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awearywritersworld · 1 year ago

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i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you

sukuna x reader summary: you and sukuna go out for a late night meal. gojo finds out about your... relationship. sukuna is forced to take care of you when you come home drunk. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. fluff. lots of banter. cursing. jealous/protective!sukuna. gojo being a flirt. aged up!yuuji. features a teeny bit of yuuji x reader. drinking and drunk!reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: i think i like how this turned out! also, the first two sections could def be read as a fluffy lil stand alone. idc whats happening in the canonverse, sukunas just a tsundere who adores us very much<3 series masterlist // masterlist

"maybe if you stare long enough, food will magically appear," sukuna calls to you from the kitchen table.

"this is no joking matter," you scold from your place in front of the fridge. "i'm starving."

"well, here's an absurd idea— let's go eat."

you turn toward him, finally closing the fridge, and tilt your head to the side. "you eat?"

"of course." he leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "i typically prefer babies, but hell, i'd even go for an old man right now. i'm famished."

your eyes widen and your mouth falls open. he lets the panic simmer on your face for a few more cruel moments. "i'm kidding, idiot. i eat food, same as you."

"i knew that," you assert. the way your shoulders sag in relief tells him otherwise.

"right," he smirks. after standing up, he grabs your purse and tosses it in your direction. "where to? you're buying."

with only so many places open at midnight, you begin your journey to a 24 hour ramen shop.

you've hardly interacted with sukuna outside of your apartment, so this is certainly an experience you didn't anticipate. and in fact, you're shocked at how normal it feels— almost as if it's a date.

as you walk down the street, people eye him suspiciously because of the dark lines they assume are tattoos. it doesn't bother you though, nor does the lateness of the hour. you know that you're safe because you're with him.

your hands keep brushing against one another's, and you're hoping that he'll eventually take a hint and reach for yours. he doesn't (i mean come on, do you even know who you're dealing with?).

he does at least pick up on your pouty expression with impressive ease. "what now?"

"nothing," you huff.

"don't be a brat."

you sigh dramatically. "you're supposed to hold my hand."

"sure princess," he says condescendingly, lacing his fingers through yours. "maybe use your words next time like a big girl."

he doesn't fail to notice the ensuing skip in your step, and he kicks himself for regarding it as cute.

when you arrive at the ramen shop, sukuna orders no less than three bowls, which earns him a glare once the waitress walks away.

"when i agreed to pay, i didn't know what a glutton you are."

"oh yeah? cause i'm just the picture of temperance any other time?"

you scoff. "well you've got me there."

a sly smirk settles onto his face before he speaks again. "maybe one day you'll learn how greedy i am when it comes to the things i've deemed pleasurable."

you choke on the water you'd just brought to your lips, your face heating up as if it'd been bathed by fire.

wiping at your mouth, you try your best to recover quickly. "whatever, you hellion. as long as that doesn't involve a fourth bowl of ramen."

you're no more than 10 steps away from the shop when you hold out your hand to him. "ahem."

he grabs it roughly and not without rolling his eyes.

"what?" you ask innocently. "that was a word."

"hardly," he jeers. "for as much as you read, i'd expect you to be more fluent than a child."

"and at 1000 years old, i'd expect you to be more charming than a teenage boy, but i guess we're both making concessions."

"see, this is the part that puzzles me. you never seem to have trouble with your words when you're being insolent."

"maybe it's a sign," you begin whimsically. "the universe decided you need to be taken down a peg."

"ah, yes. you as the executor of the universe's will. i don't know why i couldn't see it before."

you giggle, rather delighted that he's elected to play along with your quips. there's something that feels so warm and pleasant about it.

as you wonder if he feels it too, your hand tightens around his.

you're not quite ready to head back to your apartment just yet, because you're scared you'll lose the atmosphere surrounding the two of you. in truth, it's a bit intoxicating.

the perfect opportunity arises when you spot a small park up ahead. lights are strung around the trees, all of which are situated around a small fountain.

"we should stop at that park!" you hardly finish speaking before you take off in that direction, tugging him along behind you.

after you plop down on the fountain's ledge, sukuna takes his place beside you.

"let's sit here for a little while."

he doesn't respond and you take his silence as agreement. he's not really one to stifle his grievances.

as the minutes pass, the rush of the fountain is the only noise that fills the air, while you gaze at the trees with a serene expression.

sukuna, however, is looking at you. the only care he has for the trees is the way their lights reflect in your eyes. otherwise, he's fully occupied by the curve of your nose and the fullness of your lips.

"isn't this pretty?" you finally ask.

"it's pretty," he agrees, even when such a soft word feels foreign on his tongue.

his eyes still haven't left you, and you seem to be oblivious to this fact until he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the back of fingers.

when your gaze lands on him, the fondness written all over his face catches you off guard and you realize how close the both of you are. without really thinking about it, you lean into his touch.

"very pretty," he repeats lowly, as if he's talking to himself.

your heart lurches once in your chest, then hammers away at your ribcage without respite. he leans toward you a fraction of an inch, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief second.

truthfully, sukuna has never felt the way he does in this moment. it's a sincere sort of desire. he doesn't want the mindless devotion he once thirsted for from his followers. and he doesn't want the sex he used to crave from his concubines.

no. he just wants you— in whatever capacity you're willing to have him.

the way he's looking at you is just too much. there's a dull thudding in your ears and you swear your thoughts are moving at a million miles a minute.

so naturally, you blurt out the first thing you can manage. "we should take a selfie!"

his face shifts from whatever that expression was to one of confusion. "take a selfie?"

some twisted mix of relief and disappointment crashes through you.

"yeah, a selfie. a picture together. ya know, since the park is so pretty," you ramble.

he pulls away from you. not all the way, but enough that it gives you space to finally breath. he chuckles and it doesn't sound lofty like it so often does. in fact, he seems genuinely amused by you.

"a selfie," he deliberates. "that sounds great, but to the best of my knowledge, hell hasn't frozen over."

and just like that, your dynamic feels like it did during your walk from the ramen shop to the park— comfortable and fun.

"well i guess you would be one of the first to know."

ignoring his protests, you take out your phone and hold it far enough away that the camera captures both of your faces. you can see on the screen that he's put on an expression of complete boredom.

"c'mon," you nudge him with your elbow. "you look like you hate me."

the corner of his mouth curves upward. "that's because i do."

you think back on the way he was gazing at you just moments ago and laugh. "you're so full of shit."

then, without warning, you press a kiss to his cheek and click the button.

you decide that his vague look of contented surprise will just have to do.

when you and yuuji walk into the bar, you immediately spot one of the people you're there to meet. he's sitting at a hightop by himself, his snow white hair pretty hard to miss.

you tap his shoulder and his face breaks out into a grin. he slides out of the barstool. "if it isn't my favorite civilian!"

as he pulls you into a hug, you wonder if he's ever going to get tired of that joke. "if it isn't my favorite old man."

"35 is not old," he argues, moving to greet yuuji. "i'm still in the summer of my life, thank you very much!"

"gojo you're 36," the pink haired man remarks.

"gah! such betrayal, yuuji!" he presses his hand to his forehead and takes a deep breath. "now i'm going to need another round."

"i'll go and get drinks for all of us," you offer. "you two stay here so no one takes the table."

before either of them can respond, you turn and begin making your way through the crowd. you don't hear gojo when he calls out, "but darling! i should go with you!"

he takes a step in your direction, but stops when sukuna's mouth appears on yuuji's cheek. "you certainly should not, you insufferable half wit."

"relax, dude. he flirts with literally everyone," yuuji informs him.

gojo scoffs. "i am right here—"

"as if that makes it better?" sukuna barks. "she isn't some toy to be played with."

"of course she isn't! you can't honestly think i'd believe otherwise."

gojo is left forgotten for a moment as the other two bicker, so he interjects once there's a lull in the conversation. "do either of you care to explain what the hell is going on?"

yuuji turns toward him, trying and failing to hide the embarrassment on his face once he realizes that gojo is, in fact, still standing there.

his eyebrows are raised above his sunglasses and it's clear he is inappropriately amused by the situation (what else is new?). he moves to sit across from the younger man, looking at him expectantly.

having no way to talk himself out of this, yuuji relays the recent events regarding you and sukuna, sparing some of the finer details. gojo's face doesn't really betray much emotion throughout the story, though he does look thoughtful by the end of it.

leaning forward, he crosses his arms on top of the table. "maybe your feelings for her are influencing his own, forcing a sort of bond between them?"

"i don't think so," yuuji contends honestly. "other than her, you're the person i admire and respect the most, but he thinks—"

"that you are perhaps the most imbecilic rampallion i've ever had the displeasure of coming across."

gojo jerks back, as if the insult had hit him squarely in the jaw. the look of giddiness from yuuji's compliment, followed by the shift to indignation at sukuna's insult is almost comical.

he stretches his neck forward, cupping his hand around one side of his mouth as if it'd keep sukuna from hearing. "what'd he just call me?"

yuuji shrugs. "beats me, but i don't think he was singing your praises."

"i see your point." gojo pauses, glancing over his shoulder. you're approaching the table, so he turns back to yuuji and quickly adds, "we'll talk more about this another time, but for now, keep this between us."

a few moments later, you appear in front of them and exclaim, "look who i found!"

megumi and inumaki situate themselves around the table too, offering their greetings. you slide yuuji and gojo their drinks, both of which are filled to the brim of the glass. "now then gentlemen, shall we?"

when gojo teleports you and yuuji back to your apartment that night, it takes everything in you to keep from yakking all over your carpet.

"ta ta, hooligans!"

you turn to request that he never do that again, but he's already gone. taking one step forward, you promptly fall on your ass in the entryway with an unforgiving thud. yuuji staggers toward the couch, making it there just in time to face plant into the cushions.

looking down toward your shoes, you're dismayed to find that each one appears to have two sets of laces. you're fumbling with them determinedly when someone crouches down in front of you, their elbows resting on their thighs.

he doesn't say a word. brushing your hands away, he unties your shoes and carefully pulls them off your feet. you're lifted from the floor before you can register the arm that's looped under your knees or the other that's securely around your back.

"careful," you hiccup, your head falling into the crook of his neck. "'m gunna p-puke."

"i'd rather you didn't."

you groan. "s'not like i 'ave a choice in the matter."

he hums. "how much did you drink?"

"dunno. sss'much. nobara—" you hiccup again. "nobara n' maki made me."

he chuckles, placing you down on what you figure is your bed. "right, i'm sure you had no choice in the matter."

"tha's correct, yes."

unbuttoning your jeans, he tugs upward on your belt loops. "lift."

you do as he says, lifting your hips from the bed so he can slide your jeans off your legs. he knows you won't remember this— hell, your eyes are already closed— but he looks away as he does it anyway.

pulling your phone from your pocket and putting it on the charger, your pants are discarded off to the side. he only turns his head back in your direction once he's pulled the blankets up over your body.

"tuck me in?" you request.

sitting down on the bed beside you, he does so without protest.

he stares at you for a little while, worried about how poorly you're probably going to feel in the morning. he presses a kiss to your forehead, intending to get up and grab a water bottle for your nightstand.

instead, his body freezes when he hears you mumble, "i love you s'much."

his heart clenches so painfully, he honestly considers ripping it from his chest— it would probably be less agonizing.

but a thought that makes him feel like a fool occurs to him. of course it's not him that you love. "i'm not yuuji."

"well, duuuhhh. you're s'kuna." you're peering up at him through tired, hazy eyes. it's the first time you've ever seen him look bewildered, so a small giggle erupts from your throat. "s'okay. you don't 'ave t'say it back."

your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out before he even thinks to respond. all at once, it's as if his head is empty and as if it's about to explode.

love?

what does he know about love? it's a sentiment he's cursed for so long, but sitting here beside you, he can't quite seem to remember why. one thing he is sure of, however, is that there's never been a thing in the world he's loved.

suddenly, he's struck with remembrance of a quote from jane eyre you had emphasized with messy underlines:

"after a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, i have for the first time found what i can truly love—i have found you. you are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel. i am bound to you with a strong attachment. i think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

rochester says it as he begs jane to stay at thornfield with him, an act sukuna had previously regarded as ridiculous, but is that still the case?

were you to ever scorn him, would he fall to his knees and plead with you to change your mind? or if you were in danger of dying, would he drag himself to a shrine and pray to the gods he doesn't believe in?

is that what love is?

could he stand to be apart from you? are you special to him? does anything else in the world compare to you? does he seek out your company? is he consumed by you? can he know himself without knowing you?

does the definition of love lie in those questions?

sukuna hopes not, because he's terrified of the answers. being in love is not his way, nor is it in his nature.

he buries his face in his hands as realization settles into his bones. it feels as if they're splintering beneath the pressure, trying resentfully to stave it off.

he transcends any imaginable scale of power. he's bled entire villages dry, he's commandeered death, he's the king of curses.

so why now? and why you? is it divine retribution? a sick sort of joke that even he couldn't have dreamed up?

gods, you were right. the universe has sent you to carry out its will and he's completely powerless to stop it.

the worst part of it all? he doesn't want to.

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @thepup356 @risuola *users in bold could not be tagged

#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fluff

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asvtrials · 3 months ago

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Hate that I want you

Hate that i want you masterlist

part one next part idea: @floydsfae tags: @ilovejeansosomuch. @spikedfearn (inspired by) summary: Parting ways with a friend group was always hard, somehow trying to rejoin that group was even harder. Especially when a particular quick-tempered someone is rather bitter about your choices. warnings/tags: lots of swearing. friends to enemies to lovers. Bjorn is a bitter and jealous shit. angst a/n: I'm not very familiar with the Alien franchise so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies. This is my first Tumblr post and I'm not used to writing in the second-person narrative so sadly this is not my best work but I still hope you like it. English is not my first language so please be nice. word count: 2394

“Fuck no.” That was your only answer before you covered yourself with your blanket and sank even deeper into your messy bed.

“Come on, Y/n!.” The muffled voice of your friend, Kay reached your ears under the blanket before she started to pull it away from you.

“Leave me alone.” You whined while trying to hold onto the covers until eventually Kay gave up

She sighed and sat next to you on the bed. “This is gonna be good for us.” She tried to reason. “You think that idiot was your way out? This is the way out.! She shook you a bit under the covers to make sure you were actually listening.

You rolled over, unsure if she actually believed in this nonsense or was that desperate to leave Jackson’s Star. You wouldn’t blame her if she was.

You stared at her for a long moment, brows furrowed. “Who had this idea in the first place?” You asked, surprised that anyone would think this would work.

“Tyler and Navarro. They said they pick-”

“Tyler and Navarro? Damn, they are really getting desperate.” You cut her off with a scoff.

“So, are you,” Kay added.

You couldn’t deny it.

You were tired. Tired of living the same day over and over again. Wake up at 6 am to the same darkness that followed you the entire day, get ready by 6:30 am, and begin your walk to the bus station to take the overcrowded bus that drove all of the workers to the mines.

Thankfully you were able to be transferred to the kitchen, away from the cramped caves. And as sad as it sounded, that was the only good thing that happened to you in a while.

You didn’t know if it was that or the resentful feeling of your fresh breakup but you let Kay pull you out of your bed and push you into the shower. You just knew you wanted to change this overwhelming routine of the past two months.

As soon as you got dressed, the girl led you through the busy, dimply-lit streets and toward an alleyway where the rest of the crew would wait for you.

You didn't know how to feel about this reunion. You haven't really seen them in a while, spending most of your time with your now ex-boyfriend. You were surprised they even included you in this ‘mission’. You figured it was probably Kay and Tyler, possibly Navarro too.

You turned around and were greeted by the figures of your old friends, Tyler and Bjorn.

When they met your nervous stare, you noticed Tyler’s expression mirrored yours even if it was for a split second. He quickly concealed his uncertainty with a smile that reached his eyes.

“Hey, Y/n. How have you been?” Tyler chuckled and pulled you into a hug, startling you a bit but soon enough you returned the affection

“Fine, I guess—” You began but before you could continue a different voice echoed in the empty alleyway, accent thick and tone dripping with accusation.

“We weren’t sure if you'd bless us with your ladyship.”

