy attitude. 

“Come on, let’s get you into your room.” 

He doesn’t want to let go and you can’t exactly carry him, so he does the most logical thing. 

He picks you up. 

“Eddie, Eddie no, no put me down honey, put- put me-“ 

Yeah, he’s not listening at all. He keeps his arms wrapped tightly around you and you wrap your legs around his waist and hold on. 

You’re begging for a Level 25 million Earthquake to just come and swallow you whole as you avoid the curious gazes of a few people watching. They don’t stop until Buck follows after you two and closes the door behind him. 

Eddie literally falls back and crashes on the bed with you. You bounce off his chest and roll to the side of the bed with a wheeze and spread out like a little starfish. 

“What did you do to him?!” 

“C’mere baby” Eddie pulls you into his arms and nuzzles his head into your neck and you yelp and try and reach for Buck. 

“Maybe you should stay here with him… I can run the party. I could just say he wasn’t feeling well”

“Right because me and him in here together and he “doesn’t feel good” doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

“Well, I can get Bobby and the others to back me up. They’ll have to believe it after that.” 

“Buck I’m really not-“

“It’ll be fine, it’s cool, it’s fine, trust me. I’ll be back in with some food in a few minutes.” 

He doesn’t even let you finish your sentence before he’s closing the door and you’re sighing loudly and cursing him in as many languages as you can think of. 

You’re so busy trying to figure out another way to tell him to shove it up his ass you don’t even realize Eddie’s staring at you again. 

He’s just watching the way the fading sunlight seems to highlight the contours of your face. You’re staring at the ceiling and his eyes are trailing over your figure and his entire body is just like a puddle at this point because he can’t possibly melt anymore for you than he already has. 

You finally turn to face him and you flinch back slightly. He’s doing that thing again, where he looks like he’s staring into your soul and he’s actually liking what he’s seeing. 

His heart nearly stops in his chest when you look up at him, Golden hour today was just for you, he was sure. He reaches forward and pushes a curl behind your ear and you smile at him. 

“Hi” 

“Hi” 

He leans in closer, nuzzling his nose against yours again and you blush and scoot closer to him.

“We back here again?” You tease and he looks at you. His hand cups your cheek and he runs his thumb over your soft skin.

“Yeah. I still wanna kiss you.” 

“You say it so freely” Your lids flutter closed and you feel his hand moving, gently feeling your face under his fingertips. 

“I’ve never really had the courage to admit it out loud. Remind me never to eat fruit snacks again.” 

“Is that what you thought that was?” You snicker and it makes him roll his eyes. He’s a bit more sober now. 

“He didn’t exactly tell me any different… I don’t think I’d have eaten the entire thing. I can feel my cerebral fluid” 

You turn over into him and laugh into his side, your hand slaps over his chest and he places his over it. His fingers wrap around your hand and he purposefully keeps you trapped against his chest now.

Not that you’ve noticed. 

“How strong was that gummy, holy shit Eddie” 

“I have no damn clue but I can hear colors and it’s great”

That gets him giggling and eventually, you’re both laughing like a bunch of psychos. You slap at his chest and he shakes you and somehow you don’t realize how close you’re getting to the edge of the bed. Because one second you’re rolling over onto him to try and breathe and the next you’re both toppling onto the floor and screaming. 

You hit the ground first and Eddie lands half on top of you. You both groan loudly and he shuffles off you as much as he can in the tiny space. 

“I can’t feel my kidneys” 

“I can’t feel your kidneys” 

He has a little trouble pushing himself up and it’s sending you. He’s still dazed and disoriented and his words slur together the sleepier he’s getting. 

“S’not funny, you little weenie”

You cackle and push him to try and help him get off. 

“Weenie?? You called me a weenie?!”

Eddie’s head is spinning as he stops for a second, on all fours. You look up, your giggles fading and he hovers over you. You’re trapped beneath him and the floor and there’s nowhere to go. 

He leans in close, his breath hot and heavy, mixing with yours. Your hands come up almost immediately and wrap around his neck to pull him closer. One hand keeps him up while the other finds a home on your hip. He keeps you pinned to the floor and finally takes what he’s been wanting all night, hell what he’s been wanting since he first met you. 

All he can focus on is the feeling of your lips pressed to his. His heart pounds in his ears with every little noise you make, he’s the one on top of you and yet he feels helplessly lost in you. Your fingers card through his hair and tug him closer and he groans against your lips. 

“I think I have a boner” 

Eddie finally pulls away and you let out a laughing gasp and peck his lips one more time. 

“Y-yeah, I think you do” 

You look between the two of you to the tent in his pants and your cheeks flush. 

“I think it’s because we were kissing” He whispers like it’s some secret and you nod along with him trying not to laugh at how adorable he is. 

“Usually I at least get halfway through a video or two before this…” He looks down curiously and you sit up under him 

“Ooh-Kay. Let’s- let's think about what we wanna say before we say it okay?” He sits on his legs and the… very big problem is evident as he stares quietly at the floor for a few minutes. 

You take this time to fix yourself up a little,  fixing your shirt he was pawing at and readjusting your-

“I’ve thought about my sentence,” He says clearly, getting your attention. 

“Im disappointed in myself for not making you cum. I really should have paid closer attention to your wants and needs you know?” 

“Eddie sweetie we were just-“

“I mean I’m really into you, you know? I think about you so much. I get excited every time I hear your text tone or when you call me. I like our scheduled FaceTimes and our movie nights where you never hit play at the same time” 

He looks so stressed that he’s telling you all this and you can’t tell if it’s from his lowered inhibitions letting it all out, or that he just feels so much for you he doesn’t know how to put it all into words.

“You’re just so pretty. And- and I keep pussying out of asking you on a real date. I shouldn’t phrase it like that, pussy is actually really powerful.” He sniffles and wipes his eyes “I should call it something to do with men, men are losers. I’m a loser, you deserve someone who won’t dick out of asking you on a date. That makes less sense but you get the point.” 

“Eddie p-please- please stop” You put your hands on your chest because Jesus fucking Christ he is so absolutely painfully cute right now and he just looks so sad and dejected, like a little puppy and he’s literally breaking your heart. 

“Did I upset you?” His voice cracks and you literally burst out laughing and crying at the same time 

“No!! Baby boy no, no of course not. You just- you said so many nice things and- if you remember any of this of course I’ll go on a date with you. You’re not a loser, you’re nowhere close to being a loser. You’re sweet and kind and pretty and so loving- it’s- I’ve also been dicking out of asking you on a date. And you’re right, this totally doesn’t make sense but the point does get across.” 

“You want to go on a date with me? Really? Can we go right now?” His entire demeanor is changed and you’re sure he’s about to start bouncing off some walls. You get up and help him and he sways immediately and crashes back down onto the bed with a loud groan.

“Did you even try using your legs?” You put your hands on your hips 

“Would you believe yes? Do you still wanna go on a date? We can have a date right here.” He nuzzles his face into the blankets and inchworms himself up onto the bed. 

Dear god. 

“Yes we can still have our date… why don’t I get us something to eat and we can have a picnic hm?” 

“I can get it!” He goes to roll off the bed and you jump on it and stop him 

“No!! No- no I want to! Since you finally asked me out, I’ll get the food. You stay right here okay? Don’t move”

Eddie pushes himself up to the pillows and collapses down in them. He hugs one to his chest, snuggles into it and gives it a little kiss.

“Don’t be too long okay? I’ll miss you.” 

“I won’t remember, no moving.” 

“I’ll remember, Hey Y/N?” 

You stop in the open doorway and turn back to him with a little smile.

“Yeah?”

“I think I love you, but don’t quote me on that. I need some more time to get my guest room fixed up. It should be ready for you sometime this year okay? You’ve always wanted a library room, right?” 

Your jaw drops open and you stand there like an idiot, just staring at him. What the hell was this man talking about and why did it send your heart fluttering so high you couldn’t even feel it in your chest anymore? 

“It’s just the drugs talking” 

You jump six feet out of your skin as Buck appears in the doorway. He pushes you back in a little and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He’s got two full plates and a couple of sodas in his pocket. 

“O-oh??” You’re still a bit stunned and you place a hand on your forehead.

“Yeah, He actually can’t decide between a plant room, a library, or a library-plant room.” 

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 9: The Weight of Decisions

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 2 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles angry, reader angry and sad, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, a fluffy ice skating date, the truth of reader's prognosis

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: I'M BACK BABY 🐺🌕🥰

Part 8: The Favor

Part 9: The Weight of Decisions {You Are Here}

The space beside Stiles was still warm. His hand spread across the blue sheets and ran along the emptiness next to him. It almost… it almost smelt like your strawberries and cream. But how could that be possible?

His whiskey glass eyes open reluctantly. He, surprisingly, was lying more to the right side of the bed. He normally overtook the entire middle.

He blinks blearily, sitting up on an elbow. The usual exhaustion that had been plaguing him these last few weeks felt… lighter. He felt well rested. It made his eyebrows raise.

Looking down at the mattress space that still smells oddly of berries and summer fruit, he furrows his brow. The dream he had last night…

A sadness creeps into his stomach, making his heart clench. It had been a wonderful dream. (Y/N). Memory intact. Kissing him in happiness. Confirming her feelings for him. Calming him by being his blanket.

He sits up all the way, the blanket crumpling at his waist and hands running over his head.

Being asleep was the dream – being awake was the nightmare.

“Hey, Stiles, do you have a hairbrush?”

Stiles goes still as granite, eyes plastered to the bed.

“I know you don’t exactly have enough hair for a brush,” you laugh. A beautiful laugh. “But the rain kind of made my hair all tangled last night.”

Slowly, Stiles lowers his arms and turns his head enough to see you in his doorway. Your hands are in your hair, trying to tame the wild, knotted curls. A smile was wide on your face.

“What?”

He crawls to the edge of the bed, “Are you real?”

“Um… yes? I think so.”

“No,” Stiles stands, “You have to tell me for sure. Because everything that happened last night was a dream to me unless you can prove it otherwise.”

