#god this took such a long time to complete

[primalsharkman]

Sweet and Spicy

Jo Yuri x M Reader | 🔞 Smut

[idol x manager, she wants u lil bro]

Word Count: 3,654

As you sat down at your bed, in your small studio apartment, taking in the long day you just had, you take stock of everything you had been going through these past few months.

For once in your crappy life, you found a way to turn your quiet days into a job, applying for literally anything on the market. That was when a friend of yours, Jo Yuri, yes, Yuri from IZ*ONE, well, used to be IZ*ONE, found you submitting your resume at the small company she works at.

Intrigued by your looks, she asked the people that was managing her at the time what you were doing there, and they explained that you were applying for a job. Not soon after, there were online calls, and sit-down interviews, and then they gave you the job.

It was a little stressful at first, that's only because you didn't really know what you were doing. All you were told by the people regularly working with Yuri is to just follow her orders and take notes from her old manager, who was going to pursue a new career, and took you under his wing as he guided you to her everyday routines and activities.

You eventually learned how to handle Yuri, from her breakfast, her choice of coffee, towards the end of the day where you make sure she's back at her place safely.

As for Yuri, it never really hit you how soft and sweet she really is. You take care of her very often, and she often reminds you how grateful she is. It's a very difficult job, but Yuri makes it a hundred times easier.

You smiled to yourself as you got ready to sleep, took your phone to scroll through some reels, a text popped up on your screen, it was Yuri.

"U awake?"

You didn't hesitate to reply back, "Yeah, what's up?"

"I'm feeling lonely... :("

"Oh, do you want me to come over?"

"Bring some ramen and fishcakes too please :3"

"Alright, I'll be there in 10"

And just like that, you compromised your comfortable position in bed, and got up again to get your keys and wallet. You grabbed a fresh hoodie and wore some jogging pants before going out to the nearest convenience store to buy Yuri her ramen and fishcakes.

You didn't even think twice, you just went to the convenience store, picked up the food and drove right ahead to her place.

The stairs going up to her apartment were very long, so thank god the elevator is working. After pressing the button and waiting, you were left there with your thoughts. That's when it hit you: You've never been alone with her.

Sure, there are moments during the job which required the two of you to be alone, such as car rides, airplane rides, or the few minutes at the backstage dressing room where all the stylists have gone out and it was just the two of you. But, you two were never left alone in this capacity, in a very private setting, for quite some time, given she invited you over to eat as well.

Shaking away these thoughts were the ding signifying the elevator was there, and along with it, the doors opening. Stepping inside, was just you. As the doors closed, your fate was slowly sealed for the rest of the night.

Another ding rang out, this means you're on her floor now, which meant it was time to step out of the elevator. Carrying the bag of food she requested, you simply walked along the hallway, looking for her door. And then you saw it, Room 1029. This was her door.

The doorbell beside was already calling your name, and you took the chance to press it, where the chime of the bell had echoed in her apartment, making her leave the bed and walk towards her door to let you in.

As she opens the door, you were quite shocked to see what she was wearing. She had her hair tied in a clamp, she wore a black camisole that hugged her top and showed a little bit of her cleavage, and paired with that are black bike shorts, it made it seem like her white legs were greeting you with a smile, and on top of that, she was wearing cute fluffy bunny slippers that completed her look.

"Hi, come in. Thank goodness you're finally here, i'm kinda starving." She said that with a smile, which you can consider a smirk, but you paid little attention to the detail.

"Thank you, I'll cook your ramen, can you point me to the kitchen?" You say as you take your shoes off and set it aside.

"It's right over there, thanks a lot!" She says that with a beam of sunshine on her face.

She offered you some fluffy slippers as well, so you took it. After wearing them, it really is super comfortable, and it made your bare feet feel like it was already in bed.

Going straight to her kitchen, you took out the ramen packs and boiled some water. Yuri went by your side, touching your arm in the process.

"Aren't you wondering why I felt lonely?"

"I was thinking you'd tell me later."

"Well... it's a bit of a long story, but I'd really love to tell you why."

It was almost like teasing, the way her tone sounded during those words. You could only nod as a response, still being clueless as to what Yuri was trying to do, and it made her a little needy, seeing her manager being aloof, trying to bring his walls up to deny her advances. But Yuri hasn't started yet.

"I wanted some good times. My old managers were female, but they provided me whatever I needed, sending over some, company." Yuri is rubbing her palm up and down your arm now.

"Good times? What does that mean?" You ask, confused by what she meant.

"It's a very lonely industry, I used to be in a group, so I was never really alone back then, but these days, I find myself more and more lonely, and I've been looking for people to... spend time with."

"So me? Your manager?"

"Ah... but you could be more than just my manager." Yuri winks.

You take the ramen and pour it out on two bowls, and prepare her fishcakes as well. "Like what?"

She takes the pot from you, and puts it down gently on the sink before walking back and caressing your chest.

"I'd be happy to show you later, oppa."

The tension in that room really went high once she said that word in a sultry tone. It was getting really dangerous, and it could boil at any minute, and it made you scared. If things did happen, you could get fired, and that'll be the least of your problems.

"Ah... Yuri, the food is ready..." You look away, staring at the prepared food beside you.

She smirks and takes her hands off of you. "Okay, let's have a warm meal first."

You breathe a sigh of relief as the both of you bring the food to the small dining table nearby, and she deliberately sat beside you, in a very close manner.

She takes a sip of the noodles, and hummed in delight. "Ahh... you got the delicious ones, this is great!"

"I like this brand too. It's my hangover meal."

She raises her brows with a smile. "You drink heavy, oppa?"

There she goes again. It just hits a nerve within you, and every time she says it you just want to throw yourself out the window before you do anything stupid.

"No... just casually... when there's an event."

"I see." She says as she goes back to sipping her noodles.

The tension is higher than ever now. It was very difficult nursing a raging boner in your pants while hearing her say those words, thank goodness she hasn't looked down yet.

Unfortunately for you, that's exactly what she's going for. You try to stay focused, sipping on your ramen and praying to god she's not planning any more funny stuff. But Yuri was planning for more funny stuff, and she looked down to see a bulge on your pants, and she smiled to herself knowing that she has won, without even laying a finger on you.

In your head, everything was circling and you were getting dizzy thinking about a lot of things. All the clearer and innocent thoughts have been thrown out the window, and you think back to the way she answered the door for you earlier, with nearly everything just exposed, and it got your cock twitching with excitement while you desperately try to think about something disgusting to remove that boner before Yuri says anything about it.

"Is there a phone in your pants, or are you just excited to see me?" Yuri smiles and traces her fingers along your thighs, dangerously close to your crotch, then you freeze.

There was no response. Your brain has short-circuited, and the neurons that your brain was supposed to send to your mouth to start talking has been neutralized by this girl, your supposed boss, who has her hand inching closer, and closer, nearing the inevitable part of touching that raging boner you had been hiding, and as time slows down, her pinky got there first.

She had a small feel of your cock. Albeit far from actually touching your cock, she was there. She was still inching, until her entire hand was laid there on top of your crotch, and she was smiling.

"Oppa, are you okay?" She asked, smiling, hoping to break you out of your frozen trance.

"Yuri..."

She stood from her chair, leaned to your side, and wrapped her arms around your neck before she whispers, "Why did you have to wear such a thick fabric tonight? This would've been so much easier."

"I'm not sure... how to respond, Yuri. What are you doing to me...?"

She breaks a smile as she kisses your cheek, "It's pretty obvious. I called you over because I'm lonely, and I needed a man to fuck me. And you are so hot oppa, I've been wanting you ever since you applied for this job, I wanted them to hire you, and I have been waiting until you're comfortable enough to come to my home, and use my body as you wish."

Your cock had viciously twitched, and it really hurt for it to be in your pants, and that was all the response Yuri needed from you.

"Come on, let's go to my room, get these clothes out of the way." She giggles as she says it.

"W-wait... I might get fired."

"For what? Doing your job?" She smiles again as she takes your hand in hers.

"This... is part of the job?" You look at her with an eyebrow up, confused.

"Your job includes taking care of my every need, and right now, I need you. Don't worry, okay? Everything will be okay, I promise."

"None of this will get out?"

"I should be the one asking you that, cutie." Yuri smiles again, that damned smile.

It finally makes you crack a smile, and you wholeheartedly embrace the situation you are in, so you lean in slowly and kiss her.

She returns the kiss with a strong fervor, and cups your cheeks as she deepens the kiss. Your hands roam around the side of her body, before landing on her hips, hugging her figure and pulling her closer to you.

Yuri moans in the kiss, and this made you hungrier, more needy, and started kissing her with a burning passion, and those touches on her hips turn into something more of a primal instinct, you grabbed her ass, and carried her. In turn, Yuri wrapped her legs around you as she got even deeper into the kiss, whining and moaning while you try to walk towards her room with Yuri pointing out where to go.

Once you were in front of her door, fiddling with the doorknob, Yuri laughs at you cutely and you give her a sly smile, before finally looking down and opening the door to her room.

Her room is pretty cluttered, pink walls, with her dressing table with a vanity mirror attached to it, a lot of makeup products scattered on the table, her hair dryer splayed on the chair, and some clothes hanging on the chair itself. There is another table across, her laptop right there, along with some pens and paper, you're assuming she's studying something, going to online classes.

Then there's her bed, it's a really comfortable looking bed, with weighted blankets, and a lot of stuff toys on the pillows, since they all look so different, you can assume that those are the gifts she's received from fans over the years.

You walk her towards the bed and plop her down, and she starts clearing her bed out, taking her plushies and stuffed toys and tossing it towards the chair near the bed, stacking them on top of each other. You sat on her bed, waiting for her to finish, and she flashes you a quick giggle while she's clearing her bed out, which earned a sweet smile from you.

Once she was done, she took a pillow and placed it on the floor in front of you, before kneeling on it, "I think you deserve something from me, after I really made your life hard." She says as she moves her hands towards the band of your thick sweatpants and pull it down slowly, along with your boxers, revealing your throbbing cock, which earned a relieving gasp from you, finally letting it breathe after getting set free.

"Ooh..." Her fingers wrap around your length, as she takes into stock the girth of it all, looking at it up and down while she slowly strokes your cock to understand its length.

The way her fingers are moving elicits a low moan from you, it feels like she knows where to hit you, and it feels really good. She hasn't even done anything that's going to break you just yet.

"It's quite big... but I think I can take this." She closes her eyes and places small kisses on the frenulum, trailing them downward, and takes your balls into her mouth, while stroking your length slowly. Her eyes drift from appreciating the length of your cock towards your eyes, making eye contact with you.

You see the hunger in her eyes, as she takes your balls gracefully and using her other hand to grip you properly and stroke you well, and damn does it feel so good with every single lick, and every single stroke with her hand just feels like heaven.

It's pretty obvious that she has done this before, the way she knows how to jerk you off, her licks on your underside with just enough pressure, her thumbing your frenulum while she spits on the head of your cock to make everything feel wetter and so much better.

Twitch after twitch, she notices you gripping her sheets, trying not to cum right then and there.

"I know I'm that good but, already?" She smiles and lets your cock go, leaving you with an empty feeling and thrusting into the air wanting for more.

"You're cute, oppa. I'll suck your cock, but promise me not to cum, okay?"

"Okay..."

She puts her hands behind her back, smirking and taking in the head of your cock in her mouth, without a single touch. She slowly lowers herself, deeper and deeper into your cock, until her nose touches your pelvic area, and her beautiful mouth has enveloped your cock.

You were struggling, you could feel her throat opening and closing on your cock and it's unbelievably difficult to maintain your composure, doing your best not to bust right then and there. You keep your hand right above her head, wanting to touch her and hold her right there but you freeze, your hand just shaking in the air while your eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

Yuri slowly comes back up, and you feel the cool air on the base of your cock again, but it didn't last long as she starts bobbing her head faster, sucking your cock passionately and trailing her eyes towards you.

Looking at you just made her want to break you more, sucking your cock faster, and finally using her hands to fondle your balls at the same time.

The pressure and the pleasure of her blowjob is making you moan so loud, her spit trailing down the length of your cock, down to your balls, her chin, and the floor underneath.

"Yuri... oh my fucking god... I don't think I can last any longer if you keep that up."

She suddenly stops, edging you, and smiles as she wipes the drool off her chin and giggles, "Okay, I'll stop now."

"W-what...?"

"You can't cum yet. I still need you hard."

"But.. I'm so close..."

"Nope. You promised not to cum yet." She smiles and stands, taking her pillow and dusting it off before tossing it back on the bed.

"You're mean."

"Am I?" Her camisole comes off, revealing a cute pair of tits, and asks you to do the same.

You finally take your hoodie off, as well as your shirt, tossing it across the room with the rest of your clothes. Now it's just Yuri in her shorts, and your eyes are locked towards her boobs.

"Okay oppa, fuck me." Yuri slowly takes off her shorts, tosses it away, and you finally see her pussy, which is unbelievably wet.

You grab her and place her down the bed, spreading her legs and gliding two of your fingers down on her, earning a cute moan.

She grabs your cock, still wet from her spit, and grazes your cock head on her slit, earning louder moans. She tries to insert it herself, being very impatient, and without a care, you plunged it inside her deep.

"Ahh! Fuck!" She moans as your cock slides in easily, fucking her relentlessly without any build-up.

Her arms wrap around your head while you bury your lips into her neck, with her moaning louder with each strong thrust.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Don't stop! Keep going hard! Yes!" Earlier she was breaking you, and now that you have control, fucking her into delight, you're breaking her.

"Take this fucking cock, Yuri. You love this fucking cock don't you?"

"Yes! I love that cock! Please please please!"

She was creaming down there, getting white cream all over the length of your cock and down towards the bed, she's unbelievably horny, and her legs are shaking again and again, cumming over and over without you stopping, or skipping a beat.

Her eyes have rolled behind her head and her grip on your neck has loosened, her body splayed down the bed taking your massive pounding again and again.

You've managed to hold your cum off now, and you're feeling that familiar feeling down there, and you just can't hold it any longer.

"Yuri... I'm gonna fucking cum..."

"Don't you dare pull out."

"What...?"

"Finish inside me, deep inside, make an even bigger mess than I am making, please."

"I could get in trou-"

"Just fucking cum inside! I'm safe! Please! Ohh my fucking god!"

You feel her pussy tighten and loosen again, signifying that she came for an uncountable number this night, and you finally break, spraying load after load of thick cum deep inside her, mixing with her creamy pussy and making a huge creampie mess right then and there, spilling out of her pussy and leaking on the sheets.

"There... fuck... there..." You say as you fall down beside her, pulling out and letting her the mixed juices of her cum and yours inside her pussy leak down.

"That... was the best creampie I have ever gotten." She pants as she closes her eyes.

You hug her, "We should change your sheets before we sleep..."

"Okay..." She wobbles up, her legs shaking, making you smile, because you did that. You made her cum again and again and now she could barely walk.

You asked where her sheets are and changed everything yourself. Afterwards, you took a towel and cleaned her off before finally going back to bed so you two could cuddle.

"I'm glad you're my manager, oppa."

"You can drop the oppa act now, Yuri, I fucked you already."

"No, I mean it. On top of being a handsome dude, you fuck like a machine, so much better than any guy I've ever had. But I need you to promise something..."

"What is it?" You take her chin and make her look up at you.

"You know that my career is... pretty unstable. I don't get schedules on a regular basis, or even make music a guarantee." She says as you nod.

"Promise you'll stay through the rough times? You've been really good to me, you're an amazing manager and I know you're here for a paycheck, but it would be really great if you stayed."

You plant a kiss on her lips and smile, "Yuri, I'll stay. It times get rough, I'll do anything with you to get a paycheck. I know you're not in a stable position, but we'll get there. I'll help find you opportunities, whether that be a comeback or an acting gig, maybe something else, but I'll stay, for you."

"Thank you." She smiles as she gives you a softer kiss this time.

"I love you." She says one more time before closing her eyes.

"I love you too." You reply. Whatever love means to Yuri, you know you're in for the long haul, whether you like it or not.

-FIN-

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A/N: Here you go Glassys, I hope you like this one. If you all want, you could send me some inspiration for fics, pictures or prompts, go ahead. I probably won't do requests, but short inspirations would be awesome. Thanks for the support thus far, and I love you all.

Just keep swimming.

-Shark

[tateypots]

The Shower

18+ MDNI

Pairing : Dark!Joel Miller x f!reader (sorry no Tommy in this one).

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: Ok so I'd like everyone to take a second to appreciate the amazing new Collared moodboard/banner (not sure of the correct terminology) that was sent to me as a gift by the completely wonderful @aurorawritestoescape/@not-a-unique-snowflake-blog. I think we can all agree that it's totally awesome!

I'm so insanely touched that she took the time out to create something so beautiful for my story and I thought as a thank you I would drop an extra little Collared chapter.

When I was writing the last chapter (before the story got away from me and derailed all my plans) I actually drafted out a version of the shower scene that Joel tells Tommy about. And as the bare bones were already drafted I have fleshed it out to be it's own chapter. So this will sit between Surrender and Uncle Tommy's Mistake. I hope you enjoy.

Please note that the moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is never described past having boobs and a vagina.

Warnings: Non-con, dark!Joel, kidnapping, Daddy kink, talk of squirting (Joel not really having a clue how it works), restraints, joint showering, oral (f!receiving), masturbation (m), cum eating.

Part 5 | Part 7 | Series Masterlist

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You awaken from your nap to Joel pulling out of you, your pussy aching at the prolonged stretch of having him inside you. A small whimper escapes before you’re even fully aware of what is happening.

“I know baby, I know. It’s a lotta cock for your little pussy to hold inside for so long hmm?”

You nod against his chest, still fully lying atop him “yes Daddy.”

Joel’s cock throbs at hearing that name fall from you with such ease after months of resistance. Before he can get carried away he rolls you off him onto your back on the bed and gets up with a groan.

“Need to clean us both up baby, you made a big mess,” he tells you, basking in the memory of your little pussy squirting all over him. He was surprised how arousing he’d found it. It was never something he’d given much thought in the before but fuck, how he’d enjoyed knowing he’d pushed you to the pinnacle of pleasure.

You pull your knees to your chest and tuck your head in, aiming to make yourself as small as possible, raw with vulnerability after finally surrendering yourself to Joel.

“I’m sorry Daddy, I didn’t mean to,” you whimper, worried you’re about to get in trouble, “I don’t know what happened, I’ve never wet myself before. I’m so sorry Daddy, please don’t be mad at me!”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, crouching down to tug your face up to look at him. “I ain’t mad at you baby, you made Daddy so happy with what you did. C’mere,” he sits on the bed and drags you into his lap. “You didn’t wet yourself baby, you squirted, you know what that means?”

You shake your head timidly at him as he strokes your arm and you sink into his embrace. He wasn’t entirely sure on the mechanics of it himself but seeing your confused little face peering up at him the urge to soothe you burned through him, even if he had to bluff a little in order to do it.

“Well, you know how wet your little pussy gets when Daddy’s makin’ you feel good? Well some special girls, like you, when they feel especially good, their pussies can squirt out some of that wetness. That’s why it made me so happy baby, showed me how much you were enjoyin’ yourself.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to reply, not really sure what to make of what he was telling you, still unsure as to whether to be embarrassed or not. It had felt really good but you couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed by your body again. You had started to bare yourself emotionally to Joel, still a little scared and unsure but it seemed like your body was refusing to hold anything back. It would not keep any secrets from him.

He watched your face scrunch up as you contemplated his explanation. God he loved how innocent you were. You’d clearly led a very sheltered existence pre-outbreak and now he got to teach you everything you’d been missing out on. His cock throbs again at the thought.

He placed you back on the bed, getting up and disappearing into his room briefly and returning with the key to your collar.

“Come on baby, lets take a shower, get all cleaned up.”

He kept a hand tight around your bicep as he unlocked you. It’s not really necessary, there’s no way you’d attempt anything. You couldn’t beat him in a fight. And even if you were fast enough to slip away from him you wouldn’t survive long outside, naked in the freezing temperatures. And that’s without the added complication of also managing to slip past Tommy. But Joel refuses to take any risks with you after all the progress he’s made so his grip remains tight and bruising.

Guiding you into the bathroom he sits you down on the toilet, closing and locking the door behind him before turning on the shower head and waiting for the water to heat up. Once it was warm enough he guides you under the stream before climbing in after you.

You relax in the heat of the water, enjoying the comforting patter of it on your skin as Joel hastily washes himself behind you. Before long you feel his big soapy hands on you, making sure he captures every inch of skin on your back half before pulling you back into his chest to reach around you and repeat the process over your front. His hands linger on your breasts, squeezing and massaging softly before tweaking the nipples. You moan at his ministrations, pangs of arousal shooting to your core, so pleasurable despite your poor, abused pussy aching with every pulse and throb. You feel Joel harden behind you as his hands drop lower. He pushes your top half against the wall, bending you slightly at the waist and takes the shower head from the bracket to rinse off your seam. This is typically the point of your shower that whichever brother has the job of washing you would fuck you hard against the tiles. You brace yourself for it but instead Joel replaces the shower head and kneels behind you, planting a kiss on each ass cheek before spreading them to inspect your pussy.

“She’s all red and swollen baby. She sore?”

You sniffle out a quiet “yes,” hoping he’ll take pity on you. And he does in a way.

“Don’ worry baby, Daddy’s goin’ to kiss this all better.”

Before you can even question what he means he starts placing soft little kisses on your pussy. You startle at the contact, a shocked little cry escaping you.

“Daddy what are you doing?!” you gasp, unable to fathom why he would want to put his mouth on you there.

“Mmm baby, Daddy needs a taste of you,” he mumbles into your folds, continuing to leave kisses around your entrance and over your lips.

“Daddy it’s dirty!”

“Ain’t dirty baby, bet you taste so fuckin’ sweet. It’ll feel good baby I promise, just trust Daddy k?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before slowly easing his fat tongue inside you, swirling it around before retreating and pressing in again. You can’t deny it feels incredible but you can’t help but feel uneasy at this new form of debauchery you’re being introduced to. Your head spins, the pleasure and the anxiety at war within you.

“I was right baby, you are fuckin’ delicious,” he babbles before pushing into you again.  

He slowly tongue fucks you for a few minutes and in the recesses of your brain you register how tender he’s being, how careful he is not to worsen the ache caused by his cock. He’s being kind to you. That thought alone has your heartrate soaring.

He withdraws his tongue from inside you and kisses his way down to your clit. You moan at the sensation of his tongue gently laving over it, swirling around it in ever decreasing circles before starting the maddening circuit again.

When he feels your clit start to throb under his tongue he starts alternating his little licks with softly sucking the swollen nub between his lips. It doesn’t take long for the pressure to build within you. He can see your poor little pussy clenching around nothing and with a shudder and a cry you come for him. His tongue abandons your little bundle of nerves when he sees your arousal starting to leak out of you. He gently circuits your entrance before easing the hot, wet muscle back inside of you, careful not to waste a drop of your sweetness.

