#had a real dry mouth last night while i was shifting and it annoyed me soooo much

[patchedpope]

im not saying that you have to drink a gallon of water before bed if you want to shift, but if you meet your basic needs your body won’t be demanding your attention while you’re detaching

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[noteguk]

just a taste | kth | m

— summary; in which Werewolf!Taehyung really, really loves eating you out. 

— warnings; mentions of wet dreams, dirty talk, oral (female receiving), dry humping, Tae cumming in his pants, overstimulation, werewolf!tae x human!reader, hugedick!tae, this is pretty much pwp

— words; 2.5k

Part of you knew what was coming when your boyfriend woke you up in the middle of the afternoon, after you had explicitly asked him to let you sleep in peace. 

The last weeks in your office had been hell: too many spreadsheets to fill, too many late-night shifts and, just to top it all off, too many annoying coworkers talking too much about too little. You were basically being fueled by coffee and rage by that point and, just to be sure that you would make good use of your day off, you made yourself clear to Taehyung. He only had your permission to wake you up in case of an emergency — house on fire, near death experience, natural disaster. Things like that. 

He nuzzled against your neck, his back pressing firmly against you as his arm slithered over your waist, holding you in place. “Babe, I’m so horny,” he moaned, the outline of his cock traveling between your asscheecks as he slowly thrusted upwards, trying to find some friction. 

Which was totally not an emergency. 

You were almost fully awake at that point, your mind throwing itself back in place as you felt his hardness roll against you once more, a deep groan leaving his mouth at the sensation of your soft butt against him. 

“Taehyung, I asked you to let me sleep. I’m tired,” you mumbled. 

“But you smell so good,” he grunted, his hand flying to the hem of your shorts and opening its button. You could tell, by how quickly he moved, that he was thinking of doing that for some time now. “I just know that you’re soaked, baby. I need to have a taste, please.” 

Your cheeks flared up at his words, a rush of adrenaline taking over your body. Just like that, you were suddenly reminded of the filthy dream that was plaguing your head before he dragged you out of your slumber — you couldn’t quite recall the details, but you knew that it involved Taehyung fucking you, and that was all that mattered. 

A small movement of your legs against each other was all that you needed to notice the wetness that had pooled between them, sticking your underwear to your pussy and showing you that your fantasies had overflowed to the real world. So that was what he was talking about when he said you smelled good. 

When Taehyung was out of his “phase of the month”, as he said so himself, he almost never showed any signs of being a werewolf. Save for moments like that, when he was able to smell how wet you were from across the house, and started to hump you like he was in heat, unable to stop himself. 

You bit back a moan as his large cock throbbed against you, a deep grunt leaving his lips at the feeling. If you didn’t let him taste you, you knew that he would just hump you until he came in his pants. It wouldn’t be the first, and probably not the last time that something like that happened. Not that you were complaining. 

“Please, please, baby,” he tried again, more eager this time. His voice was high-pitched, mellowy and pleading, and his hips kept grinding against your ass like an animal as he buried his nose against the crook of your neck. “I need to taste you. I’m going fucking crazy.” 

And how could you deny something like that? Fuck your day off. You could blow off the steam in other, more pleasurable ways. 

“It’s all yours,” you said. 

He sighed in relief. “Thank you, babe.” 

Before you could even realize what was going on, Taehyung was manhandling you, turning you around and dropping you with your back against the mattress. You bounced on it a bit as he adjusted himself between your legs, eyes stuck to the way your shorts had curled up your thighs. The lust in his gaze was so intense that you almost whimpered at the view, watching as he licked his lips before, at last, hooking his fingers around the hem and harshly pulling your piece of clothing down. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, lowering his body. Taehyung pressed his nose against your cunt, sharply inhaling your underwear, fingers growing tighter around your thighs. He let out a deep grunt.  “You smell so fucking amazing, baby. Is this all for me?”

“Everything,” you agreed, watching as he bit his lips, sighing at the confession. “I was dreaming about you, Tae.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, fingers moving under the hem of your panties, playing with it for a while. His touch was feverish against your skin, his sharp canines poking against his lip. Another glimpse at his eyes was all that you needed to see that his pupils were blown out, focused and lust-filled, his mind going a hundred miles per hour. God, he really was turned on. “What did you dream about?” 

“I don’t remember much,” you confessed, “all that I know is that you were fucking me.” 

He hummed, taking another deep breath against the cotton of your underwear. Taehyung’s mouth was salivating at that point, and you didn’t know how he didn’t tear the piece of clothing from you yet. “Don’t worry, baby,” he said, “I’m gonna refresh your memory.” 

As Taehyung removed your panties, he gasped at the delicious sight of your wetness sticking to it, leaving a translucent trail behind. Hunger was evident on his face as his eyes focused on your soaked pussy, his mind spinning with the scent that had hit him like a tidal wave. 

Before he even touched you, he inhaled deeply once again, allowing for your aroma to fill his lungs, overtaking his mind. Taehyung loudly groaned in satisfaction as his tongue licked a path up your wetness, moving between your folds, his digits digging to the flesh of your thighs at the contact. You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, mouth aggressively eating you out as he caught every drop of your wetness that he could find, swallowing everything. 

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he mumbled, leaning in to lick you again. The sensation of his lips and tongue against your soaked pussy was filthy, making you buckle up your lips at the contact, hands flying to his hair. “I could eat you out all day, baby. You’re making me so fucking horny.” 

You bit your lip, fingers yanking at his hair, silently begging for more. Taehyung moaned at the feeling, taking that as his cue to return to your center. 

His voice vibrated against your pussy as he groaned, soaking two of his fingers inside you. “My baby’s so tight,” he praised, unaware that he was speaking out loud. Taehyung’s face was one of pure, lewd concentration — with his lips swollen and mouth coated by your juices; hooded eyes following the coming and going of his fingers. “I still don’t know how you can take my cock.” 

At the thought of his member, you whined out, walls clenching around him — an event that didn’t pass unnoticed by his part. Taehyung’s cock was huge, courtesy of his werewolf genes, and the desperate need to have him stretching you out, filling every part of you, was just as sudden as it was unbearable. 

“You liked that, baby?” Taehyung teased, slowing his movements so he could see the effect that he had on you. He was breathing hard, gasping for air as his member pulsated at the sight of you, so gorgeous and needy, coming apart just by being finger fucked. “You like when I talk about my big cock? When I fill you up with it?” 

You could only muster the strength to nod, back arching at the feeling of his mouth coming back to lick your clit, tongue slithering around your sensitive spot again and again, tracing invisible circles on you. Taehyung moaned at your taste once more, sinking his head closer to your pussy, aching for more of your wetness. 

After another deep breath, he moved his head back so he could speak. “Fuck, you really like my cock,” he said. With every gasp and cry from you, he felt himself getting impossibly harder, already leaking inside his pants. Taehyung would love to bend you over and fuck you raw against the bed, but he was too distracted by your scent to think that far ahead. “But not right now, baby. I need to eat you out first.” 

Shaky, you cried out his name as he approached your entrance, not hesitating before he was back on working on it, swiftly replacing his fingers with his tongue. Your legs trembled at the sensation, feet finding solace against the mattress as you hung tighter onto his head, rolling your hips against his face. Taehyung almost cried out at the feeling, adoring how you pushed him closer to your pussy, forcing him to lick you more, taste you with more attention. 

His hands moved to your legs, keeping you in place so he could explore every single spot of your heat. Everything he could think about was you: your saccharine taste, the heavenly smell of your arousal, the softness of your thighs against him. You were the air that he breathed, the moans that he heard, the sweetness that was running in his veins. Taehyung was going insane — his cock already so heavy and swollen against his pants, his hips thrusting against the bed in an attempt to relieve the pleasure that was infesting his veins, unable to come out. 

“Taehyung, that’s so good,” you whined, heartbeat drumming inside your ears. You could feel yourself clenching around nothing as your release grew closer, thighs starting to shake under the weight to your upcoming orgasm. Taehyung, however, was relentless, only quickening his movements, too lost between your legs to care about the mess you had turned into. “God, don’t stop, I’m so close.” 

With that, he returned to his previous mission, determined to lick every drop of your arousal. Taehyung’s hands were like anchors against your hips, pressing you down against the mattress and his mouth sucked on your clit, twirling his tongue against it again and again. Every once in a while, he stopped what he was doing just to dive a bit lower, savoring on the wetness that was running out of you. 

He swallowed everything with intense delight, his eyes closing in euphoria every time you pressed yourself closer to him. The room was filled with nasty sounds — your moans, Taehyung’s grunts, the clicking of his mouth against you — and that was all that he knew. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you warned, but he already knew that. He could feel you clenching around his tongue, the muscles of your legs shaking in a silent desperation. “God, Tae, you’re so good at this.” 

Taehyung moaned at your praise, placing his two fingers back inside your pussy as his mouth focused solely on sucking your clit. He couldn’t even think about anything else, for he was getting closer to his own relief as well. 

You hissed as Taehyung started spreading his fingers inside you, stretching you out. Your mind was too far gone by that point, you had turned into a babbling mess, trying to keep two sounds together before they just turned into another gasp, or maybe a call of his name. “I’m coming, Tae.”

Taehyung swallowed everything you gave him as you came around his fingers, your walls pulsating in waves of pleasure and hands tugging at his hair. He could feel himself going crazy at the lewd sounds you made for him, his enlarged cock throbbing at the thought that it was all for him. 

As your high moved away from you, the feeling of his tongue stopped being pleasurable and started getting a bit too much. You winced as he continued to lick you, ignoring your high-pitched yelps for him to cease his movements. “Tae, stop, I’m—“

“More,” he groaned, hips desperately pressing down on the bed. His nails were digging against your flesh, keeping your shaky legs in place for him — as open as they possibly could be— as he sought his own high. “More, baby, I need just a bit more.” 

Ragged breaths left your mouth as Taehyung continued to eat you out, grunting and moaning at your delicious taste. 

“Taehyung,” you whimpered, “it’s too much.” 

“You can take it, baby,” he told you, voice hoarse and coated by lust. He was fucking himself against the mattress so hard that you knew he was getting closer, and the need to have him fucking you that way made your walls clench around his fingers. “That’s it, baby, you’re so good. Give me more, please.” 

You were unable to stop yourself as you came a second time, gushing against his mouth as another wave of euphoria washed over you. And that was all that he needed. 

Taehyung came with a hoarse moan against your pussy, his cock throbbing inside his pants as he relieved his cum, spilling all over himself as he continued to hump the bed, licking every ounce of your juices as he cried out in bliss. The scene was absolutely erotic, and you would’ve come again if you weren’t already so sensitive under his touches. 

He exhaled slowly and gave you one last lick, from your entrance all the way to your clit, before he moved away from your pussy. You followed his fingers as Taehyung took them to his mouth, sucking on the final drops of your wetness. “Hmmm, so good,” he praised, closing his eyes to focus on the taste. “Your pussy is so delicious, baby, I can’t hold back.” 

Automatically, your eyes darted towards his pants, where a large wet spot had accumulated, his white cum started to drip through the thin fabric. More than that, a hush of need ran through your veins as you saw his cock, still so hard and heavy, pressing against it, begging for your attention. 

Oh. It was one of those days. 

Another thing with werewolves, at least from your own experience, was that, sometimes, they got so turned on that they just couldn’t stop after the first time. You couldn’t even recall all the times that Taehyung had fucked you again and again, sometimes not even stopping after he came, because one time just wasn’t enough — so hard and deep that he got you seeing stars by the time your orgasm washed over you again, crying out as he continued to spill inside you, filling you with his cum, just to do it again. It was so animalistic, so devoid of reason, that the thought made your walls clench around nothing. 

Often that happened when Taehyung was close to his shifting, but apparently your scent had got him so riled up that it didn’t matter at that point. His cock was still hard, impossibly big as he leaned in to kiss you, making you taste your own sweetness as he pressed down on you, making you feel the weight of his member against your pussy. 

“Baby,” he gasped against your lips, his hips already starting to roll against you, “I’m still so horny, I need more.” 

Yeah, it was going to be a long day. 

[beomglocks]

mr. choi ; c.sb

summary : your new neighbor comes over to introduce himself.

pairing : dilf neighbor!soobin x (legal)!reader

warnings & other : slight SMUT, dont read if youre uncomfortable with age gaps, sexual tension, noninnocent (?) touching, there’s like one curse, happy valentines day

w/c : 1.7k

after hours of locking yourself in your bedroom you finally decide to come out and grab a snack from the kitchen. you vaguely remember the sound of the doorbell being rung and distinct chatter coming from the living room following but you frankly weren't interested in whoever had arrived.

by now though, the chatter had died down to simple conversation and the occasional obnoxious laugh from your mom specifically. you stretch, walking out of your bedroom and completely forgetting that you had a guest.

you barely even walk past the living room when you see a man sitting on the love seat with a simple black tee shirt and slacks on, his jacket draped over the couch's back. his legs are spread open, strawberry hair messy, and head leaning against his veiny hand, listening to your mom drone on about something your older sibling did in their youth.

"oh," you say out loud. suddenly all eyes are on you and you can't help but shrink at the mans lingering gaze on your body. you're suddenly self conscious about the fact that you're wearing booty shorts and a white shirt that was a bit more on the translucent side, that and the fact that you were wearing no bra.

"oh mr. choi, this is my daughter y/n!"

he doesn't answer right away, subtly dragging his eyes down your body as if undressing you while you stand awkwardly at the entrance of the living room. "hello y/n," he says simply, staring back into your eyes.

your body gets hot and you feel a familiar wetness start to accumulate just above your thighs. the way he said your name just felt so right. his voice seemed gravelly as if he'd been yelling all day and just now had a chance to rest his voice with quiet conversation.

you completely forget your snack already finding something even more satisfying right in front of you.

you sit on the accent chair across from him, eyeing him down just as he did you. he smirks, amused by how completely unsubtle your arousal is.

"mr. choi just moved to our neighborhood and i thought it would be a good idea to introduce ourselves as neighbors," your mom explains. you nod, smiling at him.

"choi soobin," he starts. "i worked at a company in another city but was promoted so i had to move here for the new position. the neighborhood is nice, the people too," he says looking at you. you give him a bright smile, "im glad you like it."

soobin leans back in the chair, eyeing you once more, specifically choosing to linger his gaze on your chest. "so soobin-" his deep chuckle cuts you off and you look at him expectantly.

"im sorry... it's just that since i work at a company im used to people calling me mr. choi or... sir," he says, narrowing his eyes at you. "wow you must be at a high position!" your mom excitedly gapes and you have to wonder what her real intentions were when inviting soobin over.

"im quite respected," he says simply, still looking at you as if he's waiting for something. you give him a coy smile, deciding to tease him a little, "well sir, that's an interesting take away."

he smirks, letting out what seems to be a satisfied sigh. he turns to your mom, "is it alright if i have a glass of wine or something? my throat is a little dry from barking out orders all day."

your mom obligates to his request, attracted to the idea that this man was a hardworking businessman. you knew your mom would go find the most aged wine for him because she liked to show out for guests. especially guests that looked as fine as soobin. you also knew it would take her a while to find said wine, keeping it locked away for special occasions.

"y/n keep our guest company," she told you. you happily accepted that offer. yeah, you’ll keep him company alright.

now that you were alone with soobin you wasted no time in playing into his apparent attraction towards you. you open your legs slightly to lean forward on your hands which were situated between them. you saw his eyes flit down to your breast which were squished together due to your actions.

"so sir," you say innocently as if you aren't giving him a little show. "do you have a wife or children?" he shifts in his seat a bit, widening his legs in the process. you swear you can see a slight bulge in his pants if you squint. oh, so he's big.

he laughs at your question, "i don't have a wife, im divorced and yes i do have a son." your eyes widen only slightly. frankly, the thought of him having a son doesn't bother you in the slightest. you decide to ask him how old his son is for conversation purposes.

he hums lowly, "he's 18....how old are you?" you're surprised your mom hadn't told him your age. she probably thought it wasn't information she deemed was necessary for him to know.

"im legal," you say with a smile. he smiles at that and you swear your pussy twitches. he's so attractive and he's barely done a thing! you stare at his crotch while his leg bounces and you can only shamelessly imagine yourself bouncing on his cock.

you wonder how big is. he looks tall as hell so that gives you some ideas. his legs look to take up almost half his body. god, what would it look like grabbing onto his thighs as he fucks himself into your mouth? you can imagine the tears running down your face and runny nose as you look up at him and he looks down at you with the exact same expression he holds right n-

"that's good to know," his voice cuts through your dirty thoughts. he doesn't even address how you were blatantly staring at his crotch because at this point he doesn't even care. he knows you want him but he'll wait for you to say it. even if you don’t say it today, he knows you’ll say it eventually.

you move your hands and squeeze your legs together. you can already feel yourself dripping at just the thought of this man across from you. he's so close yet so far and the sexual tension is killing you.

you get up from your spot, casually walking up to where he sits. he stares at you curiously wondering what you plan to do. you choose to sit right next to him on the couch. just close enough that if your mom walked through at any moment you could recoil and it wouldn't look suspicious at all.

you don't say a word and you place your hand lightly on his knee, slowly moving it up to his upper thigh. "what are you doing babygirl?"

babygirl? fuck. just the pet name coming from his mouth alone has your breath going shaky. you rub your thighs together in anticipation. "nothing sir," you smile.

his hand is suddenly placed atop of yours and he drags it just above his growing erection. "look at what you're doing baby," he moves his head close your ear.