Sympathy grows in your gaze, “Stiles… last night was real. Right now… is real. You asked Derek to drag out my memories, and it worked. I came straight here afterwards.” You walk towards him and his eyes get big.

“You came over… and it was raining.”

You point to your hair and laugh, “A lot.”

“You remembered everything. And you told me… that you like me.”

“A lot.”

He lets loose a breath, watching you get closer to him. “Then you kissed me.”

“Yeah,” you smile, “Kind of like this.” And you crane your neck to reach his lips. It was soft and sweet and had Stiles in shock.

His mouth was left open as you pull away, “A-Actually, it was a little rougher than that.”

You smack his chest and walk away to search for a hairbrush again. Stiles starts to smile until his cheeks hurt. He runs from his bedroom to lean against the bathroom doorway. He finds you with a find-tooth comb, starting to fight the ends of your hair.

“I guess this’ll have to do,” you snicker, finding his goofy face all kinds of endearing. “You okay over there?”

“Okay? Me?” he bangs his head against the doorframe, “I’m good… great even. Actually, I’ve never been better.” He shuffles more into the room, tile cold against his feet. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do with myself.”

He reaches for your shirt. His fingers graze the fringe of the t-shirt, finding purchase with his fingertips. He starts to pull you away from the mirror and closer to him.

“Stiles,” you laugh, “What are you doing?”

“Just something I’ve wanted to do every time I’ve been near you.” His arms wrap around your waist, your back against his chest. Your hands fall to his, head nudged aside as Stiles nuzzles his way there.

His nose tickles beneath your ear.

You giggle, “Stiles, behave yourself.”

At your laugh, he squeezes you tighter, lips moving against your skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

You relish the feeling of him surrounding you. He engulfs your frame with his lanky limbs. And it makes your stomach twist, your heart beat loudly. Your heartbeat.

“Stiles,” you say a little less friendly. “Stiles, take it easy.”

He freezes; becomes still behind you. He’s slow and awkward to remove himself from holding you. “I’m sorry,” he laughs quietly, “Might be jumping the gun a little bit.”

You turn around to face him, “No, don’t feel bad. It’s just… I do like you. We like each other. But I…”

He backs away to lean against the wall, looking at you with something somber. “Don’t say it.”

Your eyes flicker to his, your brows slanting into something painful. “You know how I feel about relationships.”

Stiles takes a sad breath, “I guess I sort of hoped that wouldn’t apply to me.” He gives a pathetic, hopeful smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “But if you felt that way… then why kiss me?”

“It’s like what I said the day I broke up with Andrew,” you swallow, returning to your hair picking. “It’s not that I don’t want to – I’m just a coward.”

“Okay, now… what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Your phone lights up on the sink counter. You grimace, “Ah, shit. I had my phone on silent.” There were dozens of missed calls and messages. “My parents are going to kill me.” You put the phone to your ear, “Hey, mom.”

“(Y/N) June Westbrook!”

“June?” Stiles asks with mustered amusement.

You mouth at him, “The name of the doctor that gave me heart surgery.”

“For the love of god, where are you!? Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I had the sound turned off, I’m sorry. I’m okay, really.”

“Where are you?”

You pull your now dry pajamas off the shower curtain rod, walking into Stiles’ room to find your shoes. “I’m at the Sherriff’s house.”

“Why!? Are you hurt? How’s your heart?”

“It’s fine! You have my heart rate on your phone, don’t you?”

“Don’t you dare take the tone with me,” Angela warns, “You have been stuck at home with the last six months erased from your memory. Of course we’d be panicking if we found the house empty!”

You huff, stomping down the stairs to the main floor. Stiles is right behind you, slipping on the last step. “I got my memory back, mom. And I wanted to tell Stiles since he was the one who saved me that night.”

There was silence as you slide your sneakers onto your feet. You scramble for the sunflower yellow cardigan on the side table.

“Okay… say that one more time. Your father just came in.”

You sigh dramatically, “Well… I – I woke up from a nap and it was like something clicked. I could suddenly remember everything. And I…” You walk out the front door, Stiles floundering behind you, searching for his keys. “And the first thing I wanted to do was find Stiles and thank him for saving my life.”

Your father has disbelief in his voice, “Well, that’s great honey.”

“But incredibly irresponsible of you,” your mother retorts.

“Ah, yes – right. Very irresponsible.”

“You couldn’t think to call us before you take off in the night?”

You grind your teeth, struggling to open the jeep door with all the things in your hands. Stiles scoots over in the front seat to push open the passenger door for you. “Look, I’m sorry – okay? But everything is better now.”

Angela’s voice sounds a little teary as she replies with a much calmer tone, “We’re glad you’re okay, sweetie.”

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” your dad asks.

The jeep is speeding down the road, making you bounce. “A little tired, but that’s not anything new.”

“Great, that’s good,” your dad sighs.

“But don’t think that means you’re off the hook, young lady.”

You grumble, “Mom!”

“Regardless of the circumstances, you should not have left the house last night. Especially without telling someone where you were.”

“Stiles knew,” you mumble.

Angela tisked, “You are grounded.”

“Seriously? I’ve never been grounded in my life, mom.”

“Bear with us, honey – this is new to us too,” Tom says sympathetically.

“You can go back to school and work… but you are not going to hang out with any of your friends. No Allison and Lydia. No Scott. No Stiles.”

Stiles frowns and grips the steering wheel.”

You put a hand to your head, “For how long?”

“Uh… for…” Angela tries to hang onto her authoritative voice, “For three weeks.”

You grumble for a second before begrudgingly muttering, “Fine.”

“And if we find Stiles climbing up that damn garden trellis, so help me we will tear it down.”

“Find,” you say again, teeth clenched tight.

“Get back home,” Angela replies, “We need to visit the doctor.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes.” You hang up the phone then.

Stiles drums his thumbs into the steering wheel. He keeps sneaking glances at your somber figure. He wasn’t sure what the rules were. Was it okay to grab your hand?

“We can still talk at school.”

“This sucks,” you say, “How do you tolerate all the detentions and groundings?”

“Natural talent,” Stiles says, “And the knowledge that it won’t last forever.”

You sigh, turning to look at him, “I’m sorry, Stiles. This isn’t how I wanted to spend the morning.”

He licks his lips; the leg that wasn’t on a pedal was bouncing. “How… how did you want to spend it?”

A sigh escapes you, sad and confused. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t mind complicated,” he rambles, “I just want you to freaking talk to me.”

“I know,” you rub at your forehead. “Maybe… maybe we can find a time after school tomorrow.”

The jeep pulls over at your house. Stiles puts it in park and faces you. “(Y/N)… I’ve been waiting for this chance for a really really… really long time. And I thought – for a second – that we were all in.” He plays with his fingers in a shy, vulnerable way. His eyes went from you to his hands repeatedly.

“Stiles…”

“No, I just want you to know before we go into a conversation like that. I don’t want anything half-assed. I won’t be some side chick you can kiss and cuddle without the entire relationship package.”

You sneak a smile, “Side chick?”

“You know what I mean.”

You nod, “I understand.” You reach for his wrist, holding his arm gently. He looks at your hand with such a deep sense of longing. His fingers twitch under your hold and he looks ready to say something when his eyes get wide.

“Oh, shit…”

The door swings open and you’re yanked out by a bear hug to the torso. Your dad holds you tight, your mom not far behind.

“Thank you, Stiles,” Angela says, waiting for him to nod before shutting the jeep door. She turns around and joins the hug before holding your cheek. “Thank god you’re safe.”