With a groan and a final kiss to your clit Joel detaches himself from your pussy. Standing he turns you to face him and pushes you to your knees. Gripping his angry, leaking cock in his massive hand and stroking it with urgency.

“Open your mouth and stick your tongue out baby.”

You hesitate for a beat before following his instruction. He growls at the sight of you on your knees for him, mouth ready and waiting. He can’t wait for the day he can sink into the wet heat of it. But he’d promised Tommy. Promised that Tommy’s cock would be the first in your mouth. This would have to be enough for now.

With a moan his balls tighten and ropes of his hot seed spurt over your face and tongue. You try to flinch away but Joel catches you with his free hand keeping you in place

“Keep that tongue out baby, be a good girl, stay right there.”

With a grunt he finishes emptying his balls on your tongue.

“Ya look so pretty all painted baby,” he tells you as he gently rubs his thumb over your cheekbone, smearing his cum over your skin.

“Now, swallow.”

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[holyguardian]

Aerith had to swallow back her emotions. It was mostly shock, and ice cold feeling that would have to thaw before she could sort out what she truly felt... but not even that was being granted, not truly. Her shock wide eyes shifted between the Lucian King and her mother.

Wed today? That was... in that moment her eyes did all the screaming that her voice could not. It horrified her, in a way. She was getting exactly what she wanted but it was all... wrong.

"Mother?" she asked the Queen directly, knowing there would be softness even in this. "We can't... I mean... that isn't enough time, it wouldn't be... complete." What she wanted to say was that it wouldn't be real.

Ifalna did indeed soften. "It will be complete, my darling girl. Your union will be witnessed by the Gods, and the Lifestream. I promise you that. After the war, we will make every blessing, honour every tradition, but in the eyes of our families and the divine, you will be married today."

Aerith stuttered out a hopeless little sound. The beginnings of a complaint, though her eyes lowered, as did her head. This wouldn't be happening if it wasn't dire. And so with a nod, she kept her gaze on the floor.

"As such, we must take our leave. It is time to make our preparations." The Queen informed, not unkindly — however rotten it felt otherwise.

Aerith hesitated a moment before she dipped in a respectful bow to her future father-in-law. Then she turned to Somnus, unable to even meet him in his eyes as she dipped again, a gesture of her respect, and of her new place. She was to honour and obey his wishes from this day on...

And just like that, she was being led with her mother's arm around her for guidance. As they were walking out, her brother asked for her and took a few steps, but her mother gave a tense shake of her head while her father pulled him to his side to behave.

It should have been light and airy... shouldn't it?... To prepare for a wedding, even a private one under the veil of shadows. But she had an awful feeling about it now. Things were skipped. Rushed. More time was spent braiding her hair into the traditional style of a bride than she cared for, when she would rather pray at the alter of the ancients, or receive her blessings of good fortune from a lifespring. Instead it felt forced and hollow in a way.

Like they were pretending at something. Like... their feelings couldn't tie into it. How could they, when they were starting on the wrong foot now?

There weren't lavish decorations. There wasn't even a temple, the need for secrecy was so urgent. Instead it all took place in the very halls where they had eavesdropped on their futures. It was almost ironic to end up there now.

Her family stood on one side. His family on the other. Royal houses about to unite in a whisper that would detonate a war with the self-named dragon King.

Aerith wore a long, flowing tunica recta in white. Her head was adorned by a simple tiara that looked more like a dainty flower crown dipped in gold. It was her favourite, one she hadn't even known was packed away, but that had probably been a secret too.

It felt like a long walk. She was guided by her mother, the echoes of their footsteps echoing louder than the waves crashing, at least that was how it felt. At the end of that long walk, the Queen passed her hand to Prince Somnus, a symbolic gesture of handing over a daughter.

From there, she stepped up with Somnus to the priest and priestess guiding their blended ceremony. Then she turned to her husband-to-be, eyes lowered to where they stood with both hands gently linked. She was tense, and she could feel the weight of duty on her shoulders. He must have felt it too, if not more... it was him, about to be ripped from his home...

Somnus had expected a lot of different outcomes. But not this.

Not the appendage to the bigger announcement. That Aerith would marry him – there was a feeling in his chest as if his heart learned to soar the skies. And yet Queen Ifalna’s next words shot it out of the heights like an arrow would pierce a hawk.

He could feel Aerith’s eyes on him, though he stared at his father at all of this. No. No, that was not right.

Taking a step forward, Somnus gestured wide as he raised his voice: “Pater, that is not just. I am not a son of the Cetran bloodline, I am-“

His words were cut short with one harsh gesture of the King and Somnus could see the patience on his father’s face immediately wearing thin. He was angry. He probably had fought valiant worded battles against the Cetran monarchs, against the Queen at his side who so gracefully delivered this devastating message to her daughter. The Lucian King had gotten the upper hand in these debates. The farmlands were cornered, otherwise Somnus had no explanation as to how Aerith’s parents could have allowed this to happen.

“Enough, Somnus. Know your place. You will serve Lucis and you do so by becoming the farmland’s king. Until then you will join them in their lands, learn their customs, their culture, their lives, so you will serve your future people well. You will take part of our armies with you already to defend the farmlands against Jacob. And you will prove yourself worthy. I expect nothing less from you.”

It was clear that no arguments were allowed. Not at all. Somnus could only lower his head, take that half step back, so he was beside Aerith again.

What was she thinking? She must feel so betrayed. By her parents. By the Lucians. By him.

I had no idea, please… believe me.

Would she ever buy these words from him?

Though they would not even get a chance to digest any of this and talk about it. The King continued the plans laying ahead.

“Time is a luxury we do not have. Rumours travel fast and we already lost a day to yesterday’s tragedy. Jacob must not know of this union before it is solidified. You will be wed today, in a private ceremony with just your families as witnesses. Come tomorrow, you will travel back to the farmlands. There will be no discussions of this, it has been decided by Queen Ifalna and me.”

[achilles-rage]

Is She Mine?

summary: when buck left pennsylvania, he unknowingly left you there, pregnant with his child. four years later he runs into you and your daughter at the grocery store.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: another buck with a kid fic, another baby name from my baby name list used<3 if you don't like the name argue with the wall. someone gave me this idea months ago, but i can't find the ask, and i know birthmarks like that aren't hereditary or anything, but just pretend lol. anyway, enjoy<3

warnings: barely edited (sorry), reader has a daughter (obviously lol), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

“Delia, come back here right now!” you whisper-yell down the grocery aisle, looking up right as you see your daughter disappear around the corner.

You’ve always been against kids on leashes, but lately, your three-year-old daughter has been single-handedly changing your opinion on them. You can’t take your eyes off of her for more than a couple of seconds before she’s gone; chasing after nothing in particular and probably talking to a random stranger or two along the way, if you know her at all.

You see flickers of her father in her; not merely in her appearance, but in who she is on the inside as well, and she’s never even met him. She’s extremely outgoing and talkative, and stubborn, and has a heart of gold. As much as you hate to see the painful glimmer of her father within her, it also makes you happy to think of your time with him.

You haven’t seen him since shortly after you realized you were pregnant. You were both in college in your home state, and when you took the pregnancy test, you couldn’t figure out how to tell him. You had ended up waiting too long, and when he told you that he was leaving to travel the world, you couldn’t stop him, as much as you wanted to.

You knew how miserable he was with his parents, and you couldn’t bring yourself to ruin his dreams. You knew all he wanted to do was get out of Pennsylvania, and you didn’t want to force him to stay with you just because you had done something stupid. 

You abandon your cart in the middle of the aisle and race after her, haphazardly pulling your purse up your arm as your eyes frantically look around you for a glimpse of her hair, or her light blue shirt. Or was it purple? God, you really need to start taking pictures of her before you go out with her, you think to yourself as your heart hammers in your chest.

Finally, you hear her loud giggle, and you let out a relieved sigh, following the noise and finally setting your sight on her curly hair and her blue shirt. Good to know you were right about that, at least.

“De, what are you doing? You can’t run away from m-” your words catch in your throat as you see that she’s talking to a man who’s bent down to her level and smiling fondly at her. 

When he turns and locks eyes with you, the smile drops from his face, and he stands up straight as his eyes travel down your body. His breath has been ripped from his lungs as he watches you pick up the little girl and set her on your hip, but before either of you can speak, your daughter squeals excitedly in your ear.

“Mommy, he’s got dots, too!” Her tiny hand shoots out toward his eyebrow, pointing at the birthmark above his eye, and you nod slowly, eyes still focused on Buck. Your sweet girl is completely oblivious to the tension between you and Buck; all she can focus on is that this random man at the grocery store has the exact same birthmark as her.

“Buck,” you breathe in disbelief, watching as the realization dawns on him. He knows exactly what he just heard. Mommy. And unless he’s suddenly extremely bad at math, he knows exactly what this means.

His eyes dart between you and your daughter, now seeing the mix of your features on her face. She has your eyes, and her hair is the exact same, but she also has his bright smile, and his nose, and of course, the same birthmark above her eye.

“Is she-” he begins, trailing off as he shakes his head. He’s trying hard to wrap his head around this situation, and the only thought running through his mind is why the hell didn’t she tell me?

“She’s three,” you reply softly, unable to bring yourself to say the real truth. He’s not stupid; you know you shouldn’t need to, and you don’t want to say a thing around Delia, anyway. 

“Why didn’t you-?” he begins again, but you cut him off, keeping a firm grip on your daughter as she wiggles around in your arms.

“You were miserable in Pennsylvania, I couldn’t make you stay,” you explain, your throat feeling tight as you feel all the emotions you’ve been shoving deep down for the past four years fighting their way to the surface again.

“You wouldn’t be making me stay, if I knew, I would’ve wanted to stay. You know that,” he tells you, brows furrowed. 

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you since he left. Leaving you in Pennsylvania was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, but he knew how important it was for you to graduate, and he couldn’t ask you to leave with him and throw away your own dreams for his. 

Now, looking at you, and the little girl in your arms, his heart feels heavy. He feels guilty for not being there for you for four years. He wishes that he never left.

“And I wasn’t miserable. I had you,” he continues, his fists clenching at his sides as he watches his daughter wrap her arms around your neck and rest her little head on your shoulder. He wants more than anything to hold her, but she has no idea who he is, and that causes a pain in his chest.

“I’m sorry. We were young, and I didn’t know what to do,” you explain, guilt filling your belly. In hindsight, you know you should’ve told Buck; he had a right to know, but you didn’t know what to say.

“Well, I can’t just forget about this now. I can’t just go back to not seeing you, not seeing her,” he says, his tone pleading as he looks down at your daughter again, his eyes soft as he takes in her drowsy eyes.

“Delia,” you tell him with a small smile, tilting your head to the side and resting your cheek against the top of her head.

He smiles too, and you think you see tears forming in his eyes as he nods, then clears his throat.

“Delia,” he whispers. “She looks just like you,” he continues, louder this time. 

You laugh softly, shrugging as you squeeze Delia tighter to you. You’re thankful that she’s been quiet while you talk, clearly tired after a long day at the park, and then running errands.

“I think she looks like you,” you reply, and he chuckles softly, feeling a sense of pride fill his chest. He can’t believe he hasn’t been there to see his little girl grow up, and that you’ve had to do this all alone.

“Please let me see you again. Please.” You smile at his words; you knew Buck would want to help out as much as he could if he ever found out. You feel guilt eating at you as you see the longing in his expression, but this feels like a second chance, and you don’t want to cut him off again.

“Okay. But, can I call you later? I should get her home and ready for daycare tomorrow. We shouldn’t really talk about this here, anyway,” you say quietly, gesturing down to Delia. She may only be three, but she understands a lot, even in her sleepy state, and you don’t want to confuse her before you know what this is.

He nods quickly, then gives you his phone to get your number, and when he has it, you say goodbye before you go your separate ways. 

Your daughter waves haphazardly at Buck as you walk away, and you can’t help the grin that makes its way onto your face. She’s asked about her father before, and you never quite knew what to say. Maybe now she’ll actually be able to have the father she’s always asked about. The one that you’ve longed for for the last four years.

Later that night, when Delia’s in bed, you call Buck and set up a day for him to come over to spend the day with you two. You both agree not to tell Delia who he really is, at least not right away. First, you’ll just get her used to him, and then you’ll cross the next bridge when you get to it.

You weren’t at all surprised when the first time Buck showed up on your doorstep, Delia welcomed him in with a bright smile, grabbing his hand and bringing him into the living room where all her toys were scattered around. You weren’t surprised when Buck sat right down with her and played with her all day, either, only stopping for snack breaks.

Anything she would ask for, he would do, whether it was playing hide and seek, or painting with her, or throwing her up in the air as many times as she wanted while playing what she calls “rocket ship.”

Eventually, his afternoon visits ended up ending later and later, and you’d sit on the couch and talk long after Delia went to bed. You missed hanging out with him, and seeing him being so good with Delia had you falling for him all over again. 

It wasn’t hard to see that he felt the same; you could see the way his eyes wandered down your body, or down to your lips when you were speaking, but you never did anything about it. Your number one priority is Delia, and you don’t want to do anything too early and confuse her. 

One day, a few months after you had run into Buck, he’s sitting on the carpet with your daughter, holding two of her Barbie’s in his hands with furrowed brows as she explains to him who they are. You’re sitting with them, watching with a fond smile, when Delia stops, looking up at Buck quizzically.

“Are you my daddy?” she asks softly, her brows knit together in confusion as she eyes him.

Both you and Buck’s eyes widen, and your lips part as you try to figure out what to say. You knew this was coming, but you couldn’t figure out how to go about it.

“Why do you ask, sweetheart?” Buck finally says, tilting his head to the side as you watch them.

“Everyone at school has daddies. And, you love my mommy,” she explains, looking between the two of you. You tilt your head to the side and steal a glance at Buck, seeing the smile growing on his face. He meets your gaze for a second, raising a brow, and you nod once. You don’t know how this is going to go, but you want to try.

“Of course, I love your mommy. And I love you, too,” he assures her with a smile, bringing a hand up and tracing her chubby cheek with his fingers.

She smiles bashfully, tilting her head to the side, then stops for a moment, thinking. You can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she looks at the space between the two of you, spaced out, and then she looks back up at Buck.

“Will you be my daddy?” she asks, and your heart shatters when you see the nervousness in her eyes. Buck can feel tears forming in his eyes as he looks back into her eyes, and his heart somehow feels both full and empty at her words. He’s been hoping to eventually become Delia’s father for real, but hearing the uncertainty in her voice makes him want to hold her close and never leave her again.

“Yeah, baby, I’ll be your daddy,” he says after a moment, not wanting her to wait a second longer. He lets out a huff as Delia suddenly shoots up and launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and settling into his lap with an elated giggle.

“I love you, daddy,” she says breathlessly, nuzzling into his neck and squeezing him hard. You watch with a smile, tears forming in your own eyes as you see a tear slip down Buck’s cheek.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice shaky as he hugs her close to his chest.

He’s always wanted a family, and now that he has this one, he never wants to let it go. He just can’t believe he missed out on the first three years. He’ll have to make it up to his girls, he thinks to himself.

“I’m gonna go talk to your mommy for a second. We’ll be right back, okay?” he tells your daughter when she finally gets off his lap and goes back to playing with her Barbie’s.

When you’re both in the kitchen, and sure Delia’s distracted, Buck closes the space between you two, cupping your cheeks and bringing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. You hold his wrists as you kiss him back, caught slightly off guard but quickly regaining your composure as you move your lips in time with his.

When you finally pull back, you’re both out of breath, and he looks down at you with sparkling eyes, studying your face for a moment before bringing your foreheads together. 

“I want to be a real family. I don’t just want her, I want you, too.” he whispers, letting his thumb trace along your skin as he holds your face in his hands. You laugh in slight disbelief, then nod, letting a tear finally fall down your cheek. The last four years without him have been exhausting, and all you wanted was this, but you never thought you could have it. Except now Buck is standing right in front of you, telling you that he wants exactly what you want.

“I want that, too.” you tell him softly, then bring your lips up to his again, kissing him with newfound fervour. 

Your hands go to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer as you part your lips and let his tongue slip into your mouth, searching. He keeps one hand on your face as the other goes down to your hip, holding you flush against him as he tilts your head further up into the kiss, and a low groan escapes his throat as he feels your plush middle pressed against him. 

You finally have to pull away when you hear your daughter’s squeal from the other room; yelling a high pitched “daddy!” 

You both race to the living room, letting out sighs of relief when you see her sitting in the same spot on the carpet that you’d left her, with a cheeky smile on her face.

“Can we have ice cream for dinner?” You scoff, laughing softly as you shake your head. You’ve seen that sweet little expression before; she knows exactly how to ask for what she wants, but unlike Buck, you’re more used to having to say no.

“Yeah, we can have ice cream for dinner, baby,” Buck replies before you can, and your head snaps in his direction, your eyes narrowed. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, however, as he’s smiling fondly at Delia as she squeals excitedly and makes her way to him.

When Buck picks your daughter up in his arms and finally turns to face you, you can feel the sliver of anger slip away, seeing how Delia is looking up at Buck with a dazed smile; clearly happy about finally having her daddy. 

“You’re already wrapped around her finger.” you tease, and all he does is shrug, a smile plastered to his face.

“Happily.” he replies, then leans down and gives you a gentle kiss. You both laugh when you hear Delia’s fake sounds of disgust, and when you pull back, Buck throws her up in the air, then catches her.

“Hey, if I’m gonna be your daddy, you’re gonna have to let me kiss your mommy, that’s part of the deal.” he teases as he throws her up in the air, eliciting a high-pitched giggle from her lips. 

“Okay, okay, okay!” she gets out through breathless gasps, and when Buck hums in victory and lowers her back into his arms, he gives her a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek.

You watch with a grin, and you can’t believe that you lived for four years without Buck. But now that he’s back, you never want to leave him again.

notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[coff33notforme]

Healing!Re2 Leon

A/n: So so sorry I haven't posted anything in so long, I genuinely lost my love for writing for I think its been officially been a year since I last wrote something for fun. Don't fact check me on that, but I'm back! I'm trying to let myself just have fun with writing and not take myself so seriously so please be patient with me! Expect a lot of Resident Evil content from me! And don't be afraid to request! I'll be sure to update my request chart!

Summary: Takes place between re2 and re4! Basically just what happened to him after Raccoon city.

Notes: Headcannons, fluff mostly, themes of depression, alcoholism, body issues, gender neutral reader as usual!

Nothing could've prepared you for the look on his face when he arrived home. Opening your door for him at 11:00 at night, his face silhouetted by the gentle light of your porch lamp. His pale eyes seemed to be looking through you, his face tight with the unconscious clenching of his jaw, his adams apple bobbing faintly. The hum of your porch light filling your head.

Well, that was before you were cupping his face, you couldn't even remember the movement forward, all you could take in was the impact of his embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around you, and if it wasn't for the fact it was twenty degrees out, you'd say he was shaking.

Safe to say he'd move in with you after everything that happened, he needed that sense of security, that familiarity that he'd swear was almost entirely lost on him. He was wordlessly welcomed back into your life.

Though it wasn't all the same, he'd hope it would be, God he really wished. It was weird, having him back around, he was quiet, not in an awkward kind of way, he just didn't feel the need to make his presence known. This isn't to say he doesn't engage in conversation with you, he'll just need more of an obvious cue that you'd like to spark a conversation with him.

Leon won't exactly know what to do with himself, he tried giving himself a week to adjust, then back to the drawing board, that's what he told you. You assured him there was no pressure to jump right back into employment, he'd been through something truly life changing, I mean, it took you two whole months to just get over your dog running away highshcool.

He'd brush it off of course, he wasn't devastated, at least, not in the way you described, it wouldn't even be anything hard, just something simple. Like retail.

That lasted about two weeks, the first week itself just being job searching, but once he got into the flow and rhythm of stacking supplies in the back of some chain line grocery store, he'd have to quit. That kind of meaningless repetitive work only fed into his existential crisis that had been put on the back burner for far too long.

He'd call you crying during his shift, you'd have to pick him up, parking somewhere close so you could calm him down, he'd spill everything out to you. Rambling on and on about not wanting to spend the prime of his life stacking cans and rearranging produce.

Well at least that's how far he got before embarrassment came crawling up his back, digging its nails into his throat until it felt so tight he couldn't speak.

The drive home would be quiet, not the comfortable kind.

He'd spend a lot of time at home, long enough to where you not its not a phase, and that he's not not getting out of bed without an intervention of some kind.

He admits after weeks of obvious reluctance that he's not ready to work again, he just needs time. You assure him that its completely fine, though you're not entirely sure how much that statement holds true you don't mind picking up some extra shifts if it means comfortably supporting you both.

But that isn't to say he doesn't contribute at all, he's the one preparing all the meals every week. He's the one taking trips to the store, jotting down meal ideas on the pen pad you'd gotten him after the silent acceptance that he'd taken to doing all the cooking.

This goes for chores too, though he wouldn't take to that immediately, he's not used to viewing the house as more then somewhere he eats and sleeps, its only after a comment from you about the disarray of the living room would spark him into action.

After that you haven't seen a speck of dust grace your living room floors since. It's the least he could do since you're funding his identity crisis, well that's what he thinks.

Leon struggles with healthy attachment, he's still not used to the idea that he won't wake up and you'll be gone. Though this doesn't mean he's completely distant.

He does little things to show how much he cares. Like waking up early to prepare your breakfast with a warm cup of coffee, or how he always asks you first what you'd like for dinner.

Though he won't admit it, most days are a struggle. Not every day, but those are the ones where he gets to spend some quality time with you, or he washes it off with a can of beer or two.

He'd hate himself to admit it to you, but he's developed a bit of a drinking problem with all that time at home.

Though once you notice the amount of cans piling up in the recycling he'd guiltily admit that he's been using it to cope, though he doesn't say exactly with what.

You'd encourage him to take up therapy, though he'd hastily deny, you offered him to at least think about it, though the very idea of opening up to a stranger about his problems seemed absolutely absurd.

After a bit of time though, especially when you express your concern with his drinking, he yields. 

Of course with the excessive eating of comfort foods and now only occasional drinking, he’d developed a bit of a dad bod. He didn’t seem to notice at first, but one morning it seems to hit him all at once when he inspects himself in the mirror.

He’ll fiddle and prod at the soft pudge dripping from his sides, like the melted wax of a candle. His doughy thighs pressed together. He’s not really sure how to react, all he feels is this sort of disconnection from himself, like the person in the mirror isn’t really him. 

He’ll avoid it for months, but the changes are clear to you whether he knows or not. But it doesn’t fail to hit you that he hasn’t walked around without a shirt in weeks, not just a shirt, but the kind that completely engulfs his figure, until he’s practically swimming in material. 