Of course, it was no other than Bjorn who would make a comment like this. He earned a glare from Tyler but he just shrugged s as if he was just making conversation.

An annoyed smile tugged at your lips as you spoke “Seems like you didn't change. Like at all.”

Bjorn ignored your comment and turned to Kay. “If she's all caught up, we should go.”

You raised your eyebrow at the way he brushed you off but you decided to let it go. “What about Navarro, Rain, and Andy?” You asked.

“Navarro’s fixing some other parts of the ship and Rain is—” Tyler paused for a moment, sending a glance at his half-sister. You followed his eyes but Kay just smiled at you “Busy with her job,” Tyler ended up saying.

“Is Rain all right?” You asked, chuckling a bit at their failed attempt to cover the truth.

“You’d know if you weren’t too busy snogging your boyfriend every chance you got,” Bjorn remarked with a smug smirk. You could feel your blood boiling at the mention of your ex.

“Bjorn! We talked about this.” Tyler warned the boy but he just scoffed.

“What? She was gone for two months and now acts all worried! That’s a load of bollocks!” He argued, gesturing towards you with a huff.

“Oh, fuck off, Bjorn!” You raised your voice over Tyler who was about to cuss his cousin out. This was already hard enough but having Bjorn act like a massive asshole wasn’t something you were going to sit through.

You did abandon them. You were a bitch, and a bad friend, and whatever this asshat wanted to call you but you didn’t need to hear it, especially from Bjorn out of all people.

You just wanted to have a better life, at least as good as it could get in this shitty colony. A future to look forward to and Noa made it look possible. He had ambition and connections and could easily get a better job than most of the Jackson Star residents. At the time you were stupid enough to believe that he wouldn’t drop you. Yet, as soon as he bagged a job in the ‘Office of Colony Affairs’ he dumped you because, in his words, you had ‘different life goals.’

Fuck. And fuck him, and Bjorn and whoever dared to call you a whore or an opportunist. All of you had the same life goals, get the fuck out of here. That’s why you were here. As crazy as this plan sounded, at least you would be doing something to get away from this place.

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting something better for myself!” You snapped.

Bjorn ran his tongue over his teeth, letting out a low chuckle to hide his irritation “So you dropped everyone to get that.” He stated before he met your eyes once more. You didn’t know what you saw in his gaze but it wasn’t simply anger.

“I didn’t drop any of you!” You began, throwing your hands in frustration. “I kept in touch with Kay and Navarro. I asked about all of you! If you weren’t such a dick you’d realize that you made it difficult to talk to you!”

Bjorn remained quiet as if he was trying to come up with a comeback. He tore his gaze away from you when he turned around and mumbled “Whatever.”

“We should really get going now,” Kay spoke nervously, more to Tyler than anyone else.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Tyler agreed noticeably glad that the fight would come to an end, for now at least.

You sent Bjorn one last glare before following Kay and Tyler, but he didn't look all that affected.

The walk to the abandoned warehouse was rather long. A couple of years ago it was busy with workers and clients, mostly to buy components for mining haulers and gear. But right now it was collecting dust and vines so it was the perfect place to get some forgotten parts and tools.

Tyler helped Kay jump over the tall fence while you and Bjorn were already on the other side. You smiled at the sweet moment between the siblings trying to ignore the panging feeling in your chest.

You tried to ignore the intense need you had to glance at the boy next to you but you couldn’t help it. His gaze was fixated on the tall building, holding the cigarette between his fingers. You tried to push away the bitter feeling that cursed through you.

It wasn’t that long ago that he helped you the same way, finding any excuse to feel your skin under his fingertips.

But that was just a childish game you two developed. Flirting jokingly, touching a bit more than necessary to see the other’s cheeks redden and hear your friends groan in disgust. Both of you comfortably balanced on the rope between friendly banter and romantic curiosity.

When both Kay and Tyler landed on the other side of the fence, you began walking toward the building.

You stepped inside and an aerie breeze hit you, from the way Kay started to rub her shoulders you guessed the rest felt the same.

“Bloody hell…” Bjorn mumbled as he walked to the front desk which was covered in dust and some dead bugs.

“Yeah, that’s nasty.” Kay agreed, keeping close to you and Tyler.

“I’ll go check the first floor, someone should check the second,” Tyler announced the plan, staring at the sketch of the parts Novarro drew him.

The group was surrounded by silence, the four of you looking at each other awkwardly until Kay decided to make it easier for all of you. “I can go with Bjorn.” She said cheerily trying to ignore the tension.

“Good, Y/n we’ll go together” Tyler nodded toward you and started walking up the stairs.

Bjorn's loud voice stopped both of you in your tracks. Bjorn tried to sound uninterested even amused as he spoke “I see, you act all tough yet can’t even spend five minutes alone with me. Scared I’ll hurt your feelings, innit?” The way those last words fell out of his lips in such a pitying manner really struck a nerve.

You knew what he was doing. He was baiting you. You saw him do it to everyone, although you weren’t sure if Andy even could understand that he did it just to annoy him.

Still, you weren’t one to give him the satisfaction. You let out a dry chuckle as you rolled your eyes. “Bjorn and I are going to check the second floor” You declared, not bothering to turn around.

“I can go with Y/n?” Kay tried to intervene but neither you nor Bjorn listened as you walked up the stairs.

“Remember, in and out! Be quick.” You heard Tyler’s voice bounce off the walls as you continue your path to the second floor, Bjorn hot in your trail.

You entered a room as soon as you reached the second floor. By the numerous boxes and shelves filled with dirty items, this was clearly one of the storage rooms

“You search the right side, I'll search the left side,” You said when you noticed Bjorn still walking behind you.

“Don’t tell me what to do” He quickly retorted.

You let out an exasperated sigh and walked to the right side instead, ignoring his snarkiness.

Neither of you talked for a long while, putting equipment that seemed useful in your bags or simply looking through the dusty machinery.

Bjorn was the first to break the uncomfortable silence “So how are things with your boyfriend.” You didn’t miss the way his tone changed to a mocking one at the word ‘boyfriend’ but you chose to ignore it.

You stayed quiet for a moment, not sure if you wanted to answer. “We don’t have to talk.”

“Come on, I’m trying to be nice.” He spoke over the loud noise of his hand rummaging through some drawers and you could practically hear his smirk.

A groan managed to slip past your lips before you said “We broke up.”

You heard Bjorn’s movements come to a halt momentarily followed by a breathy laugh. “Can’t say I'm surprised you dumped that twat.”

You remained silent once again only saying a drawn-out “Yeah”

“Wait a fucking minute.” Bjorn laughed, walking closer to you, a smug smirk spreading on his face “He dumped you!”

The amusement in his voice made your anger flare up once again causing your face to contort in irritation but you tried to ignore it and just get the job done, practically slamming the drawer shut.

“Why did he dump you? Did he find someone that matched his status? He did get promoted to a whole-ass desk job” He snorted.

You tried to be calm, you really did but all of it was so recent “Can you just shut the fuck up for once in your life?” You exploded, making his eyes leave the shelves and focus on you. “Is it really so funny that I was dumped?”

Bjorn stared at you for a long moment, before turning to continue searching. Obviously not without a sarcastic comment. “It’s funny that he dumped you but sorry, didn’t know you were so in love.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose to try and keep your cool. “As if you know what love is?” You tried to keep your voice from shaking with anger.

Bjorn met your scowl once again but to your surprise, his expression didn’t match yours. Unlike yours, his eyes didn’t hold any rage but something that made you unable to look away as he moved closer to you, looming above you.

“I know you two weren’t.” The low tone in his voice had you breathless for a moment.

Does it even matter if you loved Noa? Falling in love was never the point.

“You don’t know anything” You spat out, your voice as intense.

He raised his eyebrow at your words, staring down into your eyes “Really?” He dragged out the word. “You were in love with that asshat? You really want me to believe that?”

“I don’t care what you believe, that’s none of your fucking business.” You bit back, taking a step closer. You wanted to remain unbothered by how the corner plush lips tugged up but the warmth that spread through your cheeks was impossible to ignore.

“You’re not answering my question.” The almost gentleness in his voice quickly disappeared as he laughed, his breath hitting your face. His fingers slowly reached up to flick a strand of your hair mockingly.

You were about to slap away his hand when you heard Kay’s voice from the corridor.

“Guys, where are you?” She shouted.

“Uh—we’re here Kay” You yelled back, stepping back from Bjorn. You really didn’t notice how close you two were standing.

Soon enough Kay’s figure appeared in the doorframe.

“Glad to see you didn’t kill each other” She joked. “We found the thing Navarro needed, we can go.” She announced.

You hated how your eyes met Bjorn’s even if it was for a second, and you hated the feeling that erupted in your stomach even more.

#this man needs more fics #alien romulus #spike fearn #bjorn alien romulus fanfiction #bjorn alien romulus fanfic #bjorn x reader #bjorn alien romulus #bjorn alien romulus x reader #somebody sedate me this man is consuming my mind

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theothernads · 2 months ago

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˖ .❛❛ 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 - 𝐘𝐉𝐖 ❞ ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

♡ྀི ₊ ❛❛𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬❞ ☰

Synopsis: ₊˚⊹♡

With the third magical academic year starting, you and Jungwon plan to have a normal school year and complete many goals. Except, you have to earn Enchantix with your frequent burn-outs, and Jungwon wants to become a full-fledged warrior and push past his anxiety. With their own goals in mind, they feel like 2 idiots that keep meeting by chance. However, when mysterious events threaten the magical kingdoms and schools, the specialists and fairies have to figure out the culprit and save the magical universe. But fate has other plans for their adventures and for your ‘coincidental’ meeting with Jungwon.

☰ TAGS: Winx Club smau, enhypen smau, slow-ass burn fic, violence, action and adventure, angst, college smau, fantasy au, strangers to lovers

╰┈➤𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 (comment or give an ask<3)

𝖸𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ��ৎ ⋆｡˚

➤ft. NewJeans, Enha, TXT, BTS, esp, Jungkook, Itzy, Le Sserafim

⚠️Warning: swearing, violence, manipulation, family problems, over-exertion, anxiety, kys joks, sexual jokes, suggestive/smut (idk, tbh??), health problems, crime

⤷do not proceed if u have a problem/sensitivity to any of those topics

ᯓᡣ𐭩[NADDI NOTES]: I am sorry for discontinuing the last Jungwon story, but um, here u go, lmao??? REBLOGS, LIKES, COMMENTS are very much appreciated <3 also, idk why the banner looks so crusty. But I promise, if u tap on it, it will look clearer. L tumblr

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⋆ཐིཋྀᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs:.ೃ࿔*:･. .☘︎ ݁˖ :

PROFILES: the fairies🧚‍♀️. || PROFILE: the specialists

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜: 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗥𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘇𝘃𝗼𝘂𝘀 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

CHAPTER 1: back here again

CHAPTER 2: WE DID NOT FUCK

CHAPTER 3: the "W word"😭

CHAPTER 4: stress-baking

CHAPTER 5: I'm not into apex predators😒

CHAPTER 6: OH, it's YOU⁉️

CHAPTER 7: I may die??

CHAPTER 8: Why i don't f with dragons

CHAPTER 9: ur kinda a snitch 😐

CHAPTER 10: I'm not stressed abt a girl 🧍🏻‍♀️

CHAPTER 11: Drama Queen

CHAPTER 12: Attention hoe

CHAPTER 13: oh...

Tba...

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Do not copy/reupload my work. All rights are reserved to me. I worked hard to create my plot, so do not steal any of it otherwise you will be reported immediately, and I will have a go at you.

Any locations, characters used in this book DO NOT have a relevance to real life. Any event resembling anything to real life is coincidence. I do not condone harmful behaviours. This is fiction. It is all for entertainment purposes.

☰ [ENHA NAVIGATION]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊[TAGLIST]: @dreamiestay @melancholy-z @n1k1mura @wensurr @jiiyen @jwonistic @lo-la17 @sol3chu @firstclassjaylee @luumiinaa @xwonz

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bucknastysbabe · 1 year ago

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Rating: Explicit

Tags: Exhibitionism, infidelity, Aegon’s a dick in this one but it’s bc he’s Insecure, voyeur-ish, oral f!receiving, Criston Lives To Serve Women, one-sided feelings, doggy-style, pnv!sex, multiple orgasms, it Appears Mr. Cole is being Used but nah she wants to crawl inside his armor, BI AEGON RIGHTS!!!!

A/N: This was alternately labeled ‘Mr. Criston dicks down’

Criston dragged Aegon’s limp form into the bed, carelessly throwing the stinking wretch into the fine bedding. Once again picked up from a night out, the knight had received a tip from a gold cloak that your idiot husband was getting fucked with the curtains opened, the blonde’s loud moans and pink prick on display for all to see on the Street of Silk.

Aegon mumbled and rolled on his side, covering his face with a pillow, snoring within seconds. You could still see the slick stains on the seat of his ass and frowned. He’d take cocks before he drank enough to take you. You held your arms around your robed waist and murmured, “Thank you Ser.” You couldn’t bear laying back down beside him. Misery wafted off you in waves.

Criston remained silent, presence looming, warm leather sliding along the bared crook of your neck. The brunette thumbed at the rigid muscles at the base of your skull— always drawn tight. You feebly moaned, falling back into his intimate embrace. His other hand possessively splayed across your waist to your stomach, fingertips tightening just-so.

The knight murmured, “He’s so much easier like this. I can feel you relaxing already.”

Your shoulders were unbearably tense. Criston moved his other hand to clamp down on your tender muscles. It was a pleasant feeling, warm pressure aided by softened leather. His familiar scent engulfed you, the man nosing at your hair and inhaling.

Lulled from your lover’s warm hands and presence you whispered, “He dishonors me. My entire family.” Criston dug the heels of his palms into your muscles, earning another helpless moan. The knight growled, “I know sweetling. I know”, his grip tightened, “I thought about leaving the sot and taking you in this bed all night. He’s like a poison vine, crawling atop everything, leaving it’s mark.”

You turned up to look at Criston’s thinned lips, thick brows furrowed and dark eyes boring into Aegon. You reached up to caress a stubbled cheek, soften his raging frustrations. He let out a deep breath, the leather vice on your body loosening.

Cautiously you turned further, now facing your dear knight. He looked upset still, swearing, “He has no shame. No cares. Fucking fool, as much as I cared and loved for the boy.” Now your smaller hands held his tanned face, catching those dark orbs, immediately softening upon your gaze.

“Do not fret Criston, you’ve eased the burn, burdened what you did not have to. I’m blessed to have you in my arms.

The brunette swallowed thickly, emotions welling. He croaked, “I’d never not stand against who dishonors the future queen. All of those limping lordlings can attest to that. I’m blessed further to have you, Princess. I’ll take your burdens until I leave this world.”

He leant down to take your lips, gentle and kind. Your palms snuck up into his pretty curls, lightly tugging and scratching his scalp. Criston sighed against your breath, tongues dancing in an experienced form. His big hands made slow circles from your waist, hips, to ass. The white knight kneaded at the softer flesh, groaning your name.

Only the sound of Aegon’s drunken snoring intertwined with your heightening breath and soft sighs of pleasure. You asked against his moist lips, eyes fervent, “Take me, I need you love.” Dark brown sought your own, Criston’s eyes moving to and fro. He eyed the defiled Aegon and nodded briskly.

“If he awakes, this could go very wrong my princess,” he murmured with a worried gaze.

“If he awakes I hope he feels dishonored as I have been. He’d probably think it was a dream.”

The blonde actually had no clue. He was too self-absorbed, laughed off the japes about the white knight over his wife, under the bed. Aegon would laugh, “I think the sot still burns over my cunt sister, how tragic. The bastards might’ve been his.” He’d eye you, lips pouting, body stiff, “Afraid you and the ‘Realms Delight’ have little in common. I think he likes a little fire.”

Criston physically flipped you out of the horrid memory. Your upper body was pinned to the bed, eyes gazing up at those bite-swollen lips and messy white hair. You wanted him to hurt, just as you and your lover had. Turning your head to face the Dornishman you undid the robe and lay bare to his gaze now, always undone by the look of reverence.