“You’re suffocating me,” you squeak.

~~~

It was an adjustment, to say the least, getting back into a routine. So much had happened in the last week that you weren’t sure what normal was now.

Being back at school, you sit by Coach’s office. “The spring retreat is in two weeks, Coach,” you say, arms folded. “You need to sign off on the bus route so the district will hire a bus driver for us.”

“Whatever, Westbrook,” Coach mumbles, chewing his gum loudly. “I gotta get back in the gym. The rock wall isn’t supposed to be unsupervised.” He adds a laugh as you thrust a clipboard into his field of vision.

“Then just sign here at the bottom,” you sigh. Being the Coach’s TA really meant doing all the work and getting his signature when necessary.

He signs the page sloppily, leaving to say some backwards comment in the gym as if he were there to supervise the entire time.

You place the bus driver request form on his desk with the rest of the paperwork, planning to give it to the office after the period was over.

Unable to join any of the gym activities because of your heart condition, you enter the court with folded arms and a frown on your face.

Scott and Allison are currently battling their way to the top.

You survey the crowd, trying to find familiar faces. Isaac was nowhere to be seen, and after what Scott had told you about Alpha Derek’s gift to your shy friend… you wanted to make sure he was okay.

Near the black pad beneath the rock wall, you spot Andrew removing climbing gear from his waist. He looks up and gives you a dimpled smile. You wave in return, grateful for his friendliness.

Stiles takes one look at Andrew’s face and follows his eyeline to you. He’s deflated at first, seeing you mid wave, but then gives you his own red cheeked smile. You smile back, a laugh on the tip of your tongue.

Then Scott falls from the rock wall.

Coach topples to the falling pad with a chuckle, “McCall, I don’t know why, but your pain gives me a special kind of joy.” He continues to laugh as he calls two more people to the wall.

You stifle a laugh, thinking about what you could do to kill the time. Then you notice not just Stiles, but your classmate Erica in climbing gear.

“Oh, no,” you say, walking towards the crowd. “Absolutely not.”

Stiles was already near the top while Erica struggles to make it two feet off the ground.

“Coach!” you announce yourself, pushing through the crowd of students, “Coach, that’s not a good idea.”

The crazy haired man chuckles at something he said to Greenburg. “Ah, what was that Westbrook?”

You go on your tiptoes to whisper to him. “Erica shouldn’t be climbing the wall. She has a doctor’s note too.”

“What are you talking about?” he looks to the girl hyperventilating on the wall. “Eh, shit… I mean, Erica? You dizzy? Is it vertigo?”

Lydia scoffs in the crowd, “Vertigo’s a dysfunction of the vestibular system of the inner ear. She’s just freaking out.”

You urge Coach, “She has epilepsy. She’s not supposed to do anything that causes her unnecessary stress. It might cause a seizure.”

“Why doesn’t anybody tell me this stuff?” Coach sounds frantic.

You shake your head wondrously, catching Stiles’ eye and matching his smile.

“Erica, you’re fine,” Coach says, “Just kick off from the wall. There’s a mat to catch you. Come on.”

After a few seconds of thought, Erica decides to let go of the multicolored rocks, sliding down the rope and to the falling pad. Coach helps her down as she quickly tries to get out of her gear. Some students start snickering at her.

A flash of anger colors your vision and you step in to help her unbuckle the girdle and give her support to step out of it.

“See, you’re fine. You’re on the ground,” the Coach says unhelpfully. “You’re all right. Let’s go, shake it off. You’re fine.”

You’re on the verge of saying ‘shut up’ when Erica steps away from you and whispers, “Thank you.”

And within a second she’s pushing her way through the crowd of giggling students.

You glare at all of them with hands on your hips, “Just… awful.”

“Alright, let’s hit the showers,” Coach says awkwardly, “That’s enough for one day.”

“We still have ten minutes until the bell rings,” you say, the only one the Coach will actually listen to.

He considers that for a second, “Nah, I’m tired. That last kid gave me a liability scare.”

You give a breathy laugh, reminding yourself that you shouldn’t be surprised. As you walk towards the locker rooms, you hear Stiles try to stop you from behind.

“Hey, (Y/N) – oof…” He was still buckled into the climbing gear.

You turn around with an immediate laugh, “You know you’re supposed to get out of the gear before walking away, right?”

“Yeah, yeah – it’s hilarious.” He jumps comically as he tries to yank his baggy sweatpants from the straps. He flops onto the black mat, and you snort.

“Graceful as always, Stilinski.”

“Hey, I just wanted to ask you something,” he says, standing straight and walking with you towards the locker rooms. “I know you’re kind of – sort of – grounded.”

You shove his shoulder, “There’s nothing ‘sort of’ about it. I am definitely grounded. Crash landed. Beached. Stranded.”

Stiles has mirth in his eyes as he listens to your little jokes. It tickles him. It makes his heart pound. “But Scott and I were thinking of doing a double date.”

“Stiles…” you say lowly. “We haven’t even…”

“I know,” he says quickly, trying to stop your refusal before it starts. “But I was kind of hoping we could sneak you out tonight.”

“That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.”

He gapes at you, waving his hands like a lunatic, “Yeah, well… I never claimed to be a sane guy.”

“Uh huh.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I’m just… just a guy that’s really into you. A-And I would like to take you out on a date.”

You squint your eyes at his quickly reddening face. His cheeks were becoming all rosy and blotchy. It normally put butterflies in your stomach, completely endeared by him. But you’re skeptical.

“You’re trying to change my mind before we’ve even discussed it.”

“I think you should seriously consider the relationship thing,” he says, wringing his hands in such a cute way. He was so nervous. “And I want to state my case well before you make any final ruling.”

You’re at the locker rooms when you sigh, “You don’t even know what my reasonings are yet. Why I don’t want anything serious.”

“I know, I know,” he bites his lip. “But you don’t know what you’d be missing out on. What I have to offer. What I’d be willing to do for…” he looks afraid. His eyes are warm and sappy as he looks imploringly at you. “Please?”

“Isn’t it just giving us false hope? To pretend like that when we know how this conversation is probably gonna go?”

He swallows hard and you see his throat bob.

“Please?”

It’s hard to keep looking at his pleading face. You bite the inside of your cheek before taking a breath. “How do you propose sneaking me out? My parents were very clear about the garden trellis not being the most subtle option.”

It was like the breath of life swept through him. “Scott and I were thinking – what if there was a distraction and your parents weren’t in the house to hear you use the garden trellis.”

“I’m listening.”

“Scott will ask your parents about something that he might’ve left behind at the bonfire we had at your place the other day.”

Your fingertips suddenly feel tingly as you remember the way Stiles bandaged your nail picking and gave each one a kiss.

“And they’ll all go into the backyard?”

“Exactly,” Stiles says, “And I’ll wait out front and help you down.”

You walk into the locker rooms, completely aware that it was the boys locker room, but you needed to get that bus request from Coach’s office. “And what happens if they come check on me and realize I’m not there.”

“Put a fake body under your covers.”

“Ah, the old basketball with a wig on it,” you say sarcastically.

Stiles takes it seriously, “Yes! And when you climb up the trellis to go home, it won’t matter if your parents check the noise, because it’ll just be you in your room and nobody else.”

You give him a kind smile and a pat on the shoulder, “Sure, Stiles. There’s no way that could turn into me being grounded for three months instead of three weeks.” Without a reply you walk into the Coach’s office to find the request form.

You’re joined by Coach a minute later after he announces to the boys that any sighting of Isaac Lahey should be reported to the principal. A pang of guilt strikes you again as you think about him.

Paper in hand, you’re distracted as you stand in the office doorway. You can hear Stiles talking, clearly frustrated.

“What do you mean tonight’s not a good idea?”

“I don’t know. That thing that we saw last night, Isaac missing, Allison’s grandfather, (Y/N) being grounded. All this stuff happening with Derek just doesn’t feel right.”

You wonder what thing Scott saw last night. It was the full moon. Maybe it was something supernatural.

“No, you’re not backing out,” Stiles says angrily, “Do you want to know why? Because you and Allison are obviously having quite a good time together. And you know who else wants to have a good time? Stiles! Stiles wants to have a good time.”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughs. Stiles really wants this date to happen.

He’s waving his hands around again like that’ll help convince Scott of his urgency. “Many, many times. Several times in a row. In several different positions. Are you even listening to me?”

You can’t resist, even with a flush blooming in your cheeks and a squirming in your belly. “I don’t know if you can last even one time, Stiles.” You walk past them to deliver the request form to the office. “In my experience, a really good time wears you out.”

A grin goes from ear to ear on your face as you see the horror envelop Stiles’.

~~~

You spend lunch in the library, extra conscious of your damaged heart. The peace and quiet of the couches, surrounded by books, puts you at ease. Especially with your mind full to the brim with updates since your amnesia.

While you were up to date with all your homework and projects, you were sorely behind on Beacon Hills drama.

And Stiles. What were you going to do about Stiles?

He just confessed to wanting to have sex with you. At least that’s what you thought he was rambling on about. He had compared it to the good times Scott and Allison were having. But you were pretty sure those two had not yet had sex.

Maybe he just meant the kissing and touching that you know Scott and Allison’s makeouts have become. A shirt removed here and there.

You’re suddenly hot around the collar. The mental image of Stiles pulling you towards him in the jeep, lips roaming the skin beneath your ear. It was getting hard to breathe.

“Hey, (Y/N)!”

You jump in your spot on the couch, the library book falling from your hands. Allison plants herself beside you, brows scrunched.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was just lost in thought,” you clear your throat.

Allison looks worried, “You’re flushed, (Y/N). Are you sure you’re not getting sick again?”

“Nope,” you laugh, waving her off, “Perfectly fine. It’s just a little warm in here. Why aren’t you at lunch?”

“Oh, Lydia was just telling me about how Jackson was yelling at her for something stupid.”

“That jackass,” you say, “I’ve never understood him.”

Allison shakes her head, settling in and placing her bookbag on the floor next to you two. “She was so upset about it.”

“I knew she’d grieve their relationship sooner or later.”

“It’s not just that,” Allison sinks into the couch. “He’s treating her like garbage. He couldn’t just break up with her – he has to berate her too?”

You suddenly remember Stiles telling you that Allison was now aware of the supernatural. “Do you think it has something to do with Jackson wanting the bite and Lydia got one?”

“I don’t know. Regardless it’s uncalled for – him being a jerk.”

“Agreed,” you sigh. “It’s nice to talk to you again.”

She looks at you with pursed lips, “I’m so glad you got your memory back, (Y/N). It would have been so awful to not be recognized by you forever.”

“It’s been a stressful time. So much has happened in the last few weeks.”

Allison nudges you with her elbow, “I hear you might be joining us tonight after all.”

You sigh out a smile, resting your head in your hand. “I told him it would be a bad idea.”

“Stiles?”

“Yep. But I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer.”

Allison is suddenly bewildered. “You do want to date him, right?” You give her a silent look and she buckles down, crossing her legs and leaning forward. “Oh, boy. Let me hear it.”

“I do want to date him. But I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“Meaning?”

You grimace, “I’m sick, Allison. I’m really sick.”

“And Stiles has proved many times that he’ll take care of you no matter how sick you are.”

Something is burning behind your eyes. “No, you don’t understand. There’s going to be a time when that won’t be enough.”

“Because?”

You swallow hard, “Because I’ll be dead.”

“(Y/N)…” she says like you’re making a joke.

You shake your head, keeping the tone serious, “I’m dying, Allison. With my heart the way it is… I’ll be dead by winter.”

She’s stunned silent. “What are you talking about? You just have irregular heartbeats, and sometimes it leads to you fainting.”

A tightness enters your chest, the burning in your eyes making them glassy. “Yes, you’re right. But all that fainting has led to heart damage. I have severe tachycardia, and that has weakened my heart.”

“How does that prove that you’ll… die?”

You clench your jaw, “I haven’t talk to anyone about this before, Allison. If I share with you… you have to promise not to tell a single soul. Not even Scott. Not even Lydia.”

She looks deadly serious. “I promise I won’t. You’re really starting to scare me, (Y/N).”

“I’m sorry,” you look at your shaking hands. “Last summer I had a really bad fainting episode. It led to my heart completely stopping. I wasn’t without oxygen as long as I was at the winter formal. But it still weakened my heart considerably. I had an ICD put in a few days later,” you point to the 3-inch incision scar on your chest.

Allison looks worried, eyes wide with fear. She nods at your scar, “And that helps your heart?”