You’ll have to intervene at some point, he’ll feel the weight of guilt pressing down onto his shoulders until he humbly admits, yeah, he doesn’t like the way his body looks anymore. You’ll need to have a conversation with him, assure him that it’s okay to gain weight, you don’t love him less just because he’s a little more soft around the middle. 

He’ll need you to gently coax him into being more comfortable with showing his body around you. Gently holding his hips when he's making his coffee in the morning, leaning into him when he hugs you, telling him when you think he looks nice. Just little things that really do boost his confidence. 

After months of unwavering support from you, he’ll notice the lack of disdain he feels when glancing at his reflection on passing surfaces. He'll be comfortable enough to let his belly breathe from time to time when walking around the house, maybe even offering to shower with you when given the chance. 

Of course, progress isn’t linear, he’ll have his days where he wishes more than anything the fat clinging to his frame would melt, like snow dripping from a rooftop against the breath of the morning sun. 

But at least now he feels comfortable admitting to you he isn’t always happy being in his own skin, and he knows you won’t try to correct his thoughts, rather then simply reassure him. He’s far from perfect, but more then anything you’re just glad he’s here.

©️ coff33notforme 2025 please don’t feed into any ai chatbot, or repost my content.

[th3cadav3r]

hello, can I have a curly x reader fic where the reader loves putting her face in curly’s tits?

Stress Relief

Curly X Female Reader Smut

summary: you just got home from a long, awful day and you desperately need to cool down. Luckily, your husband Curly can help you do exactly that

content: established relationship, kissing, cuddling, chest/nipple play, unprotected p in v sex, reader has female anatomy

author’s note: yesss I’ve been wanting to write all about Curly’s huge bazongas

Today was the worst. The only thing you could think of while driving home from work was being in your husband’s arms while resting your head on his nice soft chest. You definitely drove a bit faster than usual that night

He greeted you when you got home with a kiss and presented a sweet little dinner for you. You made your way into the bedroom after you ate and bathed, once again greeted by Curly. He was laying on his back watching TV. He smiled when he saw you and opened his arms, prompting you to climb into bed and lay on top of him with your head on his chest. His warmth enveloped you completely. You could’ve fallen asleep in a matter of seconds

“Comfy?” He asks while stroking your hair

“Of course,” you hum contently. You lay face down on his chest inhaling his scent. “I’m on the world’s comfiest pillows”

He chuckles heartily. “Feelin’ cheeky, are we?”

“Maybe” You couldn’t help but give his pec a little squeeze. You had obviously felt them plenty of times before, but it just gets better each time that you do. It’s somehow soft and firm at the same time…perfect for playing with

You mindlessly toy with his chest, squishing one pec while rubbing the other

“Oi,” he says firmly, “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?” Despite his tone, he still has smirk on his face

“Nothing” You grin at him, not taking your hands off him for a second. “Just relieving some stress” You bit your lip as your hands squished his tits together. He is wearing a shirt, but you can still see the outline of his nipples underneath. God, you could play with these things all day and never get tired of them

“Well relieve away, then,” he responds. He sighs and rests his head back on the pillow as you continue poking, prodding, and playing with his chest

You were surprised when you felt something hard pressing against your thigh. “Shit…” Curly mutters.

“Awww,” you tease, “you’re getting hard just from this?”

“Can’t help it,” he says with a shy smile. “It feels nice”

You enjoy the sight of your strong, dominant husband reduced to a flustered mess. Though you’ve fondled his chest many times before, you never knew it felt that good for him

Without another word, you lift his shirt up. His huge chest and stomach is covered with curly blonde hair which then forms into a sexy happy trail. He shivers and his nipples harden at the sudden cold that he’s exposed to. You give them a little tug, making him groan softly

“Fuuuck, love”

You sit up with your ass pressing against his boner to get a good view of his body. This was usually done the other way around; it was typically him hovering over you after striping the clothes off your body. But after the horrible day that you just had, you wanted to take control this time

“What happened to being exhausted just a second ago, huh?” he says teasingly

“Shut it,” you snap back. “It’s your fault for having such big, squeezable tits”

He chuckles again as his hand finds its way to your ass, giving it a tap. “Fair enough”

You took your own shirt off as you grinded against his clothed cock. His unoccupied hand grabbed onto your breast almost immediately, groping it gently

“How’s that feeling, huh?” he asks cheekily, satisfied that he’s getting “revenge” for your relentless fondling

“I dunno, you tell me” You reach down and grasp one of his pecs, mimicking his movements. You tug at his nipple again, drawing a loud groan from him. It wasn’t long until you were both completely nude, kissing passionately as you continued to explore his chest. He rolled the both of you over so that you were laying on your back and he was on top of you. The show on TV had gone completely ignored at this point

His cock slid into you after only a few minutes of preparation. It was evident that you two were pent up after a long week of little to no intimacy due to your late night shifts. Curly hovered over you, not taking his eyes off of you once as he pounded into you relentlessly. Your mind went blank, completely forgetting about all your earlier stressors and worries. Your only focus was Curly…and his chest that was hovering so tantalisingly close to your mouth

Without another thought you latch onto his nipple

He fucking whined

His pace instantly quickens, feeling his release coming faster with this added pleasure. You suckle him while squeezing his other pec. It feels like an entirely new form of pleasure for you. You felt yourself getting closer too

“Keep fucking doing that, love–” It’s a strange thing for you to be doing, but in the moment he couldn’t care less. It feels so fucking good. He honestly feels upset that you and him never tried this earlier

“Ah–I’m gonna–” He groans as he cums deep inside you, holding your body flat against his. Your orgasm follows soon after and you moan with his nipple still in your mouth. The buzzing sensation is enough to bring another orgasm crashing down on him like a rough wave landing on the shore

Soon you unlatch from him with a pop, opening your eyes slightly to admire the hickeys that now decorate his chest. He relaxes on top of you, still keeping himself propped up on his elbows so that he doesn’t completely crush you with his weight

“God damn…”was all he could say

“I guess I should do that more often”

“You better,” he says with a grin

[starlightkun]

➺ teaser word count: 1421 | full fic: 9.4k ➺ genre & warnings: sci-fi, near future, fluff, falling in love without seeing each other, minor hurt/comfort, coworkers au (but in space), space traffic controllers; brief blood/injury mention ➺ synopsis: in which you go to your job as a space traffic controller every day looking forward to your shifts with one specific coworker who you might be falling head over heels for. and sure, you don't know quebec's real name, nor what he looks like, but you two talk for hours a day between guiding landings and take-offs, and you know him better than anyone else. you’re perfectly happy, until his end of the comms falls silent one day and won’t reconnect ➺ extra info: i highly recommend being aware of the existence of the icao alphabet so ur not thrown for a complete loop by ppl’s nicknames in here lol. u don’t need it memorized but i swear i didn’t pull these words out of thin air ok. also, in american aviation, the number 9 is pronounced niner, ur not going crazy and neither am i ➺ estimated release: saturday, february 1, 2025 3:00 p.m. eastern time

The days all tended to blur together on the space station if you weren’t careful. Time was pretty meaningless in the middle of nowhere with no seasons or daylight to give your body cues. STCs mostly relied on shifts and tower cycles as units of time—the duration of a shift, and how long you were assigned to one tower before you moved to the opposite side of the station.

You were back on shift with Quebec, and so far, it had been a busy one. You’d barely had time to breathe between arrivals and departures, much less chitchat. Finally, during what seemed to be a lull, you pulled out your bag of food from your bag.

“Alright, that’s it,” you huffed. “I’m eating dinner.”

“What do you have tonight?” He asked.

“Didn’t have time to run to the convenience store today so it’s just some snacks and stuff I had in my room. Might have to make a vending machine run, sorry.”

“Look in the minifridge.”

“What? Did you rig it to explode?” You pushed your rolling chair back to grab the edge of the fridge, pulling the door open to peer inside.

“You’ll just have to find out.”

A plastic container greeted you, and you grabbed it, already spotting something green inside. Setting it and your mic back down on your desk, you took the lid off with a pop, eyes bugging out of your head as you looked at the green and white cubes. The color and shine alone told you that these weren’t grown in an ag-bubble, these were imported straight from Earth.

“Quebec…” You breathed out in awe. “You did not.”

“You can’t justify spending that much on something you’re going to digest, but I can,” he replied kindly. “Go ahead, eat. Happy one year at the station.”

“I didn’t even remember that was today,” you admitted.

You grabbed a cube between your fingers, not bothering to find utensils. The best part was licking your fingers after, in your opinion. The fruit was juicy and sweet, no bitterness from the rind at all, and so much more flavor than ag-bubble fruit could ever develop. You felt tears well up in your eyes, embarrassingly.

“God, it’s so good. Thank you,” you mumbled through your half-eaten honeydew. “I wish I could share it with you right now.”

“No, don’t worry about me,” he said, and you heard a faint pop of another plastic lid opening on his end of the line. “They were selling it by weight. I had them send some to your tower and some to mine.”

You smiled at the tower across the landing dock. “We are sharing it right now.”

“Yeah, we are.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic, Bec? Like, a real one, outside on a blanket with a picnic basket on the grass with fresh air and food and your friends and family?”

“Once, when I was really little. I don’t remember much about it. My mom showed me a picture,” he mused. “Have you, Zu?”

“No, never. I was born on a mining colony. Never breathed fresh air in my life, or been to Earth. Always been in ships, stations like this, or firmaments.” Firmaments—man-made structures on the surface of planets whose conditions were not naturally habitable for humans. Within the firmaments, the air quality, pressure, temperature, and planet’s surface could be regulated in order to allow for human survival. The actual mining typically happening outside of the firmaments, however, and that was only one reason that it was so dangerous—and lucrative.

“What about your parents?”

“They weren’t born on Earth either, never saw the big deal about going to visit.” You shrugged, popping another piece of melon in your mouth. “What about you?”

“My parents were born on Earth. They wanted me to be born there too, but I came a little early while they were on a trip to a nearby resort planet. The closest hospital was on its moon…”

“Did you grow up on Earth then?”

“Visited after I was born, went back and forth for a good bit of my childhood, but my parents just liked traveling too much to stay in one place.”

“My family moved around a lot too. Mining pays good, but you have to move with the materials. There’s always some hot new mineral in vogue that’s paying more than the last thing everyone wanted. You never want to stick around until a mine dries up.”

“How long does that take? Like, how much did you move around?”

“Depends. Sometimes we were there for a few weeks or months, sometimes years.”

Quebec was quiet for a moment, and you took the opportunity to eat two more pieces of honeydew. Then, he said, “Zulu?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you take this job? All the way out here?”

“I didn’t want to work in the mines with my parents my whole life. Saw the opening and figured I might as well give it a go,” you answered simply. “What about you?”

“Kind of similar. More desperate, I think,” he admitted. “I was in med school, actually, and I was absolutely miserable. Just at rock fucking bottom. I told my parents I was going to quit and they said I couldn’t unless I either enrolled in law school, or got a job. This was the first one I found.”

You blinked, watching the dark dot in the window across from you. “Wow. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that.”

“Haven’t talked to anybody about it since coming here.”

“Why’d you ask me that then? You had to have figured I would’ve turned the question back on you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was going to tell you that until I said it.”

“You know you can always talk about whatever with me, Bec.”

“I know,” he replied warmly. “Same for you. I’m all ears.”

“So you quit med school, took the first job you could find and just happened to find something you liked doing?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I did not take to being an STC at all initially. I wanted to quit after my first week. I was on this stupid station in the middle of nowhere starting all over again at a job that paid considerably less than the surgeon I was supposed to be. I was miserable, and lost, and kept thinking that they were right and I should just put my head down and be a doctor or a lawyer or whatever. It felt like I could’ve disappeared from the universe and nobody would notice.” He sighed, and you felt your heart twist in your chest. “Then during my second week, another new STC started, and we ended up on a shift together. And you said—there’s no way you remember this, Zulu, it’s so… but—What do you remember about that shift?”

You rifled through your memories desperately for something, anything specific, but came up empty. “Not much, I mean, it was like my second one, I think. So I was still pretty nervous about doing everything right, and I remember meeting you, but I don’t think we even talked much outside of small talk, right?”

“That’s great. I mean it, I love that you’re just like this, that you weren’t trying to do it,” he laughed with his whole chest, and you smiled fondly, not feeling like he was laughing at you at all. “Anyway, it was pretty dead that shift, and in one of the quiet times, you got on the mic and you told me to look outside. I thought there was a ship or something going on. But then you said, ‘I’ve never seen these stars before.’ Which made me realize I hadn’t even looked at the stars since arriving at the station. At the end of the shift, you said, ‘Talk to you next time, Quebec.’ And I decided ‘sure, I’ll stick around until next time, see what else she’ll say.’” His words made you snicker softly, and he continued, “And then you just kept saying these little, interesting things, or things that made me smile for the first time in years, or you’d ask questions and let me talk about whatever I wanted… I kept putting off quitting until I wasn’t half-bad at being an STC and didn’t hate living at the station anymore.”

“Bec…” You murmured, fidgeting with the wire of your headset. “Do—”

A dot popped up on your monitor then, and Quebec said, “Ah, there’s the ambassador.”

⤷ masterlist

TEASER TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001 @snowyseungs @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

[peachyprophets-blog]

DROWNED LOVE, LET ME SEE YOU AGAIN (Finale)

Epic x Reader

CW: Yandere themes, attempted suicide (only mentioned), death of the main character, PLOOOOT

Description: you have forgotten your past with Odysseus and Penelope, but you still have an empty place in your heart. You have tried several times to throw yourself off the mountain and find peace. And when Odysseus wakes up on Calypso's island, a sudden thunderclap sounds that briefly shakes the world...

AN: This is the last part of this story, how do you like the plot? I hope you liked this fanfiction, I had a lot of fun writing it!

Part 6 Wake up!

PREV

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Emptiness filled you when you were torn from your dream. The dream was a paradise for you, you felt free again after such a long time. Free from the gods, free from the pain, free from the emptiness in your soul and your heart. But the dream shattered when delicate hands glided over your sleeping form and shook you awake. When you opened your eyes you looked into the face of the beautiful Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty. "Oh my darling, you don't have to sleep out here," her voice rang out, filled with concern. With her help you slowly got up and yawned quietly, mourning your dream. But as soon as you realized where you were, the emptiness filled you again. It locked you in a loneliness that no god in the world could have filled. Aphrodite took you into the great hall, you were like a doll that only moved when someone pulled you behind her. Aphrodite didn't let go of your hand either, it had always been like this ever since you tried several times to throw yourself off the mountain. A god always had a hand on you, whether they held your hand, put an arm around your shoulder or waist, or carried you in their arms. Aphrodite pulled you next to her, and so the days passed in which you lived like a doll.

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Reader POV:

I sat at the window of the temple of Athena, the goddess who still treated me as a human. She was my favorite of all because she didn't force herself on me, I waited for her because she was visiting a mortal. When she came back there was a thoughtful expression on her face, as if something was bothering her. "Lady Athena?" I began, "What are you thinking about?" I completed my question. When she looked at me her gaze softened and a slight smile graced her lips before she answered me. "You know, I once had a boyfriend but we parted ways years ago," her voice rang out, she sounded so serious. "But now I know that I have to make it right again." She said seriously. I nodded at her, she told me about her plan to convince her father Zeus to release her friend. I was slowly becoming curious who this friend was, but she didn't really answer that question. I listened carefully to Athena's plans to convince Zeus. Once she mentioned the name of the friend she wanted to save, but the name sounded unfamiliar to me and I can't remember what it was. "I really hope you can free your friend, Lady Athena." I smiled gently at the goddess of wisdom, I felt most comfortable and understood around her. But she still couldn't fill the void, I knew that she was trying too and that made me feel very guilty towards her.

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On Ithaca the sun was high in the sky, suitors gathered in the halls of the palace and craved the attention of the queen: Penelope. Penelope had now waited 16 years for her husband Odysseus and her future wife (Y/N). She missed them both from the bottom of her heart but also had to be there for her people and her son. The Queen of Ithaca knew that something was wrong because her memories of (Y/N) were also blurry. It was as if something, or rather someone, was trying to destroy the connection the three had with each other. Penelope sat at her loom and continued weaving the picture she was working on and thought about the past but could only remember the time with Odysseus and slowly the memories of the young woman she and Odysseus once loved disappeared completely. Telemachus, who was standing in the large garden of the palace, stared at the statue of his father. In his hand he held a small book that was bound in leather. A diary of his father that he had found back then, in it was written everything about the woman who had followed him into the war after Telemachus was born, (Y/N) future wife of Odysseus and Penelope. For a moment, the young prince's eyes glowed gold. "Destroy it." A woman's voice rang out, and Telemachus tried to ignore it again like he had done for the last few months since he had found the book about (Y/N). He wanted to get to know her and love her like his parents did, but this person was against it.

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??? POV:

I had to prevent her existence from being passed on, and the little prince didn't make it easy. I had already robbed Penelope and Odysseus of their memories of her. And I was responsible for her forgetting her previous life. Now I just had to convince the Prince of Ithaca and everything would go according to plan. My golden eyes took over the prince's again and I finally had full control over the boy. As Telemachus I walked through the halls, ignoring his mother's suitors because I had to destroy this book. I came to a carmine and threw the book in there where I watched as it was destroyed in the fire, this filled me with satisfaction. "Telemachus, what are you doing?" I turned around in shock and saw his mother, the Queen of Ithaca, standing in front of me, looking questioningly into the fire. "Nothing mother, I'm just burning your suitors' letters." I answered and she nodded before stroking his head lovingly. "Thank you, Nyx," she said before turning away and disappearing back into her room. Shortly afterwards I left the boy's body and made my way to Hades, who asked me to do all this.

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The light shone brightly on the Queen of the Gods Hera. "Never once had he cheated on his wife," Athena's voice rang out. Hera, who immediately recognized that Athena was telling the truth, looked angrily at her husband. "Release him," her words sounded sharp and were aimed directly at Zeus. Zeus, who had been sitting completely relaxed on his throne until now, twitched his eyebrows. Had Athena tried to embarrass him? She shouldn't get away with that, she wants a fight? She'll get it. The clouds closed in before it started to thunder and flash loudly. When you saw the storm, you just stared up at the sky.

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Y/N POV

It was strange, my whole body started to shake but not out of fear. Poseidon, who was sitting next to me, put an arm around me to calm me down, but it didn't work. And slowly they came back, memories that had disappeared. Absolutely everything came back into my head like a wave and I stood up before I stared angrily at Poseidon, "You killed 558 men, you monster." I accused him. But before he could answer, my legs started running. I knew that I would never be able to escape from here and that there was only one chance. I could only escape from eternal imprisonment if I...

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Everything suddenly fell silent when a loud thunder shook the world. Odysseus, who had already been imprisoned on Calypso's island for seven years, raised his head when he heard that. Athena, who was supposed to be struck by lightning, stared in horror at your figure that had been struck by lightning. The world stopped turning and everything seemed bright to you. Your body felt an endless pain that didn't last long. The gods rushed towards you and Apollo was the first to reach you, lifted you in his arms and tried to heal you, but as soon as he put his hand on your body, it shattered into a thousand pieces that slowly dissolved into nothing. Your existence had been wiped out, at least for the moment. At the same time in the underworld, Hades sat on his throne, he could observe everything that happened on Olympus. He knew that the gods were beside themselves with anger and grief, but that was the only way he could save you. He had found out about you early on through his wife Persephone and felt sorry for you, so he had sent Nyx with the task of wiping out your existence. But he knew that now you would be able to live a life without all the pain.

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Y/N POV

I tried to open my eyes, everything was so quiet that it was already too loud for me. Every now and then I saw old, long-forgotten memories, my parents, Odysseus, Penelope, the war and more. Then I suddenly felt a warmth shining on my face and a loud noise. "What...?" I said in a scratchy voice before slowly opening my eyes.

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The morning sun was shining in the sky and filling the room of the girl with the (H/C) hair with golden light. When she opened her (E/C) eyes she found herself in her room again. She sat up sleepily and rubbed the sleep from her eyes that was still blinding her perception. When she forced herself to get up to turn off the alarm, she let her gaze wander out the window. It was a beautiful spring day and the sun was shining pleasantly on her face. She let this moment sink in and relaxed completely. The young woman went through the day she had planned in her head. When she opened her eyes she started to get ready, she put on a white long-sleeved blouse and simple black high-waisted jeans. She looked over at a shelf where her jewelry was, she took a gold chain with a sun pendant from the shelf. She had had this chain since she was born, it was tradition in the family that every member receives such a chain as a gift after birth. She also decorated her fingers with gold rings. After putting on matching sneakers the young woman looked in the mirror and nodded contentedly, in the mirror she looked at her desk and remembered that she had to slowly make her way to university. As she went to the desk she looked at a book, it was the Odyssey which they were currently discussing at university. The young woman loved history in every respect, but the Odyssey in particular had won her heart even if it seemed to her as if something was missing from it. Like a person who was never mentioned or was intentionally removed? As the young woman was packing her bag she stared at a fruit that had not been on the table yesterday, a pomegranate….

-Peachyprophet

TAG LIST:

@doodle-with-rhy

[punkssavior]

tired of you.

| cm punk x fem!reader

my wwe fic tumblr debut. feeling chaotic.

title is a foo fighters song!

“regret, anger, and a pair of gym shorts.”

content warnings: post breakup. smut. angst. pet-names. choking. mentions of blood/semi-blood play. pain kink. pnv, riding.

i definitely went off the rails and lost the plot along the way.

wordcount: 8.3k

There was something wrong with you.

Maybe, the problem was the pounding headache. The one that’s lasted three days so far and felt like a doldrum banging in your skull.

Maybe, it was the streaks of eyeliner that stained your lower lashes and wouldn’t wipe off no matter how hard you tried.

Or maybe, just maybe, the problem was the urge to reach for your phone and dial up the number of a man who you know wouldn’t right his wrongs.

Yeah, something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

It was a Saturday night— alone in your one bedroom apartment. A quiet, dreary week that led right into a hellscape of a weekend. You were always told that breakups were hard, but never this hard.

The stubborn heart that beats inside you almost took hold of the reins when the thought of calling Punk crossed your mind. But the more logical part of your body, your brain, ultimately decided that— maybe that wasn’t the best idea.

The breakup was far from mutual. If anything, it was completely one sided. The last thing you remember from that night a few weeks ago was standing in your apartment door with angry tears in your eyes as Punk drove away from your duplex in a torn down Chevy Malibu.

Like nothing even happened.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could stare at your TV in boredom, watching the same rerun of action movies that played every Saturday night around the same time.

It was getting late.

Maybe you should get some sleep.

But God knows your mind wouldn’t allow it.

As you stand up to gather the growing pile of blankets that collected in the midst of your ‘breakup-self-loathing’, you begin to fight that intrusive urge once more.

You couldn’t call. It was way too late. He was probably asleep, or out somewhere training like he’d do when he couldn’t.