"you came down here dressed like a little slut, i bet you wanted the attention right?" he asks. "as soon as you saw me you probably couldn't wait to have me fuck the shit out you."

the words he mumbles in your ear have you unconsciously palming his dick through his slacks. "sir.." you whimper. he hums, holding back a moan as you continue palming him at your own accord. his hand is now at your upper thighs slowly inching up.

he placed two of his cold fingers pressing onto your pussy through your shorts. "you're so wet that i can feel it through your shorts. did i do this?" he chuckles, now rubbing up and down slowly. you nod, looking up at him through your lashes. "yes it was all you, sir. all you."

he suddenly pulls away completely from you with a light smile. he also removes your hand from him and leans forward on his knees, his upper body effectively covering his boner. you're confused about his actions and kind of annoyed until you hear your mom call from the hallway, "mr. choi i hope you like this flavor, it's one of my finest!"

"im sure anything you have tastes delicious!" he answers, glancing at you. you shy away from his eyes as your mom walks into the kitchen. since the kitchen is too close to the living room to do anything he whispers to you, "shy now?" he laughs a little bit. "you're too cute y/n."

you wish he'd called you a cute petname right then but you'll take what you can get. he places his hand on your knee and you shiver, remembering his fingers on you just seconds ago.

he removes them once your mom walks into the living room with two glasses of wine, one for him and one for her. they talk for a little while more, and you occasionally chime in but really you're too distracted by soobin. the heat he's radiating is too much to handle plus you're still sitting close enough to see that he's still hard.

it gets late and so the night ends for you three. "my son is probably wondering where i am by now, i should go," he says standing up. your mom agrees and you escort him to the front door while she takes the glasses back to the kitchen.

soobin notices your disappointment at not having finished what you both started on the couch earlier but he leans down to whisper in your ear. his voice sends shivers through your whole body and his hot breath tickles your neck and ear. "don't look so dejected babygirl, this isn't the last time we'll see each other." he kisses your cheek as he ascends back up when your mom meets you both at the door.

"say hello to your son for me! oh and next time bring him over so he can meet y/n," your mom suggests just as he walks out the door. he turns around to look at you both and you can tell he isn't too fond of that idea but he still answers with a polite smile.

"maybe! well i had a nice time maam, i'll be seeing you two around," and with that, he leaves and you simply cannot wait for the next time you'll see mr. choi.

[youamongthemelissas]

hi mwah <3

may i have a scenario with zoro being a brat who doesn't want to go down on his girl, but she just puts in his place by sitting on his face? 👀

ara ara, it seems that the fifteen hours I've been sleeping have made me reap the rewards uwu

well, I really hope you like the result and that those 3,3k words make up for the delay in my writer's block. i've only reviewed it a few times because i'm really really sleepy right now, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes! :(

warning: oral sex (giving and receiving), fingering, face sitting, etc. only for +18. smut everywhere

Zoro and I had known each other for almost two years, but he changed his position from hookup to boyfriend two months ago. Our chaotic relationship started at a horrible party. Everything that night was horrible, except when the handsome guy approached me offering his help when some ramshackle human being spilled water on my shirt. To complete my disaster, the outfit I wore was white and cotton, so it marked the contours of my breasts just right. Damn day I decided to leave my house without wearing a bra. Too embarrassed, I just crawled into the bathroom – which didn't even have a lock – and waited for the crowd to dwindle or for my shirt to dry so I could get out of that unhealthy place. But fate didn't have the best plans for me, as I saw the bathroom door open and a man enter that cubicle.

"This is the ladies' wc, you know?" I informed the guy angrily.

“I know,” he replied simply. "I saw the whole scene, so I decided to come make sure you're okay."

I arched my brow and stared at him with half-closed eyes. Was he feeling okay? I looked for signs of drunkenness in him, but his voice was steady and he looked too sober.

“Very nice of you, but you can't just lock yourself together with a strange woman in a cubicle. You know, I can interpret this as sexual harassment!” I snapped.

“Oh, fine. I was going to lend you my shirt so you could wear it and wouldn’t have to wait for yours to dry, but I see you don't need my help. Bye and sorry for the inconvenience,” and so he left, not giving me a chance to respond.

I cursed the Universe, but then I stopped myself because a tarot reader had informed me that a situation like this could happen throughout the week and I didn't listen. In the end, it was my fault for being a stubborn and skeptical one.

I really couldn't tell how long I was locked in that fetid cubicle, but when my t-shirt dried enough not to leave me practically naked from the waist up, I walked out and saw the same guy as before, he was talking to a red haired girl, actually it looked more like an argument was going on between them by his annoyed expression and her restless gestures. Would she be his girlfriend? Was the discussion focused on me and the bathroom incident? Well, I wouldn't stay there to find out and risk getting hit by the girl for something that wasn't my fault. He was the one who entered the ladies' room with an unknown woman!

And my disastrous night ended when I lay in my bed and turned off the light to finally sleep and erase all memories of the party from my head. But that boy's face has not left my mind.

The days followed normally, and when I was already forgetting the cool guy, I saw him for the second time in a bakery. He wore the same shirt that day of the party and sweatpants. His sleepy face gave away that he had just woken up and had just left the house to go buy bread for breakfast. He saw me but pretended not to. I got the feeling I should have apologized for the misunderstanding, but he was already making the request. Luckily, we were assisted together as soon a second attendant appeared who assisted me as well.

As soon as we paid the bill, we silently left the place and I got a chance to talk to him as we were heading in the same direction.

“Hey,” I called him, being ignored. "Boy, wait a minute"

“What is it, girl?”, he snapped at me sharply.

“I wanted to apologize for the misunderstanding… Seriously, I was just freaked out by a guy walking me into the bathroom…”, I was sincere.

"It's all right. Go on with your life in peace.”

“And you had a girlfriend, right? Like, you were still wrong in the end…” I couldn't hold my mouth before needling him.

This time he stopped abruptly and turned to me, making me smack my face into his chest.

"Girlfriend? First you accuse me of sexual harassment and now besides being a harasser you think I'm a traitor?”

“I didn't accuse you of anything! Except the girlfriend part. You and that red haired girl seemed to be fighting really bad, like boyfriends do,” I clarified.

“Redhead girl?” he seemed to search his memory for what I was referring to. “Nami? God forbid me dating that devil woman! She's not my girlfriend, and we were fighting because…”, he stopped mid-explanation. “This is none of your business, girl. But she's not my girlfriend,” he ended the pseudo-argument.

I nodded and went on my way.

“How long will you follow me? Now I can interpret that you're a deranged stalker”, he told me right after we turned down the same street, after walking close for a few meters.

“I'm not following you, my house is on this way”, I replied.

And that's how I found out that we lived in the same condominium.

Although I clearly remember the first two times we met, I can't say when exactly we started to change our cat-and-mouse relationship and elevate it to a more intimate one. Maybe it was when he fucked me for the first time in the laundry room in the building. I was taking my clothes out of the machine while he put his clothes in another one, and then we looked at each other and as if we had the same idea, he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up to put me sitting on top of the machine he had just finished stuffing with his own clothes, putting it to work and taking me in a kiss while taking off my panties. When he entered me, I moaned loudly, but the sound was drowned out by the shrill noise of that old machine. Zoro confessed to me later that he chose precisely that one so my moans could not be heard. I think it was the most insane thing I did, because at any moment someone could come and catch us, but luckily for us that only happened after Zoro had cum on my thighs and taken me off that old thing. It was weird walking with my legs sticking together because of his cum, but I didn't have time to clean up, just lift my panties and straighten my skirt before passing the newcomer, who didn't seem to have noticed our presence.

After our first sex, we didn't get apart anymore. We couldn't be alone as we caught fire and had sex wherever we were.

As time went by, we calmed down and our meetings became more spaced, but our chemistry didn't extinguish even a little bit during these almost two years, on the contrary, it only earned us the beginning of dating. And we became more than just hookups, we became friends too, those who know about each other's lives and I got to know Nami, the red-haired friend he was fighting that night at the party. I came to discover that they could never be boyfriends, because she loved money and women.

Everything with Zoro was almost perfect. He was a good boyfriend, and even though we're two hotheads, we never fought. There are always dialogues in our relationship and this helps a lot to avoid unnecessary fights. Besides, sex is wonderful, everything just right, except for one small thing that bothers me. We combine a lot in bed, I always try to please him and give him pleasure at all times. I've lost count of how many blowjobs I gave him and how many times I let him cum in my mouth, but the problem is that he never even gave me oral sex. And that makes me a little frustrated and scared. Was the problem with me? I took good care of myself, but he always shifted position when I tried to get him down on me.

One day, while I watched him playing his favorite game, I stroked his hair.

“Babe?”, I called him.

“Hm?” he mutters, not moving an inch.

“Do I disgust you?” I asked bluntly.

"What? Where did you get this ideia?”, he turns abruptly to face me, doing something wrong in the game because soon there are some curses directed at him in the chat.

“It's just a question.” I shrugged.

“It can't be just a question. For you to ask me that, there's definitely a reason behind it,” he replied, no longer looking at the TV screen, and not realizing that he was being offended by the other players. Damn virgins.

“Nevermind…”, I hesitated, unable to let myself be affected by the comments, which weren't even for me. "Your game friends are very angry with you."

"Fuck them, the issue here is you.", he held my face with both hands, making me look at him. “Tell me what made you think about it,” he looks deep into my eyes, almost reading my soul and I immediately regret opening my mouth. But it was too late, lying was out of the question, because he knows very well when I lie, so I had no choice but to tell the truth.

“You never gave me an oral. So I deduced that the problem is with me”, I said at last and he let me go.

It was his turn to shift the focus to another corner.

“It's nothing to you, it's me who is the problem. I've never done that to any women, and in the movies I see them “squirt”, what if that happens?” He looked a little frustrated and embarrassed.

I got up from my seat and stopped standing in front of him, making him glare at me.

“You have to stop thinking real life is a big porn movie, Roronoa,” I said, putting my index finger on his forehead. “I really admire you knowing how to fuck without looking like a caveman”, I said that last sentence more to myself.

“Hey!” he heard and seemed offended. "It hurts, okay?"

“Sorry, but that is nothing but the truth”, I rolled my eyes.

Even though he didn't suck me when we had sex later, the seed of doubt was already planted in his head.

I know this, because days later he was more committed to making me cum. Before he seemed to care only about his pleasure, but after our conversation, he even put his fingers to work on my clit – which were presented by me –, as he moved in and out of me, until I came on his fingers. It felt good, but I wanted to feel his tongue down there, and wanted to see his head between my legs. I wanted so badly to squirm in pleasure beneath him as he sucked everything I had to offer him.

When the dream day finally arrived, all my thoughts turned opaque as I felt him hug me from behind and lean his body against mine as his lips found the skin of my neck.

“Do you know how hot you look wearing my shirt?” he asked huskily, pressing me closer to his body, making my ass fit into his crotch. And I already felt it was hard. "Even more so I know you're not wearing anything under it."

I couldn't hold back the moan as I felt his fingers travel up my waist until they reached my breasts under the fabric. He squeezed it first and then circled the nipple with his finger, making it hard. He knew how sensitive I was in that area. And to my delight, he lowered his other hand to between my legs, and slid it to find my sex, which was already starting to get wet.

When I was in his apartment, I liked to have just one piece of clothing. Walking around his house half-naked was one of the most satisfying things for me, because I knew that anytime we were going to get laid and being too undressed would get in the way of the process. So I opted to wear just a pair of panties or a T-shirt with nothing underneath, as was the case now.

He removed his hand from my body and pulled me away, but only to pick me up and take me to his bed, where he laid me down and leaned over me and started kissing me.

His kiss tasted like the whiskey he drank a few minutes ago. I ran my hands over his body and scratched him lightly on his back, inside his shirt. He ended the kiss and rolled off of me, but only to undress. I watched the scene intently, looking at each piece of skin that was revealed to me little by little. When he took off his underwear and his cock popped out, I felt my mouth water. He was there in front of me, completely naked.

I got rid of his t-shirt I was wearing and crawled until I was close to his body, took his hard member in my hands and started masturbating before putting it in my mouth. Unconsciously, I reared my hips up, and ran my tongue over the glans, tasting the pre-cum. Without waiting, I felt him lean over to smack my ass, and it made his cock almost hit my throat, making me gasp. I pulled it out of my mouth, gasping for air, but went back to sucking on it. When I relaxed, I put him in one piece and this time I got used to that intruder so deep, and I heard him grunt. He loved when I swallowed him like that, but before I could make him cum, he gently withdrew from my mouth and lay down on the bed, turning me to stand beside him.

He kissed me again and wrapped his hands around my waist and slid them to my ass, where he slapped my ass, making me moan into his mouth.

We made out until he was on top of me, making me feel his hard cock on my thigh as he kissed my neck and played with my nipples.

I was already throbbing with lust, and it got worse when he slid his fingers to my clit and touched his fingertip to that sensitive spot, making me arch into him. But he did nothing but tease me, and I wanted him to use his tongue this time to bring me to orgasm. For that reason, I forced his head down and he got the message, surprisingly trailing kisses down my body, but before he got there he stopped and returned the kisses to where they were before, leaving me frustrated.

I sighed in annoyance, and shifted our positions, getting on top of him. I positioned myself right on top of his cock, and I fit my pussy there, not to slide him inside, but to rub myself there. He liked my boldness a lot, but I abruptly left the place until I was positioned right in his mouth. I felt him startle under me, but it was too late because I was already sitting pretty well in his face, with my cunt snug in the place where I always wished it was. He showed no resistance, just ran the tip of his tongue over my clit and I closed my eyes, sighing.

At first, he was stuck and a little lost, but little by little he got used to it and now his whole tongue passed through my intimacy, sometimes sucking painfully. It was good for me and it was good for him too, because I felt him grip my thighs tightly, holding me in place as he penetrated me with his tongue. I saw stars. When he smeared the entire place and when my body showed signs of the first orgasm, nimbly and using a little force he took me off him and put me back on the bed, with my back to the mattress. I thought he had given up, but he again slid down my body and positioned himself between my legs, giving me that wonderful sight. Again he pressed his tongue against my clit.

Seeing him there, with his head buried in the place I'd always dreamed of, made a fire burn in my stomach, and my brain worked tirelessly on the new sensations his mouth was gaving me me.

And he looked very committed and thirsty. He was like someone who had gone days without even a drop of liquid and who had just found an inexhaustible source of pure water. And I was that source. And just the thought of having him thirsty for me was enough to give my boner more ammo and make my hips start working nimbly, looking for more contact. Zoro shaved every day, but there were already two that he didn't shave, so the growing hairs scraped the inside of my thighs when I moved my hips, leaving goose bumps.

His tongue explored every corner of my intimacy and his arms closed tightly around my legs as he brought one hand to one of my breasts and rested it there, squeezing every now and then as my body showed signs of orgasm.

He didn't let go of me when I came for the first time or when I screamed for the second. Instead, he circled my waist with his arms and held me immobile in place as he sipped every drop that dared escape from me. He showed no signs of satiating even when I scratched his shoulders or slapped him in the arms to get him to let go. In fact, it felt like it was just an extra boost for him when I was on the verge of madness, writhing in his mouth and thrashing around aimlessly for support and control of the spasms in my body.

He was both a sadist and a masochist at the same time, which is why I was so attracted to him.

When he released me, I was almost voiceless and completely shaky. I wouldn't be able to form an intelligible word, and his playful smile, which I saw blurred due to the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, gave away his satisfaction at seeing me in that state.

When I finally composed myself and my heart stopped beating in my chest, pulse, and throat, I took a deep breath and stared at him. He was lying beside me, looking at me and running his hand down my face, lovingly.

“You look beautiful when you're coming”, was the first thing he said.

“You look handsome between my legs”, I returned the answer in the same tone.

He smiled and massaged his jaw, as if in pain.

“Too bad it takes so long to cum, my chin hurts”, he complained and I rolled my eyes.

“You didn't leave me after my first orgasm,” I accused. “For those who were afraid of giving me oral sex, you seemed to enjoy it a lot”, I continued, with a pout.

“I had no idea you were that tasty,” he said, smiling slightly. “Now you better get ready, because your taste has gone straight to the top of my favorite flavors”, he assured me, as he pulled me by the waist to glue my body to his.

I kissed his lips softly, and touched our foreheads, and he kissed me again, obscenely. It didn't take me long to be on my knees for him, determined to reward him for the multiple organs he gave me.

Seeing him from above, with his eyes closed and his expression filled with pure delight, made me want to feel his cock in the back of my throat to the point of gasping for air. But he refused to cum inside my mouth. He lifted me up and positioned me on all fours on the bed and placed the condom on his cock.

When he sank into me, I moaned loudly, too happy that my sex life with my boyfriend was perfect.

[sky-berrie]

Goodnight - Damian

Summary: Damian pays you a visit at night ft. the one bed trope.

It was a typical eerie night in Gotham and as usual, you spent it alone in your room. You were completely engrossed in the murder documentary streaming on your laptop, the game of Tetris on your cell phone, and the barbeque potato chips you were shoving into your mouth. You were so unaware of your surroundings that you jumped right out of your seat and yelped when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Relax, Y/N,” said Damian, casually. “It is only me.” He was dressed in his Robin uniform. It was clean which meant that he was probably unharmed.

You scowled at him as your felt your heart beat wildly against your ribcage. Your eyes traveled to the open window. You were certain that you had secured the latch, added the anti-lift bar and activated the alarm not twenty minutes ago. Your newfound interest in murder mysteries kept you awake a night, so you amped up your security to give yourself some peace of mind. It should have been impossible for anyone to break in, but here Damian was, standing inside your apartment bedroom.