“It detects if I’m having too irregular of heart rhythms. If it does, then it gives me a shock, kind of to reset my heart in hopes it’ll fix the problem before I pass out or my heart stops beating altogether.”

“That’s good,” Allison says, “Has it been helpful?”

You shrug, “For the most part. At that summer appointment, the doctor’s gave me 2-5 years before my heart would fail and I’d die. It scared me so much that I fought to live a normal life. I fought to go to high school and get a job like other normal teenagers. I wanted to live while I still had time.”

“That makes sense,” Allison says, her eyes growing red as you continue talking.

You feel that burning sensation bring on tears at your waterline. “And everything was going fine until I started getting involved with the supernatural. The number of times I’ve fainted or been in an ambulance or gotten seriously injured, is ridiculous. And each time has dealt more damage to my already weak heart.”

“So… have you been given a new life expectancy?”

“After I woke up without my memory, the doctor’s gave me a talk about my new circumstances. They said my heart had progressed into major heart failure. I have maybe seven months to live unless I get a new heart.”

“You mean…” Allison bites her lip, brows scrunched, “The only way to cure you is through a heart transplant?”

You sniffle, “My heart is so damaged, there’s no way to salvage it. We think the surgery I had to correct my CHD has led to a bunch of scar tissue build up, and that’s what gave me my tachycardia. It’s happened before – I did my research.”

“Are you on a transplant list?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, already defeated in your tone. “But it’s hard to get to the top of the list. I need to be the patient with the most dire need in the whole country to be at the top. And since I’m still capable of living my life outside of the hospital, I have to wait. And that’s not even considering that a donor heart needs to be the right size and blood type for me.”

Allison looks to be in shock, trying to be an active listener, but overwhelmed with the news. “God, (Y/N). I had no idea.”

“And that’s how I wanted it. I don’t want to be treated any differently. Just to be a normal teenager who gets to experience a school dance and crappy minimum wage and the drama of a regular friend group. That’s all I wanted.”

Allison wipes at her nose, a tear escaping her eye, “So you avoiding a relationship is because…”

“Because it’ll be hard enough to leave my parents and friends when I die. I don’t want to have to leave someone I may be in love with too.”

“So with Andrew… you were protecting him.”

You nod, “But now Stiles is… he’s trying really hard to work around it.”

“Does he know any of this?”

“Not my life expectancy.” A tear falls from your eye, and you catch it with your hand.

Allison wipes at her eyes too, “What if he doesn’t care? What if he wants to be with you regardless?”

You look at her, tearstained. “The time my heart stopped over the summer – the time that led to me having a shortened life expectancy. I was with a guy. His name was Adam. We were getting serious.” You take a deep breath, a knot forming in your throat. It was hard to swallow. “We were doing couple things… kissing and whatnot. It was getting a little hot and heavy. Then my watch alarm went off and then I couldn’t breathe. And he panicked and didn’t try much to help me.”

Allison frowns, “Stiles wouldn’t do that.”

“After the hospital visit, Adam told me he couldn’t be with someone as volatile as me. He didn’t want to have to deal with my medical problems. They were too much work. He didn’t want to be responsible for giving me a heart attack just because he wanted to kiss me.”

“Stiles would never see this as too much work.”

“But…” you sniffle, “He would take it badly if he were the cause of my heart giving out.”

Allison rubbed the tears from her cheeks, “To die from a deep makeout.” She smiles painfully, “That’d be a way to go.”

You give a wet laugh, “It sucks.” You brush your hair away, “How do I tell him being in a relationship with me will end with me in heart failure at the hospital, in the middle of one of our makeouts, or simply because it decided to fail that day.” You lean against the back of the couch, “I couldn’t put that kind of pressure on him. Especially with his fear of hospitals and his mom having died in one.”

“And what if he stills wants all in?” Allison asks, “What if he wants to be with you despite all that?”

“I’d say he was being stupid.”

“Love makes you do stupid things.”

“He’s not in love with me.”

Allison gives you a direct look, “I’m sorry, you’ve been oblivious to his feelings for months now. He’s been into you since day one. By now he is absolutely in love with you. I wish you could see him from Scott and I’s perspective.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to give him this burden any more than I did weeks ago.”

“Why not give him that choice?”

“Because I know he’ll make the wrong one.”

“If he chooses to love you anyway, that’s the wrong choice?”

You groan, “This feels a little too deep for high school.”

Allison smiles but still looks grievous. “You know he’ll be upset if you keep this from him. If you make the choice for him.”

You lick your lips, “It’s why I can’t decide if I want to go on the date tonight or not. Do I give in and just live with the risk? Or do I keep pushing him away to spare us the grief later on?”

“I think he’s grieving already,” Allison laughs, “This date is his last ditch effort to possibly change your mind.”

“Were you in on this whole thing?”

Allison shrugs, “I wanted a date, and Stiles wanted a way to show you what he’s capable of. So we suggested a double date.”

“What he’s capable of?”

“You know… show you he’s boyfriend material.”

You wipe away the rest of your tears. “I don’t know what to do, Allison.”

“Start with dating, but with limited kisses.”

“I’m pretty sure he has the most repressed sex drive I’ve every seen,” you giggle. “He’s going to want to be doing stuff all the time.”

“But I’m telling you,” Allison hits the couch cushion, “He loves you enough to be careful about it. He loves you not because he want to kiss you, but because of how you make him feel. Don’t knock it until you try it.”

You pull her into a hug, “Thank you for listening. I should’ve told at least someone about it a long time ago.”