“Gods, you’re so beautiful, let me have a taste first? Please princess?,” he begged, eyes shiny and wide, desperation pitching his voice. You nodded assent, mouth falling open as his perfect lips kissed your rapidly swelling cunt. He moaned into you, gloves carelessly tossed by now, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin.

He gripped at your thighs while lapping up to that precious bundle, stubble scraping against delicate skin. You writhed backwards, crying out softly and grabbing a handful of thick curls. “C-Criston, oh, ha!”

He’d slipped two big fingers inside a now-weeping cunt, wet mouth suckling at your button. The man had to hold a hip to keep you down, shaking apart at the seams. You were whimpering and yanking at his hair, cunny shivering and twitching around Criston’s crooked fingers— lazily beckoning your orgasm to make its way down.

He shoved a third finger in and flicked the hood of your bud, once, twice, then in rapid succession with an expert tongue. Now you didn’t even hold back the wail, finishing messily on your lover’s face. He groaned and lapped, purring little praises, big hands still kneading trembling flesh. You wanted more, now, let your dear Criston consume you.

He huffed a laugh when you slowly hiked a leg up, then another, exposing your puffy core to him. Criston breathed against your skin, a lilt to his tone, “Are you needy sweetling? Need my cock while your fool husband is sleeping in the same bed?” He snickered while getting up to loosen his breeches and some outer armor.

“I wonder if he’s even moved? I had a better view than you, my princess.”

You sneered over your shoulder, “Lucky you, hm?”

Criston grinned as he eased one knee onto the bed, hand guiding his heavy cock forward. You whined again, the blunt tip practically a tease. Reaching backwards with a grunt you pulled his hips flush to your ass. There was a dull slap, your cry of ecstasy, Criston’s winded ‘fuck!’

He smacked your ass and growled, “Not needy, ravenous,” he pressed his warm body to your back, “absolutely ravenous.” You nodded in jerks, skin erupting into a sweat, goosebumps up and down your bared skin. Criston’s sculpted lips kissed and mouthed against your nape, winding your hair around his left hand.

You stuttered weakly, “C-come on my l-love, s’full.”

He grinned against your skin, shoving his lean hips forward. The knight murmured in a teasing lilt, “Mhm dove? Feel how much I desire you? How you drive me insane? I’ll ruin you for any other— including that one.”

He punctuated the end of the sentence with a pointed thrust, jerking your head upwards to stare at Aegon’s puffy face. He was still out, twitching a bit. You mewled, “You already have, take me- take me!” Keeping tanned skin plastered to your own, he fucked you rough and quick.

You had no time to adjust— grunts and cries forced out by his ever-moving cock. The brunette’s right hand held your waist, crooking your back for a better angle. He still had your head facing Aegon, gloating in the debauchery in front of your husband’s face.

You bucked back onto the familiar girth, whining your white knight’s name. He didn’t let up, abusing your already sensitive cunt. Although still were a bit tender from earlier, the burn was exquisite. Your hands wrenched in the bedspread were ordered by your lover to grope at your tits, play around with an overused clit.

He panted into your ear, “Such a good sweetling, s-sucking me in, keep it up.”

You turned to meet his lips, sloppily mashing your mouth against his. Criston whined deep in in his chest, opening up to drag his tongue across yours. It was a messy affair, the pair of you too busy chanting litanies of sweet names between swears. His hips began to drag into disjointed little grinds, Criston’s pretty eyes scrunching tight.

He begged against your drooling lips, “C’mon- haaah- c’mon.” He helplessly gasped and jerked into your tightening cunt. You nodded, eyes lidded and hazy, promising, “I’m right there, oh my love, my sweetheart.” Reaching up to caress his stubbled cheek you looked forward. Criston was whining softly against your face with his eyes closed and mouth agape, so lovely, the picture of erotic pleasure.

Aegon’s violet eyes were a different story. They were open in shock, staring dead on. His plush lips opened, closed, opened— gaping like a fish. At that moment Criston struck gold and you seized with a high cry, wailing your lover’s name. The orgasm that hit you was extra sweet layered with self-satisfaction.

Criston stuttered, “O-oh gods, gods, fuckyesyesyes, I’m coming for you, yes!” He shoved his face into the crook of your neck, pretty nose mashed into your skin as he moaned long and whorish. You gasped, grinning, cooing, “That’s it my love, fill me up, yes, good boy.”

Aegon’s plush lips wobbled, his face blotchy with something. Did he really expect you to cry and wait for his attention all this time? The knight beside and inside you came to, lashes fluttering. He laughed, “You’re dreaming princeling, go back to sleep.”

The blonde croaked, “But she’s mine.” He was dumbfounded, still drunk out of his mind. Tears gathered in those Valyrian eyes. You couldn’t help but giggle at Criston’s ploy. Purring with satisfaction you added, “Roll over fool, you’ll wake up with a pounding head and a wife that doesn’t fuck your Kingsguard. Although she dreams of it.”

Aegon looked lost and sad but did so, rolling over and away from you two. Criston laid a possessive peck on your cheekbone, snickering, “Didn’t think he’d get all weepy about it.” You shrugged and replied, “Good. If he wasn’t such a brat I wouldn’t play this off. Need you too much.”

The brunette grinned easily, nosing against you. He rasped, “True. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up dove.” He slid out with a hiss and the pair of you got quickly dressed— lest Aegon awaken again. You sent off the sweet knight with one more kiss, him escorting you to your separate chambers for the night. You wouldn’t sleep next to the drunk sot.

“Would you fuck Cole if you had the chance?,” Aegon asked abruptly during breakfast. It was just the two of you, the prince requesting a private audience. You raised a brow while nibbling on cheese, humming, “Why would you ask that? I’m sworn to you.”

He frowned, sagging into his chair, eyes rimmed and red. He muttered, “Had a strange dream, you were fucking Cole in our bed last night.” You laughed, a sudden burst. The prince hissed, “It wasn’t a joke, nor very pleasant. He’s a dumb dog, loyal to whoever throws a bone.”

You replied, “He’s merely chivalrous. Pretty face. Shame he’s common-born.” Aegon scoffed, biting into his meal.

“You’ll have no one but me,” he stated.

“Of course, husband dearest. You do love to remind me of that,” you said absently.

Aegon leveled you with a look, an attempt to intimidate. All you saw was fear. The prince’s crippling fear of being alone. Oh. It felt so good. You hoped next time he doesn’t fully wake up.

#hotd fanfic #hotd smut #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #Criston cole imagine #one-sided Aegon #ser criston cole smut

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baddestbittyontheblock · 1 year ago

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tasm!peter parker fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

「❀」 earn it. by @3vergr3en fem!reader x tasm!peter parker | smut with little plot (public sex, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT), nipple play, orgasm control, peter has an obvious breeding kink, cream pie, choking, teasing, profanity, name-calling, humiliation, dirty talk, jealousy, established marriage.), 2.9K

-harry is hosting a birthday party for his best friend, peter. Everything runs smoothly until y/n’s best friend back in high school shows up and start flirting with the female. oblivious y/n doesn’t think much of it, being used to such playful manner. but peter can see through the man’s facade, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

「❀」 needy by @webslingingslasher tasm!peter parker x reader | angst

-peter parker and reader getting into an argument based off of peter parker saying something to his friends behind readers back about reader that hurts her feelings

「❀」 “stop it you’re being mean” by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader

-“If we’re really being honest here, honey, I don’t think that’s what it’s about, at all.”

「❀」 changed the wording around, still fits. by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader

-"why do you seem upset?" "why the hell do you think..."

「❀」 want you to be okay by @lovelyspooks tasm!peter parker x reader | fluff (at the start) but then angst with no comfort, uncommunicated feelings, 1.6k

-you're peter parkers main priority, he makes sure you know that but lately you feel second best to the city you both love

「❀」 smut blurb by @berrieluv peter parker x reader | mentions of sex

-peter and reader r having sex and he's really rough but at some point he hurts her bc of his powers he got after the spider bite. and then he just takes care of her and its cute and soft

「❀」 in the real world by @luveline tasm!peter parker x fem!reader | canon typical violence, bleeding, swearing, fluff, angst, hospitals, mutual pining, idiots in love, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, 5.4k

-you notice something about spider-man during a violent villain showdown, then you have to save his life.

「❀」 drunk!peter mini fic by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader

-drunk!peter and he’s all over reader telling her how he wants to marry her and being handsy

「❀」 honeybody by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader | fluff, friendship, idiots in love, falling in love, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, intimacy, the intangible breadth of the human experience or something similar, mentioned/implied past self-harm, 12k

-something about music makes you desperate to feel it. something about peter, pretty and magnetic and light, multiplies this immeasurably. or, you and peter want to try everything

「❀」 frat!peter by @withahappyrefrain frat!tasm!peter parker x reader | 18+

-frat!peter going from feral sex beast to passionate youre the only person that matter to me sex

「❀」 3 is the magic number by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader | smut (strong breeding kink, soft dom Peter, overstimulation, creampies, daddy kink, choking, did I mention breeding kink? also peter having baby fever.)

-you and peter decide it's time to start trying to expand your family

「❀」 peter mini fic by @bruisedboys tasm!peter x shy!fem!reader | 0.7k

-peter gets really excited for you when you do things for yourself like a dork. like ordering for yourself or asking for help at the stores finding something. it’s so basic but peter knows you struggle so he just gets really excited 4 u

「❀」 min peter fic by ^ tasm!peter x clumsy!reader | 0.7k

-you’re still in the process of patching yourself up when peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big band-aids waiting for you on the coffee table.

「❀」 tequila makes me sleepy by @cosmal tasm!peter parker x fem!afab!reader | drunk!reader, mentions of gross guys sexualizing reader

-pete comes to find you at a party after you call him.

「❀」 your girl by @lanadelreyscokewhor3 boyfriend! teter x girlfriend! reader | some swearing, and vomiting ofc. but petnames and lots of fluff:))

-“m’peter i’m done. no more.” you moaned, your body feeling weak and achey as you leaned against your forehead against the toilet seat.

「❀」 boyfriend! peter thoughts by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader

-always sitting on his lap. always. whenever you’re in his room and he’s at his desk doing work he pats his knee and you trot over and sit on his knee and he bounces it slightly while he explains his work while you just listen and nod

「❀」 ridiculous by @peterthepark tasm!peter parker x f!reader | 18+ graphic smut, not much plot, nsfw brainrot, blonde and fratboy peter parker, unprotected sex, kinda public sex, bathroom sex, mentions of smoking and party drugs, swearing as always

-peter parker was ridiculous, especially with that new hair of his. but deep down, you wanted nothing more than to experience one night with the douchebag of a blonde.

「❀」 extremely ridiculous by ^ tasm!peter parker x f!reader | smut (18+ graphic smut, rough sex, dirty talk, religious themes, partie, nsfw brainrot, blond peter parker, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking and alcohol consumption, swearing, sexualized halloween costumes, daddy kink, some roleplay, fingering, oral sex, slapping and pain kink, mentions of anal, just pure filth with 9k)

-ever since the bathroom incident, you’re the first person that peter parker looks for in every party. halloween is sinful, but so is the way you look at him from across the room. recommend reading the first part

「❀」 smut blurb by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader | graphic smut and stuff

-peter uses his webs to keep you still during sex

「❀」 peter parker imagine by @mareagirls tasm!peter parker x reader

-peter and reader are on a date, but reader feels nauseous. but, reader doesn’t want to tell peter because a: they’ve both been super busy lately between spider-man duties and college and/or work and b: because even if reader won’t admit it, being vulnerable and being taken care of kind of scares them. but peter finds out/figured it out and wants to help and fluff ensues.

「❀」 i say i hate you with a smile on my face by @stylesparker college!tasm!peter parker x fem!reader | 4k

-peter is fairly certain he should not have come to this party. the “friend” that he came with from one of his classes, he doesn’t exactly remember which one, ditched him as soon as they got to the door.

「❀」 kiss me more by @spidernerdsblog tasm!peter parker x reader | 18+, smut, minors dni, 69 (m & f receiving)

-your dad is the chief of NYPD and isn't fond of your boyfriend's secret alias spiderman but that doesn't stop him from sneaking into your room at night for a few kisses and a little more.

「❀」 morning after by ^ peter parker x stark!reader | 18+, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

-last night after a drunk hookup you and peter aren't quite sure you used protection or not.

「❀」 size issues by ^ tasm!peter parker x reader

-you prank your husband by getting the wrong size of bra just to see his reaction.

「❀」 i'll crawl home to her by @embrassemoi tasm!peter parker x f!reader | 18+, fluff, nsfw, oral (m), light sub/dom, soft smut, mentions of violence, injuries + blood, thigh riding, cleaning wounds, bit of plot (?)

-After a long day, all Peter wants is a bit of love and someone to take care of him.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker smut #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spiderman smut #smut #fic recs #peter parker imagine #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!spiderman x reader

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kaylopolis · 5 months ago

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Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Fifteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

The amount of mental gymnastics I did trying to figure out where hands and legs went while trying to write this...

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Fifteen - Heaven's Worst Kept Secret

Content Warning: MINORS DNI!!!!! Mentions of abuse, Smut, Bondage, Obsession, (let me know if I missed any!)

“Fuck!” Velvette landed face-first on the floor, Vox next to her.

The media demon was silent as he picked himself up, his body bruised and broken. He limped over to the couch, his head hanging low as he leaned against the back of it for support.

Velvette went straight for Vox’s new desk and began furiously typing as the computers reloaded. You had triggered a system reset when you sent Vox’s mind buffering, but the Vees had a failsafe set in place after the last time Alastor cut the wires. With cracked fingernails, she pulled up footage of the fight on the numerous monitors Vox had stitched together into one giant screen.

“She used me,” Vox mumbled to himself in disbelief.

Velvette didn’t even dignify his groveling with a response. The brat demon continued to swipe through the footage, desperately searching for a particular frame.

“She used me for him?” Vox was still trying to put the pieces together as if his brain itself was also reloading.

“Oh, shut it!” Velvette snapped. Her nose continued to drip down her face, leaving red dots scattered across the keyboard.

There! Velvette froze the two frames she was looking for and blew them up on the computer. The brat stomped over to Vox, grabbed him by an antennae, and dragged him to the screen.

“Look at this and tell me what you see,” she demanded.

Vox shook his head. “Wait.” He jumped back from her grip, wincing when he stepped on his bad ankle. “Are you making another plan? We lost, Velvette! We fucking lost!”

“No shit, Sherlock, but if you…”

“No ‘but’s, Velv! It’s over! Don’t you get that!?”

Velvette choked, tears in her eyes, “Vox-!”

Vox cupped her face rather harshly, forcing her to look and understand the words that escaped his speakers, “He’s dead. Val is dead and isn’t coming back.”

She shook him off. “And you’re just gonna let him die, are you? Let it all be for fuckin’ nothing!?” Velvette shoved him. Vox fell into the back of the couch, wincing on his bad leg.

“We lost, Velvette! There isn’t anything to do!”

“You’re just saying that because your ex picked her over you. Well, newsflash, you bloody idiot, there’s a reason Alastor turned you down! Because you’re a fuckin’ pussy!”

Vox gave up. The two of them have been fighting since Valentino’s death - Velvette in particular. She had done nothing but push him away, ordering him around as her master plan slowly fell into place. Vox had put up with it because it was rational, wasn’t it? No one processes grief the same, and everyone needs time to process. Vox had chosen to isolate himself, barely getting up off the couch, using Val’s old Fizz bots to bring him snacks and junk food, which he had gorged himself on for days. He spent days in the same suit until Velvette forced him to change by dumping a bucket of water on his head.

Yeah, it wasn’t nice, but she still managed to get him up and moving, and for that, he was grateful. Until his patience ran out, and he found himself snapping back at her. Meeting her anger with his own growing irritation. It was only a matter of time before they were at each other’s throats. It's the reason they split up the party to take down the Radio Demon and the Shadow separately - it was not a strategy at first. The rest of the plan was built from there.

That is probably why they lost. The Vees were always stronger together, but they weren’t “The Vees” anymore. They hadn’t been since you murdered Valentino. Velvette liked to claim that she was the backbone of their trio, but when it came down to it, she wasn’t.