“Stop abusing your power like that,” you scolded.

“Stop leaving yourself vulnerable,” he countered, without missing a beat.

“I didn’t! Did you not see the steel bar and alarm?” you said with indignation. You had to wonder how he managed to slip in. In another life, he could be a magician, you thought.

“Indeed, I did notice,” he said. “It is quite the cute little system you have.” His smirk was as condescending as ever.

You rolled your eyes and huffed. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting a big reaction out of you.

Damian’s expression softened. “I am glad that you installed that, though. Now I do not have to worry so much about you when I am away.”

You had no idea how to formulate a response to a comment that was not an insult or sarcasm. You awkwardly changed the subject instead, “So… you need something or…?”

Damian looked at you expectantly as if he was waiting for you to continue. “Do not end your sentence with a conjunction,” he chastised you. “Proper grammar is imperative for effective communication.” You rolled your eyes again. Sometimes he was insufferable.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said. And sometimes he was almost sweet.

His gloved finger gently tipped your face upwards so he could inspect it thoroughly. You found his concern rather considerate until he opened his mouth again. Damian’s face contorted into an expression of disgust before he said, “You are beginning to look like Drake.” Although Tim was very attractive, you knew how Damian felt about his adoptive brother. His statement was not to be mistaken as a compliment.

You pulled away and rolled your eyes again. “Got it. You came here to annoy me. Mission accomplished. You ready to leave now?” You pointed to the window.

“I am being serious, Y/N, you look unwell…” He looked around your desk space with a horrified expression. “And I can see why. When was the last time you slept?”

“Uh,” you blew a raspberry as you thought about it. “Yester…today?” you said, but it came out as a question. Damian looked unimpressed. “No, today. Definitely today,” you stated with more confidence.

You could tell Damian didn’t buy it. “What day is it today?” he challenged.

Your eyes roamed around the room in search of clues. The date and time weren’t visible on your electronics. You took a stab in the dark. “Saturday.”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “It is Sunday night.”

“Oh…” you pursed your lips sheepishly. Sometimes the days blurred together.

“That is it,” he said with finality. He closed your laptop. “You are banned from watching murder mysteries videos at night.” He went for your phone next. He raised it up for you to see your game of Tetris disappearing as he powered it off. “I am confiscating your phone every evening from now on.”

“What?” you whined, lunging out for your phone. Damian tucked it away and out of reach in the inner pocket of his uniform.

“You are getting time limits. Blue light disrupts your circadian rhythm - no laptop or phone after 10 pm.” He grabbed the crinkly chip bag. “And these, well, you really should not eat these ever. Do you know how much sodium is in this bag? Your arteries will know.” He tossed the half-empty bag into the trash can beside your desk.

“No!” You protested. He had no right to order you around.

“Yes,” he asserted. You watched him fluff up your pillows, tuck the sheets firmly under the mattress, and smooth out the bed spread. “You are going to bed now. Get in.” He lifted the covers for you.

“Yeah, no thanks,” you chuckled humourlessly. You just wanted to finish watching the unsolved mystery of the Gruesome Gotham Murders of 1902 and be so terrified that you can’t sleep for the next three days.

“Y/N,” he said sternly, indicating that he wasn’t in the mood for an argument.

“Fine,” you grumbled. You knew Damian was stubborn and wouldn’t take no for an answer. You figured that you would get in bed to appease him and get rid of him, then you could resume watching your video.

You stomped extra loudly across your room to make a point. You huffed loudly as you crawled into bed. He pulled the covers up to your chin and tucked you in as if you were a little kid.

“Good night,” said Damian.

“Yeah, bye,” you replied impatiently.

Your eyes following Damian as he flicked off your lamp. Once your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized that Damian was taking off his Robin uniform. He stripped down to his undershirt and hung the tunic over the back of your chair before sitting down. “What are you doing?” you asked, raising yourself up on your forearms.

“I am going to stay,” he said, like it was the most normal sentence in the entire world.

“Um, come again?”

“I know you are afraid to go to sleep, so I will stay and make sure you feel safe… even though it is self inflicted fear and I ought to leave you so you learn your lesson. I do not know why you insist on watching murder mysteries knowing that you are going to be frightened.”

“While that’s a very nice offer, it’s also super unnecessary. I’m okay,” you lied. You couldn’t let him stay overnight in your chair just because you had an overactive imagination.

Damian raised a hand to silence your argument. “It is not up for debate. I will stay right here and you will get some sleep.”

“But you need to sleep, too,” you reasoned.

Damian shrugged. “I will make do here.”

Your throat was suddenly dry as you prepared to make a compromise. “You could… sleep… here… in my bed?” You prayed that he wasn’t repulsed by your invitation to share your bed. You and Damian were just friends but somewhere along the way your feelings changed. You caught yourself noticing things about him that you found attractive… like the way his eyes were so expressive and always told you what he was thinking… or how he carried himself with strength and confidence, even if it could be annoying sometimes.

You held your breath in anticipation. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off. “Okay,” he casually accepted. While you were relieved that he wasn’t mortified by the thought of sharing your bed, you were a nervous wreck now.

You shuffled over to the very edge of your twin sized bed to make room for Damian. As he lay down, the side of his warm arm brushed against yours. You skittishly scooted away but tumbled out of bed.

Damian peered over the edge of the bed and his brows knit together in confusion. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly to sound normal. You tittered nervously as you climbed back under the covers. This time you lay on your side and faced away from him to put some distance between you two and to hide your embarrassment.

“Come closer, Y/N. I do not want you to fall off again.”

You shifted infinitesimally closer.

“Closer,” instructed Damian.

You inched towards him but left a good distance separating you two.

“There’s plenty of space here,” he encouraged.

You quickly came up with an excuse. “I toss and turn in my sleep. I don’t want to hurt you by accident.”

Damian let out a hearty laugh.

“What?” you asked with indignance. You rolled over onto your back so you could see him.

“Nothing,” he denied, stifling his mirth.

“Tell me,” you demanded.

“The thought of you, in your footie pajamas, thinking that you could injure a highly skilled assassin, is quite comical. Don’t flatter yourself. Now, come here and go to sleep.” Damian patted the empty space beside him.

This time you listened and moved towards the centre of the bed. You were so close to Damian that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. The warmth was drawing you even closer to him but you reprimanded yourself and forced yourself to remain eerily still to avoid another accidental contact. Damian turned his head and you felt his eyes on you. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Y-yeah,” you squeaked. You bit you lip anxiously. Your hand played with a loose thread on the blanket.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” you said, this time more confidently although you weren’t fooling him.

“You need not be afraid of the dark, Y/N, especially when I am here.”

You knew that already. You always felt safe when you were with Damian, even before you knew he was Robin. There was something comforting about his self-assurance that made situations less scary. But that’s not what was making you jittery.

“Why do you bother watching murder mysteries? They always overlook clues and never investigate thoroughly. Besides, you have a real detective right here,” Damian said, with a tone of umbrage.

You shrugged and tilted your head. “They’re fun,” was your simple answer.

Damian cocked an eyebrow. “Being so petrified that you cannot sleep alone is fun?”

“I don’t know. I guess I admire you for being Robin.” You don’t know why you said that. You really shouldn’t be feeding his ego. It’s big enough as it is. You kept talking, against your better judgement. “Watching you solve mysteries and fight for justice got me interested in true crime.”

Damian only hummed in response. He was quiet for a while and you thought that maybe he had drifted to off to sleep. Finally, he said, “Would you like to know who committed the Gruesome Gotham Murders of 1902?”

You gasped and turned on your side to face him. You were only a few inches away from him now, but you didn’t even register his proximity. Your anxiety was long forgotten and replaced by curiosity. “You know who did it?”

“Of course,” he confirmed.

“How?” you breathed with skepticism. The case had been undertaken by several of the most high-profile detectives and private investigators over the decades and none were able to solve it. In fact, no new leads had been uncovered in the last eighty years.

Damian rolled his eyes. “Batman and Robin are, without a doubt, the best detective duo in history. Not to mention, that case was child’s play.”

You scoffed. “I don’t believe you. Show me some proof,” you said, calling his bluff.

“Very well, then. I will show you the file the next time you visit the manor.”

“If you’ve solved it, why don’t you tell the authorities then?”

“We have. It is connected to several active cases so the GCPD is not able to release any information to the public yet.”

You scrutinized his face, looking for any signs of a fib. He didn’t waver under your intense stare, but then again, he was accustomed to the batglare so your measly glare was probably ineffective. You decided to trust him. “Who did it?”

Damian turned on his side as well and propped up his head with his arm so that he could look down at you. He pretended to think about it, building up the suspense. “If you go to sleep now, I’ll tell you tomorrow morning,” he said, almost playfully.

“What?” you exclaimed.

“Better get to sleep right away,” he warned.

You couldn’t believe he would tease you like this. There was no way you’d be able to sleep knowing that the answer to the city’s most enigmatic mystery was lying right beside you. You huffed angrily and flopped back down onto your mattress.

Damian let out a deep laugh in response. You grabbed a spare pillow and tried to whack him, but he anticipated your attack and caught it. “Damian Wayne, you are the absolute worst.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[woah-were-halfway-there]

Along For The Ride: How It Started (Auston’s POV)

A/N: hello darlings, so this is Auston’s POV for this particular part here. Also just a reminder that this series is currently being rewritten as Carson instead of y/n like it was originally intended to be, so everything going forward including this and the next parts of JWIN will not be reader insert. My apologies to anyone that may upset, but this story was never meant to be y/n I just edited that way because I know it’s preferred on here, but the main character has always been Carson and it’s much easier for me to write her that way. ❤️

Word Count: 1.2k

When Auston met Carson for the first time, it was after he'd just finished playing his very first NHL game. He was still coming down from that high. Scoring four goals in his first game was just something, Auston and anyone who was following the game that night struggled to wrap their head around. But he did it. And everyone was buzzing.  

It was a surreal feeling, and Auston couldn't stop smiling as he walked down a hallway in the Canadian Tire Centre on his way to find his parents. Still, his mission came to a sudden halt when a girl with long brown hair unknowingly stepped back into his path, and the two of them collided.

"Oh, shit," the girl mumbled under her breath as she stumbled and reached out for something to grab onto and prevent her from falling, but Auston reacted quickly. He knew that if he didn't, the girl would have fallen after coming unexpectedly coming into contact with him, so Auston wrapped his left arm around her waist and put his right hand on her arm in an attempt to prevent that from happening. Luckily, it worked. The sigh of relief that left the girl's mouth didn't go unnoticed by Auston before she began shifting in his hold and stood up straight again. Once she took a step away, the girl then turned around to face Auston. "I'm so sorry…"

Auston watched as the girl froze and cut herself off after finally seeing who she'd just run into. A smile began tugging at his lips as he did so. He, too, couldn't help the way his eyebrows raised in surprise while taking in the features of the brown-haired, green-eyed girl he'd only seen through pictures on a screen leading up to that moment. The same girl that also happened to be Mitch Marner's cousin.

"It's alright," Auston told her and smiled a little wider as he couldn't help but think of how, yeah, she was beautiful to look at on Instagram, but she was stunning in person. "I wasn't watching where I was going either."

"I-," the girl started but was cut off again by none other than Mitch himself this time as he came over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, then looked back at Auston.

"Auston, I see you've officially met my baby cousin Carson," Mitch said with a smirk, acting like he hadn't already told Auston all about how close he was with his cousin.

Auston just shook his head slightly in response because, yes, he did know of Carson. He'd even messaged her briefly on Instagram earlier that day, but he didn't think this would be the way he'd finally meet the girl Mitch, Steph and many others talked so fondly about.

"Baby?" Carson's voice snapped Auston out of his thoughts as she looked up at Mitch, visibly unimpressed by being called that. "Mitch, you're literally 12 days older than I am."

"Older and wiser," Mitch replied, not missing a beat.

"I don't think so," Carson responded, then smoothly elbowed her cousin in the gut and moved away from him, earning herself an intimidating glare as he groaned in pain.

Auston was amused, to say the least, and couldn't help but chuckle as he observed the other two. However,  before he could say anything, another voice spoke up from behind him.

"Uh oh, the twins are at it again," said William Nylander as he walked towards the other three.

This was an interesting addition to the scene playing out in front of Auston because he knew that Carson and Willy allegedly had a history of sorts.

Over the past week or so, Auston heard a few guys tease Willy about how he made moves on Carson, but it didn't end up the way he was hoping it would. Auston didn't know the details, but from what he gathered was that Carson left Willy high and dry at a bar before anything more than the flirting they were doing could happen.

The fact that Carson apparently ditched Willy to get food then went home to bed before he could even get her number was something Mitch specifically thought was hilarious and loved sharing with the other guys on the team before telling Willy that Carson 'didn't like hockey players.'

However, Willy didn't seem to be phased by Mitch's comment or whatever happened with Carson because he still liked her. That much was evident with how he smirked once Carson looked his way, then winked at her.

Auston felt a pang of something as he saw that happen but brushed it off quickly as he looked back towards Carson, only to see that she hadn't reacted to Willy's advances at all. Auston was pretty sure Carson didn't even notice the wink because she wasn't even looking at Willy as he walked by. Instead, she was looking at Auston as if it was only him there speaking to her.

"Twins?" Auston asked once he snapped out of his thoughts and moved his attention back to Carson and Mitch.

"The more you see them together, the more you'll see how true that statement is," Steph, Mitch's girlfriend, stated as she wedged herself between the two cousins in attempt to keep them from annoying each other any further. She then looked at Carson and nodded. "We have to get back to the station real soon if we want to catch our train back to Toronto."

"Right," Carson replied with a nod back. "I'm good to go whenever you are."

The two girls then discussed how after they said their goodbyes, they'd head back to the train station so they could get home. After their brief conversation, Steph stepped away to start saying goodbye to Mitch's family, but instead of joining in doing the same, Carson looked back to Auston and smiled again.

"You played a really great game tonight," she complimented. "Congrats."

"Thanks," Auston chuckled and grinned back, feeling flustered at how contagious her smile was. "It's all pretty crazy to let sink in. I definitely think your good luck message helped, though."

"Oh, I'm sure it did."

Both Auston and Carson laughed at that, but it soon faded into silence. Neither knew what to say, and Auston could tell Carson was feeling a little awkward as she shifted from one foot to the other then glanced towards her family standing nearby. Auston decided not to let her feel that way for long, seeing as he too needed to get going and find his parents still, so he spoke up again.

"I, uh, I guess I won't keep you from catching your train back to Toronto," Auston started and looked away slightly, not liking the fact that she seemingly felt less comfortable. "It was nice... officially meeting you, Carson."

"Yeah, I should probably get going before Steph comes back over here and starts dragging me out," Carson replied, making Auston laugh and feel slightly better. "It was nice meeting you too, Auston. Congrats again, maybe I'll see you around."

"I'd like that," he told her honestly. "Get home safe."

"You too, well, to wherever you're going," she responded, then sent him one last smile before walking away to go over and say goodbye to her family then leave.

However, Auston couldn't do the same. For a moment, he felt stuck in place as he watched her leave, completely entranced by her and intrigued by the interaction they just had. Carson left a lasting impression on Auston for sure, and he couldn't help the nagging thought in his mind about wanting to get to know her better as he shook his and continued on his search for his parents.

[arrowflier]

A fic prompt if you'd like: Mickey opening up to Ian about details of his childhood and the abuse he suffered. In 11x06 after Terry is brought home Mickey says he could do anything to him now like "piss on him and let him air dry" and "use his mouth as an ash tray". To me it sounds like those are examples of things that Terry has done to him.

Content warning: child abuse

the things he did

“You’re so much better than that.”

Ian’s words echoed in Mickey’s head while the cooked dinner together. They resonated as they sat side by side at the table to eat, shoulders brushing, rings glinting in the harsh lights of the kitchen. They played on loop as they retired to the living room, alone for once with everyone else out for the night who knew where, sitting close on the sofa as mindless sitcoms droned on from the television.

“What if I’m not?” Mickey asked abruptly, when it got to be too much.

Ian turned to look at him, face full of shadows in the blue light from the tv.

“What if you’re not what?” he questioned, confused, and Mickey shifted away from him, bringing a knee onto the sofa between them to face his husband.

“Not better than that,” he answered, and saw Ian realize what he was talking about. It was in the way his eyes softened in that harsh light, the way his lips turned down at the thought that Mickey might question himself.

He always took it personally when Mickey did that.

“You are, Mickey,” Ian reassured instantly, just as expected. “I know you are.”

Mickey shook his head, looking down. His fingers scratched at the label of his beer, tearing it from the condensation-wet bottle.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “No one fucking does.” He shook his head, looked up again into Ian’s green eyes. “You don’t just come away from a life like that and turn out alright.”

Ian looked like he wanted to argue. His chin was already pushing out, his lips pressed tight and thin.

Mickey didn’t give him a chance.

“If you knew half the things he did to us, man,” Mickey laughed humorlessly, averting his gaze again. “He should be on death row right now, not sitting next door with a roof over his fuckin’ head.”

“Tell me,” Ian prompted softly, but Mickey shook his head.

“You don’t want to hear this shit, Ian.” At least, Mickey didn’t want him to hear it. Didn’t want him to think of Terry when he looked at Mickey’s face.

“I do though,” Ian countered easily. “Wanna know everything about you, Mick.”