You didn’t want to bother.

Because that’s the last thing you ever wanted to be.

Bang, bang.

Your head whips around; two loud knocks at your door almost rattled it right off its hinges.

Bang, bang.

With a cautious air, you walk to the door and rest your hand on the knob. Before you could even begin to twist it, there it was again.

Bang, bang.

Soon enough your heartbeat matched up with the rhythm of the pounding door— making you anxious enough to look through the peephole.

Low and behold, as if he could read your mind from the miles that separated your apartment from his, there Punk stood. Leaning on the bannister that held up your rickety old porch with his arms crossed tightly to his chest.

It was cold, about 30°, yet there he was in a t-shirt, long dark hair slicked back, like he’d just walked through the rain. You freeze in your tracks, hand shaky over the brass doorknob as you debate opening the door.

Would you let him inside? Would you banish him out to the cold and make him talk to you from behind the threshold? Would you finally stick up for yourself and act like you were asleep? Hoping maybe, just maybe, he’d fuck off and take a hint?

You didn’t want either of those things. You didn’t want him to stand out in the cold, or turn around and leave.

You’d been secretly waiting for the moment where he wouldn’t care about the consequences of his actions.

Nor did you want him to “take a hint”.

You swing the door open, acting completely on instinct. But your breath is caught somewhere in your larynx when you realize that he is actually standing there.

“Nice jammies, player.”

“What do you want?”

Your heart stops. The words you spoke were completely off rip, seeing him in person for the first time in weeks must’ve carried a lot more weight to it than you anticipated.

Punk’s straight face morphs into a smile, his eyes darting down your figure and back up again.

“Came here for the gym shorts you stole. I did my laundry this morning and realized they were pretty much all gone.”

“So— why didn’t you come this morning? Instead of trying to break my door down at midnight?”

You cross your arms over your chest, the black and pink heart pajama set that he had gifted you for Valentine’s Day this past year seemed to be the star of the show. The draft from the outside was cold enough to send chills up your spine, as Punk stood there and just looked at you.

Come to think about it, maybe it wasn’t the wind.

“I was busy. Surely you were too, no?”

“I‘ve been here all day. Maybe if you called and asked, you would’ve known that.”

As you stand slightly elevated before him in your bunny slippers, you can’t help but notice the way he keeps inching closer.

“Well, maybe if you’d answered my calls from last week, we wouldn’t be standing here in the cold. Face to face. At midnight.”

You freeze, as he rattles off, your hands moving to your hips.

He called you last week?

“You called me last week?”

“Mhm. Sure did.”

A puff of air leaves your chest, noticing the now rising goosebumps across his sleeves of tattoos, and feeling slightly guilty about keeping him out in the cold.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you call me?”

Punk chuckles, brushing a lock of that slick dark hair behind his ear. He looked amused, to say the least— maybe he just wasn’t grasping onto the concept of breaking your heart and smashing it all to pieces. Maybe he thought that reaching out to you would be the good little ego boost he needed to carry on his week in the training gym.

“I called because I wanted to check in. Y’know— see how you were doing.”

Your brow furrows, in an attempt not to show him your hand of cards. Truthfully, your heart skipped about seven beats at the way his voice softened, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“You’re joking, right?”

“And why would I joke about that?”

Punk leans on the doorframe, his eyes darting behind your shoulder at the living room that the two of you used to cuddle up and watch movies in. Maybe the sight of it after the breakup was finally cracking that iron-clad cage around his heart.

You never understood Punk. Not fully, at least.

Despite a three year long relationship that ended abruptly on a random Wednesday night— there were so many layers to his character that you just begged and pleaded to understand. He was caring, but sarcastic. An open book, yet somehow there were pages stuck together by an immeasurable amount of glue.

You wanted to learn more, your only wish was to be able to speak in a language that the both of you understood.

You figured that maybe, three years just wasn’t enough time.

“Wanna come inside?” you ask softly, breaking the silence, your voice barely reaching the surface of the now whipping wind.

“Only if you’ll have me.”

As you step back and let him in, you just— watch.

You watch how he kicks his sneakers off in the same exact spot he always did whenever he’d get home from the gym. You watch him anchor himself onto the wall, as if he were about to dig into his pocket and hang up his car keys on the hook that’s remained vacant since he left.

Must’ve been a repeated habit, or muscle memory. But your chest tightened at the thought either way.

“Your shorts are in my dresser,” you hum, still fighting the feeling of heartburn as he moves fluidly through your living room, “I could go get ‘em if you want.”

“Like I don’t know where your bedroom is. You think I’ve got amnesia or somethin’?”

Looking at Punk felt like a slap in the face. A hard one, at that.

His tight, perfectly fitted t-shirt molded to his cut body, contrasted to the loose gym shorts that hung just above his knees made you want to scream at him for being so visually appealing. But instead, you just smiled warmly, and bit your tongue.

There’s a brooding cloud of silence looming over both of your heads. An unspoken tension thick enough to cut with a butcher knife. Punk was acting casual, a bit too casual for your liking. I guess he figured that those stupid, sea green eyes searing into your forehead were enough to let you forget about what happened in this very room.

“Look, maybe you hit your head on the way here because last I checked, you dumped me. And now— here you are, standing in my living room.”

A catty smile flashes across Punk’s face, his lip ring catching in the light above your kitchen island as he leaned on it with that familiar sense of cockiness.

The one you knew, the one that you unfortunately loved.

“Shit, okay— we’re taking a bit of a leap here, aren’t we?”

“Tell me the real reason why you’re here. And don’t fucking bullshit me.”

The jumble of hurt words you’d been pushing down your throat for weeks— finally had a target. Your voice betrays you at the end of your sentence, fleeting off into a much weaker tone than you anticipated.

“I already told you why. I’m here for my shorts.” His posture straightens as he speaks, putting up his guard as the tension rises.

“Bullshit. You know I fuckin’ hate when you lie, dude. What is this, a wellness check? Did you feel so inclined to check up on my sorry-ass to the point where it kept you up at night?”

Punks hands come up in defense as you move an inch closer, wagging a helpless, beaten down finger at him. Yet that smug smile painted on his cheeks remained, only making you more enraged.

“Wellness check? What the fuck is your problem?” his laughter is indignant, as if he were pitying you, “You really think I’d drive down here in the middle of the night to smile in your face and laugh at you?”

“Newsflash, dickhead. You’ve been doing that this whole time.”

In seconds, Punk’s face switches back to a blank slate. He seemed visibly taken aback by your words. His hand, still dawned in a piece of old wrist tape, clung to his chest.

“Wow. Well, I’m sorry— for trying to keep the mood light— and greet you at your door with a fuckin’ smile when I know damn well that I’m the last person you want to see right now… But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re not the only half of this mess suffering? Maybe you’re not the only one who stays up way later than they should, thinking about where everything went wrong?”

As he grows more animated, he nears closer, to the point where you could still smell the remnants of his cologne and see the drops of frustrated sweat beading on his forehead. You wanted to keep screaming, but your voice was caged behind gritted teeth. You guarded yourself with your arms, mimicking his posture as you crossed them over your chest.

“Well maybe you should cut some slack for the girl you left crying in the doorway, Punk.”

His stage name shoots off your tongue like poison, now in a heated face-off with the man you once loved.

And maybe still did, beneath the scratched up, broken down surface. That was the reason why this all seemed so complicated.

“Do you want your fucking shorts, or not?—”

“—Keep the damn’ shorts, Y/N!” He cuts you off before you could even dream of continuing.

Another silence falls over the room after all the shouting, only the TV in the background filling only half of the void that was your brain right now. Despite getting those harsh words off of your chest, a part of you felt inclined to say no more. You figured you’d done enough irreparable damage to both yourself and Punk. It was in your best interest to leave it be.

“Sorry for yelling,” you mumble, a bit sheepishly.

Punk still stood against your kitchen island, his hand now rubbing his temples between middle finger and thumb.

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Awkward. That was the word to describe it. After airing out grievances, finding out that you weren’t the only party in this sick and twisted dance with a lingering feeling that tugged on your heartstrings, everything else surrounding you was just awkward.

You stare at Punk intently, letting him shake his head and mutter curse words under his breath.

“I’m sorry for coming here unannounced. But what I said was true.”

“Hm?” you hum, worried that if you said too much, his vulnerability would be guised as a momentary lapse of judgement.

“I still think about what happened.”

A deep breath catches in your throat the moment his eyes meet yours. It was hard to look at him in general after all that you’d been through, but it was even more difficult to pull yourself away from the defeated, sorrowful expression on his face.

Being so openly honest and true to his inner monologue was a rarity for Punk. You could tell how much he hated the fact that he was admitting this to you, let alone standing once again in your living room after already breaking your heart.

“Seriously,” you begin to say, bridging the gap between your bodies with a sharp tug on his wrist, “Tell me why you came here. If it wasn’t for those two pairs of stupid shorts that you haven’t asked me about in two and a half years, then what was it?”

Punk grimaces, still beaten down by his own honesty, “You just don’t let up, do you?”

“Answer me, asshole.”

You were still aggravated, and the quickly tightening hold you had on his arm was proof of that.

“I came here because I missed you, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” A wave of something much more dreadful than relief washes over you— it seemed more existential and off putting than anything. “I missed your face. Your voice. The scent of your perfume. The way you bitch me out to get off and have a good time fuckin’ doing it.”

“I— I genuinely do not believe you,” you mutter, tripping over your words, slightly twisting the skin on his arm in pure, unbridled frustration, “There’s gotta’ be some other excuse.”

Punk’s face comes to a pinch, mulling over your words while simultaneously experiencing the burn from your untamed grip on him.

“There’s no other excuse,” he blurts, bordering a whine, “What? You want me to admit that I’ve been up for days? Unable to sleep, to eat, to wrestle, to fuckin’ unwind and jerk off without the thought of you crossing my mind? Is that what you want?”

Your jaw clenches at the rise you’re getting out of him, wanting nothing more than to smack him across the face.

“Maybe you should’ve said this all to me, what, a month ago? Instead of trying to pop by on a Saturday night like I’m one of your idiot friends?”

It was getting to a point where your nails were surely leaving marks, his arm fully surrendered to you as you took out your pent up anger on one of his innocent limbs.

Punk’s face tightens, the gap in his teeth visible as he writhes in discomfort, “Jesus fuck, you’re hurting me—”

“Touché.”

Having almost completely given up on trying to fight your cat-like grip on his arm, Punk does the unthinkable. With a crooked, masochistic smile, he wraps his free arm around your waist and pulls you straight into his chest.

“You wanna fight dirty?” he asks, his voice a low, rigid grumble.

Rather than replying, due to the sheer shock running through your spine, you just nod your head meekly.

“We can fight dirty,” a wry chuckle leaves his lips as he leans into your angry face, “Baby, those eyes of yours are quite telling.”

“I’m sick of your shit, Punk,” you spit, still tangled in his sultry words, “it’s too hot and cold with you.”

“Really? Tell me more. I saw how you froze up when I said that I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Tell me that my words didn’t leave a mark in that pretty head of yours.”

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck

This was getting to be too much.

You wanted to pull away; but the thought of tasting his lips again after you were forced away from them for so long just seemed intoxicating.

“I don’t have to answer you,” you mumble, trying your hand at defending yourself whilst simultaneously breaking your neck to ignore your desires.

“But I bet you really want to.”

You swallow hard at the feeling of his blistered palm trailing across your side. And your nails continued etching marks into his flesh; the closer he got, the harder you tugged .

“We’re not together anymore. I have nothing to fucking say to you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with speaking your mind though, right? That’s what you used to tell me…”

That burning feeling in your chest was back again— like hot lava rising up your throat. You wanted to retort, but couldn’t help but notice how he was completely ignoring the small pooling of blood from the gashes on his forearm.

“…Remember what you used to say to me, Bunny? ‘Don’t be afraid to show a little bit of that heart, Punker. Acting like you care won’t kill you.’ Man, if only you could see yourself right now. Being a damn hypocrite…”

“Stop it.”

The nickname he’d revived from the dead felt like a karate chop to the throat, all while he was still holding you tightly to his chest. His body language read passion, but his words oozed anguish.

He glanced down to your lips, eyeing them with a crooked smile.

“What? Stop what? Stop trying to get you to break down those stubborn walls of yours and be honest with me? I know I hurt you baby, but you can’t keep it all bottled up forever.”

You grabbed him tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Until his face came to a pinch and he was yanking his arm from between your bodies.

He hisses at the sight of trickling blood running down his colorful tattoos, eyeing you shamefully like you were a dog that just crapped in the house.

But rather than letting that anger carry over into another screaming match, he takes the hand that you’d held hostage, and runs it through your hair.

“Bet you needed to let that out, didn’t you?” Punk coos, a complete 180 switch in his demeanor, that same hand trailing down your cheek towards your neck.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Ditto, player.”

SMACK.

Your palm lays flat across the side of his cheek, his head whips to the side. A surge of searing anger seemed to free itself the moment your hand connected with his skin, a small splatter of his blood from your fingertips painting across his jawbone.

He shakes his head, and looks at you, that grip he had on your hip tightening as his eyes narrow, and bore into yours.

“You asked if I wanted to fight dirty, didn’t you?” your voice is weakened by the sheer force of that smack. But Punk just nods like a pompous asshole, a slow and desperate smile sliding across his face with the corners of his mouth coming to a Cheshire-cat-like point.

In moments like these, you had to remind yourself of a few things. Punk knew you better than anyone else— your friends, most of your immediate family, even the people you’ve met in passing and spilled your guts to on a whim. You and Punk would spend hours just talking. About anything. About nothing. There was something about his demeanor that drew out the most vulnerable, tucked away parts of your person.

He also had the ability to use what he knew against you. And from the facial expression he made, and from what you could tell from knowing him, he knew that smack held a lot more weight than just pure anger.

He was into it. You were into it.

With a low, practically inaudible growl, Punks hand slides up the front of your body. You could feel the roughness of his palms and the cool touch of his fingertips lingering from standing out in the cold, as he makes his way past the little plastic buttons of your pajama top.

“I love it when we fight, Bunny,” he grumbles, that hand making its way to your throat, “You wanna show me how angry I make you? How much of an asshole I am for breaking your heart?”

Your breath sputters when he clamps his hand down, gently squeezing the sides of your throat. You could only imagine how you looked to him right now— still a bit ticked off, but now a whole lot more desperate.

“I want— an apology.”

“Really? That’s all you want from me right now?”

As you open your mouth to squeeze out an answer, he presses the pads of his fingers into your neck, hitting that blissful pressure point and instantly relieving your three-day-long headache.

“Yes. That’s it,” you breathe, finding it hard to concentrate on only one feature of his face.

The hand of his that stayed stagnant on your hip began to travel downwards, following the curve of your ass all the way down to where it met your thigh. You swallowed, feeling the pressure from his hand fighting the building, anxious saliva from going down.

“Are you sure about that? You don’t seem very confident—”

“—Yes. Yes. For the love of God, please just—”

Your sentence becomes more and more incoherent as Punk slowly spins you around. Your body replaces his, leaned against the kitchen island, still feeling cowardly beneath his over 6-foot stature.

“Just what? Wanna hit me again?” his eyes narrow with challenge, the grip on your throat still in charge of this dance, “Do it. Hit me again. Show me that you’re not afraid to show me what’s on your mind.”

SMACK.

The sheer power from the second slap loosened Punk’s grip on your throat— you breathed out shakily at the loss of the contact, feeling the delayed sting that shot through your palm the moment your knuckle cracked his jaw.

He eventually frees your neck from his hold to aid his wounded cheek, rubbing it softly as those viridian eyes ask you for a favor that his words had yet to reach.

“Jesus Christ baby. You sure know how to lay a good one don’t ya?”

“Fuck you.”

Your palm began to throb in time with the beating of your heart, the surface skin now tender from two measly slaps to a man who gets hurt for a living.

“Fuck me? Alright. If that’s all you have to say then—”

SMACK.

“I hate you! God, I fucking hate you!”

That dry, fervid rage suddenly morphed into a mess of soggy tears— your words biting violently as they fanned across his now helpless face.

You couldn’t help yourself from crying. As if you hadn’t done enough. But now, in the same vein of feelings you felt the moment you saw his silhouette through the peephole, crying was really the only thing you could do.

“I—I am so fucking sick of you! Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming to my apartment, standing there with that stupid, shit-eating smile. Acting like you didn’t have any part whatsoever in ruining my goddamn life!”

“Y/N, I—”

As much as you wanted this to be a civil conversation, there was no turning back as the tears rolled down your face and onto the floor.

“I’ve been crying over you for weeks. Weeks. You left me. After telling me our relationship was practically meaningless. After dumping me with zero fucking explanation! I’m tired of you, Punk. So. Fucking. Tired.”

Silence.

The tears just kept on coming, there was nothing you could do to stop them from searing hot streaks down your face.

Nothing you could do to stop you from yelling now, either.

“Fuck you! Fuck your stupid hair. That stupid shit box car you drive. Your stupid piercings— and stupid tattoos that you refuse to get touched up because I said I liked them the way they were!”

Punk’s face was a blank slate. All it took was for you to start barking out your qualms with him, and suddenly he was at ease like a soldier.

In the heat of your tirade, you slither out of his arms, angrily marching over to the couch and picking up a throw pillow.

“I can’t fucking believe you. You would think three years meant something, right?! But noooo. Not for Mr. CM Punk. You got to carry on life as usual after you left my house that night. You got to parade around your ring, hearing a crowd of people chant your name like you’re the second coming of Christ! All while I was at home sobbing over gym shorts! Fucking gym shorts!”

The pillow you’d been smacking against your hand was perfect ammo to toss at his head; you grunt as you throw it, listening to the pitiful thud as it slams against the wall behind him.

“You want the shorts? I’ll give you the fucking shorts. The same way I gave you the hours it took me to sew your fucking name onto the tags like you asked me to!”

Your throat felt like sandpaper, your heart racing at 90mph and fluttering with every honest truth you spoke.

“I bet a selfish part of you missed having me around, didn’t you? Because without me, who makes you breakfast in the morning? Who else sits through your God-awful, mean jokes when nobody else is around to hear them?”

It was getting harder to stay away from him now, the adrenaline rush that came with smacking him across the face was the last little push you needed for your penultimate sentence.

“Who else is there, Punk?” the volume of your voice lowers when you take a hurried step closer to him.

SMACK.

“Who else fucks you like I do?”

For a split second, you see the glass in Punk’s eyes shatter. You see all of his rugged features soften and he searches your face for something, anything to say.

But just when you think he’s about to pull away, and curse you out for berating him with your spiteful tongue, his lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss.

You melt into him instantly, all of the pieces of your scrambled up puzzle falling back into place the moment his hands hold you against his body.

His cheek was tender, hot to the touch, and your hand was still lingering from that one final smack, yet he encouraged you to cup his face as it hovered in the aftermath.

The initial kiss grows more primal, a twisted dance of heavy breathing and knocking teeth brings Punk’s hands to travel.

Suddenly your mind is back where it started, an unshakable feeling of wavering uncertainty as he lifts your leg to rest on his hip.

“You— you don’t get to do this,” you stammer, not making any attempt to regain your composure, “you don’t get to just— walk in here and destroy everything I’ve been working so hard to rebuild.”

Your noses knock against each other as your breathing becomes one, Punk pulls away with a tug at your bottom lip.

“Then tell me to leave. Push me away. Kick me out.”

As you open your mouth to retort, his body rolls against yours, leaving your head to spin and freeze up like it always did whenever he turns you on.

“Go on, Bunny,” he continues his torturous drawl, bending down to nip at the sensitive skin behind your ear as he whispers, “Tell me to leave.”

A quiet whimper takes over whatever else you’d planned on saying. Any and all remnants of anger from your rant had suddenly disappeared.

“You—”

Your sentence is cut short by your other leg being picked up off the ground. You gasp, clinging yourself to his hips as he spins you, holding you between the wall and the rising warmth of his body.

“You know I can’t do that, you fuckin’ asshole.”

Another searing kiss, one that made stars pass behind your eyelids as his hands held you tighter. Tighter. Tighter. Surely the pads of his fingers would leave bruises in only the places he could see— he loved to know that he was the only one to touch you in the places that get hidden beneath layers of cotton and lace.

He always did. He always will.

A gasp flies past your lips, and his, as he adjusts his grip on you, nailing you higher to the wall with the sheer weight and force of his lips. His own twisted form of crucifixion.

“God, you’re addicting,” he mumbles into your cheek, his line of kisses getting sloppier as he can’t decide where to pay attention to, “You slapped me ‘till my face went raw… You scratched me ‘till I bled…”

A groan of his own interrupts his string of lustful sweet nothings, only for you to take it as your opportunity to grab his chin in your hand.

You look him in the eye, still feeling the burning sensation in your chest— but this time, it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t sadness. It was fighting that feeling that you could never quit.

As you look at him, you take your thumb, still stained with blood from before, and trail it across his bottom lip. His lips and chin are defiled with that perfect shade of scarlet — his eyes glittering as you paint him red.

“…And you cursed me out like a fuckin’ bitch,” he chuckles wryly, his tongue flicking out to catch the blood you’d left.

“And yet—” You cock your head to the side, your features fully softening for the first time since he arrived at your door, “—you’re still here with me.”

Before you could even think, Punk is grabbing at the buttons on your pajama shirt and anchoring you to the wall with his hips. His actions are frenzied, popping open the first, second, and third button.

“Fuck this,” he grumbles in frustration, fully surrendering, tugging at the bottom hem and lifting that black and pink heart printed pajama top over your head in one full swoop. You can’t help but chuckle as he tosses it behind his head, and gets straight to work on worshipping the valley of your breasts with open-mouthed kisses.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Bunny,” he breathes out between each time his lips press against you, “I wanna slap my damn’ self for breaking your heart.”

As he caters to you, you find your hands lacing through his hair, pushing it back to reveal a slit in his eyebrow. The same one he refused to shave back in no matter how many times you asked.

Maybe he thought that you seeing it tonight would help him get lucky.

And judging by the position you were in right now, it clearly worked its magic.

“All these sweet nothings aren’t gonna change the fact that you’re an asshole,” you state plainly, but finding it harder to speak due to him pinning you against the wall.

“You can call me— whatever the hell you want,” says Punk, tucking a strand of your frizzed up hair behind your ear.

The heated encounter had blindly begun to move towards the couch. You found yourself going limp in his arms the moment there wasn’t a sheet of drywall holding you up like a puppet on strings. Punk had you completely at his mercy— although fast-paced, steamy, extremely desperate sex was a staple in your repertoire.

“Is this how you planned on apologizing to me?” you ask, tailing off your sentence with a squeak as he tips you back to lay on the couch.

Punk crawls his way up your topless body, licking a stripe from your belly button all the way to the start of your jaw.

“Wasn’t planned, no. But I suppose that fucking it out to the point of forgiveness is better than a healthy conversation, right?”