“Fine.” Vox spat, but his words lacked anger. “You want to go after Alastor and that damn Angel, be my guest, but I’m done.”

“Pussy!” She screamed after him as he disappeared behind the door.

Velvette turned back to the screen. Damn, Angel…

The demon tutted, an idea forming in her brain. “I wonder if Heaven knows it’s missing an Angel?” She clacked her broken nails against the screen, a wicked smile forming on her face. She had pulled up a still image of you and a separate one of Lucifer. While you and Vox had your pissing contest regarding your lack of relationship, Velvette was focusing on other matters. Most notably, trying to figure out why Hell’s King was beneath your robe and not you. He hadn’t been seen around Hell since Lilith left him. So why show up now?

Velvette spun as she laughed, “Especially one who looks so much like a Morningstar...”

Oh, but how to tell Heaven?

An idea sprang forth, a memory of an ad she had seen hundreds of times while flipping through her phone. Velvette pulled out her phone and dialed.

There was a musical jingle before someone answered: “Hello, thank you for calling, C.H.E.R.U.B., how may we bless you today?”

____________________________________________

You woke to sunlight beaming through the curtains and soft jazz playing through Alastor’s radio. It was early - morning - you had slept through the late afternoon into the next day. The world smelled of rain as you turned over in Alastor’s silk sheets. They were cool to the touch, which would be nice if you were someone who ran hot - like Alastor - but you were forever cursed to be cold. Instinctively, you reached out, searching for that well of warmth, and jumped when your hand came into contact with nothing but fur.

Alastor lay next to you, his arms folded beneath a pillow, his face propped up next to yours. The demon’s red irises sparkled in the morning light, his gaze wholly fixated on your sleeping form. He lay shirtless on his belly, the red sheets hooked around his waist. His hair was a tangled mess atop his head - a serious case of bedhead that made you smile.

Alastor beamed when he finally realized you were awake. His tail beneath the sheets wagged, tossing the blankets aside to reveal the red and black tuft at the crest of his hips. It was adorable, and it only made you grin wider when you realized Alastor was completely naked in bed with you.

Your gaze drifted across his broad shoulders and down his back to his slim waist. Who knew a back could be sculpted? Who knew men even had hard ridges that moved with their very breath? So many Angels you’ve trained who grew muscles on top of muscles until they were disgustingly large, but not Alastor. He was slim but carried with him a defined tone as if chiseled by Heaven itself - an image worthy of the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling.

God, if only the sheets would fall a little lower.

“Bonjour, mon cœur. Comment as-tu dormi? Good morning, my heart. How did you sleep?” Alastor ran a hand down the side of your cheek, his fingers playing with your wild hair.

Normally, you hated mornings - you were a total grump before that first cup of coffee. Had anyone tried to speak to you in French this early, you’d have turned over and groveled, but today you were beaming. All too eager to please the Overlord, all too excited to impress him with your French as well.

“Commes le morts, Like the dead,” you giggled, hiding your face behind the sheets.

Alastor’s eyes sparked. The demon snaked his arms under the sheets and yanked you by your waist beneath him. The sheets came with you, separating your skin from his - a God-forsaken barrier. His arms framed your face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Tu parles avec un accent du sud-ouest. You speak with a Southwestern accent.”

“Oui,” you smiled, tilting your chin up. The wisp ends of the demon’s hair tickled your cheeks as you leaned in, but Alastor playfully pulled away, a claw pulling on your lower lip.

“Et où as-tu appris ça? And where did you learn that?” The demon whispered, his eyes wholly on your lips.

The Southwestern accent, associated with the city of Toulouse, is considered to be “sexy.” While some Parisians find it provincial, others think it exotic. That may or may not have been a contributing factor to why you chose that particular accent. As an Angel, you could switch languages at will, but switching accents… Well, now you were just showing off.

“Je... Qu'est-ce que c'est? I… What is that?” Something behind Alastor’s head caught your attention.

On the underbelly of the canopy was a large figure drawn in green. `

“That,” Alastor ran his lips along your cheek and across your jawline, not even bothering to look up, “is the reason why you didn’t burn down my apartment last night.”

Your face heated. Last night… Last night, when you and Alastor… got into it, there was no fire, no static, no magic of any kind destroying the world around you. At the time, you knew it was because of Alastor, but you didn’t know exactly how he did it.

“It’s a vèvè,” you sat up to get a better look, holding the satin sheets from slipping below your breasts.

“Hmm,” Alastor sat behind you, his eyes on your hair as he answered, “Papa Loko’s vèvè.”

“When…” You turn to find Alastor lying on his back, his chest and abs in full view. You’ve seen his muscles before, and although the sight of them still made heat pool in your belly, you were woefully caught off guard by the happy trail of red that started just below his belly button and disappeared beneath the sheets, most likely ending at the base of his -.

Oh, my God. You turned away, forcing your mind to focus on the symbol above.

You could hear Alastor audibly smirk.

A vèvè is a kind of symbol, a cosmogram, a visual representation of the spirits and deities honored in Voodoo. In Haitian Voodoo, Papa Loko is known for his healing powers and association with the wind. His role is that of protector, and his vèvè depicts a snake coiled around a vertical axis. It was a symbol of protection, the source of magic that had allowed the two of you to indulge but not destroy.

You breathed, your body tingling with anticipation, “When did you draw that up there?”

The demon ran a hand through your hair, collecting the silver locks and brushing them over your opposite shoulder. The demon had an unobstructed view of your neck, of the bruises and little nicks in your skin, and, more importantly, of the bite mark. The bite mark Alastor left on your skin, claiming you, marking you as his.

“Before or after the Vees fake kidnapped you?” You asked, trying your best to ignore his hands on you.

Alastor wasn’t listening. His mind was on the teeth marks in your skin, trailing his claw amongst them, replaying each one in his memory.

“Before or after Mardi Gras?”

The demon didn’t answer, pulling away, he organized the pillows so he could rest comfortably against the headboard.

Suddenly, the answer hit you. “Our meeting.”

You gasped when Alastor easily picked you up by your hips and seated you between his legs. The demon pulled you against him. Your back flushed with his chest.

“You thought I was going to return and try to…”

Alastor pressed a kiss to your shoulder, a soft peck. Your mind went blank with the feel of his lips on your skin.

“Yes, mon couer?” You could hear the sideways grin in his voice as his hands fell to your hips. They roamed the skin of your waist, the curve of your silhouette, relishing in the feel of you between his legs.

The way Alastor wiped your mind with just a touch…

“You thought I was a threat,” your head lolled back, resting in the fluff of his chest. “I’m honored.”

Alastor smiled as he kissed you again, slowly working his way to the crook of your neck… The demon smelled of rain, of musk, of vanilla.

“Why am I just now noticing this?” You breathed, your heart rate spiking as Alastor ran his tongue over a particularly sore bruise. He was making it so hard to think.

“Because I allow you,” Alastor’s voice was deep. His words filter across your senses with a smoky edge. The radio static fizzed out, leaving behind nothing but his own natural, raw vocals.

Allow you? Oh… That’s why you couldn’t smell him… Well, not at first, but slowly, you’ve been able to pick up more and more. You wondered if he knows that you can feel his static before he enters a room, if he had conscious control over that?

The demon pressed his lips to the mark at the crook of your neck, to the wound in the shape of his teeth, and licked.

“Oh, Heaven,” you choked.

Alastor’s hands ran up your sides to cup your breasts. You let the sheet fall then, the cold air leaving goosebumps across your skin. Your fingers went straight to his hair, to his ears.

You tugged.

Alastor’s hips bucked as he growled, his dick hardening against your backside perfectly in line with your ass. The demon squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples between forefinger and thumb.

“Alastor,” you moaned his name, the heat pooling between your legs.

You whine when his hands leave your breasts, The demon bent his legs, his hooves flat on the bed. You gasped when he grabbed your knees and hooked them around his, opening your legs, and baring you to the world.

Alastor nipped at your ear lobe, eliciting his favorite noise, the yelp between your teeth.

Pressing his lips to your ear, he whispers, “Be a good girl and lift up.”

The demon slips his cock from beneath you, slick with precum. You can feel the heat of him between your legs as you settle back down, his shaft nuzzled against your center. Alastor gripped his shaft and slowly stroked. You watched, not only in awe - Jesus, that thing was inside of you !? - but because you wanted to learn.

You’ve been in God’s realm for thousands of years and never had you touched a man. Eve bedded everything and everyone, but you didn’t stay and watch. She’d talk of her sexual conquests, but you never really listened, too busy trying to sort out why others were so interested in sex, let alone why they’d want to partake with a complete stranger.

Here. Now. You wanted to learn because you wanted to make Alastor feel as good as he made you feel. You wanted to feel the demon squirm under your touch, to bring him the satisfaction of completion all on your own.

Alastor released his hold, and his cock sprang back, smacking your clit and making you jump.

The demon laughed as he trailed a line of searing kisses up your neck, his other hand tracing your silhouette. He paused at your breast to squeeze. You tried to rub your knees together, wishing for some sort of friction between your legs, but Alastor held your legs open firmly. You whined when his hand dropped lower, drawing little circles with his fingers across your skin.

It didn’t feel possessive so much as it seemed like he was contemplating clever ways to torture you. He brought his mouth to your neck again and nipped. All the while, his hand drifted lower and lower, finding the inside of your thigh. You tried to scoot lower, to feel his shaft grind against your center, but Alastor’s hand on your thigh stopped you.

“Alastor, this is torture,” you pouted, your hands going behind you to find his hair. You searched for his ears, hoping to find a way to force his hand, but the demon lifted his head back, leaving you just out of reach.

“I made you a promise, mon couer, to spend hours drawing orgasm after orgasm until you beg me to stop, until you’re screaming my name in agony, until your dying for my cock.”

For the love of Christ, this man and his words!

“You want me to beg?” You whined, your fingers gripping his hair.

The demon smiled. With his free hand, Alastor ran two fingers up his shaft, collecting a drop of cum on the pads of his fingers. “Oh, no, darling.” He rubbed the white fluid between his two fingers and thumb. “I want you screaming.”

And then plunged those two fingers inside of you.

You gasped as he sank to the first knuckle, his thumb finding your clit. The demon stroked, his fingers wet with his cum as he circled your center. With each pump of his fingers, Alastor matched it by stroking his cock, chasing his own pleasure as you gasped atop of him.

With the demon at your back, his fingers naturally curled upward, immediately hitting your g-spot with every pump of his hand. The feeling was already too much, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a pace you knew would leave you sore afterward. Alastor wanted you to cum, and he wanted it fast. Instinctively, your hips rolled, eliciting a growl from the demon. He thrusted hard, your breasts bouncing with every stroke of your core.

Jesus Christ, he was finger fucking you with his cum.

The demon dropped his dick, his hand coming to your breast and pinching your nipple - hard. A scream stopped in your throat as you arched off of him, your only leverage, the fingers you had wrapped in his hair. It wasn’t enough; with the force Alastor’s hand was fucking you with, he was going to knock you right off him.

You dropped his locks, forgoing his hair for his antlers. The demon growled as you wrapped your hands around the base of his rack, the bone thicker, sprouting a few extra prongs than normal. Alastor’s strokes turned demanding as you writhed on top of him, your breath coming in shallow bursts, your pulse pounding through every glorious inch of your body.

Fuck, you were close already, and you had just begun.

And then Alastor adds a third finger, and not once but twice, and you’re over the edge, your body shaking as the orgasm rides through your body. His fingers continue to pump, riding you through your high until you slump back down into him.

The demon doesn’t give you a moment to breathe.

Alastor shadows you. Suddenly, you’re on your feet, your chest pressed into the mattress, you’re ass high in the air. The juices from your orgasm trickle down your inner thigh as he hooks an arm around your legs, squeezing them together to create the perfect amount of friction as he seats his cock between your legs. He pumps forward and backward a few times, his head hitting your overly sensitive clit.

It’s too soon after your orgasm. Your body hasn’t had a chance to fully come back down yet. So every stroke of his cock against your center is sensory overload.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Alastor moans. The demon presses down on the back of your neck, his fingers wrapped around your throat, forcing you into the mattress.

“Yes,” you pant, squeezing your thighs harder, driving him against your clit. Jesus, you don’t know if you can do this. You’re nerves are on fire, it’s too much, too overwhelming.

“Cum on my cock,” he commands, his voice labored with his thrusts. You barely register the command, your mind going numb yet overloaded at the same time.

The pressure builds, and your body tenses, but Alastor holds fast to you, keeping up the pace and rhythm. He grows harder by the second, and you can feel every ridge of him against your slickness.

“Cum for me,” Alastor commands again.

“I… I can’t,” you pant.

Suddenly, Alastor wraps his arms under yours. With one hand, he palms your breast, and the other wraps around your throat. He pulls you up, flush against him, and squeezes hard, cutting off your air supply and surely bruising your nipple.

And it's enough. You cry out, orgasming for the second time in a row, muscles and nerves blinking. Your knees buckle beneath you, but Alastor holds you up as wave after wave crashes through you, a guttural groan escaping your lips.

The demon slows his strokes, his cock grinding between your legs with a slick wet sound. God, you had made a mess.

“Good girl,” he kisses your throat before slowly allowing you to collapse onto the bed once more.

You have but a moment to breathe before something slithers around your wrists. You jerk away to find one of Alastor’s tentacles knotting around itself.

Fuck, this isn’t over.

The black tendrils pull you back on your feet, your toes barely scraping the floor. You spin, coming face-to-face with Alastor. The demon has a fire in his eyes akin to that of the look he gets just before he murders someone.

Holy shit, this seriously isn’t over.

Alastor closes the distance between the two of you and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Sweat beads down your forehead and his as the demon strokes his cock, a dark, devious fire burning in his aura. “One more,” Alastor whispers against your mouth.

You groan, but don’t deny him.

Something soft slithers up your leg, you look down to see a tendril winding its way up your calf. You gasp when Alastor cups your chin and forces your gaze up again, forcing you to look into his eyes as the tendril makes its way up your thigh and between your legs. A sharp gasp escapes your throat when it finds your center and flicks your clit.

Oh, God.

“One more,” you moan, your eyelashes heavy, fluttering against your cheeks.

You can do this. One more.

The demon smiles, kissing you softly. He hooks your legs over his elbows as another tendril snakes its way around your middle before slithering north, teasing your nipple, squeezing your breast.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan loudly as Alastor seats the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushes in but an inch and stops.

You pout, ready to open your mouth in protest, but find Alastor’s eyes gleaming. His smile goes sideways, as it normally does when he’s up to something clever.

He wants you to beg.

“Please,” you moan, feeling your walls twitch around nothing, your body feeling empty, the memory of how much he filled you last night playing over and over again in your head. His tendrils continued to flick and pinch, building your need but not giving your body what it truly demanded.

“Please, Alastor,” you begged. You, the almighty Archangel, were begging a Human Sinner to fuck you.

“Please, what?” Alastor purred. The narcissist in him was eating this up, only heightening his sexual arousal.

“Please, fuck me,” you twitch as the tendril flicks your clit. “I need you in me.” You were on the edge of pain with the caress of pleasure at this point.

Alastor leans in close, his dick hard as stone but still barely inside of you, “As you command, mon couer.”

And then he slams into you, his cock fully seated to the hilt, his head brushing the entrance to your cervix. Alastor fucks you so hard your teeth clack together, the squelching of your slickness with every thrust. If it weren’t for the tendrils, he would have launched you.

The build of pleasure is slow this time, your nerves still trying to reload from the last round, but Alastor is relentless. He was going to forcibly pull this orgasm from you if it's the last thing he does. The demon’s claws dig into the fat of your hips, drawing little pebbles of golden liquid to the surface as he pulls you down into him with every thrust.

It’s a mercy that Alastor doesn’t last long. He’s been edging even before you came the second time. He’s been holding himself back, forcing his own orgasm away until he was seated inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” Alastor chokes before he slams into you, unloading into you, filling you with cum.

With a flick of Alastor’s tendril, the growing wetness between your legs, you fall over the edge with him. This orgasm is both pain and pleasure, the sense of free falling but also crash landing as Alastor continues to pump, your walls twitching around every hard ridge of him.