He was always saying things like that. Always trying to challenge the barriers Mickey put up.

But Mickey always challenged his, too, so he supposed that it was a fair enough trade.

“Fuckin’ sap,” Mickey said anyway, glancing up at Ian’s face and down again. “Gonna change what you think of me,” he added more quietly, and bit his lip at how pathetic it made him sound.

“Mickey,” Ian said. That was it, just his name. But it made things better, somehow. “Nothing can change how I feel about you,” Ian went on. “Besides, I was there for some it, remember?”

Mickey snorted, and took a swig of beer.

“How could I fuckin’ forget?”

They sat in silence for a long moment, only the sound of the clock ticking behind them and the strains of an annoying jingle on the TV filling the room. Ian didn’t scoot any closer, didn’t ask Mickey again. He just sat in his presence, calming sipping his own drink, and waited Mickey out.

It was a technique that never failed him.

“It wasn’t too bad when our mom was there,” Mickey started out of nowhere. “She was strung out most of the time, but she cared, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, scratched his neck. “At least in her own way.”

“And when she wasn’t?” Ian prompted gently. Not pushing, just providing a guiding hand.

Mickey shook his head. “When she wasn’t, things really went to hell.”

A beat. The TV had changed over to some new infomercial, an obnoxiously eager voice droning on about the ‘next best thing’, whatever that was. Mickey ignored it. They both did.

“Iggy and Colin were already used to it, I think,” Mickey expanded. “They were around more the first few times she left, when Mandy and I were still in school. They knew what was coming when she was gone for good.”

Ian made a sound, deep in his throat. He set down his glass on the coffee table, overlapping the multitude of condensation rings that already marred the surface, and grabbed up the carton of cigarettes that lay there. He lit it with a spare lighter, took a drag, and passed it over to Mickey’s waiting hand.

“What about you?” he asked casually. Too casually for the way his fingers shook when Mickey took the cigarette from him.

Mickey scoffed. “Me?” he repeated, then took a drag himself. He held it in as long as he could, breathed it out in a plume of smoke that hid the new wetness in his eyes.

“I was a naive little shit whose mamma hadn’t warned him how bad Terry could get,” Mickey said, then took another hit.

“The first time he hit me—really hit me, not just a cuff around the ears for mouthing off—he laid me out flat on the kitchen floor. I had eaten the last side of bacon, see,” he explained. “Mandy made it for me after school. And Terry’d been savin’ it for after whatever run he was out on.”

Ian stayed silent.

“Couldn’t tell him it was Mandy’s fault,” Mickey went on. “He didn’t care that she was a girl.” Mickey flicked the ashes off the end of the cigarette, watched them fall. Watched the tiny burns it made on the knee of his jeans. “Didn’t care until she was useful.”

Ian swallowed hard at the reminder of what Terry had done to his best friend. But this was about Mickey right now, not Mandy, and as much as she was entrenched in that part of his life, it wasn’t what he needed to get out.

So Ian scooted closer, brushed ashes off Mickey’s knee and rested his hand there, waiting.

Mickey stared at the point of contact, then at his cigarette again.

“You know he used to burn me with these?” Mickey asked abruptly, waving the lit stick in his hand. “Think it was an accident, the first time. Caught me suckin’ on a candy one when I was a kid, told me I needed to man up. Tried to stick a lit one in my mouth, but he was drunk. Used the wrong end.”

He tongued the corner of his lips. “Couldn’t eat for two days while it was healin’.” He chuckled, shook his head. “I was suck a fuckin’ wimp back then, man.”

“Not the worst thing he’s put in my mouth, though,” Mickey continued, on a roll now. His voice was faint, full of that absent quality it got when he wasn’t really there. When he was reliving his nightmares in real time.

“Stumbled into my room more than once looking for the toilet,” he confided. “Forgot there was a second door, I think. He usually just went in the corner, but he got me on my bed more than once.”

Mickey paused, looked up at Ian through his lashes.

“You know why I don’t breathe through my mouth anymore?”

Ian shook his head.

“Wakin’ up to the taste of piss will teach you that trick real quick.”

The cigarette was gone, now, and his beer was only dregs. Mickey stared at a space over Ian’s shoulder, breathing heavy, refusing to let his eyes spill over.

He was done crying for the kid that let his dad walk all over him. He was done crying for Terry. He was done with all of it.

And he really, really wished that were true.

“Frank locked me in the basement, once,” Ian stated suddenly, taking the empty beer bottle out of Mickey’s hand and placing it with his own glass on the table. “During one of my mom’s episodes, when she wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Mickey just looked at him. Let Ian take his hand, turn it over to hold it in his.

“He told Fiona I was at a sleepover, and she believed him—forgot I didn’t really have any friends.” Ian grinned, then, but it was empty, almost sharp.

You had friends, Mickey wanted to say. You had family. You had me.

But the first and the last were lies, and the middle wasn’t always a blessing.

“Lip found me two days later,” Ian told him. “He got suspicious when he saw Frank taking food down there; he was an asshole, but he wasn’t gonna starve a kid on purpose, at least.”

Ian laughed, and rubbed his free hand along the leg of his pants.

“He just didn’t want to look at me.”

Mickey gripped his hand tighter.

“Why are you tellin’ me this?” he asked. “It’s not a fuckin’ competition, man.”

“I’m just saying,” Ian pressed on. “We don’t have to be our dads, Mickey.”

Oh. And there it was. Ian, his husband, ever the optimist.

“What if we don’t get that choice?” Mickey questioned. He’d seen it often enough, after all. Milkoviches that tried to get out, tried to do better for themselves and their kids.

But they always ended up back where they started. They always ended up under Terry’s roof, and under his thumb, just waiting for another chance to break free.

Ian shrugged, and pulled him closer, tucking Mickey’s head into the space between his own neck and shoulder. Mickey made a grumbling sound, but went without protest, tilting his head so that his nose rested near Ian’s collarbone.

“Then I guess we have to kill each other,” Ian stated blandly.

Mickey gave a stunned, barked laugh, breath hitching and releasing in a wash of hot air over Ian’s neck.

“Ian, what the fuck?” he managed, but Ian only gripped him tighter, pressing his face into skin so that he couldn’t speak.

“It’s for the greater good, Mick,” Ian assured him. “Mutually assured destruction, and all that, right?”

He ran a hand down Mickey’s back, scratching lightly.

“I lock you in a basement, you take me out,” he declared. “You piss on me—well, without my permission at least—”

“Ew, Ian, Jesus Christ—”

“I get to murder you in your sleep.” Ian pulled back just enough to look at him, Mickey meeting his eyes without a struggle this time. For all the macabre discussions, Ian’s eyes were bright.

“Deal?” Ian asked, and Mickey finally smiled.

“Yeah, alright, tough guy,” he agreed. “It’s a fuckin’ deal.”

[thisaccisdead]

montreal - roman hurt/comfort

pairing: this was written to all be platonic prinxiety, but can definitely be interpreted romantically !

warnings: unconventional self harm, non-graphic descriptions of wounds/injury

summary: a post-POF roman hurt/comfort fic in january 2021? yes <3

word count: 3.2k

notes: large portions of this were salvaged from one (1) night last summer at 4am when i was having a . time. the rest has been mainly recently written before i go to bed, with some extra bits added during my history classes B)) also shout out to [REDACTED]. u may not read this but if u do, i hope u know who u are & ilu

Virgil had been trying to calm himself down for the better part of an hour, as soon as they got back from the wedding fiasco; and he was doing a relatively okay job. Considering the circumstances, at least. Or so he thought, when he registered a spike in Thomas’s anxiety. This only served to make Virgil more anxious, because he had thought he had been doing well—until, he realized it wasn’t anxiety, not exactly, not fully—and it wasn’t coming from him.

Once he'd figured that out, it wasn't hard to trace the feeling to the imagination. He paused at the door. If this was where the strongest negative emotions were coming from, he already knew which side this was about. And could he really be surprised? Roman had wanted that callback for so long. Even at the court case, even when Roman gave Thomas his sentence, Virgil knew it killed him. And Virgil didn't do anything. Because he was so fucking scared of Thomas being bad, or of Janus winning, or something, and now whatever was going on was his fault, and--

And now was not the time for these thoughts. He breathed in. He opened the door.

Immediately, he was coughing out soot, heat burned his cheeks, his eyes blurred with protective tears forming against the smoke. It was hard to see, let alone process, what was happening. Then, he caught sight of the Dragon Witch. And he caught sight of—

“Roman!” Virgil choked on the yell, coughing again.

Obviously Roman couldn’t hear him from the distance, especially considering the brutal roar of the creature. Adrenaline kicked in, and as Virgil began to sprint towards the prince, he took in the entirety of the scene with alarm. Roman was...fighting, sure, except that Virgil had seen him fight before, and this... wasn’t right. Roman bested manticore-chimeras like it was a breeze, he HAD bested the Dragon Witch herself in every form she took, “just for training.” He always moved like he was in a ballet, not a battle, like it was more for show than challenge, and now...

Virgil watched Roman fall to a hard swish of the creature’s tail, and stay there. He almost expected the Dragon Witch to take mercy, or at least, to accept an early victory. But he watched her rear back, raise a taloned hand, the magma-red in her throat glowing brighter and brighter—just as Virgil got close enough to let fight win over flight.

Virgil crashed into Roman; they rolled just far enough that the swipe of claws only ripped the edge of Virgil’s jacket.

Immediate danger out of the way, Virgil clenched his eyes tight, trying to do it how Logan taught him. He found something that didn’t make sense--the grass. The grass was dry, therefore it should have been burning, but it wasn’t. He took that foothold to dispel all the fantastical elements of the scene, Dragon Witch and all her carnage blinking from existence. The new calm of the scene was jarring.

That just left a great big field, Virgil, and one absolute dumbass.

"What the fuck, Princey?!"

Virgil’s voice was distorted with stress, and Roman stared up at him wide-eyed, unsure—even terrified in a way that hurt. Virgil quickly pushed himself up so he wasn't pinning the other. Roman tried to copy this movement, only to groan, start coughing, and fall back again.

“Shit, I—“ Virgil looked at his hands and found red on them, looked at Roman and saw the color painting his chest. “I thought I dispelled all the imaginary stuff, why—?“

“Left brain sides can only dispel so much of what right brain sides feel,” Roman said, voice rough and thin and upsettingly casual, “Since they feel so real to me, you can’t get rid of them.”

“They feel…? Christ, ok, you need a medical kit, uhm—“ Virgil closed his eyes again; he was notoriously shitty at summoning things, and he had to concentrate for this—

“That’s ok; I’ve got it,” Roman said, letting out a quiet hiss as he propped himself up on one arm, and summoned the medical kit with the other, “You can go now.”

Virgil gaped at him in disbelief. When Roman attempted to stand up, and Virgil could no longer deny he wasn’t joking, he exclaimed, “Like Hell am I going, idiot!”

Roman just stared at him, and Virgil cursed under his breath. “Ok ok, let’s just... we should do this in the bathroom, uhm—“

Virgil awkwardly clambered over to Roman again, taking his hand, so he could blink them over together. He knew it would probably be more comfortable for Roman to sink in and out, but considering Virgil wasn’t practiced at that, he wasn’t going to risk screwing it up.

They apparated into the bathtub, and Virgil scrambled up, taking the med kit from Roman's hands.

Ok, ok, now Virgil just had to remember that one time Logan lectured them all on “Side Safety.” He took a shaky breath and washed his hands quickly, before turning back to Roman. He allowed himself to fully assess the prince this time and… Jesus. He was slumped against the back of the tub, having given up his attempts at composure while he thought Virgil wasn’t looking. His litany of scrapes, cuts, bruising, his shallow breathing, and--most of all--the wet, red patch slowly growing on his shirt, sparked renewed panic in Virgil.

“Ok, fuck, ok--let’s do this,” Virgil said, mostly to himself, as he knelt down by Roman to undo his already tattered shirt and take a wet towel to his chest. He had to suck in a breath at the sight of the jagged wound, a nauseous feeling catching up to him.

“You’ve already done a lot, you know,” Roman insisted. “You can--”

“If you tell me to go, Princey, I swear I’ll make these wounds worse myself,” he said, not meaning it in the slightest, which he would assume Roman knew--but the way Roman flinched and shut his mouth told a different story. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Of course I didn’t mean that!”

Roman glanced away, and Virgil reached to cup his cheek, an instinct he didn’t know he had. Luckily, he caught himself in time to retract his hand. They both avoided eye contact for a second; Virgil cleared his throat; and he reached for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide before pausing. He vaguely recalled Logan mentioning how strong alcohols would only cause more harm, and they should just stick to mild soap instead. He gave the cut a longer look-over—it was certainly not a pretty sight, but probably not as bad as it looked. It was large, but not too deep. Plus, as sides, it would heal itself without needing anything like stitches or professional medical work. The past scars littering Roman’s body were proof of that. Actually--had he always had this many scars? Virgil squinted. How often did he do this?

Virgil finished cleansing and bandaging the wound to the best of his ability, with little talk beyond the occasional, soft “sorry” at Roman’s winces. When he had finished, he gave Roman his hoodie (an action the Prince was too tired to take much notice of), since summoning a new shirt seemed like a waste of whatever energy he had left.

“Ok, Princey, all done. Uhm, are you—how, how are you?” Virgil mentally kicked himself.

A small, bitter smile tugged at Roman’s lips for just a moment. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and finally shrugged. “Thank you for your help.”

It hurt, Virgil realized. Roman’s quiet voice, where near-shouting was his usual speech. His unkempt hair sticking to his forehead, where it was usually styled to be very lightly and intentionally ruffled. The bags beneath his eyes where there was usually concealer. All of it hurt.

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m being annoying, but I hope you know there’s absolutely no way I’m leaving yet.”

“Virgil,” Roman almost said it as a whine, which was closer to his usual style, so Virgil considered it progress.

“Roman,” Virgil deadpanned back.

Roman huffed. “Maybe I need space to really explore my feelings, and you’re actually being a terrible friend right now,” he argued.

“Uh-huh, well being a terrible friend is always my favorite, so,” Virgil leaned down, fumbling slightly as he picked Roman up bridal style, “We’re gonna get you to bed, and you can explore your feelings by sleeping.”

“Great, now you’re damsel-in-distressing me,” Roman said sarcastically, but he leaned his head into Virgil’s chest as he did so, which kind of ruined his point.

“Yeah, yeah. Act more like Megara next time, and maybe it’ll be different.”

•••

Roman groaned upon waking up. His whole body ached, but mainly it was focused around a sharper pain in his chest. He let his eyes flutter open, only to find Virgil staring at him from his desk.

“Ah,” Roman uttered, a jumble of memories from the past few hours returning. They felt foggy and mildly icky, but mainly the pain in them was the numb kind of pain, the tired kind. Really, it was indistinguishable from the dull ache of his bruises and cuts.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, as though he understood, even though he couldn’t possibly. “Uh, wanna talk about it?”

It was clear Virgil felt awkward asking the question. It was unclear whether that was due to his tendency to be embarrassed by everything he said, or—far more likely—that he wanted to stop babying a stupid prince, and just go about his business.

Roman sat up, suppressing a wince as best he could. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course I do.” Virgil said it without an ounce of hesitation. Roman’s breath caught.

“Oh.” Roman shifted slightly over, and Virgil took a seat by him on the bed. “Okay. Uhm. I don’t know, I just—I messed up.” What else was new?

“...What did you mess up?” Virgil asked, with an inkling of suspicion, like he knew what this was about. But it wasn’t that; it wasn’t the callback—that was over and done and dead. Roman had created so many fantasies, so many crazy scenarios where they could somehow still make it in that stupid movie, and it had always filled him with hope or crushing pain or something, but as of this afternoon? He didn’t even care. It didn’t matter.

So, Roman ignored the question, and instead commented, “Janus got accepted.”

“What the fuck.”

Roman observed Virgil’s stricken expression like an unsettling kind of mirror of himself when—

My name is Janus.

“Yeah,” Roman sighed, “I didn’t take it so well either.”

Virgil looked at him for a long moment, seeming to go through several series of emotions, before he was able to ask, “...What happened?”

Roman inhaled sharply. “I was wrong about being wrong about the wedding. Patton was also wrong; Janus was right, and then Patton was right because he wasn’t a total asshole to Janus, and I’m evil; Thomas hates me; whatever, you get it.”

He thought he would break down, saying it, but he felt oddly… fine. He sat, staring at the same spot as he was before, absentmindedly annoyed at the way his bandages itched. The normalcy of the situation almost made it worse. This sucked. This wasn’t even bad.This was the worst he had ever felt.

“Oook,” Virgil said, clearly not knowing where to start, “I—you—what do you mean: Thomas hates you?”

“Thought that one was self-explanatory.”

“He can’t hate you,” Virgil said with a laughable amount of conviction. “You’re still his… y’know.. goals. Desires. Hopes. Whatever. Just because this one didn’t go… perfectly, doesn’t mean you won’t keep—“ he struggled to find the phrasing for a moment— “...fighting, uh, valiantly for Thomas’s dreams!” he attempted at the encouragement with a weak smile.

Roman just shook his head. “No. I don’t know what he wants.”

Virgil’s smile dropped into confusion. “But… you are his wants.”

“That’s kind of the problem.”

Virgil seemed at a loss, and Roman felt like an asshole. Here he was trying to help him, and Roman couldn’t even be bothered to put on a smile to dismiss him from the duty.