Although forgiveness wasn’t a thing that crossed your mind until now, the events that had unfolded within the past thirty minutes had your head in knots. How could a man who you’d sworn off ‘till death come back into your life, simply with a bat of his pretty eyelashes and a flash of the gap in his teeth?

Maybe Punk’s visit was the universe telling you that you’d met your match. You simply couldn’t stay away.

After any and all clothes that barred access to the places he needed you most were removed, you found yourself swimming in a pool of dizzy, love-drunk thoughts. Punk took his time with you, yet still seemed as though he was rushing to get to where you needed him most.

“Fuckin’ Christ, I missed you. I missed you so much,”

Punk groans, taking a moment to stare into your soul before dipping down to bite at your bottom lip with his teeth.

You sigh in bliss, having not felt the touch of him, or anyone else for that matter, since the last time you saw him. As fucked up as it was, you missed this feeling.

You really missed him, too.

“Can I?” you begin to say, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt after another pick up of that steamy makeout session.

“Of course. Anything you want. Have me topless, have me naked, fully clothed, I don’t fuckin’ care.”

You chuckle at his eagerness, he helps you in taking off his tee, and your mind freezes up when you notice the beginning of a tattoo on his chest.

“Is this new?”

You trace the outline of ink with your manicured finger, following its shape all the way to the curve of his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Been thinkin’ about a chest piece for a while.”

“Mmmh, yeah?” you hum, a fluttering feeling rumbling through your stomach the moment you realize that his hand had travelled to the waistband of your panties. “Chest tattoos are fucking sexy.”

Punk smirks, inching that wandering hand down past the waistband of your underwear towards your throbbing core. He bites his lip, that silver lip ring getting caught in the crossfire.

“Glad you think so, Bunny.”

An immediate wave of pleasure crashes over your senses the moment you feel his finger tease at your dripping slit. He always took the time to make sure you were fully ready— but you were afraid that your screaming match from earlier had you more hot and bothered than you’d like to admit.

“Punk, c’mon—” you whine indignantly, writhing beneath him as he slowly starts to spread your own wetness across your folds, “Not getting any younger here.”

“Impatient now, are we?” he bites back, making it a point to slowly, tauntingly dip in and out of your entrance with his slender finger.

You can’t help but moan out in purse frustration— impatience, as he called it.

“If you don’t hurry this along and fuck me already, I’ll send you home with blue balls and no gym shorts.”

As he opens his mouth to retort, you shoot your hand down to catch his wrist, shaking your head at him disapprovingly.

“Don’t remember you ever being this desperate to get fucked, Bunny,” he chuckles lowly, keeping you and your stamina on its toes as he flips your position to have you straddling his lap, “And here I was thinking you were a fan of the slow, sappy shit.”

“People change, y’know,” you shrug, finding a comfortable position to grind your hips down onto his bulge as you slide your hands up his chest towards his throat, “I think you may have ruined me for good.”

Punk was an athlete. He was quick on his feet, and even quicker to get into the minds of anyone he deemed a worthy opponent. When it came to you, the most worthy of them all, he read you like a book. Cover to cover.

“Ruined you?” he asks, watching your hands climb his chest towards his throat, “Is that why you felt so inclined to almost kill me earlier?”

You clasp your hands around his throat, pushing out a shaky sigh from his chest. A smile spreads across your face like wildfire, your hips now wielding a mind of their own against the hard-on in his shorts.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic— Are you going soft on me, Punker? I thought you liked it a little— rough.”

When you looked back down at his face, what you didn’t expect to see was an airy grin. Punk must’ve done a lot of thinking in the time you were apart— because the Punk you knew a month ago wouldn’t stand for a second of this role reversal. But now, it seemed as though he was basking in the art of submission.

Safe to say, you had him whipped once again.

Fucking finally.

A low rumble from Punk floats to your ears, the first sign of his bleeding impatience. His eyebrows furrowed, the tip of his nose twitched, all while your hands were still wrapped around his neck and gently squeezing the pressure points on either side.

“I really meant it when I said you ruined my life, y’know,” you coo to him quietly, rolling your hips down past his crotch in order for your mouth to be level with the new ink traced on his chest, “Because now, I can’t think of anyone else who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Bunny…” Your nickname sounds like prayer in his gravelly voice, as you take your time and nip at the sensitive skin above his peck. Your teeth leave bruises in their traces, but you knew he didn’t mind.

“I really did try to forget about you. It’s true— but I just couldn’t help myself… Thinking about those big, sad, green eyes every time I slid my hand between my thighs t’ try and get myself off.”

A trail of bruises adds on to the weight of your words— all of which were true. You thought you’d had it all under control the moment your relationship with Punk ended. But the harder you tried to forget about those aforementioned eyes or the spiteful, sarcastic bite of his tongue, the more you really fucking missed it.

“You’re fucking evil, you know that?” Punk gasps, a broad hand flying to brush rogue hair from your forehead.

“What about me is so evil? The fact that you loved me so good and fucked me so hard that you stained my conscience?”

In a lingering spike of anger, you dig your nails into his abdomen, watching his muscles flex beneath the grapple you held. Punk winces, returning the favor with a tug at your hair.

“I don’t think it’s evil. I’d say you left your mark,” you add onto the torture, dragging your nails past the tattoo on his stomach towards the waistband of his shorts, “And now, I think it’s only fair that I leave mine.”

The speed in which your lips reattached to his should've been a worthy competitor to the speed of sound; moans catching between heaving, desperate breaths as Punk held you like you were the last thing he’d ever touch.

“Take your fuckin’ shorts off—” you demand, a lightning bolt of confidence shocking through your spine as he follows your orders without question. All while your lips were still entwined.

You blindly reach down past where the hem of his shorts were, a sloppy frenzy of movement as you feel his cock free itself and spring up from the confines of his briefs.

A moan is caught in your larynx as your hand finds his thick shaft, locking eyes with him the second that skin touches skin.

“I— I bet you’ve been dreaming of this shit. Beatin’ the hell outta’ me, bossing me around—”

“—Oh please. I could do this in my sleep. I was always just worried about bruising that big, dumb ego of yours.”

You bite your lip, and Punk just sighs, his head hitting the throw pillow that you didn’t choose to launch at him while he stood against the wall.

“The biggest and dumbest. Yet you loved me more than anything. Isn’t that strange?”

Your eyes narrow at his smug expression. Despite being on the short end of the stick, he sure did have a mouth for the ages.

“But I’m not the one that came here all mopey, trying to put on a fuckin’ show because I missed incredible sex and the smell of vanilla perfume.”

“You didn’t deny that you love me.”

Your lip twitches at his smug expression. You’re almost tempted to rear that same hand back and slap him once more.

“Bite me.”

In a haze of rough, needy kisses and enough love bites to kill a man, you’d finally felt that your teasing quota was met. One final peck to the tip of his nose had Punk gasping for air, as you slithered your hand between your bodies and palmed his cock. You lift your hips, his pupils blown like he’d just seen the center of the universe.

“Missed seeing you on top of me—” Punk blurts out, looking shocked at the delicacy of his own words.

You flash him a wicked smile, not wasting any time in pushing your panties to the side and teasing his tip at your entrance.

“Bet you missed this pussy too, hm?”

Your condescension only adds to the fire raging in those evergreen eyes. Punk can only nod into submission as you lower yourself onto him, stretching out your walls around his cock and reinstating your title as the perfect fit.

Collective sighs fill the air, but there was still a small amount of unspoken tension that lingered above your heads like a storm cloud. There was only one way to release that tension— and it was the best way that you knew how.

Before you know it, the pace of your rocking hips picks up in speed, and the trembling breaths leaving Punk’s parted lips sounded like church bells ringing in your ears.

“Oh my God, fuck— Bunny—” he grunts, his hands grabbing tightly onto to your waist like clothespins as he guides you up and down his cock.

“Say my name. My— real name.”

Now that demand was something you knew he hated to do.

Although never showing any distaste for your real name, he had an aversion to using it. Only allowing himself to use it was of the utmost importance.

For himself, he preferred you just call him Punk, simply because ‘Phil’ just felt too mundane for his eclectic, brooding tastes.

The same went for you. The phenomenon of a ring name was something that got him more hot than bothered— and since you weren’t a wrestler, nor were you planning to be, he was left to his own devices to give you one. That was when ‘Bunny’ came about.

He may have chosen ‘Bunny’ for a multitude of reasons—it could have been for the fuzzy boots you wore on the winter night you’d met him outside of a HOG event, or the way your nose crinkled up every time he said something that made you wince. For a while, you’d assumed that he’d forgotten your real name.

But you never really questioned his logic. Hell, you rarely questioned any of his idiosyncrasies at all.

If Bunny was what he liked to call you, then Bunny it was.

“Say my name, Phil. Fucking— say it.”

An impetuous moan breaks you out of your reminiscing, feeling that rage inside of you bubble back up into the desire to cause him more than just emotional pain. You take your hand and cup his jaw, fiercely pulling his spaced out eyes back into yours.

“Ah, fuck— fuckin’ Christ, you’re a lunatic.”

Your grip on his jaw grows tighter, watching him fight a smile with the ruminating thought of his masochistic ways in the back of your mind.

“You love this shit,” you pant, still rocking your hips with an utmost force that eventually brought the coffee table beside you to rattle, “Admit it. Tell me you love it and say my fucking name.”

An array of sloppy sounds fills the room once again, you can see, and feel, Punk’s shoddy attempts to fight back your ruthless aggression with his hips.

He slams into you upwards, a ping-pong of changing power dynamics, your entire body somehow feels like it weighs a ton.

“Kiss me. Bite me. Do it— do it ‘till it hurts.”

Suddenly, you’re crying out, loosening your hold on his jaw to run your nails down the front of his chest. He winces in pure, unbridled lust at the feeling of that brief sharp pain, and snaps his hips up even faster.

“Say my name first,” you barely squeeze out the words.

“Shit— Y/N— I fucking love you.”

Your wish was his command.

As you continue to bounce on his cock with enough force to drive you off the rails, you duck down, and slam your lips against his.

It was almost as if that final kiss was what he needed to send him to the brink of climax— his rhythm suddenly sloppy and his hands now crawling across your back to keep you pinned to his chest. You almost go weak in his arms when he bites at your neck, running his hand through the back of your hair and holding you closer— as if closer than you were right now was even humanly possible.

“Punk, oh my God— just like that, yeah. Right— right fuckin’ there—”

The rhythm of his hips was hitting every single mark— your walls tensing around his thick shaft with each snap of his hips and every glance into his needy eyes. He groaned for you, that poor, beaten up face of his looking as though you had him under a spell.

“Nobody fucks me like you do,” you breathe out, hoping your words were everything he needed and more to push him to the edge, “I love you. I still love you— so fucking much.”

A symphony of moans breaks you out of your bouts of praise, his hips snapping upwards with utmost force and bringing your entire body to tremble above him.

“Oh fuck. Fuck, Y/N!”

And suddenly, as if you were whipped through space and time, stars and fireworks fluttering towards the pit of your stomach— his cock twitches inside of you with an unspeakable amount of desperation and desire, reaching his climax in tandem with yours.

“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, sinking down to lay your cheek atop the fresh ink on his chest.

Punk lets out a low whistle, one that sounds familiar, and oddly comforting to you. It is reminiscent of a sigh of relief, as if having you wholly again was the one thing that kept his sarcastic quips and shitty ego afloat. All of that tension that lingered in the doorway of your apartment disappeared in an instant, his hands wrapping around you tightly as you attempted to level your breathing.

“You really know how to wear a man out, don’t ya?” Punk comments, tracing hearts and stars across your shoulder blades.

“I feed off souls, it's how I stay young.”

A simultaneous, hearty chuckle shakes both of your bodies. There was a feeling brewing around in your head that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. Maybe it was regret, but it was far too early to tell.

Especially with him still being inside of you.

“A succubus of sorts, hm?” says Punk, picking up your chin.

“Maybe. Maybe my mystifying, witchy-woman powers are what brought you here.”

“Or maybe I’m the one who can sense sadness. Don’t think I didn’t see those kicked-puppy-dog eyes when you opened the door...”

There it was again. The Punk you knew and loved. Defensive, yet somehow still able to make you swoon.

“...Gotta admit, there is a bit of magic between us.”

After laying in Punk’s arms for a long while after, that overwhelming sense of impending doom had dissolved completely.

You watched Punk scramble up and down the stairs of your lofted apartment to grab you everything you needed. A warmed washcloth and a glass of water; the two staples in your aftercare routine.

“Need anythin’ else?” You hear his disembodied voice from the kitchen above the running water.

“Actually, I do,” you comment, sitting up fully on the couch after he’d re-dressed you in your pajamas, “I need you to admit that coming here at midnight to bother me about a pair of gym shorts was a stupid fuckin’ plan.”

Punk freezes in his tracks, a sly smile sneaking onto his lips as he reaches over to dramatically turn the faucet off, “Guess I didn’t really think it through. I was more focused on seeing you. I needed an excuse to cover my own ass— the shorts were the best I could do.”

“Do better,” you snarl, “Still want ‘em back?”

Before replying, Punk slides beside you on the couch, his arm ready to cradle your head into the crook of his neck. He presses his lips against the side of your head, keeping there as his breathing slows.

“You can keep the shorts, Bunny. Just as long as you take me with ‘em.”

[sulphuricgrin]

Tagged by @lathez !

no pressure tagging: @changelingsandothernonsense @hircines-hunter @illumiera @skyrim-forever @skyrim-crossing @pocket-vvardvark @sanza-17 @scholarlyhermit DON'T FORGET: use tag Sujamma Sundas!

[This week Sujamma has been brushing up on his literacy. It's hard being a humble Nix-Hound. Reading doesn't come naturally to him, but he's doing his best! This week Sujamma is hoping you will help him learn to read!

Post a favorite scene, favorite sentence, favorite dialogue, favorite anything from any fic you've written! If you haven't written any fic, feel free to share your ideas. If you don't have any, recommend a friend's fic!]

for the few of you that have read my fic, this is familiar. Just gonna use a scene from the last published chapter. Enjoy Lilli losing her shit, this will be a little long. Sadly the formatting is slightly fucked by tumblr's limited formatting options. >:/

The ceremony was made to be glorious for House Nivulirel’s eldest son and his new betrothed, and was only the beginning for the traditional wedding rites. Not that she particularly cared to pay attention, but Lilliandra knew that just the matchmaking itself took nearly as long as she was alive to find the proper “suitability.” Today was the official announcement and those in attendance made her realise this was more like a party for connection making - to rub elbows with the rich, affluent, and talented. 

It was draining. 

And incredibly more so when her mind was oddly letting her nightmares to bleed into reality. It always varied wildly what, or if anything, she would see once she put her head down for the night. More often than not, they disappear from her consciousness, only the feeling of vague dread or mere unease would linger through the morning before she’s distracted enough to completely forget about it. 

But here she is awake, sitting in the Monastery of Serene Harmony, yet her nightmares are breeding and festering like malignant tumours before her eyes. Or are they hallucinations? (Would Elikar have called these signs from the Divines?) Truthfully, did it matter at this point? 

She sits in the pews like the rest of the congregation. (Gods, she hates this place, yet she could never explain why. ) Incense and candles burn her nose, as well as the heavy scent of the carefully placed flowers everywhere. If not for the situation, she might appreciate the beauty of the place, like a lovely oil painting, with the colourful bouquets of sardonias, geraniums, windflowers and, of course, roses all over the temple. While the priest prays for the blessed union and claims he will divine the best possible future date for the wedding, Lillinadra just sees them . Faceless phantasmal apparitions fill the temple, twice as tall as any elf, as they drift through and around the statues and shrines of the Divines. Instead of familiar shadows, they’re ethereal, as if beautifully made in rich watercolours. They surround her, like she’s the focal point, not the betrothed pair. She can’t put names and faces to the phantoms, yet she feels like she knows them so intimately. 

She does her best to ignore it, looking down instead of ahead. Hands clasped tightly in her lap, she tries to stomp down the spiralling emotions that attempt to surface as the visions loom over her. ( Does no one truly see the shadows these figures create? ) She can almost feel their presence, their aureate hands faltering just before her face. Her parents next to her don’t seem to notice a thing, as they focus on the ceremony. 

With careful, purposely timed breathes, she waits.

And waits, as she desperately ignores - trying to keep herself afloat in this suffocating, fevered, corrupted reality that only she can see. 

After an agonising long time, everyone rises from the pews, signalling the true start of the party that is being moved to the estate. She stays in her seat and only when her father pauses at her behaviour does she look up. She regrets it. She freezes, before giving her father a reassuring smile and waving him to go to the rest of the family. Behind him hovers the largest of the phantoms; even without eyes, she knows it stares directly at her. Her father hesitates at first, before leaning down and kissing her head, while placing a small scroll in her hands. He says something, but she can’t hear it. The drumming of her heart is the only noise she can hear. (When did that happen?)

She watches her family move with the crowd, while the phantoms meander through them. As the monastery empties, her ears begin to itch. They have no mouths to give shape or form to words, yet there’s whispers in the wind. Hissing in a language unknown, their meaning lost to the ravages of time and memory . She watches as the figures jerk and their watercolour bodies fade and brighten. Laughter rings out like the tolling of a funeral bell, mingled with jeers that cut through the stillness like shattered glass. She feels like she’s drowning in their presence.

When they raise their gilded hands towards her, it chills the marrow in her bones and stirs the most primal of fear in the deepest recesses of her soul. 

ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ

∩O⅄ HƆ∩O⊥ WƎH⊥ ⊥Ǝ˥ ⊥,NOᗡ

D̵͉̂̔̓̆O̴̡̡̝͖̲̮��̯̜̙̲̭̯̤̮͑͗͂ͅŅ̷̨̛̼͕̤͚̲̦̩̈́̋̎͑̇͋̿̏̔̓̚̚͝͠'̷͉͇͍̬͕̝̇̈̽̀̑̔͑T̴͎͠ ̶̛͔͈̃́̈́̐̈̐̀͋͒́̄͊͐̈́̕L̶̢̧̼͎̬̱̬̳͉̓͛̄͗̈É̸̳̜̼̰͍̙͎̜͈̫͙͐̓̐͝͝T̸̙̏͐͑̒̒̕͘͝͝͝ ̵͓͉͕͈̩͋͑̽̏̅Ț̵̔̀̈́͊́̐̅̈́̈́̿͆̐͝Ĥ̶̳̖̼̩͌̑̅͑͗̏̏̓̐̐͝͝͝É̸̹͙͔̖̼̪̺͒̚̕Ḿ̸̹̺͉̞͔̘̣ ̶̢͓̫̹̠͙̜̹͚̺͑̌̈̃ͅT̶̢̹͉͍̫̲̭͖̠͔̀̈́͗̕̚̕̚Ǫ̶̣͎̦̯̠̈́̉̃̆̚U̴̡̹̯̒̿̆̆̑͘C̸̡��̘̝̱͈̭͕̤̖̤͌̓͜͜H̸̱̯̝͇͖̱̉̕ ̵̨̲̠̠̈́͂͐͐̑̃̋̌͂͊̓͝Y̸̼̫̬͖̭͖̱͉̓͒͋͐̅̊̑̊̂̍͗͂͘͝Ö̷̻̮͉͖̪͔̦͚̺̮͎̭͇̃̆́́̉͑͋̃͜U̵̳͙̳̙̥̠̞̪̘͇̮̍̉̎̓̆̆̐̈́̌͂͐͠

Echoes in her mind threaten to split her skull as she’s paralyzed in fear, air ripped from her lungs. With her muscles locked in place, she can only shut her eyes and chant in her head IT'S NOT REAL. But their cold as ice laughter bites through the chant, spiralling her panic. Hands come back together, scroll crushed between, as if praying. (Should she pray? To whom? Would they make it stop?) She doesn’t even realise as she instinctively bows her head, hunching her back, just trying to make herself as small as possible. And then she feels it, the softest touch on her shoulder. (Should she look up?) Hesitantly, she lifts her head to see what creature has her, and is flooded with relief and shame. 

The Aldarch hovers over her, face painted in concern. “My lady? The rest have left at least 15 minutes ago, my dear. Does something trouble you?”

She’s dumbstruck, tongue like lead in her mouth, unable to answer him as she searches the room. The monastery was empty now, with only the two of them inside. She shakes her head, and looks back down, feeling embarrassed in her fright only to freeze. At her feet, gnarled, multicoloured hands were pawing at her, outstretched in a grotesque pantomime of desire. 

“My lady?” 

Her head whips back up and stares at the priest’s face. (Focus, focus. ) “I’m sorry. I-I-” she swallows down the fear, the horror , and gives a shaky sigh, “I was praying, Aldarch. It’s- it’s sinking in how,” she briefly struggles to find an excuse, but focusing on his calm countenance and ignoring the floor, eases her panic, “how important all this is for the family. I suppose I’m worried if I’ll be suitable for my future match.” 

There’s a pause where she worries if her lie will be caught, but he soon solemnly nods. “It’ll be some time before they begin the matchmaking process. It is important for our society, but you have time to keep perfecting yourself. It was right to pray to the Gods.” He pats her shoulder. “You ought to return before your family worries.” As easily as he appeared to her, he leaves. 

With another shaky breath, Lilliandra grips the pew in front of her and stands, legs feeling just as shaky, but she follows the priest’s words. Eyes flick momentarily to the floor and it confirms they are still here below, though thankfully no longer roaming above her. Keeping her eyes towards the door, she takes even steps, desperate to hide the distraught that grips her. Her heart begins to hammer anew when she hears the chorus of gibberish whisper once more. They cease just as quickly, as she walks through the threshold; the city sounds of Shimmerene are like the most exquisite music to her ears. She chokes down a sob of relief, shoulders sagging. Allowing herself to enjoy it before she looks at the crushed scroll her father had given her– a simple teleportation scroll to return to the estate, to make it easier and faster to continue the party. 

The idea of returning to a party after the horror her mind had just forced upon her was beyond exhausting. Maybe she could get away with hiding in her room, or perhaps the greenhouse. She wants a potion of calming. As she pulls the ribbon off the scrolls, she turns back to the monastery doors, and is stunned in terror.

They weren’t gone. 

The splashes of watercolour spectres were standing there at the threshold, bodies and necks twist at all angles as they huddle together, as if all were attempting to see her. Arms raised, only hands went past the doorway, innumerable and stretching beyond what looked possible, they reached for her. Tendril-like hands extend, frenzied and grasping, for her, flickering as if savagely tearing at and through the fragile fabric of reality. In terror, she can’t help but watch. When the first hand reaches her, one claw barely brushing her chest, she feels a quite literal chill in her heart, pained as if hit by an icy spear spell or sunder it from its place all together.

With a disturbed expression and dread sinking into her bones, she tears the scroll and flees. 