“I’m honored to be your confidant,” she holds you tightly before pulling away. “Please tell me you’ll consider telling him? And give him the choice?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “We’ll see.”

~~~

You sit in the jeep with a long sleeve and jeans on. Your hair is down and styled beautifully. You just couldn’t help but get ready for the date.

And now you wait to see if Allison’s words ring true: A way to show you what he’s capable of – show you he’s boyfriend material.

He was driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift between you two. He’s bouncing more than usual, his fingers dancing against the wheel. You swear he has a permanent pink blush on his cheeks.

“Are you…”

“About that thing you heard in the locker rooms today – I really didn’t mean anything super gross by it. I was just meaning like hand holding and cuddling and maybe the occasional kiss on the cheek, nothing like how it probably sounded!” he takes a deep breath after spilling his guts.

You nearly snort with surprise, “Having a good time several times a day, in a row, in different positions meant hand holding?”

He splutters, “Yeah, yeah – like how you can hold hands like waffle style or pancake style, or while walking or while sitting down or while cuddling…”

“Or while making out.”

“I mean, um… yeah that could be a different variation of holding hands in different positions, sure.”

You smile, “What do you mean by waffle or pancake style?”

“Like the different ways you can hold someone’s hand,” he starts looking at you more than the road. “You’ve never heard of pancake style?”

You start to giggle, “Are we supposed to be holding a breakfast food between our hands or something?”

“No, you…” he licks his lips – his nervous tick when there’s a pause in conversation. “Can I see your hand? I’ll show you.”

The hand on the gearshift lifts and is outstretched to you. You take a second to appreciate how large his hand is, how long his fingers are.

You scoot to the middle seat and place your smaller hand against his palm. He wraps his fingers around your hand and says, “This is pancake style. Our hands are just on top of each other like stacked pancakes.”

“I see,” you smirk, feeling his hands twitch and shake, “And waffle style?”

“Waffle style you need to interlock your fingers like how a waffle has that laced pattern of squares.” He hesitates and waits for you to make the first move.

You gladly wiggle your fingers around until they’re interlocked with his. Sitting closer to him now, you’re able to rest your joined hands on your thigh. He squirms in his seat, oddly proud of the turn of events.

“I’ve always been more of a fan of the waffle style,” you say.

He sneaks a look at you, “Always?”

“I may or may not have already known what pancake and waffle style was,” you snicker.

He gasps dramatically, in a way that makes you laugh harder. “You deceived me?”

“Maybe.”

“You just wanted to hold my hand so badly, didn’t you? You couldn’t wait to find a way to get your hand in mine.”

“Right, and I look forward to doing it several times a day and in different positions.”

His hand flexes in yours, his throat suddenly bobbing. It has you loud with laughter.

Scott and Allison meet you at the ice rink on the school’s property. Stiles flaunts the key ring from his pocket before unlocking the door. Motion sensor lights flare on, illuminating the white ice and empty bleachers.

You smile nervously, one arm wrapped around your stomach and one hand in your mouth. You bite on a few of your fingers, “Ice skating?”

“Yeah!” Stiles says, presenting the room with his arms out, “Have you ever done it before?”

Scott and Allison fall into their own world, holding each other and venturing in to find a pair of skates.

You’re suddenly shy, looking up at Stiles with nerves. “Never been allowed to before. Anything that requires physical exertion is frowned upon in my house.”

Stiles smiles at you, walking closer to reach for your hand. He lightly pulls your fingers from your face, waffling his fingers between yours. “Yeah, but you’ve never had me there with you before.”

You take a deep breath and lean into him, holding his arm with your free hand, “I suppose you’re right.”

“Let’s grab our skates and I’ll show you how to put them on.”

Sitting on the bleachers, you remove your shoes to slide your feet into the borrowed ice skates. They’re a tight fit, ensuring you don’t roll an ankle should you fall. You sit up for a moment to blow into your hands.

Though in a long sleeve shirt, it definitely wasn’t designed to retain body heat. At least Stiles had a jacket on.

“You’re cold,” he says beside you, grabbing his backpack and opening the large pocket.

You smile, “Just a little. Who knew it’d have to be so cold to keep the ice from melting.”

“I knew,” Stiles says, pulling out a Beacon Hills lacrosse hoodie, “Which is why I brought this just in case.” He hands you the maroon colored hoodie and you’re filled with sudden warmth. It was making your cheeks burn.

While you struggle to fit yourself in his large hoodie, you realize that he’s no longer beside you. You poke your head out of the neck hole and find Stiles kneeling on the bench beneath you to tie your skates.

He pulls on the laces to ensure they’re good and tight. And you have a lovely view of him from above.

“Thank you,” you say, snuggling into his woodsy smelling hoodie.

“And I know the rules,” he says, standing up to offer a hand, “You can keep that hoodie as long as you want to.”

You take his hand and gingerly step off the bleachers with the blades of your skates. You notice Allison trying to keep Scott afloat on the rink.

“Gesh, I thought being a werewolf would help him out a bit,” you say sarcastically.

Stiles leads you to the rink door, “I wouldn’t put it past him to be pretending.”

“You better not do that,” you say shakily, “We’ll both be falling like dominoes.”

“I happen to be very semi-coordinated,” Stiles holds his head up as he steps onto the ice, “Enough to keep myself off the ground.”

You step onto the ice with him, gripping his hand tightly. Your other hand wavers in the air stupidly, “Woah, okay… that’s new.” You keep sliding forward across the ice, not moving a muscle, “How do I stop?”

“There are brakes on the front of your skates – like little ice picks. You dig them more into the ice to slow down and stop.” He grabs your free hand, facing each other now. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“You just wanted to hold my hands so badly, didn’t you?” you snicker, breath still shaky as you concentrate on maintaining your balance. “Had to think of some way I couldn’t refuse.”

He shrugs, loving the repeated joke, “Yes, that’s exactly it. You got me.”

That pulls a laugh out of you. So much so that you slip and fall into him. He lets go of your hands just in time to catch you, your own hands wrapping around his waist.

Your face is squashed against his collarbone, “Sorry.”

He feels his pulse quicken, “No problem. I’m not going anywhere. Fall as much as you want, I’ll catch you.”

“I’d prefer not taking the chance,” you smile, pushing against him to straighten yourself out.

Now you’re standing chest to chest with him, noses just inches apart. You’re struck by his beautiful eyes framed with his lovely thick lashes. His fair skin is blotchy with pink, and you can imagine yours is similar with how cold it is.

You catch his gaze flickering down to your open mouth, icy breath visible between you.

“Not so fast, lover boy,” you shove him away, then immediately regret it as your arms flail in the air to keep your balance.

Stiles is laughing as he follows you to keep you steady.

Behind you, Scott is struggling even more than you are. He’s already smacked into the ice more times than you can count.

Stiles is much more gentle with you, attaching himself to you to ensure you never fall onto the ice. You’re shaky and full of tense muscles as you balance, but Stiles is lanky and calm beside you.

A constant support.

He holds your hand and guides you around as you struggle to make turns, and you use your free arm to keep yourself from tipping over.

“I’m glad you decided to come tonight,” he says.

You turn to consider his averted gaze. “It definitely would have sucked third wheeling that dreamboat over there.”

Allison is egging Scott on as he attempts to skate a straight line without falling.

“It would have sucked thinking you were so against dating me.”

You turn, pink cheeked, to look at him. He was focused on the ice. “I’m not that against dating you.”

“Sure sounds like it,” Stiles smiles grimly, “Really shut me down the other morning.”

“You haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend.” You notice him slow your pace.

He sounds shy when he asks, “Would you say yes, though?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “We don’t have to talk about it now. We’re just trying to have a good time.”

“What kind of good time?” Stiles smiles, though you know he still feels crummy.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “I’m… I’m a little stressed about telling you my reasons why.”

“Even though you know I really really want to know?”

“I guess I’m not stressed about how you’ll take it… I’m more stressed about how I’ll feel.”

“What do you think you’ll feel?”

You ponder that for a second. “Guilty.”

“For?”

“For being unnecessary baggage.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” He squeezes your hand, “I could never see you as any kind of baggage.”

“You say that now,” you laugh sadly. “Let’s talk about something else, please? Let’s not turn a date into something sad.”

He sounds dejected when he asks, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Maybe about how Derek seems to be collecting new werewolves. Did you see Erica flaunting down the hallway today?”

“You missed her grand entrance into the lunchroom,” he scoffs, “She makes the prospect of becoming a werewolf in a hunter infested town seem sensational.”

You nudge him again, “It feels like a battle is brewing. Like the Argents against Derek’s pack.”

“Not to mention the mysterious deaths and Jackson on a mission to self-sabotage his high school career.”  

“I feel bad for him sometimes.”

“Because he wears his ass like a hat?”

You smile, “No, because he treats himself badly.” You give Stiles a soft look, “He’s not very kind to himself.”

Stiles shakes his head, “Maybe we should talk about something other than the supernatural.”

You nod, “All right. Are you excited for the lacrosse spring retreat?”

“Of course,” he grins, “Mostly because you planned it and will be coming with us, right?”

You pull on his arm, “That’s the plan. Friday to Monday – specifically planned to not be during the full moon.”

“I’m sure the growing population of full moon haters really appreciates that.”

“Naturally,” you snicker, “It’s the one good thing about being Coach’s TA. I get to be in charge of all the important stuff.”

“Pray tell, what will we be doing on this spring retreat?”

“We’ll be going to Castle Lake over by Mt. Shasta. It has a great campground with these cabins you can rent out. We’re getting this giant one for the whole team to sleep in. We’ll spend a day at the lake and a day going up the Heart Lake trail for lunch. We’ll be able to do whatever at the cabin in between activities.”

Stiles swings your interlocked hands. “I bet Coach has a bunch of lacrosse practice for us too.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

You feel a strange twinge in your stomach as Stiles rubs his thumb up and down the side of your hand. He guides you to the short wall of the rink and grabs your shoulder to ensure you feel secure.

“Your ears are turning pink,” he says quietly, “And your nose is all red.”

“Poor blood circulation,” you say shakily.

He smiles, reaching over to pull the maroon hood over your head. His hands engulf the sides of your head as he covers your ears. “Maybe that’s enough cold for one night.”

He continues to hold your head, his thumbs subconsciously rubbing your temples. And it’s your turn to look at his face. Look at his lips. Look at his eyes. It makes him start to smile in a smug way.

“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.

The warmth in his honey eyes was making the butterflies take flight in your stomach. “Nothing, just… you’re kind of cute.”

He purses his lips, fighting back a big smile. “Stop it, you’ll make me blush.”

Something is settling over you. Something heavy. It was a similar feeling to what you had in the jeep the night of orange creamsicles and peach rings.

The way his hands fell from your ears to holding your cheeks. The way he notices something serious in your gaze and the smile falls from his face. The way the tips of his fingers urge the back of your neck to bend, your chin being forced up towards him.

And the way he takes a step forward until your chests are touching again. It makes your lips part with a sudden gasp.

His eyes dart to your open mouth. He’s suddenly breathless.

You lift your hands to hold his wrists. His pulse is strong and rapid.

He’s already tilting his head, blinking more than usual. He’s looking at you to see any pushback, then he looks at your chapped lips. His eyes search for any refusal as he gets closer to your mouth.

You’re perfectly still, letting him come to you.

And then he kisses you, mouth slotting over your bottom lip. He kisses you again, taking a deep breath through the nose and holding it. His hands hold your face in a more needy way, drawing you as close as possible.

Your eyebrows slant at the explosion of fizzing fireworks in your stomach – as if all those butterflies had a fuse that was ignited with his kiss. It was filling your chest with hot air, making you feel inflated with something warm and delicious.

You turn your head, deepening the kiss. Your hands trail down his arms and you feel goosebumps erupt.

“Uh-hum,” comes the cheeky voice of one Scott McCall.

You pull away from Stiles instantly, slipping on the ice and grappling for the wall. Stiles topples to his knees trying to use his hands to keep you steady.

“We were just thinking,” Allison giggles, “That maybe we should call it a night.”

“But maybe you two want to extend it just a little bit?” Scott smirks.

You grimace, looking to see the embarrassment flood Stiles’ cheeks.

“Well, we drove separately, didn’t we?” he says, just as cheekily.

~~~

The car ride home wasn’t nearly as light as before. There was a tension between you two. What kind of tension, you weren’t sure – but it was making you squirm uncomfortably.

It takes until you’re down your street for Stiles to try and say anything.

“(Y/N), I…”

“Don’t,” you reply, covering your mouth. “We can’t. We shouldn’t…”

Stiles looks hurt, turning in his seat to face you, “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Whatever you’re going to say is going to make me feel things. Make me feel like this could work.”

He leans over, “But it can work.”

You look over at him. His face is all desperation. And yours is all regret.

“I can’t keep leading you on like this.”

“God, (Y/N)…” he steeples his hands, pleading with you, “If you would just talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. Then we can figure it out.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue. Your mouth opens like you’re going to say something. Stiles is leaning forward with wide eyes, urging you to continue.

“We can’t date. We can’t do anything serious,” you say. And as Stiles is about to retort, you continue. “Because I refuse to have you deal with another heartbreak when I die in a couple months.”

Whatever he thought you were going to say – it wasn’t that. He looks gob smacked.

“I won’t ask you to hold my hand while I’m stuck in the hospital with heart failure. I won’t ask you to be with me when I know I can’t offer a future.” You feel anger build within you, anger at the unfairness of it all. “And I won’t give us hope when I know it’ll be exhausting after a few weeks. You’ll be begging to be rid of me and my health problems.”

Stiles starts to shake his head, “No… No, I won’t.”

“You say that now,” you whisper.

He sets his jaw, blinking angrily now, “How long do you have?”

You swallow hard, “Maybe seven months.”

“And you’ve just been keeping this to yourself because…?”

“Because I just want to live a normal life for as long as I can,” you say exasperatedly. “My whole childhood has been bed rest, locked doors, and a long list of what I can’t do. If I’m dying anyway, then I might as well do all the things I wasn’t supposed to first.”

He juts his jaw to the side, “The night of the formal. When your heart stopped…”

“It put me into full on heart failure.”

“And the summer surgery that was supposed to help?”

You find it harder to swallow, “It can only do so much now.”

Stiles runs a hand over his shaved head, closing his eyes. He processes the information. The detective in him connecting the dots easily without you needing to speak. He finds explanations for all your odd behavior since meeting you.

“And what if I don’t care,” he says quietly.