You stay locked together for what feels like forever, sticky, sweaty, and spent. Alastor’s forehead finds yours as he slumps into you, his cock throbbing out the last of his pleasure.

Jesus - fucking - Christ, he wasn’t kidding when he made those promises.

With the help of his magic, Alastor lowers the both of you onto his bed. “Tu seras ma perte, mon couer, You will be my undoing, my heart,” the demon breathes into your hair as he cuddles up to your side. The two of you lay there and breathe, waiting for your minds to return your bodies.

You get it now. All those nights Eve spent chasing sex, all those morning walks of shame, all those people sneaking out in the early hours of the day… If any of it them half as good as Alastor was, it would have been worth it.

You laugh at the thought.

“What is so funny?” Alastor breathes.

“I finally understand the carnal appeal of sex,” you laugh, your body spent. “From a demon, no less…”

Alastor smirks, “You are in Hell, dear.” Sitting up, he quickly kisses your forehead before pushing off the bed and heading to the bathroom. “Not to change the subject, you might want to cover yourself.” The demon helps you into a plush bathroom robe.

“What?” He’s moving too fast for your mind to register the situation.

“Rolf made coffee, and he is all too eager to share it,” Alastor climbs into the bed next to you. “Immediately.”

Oh, Jesus.

Your mind sobers fast as you pull the robe on and cinch it around your waist. You’re barely under the covers before Alastor’s shadow opens the door. With a tray in hand and a big goofy smile on his face, Rolf presents two cups of coffee before you.

It takes you a moment to register that Rolf didn’t just make coffee; he created two concoctions: a jasmine latte and a black chai.

You smile, pretending the room isn’t filled with the scent of sex. Could shadows smell? “You’ve been watching me?”

Rolf smiles, nodding his head like a proud toddler running home from school with his first art project.

Your chest warms, “Thank you.” You reach for the mug and - .

The jasmine latte is in Alastor’s “Oh Deer!” mug - his mug. No one touches Alastor’s mug. You hesitate, unsure of how to tackle this situation, but you don’t have to think long before the demon snatches the cup and thrusts it into your hands.

“Thank you, Rolf. That will be all.” Alastor takes the other cup, bringing it into his lap as the shadow bows and leaves the room.

Holy shit. You were holding Alastor’s cup. Nifty gave you an entire fucking lecture about not touching Alastor’s stuff. Fuck, you didn’t even touch it to move it around to reach other cups in the cabinet. And Alastor just gave it to you.

“It’s going to taste terrible,” Alastor kisses your temple before setting his own on the bedside table.

Wait. Your brain still wasn’t computing. Was he okay with sharing his things with you? This felt like a step, like a relationship step, and you were surprisingly taken off guard by it. Yet, it wasn’t a bad thing. It was a scary thing, sure, but you were excited about it. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face, the absolute beam of joy radiating off of you.

You had earned more privileges with Alastor, something no one else was privy to.

And then you took a sip. “Ugh!” You choked.

The demon laughed, “I told you.”��

It tasted like a mouthful of powder, as if Rolf had poured the entire container of jasmine matcha into the cup, with barely any milk to dilute it.

Alastor took the cup from your hand, placing it next to his, before kissing the top of your head. “Come, let us wash.”

____________________________________________

You stood before the bathroom mirror wrapped in nothing but a towel. The glass had fogged over, but you ran a hand through it, revealing just enough to inspect the trail of bruises Alastor had left on your neck. God, and only the left side, too.

Alastor had taken you to the shower this time, allowing you to do nothing but stand there as he washed you. There wasn’t anything sexual about it - thank the Lord. You didn’t have the strength to withstand another round with the demon. His sexual appetite was profound. Instead, he doted on you, scrubbing you with the soap that smelled of him, massaging your scalp, rubbing the knots from your lower tummy.

After that session, you would be sore for days to come. The thought brought a smile to your face.

Alastor wrapped you in a warm cotton towel as you exited. Wrapping another around his waist, he kissed your forehead and headed for the kitchen. The demon sent Rolf on an errand to secure you more clothes - a distraction so Alastor could prepare you a cup of real coffee. He knew you hated waking up without one.

You promised to join him in a moment, but the sight in the mirror held you captive. The bruises… You felt your throat tighten, the anxiety bubbling in your core. Alastor had left bruises on your neck before, yes, but things were different now. These marks meant something different than the usual bruises ringing your neck - not from Alastor, but from Heaven. These… Well… These came from a place of… Well, affection. Not from a place of hate.

You were used to covering up bruises of hate.

Running a finger over your neck, you connected the spots as if they were dots, leading to the bite mark at the crook of your neck. You smiled, remembering how you had earned that one, hoping the mark would never fade.

“Coffee is on the balcony,” Alastor appeared in the mirror, leaning against the doorframe.

His wet hair stuck to his head which made him seem so much younger than he appeared. The demon was technically over a hundred years old but remained youthful-looking as a demon. Perhaps “younger” wasn’t the best adjective. “More innocent” was a better descriptor.

Alastor frowned, sensing the worry building in your chest. God, he could read you like a book - connection or no connection. “What’s wrong?”

You watched the muscles ripple in his abdomen as he stalked towards you, his hands cupping either side of your cheeks. At some point, he had thrown on a pair of lounge pants, a rich man’s sweatpants, that sat low enough on his hips for you to make out the “V” in his pelvis. Curse this man for always looking attractive no matter what he wore. Your mind flashed to Alastor in a nun’s outfit - yup, attractive in fucking EVERYTHING.

Taking a deep breath, you let your anxiety melt away, feeling instantly more calm by his touch alone.

“My neck,” you begin. “I have a history of… trying to hide my injuries. I…” Fuck, words weren’t coming to you. “I’m just not used to… this.” You motioned to your neck, resisting the urge to rub it.

Alastor liked seeing your neck, liked reminiscing about each one. It was weird; it didn’t sit right. Your instincts were screaming at the sight of them.

Understanding clicked in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain, mon couer. Would you prefer if I did not…”

“No!” You interrupt him. “God, no.” You would never deny Alastor wringing an ounce of pleasure from your body. It would be torture for you both. “I just need some time to get used to it. You won’t be mad if I cover them, will you?”

“Hmm,” Alastor collected your hair in his hands, throwing it over your left shoulder. “I never want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. That being said, I would like to reserve the right to admire your body…” His meets your gaze. “...with your permission, of course?”

A smile tugged at your lips, “Of course.”

Alastor led you to the balcony, seating you on the side you had always sat in - it was practically reserved for you at this point. Two cups of coffee sat on the table between you, but it was the newspaper your fingers went for first.

“Shadow Unmasked!” The title read. The front page has a picture of you, standing on the roof of V Tower, moments before Velvette delivered a shock. You looked absolutely pissed. You read through the article as fast as you could, trying to garner how much Pentagram City had learned about your identity.

They named you as Thestral

They identified you as an Angel

They called you Vox’s ex-girlfriend (Not his girlfriend!!!)

Alastor’s lover!?

You choked. “Is the piano player sleeping her way through Hell’s topmost Overlords to gain power?” You read. “Witnesses report Ms. Thestral, the piano player at Mimzy’s and Hell’s infamous masked Overlord, ran off with Alastor, the Radio Demon, moments after sharing a kiss on the battlefield. Has the infamous assassin traded in for a more powerful model? Will she sleep her way through the Overlords till she reaches Zestial himself?” You abruptly stood from your chair. “You have got to be kidding me!?”

“Read who the editor is, mon couer.”

“Velvette!” You crushed the newspaper between your fingers and set V Star News to ash with your flame.

“She destroys by reputation,” Alastor once said to you. And he was right.

You collapsed back into the seat, running your hands down your face. Great. Now all of Pentagram City thinks you’re a whore. Better they go after that than going after the whole Angel thing.

Alastor pulled another newspaper from the Void, this one being 666 New’s very own. This title read, “Vees Humiliated in Overlord Fight!” Below that, there was a subtitle, “Shadow Identity Brought to Light.” Huh, that was actually kind of clever. You skimmed through the article, noting the same things V Star News had written but without all the biases.

“Hours after the fight in the Entertainment District, the Radio Demon and the Shadow were spotted duking it out in the Magne District. Sources say they quickly disappeared mid-fight and haven’t been spotted since. Was it a quarrel over power or a fight between lovers? The result and reason for the battle is still unknown.”

Great…

You flipped the page to find a special interview with Mimzy. Of course, they already found her, and of course, she had already offered an exclusive interview. News travels fast in Hell.

Most of it was filled with lies, saying you were close, basically calling you an adopted daughter - absolutely not - her most prized possession. Okay, basically, she was kissing ass to the media to gain more foot traffic to her club. She even gives out the password to Bob’s Barber in the article! Ugh, whatever.

Wait, what does this mean for the Hotel?

Oh God, hopefully, the gang isn’t being stalked by the media…

There’s a smaller section on you in the Opinion column, the topic “Who is the Angel?”

“Oh, my God.” You scoff. “There’s literally people making shit up! One of these guys is theorizing that I’m Lilith - which I look nothing like her - with a makeover. There’s another in here that says I’m actually a gender-swapped Lucifer.”

Okay, that one you get. Some religious texts literally claim the two of you as twins - you did look a lot alike.

“Another is saying I’m a bloodthirsty Exorcist Angel who snuck past Heaven’s gates so I could kill year-round. This one just says I’m actually Charlie, and the news media is just reporting it wrong. I mean, ugh!”

Jesus, these people had some wild theories but now you had an entire City trying to figure out your identity. Fuck!

Great, your to do list was getting longer and longer now.

Find cloak

Apologize to Lulu

Kill Crim

And now

4. Protect your identity

Shit.

You dropped the newspaper, your head in your hands. Getting Alastor back was worth everything you had to go through. So long as Heaven didn’t find out…

Alastor suddenly appeared before you, down on one knee. He collected your hands in his and kissed your palms, “Everything will work out, mon couer.”

Alastor didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by this news… Why was that?

Hesitantly, you ask. “What did you do?”

The demon’s smile went cockeyed. God, you loved that smile.

There was a mischievous gleam in his eye as he said, “Utilizing your army.”

You tried not to let the shock show. “How did you…?”

“The Vees have more enemies than allies at this point. Their bridges have been burned. They have no one to turn to. Their fate has been one of their own making, even before Valentino’s death. Which did not garner sympathy as they expected it to.”

“Rosie, Mimzy, and Carmella would back you no matter what, but you already know that. Zestial has already expressed interest in allying with you...”

“What!?” You gasped, but Alastor continued.

“...although the man is more gossip than fighter nowadays. Then there is the Goetia, although it is unclear how many you have in your pocket, seeing as Stolas is considered the black sheep of his kind. I’m sure your influence has reached far beyond Wrath and Pride: Asmodeus, Leviathan, Belphegor, and perhaps even Satan himself? Allies, I can guarantee, will not change their mind regardless of your heritage. If anything, they’d be more inclined to ally with you. Well, save for Asmodeus, but he has far more concerning things on his plate at the moment, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

You blinked, trying to process the words coming out of his mouth. How the fuck did he know all this? Wait, how did he know they wouldn’t drop your alliance after this development? Not unless Alastor… Fuck did he meddle in your plans!?

“Your Heaven contacts surely won’t hear of this - especially considering, as far as Heaven is concerned, you disappeared around the same time God did. Rumor has it the two of you are on some sort of top-secret mission only known to the Seraphim and other higher authorities. Besides, Lilith is up there taking care of anything anyway.”

“What…?”

“I haven’t even touched Charlie and the Hotel. Your influence over your niece and her gang of misfits is extraordinary. You made quite the impression, securing emotional ties via my rescue. I couldn’t have planned it better myself. To have little Ms. Morningstar in your back pocket, oh! How I envy you.” Alastor laughed, but it was Radio Demon's laugh that echoed through his radio.

“I assure you, while the two of us were… preoccupied with other matters, your army had already been hard at work cleaning up the damage.”

You let all the information sink in, trying to process how Alastor could have possibly known you were raising an army. I mean, that was step two of your plan with Lilith, wasn’t it? While she played her part in Heaven, you were down here, garnering influence amongst the most powerful.

“Darling, while you were busy running around town and playing house the past few weeks, I made some social calls.”

Alastor was checking up on you while Rolf stalked your every move…

“I know for a fact you didn’t only become Overlord to collect souls - after all, someone like you, with such a well of power in her back pocket, doesn’t require the measly drop of power with which a soul contributes.” Alastor laughed again, his tone turning more cynical. “No, you have all the power you need. You’re garnering souls to feed your army.”

Fuck.

Alastor’s green aura lowly emits from his form, his smile stitched over with green threading, his eyes flashing with black sclera. “The question now is, why does Heaven’s famous Golden Girl require an army?”

You once said dealing with Alastor was like a dance - a dance you both pretended not to be leading but also refused to be the follower in. It was a game of power, you see. Yes, dancing had its steps and rules - a waltz is a waltz, after all - but the direction it was going, the added flare to the spins, the story the choreography told - that was where you battled. Thus, you needed to be a half-step ahead of Alastor at all times - without him knowing, of course - until either the dance ended or you found a way to end him.

Little did you know, he has been hard at work behind the scenes attempting to unravel your little plan. Alastor was one step ahead of you in a way you didn’t see coming.

And he was hitting awfully close to your ultimate endgame plan…

But the fact that Alastor was asking rather than stating meant -.

“Lilith didn’t tell you everything, did she?”

Alastor’s eye twitches, his fingers around yours stiff and unmoving. His tail went ramrod straight, his radio screeching as if a record had been scratched.

Note to self: Tread lightly when it comes to bringing up Lilith.

The demon stood, pretending to wipe dirt off the knees of his pants. “Rolf is here with your clothes.”

Great…

You had thought, after connecting Alastor and Lilith together, that he was her little backup plan in case things went south: a protector for her family. Regardless of the fact that, in your contract, you swore not to hurt them. After all, why return and run straight to the Hotel if not for Charlie’s sake?

But maybe you were wrong…

You stood, cautiously approaching the demon who refused to make eye contact with you. God, you hated seeing him without his smile, hated when that spark fizzled out in his eyes. Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your fingers play with the short scruff at the base of his head. Instantly, the stress melted from his shoulders.

His gaze was still on the floor when you said, “And what if I’m perfectly fine in nothing but a bathrobe?”

The demon smirked, his demeanor changing in an instant.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, bringing you flush against him. “And if I prefer you in nothing at all?” He whispered against your lips.

“I’d say you’d have to earn it,” you stayed just out of reach of his kiss, teasing the demon in the same way he did you earlier.

“And how exactly would I do that, mon couer?”

You bit your lip, instantly catching Alastor’s eye. God, were you ready for the next round? You’ve barely had time to recover, your lower belly sore from Alastor’s… lack of gentleness… “Perhaps we should start with the smaller stuff before unraveling each other’s master plans?”

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead before walking the two of you towards his chair. “Where would you like to start?” He brought you into his lap, seating you atop his thighs. You tried hard not to think about the thin layer of clothing separating your center from his cock - which you couldn’t feel at the moment. The demon seated you closer to his knees, most likely on purpose.

“Well, for one, you used my card.” After finally taking out the three projectiles Crim had shot at you, you landed on the edge of Cannibal Town. While zapping Vox’s bracelet from your wrist, you felt a pull behind your navel - Alastor had used his blood on your obsidian calling card.

Which meant Alastor had inadvertently entered himself into one of your infamous hidden contracts.

The demon pulled the card from the Void, flashing the white lettering spelling out his real name. “You mean this one?” A drop of scarlet remained crusted at its center.

“Don’t lose that; it comes with conditions,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and continuing to play with the scruff of his hair. “Those who lose my card forget their memories of me.”

“Noted,” he smiled, slipping the card back into the Void and running his hands over your hips. You gasped when his claws scraped across the flesh of your waist. Alastor had dipped beneath the robe…

Goddamn, it was getting too hard to think. The demon gave a look that said he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Next matter of business,” he continued. “Show me.”

You knew exactly what he was talking about.