[wchswift]

hii hii HEHEHEH this is so brain rot but i need a story where logan is a big time cuddler (i know he gives the best hug ever 😭) maybe he keeps that only to reader!!

ଓ IN HIS ARMS

pairing: logan howlett x reader

summary: logan is a big time cuddler, but he saves all his tender, comforting affection just for you.

word count: 1.3k

content: fluff, established relationship, implied sex, post-sex cuddles.

a/n: hiii, sorry it took me so long to write it 😭 I may have changed a little from what you asked, but I hope you like it <3

── english isn't my first language :)

Everyone around the mansion was well aware of Logan's grumpy reputation. He was the gruff one, all hard edges, and sharp looks, the not-friendly and indifferent expression to keep people not so close. To most, he's the Wolverine—reserved, intimidating, and always prefers little interaction. But of course, he had his exceptions, like you. You knew better.

Because behind closed doors, Logan was yours, and he’s the most touch-hungry man you've ever met. You know the man beneath the scowl who would hold you close until the rest of the world disappeared if he could. Deep down, he was the type who wouldn’t readily admit it, but he absolutely adored cuddling.

No one would believe it if you told them, but Logan is the best cuddler in the world. There’s something about the way he wraps his arms around you, how his broad chest and strong shoulders make you feel so small and completely safe. It’s like being surrounded by pure strength, and yet it’s soft, too—his touch careful, deliberate, filled with a tenderness that only you get to see. God this man knew how to hug.

Right now, his arms are wrapped around you as you settle against his chest, his warmth seeping into you like the coziest blanket. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of life outside and the sound of his steady breathing. Nights like this—peaceful, undisturbed—are your favorite.

You let out a contented sigh, your head resting against the solid strength of his chest. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath your ear, soothing and grounding in a way only Logan can manage.

“You comfy, princess?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum softly, snuggling closer.

Logan’s hand drifts lazily up and down your back, tracing slow, soothing circles. He’s always touching you like this, his hands finding you almost instinctively, whether it’s to ground himself or to comfort you. Maybe it’s both.

“You’ve got the best hugs,” you murmur, your voice muffled against his chest.

Logan chuckles softly, the sound a deep, rumbling vibration against your cheek. “Yeah? Don’t tell anyone. Gotta keep my image intact.”

You laugh lightly, shifting to look up at him. His lips quirked in a rare smile, the kind only you ever see. Before you can say anything else, he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there like he’s savoring the moment.

Logan doesn’t say it, but you know this side of him—the warmth, the tenderness, the way he holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world—is something he reserves only for you. Around the others, he’s all scowls and clipped words, but in private, he’s the kind of man who craves touch like it’s air.

He didn’t always show it, though. Logan wasn’t the kind of man to give away pieces of himself so easily. It took a while to get that part of him. You vividly remember the first time he hugged you like this, back when he still had walls up, back when you weren’t sure what you meant to him.

You’d been having a rough day—a hard mission that made you doubt yourself, leaving you shaken and overwhelmed. You tried to hide it from everyone, retreating to the quiet safety of your room. But Logan noticed. He always noticed.

Without a word, he appeared in your doorway, his expression softer than usual but still guarded.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and gravelly.

At first, you nodded, trying to brush it off, but when he stepped closer and gently touched your arm, the dam broke. You let out a shaky breath, your eyes stinging, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him.

For a second, you thought he’d pull away—this was Logan, after all. But instead, his arms came around you, steady and sure, pulling you against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That was the first time you felt the magic of the Wolverine hug. His hold was strong but not overwhelming like he was shielding you from everything bad in the world. His hand ran soothingly up and down your back, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

And he did. From that moment on, you realized that Logan wasn’t just a good hugger—he was the best. There was something about the way he held you like he could take all your worries and crush them with his strength. He didn’t need to say much; his arms said it all.

Now, it’s second nature. He doesn’t wait for an excuse to hold you—he pulls you into his lap while you’re reading, tangles himself around you when you’re in bed, and presses his face into your hair after a long day. His hands are always on you, whether it’s a comforting palm against your back, his fingers laced with yours, or his arm slung around your waist like he needs to keep you close. And you dare to say he loves it more than you.

After the sex, he’s especially clingy—not that you mind. Pulling you into his arms as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, he will wrap himself around you completely. His lips leave lazy, soft, lingering open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, hair, collarbone, cheek—anywhere he can reach. Each one feels like a promise, a reminder that you’re his. He let his hands roam lazily, tracing patterns on your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You feel so damn good, princess” he’ll whisper, his voice rough but tender. And the way he holds you in those moments like he never wants to let go, makes you feel like you’re the center of his universe.

And the way he looks at you in those moments? It’s enough to make your heart stop. His usual sharp, guarded gaze softens, filled with a quiet devotion he doesn’t show to anyone else.

Around the others, he’s all grumbles and scowls, pretending he’s not the same man who just kissed you senselessly an hour ago. He keeps his distance—at least, as much as he can.

Even in public, though, there are cracks in his armor. His hand will brush yours under the table or he’ll rest his palm on your thigh. Sometimes, when he thinks no one’s paying attention, you’ll catch him watching you with an intensity that makes your heart race.

The others might tease him for being overprotective, for always keeping an eye on you, but they don’t see the real Logan. They don’t see how he softens when he holds you or how he presses his forehead against yours like you’re the thing that saved him.

“Love you,” he murmurs now, his lips brushing against your hair. His voice is quiet like he’s not ready to say it too loudly, but the words hit you like a warm rush all the same.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, those dark, stormy eyes soft in the dim light. “Love you too,” you whisper, brushing a kiss against his jaw before settling back into his arms.

Logan presses another kiss to the top of your head, his hand slipping under the blanket to pull you closer. He holds you like you’re his anchor, his steady presence in a chaotic world.

And as you drift off in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and strength, the rest of the world feels small and far away—because with Logan, you’re home.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[wildstar25]

I.4: Did any of them try to resist their feelings?

and

II.1: Who initiated the relationship, and how did they go about it?

Future Lia here saying: Oh god I really didn't mean to write all this it just kinda happened I'm so sorry. I have no excuse other than I've obviously thought so much about all these individual instances so much that I couldn't get my brain to stop. I'm very unwell about the blorbos and completely lost the plot lol.

Did any of them try to resist their feelings?

Arsay & G'raha part 1:

Literally the entirety of Crystal Tower was these two losers (Arsay and G'raha) obviously catching feelings for each other and then getting in their own way about ( I have a bullet point run down of their events here). G'raha over thought himself out of ever saying anything to Arsay and then got blasted with the 'this is your destiny' beam. Meanwhile when Arsay was ready to make baby steps, the timing just didn't work out for her 🙃

Y'shtola:

I hc that Shtola started crushing on Arsay far before Arsay ever realized her feelings for her friend. Y'shtola wasnt really in the scions to make new friends yet Arsay, for many reasons, managed to worm her way into Shtola's heart. They were really close by the end of heavensward. The rode trip through to the Hinterlands gave them a lot of bonding time in particular and feelings began creeping in. At the end of 4.3 when Y'shtola heads off to Doma, I have this whole extra bit in the story about Arsay accompanying her to Kugane and them spending a day going around the town at Arsay's insistence. It was basically a date and by that point Y'shtola realized just how bad she had it for Arsay. Still she kept her feelings to herself. Her investigations, the safety of the star, things of this nature would always come first for Y'shtola. (Queue Y'shtola singing I wont say I'm in love) A part of her hoped she could will herself past this terrible crush, especially during those three years apart in the first. Unfortunately distance only made her heart grow fonder.

Arsay & Y'shtola:

It took Arsay a really long time to realized that her totally normal feelings to have for her friend Y'shtola were, in fact, not normal and she had been trying to convince herself of otherwise for quite some time. It took Arsay getting basically beaten over the head with her own overwhelming feelings to figure this out though: From being so excited to see Y'shtola again in SHB, being heartbroken to the point of snapping when Arsay thought Y'shtola didn't recognize her (beyond relieved when that wasn't the case), getting unbelievably shaken when she thought she lost her best friend again, feeling stupidly jealous seeing her in Runar's arms, making a fool of herself trying to then lift Y'shtola up as well.... Things clicked when Arsay overheard Y'shtola fret over her safety to Urianger. Arsay just took a moment to reflect on how kind Y'shtola really is and how much she loved her- loved that about her. love her? why would Arsay think that? Ah. Shit, it's because she loved Y'shtola. And she figured this out at maybe the worse time? As the crew journeyed back to the Crystarium from Rak'tika Arsay fails to be chill about her revelation. She goes off on her own for a bit to cool down and prepares to bottle up all these inconvenient feelings only find out that Urianger followed her. The two have a semi-honest heart to heart. Beyond Arsay's gut reaction of "Who am I to worry about my love life, now of all times, when we have worlds to save?", she expressed the one crippling fear now plaguing her mind: loss. So long as Arsay continued to walk the heroic adventurer's path, those who walked with her were sure to be at risk. She had the experience to back her fears up too. Those deaths still weighed heavy on her no matter how much she tried to push those memories back. Plus it's been now two close calls for Y'shtola; what if the third time they aren't so lucky? Arsay couldn't handle another friend dying in front of her let alone a lover. There too is the possibility of Arsay dying and leaving poor Y'shtola alone and heartbroken. Inflicting such pain on someone so dear to her would be unthinkable. So, Arsay argued, by keeping her romantic feelings to herself she'd save them both from future hurt. Urianger in his most poetic prose somehow convinced Arsay that the regret and leaving things left unsaid was a pain far worse and longer lasting than simple grief. Arsay knew this of course. He also adds that Y'shtola would likely reset Arsay for withholding such important information from her. Arsay agreed. Finally, the elezen puts forth a hypothesis of his: That Y'shtola could very well be thinking and feeling the same things as Arsay has. After all, the two of them were shockingly alike at times. The idea that Y'shtola liked her back made Arsay's heart skip a beat. Maybe Arsay could embrace these feelings of hers. Love is a good feeling. She can let herself feel that and be okay. The inevitable hurt that's sure to follow is not something Arsay has to consider right now so it's fine. Yeah. It'll be okay.

Arsay & G'raha Part 2:

When Arsay's suspicions where confirmed and it was clear to her exactly who the Crystal Exarch was a pit formed at the bottom of her stomach. She had Y'shtola now, so why did those feelings from moons ago still have a vice grip on her heart? Arsay felt terrible, both physically and mentally. Selfish and disgusted. Guilt plagued her as they ascended Mt. Gulg and even more so as they descended into the Tempest. Everyone could tell Arsay was not at her best. She had to dedicate all of her energy keeping herself together through the light poisoning so it was no wonder that Arsay was unable to maintain her usual mask. They had to search the ocean floor for something and everyone broke off into teams. Y'shtola paired off with Arsay. Y'shtola, with her kind heart and inquisitive nature, pressed the subject while they were secluded from the rest of the group. Why did Arsay know the Exarch's name? What history did him and her have together? Most importantly, why hasn't Arsay been able to look her girlfriend in the eyes for the past two days? Like most of her problems, Arsay wanted to hide her feelings for G'raha away and pretend like it never happened. She wanted to be happy with Y'shtola. She was happy with Y'shtola. Arsay loved and respected Y'shtola so much so that Arsay wouldn't dare lie to her. She couldn't bring herself to say in plain words that she held a flame for the currently endangered Exarch; but she didn't need to. Y'shtola was far too bright to not pick up on the subtext. What Arsay did choose to say clearly was that Y'shtola will forever be in her heart; and though she felt like she had no right to, she asked that Y'shtola forgive how large said heart ended up being.

The Crystal Exarch:

I've written about this before here -> but surmise to say, the Exarch felt so undeserving of his hero's affection and too self conscious of himself that he could not put his all into the relationship. He should count himself lucky that Arsay was so hopelessly in love with him tbh. And yes, even though he really really wanted to, not once would he let himself go any farther with her than making out. (much to Arsay's dismay)

Who initiated the relationship, and how did they go about it?

ArShtola

Arsay, bolstered by a pep talk from Urianger and ready to make that terrifying leap, opted to confess her feelings to Y'shtola the night they returned to the Crystarium after travelling from Rak'tika. Arsay had never confessed anything of this magnitude before but she had to get it out there as soon as she could lest she loose her confidence and the perils of their adventures tear them apart. I have a cringe but free fic with gposes here ->

--

GrahArsay/GrahArShtola

It took time for Y'shtola to respond to Arsay's story about her and the Exarch. Their was so much pain in the keeper's voice as she mentioned how things ended up. So much that it struck even Y'shtola's heart. Seeing the one she loved carry such hurt was saddening, yes, but the sting the seeker felt was for her own sake. A little over three years Y'shtola pined over her friend and now after less than two weeks together Arsay drops a bombshell like this on her. To a degree, Y'shtola felt as if she'd been betrayed. Having finally given in to opening up to someone only to feel like she's been toyed around with and been made a fool. She had wanted to lash out then and there but successfully locating the Ondo ruins thankfully stopped her. Y'shtola had taken the rest of their deep sea mission to step back and mull things over. Arsay was practically falling apart in front of her. If this was to be the end for her beloved the last thing Y'shtola should do is add another nail into her looming coffin. For as difficult as her Warrior of Light may be at times there is no denying how much happiness she's brought into Y'shtola's life. Y'shtola sought only to bring her the same happiness in turn. And for all that Arsay's done for the world she deserves the freedom to go after what she wants. Y'shtola would not be the one to bar her from that. However, she had no intention of letting what that she desired go so easily. Y'shtola would not allow herself to be made an embarrassment in this situation. A solution found its way to the forefront of her mind. A bit unconventional outside of tribal life mind you, perhaps a wholly unfamiliar concept for a stranger to their own culture like her dear was, but a non-monogamous partnership could just work. At the very least Y'shtola was willing to try. In her words, Arsay's heart might very well be larger than they both expected but it was still the same heart that Y'shtola fell for. The same heart she continues to love despite the hurt it caused her. The same heart she puts her unwavering trust in. So, just as what could be their final trial stood in front of them, Y'shtola pulled Arsay in close. Her aether was blinding, spilling out from all sides in a monstrous form. Still Y'shtola locked eyes with Arsay. She dare not look away. Y'shtola needed Arsay to see only her in this short moment. Should they make it through this they can talk about the logistics later. Y'shtola's trust in the Exarch was frail at best but if Arsay trusted him he surely wasn't all that malicious. For now Y'shtola wanted only to ease Arsay's soul and focus her mind. There was no anger or resentment between them. They will fight this battle and rescue this G'raha Tia together, side by side. Now and forever, Arsay is loved and is free to love.

... A celebration was held in the Crystarium upon their return with the Exarch. It was a joyous affair for all and lasted long into the night. Noticing G'raha had sneaked away from the crowd, Y'shtola once again expressed her blessings for Arsay to chase after him. That she did and can be read here ->

[esgaril]

it's not the gods. the Archheart is selfish and I don't really care if he doesn't get to force his will onto everybody else.

the thing that bothers me is that BH betrayed the people who's been supporting them the entire time: Keyleth, Allura, the whole of the Accord and all the troops who died at the Key to provide distraction for them. when the leaders were doubtful about trusting 2 Ruidusborn with the mission Imogen promised she wouldn't release Predathos, Orym vouched for her and on their word Keyleth vouched for them before the representatives of most of the planet. that's the promise they broke. and they intended to brake it almost from the start. they took the money, magic items, boosts and everything and then went and did the exact opposite of what they were sent to do on the moon.

also it's true that they did kill Ludinus' old body but then when they found out he's got a clone they let him go, told nobody about it and now providing excellent cover for him to disappear. by the time someone finds out about it he's long gone into hiding. so they failed that mission too.

I completely disagree with the second to last paragraph. I think if the immediate threat would have been stopped it would very much be possible to discuss with the Accord and the gods what to do with Predathos long term. that was the original plan. to stop Ludinus and figure out the rest later. instead BH armed the nuke, strapped it onto themselves and started marching towards all the world leaders only to play offended when they are treated like they have a live nuke with them.

btw we have proof of the exact opposite of what you are saying: the primes have chosen the mortals over their siblings every single time. that's the whole core of their fight. that is literally the thing they disagree on. that doesn't mean they are not allowed to defend themselves when their lives are threatened. no living being should be expected to just let themselves be killed without resistance. it's funny how this is given for everybody else, but the gods are made out to be evil for it. just a reminder: Aeor != all mortals. it is shown by the fact that as soon as the gun held to their head was gone the primes went right back to fighting and eventually defeating the betrayers so they can protect mortals. also people like to omit the fact that both times (calamity and now) mortals were living in relative peace when a few of them went and tried to kill the gods and it was mortals both times who broke that peace and released the threat for their own personal gains and to the detriment of all other mortals.

I feel like every time I hear "Bells Hells broke their word", there's this omission or forgetfulness (and I get it; this campaign feels like it took forever and it's easy to tune out conversations that feel circular and unending) that Bells Hells knows that if the Raven Queen and the Arch Heart were forced to comply by the rest of their family, the Divine Gate would be rent asunder and there would be a second Calamity in order to wrench things back to the status quo – that being the gods are all safe and protected and no one knows about Predathos.

The only reason it didn't happen already was the gods had hope Bells Hells would kill Ludinus (which they did); if Ludinus had defeated Bells Hells then the Gods would have immediately busted down the Gate and commit another Calamity in order to stop him... but the Raven Queen and the Arch Heart made it sound like the Second Calamity would happen regardless of who won, and all because the knowledge of Predathos the GodEater, their most feared predator, was out there.

But, Ludinus disseminated that information across all of Exandria, and there's been information exchange between Ruidians and Exandrians. The only way to take that information back would be to kill all the Ruidians AND kill every single Exandrian, just to be sure. Wipe the slate clean. Start over. Destroy every magical and non-magical record, including the people.

There would be no bargaining with the gods without Predathos, for they are too strong and would have no reason to listen. Any parley of "can you Gods leave forever, or can we leave the Hallowed Cage alone or have Vasselheim turn Kreviris into a military-religious controlled state colony" (that's a Bad Thing) would be met with "or we just kill the entire planet and moon so the information is guaranteed to be lost and there can be no more attempts at freeing Predathos". The Prime Dieties would grumble about it, but they would still go through with eradicating the mortals they love because they prioritize themselves and their Betrayer siblings more than mortals. We have proof of that.

I feel like the Gods broke the social contract first. If we want to point fingers at someone breaking their word, they should be included as well.

[disposal-blueeee]

VARGASTOBER - day 11 : yarn

" do you remember . . . when i took one of those skeins of yarn that gran keeps lying around , and i decided to make our entire room a huge spider web ? so i looped all this yarn everywhere , all over the chairs and beds and tables and doorknobs until you couldn't go anywhere unless you were crawling ? " a smile and edgar wondered for a moment that if scriabin did have a creative streak in him , how could that be expressed ? how else could he express it when he had no body of his own ? work to create a past , a life that he never and would never have , maybe even this whole time . . .

uncropped ver under the cut X3

[mooniety]

Concerning your last post, is there any chance you can tell more about your pupupu train au 👉👈

HI YES OF COURSE I AM FINALLY GONNA ANSWER THIS I AM SO, SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG, MY BRAIN JUICES HAVE NOT BEEN FLOWING & I HAVE BEEN MENTALLY STUCK IN ESSENTIALLY WHAT IS AN EXTREME LACK OF MOTIVATION ALONGSIDE COLLEGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

however, i will admit that this is AWFULLY barebones as what i have in my notes app besides this post is legitimately just a bunch of random comedic bits i've made regarding these two in a pupupu train context, mainly the "haha mk refuses to let susie transfer" bit

fair warning: this is a very metasusie coded answer so anyone who is uncomfortable by the ship, i really don't think this is your cup of tea ^^; sorry!

also here's cut so no one needs to read this freakishly long answer if they aren't interested

as of currently, i'm not really sure how the other units will work, but i do know that it will be based on the separate station masters of the real life collab:

kirby for tokyo

dedede for osaka

mk for nagoya

& with station masters comes units, & with units comes staff, which is where our favorite allies come into play:

in kirby's unit is magolor, who's only interest appears to be the fame it will bring him. despite being part of the most popular unit throughout japan, magolor wishes to be recognized, unhappy that he is simply regarded as another employee of japan's top unit, with kirby taking all of the press & fame

within dedede's unit is taranza, who finds trains to be a great solace after applying to the osaka train station as an internship during his stay at osaka university & since then has become a full time employee, working as the assistant station master. he appears to be romantically interested in a woman named sectonia who frequents the station. it's unknown how she feels about him though.