“Please go,” Roman attempted weakly when he couldn’t find a more convincing argument in himself. He was meant to be an actor, but he knew he couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted him to stay, of course he did, so badly. He hoped Virgil would just quit with the chivalry and go despite that.

Virgil sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shit, I'm going about this all wrong.”

Roman knew it probably wasn’t really him Virgil was mad at, but it was hard not to shrink away anyway.

“Look, Roman—“ Virgil turned to him, looked at him seriously, took his hands in his— “To be honest? I don’t care what happened. I don’t care who was right or wrong—I mean, we all know I’ve been in the wrong more than my fair share. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Roman didn’t miss the ambiguity of the end statement. “But… look, you don’t get it. When you mess up, you’re still you. You’re still...,” Roman gestured vaguely, which upset his bandages, and when he looked down at himself, he took note of the black/purple hoodie he was wearing. He melted slightly. This was exactly the point he was trying to make, “You’re still... y’know. Important.”

“Wh—? Of course you’re important, Ro. You’re creativity—“

“Thomas has two of those.”

Virgil looked at him like he was stupid. “Right, as if you’re anything like Remus.”

Roman’s lip quivered at that, and he had to look away, which was so stupid. And suddenly he felt all of the embarrassment at once—of this situation, of everything that had happened before, of the way he was about to cry, in front of Virgil, after he said that, which must look so—

“Roman?”

A hand was on his cheek, softly turning his face towards Virgil’s, though Roman still refused to meet his eyes.

Virgil cursed to himself under his breath. “Shit, this is exactly what I was trying not to say.” He sighed, and Roman hesitantly looked up at him. “Look. Even if you weren’t creativity, if you weren’t hopes or dreams or any of it—if you were a completely pointless side, which you aren’t, but if you were—I wouldn’t care. What I care about is that you’re... Roman. That you bother me until I sing Disney with you, that when you put your heart into something, you do it to a stupid amount, that you make Thomas take trashy buzzfeed soulmate quizzes when he’s stressed, and that you fucking try so hard for everything, even when I’m being a little bitch about it,” he paused. With the hand on Roman’s cheek, he traced the line of a scar down his jaw. It was one of the ones Roman usually made sure to put an illusion over, he noted offhandedly. “I care, because you’re my best friend.”

“Don’t say that,” Roman choked out. He couldn’t handle it if it was a lie, and part of him couldn’t manage hearing it as anything but exactly that. “Just—just—“

“Oh, Princey..”

Virgil held him as he broke. Roman didn’t know how long they sat like that as he let everything wash over him for a final time, let it all truly sink in at long last. He took heaving, messy sobs, no doubt ruining Virgil’s shirt in the process—he was quiet, though. He shook silently, save a couple choked breaths, in the other’s arms--that was a habit he had taught himself long ago.

When Roman had tired himself out, when all that was left was the pain in chest, (which was also suddenly duller—he was healing fast, even for a side—) he pulled back from the embrace. Virgil didn’t move by much, kept them so their fingers were laced together, as they sat staring at each other.

“Uhm. Thanks,” Roman gave a shaky smile, “You really—uh... I... I said some stupid stuff, huh?”

Virgil hesitated before he spoke, as if he knew he shouldn’t ask this right now, but needed to anyway. “...Roman, why’d you go to the Imagination?”

Roman felt ice stab at his chest upon the question. He didn’t want to do this. They had already talked about so much that he shouldn’t have gotten into; this was meant to be the part where they either parted or watched a stupid movie. And this, out of everything, was the conversation he most needed to avoid.

“Uh—I mean, to let off steam?” Roman gave a laugh as best he could. “Obviously, it didn’t go to plan—“

“Didn’t it?”

Roman’s face fell immediately. He struggled to come up with an answer, and even if he had had one, he didn’t think the sound would come out. This was enough of an answer in itself

“Shit,” Virgil breathed. Roman couldn’t help but be mildly annoyed by his surprise—clearly he had already known, he didn’t have to make it a big deal now.

“I… Princey—Roman…” Virgil looked him up and down, and Roman wanted to curl up and hide. “...how many times?”

“Not many,” Roman mumbled. Virgil must have known he was pushing the subject too far, because he just frowned and said,

“OK. I mean...it’s not OK, obviously, but you already know that, I just—“ he sighed. “Just… can you talk to me? Instead? Please? When you feel like… that.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Roman responded hastily, wanting an out from this topic.

Virgil gave him a look. “I’m serious. I mean—look, you don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want. Just, come to me first, yeah?”

Roman’s face burned; he was embarrassed; he wanted to shrug this whole thing off, or roll his eyes, or maybe scream in annoyance. But the rational part of him knew Virgil was right. “OK,” he agreed softly, “...Thanks. For everything.”

Virgil looked surprised, and then flustered, and then waved off the earnest reply. “I mean, it wasn’t--I didn’t--it’s not like I did anything really--”

“You did.”

Virgil’s face softened. “Yeah, well... you’d’ve done the same for me. You... have done the same for me.”

Roman smiled gently at him. “By the way, Virge--” He hesitated. He was about to sound like a real dumbass if Virgil had only been saying this stuff for comfort’s sake. But making a fool of himself was becoming a theme for him anyway, so he continued, “You’re my best friend too.”

I love you.

In the same beats Roman thought it, Virgil squeezed his hand lightly 3 times. A breath passed between them. An understanding. That Roman couldn’t say it out loud, and Virgil wouldn’t.

Instead, Virgil fell back across the bed, bringing Roman with him in the motion. Roman let out a startled gasp and elbowed him lightly. “Hey! I’m injured, that could have been a fatal impact for me!” he whined.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, yeah, OK. So, do you wanna watch a stupid movie, or what?”

[shutupanakin]

Wasting Your Time ch.1

“Wh— what?” Tommy choked out, his voice hoarse from the lack of use all day.

The man rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t just ask a completely impolite question. “I said, do you have any booze?”

Tommy sat still. He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding only a plastic pen. Could he stab this man with a plastic pen?

Tommy pulled said piece of plastic out, visibly holding it up. “I have a pen.” Something about the bemused look on the man's face made Tommy click it, and again, repeatedly.

click click click click click click click click—

...

or; Tommy planned on dying. He meets Wilbur instead.

crossposted on ao3 here

Tommy stared at the yellow line, centimeters away from his feet. The announcement of the incoming train ringing in his ears, feeling the approachment of the vehicle vibrate the concrete under his feet. He forced his head up, glaring at the incoming lights.

Tommy squinted. He threw a glance at the only other person waiting on the 11:25 pm train— a little old lady, Tommy was sure that he had at least a foot on her. Her wrinkled hand clutched a brown cane, the other one on her ruby red purse.

Tommy would hate to inconvenience her.

Tommy stepped a few inches back, safely behind the yellow line. The train slowed to a stop, waiting a few moments before the metal doors pulled open in front of him, clicking with a metallic sound. There were a few stragglers at the front, where the elder woman had gotten, and a couple sitting in the midsection. Tommy ducked his head and grabbed a seat at the back.

Tommy threw his feet up on the empty seat next to him, resting the back of his head against the warm glass. Another few seconds and the doors hissed shut. The train pulled away, the lights in the tunnel buzzing past him.

Tommy mentally tallied how many people were in here with him; the three at the front, with the elder woman who was with him on the platform, and the couple. Six people who’s nights he could've possibly ruined. Delaying a train at this time of night would be rude.

Sam would be sleeping, he had morning classes that he couldn't afford to stay up late for. When Tommy slipped out of their flat his older brother had been snoring away peacefully in his room. The thought of Sam makes Tommy pick at a loose thread on his jacket, pulling it with his fingernail. He didn’t want to think about Sam right now.

Tubbo would be up, definitely. His absent sleep schedule sucked. He was probably in a discord call with Ranboo, talking or playing CSGO or messing around in Minecraft , he didn’t know. On a normal night he’d probably be with them. Laughing so hard and loud that it makes the neighbor's dogs bark. Falling over in his chair… and Sam would sleep right through it, like he always did.

Wasn’t exactly a “normal” night, though.

Honestly, he hasn’t had a normal night in a while. Tubbo, often Ranboo, would text him; “wanna play?” Or “why aren’t you in vc?” And Tommy would reply, “sorry, don’t feel like playing”, or,”can’t, got a bunch of homework.” Sometimes that wasn’t a lie. Then, Tubbo just stopped asking. And of course, Tommy couldn’t blame him, it hurt, yeah, but Tommy unintentionally ghosted them.

He just couldn't stand to be in that call, after the last few times. Tubbo and Ranboo giggling at each other, poking fun with inside jokes that Tommy didn’t understand. Little moments like those would have Tommy faking a yawn and saying goodnight. He didn’t want to ruin their fun.

Tommy’s phone buzzed, the little bit of reception that he got down here snapping him back to his current reality. The train had stopped at the next station, the couple standing and the old woman following. Tommy’s eyes followed them as they left, debating if he should follow. Another buzz. Tommy turned his attention back to his phone.

Tubbo at 11:30 pm

Toommy

Tubbo at 11:30 pm

do u wanna play Terraria

His fingers started typing, beginning a message, but shook his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket. His activity on discord was already invisible. Tommy didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t want his last possible text to Tubbo to be something as simple as a turndown to play a game.

A thump from across Tommy startled him, the cause of the sound being a man with a mess of curly brown hair mirroring his position across the aisle. His leg up and arm resting on the top of the seat. Brown eyes framed with round glasses met Tommy’s.

"Got any booze, kid?” The train was pulling away.

For no particular, definitely unrelated reason, Tommy wished that he had just gotten off.

“Wh— what?” Tommy choked out, his voice hoarse from the lack of use all day.

The man rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t just ask a completely impolite question. “I said, do you have any booze?”

Tommy sat still. He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding only a plastic pen. Could he stab this man with a plastic pen?

Tommy pulled said piece of plastic out, visibly holding it up. “I have a pen.” Something about the bemused look on the man's face made Tommy click it, and again, repeatedly.

click click click click click click click click—

The man waved his hand, leaning forward. “Fucking— stop that! You are annoying.”

Tommy grinned, it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know,” He said, pocketing the pen. “and you are a loser.”

The man gasped in a show of dramatics. Bringing his arm up to his forehead, the brown fabric of his coat covering his eyes. “Oh, woe me, the tragedy, meeting my end to a child!”

Tommy scowled. “You’re a real prick.”

The older man didn’t falter, continuing his tirade. “Poor, poor me. All thy’ve ever wantedth was thy vodka.”

Tommy didn’t know why he egged this on. He could pull out his earbuds and tune out his nonsense until Tommy or him got off the train, whichever was coming first. “Your Shakespeare sucks,” Tommy grunted. “ Wantedth isn’t a word, bitch.”

“Then you know Shakespeare?”

Quickly, Tommy shook his head. “Absolutely not. None of that nerd shit. I just paid enough attention in Lit to know you’re a fucking moron.”

His eyes narrowed at Tommy, or more so, what he was wearing. “What sport do you play?”

Tommy’s eyebrows shot up, what made him ask that? “Pardon?”

He groaned, rolling his shoulders. “Your jacket, you insolent toddler,” He gestured vaguely at Tommy. “what sport?”

Tommy looked down, glancing at the red thread he was picking at earlier. “Oh,” That came out quieter than Tommy wanted, a whisper. “it’s my brothers,” There was Tommy’s voice. “Got it when he was visiting the states.” Tommy shook his head, brushing the thought of Sam away. “And my names Tommy, dickhead.”

The complete ass, he had the audacity to hum at him . “Wilbur Soot,”

Tommy scoffed. “That’s a stupid fucking name.”

“You are a child.” Wilbur chided, there was no true heat behind his words.

Tommy shrugged. “You’re a bitch.”

Another stop, Tommy tallied that as the third one; another stop he hadn’t gotten off at. This wasn’t meant to be a trip, he remembered. The ticket, which sat folded in his pants pocket, was one way. Tommy had bought it out of... what was it? Courtesy? He hadn’t intended to survive long enough for the ticket collectors to come around.

Excuses. Excuses, that’s what this was. Tommy was making excuses, simple as that. He wanted to go through with this, he was sure of it. He’d thought about this for weeks, planned this out for days, he figured out which day and which time of night would have the least people. But there were still people, there was the old lady and couple who had gotten off earlier and the four people at the front and the—

Well, there was Wilbur Soot, who for whatever damned, unknown reason, had sat down across from Tommy. Now Tommy was stuck with him until either of them get up and leave. He silently wondered who would go first.

No one had gotten on, or left. The train moved on.

“So uh, where—“ Tommy stumbled, swallowing. “Where you headed?”

Wilbur shrugged, Tommy furrowing his eyebrows. "Nowhere in particular, just felt like getting on. You?”

The fuck did that mean? Tommy thinks. “So you just... got on, no reasoning. Just like that?”

“Just like that. You didn’t answer the question.” Tommy groaned. Tommy was edging back to wanting to punch his stupid face.

“Not when you answer so vaguely,” Tommy cried. “I’m not going anywhere in particular either, for your information.”

“Really?” Wilbur pushed, incredulously. Like he had the right to be skeptical.

“Really.” Honestly, who did this irritable dickhead think he was? Tommy shuffled, folding his arms. Maybe he will get off at the next stop, he won’t ever have to ever see the enraging presence that was Wilbur Soot and his stupid Reagan and Bush sweater again.

Reagan, Reagan… that was an American President, right? The more and more he observed the man, it could be concluded without a doubt that he was a loser. Not only that, but an irritable one. An irritable loser. What a fate, worse than death. He’d say it was a cursed existence, if you asked Tommy.

Tommy shifted uncomfortably, becoming too aware of the hard plastic seat underneath him. “I just needed to get out tonight. Don’t know why.”

Wilbur rapped his knuckles against the window, in a rhythm that Tommy didn’t recognize. “Running from something? School? Parents?” He grinned. “Girlfriend?”

Tommy’s face twisted in disgust. “I— no no no. To all of those! Down the list, no, no, and no. ”

“Running to something then?” You could word it like that. Tommy frowned, decidedly not answering. “What, were you gonna jump then?”

Tommy knew that Wilbur was joking, but he couldn’t help the way he flinched. “I wasn’t going to jump, bitch— do you do this to every stranger you meet on the rails? Interrogate them for their life story?”

Wilbur pointed his index finger towards the front of the train. “They would not care, you know,”

Tommy’s mouth was dry. “What?”

“Them,” Wilbur gestured. “everyone, they would complain about the delay, they— they would be at best inconvenienced. At worst angry at you .”

“You’re real emo, you know,” Tommy deadpanned. “A right gothic.”

“I prefer poet,” Wilbur corrected. “I am not wrong though, the people here, no sympathy. No empathy. Just inconvenienced.”

“You’re inconveniencing me.” Tommy expressed.

“Because you were going to jump?”

“ Oh —“ Tommy snapped. “That’s none of your business! Stop trying to psychoanalyze me you pretentious prick, what I came down here to do is none of your busin—“

“So you were going to? That is what you came down here to do?”

Whatever battle they were fighting, Tommy was losing, and he was exasperated . “Oh, so, what if I was? Why do you care?”

“Come on,” Wilbur said, swinging his legs over the seat and standing up. How his legs weren’t asleep, Tommy didn’t know. Tommy hit his asleep leg, silently cursing it.

“Wha’?” Tommy asked, narrowing his eyes. “What makes you think I wanna get off with you?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Well, I have nowhere to go, and you have nowhere to go, and to be honest this is getting depressing. And, I would rather not leave a possible suicidal teenager alone. Also, I know a store outside this station.”

Tommy groaned. “Oh no,” He said. “I’m being kidnapped. No, stop, someone help please.” He stood up, shaking the static like feeling out of his left leg. Begrudgingly following Wilbur when the sliding doors pulled open. “Is this the part where your gang comes around the corner in a white van and shoves me in?”

“I don’t have enough friends for that.” Wilbur insisted, leading Tommy up the concrete stairs of the station. Tommy couldn’t help his smile. “I believe you.” Wilbur blew air out his nose, hopefully in amusement.

Tommy checked his phone, the bright light illuminating his face as he and Wilbur stepped out of the tunnel. 12:22 am stared back at him, along with a few more texts from Tubbo. Tommy pocketed it.

Tommy breathed in the crisp midnight air, after almost an hour in the underground, the fresh air felt nice. The area was rural, decently lit for the middle of the night. Tommy turned to look at Wilbur. “So where we goin? Pub? Club? I don’t have a fake ID, big dubbs.”

“No,” Wilbur shook his head, starting his trekk up the hill. “Store, if you can call it that. He is open until three.”

They crossed the street before Wilbur came to a stop, tapping his foot against the ground. “This it?” Tommy asked, reading the sign. Wilbur giving a mmm hmm — in response.

JACK OF ALL TRADES

That was… lame, Tommy thought. “I can’t go in though.” Tommy double-took, stepping back.

“What do you mean you can’t go in?!” He hissed.

“Got banned.” Wilbur replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“How?”

Wilbur slapped him on the shoulder. “Story for later, my young friend. Maybe refrain from telling Jack I sent you in, though.”

Tommy huffed. “You suck.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket. “You’re not gonna ditch me here are you?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, holding up three fingers. “I swear on it.” His smile grew, eyes shining.

He sighed. “Why am I going in again?” It seemed rather pointless, to take Tommy to a store he wasn’t even allowed in. With a quick glance through the windows Tommy guessed it was some sort of gift shop, snow globes and odd looking jewelry lining their respective shelves.