You hesitated, the bubbles of anxiety in your chest beginning to surface as you remembered last night. Was this smart to do? He was knocked out of the bloodthirsty trance once, would he be again? Would he even need to again?

Then a thought hit you, a lesson you learned in Louisiana: trust means everything to Alastor. So, did you trust him not to try and kill you again? If you didn’t show him, what would that say?

Dipping into that well of power, you broke the seal on the rune, allowing the Book of Knowledge to be unleashed. Alastor was completely captivated by the text flying across your skin, but he remained contained. No ounce of his demonic power slipped out. He remained calm, his irises solid round pupils.

The demon grabbed your hand in his, tracing the words as they floated past. Your heart felt like it was going to thump right out of your chest as you waited for him to say something, anything.

You concentrated the power into the palm of your hand that he held, the ink bleeding into your appendage until your entire arm was black. The liquid seemed to seep out of your skin, shielding your arm in a black tendril. The power flowed over your skin as if it were both solid and liquid, a Newtonian fluid that could cut bone.

Something clicked within the demon’s aura, his awe abating as he closed your fist. You called the magic back into the rune, the aroma of roses dissipating as the Book of Knowledge was once again hidden from the world.

Alastor pressed a kiss to your closed knuckles. “Hmm,” he hummed into your skin.

“Are you okay?” You breathed, still waiting for a reply, something to tell you what he was thinking.

He met your gaze, his eyes still round, irises rimmed in red. “I do not crave it the way I did yesterday. The thought of losing you, of losing my heart,” he cupped your cheek. “Is a greater pain than the allure of power could ever have over me.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch to deepen the feeling. And then suddenly, your own heart grew heavy, a truth you had always wanted to share but never had with another soul. Eve had simply inferred it, but you never really talked about it, never really addressed that aspect of trauma that had haunted your entire existence.

Why you wanted this power in the first place.

“Did your sleuthing uncover other things about Heaven’s Golden Girl?” You braced the subject, hoping Alastor understood the weight of the topic you were about to unleash upon him.

But you could trust him, and he trusted you. Fuck, you had a fail-safe if anything ever went wrong - take your obsidian calling card away from him - but your chest twisted at the thought. You couldn’t help it. You were a General through and through, strategizing was instinct at this point. You never, ever wanted to have a Plan B when it came to Alastor. Which is why you decided to broach this topic with him. Something you’ve never truly spoken of with anyone else.

“Hmm,” he hummed, running his thumb across your cheek. “I know.”

He knows. Of course, he knows. It’s Heaven’s worst-kept secret: God was wildly abusive towards his “favorite” child.

“The day Eve tried to leave Eden, is a day I saw true fear on my father’s face. He smelled of orange and mint. It was… unsettling.” You cleared your throat. “I never really understood why until Eve was brought in and locked away. When she told him she merged herself with the Book - Father wasn’t mad. He was… afraid. He had us lock her up. Hidden away where no one would find her. Fuck, Heaven didn’t have cells. No one ever committed any crimes. If they were the type, they’d have been sent to Hell long before St. Paul let them through the Gates.”

You huffed, continuing, “For weeks after, Father shut himself in his office. He wouldn’t have Sera or me in. After a while things did go back to normal, but he was never the same. I mean, he was violent before, but after… There was this rage in his eyes when he’d…” Your voice breaks. “My father knew hunting down Eve a second time was going to take time, and he was not a patient man, but the longer I took, the worse it got. I’d go back for check-ins, and as one year became two, three, five, ten, fifty… He grew more and more desperate. His desperation manifested as violence, and he took it out on me.”

Alastor rubbed your arms in comfort.

“I didn’t get it until that day in Lilith’s office when I killed Eve and accepted the power for myself. The magic is the rawest form of dark magic I have ever seen - and I spent nearly a century with the Leviathans…”

He planted a kiss on your forehead, infusing you with the will to continue on.

“Father made me do terrible, terrible things: spread disease amongst the pharaohs, wipe out an entire planet of innocent, living beings in a flood, start wars resulting in the deaths of millions of innocent people across the Middle East… I was no Golden Girl. I was the harbinger of death, whether I liked it or not… Regardless of the evils he made me commit, it paled in comparison to the pure evil that is the Book of Knowledge.”

“It took me until the power was in my possession to figure it out. I know why he was so afraid of it. It’s the Yin to his Yang, the dark to his supposed light. The opposite, but equal in every possible way. A power that can kill a god.”

Alastor’s eyes snapped to yours, and instantly, he understood. “You’re raising an army to kill God.”

You smiled wildly, shaking your head. “Oh, no. I am raising an army to end everything, and then afterward, ~I~ will kill God.”

Alastor furrowed his brow.

“You see, Eve merely wanted to taint my father’s creation. To punish him by ruining his greatest work, but she was thinking too small. I wanted more. I needed more. I didn’t just want to make Heaven’s head spin; I wanted to utterly destroy everything they had worked for." You leaned over him, your nose tickling his. "But - oh, no, I couldn’t simply burn Earth to the ground. Heaven would be upset, sure, but they’d get over it and just make another. No. I needed Heaven to destroy Earth with their own hand. They hate Hell. They hate it so much they’d go to war - if provoked - and when the dust settled, they’d have to face the consequences.”

Father would be utterly destroyed.

And then you’d burn him from the inside out. Fuck, even the thought of it had your blood singing.

“The End. Armageddon. The Apocalypse.” Your hands fisted in his hair. You could feel the demon growing hard beneath you, the excitement of chaos and destruction just as erotically intoxicating for him as it was for you. “Whatever you wish to call it. A war between Heaven and Hell, a war that would destroy Earth.”

“Oh, mon couer,” Alastor’s lips slowly twisted into a wicked grin. He looked at you with eyes screaming possession, screaming pride, screaming hunger. The demon cupped your face in his hands, utterly beaming at you, the highest form of praise he could offer. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

And then he kissed you.

And in that kiss, you realized one terrifying truth. No matter what Hell was coming your way, it wouldn’t be the same without Alastor. You would choose power and chaos with Alastor over everything else because, with him, you didn’t need an army, you didn’t need the Book of Knowledge, you were already unstoppable.

He is yours, and you are his.

The demon quickly undoes the ties of your robe, exposing your bare breasts to the world. Your nipples instantly harden in the cool air. Alastor quickly pulls down his pants, a giant wet mark forming directly below where you sat. God, you were soaked already, high on the ecstasy of power flowing through your veins.

You pray Papa Loko's vèvè had coverage this far away. You hadn't checked to see if you were sparking, but fuck it, you weren't stopping.

Alastor doesn’t even have to bother with foreplay. The two of you could scent each other's arousal, thick in the air. You were ready, and you wanted him - NOW.

You gasp when Alastor shoves inside you, filling you up, his balls sitting snuggly against you.

There was something so satisfying in sitting on Alastor’s cock in the shadow of V Tower.

“Mine,” Alastor growled as he lifted your hips up and slammed into you. “You’re fucking mine.”

And he spends the rest of the day reminding you exactly why…

The amount of smut I read trying to figure out how to write this...

-> Chapter Sixteen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

#alastor smut #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #hazbin #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader smut #smut #alastor x you #alastor x you smut #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor shadow #x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor fictive #reader insert

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writefightandflightclub · 11 months ago

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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buddierecs · 6 months ago

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amnesia buddie fics

this list has different rated fics, so please look at the rating make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

i'll feel you forget me like i used to feel you breathe by: turningthepages "just another hollywood amnesia story the fandom probably didn't need but lived in my head rent free for too long." word count: 128k rating: mature important tags: married!buddie, car accidents, hurt/comfort, family feels, insecure!evan buckley, future fic buy back the secrets by: allyasavedtheday "after getting hurt on a call, buck wakes up thinking it's 2018. aka buck can't remember who eddie is but he's pretty sure everyone's lying when they say they're "just friends." word count: 18k rating: teen and up important tags: hurt/comfort, oblivious!eddie diaz, friends to lovers, love confessions you've got the antidote by: hattalove "in which buck is a little high, and shirts are difficult." word count: 4.2k rating: teen and up important tags: anaesthesia, pining, fluff, getting together i think i belong to you (hope you feel the same) by: ran "the one where eddie wakes up from the shooting only to think he was hurt in a certain 7.1 earthquake years prior and learns to appreciate the life he's created for himself since then." word count: 41k rating: teen and up important tags: ptsd, therapy, falling in love, hurt/comfort, angst, love confessions, post-shooting (s4e14) house of forgotten memories by: not1_2write "eddie decides to take a risk. he's a grown man. he can ask Buck out on a date. what could possibly go wrong? three weeks later, clutching a comatose buck's hand and waiting for him to wake up from a traumatic brain injury, eddie gets his answer." word count: 35k rating: teen and up important tags: coma, hurt/comfort, angst, hurt!evan buckley, team as family, getting together, family feels, whump, mutual pining forget-me-nots by: withmeornotatall "eddie wakes up from the ambush, not in the deserts of afghanistan, but the deserts of los angeles and finds out he's missing eight years of his life. somehow, that's worse than falling from the sky and three gunshot wounds." word count: 13k rating: general audience important tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, internalised homophobia, fluff, angst, team as family what do i say (to make me exist?) by: cuddlyobrien "buck gets hurt at chim & maddie’s wedding, earning some temporary amnesia and thinks he was marrying eddie. the doctor advises they let him believe it. eddie is stressed from day one" word count: 27k rating: explicit important tags: fake dating, mutual pining, post season 6, anal sex, blow jobs, riding come back to me by: jayjay__884 "an accident at the job lands buck in hospital after falling through a 4-story building. his loved ones are by his bedside when buck is placed in an induced coma to help his recovery in hopes he will eventually wake up." word count: 191k rating: explicit important tags: married!buddie, soft!buddie, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, coma, falling in love, parenthood something that i missed by: foxwatson "the one where buck and eddie get together the night before a shift - and the next day, an accident erases eddie's memory of the last 24 hours." word count: 8.5k rating: teen and up important tags: idiots to lovers, angst, getting together, first kiss your memories feels like home to me by: goforeddie "in which eddie loses about eight year of his life and things are… heavily different than he last remember." word count: 29k rating: mature important tags: married!buddie, angst, girl dads!buddie, fluff, eventual smut remember to remember me by: daffi_990_ao3 "buck and eddie finally get together only for lightning to strike a few days later, leaving buck with no memories of them ever becoming a couple." word count: 31k rating: explicit important tags: getting together, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, boys in love, anal sex, blow jobs, riding, dirty talk

#buck x eddie #buck x eddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 abc #911 show #911 fandom #buddie fics #buddie fic rec #911 fic rec #evan buck buckley #buck x eddie fanfics #buck x eddie smut #buddie recommendations #buddie smut #buddie recs

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sarahowritesostucky · 11 months ago

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📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3720

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

4. Cake Doughnuts (shitty non-doughnuts)

This is not the way Mary expected her life to go. Divorced at 29, probably unemployed, and now declared mentally incompetent and legally attached to some stranger? Ew.

At least when the cops had dragged her into the ER, she’d been drunk still. But she’s sobered up a lot since then, and ever more so during the drive from the hospital to back to Brooklyn. It’s the most awkward car ride of her life. Steve’s the one who drives. Mary doesn’t know why that surprises her, but it does. And he’s the one who leads the way into their building and up the stairs. It’s an older building with character but no elevator, so they make the three story climb on foot. Another resounding Ew.

Mary walks silently around Bucky’s (and Steve’s—because of course he’s gay and married) apartment, feeling shy and hesitant and all the things she just really doesn’t want to be feeling right now. She stops when she gets to the second bedroom, stares at its pristinely tucked-in sheets and neutral tableau.

“You can bring over any stuff you need from your place,” Steve is saying gently from behind her, where he and Bucky are lingering in the hallway. “It’ll be your room. We won’t bother you in there.”

She whips around. “How long do I have to stay here?” Better to figure it out now. Make a plan. She glares at Bucky, since he’s the one in charge of this disaster. “I’m not staying here forever.” Steve looks even sadder at her words than Bucky does, kind of like a kicked puppy. It’s disconcerting, so Mary keeps her attention on Bucky instead, forcing herself to make eye contact. “Well?”

“Until I feel like it’s safe and healthy for you to be on your own,” he says, not a hint of sympathy in his tone. That’s disappointing, and it pisses Mary the hell off.

“Screw you,” she says, not particularly loudly, but definitely full of all the contempt she feels for this guy. “You think you can just—”

He’s got her pushed up against the wall faster than she can track with her eyes. One second she’s standing feet away from him, and the next she just … isn’t. He’s in her space and against her body, one hand at the base of her throat and a thigh pressing forward, holding her to the wall. It’s terrifying and shocking and …

“Oh I know ‘I can just’,” he says darkly.

… She’d rather eat glass than tell him what else it is. “Let go of me,” she grits out.

Disappointingly, he does. Steve is just standing there like a big idiot, blinking wide eyes at the scene. Bucky takes a full step back from her and says, “Don’t curse at me, Mary. It’s disrespectful.”

She wants to ask him exactly what he’s done to earn any respect from her. She grinds the words into her teeth instead while Bucky watches her knowingly. She hates that look almost as much as she hates the way he says her name, as if he’s known her for years rather than a millisecond.

“House rules,” he says calmly. “The practicalities of what’s going to happen. We should discuss that, don’t you think?”

Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, comes up beside him and wraps an arm around his waist in a way that reminds Mary that the two are a couple. “Hey,” he says softly, speaking in Bucky’s ear. “Why don’t we let her get some rest before you go asserting your dominance, huh?” Mary wrinkles her nose at the word, and Steve regards her kindly. “You’ve gotta be tired,” he says. “You want to sleep?”

Bucky looks like he’ll protest, so Mary nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah I’m tired.”

She watches as Steve squeezes his husband’s shoulder. “Come on, Babe. Let’s leave her to get some rest. She’s been up all night.”

Suddenly, Mary realizes that she has been up all night, and it’s almost comical, how fast the exhaustion hits her. Her throat starts to ache with a yawn that she fights not to let out in front of them. “Yeah,” she says again, this time thinking less about Bucky and what he wants or doesn’t want, and more about the bed that Steve said was reserved for her. She remembers that she feels like absolute shit, and probably looks it, too. “M’gonna sleep,” she says, turning away from both of them and heading for the bed.

The door ‘snicks’ shut softly behind her, and she assumes it was Steve who closed it. The two men's muffled voices fade off down the hallway, and even though it’s probably naïve to trust them so easily, Mary believes what Steve said about them not bothering her in this room.

She collapses on the bed that is exactly as soft as it looks. The sheets are tucked with military precision and smell like no one’s ever used them before. Mary grinds her face into the cool pillows and briefly wonders if Steve and Bucky have never had any company over to use this bed, before falling into one of the deadest sleeps of her life.

She wakes up feeling much, much better. Steve and Bucky’s guest bedroom has an en-suite, so she goes in and does her best to freshen up with the toiletries she finds stocked there.

There are three Advil Liqui-gel capsules sitting on the bedside table when she comes out. Mary regards them sharply and glances back to the door, but it’s still closed, no sign of life heard from outside in the hallway. Either the pills were there earlier and she just didn’t notice them, or else Steve is a lot stealthier than he looks. Twisting her lips, she scoops the pills up and tosses them back to fend off the headache she can already feel brewing behind her temples.

A quick search of the room’s dresser drawers yields nothing, and she’s forced to face the fact that she’s going to have to do this confrontation dressed in only her huge tee shirt from the night before. No matter, she thinks, squaring her shoulders and reaching for the doorknob. She’s got a new strategy in mind.

“I’m sorry,” she says, when she ventures out to find Bucky and Steve sitting in the living room.

Steve reaches for the remote to mute the tv, and Bucky sits back with a doughnut that he’s just plucked from a box on the coffee table. He bites into it, looking only vaguely interested "Want one?"

She spares a glance at the box. "Are they yeasted?"

"What's that mean?" Steve asks.

Another glance reveals that they're not, and Mary turns her nose up at them. "It means you're eating shitty, overbaked cake, not a doughnut," she says snottily.