& in mk's unit...IS SUSIE, WHICH IS WHERE I'M GOING TO TAKE A HUGE DETOUR TO JUST TALK ABOUT (because i legitimately do not have this entire thing fleshed out despite it being over several months since this ask was sent in --again, i apologize.)

so, let's talk about susie! (best girlfailure 😍)

susie is an employee of the nagoya station, currently working as assistant station master. she's built her entire way up to her current position, initially working as a humble customer service worker to within several months the position she is currently after proving her worth through helping during dire situations at the station with her extensive knowledge in engineering

she got this job from taranza, an old high school friend of hers that she managed to keep in contact with. aware she was going to graduate from tokyo university soon & wanted to continue living there afterwards, he told her that job applications for all the train stations were opening up soon & recommended she start there in order to get some good experience or at least build a stronger resume for the future, even doing her the favor of recommending her specifically to kirby. although it didn't really seem to entirely work out unfortunately --good job on taranza for at least trying though, we all need a friend like him frfr 💯💯

unfortunately, even after climbing up the ranks, she's still somehow considered a nobody, often relegated as another typical staff member of the station. to add to her frustration, there's a frequent rumor regarding whether mk even has an assistant station master as he's known as "the lone station master" (DO YOU GET THE REFERENCE 👁️👁️) as the position of assistant station master was vacant for over a year until susie came along. they assume that whoever they are, they seem to rarely make an appearance (despite susie's near perfect attendance, even in comparison to mk himself)

well, now that i've mentioned mk, let's talk about him too:

unlike susie, mk is simply said: the literal face of the nagoya station. everyone knows about him & likes him--he's charming, he's eloquent, knows class, & although he can be overly elaborate at times, people like that about him --he's just a very DEMURE man in general (I WROTE THIS PART WHEN IT WAS STILL FUNNY PLEASE LAUGH 😭)

on the other hand, susie DOES NOT like him very much!!!!!! she finds him EXTREMELY annoying, a HUGE attention seeker, & VERY irrational

because of this, mk enjoys picking at susie as a pastime activity, especially over the fact that instead of getting a job for kirby's unit, she ended up working at mk's unit due to her father's address being in nagoya, the cause of it all

even though mk's a frequent dick to susie, he DOES see the effort she puts into her work &--even though he might not show it--greatly respects her as a result. after all, how did she get promoted to assistant station master? vul could've taken it as the longest standing senior member of the crew but mk chose susie instead

generally said, these two essentially have this rivalry on who can piss off the other most, evolving from "i hate you, i cannot stand you & i want you to know that all while NOT losing my job ^-^" to kaguya-sama: love is war type shit as they're both DEFINITELY into it & DEFINITELY into each other

small detour for those who haven't watched or heard of kaguya sama: love is war, it's a great romantic comedy anime/manga & i recommend watching/reading it if you ever find the time & you're into that kind of stuff, very cute & very funny

anyways, going back to susie, despite susie's attempts to piss off mk herself, unlike mk's more...elaborate ways of pissing her off, she typically has to go for the low blows which typically never works or if they do, he immediately gets back at her or if it really pisses him off, he will straight up pull the "i'm your boss." card which is a line susie wishes to never cross as long as she lives!

outside of mk, regarding her relationship with the rest of the nagoya station unit, she's relatively neutral as she doesn't really talk to any of them much outside of work, the only person breaking that rule being sailor dee, a junior staff member who she currently supervises with vul who, as stated previously, is a senior staff member. she enjoys spoiling sailor dee a lot & views him a lot like a younger sibling. she finds his passion for engineering inspiring & she can see a lot of herself in him

however, she does know others outside of her unit, such as magolor, who she met through taranza. as an interesting tidbit, out of the three, magolor is the youngest (& shortest), being 20 as he went to study abroad & graduated early before returning back to japan. taranza meanwhile is the oldest (& tallest) of the three, being 23. susie meanwhile is 21. (for anyone curious about mk's age, he's 24 in this au, which would mean susie & mk have a 3 year age gap)

mk really doesn't like magolor & doesn't want susie to be in a 10m radius of him, & although he doesn't know much about taranza's relationship with susie, he still doesn't want to take any chances

in terms of mk's own relationships, besides the wave 3 trio, he's basically buddy buddy with the rest of the nagoya station unit, absolutely adoring them. in terms of the other two station masters, he's best buds with dedede & views kirby as a younger brother, similar to how susie views sailor dee

going back to susie once again, although she does enjoy her job, she does wish she could maybe transfer to other units because they include closer friends such as magolor & taranza. however, whenever she looks for the transfer applications, they never seem to be there despite mk's claims of restocking them every single day. furthermore, whenever she goes to print out one out instead, the file is also corrupted to a degree that even susie can't save.

even more suspiciously however, the one day mk forgets to hide the transfer applications & witnesses susie take one (he definitely had heart palpitations after witnessing her actually do it), he has never received the application back from her.

now...i've been waiting for this part for a really long time now as this has practically been in the back of my mind ever since i received this ask...THEIR BACKSTORIES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

since susie's isn't all that interesting since she already gets tortured by mk, i'll start with hers first:

ever since she was born, susie has lived comfortably in nagoya, practically surrounded in wealth. however, this was all without her mother, who had shortly passed away after giving birth to her, thus the only parent she's ever had is her father. she's only heard snippets about her mother, but because she's never actually met her mother, she doesn't feel particularly close to nor all that curious about her

going into the logistics of her wealth: it is primarily old money, both of her parents--similar to her--born into wealth inherited from past generations. however, in spite of primarily consisting of old money, haltmann would eventually manage to hit it big through an ice cream machine & other similar appliances business he called the "Haltmann Works Company," thus the haltmann family would become a combination of both old & new money, so now…they've just gotten richer!!!!!!!!!!!! however, in terms of their ways & methodologies, they are VERY old money

despite the company's large success however, haltmann & susie would over time become much more distant: haltmann focusing on taking care of the company over his daughter & susie rarely ever able to see haltmann

however, as a still young & naive child, in order to feel some sort of closeness to her father again, susie would be inspired to share similar interests with her father, & would begin to secretly attempt to create inventions on her own

this would eventually cause her to get into a freak accident, leading her to retain a large scar on forehead hidden beneath her bangs & experience mild nerve damage on both arms that she would fortunately completely recover from after several months of physical therapy

however, at the moment, haltmann--fearful of what the press would say & the potential decrease in profits--would close her off from majority of the world, forcing her to keep her distance around others & a relatively low profile, even long after her recovery

that did not mean that he completely did not care for susie though, as during her slow recovery, haltmann would gift susie her mother's favorite silver pocket watch, "Star Dream," within it an old photo of him & her deceased mother carrying susie when she was around two months old.

unable to normally interact with others beyond the haltmann household now, susie would develop a large inferiority complex as she grew up, feeling the constant need to appear flawless & perfect. this would culminate into her often masking in many social situations, especially business related ones

regarding susie's school career, she lived her life going to the best private schools, receive perfect scores all across the board, took multiple extracurriculars --she was essentially your stereotypical perfect student

as stated previously, in high school, she would meet taranza, who was two years her senior & had similarly came from a wealthy background of old money. he would be the only person susie would ever consider a friend, her first real friend even (TARANZA SNATCHED THE TITLE FROM MK, WE LOVE A QUEEN LIKE THAT 💅💅💅)

however, despite being the supposed perfect student, susie was extremely emotionally stunted & very socially awkward, often keeping everyone at an arm's length & unwilling to let her walls down to anyone, not even taranza. she would get by through masking, using it as a defense mechanism--as if it were her against the world--& as a result, unintentionally isolating herself further.

after graduating high school, thanks to her extremely successful high school career, she would be immediately accepted into tokyo university, graduating with a bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering

susie found tokyo university to be a breath of fresh air, a place where she felt she could just be: normal. she felt free during her time there, especially free from the constraints of her father. even though she still felt the need to keep up her prim & perfect persona--as the effects of her past basically already taken root deep into her identity--she nonetheless felt...free.

unfortunately, after graduating tokyo university, haltmann despite his success had been significantly dwindling in health, his health finally reaching a peak immediately after susie's graduation, falling into a crippled state

susie would be forced to go back to nagoya in order to take care of him & the haltmann household, frustratingly postponing her desires to pursue a life in tokyo but also causing her to feel an unreasonable sense of extreme guilt over the fact that she even wanted to abandon her responsibilities in nagoya to pursue her own aspirations in the first place (i specifically state "unreasonable" as it is not her fault for her father's poor health despite how she may feel, there is absolutely nothing wrong with pursuing your aspirations, even if they might be different from what is expected of you by parents & peers)

however, over time after being hired & continuing to work at the nagoya train station, she would eventually find her job to be a blessing in disguise as despite losing opportunities to pursue a life in tokyo, she would be able to reconnect with her father & finally let down her walls (THANKS TO MK), developing genuine relationships for the very first time (HER FIRST ONE BEING MK --lowkey i feel like this is how mk would act, just a huge egomaniac, but he does so as half joke, half who he really is)

as a semi un/fortunate little tease: susie will eventually move on from her job as assistant station master to fulfill the new aspirations she's found after working at the train station. the good news however, is by that time, she'll be in a romantic relationship with mk (MAYBE EVEN MARRIED WHO FUCKIN KNOWS!!!!!!!!!! (i don't)) & still live in nagoya…with him. :DDDDDDDDDD

however, unlike susie's backstory, mk's is much sadder...because he's mk & there seems to be a large consensus that the fandom must torture him in some way 👍👍👍 (ALLEGEDLY ALLEGEDLY ALLEGEDLY, IN FORTNITE, IN MINECRAFT):

mk came from a middle class family with the typical stay at home mother & breadwinner father, thus living a fairly decent life in nagoya

however, while mk was still in middle school, his family would suffer a horrific car accident that would only leave him as the only survivor of the tragedy

this would quickly worsen as immediately after his parents' funeral, he was siphoned of all of assets, including his own house & essentially abandoned by the rest of his family

this would cause mk to become bitter & resentful of others, & he would establish a negative outlook of the world

with no money or home to go to, he had to immediately drop out of school after completing his middle school education in order to find a job --being just barely eligible enough to apply for any sort of occupation

fortunately, he would eventually find work as a full time janitor at the nagoya train station

there, he would meet gk, the current station master at the time --though during the first few months, they did not know each other very well--gk barely aware of mk's existence--only aware that they humorously shared the same surname despite not being related

however, one day, due to extreme exhaustion from working overtime literally every day & obviously not in the right mindset as a high school dropout who essentially lost everything, mk would nearly fall in front of an upcoming train, gk being just there enough in the nick of time to save mk

from that point on, gk would learn more about mk, primarily using vul as his main source of information (as mk would only talk to him out of everyone else in the unit)

through this, he came to the decision that he would help mk out, acting as his guardian, especially after learning about his orphan status

as his new guardian, gk would send mk back to school. however this would not be an easy task as mk didn't want to lose his job due to school (fearful that gk might abandon him like the rest of his remaining family did as well as potentially siphon all his money). thus gk would compromise, changing mk's schedule to part time during the weekends as well as personally pushed to pay for mk's expenses until mk was financially stable enough to move out as mk could barely afford any sort of rent or even groceries--but most importantly of all--afford a normal life again.

in addition, after graduating high school, gk & the rest of the current nagoya unit of that time would pitch in to help mk go to a junior college where he would pursue a major in mechanical engineering & achieve an associate's degree

living with gk would really change mk's initial negative outlook of the world to something much more positive. he can attribute some of his current eccentricities from gk such as his charm & borderline irrationality/overly elaborate nature as well as enjoyment for picking at susie (as gk teased him A LOT, though in a much more lighthearted way than what mk does to susie)

once finished with his studies, mk would move out & quickly climb up the ranks until he became assistant station master himself & eventually the new nagoya station master after gk’s retirement (who was at that point in his mid 70s, my man just enjoys trains yk)

after becoming the new nagoya station master, gk would gift mk his old gold pocket watch called "Galactic Nova"

he would work as the new station master for a bit over a year before meeting susie

funny little tidbit about gk since we've practically reached the end:

gk likes to call susie "mk's girlfriend," even before they were in a relationship (HE CAN SMELL LOVE FROM 1000KM AWAY)

he initially did this as a joke, but when it became real, he switched it up to "mk's wife." idk what he's gonna call her when she actually does become mk's wife. maybe just susie.

furthermore, when he learned susie called mk "Yumeta," whenever he refers to their relationship, he calls mk "Yumeta-chan" to get under his skin, but normally, he calls mk "Meta-chan" --unironically. he really enjoys using the "chan" honorific for mk & when i think about it, probably everyone. (this is a big headcanon of mine that goes beyond just this au)

eh, he's a retired old man, he can do whatever he wants as long as it's not illegal

ANYWAYS I HOPE THIS ANSWERS YOUR QUESTION, AGAIN, I AM SO SORRY FOR TAKING LITERALLY NEXT YEAR TO ANSWER

[soultek]

In Another Life - Bogard x Female!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

A/N: This actually started as much more based on the lyrics of this song than it ended up - I guess this wasn't exactly my intent! It was initially meant to be so much more angsty. But that's how you roll when you just let the characters point you in a direction when you're writing. Every point on my plan got covered - that's all that matters! 😁✌

ALSO this is the first work I've EVER had properly edited for me, so, thank you very much Josh! I appreciate you taking the time to read this! [You don't know what you've got yourself in for agreeing to do more... haha! 😈]

The format editing on Tumblr broke me. So you get what you get below and I'm very sorry but I just could NOT anymore... You'll see it because it is very SPECIFICALLY one sentence that Tumblr seems to find issue with - so now that's just a random paragraph by itself in the middle of a conversation.

Disclaimer: Only the reader character is mine. He's kinda pieced together using elements of his anime counterpart because hell yeah I went back and watched those episodes for further characterisation. Nothing I've used is spoilers. The origami thing is original - but that's only because I've seen a ton of [fan] art of him with birds and I was like "Is this a thing? I need to include it somehow!" Turns out the birds are just a Marine HQ thing - but I liked the idea so I've kept it!

The 'backstory' is also originally because we don't know a whole lot about him yet in either media... sooooo...

Warnings: innuendo, sexual connotations, mention of injury, smoking, mild swearing, mild plot-relevant OOC.

Premise: HQ 3 is back in town. And for you, that ship brings a lot more with it than just injured marines. You're prepared for the usual push and pull this 'situationship' brings. You might not be so prepared for the other news he has for you...

Word Count: 7906

Song Inspo: Another Life - Tenille Arts

Full Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/29SKzlmL31pHFk54BwnO7k

--- Cause I don't wanna kiss anybody else's lips I don't wanna feel anybody else's touch I just wanna be the old you and me We'd be married, have a house and kids by this time In another life

In another life I would get to kiss you goodnight Hold your hand, play with your hair, feel your arms around me Giving me the best hug Yeah, we'd be so in love

In another life

I wouldn't have to kiss anybody else's lips I wouldn't have to feel anybody else's touch We could just be the old you and me We'd be married, have a house and kids by this time And you'd be here tonight In another life

---

Nothing new. That was how you would describe the day. Sitting in your office working through the papers of every Marine coming in and out of your ward; you weren’t sure you knew what busy was anymore. It seemed to be the same all the time - with very little variation in the amount of work you had to do day-to-day - sometimes you just had to work on them faster. With more and more to do for the Marines on the front lines, and with seemingly every other person declaring themselves to be a 'Pirate' these days, at least things were never dull - that you could count on. Today, another ship arrived, apparently with a lot of injured Marines on board, given how many new papers you had stacked up on your desk. You sat back in your chair and blew out a breath. You were glad at least none of these new patients appeared to be in any serious condition. The most interesting thing to you was the newly docked ship's designation: HQ 3. You regarded the papers again, and began to rifle through them slowly. He hasn’t said anything, you thought. Figures. There could be a reason for that, of course… he could be in here. You dared not go through them too quickly to find out. These days he had no reason to tell you, either.

Marking another case as not urgent, you became aware of a sudden clamouring outside your office. Back and forth yelling that sounded more like panic. So much for hiding away... Pushing yourself up from your desk, you opened the door and leaned against the frame, poking your head out into the corridor. Several nurses and doctors were running between rooms, each and every one worked for you now. Which meant that when you called out to them, they stood to attention. "What's going on out here!?" "Nothing we can't handle." "Oh, I have no doubt - is everything okay?" "Some of the new inpatients have a flair for the dramatic is all M'am!" You chuckled, folding your arms, and touched your head to the doorframe too. "Sounds right. Maybe we should give them something to be dramatic about!" You cracked a grin. "If sedative is necessary, get that going - but nothing appears serious. I don't want anyone else on the ward panicking or getting distressed though. Try to get them to keep it down." You winked. "Else I’ll be forced to tell them to, and I'm pretty sure they won't want that."

The small group who had paused to listen to you nodded along, before almost shying away from you, and retreating into the rooms they had come from. You were about to ask why – unless they were scared you were about to force something more upon them yourself – before your question was answered for you. "Oh, I don't know about that." You couldn't have stopped the smile spreading across your face if you'd tried. Not at the sound of that voice. You turned your head to him slowly. HQ 3 meant Garp, and the Vice Admiral brought with him his right-hand man, who was now staring back at you with something of a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth.

Bogard was leaning against the wall right outside your door, letting it support his full weight, right arm held across his body, left hand raised to his chin. If you'd have bet on that stance, you might have won. He had a nasty habit of just appearing like this, but you would never be one to complain about that.   You let your eyes linger on him as you drew them up and down his body. You could pretend it was for your deduction, but you both knew better. "What are you doing here? You don’t look injured to me.” His dark eyes swept the ward, which now hosted a group of Marines from the ship he sailed on. “Where he goes, I follow.” He started. “And, if I leave the ship here, I get to see you. So, it’s not all bad. Guess we’ll be staying while we stock back up, do repairs,” he paused briefly. “The usual.” You bit back the words you really wanted to say. "Doesn't sound so bad. Guess you'll be wanting the recent discharge list?" "You read my mind." "I know you!" You let that statement linger before adding, "all business. Let me get you that list."

You withdrew back into your office, gathering the papers of cleared Marines now waiting to be assigned back onto any ships that were currently docked who were in need of recruits. Much to your surprise you found your hands were shaking. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves; maybe you were more excited about this encounter than you anticipated. To say your relationship with the man standing outside your door was complicated would be an understatement. Something along the lines of a long distance, long term situationship might sum it up best - but they were just a few words that meant nothing to the history of it.

You had been a cadet when you'd first met him. He was a few years older than you. Back when Bogard was just finding himself in the Marine's. It was obvious to you then how fast he was going to climb the ranks. You'd been friends since day one - well, almost. Once you'd graduated your cadet training and had chosen to be stationed as part of the medical division, you began to realise just how injury prone and stubborn he was. At least that was the way he always presented himself to you. The number of times early on you'd found yourself patching up his gashes and wounds with him insisting they were just scratches were innumerable. You found yourself very quickly worried about him in ways that went beyond mere friendship. And the next time he'd done it had been your final straw. You couldn't recall your confession exactly, but you did remember that it came out in the middle of a heated ramble. You had been in tears – you were mad at him for getting hurt, and you were crying because you didn’t want to lose him. Fixing him up that time quickly led to a first kiss, and soon after a relationship. But it didn’t last.

Although he would never tell the story that way, the truth was at that point Bogard had been just dumb enough to make sure he always got an injury, so he had an excuse to stop by and see you, but smart enough to make sure he was never in any real danger. He had mellowed out a lot since then - he was so much more serious and careful now - especially with the responsibilities he had. Man, the more you thought about it, the more you realised just how much time had passed... You carried just as many responsibilities yourself now, but could you say that you didn't still worry about him? No - but he was always so far away that you couldn't allow yourself to dwell on it too much. The 'see you when I see you' was fine if he was going to turn up at your door looking as pristine as he did today. Bogard knew what he was doing - he wouldn't be Garp's second in command if he didn't. You trusted that you had no reason to worry about him. Not even on the Grand Line. If he did ever come back injured - you didn't want to think too much about it - you knew you'd go above and beyond. If anyone had ever been curious about what you were, then that scenario would probably hold all the answers. Though while that wasn't happening, it was fine as a mystery.

He hadn't moved an inch when you returned with the stack. "Here you are, unless I should be giving these to the Vice Admiral?" Bogard took the papers in a way that suggested which was wisest; to him. You held your hands up to indicate that was well noted. "Just let me know who stays and who goes so I can update my records." He flipped through them quickly. "Of course. I suppose it will depend on how many we want that aren't cadets." "Cadets? I mean there might be some fresh faces there, but they will come with a little experience." "Might need that where we're going." This time it was his right hand held to his chin as he moved to answering your question quickly. "Yes, cadets. We're training them." "You're training cadets?" You could see it, actually. He'd be good at that - tough but fair. His captain too. "Lucky cadets." Bogard placed the papers in his pocket. His expression seemed to suggest that might not be the phrase he'd use. He looked up and passed you, studying the corridor and listening to the activity you'd just set in motion, before turning his attention fully back to you. "The whole ward, huh?" "It'll be the whole medical centre soon." "So I hear. Never in doubt when it comes to you." You looked away bashfully - voice quiet. "Thank you." "Still, you could be out on a ship as the main doctor. A HQ ship even. You're plenty good enough." You made a noise, but didn't want to look like you were laughing at his suggestion. "Despite being a Marine, I still prefer dry land. I'm comfortable here. I enjoy my work! I’m even about to be promoted. Where do you go once you're a ship doctor for a HQ vessel?" "It would be worth it for all the places you would see,” he continued. “The prestige." You knew where this was headed, and turned it back on him as quickly as you could. "And you, what about when they call you to World Government bureaucracy and pen-pushing, and you spend more time in a building than you do on the open ocean?" You asked. Bogard made a face like he was considering it, but you knew he wasn't. “Right now, I would probably decline such a position.” he huffed. “I think I have much to learn before I go there." “Uh huh." You knew that, how could you not? Just like he knew you didn't want to be out at sea. No matter how many times he would try to persuade you out there every time he saw you.

That was the point you had known it wouldn't work out. You wanted him safe with you, whereas he wanted you to go travelling the world with him. Neither would comprise. And so, every time you met, you would dance around this question again. Asking without saying 'why aren't we together, really?' in a different way every time. The reality was you'd both chosen your preferred lifestyles and your work over each other. But you weren’t about to admit that out loud, and Bogard wasn't either. So, here you stayed.

To make sure this didn't get too heavy immediately, you cleared your throat and changed the subject. "I heard you were in the East Blue?" He gave a short nod, but instead of offering any more information, he hit back with a rumour of his own. You couldn't say you was surprised that he would keep his official work a secret - such the man he was these days. You knew you'd get it out of him eventually. Though it might take something a little less... professional... "I heard you were with some captain." Try as he might to hide it, Bogard let his emotion seep into his voice. It was obvious who and what he was referring to, and he wasn't happy about it. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from teasing him about being jealous - that wouldn't end well. And what with where you were right now, you had to be very careful what you let slip, just in case of any prying eyes and ears. And you also knew that Bogard knew he had no right to be jealous - regardless of the truth. Still, this was one thing you wouldn’t tease him about. Reassurance was the only way forward. "Rumours fly.” You dismissed. “That was never a thing." Which was true, after all, you still only had eyes for the man in front of you. Despite the fact that there had never been a conversation about it between you. You could date someone else. You just weren’t sure if Bogard believed you, especially as you didn't know how long he had been holding onto that knowledge for. You knew how much he valued the truth though, so lying would have been unwise at best. “I’d never do that.” you continued. To you, you thought. But you left that part off. You were met with the same steady look he'd been regarding you with throughout this whole conversation so far. You sighed, glancing behind you back down the ward - all seemed calm right now. They knew how to reach you if they needed your help. Turning back to him, you offered a gentle smile. "Care to take a walk with me?" He pushed himself away from the wall with a smile. Turning across, he offered you his arm - ever the gentleman. You smiled back sweetly, wrapping yourself around him, and allowing yourself a moment to admit in your mind just how much you'd missed him.

For a while there was silence, but it was comfortable and more relaxed. You both knew you wouldn’t be able to stray very far. It'd be more like a walk around the block, but it was still away from unwanted attention. He watched you closely. You carried yourself and your rank well. You coped with the pressure of it all. You could handle yourself. You just wouldn't answer the call to open ocean. It seemed strange to him, but he admired how sure of yourself, and your convictions you were. He would not change your mind, no matter how much he wanted to. Still, there was something about the rumour that was bothering him. It wasn't that Bogard thought you were lying - of course you wouldn't. You knew how much he disapproved of it. It was the subject of the rumour that hurt Bogard most. Of all the people that rumours could fly about with you, not him, but someone else? Someone who must have seen you far less than Bogard did… at least he would hope so. People were aware you had been something once. Was it so hard to believe that you might be making it work again? Bogard put in the work even when he was so far away. There were more than enough reasons to conclude that he was still with you. In many ways, he wanted to be asked. Even if he went against his principles and denied it. Though, given you weren't technically a couple, it wasn’t technically lying. He hated how much it caused him to wonder if you had ever been with anyone else ever since you broke up. If Bogard couldn't even get a rumour going, but someone else could? It bothered him that he could get wrapped up in such a way. You weren’t his. But the exclusivity was an unwritten rule. It was expected that you would always be able to return to each other like this. That didn't mean if either of you fell in love with someone else… Surely you had both expected the other to have moved on by now. You both should have moved on by now! It hadn’t been months after all; it hadn’t even been a few years. It was closer to decades, and here you both were. Bogard just didn't want to hear it being discussed. He wasn't sure what heartbreak would feel like; but he didn't want to know either way. And he hated even more that, after all this time, if he lost you for good, he knew his heart would break.