Wilbur tilted his head. “Because it will give you something to do other than to ride the tube to the end of the tracks trying to make up your mind.” He answered.

“When you put it like that,” Tommy grumbled, pushing open the door, triggering the bell at the top to ring. The inside was small, and warm. It was definitely homey.

“Hello!” A heavy accented voice greeted Tommy looked up, a shaved headed man wearing a striped hoodie smiling at him. Jack, he assumed. He sat behind the counter, his legs perched up on the counter. He put down the magazine he had been reading. “What brings you here this time of night?”

Tommy’s mouth formed into a ‘o’, he didn’t expect to have to make conversation with another stranger tonight. “Oh, um,” He cringed, running his hand through his hair. “out for a walk, saw you were open.” He lied, Wilbur had said not to bring him up.

Starting to pick at the thread again, his eyes scanning over the snow globes and miniature statues. His attention fell on a bowl of pins, some were round and others were shaped. The scan bars on the back faded or scratched out.

He reached in, moving around the pins. He wasn’t really searching for anything specifically. Tommy rubbed his thumb over the bee shaped pin he had pulled out. “How much?”

“The pin?” Tommy nodded. “Two pounds.” Jack answered.

Tommy blinked. “That’s ridiculous.” He grumbled, opening his wallet. He handed it to Jack, fiddling with the bee pin.

“Have a goodnight now!” Jack called as Tommy left, stepping outside. Wilbur was there, like he said he’d be.

“Did you get banned for complaining about his obscure prices?” Tommy sneered, making Wilbur laugh. “Absolute ridiculousness.”

“What did you get?” Tommy opened his palm, showing the bee. He attached it to his jacket, the needle clicking into place.

“Jackets blank, thought it could use something.” Tommy explained, walking beside Wilbur. “I’ve been completely ripped off, though. You did this to me.”

“No no, mister Jack Manifold did that to you. Not me.” Wilbur expressed. “I merely brought you there.”

“To be scammed.” Tommy insisted.

Their walk back to the tube station was pleasantly uneventful, Tommy didn’t comment on how Wilbur got on the opposite platform they got off of. He guessed that was the sign that this night was coming to an end. They were going back in the direction they came.

Tommy silently wished that they didn’t, that they kept going. The idea of returning home was becoming less and less appealing. The robotic voice echoed through the speakers, announcing the incoming train.

Tommy resisted the urge to make a jumping joke, knowing that would earn him a smack against the head or something. So he stood behind the yellow line, Wilbur at his side. The inside had a single man, at the front alone. Tommy ignored him, hitching his seat at the back, Wilbur sitting across from him.

“This wasn’t how I planned my night, by the way,” Tommy grumbled.

“I know,” Wilbur told. “I am sure this had the better outcome though. I will make you a deal, okay?” Tommy nodded, starting to play with the edge of his sleeves. “If you can make it to the end of the week without, trying to jump in front of another train, or try to kick a chair out from underneath you—“

“That would be a really lame way to die,” Tommy interjected.

“I am giving an example, Tommy,” Wilbur huffed. “If you make it through the end of the week, come back here. Same day.”

Tommy considered it. “Same time?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Sure, although I would not recommend making a habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating. This offer— there was no reason he had to take it. He could get off and never see Wilbur again, it wouldn’t change anything. The world will continue spinning, they would both move on, Wilbur would eventually forget about this strange encounter, and so would Tommy.

They stopped, again, no one getting on or off. Wilbur was still waiting for his answer. Tommy didn’t have it.

This was nice though , Tommy thought. It was nice to leave that flat, to get off his mattress. To have a reason to ignore the discord messages from Tubbo and Ranboo. He didn’t have to lay in bed, dreading going to his classes the next day, because he was occupied. He had something to do.

“Alright,” Tommy said. “I’ll take that bet, big man.”

“Deal?” Wilbur reached his hand out, Tommy leaned forward, shaking it.

“Deal,” Tommy gave a toothy smile. “I’ll try not to become a tubeline statistic until next week.”

“That is not funny,” Wilbur warned, although there was no true malice in his tone. “I will have you know statistics are no laughing matter.” Tommy barked out a laugh, the serious expression Wilbur word dropping. If the stragglers at the front were giving bewildered stares at Tommy, he didn’t notice.

“It was…” He wheezed. “It was kinda funny. If anyone gets to joke about that it’s me, alright? Isn’t that some, therapist shit or something? Using humor to cope? That’s me. I’m doing that.”

“You should try that, seeing a therapist,”

Therapy was useless, at least to Tommy. He didn’t need someone in a fancy office to tell him something was wrong with him, he knew damn well what was wrong with him. No pens, or clipboards, or uncomfortable couches, or ticking clocks and judgemental eyes will be able to tell him something that he didn’t already know.

Tommy thinks Sam knows one, or at least she’s studying to become one. A school friend that Tommy’s met maybe twice. The mere idea of dumping his shit on her, he almost felt bad! No thank you , Tommy thought. He would be avoiding that.

“Nah,” Tommy brushed it off. “I don’t do that. Don’t need that. Won’t do anything for me.”

Tommy didn’t realize how long they had been talking, because when the train slowed into a familiar station, Wilbur pulled himself up. Tommy frowned, watching the man stand next to the doors, waiting for them to pull open.

“So, see you next week Toms?” He teased.

Tommy groaned in annoyance. “We are certainly not at Toms yet, big dubbs.”

“I will get there I’m sure,” He said, stepping out. “Farewell Tommy!” He waved, Tommy’s urge to punch those stupid glasses off his face coming back.

Tommy flipped him off, watching the curly mop of brown hair disappear as the train started moving, the platform and the man with it being replaced by the cement walls.

His stop was next, he realized. Tommy would get off, he would walk home and slip into his bed and would have to pray that Sam’s heavy sleeping habits had not changed; that he hadn’t gotten up and realized that his bed was empty, or that the door was unlocked. The thought of Sam sitting there on the couch, waiting for him to enter the door like some sort of walk of shame—

Tommy quickly checked his phone, looking at the notifications. He breathed in relief, no notifications from Sam. No missed calls, no voice mails, no worried text messages; all things that would indicate Sam was awake and that he knew Tommy was out.

Shakily, Tommy stood up. The doors clicked open, waiting for him to exit. He could just keep going the other direction, he thought. He made no promise to Wilbur to return home.

Tommy stepped out, the doors hissing shut behind him. Wind bristled through his hair as the train moved again, almost taunting him. Look at me! Look what you missed!

He chose not to, though. Tommy didn’t because of a bet, and he didn’t even place money on it. A simple bet of wills was supposed to keep Tommy running till the end of the week. It wasn’t like Tommy didn’t enjoy Wilburs company either, it was… nice, having someone to just talk to, to engage with. He didn’t have to raise his voice or make a scene to get him to listen to him.

He would never tell Wilbur that, though. He was fucking irritating enough.

Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets, leaving the station. He’d come back, alright. If not just to prove something to Wilbur but to himself, maybe.

He really should've put money on it, though.

[jawllines]

Sorry to be annoying but I asked awhile ago and I think tumblr ate my ask but did you ever do tattoo Harry blurb? I love them and I miss them:( I’ve looked through your tags and there isn’t any on there if you have posted one

I CAN POST ONE I WROTE A WHILE AGO RIGHT NOW :D I DONT THINK I POSTED HERE BUT LET ME KNOW HERE YOU GO PET 

i.

“Baby -- baby, c’mon!”

It was rare that Harry ever woke Y/N with more than kisses and cuddles. Maybe an abrupt shoulder shake if the both of them slept through their alarms (and, considering that they are the only ones with the key to open up their own respective stores, they never typically arrived late facing happy employees -- or in Y/N’s case, employee -- Niall, in particular, was always more of a grump in that situation than Riktor even), but even that still managed to be tender, and soft. He always treated her so delicately, as if she were made up of porcelain in the morning and it was imperative to speak in a low, soothing voice with careful touches or she might shatter. And she really didn’t think it was because she was an absolute terror to wake up -- Y/N did quite well, even as early as 5 AM she was still in somewhat of a pleasant mood, certainly nothing to be fearful of -- she thinks he’s just gentle in the morning. He’s gentle all the time, but for some reason or another, he’s extra soft with her then.

They had both had a bit of a busy day, so by the time that they made it back to Y/N’s flat (Harry said he liked it there best because it smelled like her, and -- well, he softens her up and calls her Darling when he wants them to go over there, so it’s hard to say no), both of them were ready for bed. Neither of them could barely keep their eyes open as they scarfed down the burgers they’d picked up on the way home, and once they’d finished and brushed their teeth, they toppled into each other on the mattress. Y/N would reckon they both fell asleep before their heads had even hit the pillow -- she doesn’t even remember crawling beneath the blankets.

Apparently she had though, because now as her brain tunes in with the world around her and she realizes that the distorted voice that had begun to prod her dreams was actually a grumpy, dry throat Harry, she’s cuddling herself closer in the covers. This only makes him grumble at her more, “You’re such a blanket hog,” he whines and Y/N finally blinks her eyes open, being greeted with Harry’s disgruntled, pouted face illuminated by the sunlight beginning to slip through the blinds, “I’ve been trying to unravel it for like ten minutes, but you’re all wrapped up! I’m cold.”

Y/N smiles sleepily at him, not understanding the gravity of the situation entirely as she begins to un-burrito herself from the covers, “G’morning, beautiful,” she murmurs as she does so, finally disentangling from the blankets and while she was a little less warm, Harry was quick to wiggle in beneath them, “Sorry.”

“Don’ be sweet when m’tryin’ to be angry with you,” she puckers her lips at him dramatically, and though he sighs, he leans in and presses their mouths together softly, “Your kisses aren’t g’na sweeten me up, m’still grumpy, blanket hog.”

She can only hum as she cuddles closer to him, “Sorry,” she repeated, this time adding, “Like to swaddle myself like a lil’ baby. Reckon you weren’t holdin’ me well enough last night.”

An offended gasp leaves through his lips soundly, enough that it startles her, but his arms worm around her waist and draw her closer to his body, “Brat,” he grumbled, dipping his nose into her throat, “I held you so well and you just wiggled right out of my arms and took all the covers with you.”

“Like a worm -- I wiggled out like a worm or somethin’,” she tried to sit up but his arms tightened around her, “This worm has to pee though and she’ll soak the bed if she isn’t allowed.”

His arm loosens around her, “This worm sounds like she’s a sleepy sort of delusional that requires about two hours more of rest.”

Y/N stumbles toward the bathroom in her room, “Noooooooo,” she whines, frowning at nobody, not bothering to swing the door shut before she plops on the cold toilet seat to relieve herself, “We’re supposed to go get hot chocolate, no more sleep.”

“Baby, it’s 6 AM and I’ve been up the last 30 minutes freezing my bits off!” He calls back to her and she giggles some, her eyes trying to accommodate to the bright white lights of the bathroom, “Sleep just a bit more and we’ll get the hot chocolate when we wake up next.”

She waits until she flushes and washes her hands to respond to him, and though she knows that she is definitely going to crawl back in bed and fall asleep, she stands at the foot of it with her hands in fists at her hips. He had let his eyes flutter closed by then but she thinks he could feel her eyeballing him, so he looks up past the mountain of blankets now covering him so she could only see his eyes and his nose, “What’re you doing?”

“You’re telling me, you don’t wanna go at 6 AM, three hours before the kiosk even opens to get hot chocolate with me? You must really hate me, don’t you?”

He huffs a sharp breath through his nose which is how he usually laughs in the morning, when he can’t muster up the strength to have a proper giggle, “Absolutely loathe you, baby doll, but could you please come back to bed so I can loathe you in the warmth?”

It takes little persuading -- as she said, she knew she was just going to crawl right back in beside him -- and instead of relying too heavily on the blankets to provide her warmth (like wrapping up half of it around her so she was cocooned entirely. . .this is what she normally does, and she would say that’s probably why Harry almost never has any of the covers in the morning), she relies on him. Picks up his arm so that she can fit herself underneath it and lies her cheek on his chest, “Your pits better not be smelly.”

“I make no promises.”

.                             .                         .

“I love your hair.”

“Stop it, Sweetheart, I’m g’na start blushing.”

They had slept for four more hours rather than the two Harry had originally suggested, but that always happens with them. Y/N would say that they are just too content cuddled up with one another that they milk it for all it’s worth. If one of them wakes up before the other, then they just settle their head back down and close their eyes again. Unless they had somewhere to be, of course, but Harry had a free Saturday (no clients schedule, even though Saturday’s could often be some of his heaviest days) and he’d elected to spend it with her -- whether they were awake or asleep didn’t much mater, they just liked to be near each other.

When they finally did wake up, they lazily got dressed into about thirty layers so they wouldn’t freeze outside. The weather had grown frigid quite quickly this November, and neither of them stood the cold very well, but there was a park lined with little pop-up kiosks with hot chocolate, sweets, little holiday goodies, and an obscene amount of knitted blankets (it was a clever marketing tactic, Y/N thought -- everyone is more willing to spend money on a blanket when they’re freezing cold - she and Harry had certainly fallen for it today). Y/N bought them shoe warmers to keep their toes at least not numb, and Harry lets her borrow a pair of his gloves because she keeps forgetting to buy some of her own. They both have hats fitted over their heads too, and since Harry’s let his hair grow out, his curls stick out from beneath the pumpkin orange print and Y/N can’t stop staring at it. She’s always loved his hair, she told him as much one of the first nights they’d sat on her bookstore’s floor and talked about just a bit of everything. Back when she barely realized she had a crush on him. . . .when she didn’t know that in just a little time, she would be over the moon.

And she’ll never forget that people used to make him feel like shit about his hair, so she maybe overcompensates by telling him every time she has thought about loving it. Which means today, in the span of a short three hours they’d been awake, Y/N had complimented his hair about twenty different times. If she was running her fingers through it, fixing his beanie, or just staring at him, she let him know just how much she adored his curls.

“I hate to tell you this, Button, but your cheeks are already red as apples,” she shifted the paper cup of hot chocolate from her hand closest to him to the other, so she could reach up and tuck them behind his ear, that had reddened from the cold, “The air has you more bashful than I ever could.”

“Not true,” he murmurs, lowering his voice as he knocks closer to her ear, “I always blush when you go down on me.”

“God,” Y/N shakes her head, “You’re too much, d’ya know that?”

He laughs, nudging her with the cold tip of his nose, “You want the peppermint bark? We’re coming up on the seller.”

“Of course, I want peppermint bark,” she reaches for her wallet, “I’m stocking us up for the next hundred years or so.”

Harry slows for a moment, sliding his gloved hand into her own and squeezing, “Hey,” he begins, his voice soft, somewhat reflective and it brings her attention to him at her side, “Y’know when -- you remember how you said you just get random flushes of love for me and s’a whole lot and you just don’t know what to do with it?”

Y/N nods, “Yeah, like every waking minute practically. Why?”

He smiles shyly, “I’m having one of those moments.”

“For the peppermint bark?” She teases, but his brows furrow and he swats her shoulder playfully, “Hey!”

“I’m trying to be sweet on you, and you’re still going on about this bloody chocolate,” he rubs the arm that he swats, even though Y/N has so many layers on plus the blanket that she bought wrapped around her, that he made no real contact with her body.

Y/N pulls him in for a hug, narrowly avoiding a child running past them as she does so, “Oh, you know m’only kidding. I love you too, Bug, more than words can describe and ten times more than the chocolate I reckon. . .well, unless it’s made really well this year.”

“I’ll leave you here, blanket hog.”

[licieoic]

“Pour One Out” - Digital Oil Painting

Inspired by Suptober, theme: Pour One Out. Bartender/Patron AU! This one was actually inspired by a number of themes from Suptober including “Family Business” and “Favorite,” as shown in the ficlet below the cut. (It’s PG, though Dean is having some more adult oriented thoughts, LOL.)

Please see the pinned post at the top of my Tumblr for my links if you'd like to help support me in saving for a safe place to live!

“Hey.”

Looking up, Dean saw his brother, Sam, sticking his head into the brewing room. It had to be nearly time for his shift, he already had his abundant hair pulled back.

“Your favorite’s here,” he said.

Dean straightened up so fast, he nearly dropped the pitcher of beer he’d been pouring so carefully. “Trench Coat?” At least, that was the name he used with Sam; he didn’t want his brother knowing what he called the quiet man in his head. He’d never quite had the courage to ask the man’s actual name and since Winchester Bros was cash only, he couldn’t sneak a look at a credit card either. He’d considered asking for his ID, as that was perfectly acceptable in a bar, but since he was clearly over legal drinking age it would just make Dean look like he was stupid or an ass.

“Usual spot,” Sam answered before popping back into the main area of the bar.

He got up close to the shiny brewing vat in front of him and tried to check his appearance, but the metal didn’t make for a good mirror and left him looking deformed. Damn… He hoped there was nothing to worry about, like food in his teeth or crustiness in the corners of his green eyes, and that his light brown hair was just the right amount of tousled, leaning more toward ‘I woke up like this’ and less like ‘I use a lot of product.’ Then he reached into the pocket of his apron for the breath mint he always kept there, on the chance that his favorite patron would stop by.

It was easy to remember the first time he’d ever seen him, he doubted he would ever forget. Five months after he and Sam had opened the bar, they’d had to strike a deal with the Devil (Dean’s private name for their wealthy investor, Crowley) in order to save it from going under. It had always been their dream to start up a family business and they’d each quit lucrative careers (Dean as a mechanic, Sam as a lawyer) to open Winchester Bros. It had taken every penny of their life savings to do it, they just couldn’t give up so soon.