Steve just blinks and looks back at the box with a little frown. Bucky takes another huge bite of his doughnut and chews it, maintaining eye contact with her and speaking around his mouthful, "Weren't you sorry for something?"

Mary purses her lips and starts over with her contrition act. “Yes. Look, I know you guys are just trying to help me. And I know I probably seem like such a hot mess to you right now.”

“Cause you are,” Bucky drawls.

Mary quells the urge to go over there and slap the doughnut straight out of his hands. That won’t help her with this new strategy she’s decided on. ‘Honey versus vinegar’, and all that. “Yeah,” she says instead. “So I’ll admit, my life hasn’t been going very well lately. And I really did need some help.” She forces herself to give Bucky a friendly smile. “So I’m glad you were willing to step in and help me. Thank you.” Bucky is looking at her way, way too unimpressed, and Mary squirms in place, thinking that he should be looking happier at what she’s just said. “Well?” she says.

He chews another bite of doughnut for a solid five seconds, swallows, then says, “How much did it hurt you to spit that out?”

She scowls. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Mm hm.” He pats the couch beside himself in a clear invitation. “Come sit down. Have a doughnut.”

She’s obeying before she even thinks about it, though at least she has the sense to take a seat on Steve’s side of the L-shaped sectional, and not Bucky’s. “I’m not hungry,” she says, just as her stomach gives a small growl.

“Well clearly that’s a lie,” Steve chuckles.

Mary glances over at him, peeved, but decidedly less so than she is at Bucky. Steve just seems less … threatening, maybe. Whatever it is, Mary pushes it from her mind.

“Look, I’ll stick around for a few hours or something if you really want to make sure I’m okay,” she says, attention back on Bucky, because she can already tell that he’s the one she’s got to convince. “But then I have to get back to my apartment.” She sees Bucky’s expression shutter at this and quickly adds, “I understand that you’re responsible for me, temporarily, technically. And I appreciate what you’ve done. I don’t want to cause you guys any more trouble than I already have. I’m going to take steps to take better care of myself now. And we can … we can keep in touch if you want. Just so you don’t ... you know … worry.” By the end of her speech she’s lost confidence, as she can see from Bucky’s expression that this is not being received well.

"Is that all?" he asks, eyebrow arched.

“Bucky,” she complains, floundering. “Come on. This isn’t … I mean you can’t just, adopt me, or whatever. I’m not some stray dog. You don’t even know me!"

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t.”

For one brief, overly-optimistic moment, she thinks that she’s actually going to get out of it that easy.

“But I’ll get to know you. Because you’re not leaving here anytime soon, Honey.”

All of that optimism tanks straight into a sour pit of disappointment. Mary shoots up to standing, startling Steve a bit where he's reaching for the doughnut box. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps.

Bucky takes another smug fucking bite out of his doughnut. “What?” he asks. “‘Honey’?”

“Yes! I’m not your ‘Honey’. I’m not your anything.”

He licks the sugar off his lips and stares her down. “You like it when I call you that.”

“No, I hate it,” she sneers. “Just like I hate your smug, self-satisfied face. I hate men like you.”

Bucky relaxes further back into the sofa, gesturing at her with the last of the doughnut before he stuffs it in his mouth and eats it. “Men like me, huh?” he asks once he’s swallowed, infuriating in his nonchalance.

“Yes.”

He chuckles and starts sucking his fingers clean one by one. “And what would that be?” he drawls, letting his legs splay wide on the couch cushions, thigh muscles straining against the denim of his jeans. He sees her getting distracted and hums. “Hm? Pray tell, Little girl. Do enlighten me. What are 'men like me' like?”

For one, airless second, all Mary wants in the world is to drop to her knees right between his legs, put her face at the seam of his jeans and rub her cheek against his thigh, against his …

Her thoughts go unfocused, fuzzy at the edges, static in her brain. She licks her lips absentmindedly, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of how he’s positioned himself …

“Mary.”

The sound of her own name draws her out of it, like a slap. She meets his eyes and juts her chin out, half dizzy from the effort. “Men like you think they know everything,” she grits. “Think that they’re the end-all-be-all. Men like you don’t feel any compunction about stepping on everyone around them. Men like you think you’re so fucking smart, that you can’t even fathom the likely alternative.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you’re actually just a cocksure moron,” she hisses.

Bucky tips his head at Steve. “Stevie tells me I’m a moron every other Tuesday, don’t you Babe?”

Steve shrugs a little from where he's leaning forward, holding the lid of the doughnut box open while he tries to choose a flavor. “Well, yeah.”

Bucky smirks, so unaffected that Mary just wants to scream. “So," he says. "You ‘hate men like me’, huh?”

“Yes. I do."

“That’s why you’ve spent your whole life around them, then?”

“I …" She falters. "What?”

Bucky glances over to Steve, and the two of them have some sort of silent exchange overtop the lid of the doughnut box, wordlessly communicating in a way that evidences a years’ long relationship. When they both look back to her, it’s Steve who speaks first.

“We got to read up on you a little, while you were asleep,” he says. He nods to the laptop and packet of papers on the coffee table. “Did some research. Learned about what led up to this.”

“'This'? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been under the control of domineering men your entire life,” Bucky says, interjecting more forcefully over Steve’s gentler tone—Mary feels like she’s getting whiplash between the two of them. “First it was your father, out in Bumfuck, Nowhereville,”

“Indiana,” Steve mutters.

“Whatever,” Bucky snaps, zeroing back in on Mary with glinting eyes. “And he was ‘that sort of man’, wasn’t he?”

Mary feels a little like she’s been punched in the gut. “So what?” she says. “So you looked me up? Hospital gave you info on me and now you think you know me? You don’t know shit.”

“Your whole life, he said jump and you said how high, right?” Bucky asks, clearly not wanting or needing an answer to the question. Maybe Mary’s expression is answer enough. She’s not quite sure what she must look like right now. Horrified maybe. Or furious. “And then you latched onto the first jerk who’d give you a ride out of town.”

“Shut up.”

“Married him, too. And that worked for you alright ... Until it didn’t.”’

The backs of her eyes are starting to feel hot. “I said: shut up,” she whispers.

Bucky nods and leans forward on the couch, as if her anger and humiliation mean nothing to him. And damn him, maybe they don’t. Maybe he likes this, the sick bastard. “If he hadn’t hit you so bad, you would’ve stayed. Right? He met your needs in every other way.”

Mary shudders. “What are you talking about?”

"I'm talking about self-medicating, Honey. It's what you've been doing. Probably since you were a little girl."

She's disgusted with herself for the tears that break through, unmoored by how Bucky knows all of these things about her, and that he's able to fill in the gaps so easily. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” She swipes angrily at her eyes. “What does any of that have to do with anything? Except for that it’s none of your goddamn business?!”

Bucky softens a little. He glances at Steve, who gives him a warning look. “Sweetheart,” he says, looking back at Mary plaintively. “The drinking and the cutting, the feeling miserable and being sad all the time; that all started after your divorce, yeah?”

That … is not what Mary expected him to say. She’d been expecting more insults, more heartless jabs at her past. “I … What?”

“Answer the question,” Steve urges gently. He looks like he’s in on some secret with Bucky, something only Mary doesn’t know.

“Yeah,” she admits warily. “I mean, divorce is … well it’s divorce. It sucks. Of course I wasn’t happy about it.” She scowls and crosses her arms. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that, dysfunctional as they were, you had very specific relationships with very specific types of men, until what, like a year ago?”

“... Year and a half,” she mutters, unease creeping up her spine at where she thinks this is going.

“Right. And that’s when all your troubles started. Because let's be real: you weren't hurting yourself before then." He tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "Why do you think that is, Mary? Why weren't you falling apart before? When you had a father touching you wrong, or a husband putting holes in your drywall?"

"Stop," she breathes.

He nods sadly. "It was was after, when you didn’t have those people in your life anymore, structuring it, telling you what to do. Once you were alone, that’s when you started to fall apart.” He levels her with a pitying gaze. "Now why do you think that is?"

Oh, hell no. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mary says. She actually takes a physical step back from where she’s standing. “You think what? I was using my douche ex-husband as some sort of a … a dom? My freaking father?!”

“Mary, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She jabs her finger at Steve, who’s spoken. If she thought she’d been angry at these two before, well now she’s just … she’s just … “You’re fucked up,” she tells them, voice full of quiet fury. “And you,” she points at Bucky. “You might be diagnosed with some freaking mental disorder or whatever, but that doesn’t give you the right to put that fucked up psychology onto everyone else!” She jabs her thumb at her own chest. “I’m normal! I’m not like you. I don't–I don’t have …”

“Mary,”

“No! I don’t. I–I didn’t …” Vaguely, she starts to recognize that her pulse is pounding in her ears, that it’s getting harder to draw breaths. “My f-fa, my, my f-father…”

Bucky stands up and comes towards her. “Mary,”

“No!” She makes to push away, to leave the room, but he closes in too fast and before she knows it, he has one hand on her throat and one at the base of her skull, gripping her hair. And it’s not mean, the way he’s holding her, but when she jerks away it tugs her hair unpleasantly and she whines and stills. “Let go,” she gasps, terrified by the way his hands make her feel.

“Steve, a little help?”

Her heart lurches as she hears Steve move, sees him getting up off the couch and coming over. “Wait,” she whispers, afraid and not understanding why. Not understanding why she’s even whispering in the first place, instead of screaming like she should be. “No, wait, wait—”

Steve is behind her, and even though he’s hardly even doing anything, just has his hands resting on her lightly, Mary still feels a tremor run through her whole body. She feels so trapped. Fixed in place and terrified, but not because she thinks they’ll hurt her.

Because suddenly she can draw a deep breath again.

And she can see the look in Bucky’s eyes, can see how he knows that. “Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes when tears well to the surface. “Please, just, I just need to …”

“You’re okay,” Bucky soothes. “You’re okay, Mary. Just breathe against my hand. Breath against me, against Steve.”

She shakes her head, even though she knows what he means. With her eyes squeezed shut like this, she can feel both him and Steve so solidly, can feel the points where their bodies connect with hers. When she inhales, she feels them there. “What the hell?” she winds up whispering, more to herself than to them.

“You were starting to have a panic attack,” Steve murmurs. He hugs her from behind, and Mary shivers but doesn’t try to shrug him off.

“I don’t have those,” she says. Even to her own ears, it sounds weak. “I don’t,” she insists.

“First time for everything,” Bucky says.

They stand there for a long minute or two. Hell, maybe it’s more. As long as Mary keeps her eyes shut, she can at least pretend that it’s only a minute. It’s only once she opens her eyes that she has to face reality. When she does, she sees that Bucky’s watching her keenly. He looks … sad.

The thought that the man with one hand fisted in her hair and another wrapped around her throat is concerned for her strikes Mary as almost comical. She doesn’t laugh, but she also doesn’t feel close to crying anymore. “I’m okay,” she rasps, swallowing thickly. “I’m okay now.” Shaky maybe, but better. She can breathe again. “Really, I–I am.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and the motion makes her all the more aware of his hand on her throat. She has to fight back a pleasured sigh at the feeling of it, fight to keep her eyes from fluttering closed.

Bucky shifts in, sandwiching her even closer between their bodies. “So what?” he murmurs. “You want me to let go of you now?”

“Yeah,” she says, not feeling like she wants that at all. “Please.”

He hums. “You’re very good at saying ‘please’,” he observes. “And at telling me you’re not submissive.”

“M’not,” she insists, trying harder to make her voice firm, or at least more than a pathetic, breathy whimper. She looks him in the eyes again.

When had she stopped looking him in the eyes? She can’t remember. She feels like she’s watching this all happen through the lightest sort of fog, or maybe in slow motion, like a videotape playing at only 70% speed. Something like that, she thinks dazedly. She doesn’t feel like she has to worry about it, though. It's warm and heavy and nice here; like being under bathwater.

Bucky’s not looking at her in concern anymore. He looks more relaxed now, nicer, his eyes softer around the edges. And he hasn't let go of her, either.

“She down?”

That’s Steve’s voice, coming from right behind. Mary likes the way she can feel the quiet rumble of it where he’s pressed to her back.

“Mmhm. Waay down.”

“Is it normally that easy?”

Bucky chuckles, it's a nice sound that Mary likes, the richness of it making her want more, like how chocolate makes you want more.

“No, it’s not. This is deprivation, right here. Poor thing.”

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“Oh, sure. We’ll just stay like this for a minute. She needs the contact."

Something about the two of them talking about her like she’s not there is … well it multiplies the bathwater feeling. She hears Steve asking a question, and Bucky making an unhappy noise and answering,

“It should never be this easy. Right now she’d go down for anyone, for even the smallest thing.”

“And she was working in the service industry?” A huff of breath hits Mary’s ear. “Jesus.”

“... Hey,” Mary says, sure that she should protest somehow.

But Bucky’s hand tightens just the barest bit on her throat, and he shushes her sweetly, tells her she’s a “good girl,” and kisses the top of her head.

And Mary pretty much forgets what she was going to say, after that.

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Square N5: childhood trauma

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crowleying · 5 months ago

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Mhi Ba'juri Verde (We Will Raise Warriors) by crowleying

Words: 10.292 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody & CT-7567 | Rex Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex, CC-1010 | Fox, Clone Trooper Waxer (Star Wars), Clone Trooper Boil (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-6454 | Ponds, Quinlan Vos, Jedi Children (Star Wars), Jedi Characters (Star Wars) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Order 66 Didn't Happen (Star Wars), Crèche Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Professor CC-2224 | Cody, Mandalorian Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Clone Troopers Speak Mando'a (Star Wars), Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Getting Together, Clone Trooper & Jedi Relationships (Star Wars), Clone Troopers are Little Shits, CC-2224 | Cody is a Good Bro, CT-7567 | Rex is a Good Bro, CT-7567 | Rex is a Little Shit, Minor CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker, Minor CC-1010 | Fox/Quinlan Vos, Not Beta Read, We die like Cody's dignity Series: Part 2 of Codywan Week Summary: “Are you Master Obi's boyfriend?” she asked and Cody was very grateful he had had a lot of practice in keeping a blank face during meetings and negotiations while serving. A peek at Obi-Wan let him know that his experience wasn’t proving as helpful for him on this particular occasion. His pale cheeks were sporting an endearing blush. Next to him, Waxer and Boil did a poor job of hiding their snickering behind fake coughing. It earned them a glare from Cody. @codywanweek Day 6 - Crèchemaster Obi-Wan

#codywan week 2024 #cww2024 #Day 6 - Crèchemaster Obi-Wan #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #obi wan x cody #clones #the clone wars #clone troopers #mandalorian culture #codywan week #star wars #my writing #crowleying writes #usercrowleying

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theothernads · 2 months ago

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˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ ❛❛ ᶜʰᵃᵖᵗᵉʳ ² : 𝐖𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 ❞ ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

♡ྀི ₊ ❛❛𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬❞ ☰

SYNOPSIS: ₊˚⊹♡ :

☰ TAGS: Winx Club smau, enhypen smau, slow-ass burn fic, violence, action and adventure, angst, college smau, fantasy au, strangers to lovers

𝖸𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖩𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ➤ft. NewJeans, Enha, TXT, BTS, esp, Jungkook, Itzy, Le Sserafim

╰┈➤𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 (comment or give an ask)

©𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗱𝘀

<< M.LIST >>

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ᥫ᭡.━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

<< M.LIST >>

[NOTES]: here is the 2nd. I'm still planning out ACT 2 but hopefully you enjoyed <3 REBLOGS, LIKES, COMMENTS are appreciated :D

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ᥫ᭡.━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊[TAGLIST]: @dreamiestay @melancholy-z

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green-agent · 9 months ago

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Crush

Jung Wooyoung x fem!Reader

Highschool au, Implied academic rivals to lovers.

Genre: fluff, crack, slight jealousy

W.C: 600

Warning: mentions of a playboy (not Woo) let me know if I missed something.

Note: Just randomly had this idea. I was having a long writer's block cus of Brewing Love Next Door so the series can continue later.

"You have a crush on her"

"I do not!", said a furious Wooyoung. Making Yeosang roll his eyes.

"then why are you so interested in her love life?", San added, slamming shut his notebook.