The silence from him wasn't something that you thought was particularly unusual - Bogard was notoriously a man of very few words.  Though you often wondered what ran through that head of his; but someone had to keep Garp in check, so you knew his mind was sharp at least. They seemed like complete opposites - which, you thought, made them perfect for each other. Walking with him this close around the medical centre was enough for you right now. It was nice getting used to his presence again. Even if you knew you'd have to let him go soon. And too soon at that. Glancing over to him, you recognised Bogard’s look was a little further away than you had expected. Realising that you wanted those gorgeous brown eyes back on you, you broke the silence. If he was in his head about this stupid rumour - which you wouldn't be surprised if the Marine Captain had started and stoked himself - then you knew what he needed to hear. And if he felt the truth was so important, he was about to get some. "I have to say, I'm not entirely sure why you're so worried about that rumour. It's me who should be thinking about things like that. Why, I bet you have a girl in every port!" It was clearly a joke, but his look was a little too sharp - Bogard clearly took offence to the idea he was worried. Even if he was. Luckily, his expression quickly softened. "Guy on every ship." He quipped back. You gasped, ready to take full offence to that. "That's way worse than the rumour! Stop it! What do you take me for!? At least mine could happen!" You weren’t stupid - he was a good-looking man. Loyal, dedicated; an old-fashioned romantic. Work-driven sure, but you'd seen other women fall for him. All it would take was for him to find one who he could fall for too, who would share in his dream and actually want to travel the world on a ship with him as a Marine. It scared you a little how easy it was for you to imagine that he could be in a very happy relationship right now. Bogard raised an eyebrow. Surely you didn't believe that, he thought. And if you did, how wrong you were. Surely the ridiculousness of his own statement only highlighted the ludicrousness of your own? How untrue it was? For you though, it was clear you had a point. Besides, what did he have to be worried about? Who would you date anyway? It wasn't like you were about to pick up a guy at a bar or something. "Nearly all the men I see around here are either sick or injured." You protested. He shrugged, and when he doubled down, you were glad you could hear the jokey tone to his voice. "All the more time to get to know them then." "Please." You scoffed, pushing his arm a little. "Besides, you're the only one writing to me, and making me origami, so..." He stopped so abruptly, but you were ready for that. Halting to measure his reaction. He looked across to you curiously. You never wrote him back; he didn't expect you to. Bogard smiled - for once a little wider than usual. Possibly more of a smirk. "Like those, do you?" He teased. You allowed yourself to blush under the weight of his look. The bolstered confidence in him at your words, and then your admittance. "Maybe a little too much."

Despite the jokes you made, it was barely covering up what you really meant - bringing to light exactly what you were both most worried about. And the ego-boosting rush of hearing that it wasn't true. The real truth was no matter how nonchalantly either of you said goodbye - see you later - neither of you wanted to see the other with someone else. Neither of you would like it very much. The difference was you were quite prepared for the possibility of that eventuality. Bogard was not.

Once you had made the full circle and wandered back to your office, you resumed much the same positions as you had before. Although closer and more comfortable this time. Once the ice had thawed a little, you were now acting more as friends. (As if that was all you were.) Where you could get him to smile a little, and if you were very, very, very lucky, you might even get a huffed laugh out of him. Although he did have one last piece of official business to pass by you. He pulled some rolled-up papers out of his Marine coat. "You asked about the East Blue before." He started. "I did." You straightened your relaxed posture a little. Assuming you wouldn't have to do any work to get a candid answer this time. "We were there chasing around a new upstart young group of Pirates." He continued. "Another group?!" You very nearly rolled your eyes; you’d lost count of the crews popping up all over the place over the years. HQ 3 seemed a little overkill, though. "You guys? Really?!" Bogard shook his head. "Understandable reaction. But this crew has potential." He held the roll out to you. "May I request you put these up around the wards?" You looked from the roll to him and back and took it gently. "These upstarts already have bounties?" You asked. "Their captain does." He replied. You continued to stare at him questioningly, but when all he did was stare back, you knew the answer was on the paper itself. You unravelled them and almost let out a laugh.

'Monkey D. Luffy' - the name explained everything. You looked back at Bogard with an amused expression and raised eyebrow. Bogard merely shook his head, expression in understanding of your reaction. 'Let's not go there!' "Sure. I'll put these ones up! That's quite the bounty for the East Blue though! Who'd he piss off!?" You walked back into your office to put it with your unfinished pile of admission checks. This time Bogard followed you, standing in the doorway. "Nezumi.” He replied. “Oh, that weirdo? With the rat face?” You circled your head with your finger. “Rat would certainly be one way to put it.” You couldn’t help your perhaps overly loud reaction. “Oooh! Ooooh. Ooh! Would you like me to tell him that next time I see him?” Bogard placed his hands either side of your door frame, leaning in a little.  ‘Oh yeah you would badmouth me like that!,’ he thought - instant reaction - mouth opening before he changed his mind. Returning to a more relaxed lean, and crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t waste my breath.” You whistled. “Damn! You got a mouth on you.” Sharp as the blade he carried - when he wanted to be. But perhaps also a sign of how close you were, that he would speak as freely as this. Instead of responding, he opted to watch you with his eyes narrowed. You chuckled. “No, I know you. I know that you don’t waste your words.” Pausing for thought, you placed the papers down slowly. Raising your eyes to the window, you mused. “I guess I feel honoured that you share so many of them with me.” “Writing letters is completely different.” He replied. You looked across to him; voice sweet, and smile gentle. “That’s not what I meant.” Bogard bit his lips together, unsure of a comeback. Instead he wound the conversation back, nodding to the poster you just placed down. “Highest bounty on the East Blue now, actually. Doubt he'll stay there though." He said. "Ah. Grand Line bound!" You replied inquisitively. For a while the whimsy of it all had you smiling, until your smile dropped in realisation. If HQ 3 had been chasing them around the East Blue? You looked back to him slowly. Was Bogard going to follow them around the Grand Line? How long would that take? How long would it be until you saw him again? Even he knew he didn't have the answer to that. As he'd stated - where Garp went, he did. No questions asked. Still, Bogard couldn't leave it like that. He felt compelled to reassure you. "Of course, we might not follow them. We had investigations going on before they arrived on the scene." You remembered. "What now then? You really think you'll be back to 'Baroque Works'?" "We were heading that way anyway. I don't see why that would change now." He shrugged. "Doubtless you'll find out when I write to you!" You chuckled, running your fingertips over the picture in the wanted poster. A new kid on the block in a straw hat? Generations had seen this before.

Silence fell for a moment, which allowed him time to look around your office. Then he really couldn't help but smile. Lined up along the window frame, and just about every spare space on your shelves were collections of intricate origami. Bogard had sent you every single one of them. His preference was birds of different shapes, sizes, and colours. But they were all there. Every letter he had sent you came with one, and he'd sent you a letter every time he felt he had something worth saying. Writing back wasn't the point of it. He could guarantee that no one else knew where these came from. Whether you made them or they just appeared. But they weren't there for anyone else to know about - they were there for you. And every time Bogard saw them he wondered how the hell he could ever let himself get worried about any feelings you might have for anyone else. He looked back to you - having finished studying the picture of Luffy, you were now watching him - and Bogard knew he'd been caught with a rare smile on his face. He let it bleed into his words. "You kept them all." It wasn't a question, and his heart swelled. You giggled, pulling a box draw out from the top of your desk. "Honey, you have no idea!" From within it spilled forth letters upon letters, all wrapped up in Marine paper and blue ribbon. You had kept every single one of them too.

It was a little later in the day, as you were finishing up another round of administering medication, when you returned to your office and found that another Marine had made himself comfortable there. And not the one you would have expected. "V-Vice Admiral!" You stood to attention as he rose from your chair, "Sir! How can I help you?" "At ease, please!" His smile was warm, "In fact it's me that I think can help you!" He held out the stack of papers you'd given Bogard earlier. "I trust my second in command’s judgement on these." You took them gratefully. "Of course. I'll make sure everyone is prepped and ready to cast off when you're ready to set sail, Sir." "Better make it sooner rather than later, Lieutenant.” Garp placed his hands in his pockets, expression serious. "I don't want to be hanging around for too long. We have much to get started on." "Oh- I see." You knew you was failing at hiding your look of disappointment. Letting go was never easy, but if you had to do it sooner than you expected? You'd only just got Bogard back - you weren’t ready to let him go again just yet. Garp could see it on your face. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen Bogard interact with you before. They'd stopped off here plenty of times. He'd just never pried into the private life of his second in command before. But something was clearly going on this time. If he hadn't thought so before. He indicated to the origami on your shelves. "I always wondered where these went. Clearly, Y/N, they all come to you!" Your eyes widened. You didn't even know anyone else knew Bogard made them. "Y-yes, when he writes he always sends..." You gestured to the shelves, wondering if you'd said too much. Did Garp know that he... wrote to you? "Would have thought writing was his preferred method of communication. I know he’s a man that’s concise at best.” he continued. “Though he never seems to have that problem around you. Which is something in itself." You knew you was blushing by now, and you couldn't quite meet the Vice Admiral’s eyes. What he was saying was by no means untrue. "He's not always been like that." You were lying and you knew it. But you had to say something. You had no idea what Garp did or didn't know, or what Bogard would even want his superior to know! "Mhm." You weren’t sure that response was convincing enough. "Can't help but wonder exactly what's going on between you two." he enquired. Dammit! You were definitely turning redder now. "He-" You paused. Then took a deep breath, locking eyes with Garp this time. "We were once a couple, yes. But, we went our separate ways due to our own work preferences." You gave a shrug, realising how sad you suddenly felt as you smiled. "He wouldn't stay. I wouldn't go." "...Shame." Garp nodded. "From what I’ve heard, you have enormous potential. Definitely something we could use out there." You bowed deeply. "Those are kind words, Sir. Thank you. But it was never what I wanted. The front line isn't for me, and I would be outright useless in a fight. I'm no field medic." "We could change that." He interjected. You laughed. "I hear you're training cadets?" You weren’t sure you wanted to go back to that, weren’t sure how you would act being trained by them, honestly. "With all due respect Sir, many have tried and at this point I think I'm fine being a competent medic, and a pathetic fighter. I barely scraped through weapons training, and I decided that I would never want to handle one again! At least not by choice." "Competent would not be the word I'd use." He took a few steps forward, causing you to stiffen your posture. "Brilliant, maybe." He tilted his head. "Funny you should say that and be going off with a swordsman." You gaped for a minute. "We-Well I--" You tried to compose yourself. "That was always Bogard's thing." Your laugh was nervous. "Though I admit I can't help but be fascinated. I notice that people are intimidated by him without him even having to draw. So, once he does?" It was hot. It made you feel a little something something, and you'd never really seen him in action in a real fight.

Though of course you were not about to mention this to Garp.

"Well, there's always room on my ship. If you want this to be something more.” He paused for a brief second. “Intimate again." Garp's stare was intense. "I do hope you'll consider it, Y/N." You swallowed hard. Intimate? As if you weren't still--- "A HQ ship would be an incredible honour, Sir. I…” you paused. “Surely will consider it." "Glad to hear it." he replied enthusiastically. Garp swept past you, but stopped at the door. "I have no doubt you'll have the Marine's prepped and ready for our departure. I do suggest if you want to spend any more time with my second, you get as much of it in as possible." Even if you couldn't see him, you could hear the amusement and smirk in his voice. "Should I send him back up to your office, Y/N?" You opened your mouth, but found you couldn't answer before he walked away laughing.

Next thing you knew you was back in the arms of your situationship - under the sheets.

***

Despite what Bogard and Garp had said, it was nice for them to stick around for a little while. It reminded you that you shouldn’t get your hopes up that it would be permanent. But it gave you a taste you couldn’t help but crave. He really was all yours here. And you could pretend you were somewhere in the past, thinking about this as your far-off future. One where neither of you had ever put anything above the other. Breaks were rare when you had work to do, but right now, you also couldn’t afford to spend any free time anywhere else.

Bogard was sitting on the steps to the medical wing when you found him. Hunched over what could only have been a lighter, given the small smoke trail.

You sighed gently, folding your arms and shaking your head. Taking the steps slowly towards him - it wasn’t like you were about to sneak up on the swordsman, he knew your footfall well enough by now - it still didn’t cause him to extinguish his smoke. You stopped on the step above the one he was sitting on. Two heavy steps down, to let him know you were less than impressed, hands moving to your pockets as you bent slightly over him - feeling all at once like a doctor scolding your patient. (Well, it wasn’t like you hadn’t already had the opportunity to check his full physical health at this point.) “You know those aren’t good for your health, right?” You started. As if to mock you, he took a long deliberate drag. “Trust me, if you were on my ship, you would need these to relax too.” He replied. You narrowed your eyes. “Oh no, Mister. No using your captain as an excuse!” “He’s a damn good one.” He protested. Another drag, before he removed it from his lips, but he didn’t put it out. You leaned yourself a little closer to him, lowering your voice – positively saccharine. “Don’t worry, you can order me around!” Bogard raised a hand to his mouth slowly, and coughed. You waited with a smirk on your face for him to take the bait. “Don’t tempt me.” Bogard gave his voice the appropriate stern edge. You had the cheekiest little grin on your face, and hummed like you were a little too happy with yourself for that one. He gave you enough time to bask in it, before looking back to his smoke. “You’re going to ask me to stop, right?” You folded your arms, sighing. “At the risk of sounding like a broken record. You know my spiel by now.” Bogard gave a single nod of agreement. “You’ve never quite got me to quit yet. I think by now you’d know it wasn’t going to happen.” His eyeline had remained level until that moment, but he looked up at you now. “How’s work?” He asked. “Nothing changes…” You shrugged. “But I do have five minutes.” You took the next step down and sank to sit with him. Bogard’s smile was gentle, no matter how obvious it was that you would choose to spend your precious free time with him when he was around, it didn’t make it any less significant of an act.  “Smoke?” He held it out to you. “Ha!” You liked that he smiled at your sarcasm though, his eyes back on whatever he was watching before. “What are you-?” Bogard nodded forward, then pointed, you followed his fingertip down to the beach. Upon it were Garp, and two marines whom he looked like he was giving a stern talking to. “Oh! Your cadets?” “Mhm.” “And you’re up here because?” He scoffed. “Please, you think they’re ready to take me on yet?” You almost rolled your eyes as he took another drag, making sure to blow the smoke away from you. “I can take on both of them using only my less dominant hand. It’d be hardly worth their time either. What does it teach them? Something they aren’t ready for?” You couldn’t help the smirk that toyed with your lips. “Do you have one of those?” “One of what?” He enquired. “A less dominant hand?” You teased. You couldn’t look at him, because you knew you’d crack - but you knew the kind of stare he was giving you, before he jogged your shoulder. “Stop.” You couldn’t help the quick burst of laughter you let escape.

You continued to watch the two young men train with Garp for a while. And eventually you let yourself unwind enough to lean up against his shoulder. It was funny how much more you felt his body sink into relaxation below yours after that. And he put his smoke out too. He was content to sit with you like this. Yes. This was exactly what you dreamed of. Even if you couldn’t say you missed Bogard often (you were far too busy working here to do much of anything!), at least you didn’t let yourself and your thoughts linger on that feeling for too long. This physical contact was exactly what you needed. His letters could cover almost everything else, letting you know he was okay and that you didn’t have to worry. It was exactly what made this work without it having to be a relationship. But they couldn’t hold you. They couldn’t replace his touch. Your eyes lowered to his hands. It was weird for you to think just what they were capable of. He could be so gentle, but his swordsmanship? Just how many lives had Bogard taken with the exact same hands that held you the way he did? You sank your teeth into your lip as you frowned. You could think these things all you liked. Right now you just wanted to hold them - that’s what you knew for sure.

Bogard regarded your body language. Even when you weren’t looking at him, he knew what you desired. It didn’t matter how damn long you had been away from each other. At this point, it was simply muscle memory. You could both say whatever you wanted. Sometimes he wondered if being “single” really was the easiest option for you. It sure sounded like it. But he knew how it complicated things. How it twisted your feelings. Maybe you couldn’t make it work together. But you couldn’t make it work without each other either. Bogard knew you were thinking about how this could be your life. How could you not be? He was thinking it too – and by now he knew you better than you knew yourself.

He moved his hand from his knee, extending it towards yours - palm up - still watching your reaction. You hesitated; too shy to look at him now. Bogard knew, of course he knew. At this point he might as well have been a mind reader. Your movements were slow and deliberate. You took his hand gingerly; lacing your fingers together. Before moving your other to fit his hand between yours. He watched you do this with a smile, before pulling your hands gently back into his lap. You made a small noise before burying your face in his shoulder; surely blushing now. He focused back on the beach, running his thumb over the back of your hand. Yes - this was worth coming back for. Even if accepting the way you otherwise lived meant he sacrificed this to miss you the rest of the time. And if neither of you would move to give that up, you always would.

*** Seeing him off came all too quick. His return seemed but a fleeting moment - a heartbeat, and you were having to let him go again. The thing that stopped you from letting this be anything more than it was. But you were kidding yourself. You were in a relationship. The code; the unwritten rule, the exclusivity of it. There'd never been anyone else. Neither of you were calling it that, though. Neither of you referred to each other as ‘Partners', or ever enquired if it would be like that again. Everything but in name. Yet you would continue to tell yourself this was for the best - and that you wouldn't hurt for a little while as he sailed off into the distance.

Everyone around you on the dock was moving fast, getting final-final preparations done before they set sail. For the two of you, time was virtually standing still. Your hands were in his, and right now all you wanted was for them to stay there as long as possible. As tradition stated, you both had one more try in you - one more line of persuasion before the same conclusion would be reached, and you went your separate ways once again. Bogard leaned into you. That small near smile on his lips that reflected so much more brilliantly in his eyes. And in that moment the light was hitting them just right; illuminating that brown colour in a million beautiful shades. His voice was soft and sweet - as if this time he was really pulling out all the stops. "You should come with us.” he said. “We could always use a doctor." You chuckled, shaking your head. But you were grinning. You couldn't help but smile brilliantly at the way he was making you feel. Of course he was still trying to get you to go with him, despite already knowing your answer. You had to admire that spirit – every single time. "My place is here." You said firmly. You bit your tongue between your teeth cheekily for a moment, before teasing back with. "You could always stay." It was Bogard's turn to chuckle. "You know I can't do that." Your head tilted. 'Exactly'.

But he kept leaning, and you weren’t about to stop him. Now might have been the time to be professional. But it was also the exact time to be unprofessional. You pushed yourself up to meet him in a goodbye kiss. Both of you probably expected it to be short and sweet, but then again neither of you were pulling away - content to stay in it. You couldn't take it anymore, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He reciprocated, hands on your waist pulling you into his arms. At some point someone whistled. You felt him laugh, but he didn't pull back – Bogard just kept kissing you. Not even with the thought in his head that he was doing this in public. A little harder, edge a little more possessive of you. There was something in this kiss meant to completely destroy the idea that there was, or ever would be, anyone else, ever. Even when you were merely joking about it, even when he was too. You surrendered to it, and to him, completely.

Back on the ship, Helmeppo has spotted what was happening on the docks below. And if he was surprised by the kiss in the first place, the fact that it was going on - the stoic second in command swordsman that Bogard was? The guy who wore a perpetual frown most of the time! This wasn't happening - in fact it was beyond being seen to be believed! It was a ‘pinch me I must be dreaming’ moment. He smacked Coby - who was only oblivious because he was working - perhaps a little too hard. But he didn't care, and threw his other hand just to check that he wasn't the only one seeing this! The smaller cadet also couldn't help but stop and stare, almost gaping.

Garp watched the scene with a shake of his head, and a laugh. Sometimes it was good to be right!

Eventually you both had to pull back, if for nothing but a need to breathe. But you kept close. Your fingers gripped his Marine coat tight as you held him close to you. His head dipped to yours. Bogard kept his arms wrapped around you. You closed your eyes and tried your best to hold back your tears. "Stay safe." You whispered, emotion flooding your voice. "I don’t want to see you back here anything less than immaculate.” “Stay safe too." His voice was equally emotional, strained against the proper tone he was trying to emulate. "Don’t take any shit.” You pulled slightly back from him, laughing. “You come back to me.” "You know where we're going. I can't make any promises. But…" He relinquished your warmth none too fast, reassuring you. "I always do."

You stood for a moment like that, unsure where to go from here. You couldn't help it, pulling him back for one more kiss goodbye - and much shorter, to your own dismay. Before drawing your hands to the centre of his chest, fussing with his Marine coat for a second, and making certain to pull it straight, ensuring that the emblem presented itself dead centre. If you were going to tell him to be immaculate when he returned, you damn well weren’t sending him away if he was anything less! "You tell those other girls..." You laughed, unable to finish the joke. "Tell them what?" "They c- can't have—y-!” You kept laughing through it. “I can't even finish that thought." You grinned, putting it another way instead. "You're mine." He shook his head at you. "Always was." Before bowing low, "Until next time, Y/N." Bogard left you with a smile, and with that, began walking a few feet to the ship’s gangplank. You called after him, "I'm already looking forward to that letter!" He nearly laughed.

Upon boarding, Helmeppo and Coby still hadn't got over the scene. Staring at him almost in awe - definitely with a million questions for the man helping to train them. It took just one look, a single stare to swear both of them to eternal silence. Maybe they would get their answers one day. Maybe he would want to talk about it. Right now, Bogard wasn't sure. He did know he considered it private, no matter how passionate and public his goodbye was to you.

You stood back, listened to him shouting commands to get the ship running with a smile on your face. Just like that he was in his element again. He was working now. He was the second in command to a Vice Admiral. 'That's my man.' For a moment, you wondered if you should have asked. You’d still never had a concrete conversation around being officially together again. You supposed it was as unsaid as the exclusivity. The illusion that you would both still be single; until the time you met again. But what was more official than 'Always was.'?

Whatever you were, you were content.

As the ship pushed away from the dock, Bogard appeared at the starboard side railing, offering a hand up gesture as a wave goodbye. You waved back enthusiastically. Glad to see him one last time before he sailed into the sunset. And here you would be the next time he was able to visit you. Because you would wait for him. And maybe one day, you’d give in to him. Or he would settle down with you.

Whoever’s will won out in the end, right now you knew one thing for sure. You didn't care if it meant you were together.

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Two swordsmen down one to go! 🖤💚💛

Other OPLA Fics: 'Late to the Party - Roronoa Zoro x Reader