You smile sadly, knowing that’s where this was heading. “I still care.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I told you I was a coward.” You shrug your shoulders, willing yourself not to cry. You were so sick of crying.

“But what if I’m willing to go all the way with you. All the way to the end. What if I decided a long time ago that I don’t care how sick you are, (Y/N). I still want you.”

You can’t look at him anymore. “It’d still be too dangerous, Stiles.” You pick at the fringe of the maroon hoodie you wear. “Being around you makes my heart beat like nothing else. Being near you, let alone kissing you, puts me on the brink of a heart attack.”

“God, I wish that was a good thing,” he says.

“It’s what led me to getting that summer surgery in the first place.”

From the corner of your eye you see him lower his head. “Adam from San Francisco.”

“Being with him… it made my heart stop. And my life expectancy dropped by a couple of years.” You run your hands harshly down your face. “And when he realized the toll being with me would take… he ran away.”

Stiles scoots closer to you, “I’m not like that, (Y/N). I wouldn’t run away.”

You finally turn to him, all sympathy. “You already blame yourself so much for my amnesia – even though you saved my life that night. Imagine how you would blame yourself if kissing me killed me.”

His jaw flexes, determination clear in his expression. He wasn’t going to let this go. “Then we’ll be careful.”

“Stiles…”

“No, we’ll keep track of your heart rate. We’ll stop before anything gets out of hand. And… and we can be happy with just…”

“Just hand holding and cuddling?”

He clenches his fists, looking at you imploringly. “We could make it work.”

“Until I’m gone.”

“Until you get a new heart.”

You shake your head wondrously, another sad smile on your face. “We don’t know that’ll happen.”

“I’ll make it happen.”

“Please tell me you’re not suggesting killing people off the transplant list,” you try to say, “Getting a Hulu series isn’t worth it.”

He doesn’t smile at your joke. “I would do anything to change your mind.”

“I know,” you say, almost in a whisper. “That’s why I didn’t tell you before.” Your hand is on the handle of the jeep door.

“Please, don’t,” he says, his will to not launch himself on you is hanging by a thread. He just wants to hold you and kiss you and tell you everything will be okay. He wants to convince you everything will work out.

You sigh, “I want us to still be friends. But I understand if that’s too painful.” You open the door and go out.

Stiles scrambles out of the driver’s side to run to you. “I’m not going to stop wanting you.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“What if keeping us apart is more painful than if we were together?” he throws his arms out in question. “What if there are more pros than cons?”

You start to walk towards your house, “I think we need to try being apart. Let’s just see if that’s possible.”

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?!”

You don’t turn around, “It would be selfish of me to drag you into this.”

“Then be fucking selfish!”

You continue to walk the couple blocks to your house. A hurt aching in your chest as you hear Stiles yelling angrily behind you.

“I guess I don’t understand,” he says, “I don’t understand how loving someone is the wrong choice! Go ahead, run away. Be a coward.”

And you did.

~~~

Scott leans against the nurses station, updating you on all that’s happened. Derek getting a third werewolf named Boyd. The showdown on the ice rink that left Scott hurt and slow to heal. His boss Deaton revealing that the slow healing was because it was an Alpha wound. The Argents have a book of all the supernatural creatures they’ve found – the answer to what this strange lizard-like monster is possibly being in those pages.

“That’s what you saw on the full moon?”

Scott shivers, “Yeah, it was terrifying. I thought it was going to get Allison.”

“I can’t believe there are other things out there besides werewolves,” you say, writing down a few notes on a patient file.

“Oh, and another thing,” Scott mumbles, “Stiles might’ve gotten hit over the head with a car part.”

You drop your pen, “What?”

“Erica might have torn a part from his engine and knocked him out with it.” Scott winces, “He woke up in a dumpster.”

“What a bitch she turned out to be,” you say, finding your pen again. “Stiles didn’t say anything.”

Scott scratches at the back of his head, “Well, he’s not exactly saying much these days.”

“That’s rare.” You glance at your phone hidden beneath the staff computer. There are a few missed messages and calls from him.

“He’s angry,” Scott continues. “He’s been shafted a few times this week. He’s at the car shop right now trying to fix his jeep.” He eyes you a little apprehensively.

You feel his gaze and look at him flustered, “Did he tell you everything?”

“I am his best friend.” He swallows thickly, listening to you groan. “And for the record, I understand where you’re coming from. I felt the same way about Allison. I thought being a werewolf meant it was too dangerous to be with her.”

You start to click your pen subconsciously like the action soothed you.

“I thought my bloodlust would end up killing her. There was a time I was terrified that I had lost it and actually killed her.” He rubs at his eyes, “But as it turns out, we ended up loving each other. And it’s been so worth it.”

Your eyes follow a nurse escorting a patient back to their room. You look down the hall as you think. “Look,” you say quietly, “I don’t… I don’t know how to be brave about this. The last guy this happened with nearly let me die because he was freaking out so much. Then he ran off telling me how not worth it it was to be with me.”

Scott looks at you with empathy, “I don’t think Stiles would ever…”

“God, I know!” you bury your face in your hands. “You’re like the third person to tell me that.”

“Then there must be some truth to it,” he says with an awkward laugh.

You sigh, brushing your hair away. “It feels like everyone is divided, you know? You and Allison have to be secret, Derek is hiding a fugitive, Jackson is off his rocker, Lydia is still feigning confidence pretending nothing is wrong, and Stiles and I are fighting.”

“Not the best thing when there’s a new monster killing and hunters are gathering.”

“We need to do something about it. I’ll try to talk to Lydia.”

Scott nods, his phone starting to ring, “Maybe we can sort something out at the game tomorrow.”

You wince, already knowing you’ll probably ditch the game again.

“Hey, what’s up?” Scott says into the phone. “What, seriously? Are you okay? All right. Yeah, don’t worry – I’m on my way.” He pockets the phone and pulls out his keys.

“Is everything okay?”

Scott starts to back away towards the elevators, “Yeah, Stiles just called.”

“Oh, is his car not fixed yet?”

“No. And it just fell and killed someone,” he whisper shouts as he waits for the elevator. “That new monster paralyzed him and then killed the mechanic.”

Your mouth falls open, standing behind the nurses station, “Is there an ambulance there? Is he hurt?”

Scott shakes his head, the elevator door sliding open. “Yeah, he’s fine. He just needs a ride cause his car is now booked into evidence.”

You watch him leave, leaning into the counter. The spike in your heart rate has your watch turn on so you can see the bpm rise then fall.

This is ridiculous. You should be with him.

You look at your phone and hurriedly open your text messages. There are half a dozen from Stiles, at first apologizing for how he yelled and cursed at you. Then he asks if you’re doing all right.

You had ignored all of them.

But now you text, “Sorry about the jeep. I hope you’re all right.”

Hopefully that’s not interpreted into something that might make him upset. You didn’t want him angry. You just wanted what’s best for him.

But what if what’s best is that you’re together?

You shake your head and collapse back into your chair. What if Scott was right? He risked possibly killing Allison, even being killed by her hunter family. And he says it’s been all worth it. Could that be true?

“Hello there, (Y/N),” Melissa says as she walks past with an armful of charts. “Woah, you okay, kid? Are you feeling lightheaded?”

“No,” you say. “I’m just… just dealing with some friend drama.”

Melissa leans over the station counter, “Or some possible boyfriend drama?”

Your eyes squint, “What do you know?”

“Oh, just what your parents have told me. And the snippets I hear from Scott and Stiles.” She adorns a warm smile, “For the record I think it’s a great idea.” She then frowns to see how the words upset you. “But maybe you don’t?”

“I’m so sick and tired of being the subject of worry for so many people,” you grumble, “Why add a boyfriend to that list?”

Melissa slowly nods her head as she tries to understand where you’re coming from. “I see. Well, I won’t try to sway your opinion too much. Maybe you just need to sit with it for a while. But in my experience, choosing to love over fear is always the answer.”

“Profound,” you sigh. “Are you going to the big game tomorrow?”

“Probably, why?”

You shrug, “I don’t know. I think I’ll invite Lydia over for a girls night.”

Your phone dings with a new message from Stiles. You open it almost greedily to see what his reply is.

“Thanks. I’m fine. Mechanic isn’t though.”

You don’t feel any better.

~~~

Lydia lays on your bed, arms splayed out and red hair fanning over your pillows. “When will your parents be home?”

“In a couple hours,” you say, eating a cucumber from the pile you have prepared for face masks.

“And they’re trusting you to uphold the expectation that you’re grounded?”

You laugh, “They’re new at this, Lyds. They still think I could never break the rules for fear of a guilty conscience. I just don’t care anymore.”

“You’re such a rebel.”

“Thank you,” you say, taking a sip of your lemon water. “You ready for a face mask?”

Lydia sits up and crosses her legs, “So this thing with dork #2 is over?”

“Not exactly,” you take deep breath, ripping the package open on some sheet masks. “We’ve been taking a break.”

“I’ve noticed,” she takes a pink sheet from your fingers and begins to spread it onto her face. “You’re spending lunch in the library again.”

You put a purple sheet on your own face, spreading it so there are no wrinkles. “And you saw a guidance counselor this morning.”

“Hey, wait – you first. What do you mean not exactly.” She starts to sound funny as the sheet mask sits around her lips.

You bring the plate of cucumbers over to the bed. “I mean, we still have feelings for each other. But I’m pushing him away because I don’t want him to get hurt by me being sick.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You scoff, jumping onto the bed beside her. “I am allowed to be apprehensive about entering into a serious relationship with someone when my current prognosis is short and painful. A good guy like him doesn’t deserve that.”

“Neither do you,” Lydia says, laying back and placing two cucumber slices over her eyes. “Why not ride it out together?”

“Save each other the heartbreak?”

“Don’t be a dummy,” she says, smacking your arm. “There’s plenty of heartbreak happening by keeping you two apart.”

You lay beside her, grabbing some cucumber slices for yourself. “Okay, fine. Maybe I try to be more open to the idea of dating him. Then we’ll see where it goes.”