"Look, I just don't want her to date Jinwoo, okay? He's a playboy, she's gonna get her heart broken." Wooyoung scoffed.

"First of all, she isn't an idiot. Second of all, if you dislike her so much, why do you care if she gets her heart broken?" Said Yeosang in a 'are you dumb' tone, opening a book on Mathematics.

"And seriously, do you think she would want to date Jinwoo?" Mingi spoke.

"I mean... he's handsome. So…" Wooyoung mumbled, suddenly feeling insecure.

"and he has dated half the girls in our class. It's no surprise. Y/n, out of everything, knows good. I mean Ruka, her best friend at that time, dated Jinwoo and now? She hates the word love." Yunho stated.

"Ruka also hates Y/n, what about it?"

"Wooyoung, you just have to admit. The feeling you're feeling right now is jealousy.", Explained Mingi.

"I'm not jealous!" Wooyoung said a little loudly, earning a glare from the librarian.

"said every male lead after seeing the female lead with another guy." Yeosang stated with annoyance.

"And what if I do like her?" Wooyoung sighed, annoyed by his friends' nagging.

Yunho,Yeosang, San and Mingi exchanged victorious looks.

"Then you should confess" Yunho grinned.

"HELL NO"

"Mr. Jung, do we need to talk?" Said the librarian, glaring at Wooyoung, who quickly apologized and 'no'.

"hell no" he repeated.

"do you want her to date Jinwoo, then? No, right? Then confess" San said as if it was the most obvious thing.

A familiar classmate and friend tapped on Wooyoung's shoulder. "And who is it that you like?"

Annoyed, Wooyoung replied before turning around, "don't be oblivious, Jongho, it's Y/n-", and once he had turned around, he definitely didn't expect to see You. All grinning. How was he that big of an idiot to not differentiate between his friend and crush?

"you have a crush on me?", You said, grinning at him.

"y-y/n, what are you doing here?…" He stuttered, making the other four boys have a hard time not laughing.

"if you somehow managed to forgot, Wooyoungie, the library is my second favorite place in this school" You said, adding the nickname to tease him.

"and the first?" Jongho finally came back to the table with the book on Biology he was looking for.

"the cafeteria. But that's not what I'm here for. I was originally here to ask you out on a date. So, Wooyoung, wanna go out with me?" You said, loving the effect you had on him.

He was kinda... okay not kinda, but very red.

"date? Oh-um... y-yeah...sure, I'd go with you", he managed to speak.

"great, so I'll meet you this evening, at the Destiny Cafe. Like at...5?"

"sounds great..."

"I'll see you later, then. Bye!" You said, walking out of the Library with a proud smile.

And Wooyoung stood there, red. Blushing and smiling. Internally screaming cus oh em gee! His crush asked him out.

"oh my, Woo, she asked you out first!"

"yeah, you better not be a dumbass during the date"

"buy her flowers!"

"and if you have time, bake or cook her something delicious"

The four sentences were said by his friends, who said what, he didn't remember. He was too happy to listen.

You asked him out.

His crush asked him out.

If you are a reader of Brewing Love Next Door, I'm sorry to inform you but the updates will be very late. I'm sorry again 😔.

Taglist: none (send an ask or dm me to be tagged. Either in Ateez works, all my works or the TXT ones)

Divider: @cafekitsune

#✒------💚 mine #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jung wooyoung #ateez imagines #ateez #Wooyoung #Wooyoung ffluff #Wooyoung crack

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cheriden · 5 months ago

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「オトナブルー otonablue 」。。。

The realization that he’s been gaping at you for a while hits him hard, clearing his throat as he comments, “You look stupid.” You fake a punch midair at his oh-so-insightful critique, pouting. Soobin notes the pink sheen that coats your bottom lip, feeling his heart stutter on itself.

── synopsis 。Celebrating your entry to senior high school, you decide to change your style up a bit.

pairing 。choi soobin x f! reader

.ᐟ genre 。fluff

.ᐟ tags 。high-school au, friends to lovers

.ᐟ status & word count 。oneshot | 2.59k

.ᐟ warnings/notes 。reader is fem presenting and has insecurity/vanity issues, as always i did not proofread

It’s summer; the station bustles with movement—passengers on their phones and overhead systems announcing the arrival of the upcoming train. The pathetic whirs of the overhead fan do nothing to quench heat, small children running around even as the floor is shrouded in something sticky, further aggravating you. Afraid of missing the next ride, you yank at Soobin to get his attention.

He’s busy though, entertaining a flock of girls currently plaguing him about himself. Soobin was never the type to leave a person hanging, more out of the fear of one’s judgment over pride for himself. “My type?” He ponders, ignoring your incessant curses and the gush of the passing vehicle. It takes off, only urging the brunette to stall further out of spite for your punching at his midrib. “Someone tall and pretty, with a confident personality. Preferably older.” Eavesdropping, though can you really call it that?, you glance at how the group deflates his response, even as you’re busy annoying him. He excuses himself, points at the train behind him prior to interlocking his arm with yours, and drags you away to the loading platform with your eyes still on the girls.

They’re captivating, towering and slim; you’re pretty sure you’ve seen idols and celebrities wear something similar, and you can’t help but stare down on yourself. You look homely: A plain house shirt that isn’t quite a type fit nor oversized, green cargo shorts that stop at your knees, flat sneakers that don’t do your height any favors and a hello kitty hair clip you’ve had since birth messily clamped into your hair. Lost in thought, you’re almost mauled by the door as the taller pulls you inside. He tuts, “We’re gonna be late because of you.” Rolling your eyes, you plop down onto one of the seats, Soobin following suit. “We’re late because you were busy flirting,” you retort, “late. On the first day, nonetheless.” A scowl spreads across his face, using two fingers to push your forehead, causing you to bump your head against the metal. “We wouldn’t need a review center if you didn’t flunk your statistics class.” Reaching to yank his hair, you fall short and stick your tongue out at him instead. “And why are you here? Because if my memory proves me right, you’re on the verge of failing it too.” The next stop frees up space, opting for Soobin to sit next to you. “Your mom ratted out about this place to my mom. I was gonna pass just fine” A rather obnoxious laugh falls from your mouth, earning the judging glares of random passersby. “If “just fine” is you randomly filling out your bubble test sheet, then I guess we’d all be just fine.” “Stop doing those air quote things!” He groans, swatting your fingers. “You’ll see. I'll finish all my work early and be free for the rest of the break.”

“It doesn’t work like that, idiot. You know what, it doesn’t even matter.” You lie, more for yourself than for him. “I doubt college entrance exams have it, I heard they don’t allow calculators.” Shaking his head, he presses his head on the window, trying to figure out the upcoming terminal. “Nah, you’re expected to do it mentally. Get up, this is our stop.” Mouth falling open, you try to collect yourself as Soobin yanks you up. “Are they insane?! How do they expect me to do all that in under an hour?” He shrugs, arms on your shoulders as you navigate the current of bodies. It’s summer, yet fate has you running back and forth the city studying for exams and running chores.

Half of your subconscious is listening to the instructor as she points at the whiteboard about—well, you don’t really know. The other half focuses on the magazine in your lap, free hand flipping through the pages as the other (pretends to) solve the problem in your workbook. A noise resounds through the hardwood desk, and you look up to see that the source is your seatmate’s ballpen. Relief fills your body as you pull all your attention onto the lesson, though it’s cut short when you see a notebook slide onto your side of the shared table. The sheet reads: “What are you looking at?” Nudging the pad over to you, you write back, “Fashion inspo. Want a makeover,“ with a sad face haphazardly sketched beside it. The other moves inches near the side of your face, voice small and low as she whispers. “Meet me in the women’s room after our session.”

The giddy feeling doesn’t leave your body, not as you were impatiently rushing through the activities, and not as you wait inside the washroom like a child waiting for their parent. She exits the stall, and it’s only then that you take in her as a whole. The girls from earlier were no match for her: hair freshly bleached and lobes pierced, thin shrug and loose crop top on as she strides in front of the mirror. “Sorry, had to pee.” She mutters, eyes glued to her hands while washing them. “So, why do you want a makeover?” Playing with the strap of your bag, you’re unable to give a direct answer. You aren’t even sure yourself. “Well, since I’m entering my senior year next term, so I think I styled myself more mature.” The other nods, eyes boring into yours as reflected by the mirror. “I think you’d look good with blue hair.” Blushing, you flounder over yourself, trying to maintain composure. “Thanks, but my school wouldn’t even allow makeup.” The blonde drags you over to the counters, dumping her sanitary pouch. “So, wear light makeup.” Your eyes glimmer as they scan each product, all the packages of pink, black, and red sitting prettily on the marble. “That’s a thing?” Nodding lazily, she grabs your wrist and one of her various lip balms, swatching it across the skin. “You don’t seriously think the prettiest girls in your class are barefaced, do you?” Listening attentively, you watch patiently as the other retreats her things into her tote. “You got your wallet?” You nod. “Got any cash on you?” You tilt your hand sideways, and the blonde thinks it’s good enough. “None of my old stuff matches your skin tone. Come on, we’re going to hunt for supplies.”

“Soobin! Wait up for me you idiot!” The brunette turns his head in hostility, slightly taken aback by your form. “Were you going to leave without me? Huh? You psycho.”

He inspects you from head to toe: The new barrette that shimmers in plastic gold, fitted tank top that sits halfway atop your belly button, denim shorts that reveal the plush of your thighs, platform sandals that you surprisingly don’t wobble in. The realization that he’s been gaping at you for a while hits him hard, clearing his throat as he comments, “You look stupid.” You fake a punch midair at his oh-so-insightful critique, pouting. Soobin notes the pink sheen that coats your bottom lip, feeling his heart stutter on itself.

Wait, what?

He dismisses the feeling, shooting back, “You left without me yesterday. I was just going to bike today.” Pout deepening, you clasp your hands together for mercy. “Please let me ride with you, ‘Binnie? I used all my allowance yesterday.” He laughs in disbelief, mounting his bike. “You’re so dead when your parents find out you missed a study day.” Screaming into the air, you grasp onto his shirt in an attempt to stop him from leaving. Not like he was going to, but he finds you hilarious like this. “Not if she kills you first for wearing that out.” You huff, crossing your arms at him. “It’s hot Soobin. Do you want me to die? Do you want me to die of a heat stroke or by the hands of my own mother?” Tapping his chin, he fakes a thought. “Both are very tempting.” You stare at him as if he betrayed you. With a smirk, he pats onto the seat behind him.

Upon arriving at the center, you roam around the sidewalk while waiting for the other as he locks his bike to the racks. Soobin can’t help but observe you sulk at the view of other kids your age out and about with their friends, eating ice cream and complaining about the weather, like that was the worst thing they had to worry about at the moment.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar figure waving at you. As he nears you, you gasp and wave back, poking at the brunette relentlessly in order to get his attention. “Soobin! Yeonjun’s here!” You rush to hug the aforementioned, immediately patting down his pockets for anything edible. “She hasn’t had anything since breakfast. Spent all her money on useless things again.” Scoffing, you let go, adjusting the fit of your top. “All my purchases are investments! You don’t understand me.”

Yeonjun continues to ignore the two of you bicker, interjecting when you escalate to name-calling each other. “Aren’t you dolled up today?” He asks rhetorically, toying with the edges of your hair. The tallest watches you gleam at the words, linking your arm with the eldest. You fish for compliments, pressing the weight of your body against his, “Right? Am I pretty today?” Yeonjun finds endearment in your ceaseless puppy-eyes, and the brunette can all but see the non-existent tail wagging in the other’s presence. “Yes, you look very pretty today.” You squeal, and Soobin’s a bit annoyed, though he chalks it up to the fact that you’ve been outside in the heat for what it feels like hours. “See Soobin? See? ‘Junnie thinks I’m pretty today.” He rolls his eyes in response, walking through the front door as the two of you continue to trail behind him, hand-in-hand and complimenting each other like lovers.

The hours seem to slip away with surprising swiftness, feet tapping as the tutor concludes the session. It’s a Friday, and Soobin promised he’d go to the arcade with you today. Making your way through the halls in search of the brunette, you peek through each door, halting at the familiar ring of your name.

“I seriously don’t know what she’s up to. She looks stupid with that eyeshadow. It’s abhorrent.” Crouching by one of the corners in hiding, you can hear the giggling of those you recognize to be your schoolmates. “Must be seeking attention. Honest to God, it’s so unserious. Like she raids her bigger sister’s closet when she’s not home.” Fiddling with the hem of your top, you latch your teeth onto your lower lip, unable to stop the prick of tears forming at your eyes.

You suppose your interest in vanity was rather sudden, a shock to those around you and even to your closest friends. Combing the clips out of your hair, you toy with the frayed ends—a result of using an iron to style them like the models in photoshoots, the girls on the platform, and your seatmate with bleached hair. Maybe it was stupid and pointless. Why was this even affecting you so much? All you wanted was to feel good about yourself. You bury your face in your arms, cries flowing freely and silently onto the floor.

Just then, a large figure shadows you, prying your arms apart desperately. It isn’t until you hear who it is that you stop to gaze up. “Where the hell did you run off to?” Soobin asks, grasp on your sides softening when he notices the redness in your cheeks, ugly snot running from your nose.

For a while you’re just staring at him. He’s properly handsome—big eyes, tall nose, plump lips. You think it’s unfair. “Do you genuinely think I look stupid?” His brows furrow, brain struggling to connect the timeline of events that had led you here. “Where did that even come from?” In an attempt to restrain yourself from sniffling, it results in an even uglier, unhinged snort. You ignore it, as well as the look Soobin gives you. It’s not sharp, it’s not pity, you’re not entirely sure what it is. “I thought you said it was your type?” He lets out a large exhale, chuckling as he settles beside you. “Is that why you started dressing like this in the first place? ‘Cause I just said that so those girls would get off my back.” It takes him a while, but you can practically feel his body shoot up as he comes to an epiphany. “Do you like me?” Your body mirrors his shock, but in your case it’s a call to defend yourself. “I thought it was universal like!”

A genuine smile finds its way onto his face, disappearing when he clears his throat. “Well,” he starts, cupping your face as he pulls you in closer, “I like you regardless of what you put on.” Tracing the ends of your jaw, his eyes move to gaze onto your lips, then your eyes, then your nose. He connects every feature of yourself that makes you, you. Your heart gets caught up in your throat, thumping a million times per second. Eyes screwed shut, you clench your bag when the warmth of his breath mixes with yours. He seals the gap with a peck on the mouth, movement stuttering as you feel his nervousness through the action. A beat passes, but you kiss back—head tilting to slot into him. His lips taste of sugar and bread, a reflection of its plumpness as it glazes itself in your lip balm. Everything about him is warm, and you all but chase it when you disconnect, both of your cheeks flushed in pink as you falter and pant on his shoulder. “So I’m guessing you like me back.” He remarks, still unsure of himself as he toys with the strings of his sweater, eyes avoiding yours. “So what? You liked me first?” Taking it as acknowledgement, he bites the inners of his cheek with a meek smile,”Well, I only found out recently.” Your hand ghosts near his, desperate for his warmth again but too afraid to say anything. “I think… I’ve known for a while now… Just needed something to make me think of it consciously.” His fingers are the same, testing the waters when he carefully entangles it with yours. In an attempt to lessen the amount of awkward tension that holds the air, he states the obvious. “I think a kiss would do it, yeah.” It doesn’t work, not really, so he gets up to stretch the nerves off, you following suit with his hand still in yours. It’s your turn to try saying something, but you’re not really sure what to say. “My lipstick is ruined.” Of course, your main default is to complain and nitpick. “You must take responsibility! I had a hard time putting all this together.” He grins when you gander at the physical connection, inspecting it from all sides as you rotate it slightly. “You still look pretty.” He asserts, swaying them back and forth as you make your way out of the building. “But would you say it was a good investment?”

Soobin’s head swivels to flash you his pointed eyes, “Are you surveying me for a product review after I kissed you?” With a shrug, you bump your body against his with a little force. “Maybe. Or maybe you should kiss me again.”

“Maybe.”

reuploaded! because tumblr was being mean to me

thank you for reading! feedback, reblogs and tags are appreciated♡

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