Pride still smarting with the knowledge that they’d be under Crowley’s thumb for the foreseeable future, Dean hadn’t exactly been the friendliest bartender that night. After being short with a small bachelorette party, Sam told him to concentrate on the solo patrons at the bar who usually weren’t the chatty types and leave the groups to him. Dean hadn’t argued, they needed as much patronage as possible, he could ill afford to turn what could be repeat customers into people who never came back just because he was in a mood.

Down at the far end of the bar, he saw a man with dark, messy hair hunched over the bar. He wore a slightly dirty trench coat over a deep navy suit and had a five o’clock shadow darkening his jawline. All in all, a fairly standard-looking barfly, if he were judging a book by its cover. Dean leaned both hands on the bar and tried not to sound too brusque as he asked, “What can I get you?”

Then the man looked up… and Dean forgot everything. He was lost in the bluest eyes ever to blue, bluer than the tie hanging crooked from the man’s neck. Dean’s mouth might have gone slack, he wasn’t sure. They were like angel’s eyes, almost too pretty to be real.

“I don’t know,” said the man, immediately dubbed Angel Eyes. He seemed kind of down, but that wasn’t unusual for a lone bar patron. “Do you have a menu?”

“W-we do,” said Dean, pulling over the list printed on laminated cardstock once he remembered how to speak. The line at the top read ‘Winchester Brews,’ which he’d thought damn clever at the time, now he worried it was corny. “Ahem… Everything on offer is brewed in-house, plus I can make you just about anything you like.”

“Anything, huh?” He looked at the menu, but didn’t really seem to be reading it. “I don’t know,” he said again, “surprise me?”

Something was really bothering this man, Dean could tell, his bartender instincts were jangling like crazy. His bi-dar, however, was all over the place. He never had a problem flirting with the ladies who came in, but it was always hard to tell if he was clear to make a pass at a man. That kind of thing could get dangerous, depending on who it was and what kind of attitude they had.

“Surprise you,” Dean repeated, reaching below the bar for a tumbler which he filled with a few ice cubes. “Well, you look like a man of… discerning tastes.” He followed this with a wink to test the waters. To his delight, Angel Eyes smiled. And Dean’s heartbeat doubled. He turned around and took a surreptitious breath in an attempt to calm it down, but it didn’t work.

From the back shelf, he retrieved a bottle of whiskey with a simple handwritten label on the front that read ‘Winchester Special #5’ and turned back to face him. As he poured, Dean said, “This here is our monthly special.”

“What makes it special?”

“It changes every month,” said Dean. “Afterward, we add it to the list of brews. And if you can guess the flavor, the inspiration behind it… it’s on me.”

“Has anyone gotten it right yet?” It was the nineteenth, he’d assumed correctly that some people had already tried Dean’s challenge.

He shook his head. “Not quite.” Gesturing at the tumbler, he quirked a brow and asked, “Care to try?”

Angel Eyes picked up the glass and took a sip. He tilted his head, appearing thoughtful.

“So?” asked Dean when he didn’t get an immediate answer. “What’s it taste like to you?”

“Hmm. Molecules.”

Dean laughed outright and Angel Eyes grinned. “Well, you’re not wrong!” he exclaimed. “Molecules, heh, can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before, but is that your final answer?”

Swirling the ice in the glass, Angel Eyes took a longer pull, maintaining eye contact with Dean as he rolled the whiskey slowly over his tongue. Dean’s mouth went dry as he watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down when he swallowed. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and those bluer than blue eyes followed the movement.

Angel Eyes clicked his tongue. “Blueberry…” he said, slowly. “But there’s something else… It’s sweet and… creamy?”

“No hints,” said Dean, but mentally he was cheering the man on, wanting him to make the right guess, and he was so, so close.

He took one last sip from the glass, finishing it off. “It’s good. I like it. It reminds me of a blueberry sour cream pie. Final answer.”

Dean grinned broadly. “We have a winner!”

He returned the smile with one of his own and it seemed like both of them had forgotten their problems prior to their meeting each other. “Really?”

Nodding, Dean poured him another. “On me. Since you’re the first correct guess.”

He picked up the tumbler and saluted Dean with it. “Cheers.”

Dean nodded, a little disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to keep their conversation going, and turned to go back to work.

“Oh, and—”

Heart in his throat, he looked back. Angel Eyes hesitated.

“Thank you,” he said, finally. “This… really helped.”

“Yeah?”

He made a vague gesture. “I don’t want to get into it, I know bartenders aren’t therapists,” he said. “Just some family issues.”

Dean’s heart sank. He had a family. Of course he did. “Well, you’re not the first guy to come here to escape his wife for a while,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Oh, I’m not married,” Angel Eyes said.

“Girlfriend?” came out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop himself.

He shook his head. “One of my brothers is constantly going through a rebellious phase. Our father isn’t happy about it.”

“Ohhhh, well, I can definitely understand annoying brothers,” said Dean, aiming his thumb at Sam who was down at the opposite end of the bar, and forcing himself to swallow down any follow-up questions. He’d already said he didn’t want to talk about it, Dean wanted to respect that. “You should bring your family around,” he said, smiling. “It’s easier to open up after a few, you know?”

Angel Eyes chuckled. “I’m not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. Besides…” He thumbed the rim of his glass before glancing back up, hitting him with that blue gaze all over again. “I don’t know if I want them coming around here. Maybe I want to keep you all to myself.”

Any thoughts of pushing for more patrons to offset his and Sam’s massive debt had flown away. Dean could only nod like an idiot, he knew what the man meant, of course, but the unspoken implications in the statement were pinging around in his head like a super ball. He might have squeaked out an ‘okay’ or a ‘yeah’ as he headed back to work, he didn’t remember. He did remember almost tripping over his own feet and not looking back, knowing his face would be bright red. He pretended to not remember hearing another chuckle.

Since then, Angel Eyes came in at least once a week, always sat at the end of the bar, and always ordered the monthly special, even though he paid for each subsequent drink following his correct guess. He was never wrong about the flavor either, which amazed Dean, he even got the lemon meringue right. He’d been so sure that no one would get it – he’d heard lemon-vanilla, toasted marshmallow, all kinds of other things because who guesses ‘meringue’ for a whiskey anyway? Apparently, a man with gorgeous blue eyes in a slightly dirty trench coat. Three months in, he was the only person who’d figured out that Dean based all the specials on his favorite pies and it only made his guesses come that much quicker.

As he headed out to the front, he dropped off the pitcher of beer and grabbed #15 from the shelf. He almost couldn’t believe it had been ten months since his favorite patron had first come in. Tonight was the night, he resolved, he would ask for Angel Eyes’ actual name. Maybe in another ten months, he’d work up the courage to ask for his number. Dean internally rolled his eyes at himself. He was truly pathetic.

Angel Eyes perked up at the end of the bar the moment Dean emerged from the back, yellow light from a nearby neon sign on the wall reflecting off his dark hair, almost like a halo. They smiled at each other and Dean’s heart was immediately doing flips, seeing how obviously happy he was to see him. Could be the Crush Goggles, but still…

“Fancy seeing you here,” said Dean, filling the glass with ice and setting it down on the bar. “I was wondering when you’d be in to try the latest special.”

“I’m just hoping it isn’t Pumpkin Spice,” said Angel Eyes. Being that it was October, it was a fair comment. You couldn’t go ten feet without encountering something bearing that smell and/or flavor.

“I do like pumpkin pie,” said Dean, pouring the whiskey. “But I think it’s more of a November flavor.”

Dark brows lifted. “A hint? This is new. What did I do to deserve that?”

Dean laughed. “Maybe I’m in a good mood, that’s all.”

“Me too. It’s a good night.”

“Hopefully, about to be better,” said Dean, nodding at the glass.

“I don’t need to drink to have a good time,” he said, but picked up the tumbler all the same to have a sip.

“Your continued presence at my bar says otherwise,” said Dean.

Angel Eyes swallowed. “There are other reasons a person might come to a bar.”

“Such as?”

“Good ambience.” He took a longer sip and let his eyes wander over Dean before traveling back up as he swallowed. “I like the company.”

Dean hoped he wasn’t blushing but he couldn’t hold back a goofy smile. “You do get to meet all kinds of people in a place like this,” he said.

“Yes, though I was referring to one specific person.”

“Yeah?”

He finished the whiskey and set down the glass, meeting Dean’s eyes head-on. “Yes.”

Mouth dry, Dean cleared his throat. “So, uh…” He gestured at the tumbler. “Any guesses?”

“Maybe.” He trailed one finger around the rim of the glass. “If I pay for the drink, can I have something else as my prize? If I get it right, of course.”

“Uh.” He swallowed hard. “S-s-sure.” He could hardly manage the one word; he couldn’t even summon the brain power to ask what it was he wanted.

Smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Angel Eyes considered his answer. “This is a good one,” he said. “Definitely not pumpkin, but it has sweetness… and a note of tart as well.”

“Are you a sommelier?” Dean asked suddenly. “That would sure as hell explain a lot.”

He laughed, the bright sound so incongruous with his gravelly voice, it had quickly become one of Dean’s favorite things about him. So much so, that he would go out of his way to come up with a corny joke or allow himself to be a little clumsy, just for the chance to hear that laugh.

“No,” he said, still smiling. “Disappointed?”

“No. I just can’t figure out how you’re never wrong.”

“I haven’t made my guess yet,” he pointed out.

“And?”

Deliberately, he reached into his glass and retrieved a small ice cube. Before Dean knew what was happening, Angel Eyes was popping it into his mouth and sucking on it while he thought about what answer to give.

Guh. He has to be doing this on purpose! Dean thought. How does he make everything he does so sexy?

Still keeping eye contact with Dean, he bit down hard. Crunch! If he kept this up, Dean would need to run to the bathroom and readjust his jeans. To try and diffuse some of the tension in the air, Dean attempted to make a joke like he usually would.

“You, uh, you know what they say about people who chew their ice, don’t you?” he asked, almost tripping on his own tongue.

“No,” he said, to Dean’s surprise. “What do they say?”

Well, this backfired spectacularly, thought Dean. “They, uh… that they’re, well, you know…” Those clear blue eyes wouldn’t give him an inch, Angel Eyes sat patiently waiting to hear the punchline of Dean’s naughty joke like they were talking about the weather. He had no choice but to quietly stutter, “That they’re… s-s-sexually frustrated.”

“Oh.”

Really? That’s all you have to say, ‘oh’? thought Dean, incredulously. While he watched, Angel Eyes fished out another ice cube and crunched down on it viciously, all while holding Dean’s gaze, as if to punctuate his statement. Heat creeping up into his cheeks, Dean took a steadying breath. Curse blushing, he thought. Curse the noun, curse the verb, curse the act!

“H-have I finally stumped you?” Dean asked when his tongue decided to work again.

“Caramel apple rhubarb,” he said, definitively. “Final answer.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Dean, pounding one fist on the bar. “You did it again!”

All he did was smile in response, the handsome bastard. As he reached into his coat pocket, he casually remarked, “You know, your freckles disappear when you blush.”

He blinked. “They do?”

“Then I get to notice them all over again when they come back.” Retrieving his wallet, he pulled out a ten-dollar bill and placed it on the bar between them. “It’s what I’ve been calling you in my head all this time. Freckles.”

“Well, that’s kind of rude, how would you like it if my brother and I were calling you Trench Coat behind your back?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, good, because that’s totally what we’ve been doing.”

They snickered together.

“Out of curiosity,” said Dean, “what were you calling Sammy?”

“Manbun.”

Dean snorted. “I’m absolutely going to call him that.”

“So, his name is Sam? You don’t wear nametags, so I’ve only ever known your last name.”

“Nametags are lame.”

“They are. What’s your name, then?”

“Is this what you wanted instead of a free drink?”

“No, this is something I should have asked ten months ago.”

Fair point. Dean held out his hand. “Dean,” he said.

His fingers were cold from the ice but his palm was warm and smooth. “Castiel.”

“Wow.” It wasn’t a name he’d ever heard before; surprise mixed with his pleasure over finally learning the name of his long-held crush. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Not sure. Probably something anti-climactic, like Steve.” He picked up the ten with his other hand. “I’ll get you some change.”

Castiel tightened his grip when Dean would have let go. “Keep it,” he said. “Consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” Dean said, slowly, tucking the bill into his apron pocket.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” asked Castiel.

“No.”

He grinned and it put all of the smiles Dean had received before to shame. It held a hint of mischievousness as he said, “That’s what I want.”

“You-you want—what? D-dinner? W-with me?” Dean couldn’t quite believe his ears. He’d barely been able to hope for a first-name basis tonight, he couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to score a date. But then, considering they’d been dancing around each other for ten months, maybe Castiel thought if he didn’t make the first move, it would never happen.

Bringing up his other hand, Castiel sandwiched Dean’s between the two as he said, very deliberately, “I don’t believe I’ve guessed wrong.”

Dean could be pretty dense sometimes, but he knew unequivocally that Castiel wasn’t talking about the whiskey. “I’m off in half an hour,” he said, smiling like an idiot.

“I’ll be waiting… Freckles.”

Okay… so maybe blushing wasn’t such a bad thing.

[vintagedolan]

dark

warning: this fic/blurb is, as the title suggests, dark. it’s supposed to be unsettling, but I can’t really give warnings without spoiling the whole thing. if that’s not your thing (think like, criminal minds, crime show type stuff), please please please skip this one! i love you!

word count: 4.9k

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Grayson pulled you closer to him in the dark, uneasy and confused. 

And then, it clicked.

“Why do you have pants on?” He whined, hand moving over the running shorts you’d left on before you climbed into bed. It was true that you usually just slept in panties, but you hadn’t thought much about it, too excited to get into bed and get cozy after your shower. 

“I was cold, didn’t wanna take em off,” you explained, putting your phone on do not disturb and sitting it on the little bedside table that Gray had built for you. You rolled over into his arms, his left hand sliding down over your ass.

“I can warm you up,” he mumbled, using his grip to press your entire body up against his, pulling you over so you were almost laying entirely on top of him. It was true - he was always warm, tanned skin radiating a heat that could cure your cold fingers when you reached out for him in the middle of the night. He’d let you do it every time, even if they felt like ice cubes and made him flinch.

His hand moved again, up over your ass to your back, and then his finger dipped under the band of your shorts, seeking out more skin. He grumbled a bit when the fabric tightened against his hands the further he reached over you.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re too tight,” he pouted. “My hands don’t fit.”

“Maybe your hands are just too big.” 

“Maybe you’ve just got too much cake.” 

You planted a hand on his chest, sitting up and giving him the most incredulous look your tired eyes could muster. He stuck his bottom lip out at you, tired eyes pleading. 

“Take em off.”

“Considering you actually just used the word cake to refer to my ass in a sentence? Access denied,” you teased, ducking back down to curl up against him and closing your eyes. His chest rose with a sigh.

“Can I at least have a kiss?”

You smiled but stayed still just to see what he would do. He waited for a moment, and then you felt him shift underneath you.

“Hey. Hey you. I know you aren’t asleep yet.” He poked at your side and you held it together until he actually started tickling. When you broke you giggled against him, lifting your head up and pressing your lips to his. He hummed against you, lips chasing yours for a moment as you shifted and got closer to him. He squeezed your ass as best he could, pulling back a tiny bit.

“Hits different when you’re in underwear.” He answered your unasked question with a shrug, and even with just the moonlight coming through the blinds you knew he saw your eyes roll. 

“I’ll just be over here-” you tried to roll away, but his hand caught the back of your head before you got far.

“Ah ah, don’t think so. You know I’m kidding.” He kissed you again before you could protest, not that you were going to. It felt too good to be in his arms for you to ever complain, and you melted into him, safe and content. You kissed lazily for a while, little mumbles of “missed you today” and “love you” the only things causing your lips to leave each others. Eventually, with a few last minute stolen kisses and a few more pressed to your forehead, you settled in.

The two of you fell asleep the same way every night, ever since the first time you’d found yourself staying over; him on his back, arm wrapped around your shoulders, lips on your forehead, you cuddled up against his side, leg over his waist. You’d drift as you slept, sometimes waking up to get back into each other’s arms. But no matter how far away you got, you were always touching somehow. Sometimes it was just your hands, sometimes one leg tangled with yours.

But when you woke up that night, it was his arm, thrown over your waist, heavy and warm. 

You blinked a few times, trying to get your bearings in the dark, reaching over for your phone. 

3:12 in the morning. 

You huffed out an annoyed breath, unsure of why your body had woken you up. Grayson stirred a bit, sensing you moving in his sleep. You reached over, playing with his hair to keep him soothed. 

Mouth dry, you waited until he started snoring again to coax his arm off of you and get out of bed. Any other night you probably would have just rolled back over, tucked yourself under Grayson’s arm and tried to go straight back to sleep. But you were so thirsty, you knew that you didn’t have a hope of getting back to sleep without at least a glass of water. 

So you headed out of the room as quietly as you could, making sure the door didn’t squeak.

You were glad that the construction was over and you were back in the house - it was easier to navigate in the dark. Still, you let your fingers run along the wall so you made sure that you weren’t going to run into anything as you made your way through the house.

The kitchen was better lit than the hallway most nights, simply because of the security lights outside that lit up the backyard. 

That was the first sign that you should have noticed. 

But you weren’t awake enough to notice, to realize that you shouldn’t have had to reach over and flick the light switch to get to the cabinet.

You should have just stayed in bed.