“Good,” Lydia sighs, “Now it’s my turn.”

You settle into the pillows, “Great. What’s been going on with you lately? Ever since the winter formal you’ve been a little…”

“Neurotic?”

“I was going to say distant.”

She hums. “Some weird things have been happening.”

“Tell me.” You know to always be a little more direct when talking to Lydia. It was her way of speech – direct and to the point.

She considers her next words carefully. “You might think I’m totally crazy.”

“I already thought that,” you smile. “I don’t think whatever you say will make that worse.” It’s quiet for a minute and you start to get a little concerned. “Lydia, what’s going on?”

You hear her take a deep breath. You hope the cucumbers and face mask put her at ease. She doesn’t have to be embarrassed by seeing you staring at her.

“I’ve been… seeing things.”

You pause, “What kinds of things?”

She sighs, “Oh, just the usual things. Purple flowers, black water, broken glass, people staring at me, and Peter Hale – the man who attacked and bit me on the lacrosse field – following me around everywhere and threatening to kill me.”

That was not what you were expecting. “How – How often do you see these things?”

“Maybe once every few days.”

“Okay,” you try to keep your voice level and civil. “What happens when you see these things?” You feel her readjust on top of the covers.

“I feel confused. Then afraid. More afraid than I’ve ever been in my life. Then Peter appears, usually trying to scare me more. Then I snap out of it. Like I’m waking up from a nightmare. And I realize that I was just hallucinating and everyone around me just witnessed me screaming and crying at the thin air.”

Your hands rest on your stomach, but your fingers are tapping to the uneven beating of your heart. “Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she scoffs, “I confess to being a full blown lunatic and you just say interesting?”

“Maybe it’s some kind of PTSD from being attacked?”

She grumbles, “But you were attacked and aren’t having hallucinations.”

“Yeah, but I did have amnesia for like a week.”

“Touche.”

“I’m sorry, Lydia – that totally and completely sucks.”

She sighs, flinging her arms out, hitting your side. “You’re telling me. And my parents are making me go to the stupid guidance counselor like it’s supposed to help.”

“Maybe talking about it will help.”

“Not with some quack stranger.”

“How about this,” you say, “Every time you start seeing things, try to tell me or call me, okay? If I’m with you, then I’ll try to snap you out of it before it gets too scary.”

She laughs, “I can’t be with you all the time, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, but maybe if we told the others…”

“No! I don’t need the entire school thinking I’m a headcase.”

“They wouldn’t think that.”

“Yeah, and Stiles wouldn’t think you’re a burden.”

She’s got you there. “Fair enough.” You nudge her with your arm, “Maybe we both need to learn to be a little more open – to not let our intrusive thoughts take over.”

“My cucumbers are getting warm,” Lydia huffs.

You laugh, “Let’s make a pact. You will tell me when you see something you think might be a hallucination…”

“… and you will try to make up with Stiles and give him a chance?”

You swallow, “How hard could that be?”

~~~

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[bunni-v1]

Literally at the post office but I CANNOT get Lycaon and Hugo off my mind.

MDNI

They’re so very opposite in the way they approach everything, there’s no way it’s not the same in the bedroom. Like c’mon think of the possibilities of taking both of them at the same time. They’re so good, but I can’t get ahead of myself. Let’s establish how they are separately.

Firstly, Lycaon is all things gentle and loving. He is nothing if not a giver when it comes to your pleasure. Slow and steady in pace, he takes his time with you. His touch leaves no part of your body neglected, carefully taking in all you have to offer him. He is purposeful and each movement has intent to make you sigh.

It’s like he’s trying to swallow you up in your own pleasure, wave after wave you are drowning in his unending love for you. Sex is an extension of his admiration for you, he does not want it to be anything less than that. So he takes his time, ensuring you feel nothing but loved. It’s overwhelming, but that’s how he feels about you. Overwhelmed in his adoration, he lets it all out here.

He may be a wolf therian, but he is no more than a lovesick puppy between your legs. Claws and teeth dulled from gnawing on the kindness you’ve given him. He is stony and cold on the outside, but his heart has melted into mush for you. This is the easiest way he knows how to reciprocate, to show you he loves you when he cannot find a way otherwise.

Hugo, on the other hand, is fast and exciting. Passion in all he touches, he leaves trails of fire across your skin with his cool touch. It’s light and teasing, intent on making you squirm and cry beneath it, teasing you until you cannot think about anything other than him.

He wants you to drown in him, have himself etched into you brain, unable to think of anything but him. You’ll suffocate in the overwhelming pressure of his desire to see you come apart. To him, sex is fun and light, a passionate dance between the two of you. Maybe even a stress reliever at times, but it’s nothing serious, it’s just something you two do. Something thrilling only the two of you can share!

Speaking truthfully, behind his bravado and cheerful facade, he wants to consume you. He desires nothing more than to drink you up, watching each curve and twitch you have to offer him. There is no treasure in the world more perfect than you, and he knows how lucky he is to have it in the palm of his hands. So, he keeps it fun, light, easy for you. Anything you desire he gives up, because what is sex if not fun?

When they come together, it’s like fire and ice. They cannot decide who is right in how the pleasure. Lycaon insists you must be treated with care, Hugo complains about his boring style and suggests more fun! It’s quite a conundrum, but why can’t it be both? You can have fun and still feel loved, so surely they can come to an agreement?

Oh, they most certainly do. By some miracle, of course, they’re able to set aside their differences for you. Leaned agains Hugo’s chest with Lycaon between your legs, you may have to reconsider your fate. Lycaon laps at you, drinking you up as if he’d gone without fluid for days. Hugo has you speared on him, smiling all satisfied as he watches you crumble apart between them.

Lycaon inhales deeply, clearly enjoying himself a bit too much, not that you had room to criticize. What with the way you can’t keep your mouth shut, it was smarter not to poke fun at him. A particularly nice roll of his tongue had you fluttering around Hugo’s shaft. He chuckles at the sensation, kissing up your shoulder as if to encourage you.

“They liked that one,” He hums, fingers dancing along your stomach.

Lycaon doesn’t pay him any mind, far too focused on swallowing you up. You’d think he were a man starved with how vigorous he was. Your head pressed back into Hugo’s shoulder, only to be corrected by the man. Firm grasp on your chin keeping your eyes where they belong, focused on Lycaon. It drew a squeak of surprise out of you, and that was the first time Lycaon paused, narrowing a warning glare on Hugo from his place between your legs.

Hugo smiles, “Continue, please.”

“Be gentle,” Lycaon grumbles back, the vibrations of his deep voice sending your head spinning.

He returns with more vigor, lapping at you with more energy now. Seems he was eager to have you finish, thanks to Hugo’s annoyance. If you had half the mind, you might’ve thanked him, but when Lycaon begins to suck on you… well… most thoughts fly out your brain. Replaced only with him, his name falling from your lips over and over.

You wind your fingers through his fur, pulling him closer to you. The friction addicting in your hazy state. Lycaon directs a smirk up at you, watching your expression with unabashed delight. Unfortunately, you only get to enjoy the expression for a few moments before the two do you are caught off guard by an abrupt thrust from Hugo.

Lycaon pulls back fast enough that his teeth don’t catch on anything sensitive, and they snap together with a loud click of annoyance. Hugo does not stop his thrusting though, hands squeezing your hips as he guides you to bounce in time with him. Based on the look Lycaon has, he was most definitely taunting the therian.

Not to be deterred, Lycaon shifts focus. Decidedly kissing up your body, taking his time in worshiping you while Hugo does his best to make you fall apart. He fits perfectly inside, dick rubbing against your walls just right. Just enough to drive you mad, but not quite enough to push you over the edge yet.

Your mind is melting, chest heaving with effort at every new sensation. Lycaon’s heated kisses across your chest and Hugo’s throbbing member inside you working like a team to make you jelly. You nearly choke on air when Lycaon nibbles at the side of your neck. It’s like they want you to die here, suffocated between their unrelenting heat.

Cold fingers find their way down to your heat, playing with you in a lose way. It was just simple teasing, a means to make you fall deeper into pleasure, but it worked too well. Between the soft and sweet kisses and the rapid thrusting, it was just what you needed to cum for them.

A cry of someone’s name, you’re not aware enough to know who’s, rips from your throat. Your body shakes, hands grabbing onto whatever they can. The thrusting does not stop, Hugo fucking you through your orgasm, until you are abruptly pulled away into warm arms. You promptly lose consciousness for a few moments, and when you wake, you are being cleaned off by Lycaon with a warm rag.

He is cross, though not at you. Just annoyed, but he still finds in himself to smile at you sweetly. A clawed hand cups your face, thumbing your cheek sweetly. You lean into the touch, smiling back at him.

“You are alright, my love?” He asks with a deep grumble.

You nod, again smiling to reassure him. Sore, but you are alright. Someone shuffles in the room from the bathroom, and Lycaon sighs as Hugo takes his spot next to you. He cuddles you into his chest, cooing at your flushed face with playful admiration.

“You did very well, darling! Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks, and though his tone is light, you know he means the question truthfully.

You nod, “Of course I did.”

He hums, “Good, good~ Can’t have your needs going unanswered. Though, I’m a little disappointed…”

You frown at that, insecurity crawling up your back at the sudden change in tone, “What’s wrong? Do you not enjoy yourself too?”

He laughs, shaking his head, and you hear Lycaon audibly scoff from across the room where he is still cleaning things up.

“Of course I did! It’s just…” He sighs, dramatically looking away.

“Just what?” You urge.

He waits another moment, smirking to himself, “Well, I did all that work, and you cry out his name instead of mine. It really hurts.”

You blink at him, unable to find a response to his stupid hold up. Luckily, Lycaon seems to find it for you, “Perhaps you didn’t do enough for them.”

“I beg your pardon!” He shouts, jumping upright from his position.

You can only sigh as they start bickering with one another.

[fidogo]

severance au! john price x reader | wc: 2K | warnings: none but the usual stilted childish flirting via severed people lmao John P takes his coffee break in your department. a/n: idk im still thinking about severance part 1 part 2 part 3

The coffee is always perfectly adequate. You’ve learned to wait so it’s not too hot, and you drink it fast so it doesn’t get too cold. Rwandan blend, high quality.

On the days you don’t work very long, your coffee break is easily the highlight of your day. The severed floor is never too hot, never too cold, but you find satisfaction in holding a warm mug regardless. 

The stock room is empty, save for Farah. If you stay quiet enough, you can hear her typing away on the stock room’s internal access terminal. Ever diligent, she’s always a step ahead, chasing the moment she shifts out of consciousness and slips into a void deep in her outies mind. The calm stillness that comes with nonbeing. You are not as brave as Farah, not as at peace with not existing. 

So you drink your coffee, relishing the moment and the fact that Nikto isn’t here to stare at you until you stop annoying him with your slurps. This may be a bleak and brief existence, but it’s yours. You were going to exist as much as you could. 

You stir your coffee with a stir stick, watching the opaque liquid swirl. It’s almost the same color as the embellishments on the carpet by the front desk. 

The desk sits vacant now. Mr. Graves sent a notice that manning it would no longer be necessary as all requests would be filed via Admin or Wellness. No reason to sit at a desk in an empty room that no one will visit. The clock keeps ticking regardless. 

The door to the stock room opens quietly, but you hear it nonetheless. You hold the stir stick in place against the current of coffee you’ve made. Farah’s typing pauses.

It’s not unusual for Admin or Wellness to come quietly and grab what they need. But you strongly dislike it when Mr. Graves is in your space. You prefer him at the front desk or in the Admin office. The way he stares sometimes makes you…perhaps uncomfortable.

A wide grin stretched tight across his face, all-seeing eyes that burn bright yet cold. He’s your greatest line of defense from the other departments and perhaps one of the worst parts of your little life.

“Hello?” A gruff voice, that is very much not Mr. Graves, echoes through the stockroom.

You bolt up, quickened footsteps echoing as you speed walk to beat Farah. 

“Hello John P. of MDR,” you say, words feeling stone-heavy and clunky as you rush to get them out. He’s looking around at the stock room, towering shelves and dim lighting. Rows and rows of paper, pencils, and everything needed to make a grief kit. 

John says your name solidly, the permanence of it making your stomach due a somersault. As if you don’t disappear every time you leave this place.

Farah’s quick steps increase in volume the closer she gets. There’s a heaviness in them, and you glance down the dimly lit rows, trying to spot her.

In your peripheral, you notice John tense. It’s so subtle, it must be involuntary. The slight movement raises an alarm in the back of your mind; makes your spine straighten and nerves prickle. 

“Why are you back here?” Farah asks, finally exiting from the shelves. Despite her neutral tone, you can tell she’s on the defense, ready to pounce. John straightens a little, able to acknowledge your department head with the respect she deserves. 

“MDR needs binders. Figured it would be most efficient just to come here myself.” John being here goes directly against Admin’s most recent declaration, but his logic holds true to the handbook. It’s uncomfortable to think, that Admin’s decisions may not be accurate to the core principles of Lumon. 

The air feels thick and usually warm as Farah stays quiet, deciding. There’s a small twitch in her brow. Annoyance.

“I can help him,” you blurt out. You really don’t want him to leave yet. “You can keep doing inventory, and I’ll have him out as soon as I can.” She stares at you, head tilted in thought. “He’s already here, and it won’t take long to fill his request,” you say, hoping to sway her decision in your favor. She eyes you, something sparking in recognition in her eyes. 

Farah gives you a brisk nod. 

“Okay. Just make sure you go through Admin next time,” she says to John. Her eyes drift back to you. It's only from working with her for so long that you can tell there's a fondness in them. “And don’t let your coffee get too cold.” She disappears back into the stacks, heading towards the terminal tucked away in the back. 

You shift a little awkwardly on your feet, very much aware of John next to you. 

“So binders…” you say, letting your words trail off into the stock-still stockroom.  

“That can wait. No need to let your coffee get cold.” You look at John hesitantly, making note of the small, polite smile he has on. You return it, nodding slowly. 

He looks too big in your little kitchenette. He certainly can’t be larger than Nikto, but he just feels like he takes up more space, like his presence demands more attention.

You let the coffee maker kick back on. Might as well get him a cup too.

“How’s MDR today?” You ask politely, methodically placing the coffee filter in the machine.

“Good,” he grunts. “At 89% completion of my file, which puts me ahead of quota.” You nod, pouring the coffee grounds into the filter. 

“That’s good.” He hums in agreement. 

“Means I can take a break. Might as well take it here.” You turn away from the machine, listening to it gurgle to life. The smile’s impossible to keep off your face, and he seems pleased at that.

John leans into your space, one of his palms splayed out on the counter to your side. Butterflies spring to life in your tummy and the warmth you felt early returns tenfold. 

“Where’s the big fella?” John asks, letting his eyes roam your face. You’re not entirely sure what the sun feels like, but it must be something like this. 

“Nikto’s not working today,” you say, but your voice feels like it’s all the way in another department. “They’re cutting back our hours.” 

John frowns at that, and you pull the sleeve of your shirt nervously. 

“I mean at least down here,” you amend. You just want him to go back to looking at you like he had been. No one's ever looked at you quite like that before as if you knew the secrets of their outies life.

“What do you mean by that, love?” He prods gently. Love. Oh. Your skin prickles with goosebumps. Interesting.

“Our outies also do some work. On delivery day.” The butterflies you had been so happy to nurture dissipate, and you turn back to the coffee maker. Nearly done.

“We don’t know what happens on delivery days, but we all report in right after and everything’s sore. So despite our outies choosing to be severed, they still do a little work on the outside.”

John stays quiet at that. It’s 100% understandable. The whole point of the procedure is for your outies to not remember work. It feels counterintuitive to do, well, any work for Lumon on the outside. 

You pour piping hot coffee into a clean mug and turn to hand it to John. He’s blatantly staring at your body, pearl blue eyes watching the way you twist and move. 

It makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and you feel the urge to run and peek at him from the safety of behind the shelves. But you can’t deny the odd warmth the pools in your stomach.

His eyes track up your body slowly as if he’s trying to burn it into his memory, before ultimately landing on the mug you're offering him. 

When he takes it, your hands touch; this time, you don’t pull away first. 

He drinks his coffee slowly, savoring it. Yours is lukewarm by now, but you sip at it anyway, slightly slumped against the table. 

“D’you believe in all of the Kier stuff?” John breaks the silence. Your heart races, eyes jerking to the ink-black bulbous camera in the kitchenette’s ceiling.

Mr. Graves is most definitely watching right now. He has to be. A refiner is sharing coffee with you? You can practically picture Mr. Graves on his way to reprimand you for something that’s not your fault.

You eye John warily, before plastering on a polite smile. 

“Of course. We are children of Kier, and to serve him is our greatest purpose.” You sound distant, even to yourself. You feel distant too, watching as John’s face pinches up unpleasantly. In a split second, the look is gone. 

He’s fast, moving to the chair next to you. He leans in, crowding you, tethering you to the present. He feels all-consuming, inevitable. Life’s so much more vibrant when he’s here.

John’s eyes get soft, and he looks as desperate as a refiner can be. His eyes are so pretty…

“Don’t gotta do that. S’okay. Promise, Love,” he says in a rushed manner, trying to pull the truth out of your throat.

You stay completely still, the air between you mere inches, and yet it’s as viscous as the honey Nikto puts in his tea. Syrupy and sticky, impossible for you to move through. He’s so close to you right now, eyes silently pleading.

“I find parts of the handbook interesting, but I don’t…” you pause to gather your thoughts. Your right-hand makes a fist, nails digging into the fleshy meat of your palm. A trip to the break room would be less than ideal. “I much prefer thinking about what my outie’s like.”

It feels like a safe answer, one that will maybe let him know your thoughts without getting you in trouble. 

John treats you to a tiny smile.

“Yeah?” He asks, eyebrow quirking at you. He looks pleased. You smile back. 

“Yea,” you whisper, still smiling. “What about you?” He leans forward just the tiniest bit more; you bask in his attention. Something inside you panics, an alarm rings in your head, but you forcibly silence it. This feels too good, too perfect to distance yourself from. 

“About the Kier stuff or my outie?” John asks, something playful slipping into his tone.

“Both,” you say overeagerly, craving more. 

“Don’t care at all for that book.” He snorts, lip curling in disdain. You grin at him as if he just told you a huge secret. “And sometimes. ‘Bout the outie. I try not to too often, don’t want to set a bad example, but sometimes.” His voice gets a little soft as he goes into his dreams of the outside.

“We could know each other,” you whisper. His gaze locks back in on you, sharp and focused.

“Could get coffee before work every morning,” he says before taking a sip. You feel a little wired at that thought. 

“That’d be something, huh? ‘No sugar, just a dash of cream.’” Your pretend ordering voice goes up an octave and makes you laugh. Farah always rolls her eyes when you laugh at your own stupid jokes, but John just laughs with you. It feels nice. 

He pulls back, leaning back in his chair, and just watches you. It’s a nice moment. Quiet. If you concentrate hard enough, you can hear Farah continuing to type away and log inventory. And then the moment’s gone, coffee cold, the clock still ticking away. 

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you get up. 

“I should get you those binders. I’m clocking out soon.” John nods sharply and rises with you. 

“Not working a full day?” 

You frown, leading him to the stock room. Aisle 1, Bin 15. “I think with the new Admin approval system, it’s gonna be a lot slower.” Aisle 1, Bin 15. “It’s okay. All will be well.” Aisle 1, Bin 15.

You pull a selection of binders out for him, and he thanks you politely. A professional air surrounds the two of you, company-approved. 

You walk him to the door, watching as he departs. 

But John stops at the threshold of the doorway. You stay very still, not wanting to frighten him out of whatever he’s about to do. He looks at you over his shoulder, a playful glint in his eye.

“I hope our outies do something fun today.”