For a split second, you thought maybe it was Ethan, up late, unable to sleep.

You were wrong.

The man was standing by the bookshelf that Grayson had made when the lights flooded the room. He had a bag with him, a large backpack that matched his black hoodie. He turned to you, eyes wide as he realized you were there.

It all happened very quickly after that.

You must have screamed, but you didn’t hear it. Still, you knew you must of, or he wouldn’t have run towards you instead of out the door. Before you could move he was right in front of you, breath hot and horrendous in your face as he grabbed you and covered your mouth with his hand.

“Where do they keep their watches?”

You’d seen enough crime shows, binged through episodes of criminal minds, seen so many ‘un-subs’ that surely, surely you knew what to do. But there, staring one in the face? Your mind went blank, blind panic taking over as you realized that this was real, this could be it.

Your first instinct was to tell him, tell him exactly where the watches were in Grayson’s closet, the second drawer down on the right. That’s what you’d always been taught. Give them what they want and get the hell out of there. 

But then you thought about Grayson, Grayson in his room, entirely unaware of what was going on. The love of your life, vulnerable in his white sheets, sleeping peacefully like you’d left him just moments ago. There was no way in hell that you were going to put him in danger. You’d rather die.

“I said where do they keep their watches?” He repeated, his hold on your arm tightening as he pulled his hand back just enough for you to talk.

“Fuck you,” you spat, trying to wrestle yourself out of his grip. He was stronger than he looked, and the effort was futile. 

“Hey!” wasn’t what you were expecting to hear, but he could have said anything and the same relief would have washed over you. It was unmistakeable, and close. 

Grayson was awake.

You turned to look at him, beg for him to help you but you were yanked suddenly, spun around. His hold changed, moved from your arm to around your shoulders, across your chest. And then you realized why he’d pulled you over to the other end of the kitchen, what he was reaching for.

The knife block. 

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her right now,” the man threatened, and between the new feeling of cold metal against your neck and the panic in Grayson’s eyes you knew you both had to take him at his word.

“Okay, okay, no one’s coming closer. Just don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her.” He was begging like you’d never heard him before, a raw fear in his voice that broke you at your deepest level. 

You thought about moving, trying to fight him off somehow. Grayson could take him down no problem if you got out of the way, that much was obvious. But the knife complicated things - you knew how sharp they were just based off of Ethan’s stitches. 

Oh god. Ethan. You felt a pang of guilt that you hadn’t thought about him yet, and you prayed his deep sleeping wasn’t too deep tonight.

Somehow, it seemed that Grayson was on the same wavelength. You’d been keeping your eyes on him the whole time, but you missed when they flickered to the hallway behind you. Little did you know, Ethan had woken up to the voices, come out quietly, seen everything. Now all Grayson had to do was stall until his brother could get the security from the end of the driveway to the house. 

“Get your watches. I want your watches, and I know which ones you have. Don’t bring me the cheap shit.” The man spoke up again, voice demanding.

“You can have whatever you want, but I’m not getting anything if you don’t let her go.” Grayson’s feet were set, his voice stern. 

“Get the watches. I’m the one with the knife here, and you won’t be the one paying if you don’t do what I fucking say.” 

“You hurt her and I’ll fucking kill you.” Grayson’s negotiating facade cracked for a moment, eyes burning in anger. He took one step forward, unable to stop himself. 

Your neck was wet. 

For a minute you thought you were crying, but you felt the sting, realized what had happened. The blood trickled down from where the man had pushed the tip of the blade in just enough to break skin.

“Back. Up.” He snarled.

You panicked, starting to writhe, desperate to get away from him. The knife cut in a bit further and you gasped at the pain.

“Baby don’t! Stop, stop don’t,” Grayson panicked, holding his hands up and taking a step back, eyes never leaving yours. “Okay, okay you win, I’ll get the watches, I’ll get them!”

“Grayson don’t.” Don’t leave me please don’t leave me.

“Shut up.” The knife moved again and you fought the urge to squeeze your eyes shut - if anything was going to happen, you wanted Grayson to be the last thing you saw.

I love you you mouthed to him, feeling the blade move against your skin as you spoke. 

The sound of the door busting open was enough to make all three of you jump. 

“HANDS! LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS!” 

Suddenly the kitchen was very crowded - Ethan was there with the two security guards that worked nights for the boys - James, and Deandre, all of their eyes wide, bodies tense. You felt small surrounded by so many tall men - intimidated instead of relieved. 

“Drop the knife and show me your hands. NOW.” Deandre demanded, gun drawn and pointed.

The man hesitated, cursed under his breath. It felt like an eternity before the knife clattered to the floor, too loud against the wood. It left a scratch there that you’d find three months later. 

His arms released, rising up above his head in surrender. Immediately, another set of hands was on you, strong and firm and warm. Grayson pulled you harder than he ever had, moved you so fast you could barely register what was happening until he had you pressed up against his back. He’d put himself in front of you, standing tall and strong. You took in your first deep breath as you clung to the back of his shirt, your adrenaline pumping, heartbeat in your ears as James pulled the mans hands behind his back into makeshift handcuffs and led him outside. 

As soon as he was out of eye sight Grayson spun, arms wrapping around you.

“Oh god. Oh god, I’m so sorry angel I’m so sorry, I love you so much.” The words barely registered to your ears he said them so fast, hot tears falling against your skin as he pressed himself to you. 

“Ouch.” 

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he’d pressed up against your cut on your throat, causing it to sting. The pain was the only thing you could process, your mind foggy. 

Grayson pulled back, unwilling to let go of you entirely but far enough for you to see the sadness in his eyes. “Ethan, go get something for her neck, just grab whatever we have.”

“The cops are outside, maybe we should wait-”

“I don’t give a fuck about the cops bro, just get me some damn gauze or something. Please.” 

You watched Ethan walk away, or at least, you tried to - he was blurry, his form swaying around in your vision. Your heart was beating too loud, your head felt funny. You reached up to your neck, hand coming away wet and cold with blood.

“I think I’m - I don’t feel so good.”

Next thing you knew, there was something hard against your back, and too many voices.

“Y/N? Y/N can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me.” It was a different voice, not the one you wanted to hear.

“Gr-Grayson.” You croaked it out.

“I’m right here baby, I’m here.” You forced your eyes open, searching for where his voice was coming from - he sounded too sad, and your fingers twitched, anxious to find him, to comfort him. When you blinked enough to actually see, there were three faces above you, contrasted against the lights and the white of the ceiling. Ethan, Grayson and another face, all three with the same look of concern painted across them hovered over you as you realized where you were. The kitchen floor.

“What happened?” 

“You passed out on us,” Ethan answered, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“Oh. Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s your bodies defense mechanism. Too much going on at once,” the third face said. You looked down, saw the patch on his shirt. Paramedic.

“It’s not cause of the blood? She didn’t lose too much?” Grayson spoke up then, and your eyes went back to him, frowning.

“No, the cut on her neck is superficial. Neck wounds just bleed a lot initially but it’s already stopped. We’ll get you bandaged up, get you some water and you should be good as new!” 

Good as new. You weren’t sure how you were ever going to be good again, especially when you saw the look on Grayson’s face. He was as easy to read as your favorite novel - angry, livid actually, unable to process anything other than the rage you knew was building up inside him the longer he sat there. 

“Can I sit up?” 

“Yeah, just stay sitting for a bit and we’ll take it in stages okay? Fellas, can one of you get some water for her?” 

“Yeah, I got it,” Ethan patted your knee before he got up from where he was crouching, heading to the fridge. You started to sit up, body still unsteady. The paramedic helped you, moved you slightly to position you against the cabinets.

“The police are gonna need pictures of your neck, for evidence. I need to take them before we bandage you up.” 

He wasn’t asking. 

You felt sick to your stomach as you nodded, turning your head slightly to the side to expose your neck as he fumbled for his camera. 

The only thing that kept you from crying right then and there was Ethan coming back down onto the floor and pressing the cup of water into your hands. 

“Drink it bup, you’ll feel better.” You waited until the paramedic was done to bring the cup to your lips. The water was cold, nice against your dry throat, the whole reason you’d even gotten involved in the nightmare in the first place. You gulped it down, passing the glass back to E.

“More?”

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” Your voice felt robotic, unattached as you kept your eyes on Grayson as the paramedic wiped your neck off and put a bandage on that felt large and sticky with antiseptic. You didn’t care- you were just waiting for what you knew was about to happen.

All it took was James reappearing in the room for him to explode.

“What the fuck happened! You realize how much we pay you two fucks, and somebody got past you, and inside the fucking house. Explain yourselves. Now.” His voice was booming as he passed you, headed straight for James, hands in fists.

“Gray, gray easy, easy,” Ethan cautioned, rising quickly to cut his brother off, getting chest to chest as he continued to yell over his shoulder.

“You see her? You see her right? You let that happen you useless fucking idiots-”

“Grayson. Stop.” 

Something about the tone of Ethan’s voice pulled him out of it just enough for him to stop seeing red, to speak at a normal volume.

“I wanna know what the fuck happened. How the fuck he got in.”

“So do I. But I’ll handle it, okay? You’ve got other things to focus on right now. More important things. Take care of her, I’ll handle it.” 

I’m right here, you wanted to say, but instead you grabbed onto the counter above you, pulled yourself up to your feet. The paramedic stayed close until you got your bearings, offering you a small smile of encouragement. 

Grayson turned then, looked, really saw you for the first time since you’d passed out. The guilt was so blatant on his face that you knew he would be crying if he wasn’t trying to keep it together for you. 

He turned away from Ethan, walked towards you slowly, not wanting to startle you.

“I-I-” you tried to find words, but your brain was still fuzzy. 

“It’s okay baby. Just tell me what you need. Tell me what to do to make it better.” 

You looked around, past him, watched the cops unpacking the backpack onto the coffee table - the play button, a few vinyls. 

“I need to get out of here. I don’t wanna be here right now.” You were proud of yourself for getting cohesive sentences out, even if they did make Grayson’s face drop. 

“Okay. We’ll go, we’ll go right now. E, can you call Nick and ask if we can stay? He’s closest.” 

Ethan nodded, immediately pulling out his phone.

“Let’s get you a new shirt.” Grayson wrapped his arm around your waist, led you out of the kitchen and back towards his room. His hold was so firm that he practically sat you down on the bed, only leaving you so he could go get you something to change into.

You didn’t realize until he moved that he’d sat you directly in front of the mirror. Bad move.

You didn’t look like yourself. Your eyes were too wide, still frazzled. Shoulder too stiff, muscles all tense. But all that was commonplace when you saw the blood. It was a darker red than you expected, soaked into Grayson’s WZRD shirt that you’d slept in. Some of it had even gotten on your shorts. The cut was bandaged, but you still brought a hand up to it, gently running your fingers over where you could feel it was. 

Grayson interrupted your gaze, moving in front of you and crouching down so you didn’t have to look up, like he might do with a child. You didn’t mind - it was nice to feel bigger, more powerful. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not really. Just feels weird.” 

“Do you want a t-shirt or a hoodie? I grabbed both.”

“Hoodie.” You didn’t care if it was 80 degrees outside - you felt comfortable in them, felt less exposed. Safer. 

He didn’t question it, just reached forward for the hem of your, his, ruined shirt, pulling it as gently as he could over your head.

It got worse. You hadn’t thought about the fact that the paramedic had wiped your neck off. Your chest, your skin that had been hidden underneath the fabric was stained an angry red, and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sight. You barely recognized yourself.

Grayson followed your eyes, seeing what you saw, immediately moving to block your view of your reflection.

“Hey, shh shh, it’s okay. I’ll get you cleaned up, it’s okay. I’m gonna get a washcloth.” He stood up, went to move away from you and the panic that rose in your throat made you feel like you were choking. As quickly as you could you shot a hand out, caught his arm, held on as he turned back to you.

“Please don’t leave me by myself.” It came out as a whimper, involuntary, weak. But you didn’t care. The thought of being alone was too much to handle, even if he was just behind the bathroom door. 

“I won’t baby, I promise. You wanna come with me?” 

You nodded, keeping your hold on his arm. It felt nice, like an anchor, reminding you that Grayson was there and if Grayson was there you were safe. So you held on while he got the washcloth, wet it in the sink, cleaned you off. When he pulled his cudi hoodie over your head you got your arms through as quickly as you could, reaching back out for him. He held your hand while he moved around the room, packing an overnight bag for the two fo you. It helped you to keep breathing steadily, even when he led you out the bedroom door, past the kitchen counter - he was careful to block your view of the blood on the floor. When you got to the door, Ethan was there, brows furrowed as he watched the cops mull around outside, checking to see how the security system had been breached.

He paused, looking at you, lips moving as he tried to start talking, hesitating, stumbling over his words. 

You let go of Grayson for a moment, closing the distance and wrapping your arms around E.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into his chest, glad to feel him there and whole and unharmed. 

He squeezed you against him, resting his cheek on top of your head. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Try to get some rest, don’t worry about anything here okay? Either of you,” he looked up at Grayson, letting you go. “Take the tesla, the porsche is blocked in.” He passed his brother the keys, giving him one of those twin looks that you couldn’t read. Grayson nodded, wrapping an arm around you again.

“I don’t know if he’s still out there. Just - just don’t look, okay?”

You did as he said, burying your face in his chest before he opened the door. He practically carried you to the car, guiding each step you took until you got to the door, climbing in. He ran around the side to get in the driver’s seat, immediately reaching back over for you once he got back in. 

You felt lighter as soon as the car cleared the gates, and you curled up against Grayson as best you could, wrapping both arms around his right one, resting your cheek on his bicep, careful not to press on your neck. The last thing you wanted was for it to start bleeding even more. 

The drive to Nick’s went faster without the usual traffic - you were there in less than ten minutes, walking up to his apartment door. He answered almost immediately. 

“C’mon in guys,” he stepped aside, letting you and Grayson pass. “I grabbed some extra blankets and pillows for the bed. It’s a twin, I haven’t had a chance to get anything bigger yet, and I can get you anything else you guys need, like chargers or-”

“Thank you Nick. It means a lot, truly. We just need to get some sleep is all,” Grayson cut him off gently, practically holding you up against his side with how tight he had you pressed to him. 

“Yeah right, of course. Well if you need anything, you know where I’ll be. Glad you guys are okay.” 

“Thanks man.” 

Grayson led you to the right, into a small room that was definitely meant to be an office and not a bedroom. The twin bed was pressed up against the far corner, the extra pillows and blankets stacked up at the end. Grayson dropped the bag by the wall, moved towards the bed and started to arrange it with his free hand.

It didn’t make sense why it happened then. Why everything came crashing down at that moment, watching him shuffle around pillows to make the bed the way he knew you liked it. 

Alas, you fell to pieces, the weight of everything that had happened suddenly sinking it. Just how close you’d been to being seriously hurt, killed, how much danger the love of your life had been in. 

He was startled by the sobs that started to rip from your lungs, but he caught you anyways, arms winding around your waist as he sat the both of you down on the edge of the bed, you on his lap.

“It’s okay baby, you’re safe. You’re safe it’s okay, I’m here. I’m here.” He repeated it over and over, rocking you back and forth. The thought of him being hurt had your mind spinning, and you reached down, caught the bottom of the shirt you didn’t remember him putting on, tugging it up in a bid to get to his skin, to get closer to him. He let you do it even if he didn’t understand what you needed, desperate to help you in any way that he could. 

Once he was shirtless you pressed a kiss to his shoulder, his neck, his chest, anywhere you could reach, letting your brain accept that he was okay, that he was safe. You hadn’t realized how much of the weight had been because you were worried about him, what could have happened, what almost happened. Each kiss settled you even more, your tears ceasing as he held you. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whispered against his collarbone when you finally found your voice, leaning back so you could kiss his lips. He kissed you back, but you could feel his confusion at your words.

“I think I’m the one that’s supposed to be saying that right now. I’m so sorry. I should have checked the camera before we went to bed, hired more security. I just never thought -”

You cut him off again with a kiss. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. This isn’t your fault.” 

“It is though. My lifestyle, putting shit about my life online, that’s why he chose our house, why all of that happened.”

“Baby stop. It’s okay. We’re okay now.” 

He was quiet then, hands moving up to your face, thumbs tracing over your cheeks. It relaxed you slightly, calming your body in a way that only his touch could.

“Seeing you... like that.” He couldn’t make himself say it. “I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

“I’m glad it was me and not you.” You didn’t skip a beat, bringing a hand up over his when he cringed at your words.

“Angel please, please don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. I’d do it again if I had to.” 

He tilted your face up. “Look at me. You aren’t ever going to have to do anything like that. No one is going to hurt you, ever again. I won’t let it happen. Okay? That’s a fucking promise.”

“That sounds nice.” You rested your cheek in his palm, just watching him look at you for a few moments, comfortable silence filling the room.

“You tired?” He asked eventually, noticing your drooping eyelids as the rest of the adrenaline finally made it’s way out of your system. You nodded against him, holding on as he stood the two of you up so he could pull the covers back. 

While you were pretty sure Grayson outgrew a twin size bed when he was 12, you were thankful for it that night. He not so subtlety moved you over so you were by the wall, his body broad enough that you couldn’t even see the door as you curled up in his arms, let him press you against him as close as he could get. He’d put himself between you and the outside world, any danger that could possibly ever come your way - and he did it every night after that too, made himself a shield of sorts even back in your room at the house. 

He never drifted from you in his sleep again.

read part two here

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 5

chapter index

Inuyasha crouched beside the sleeping girl, tapping the back of his index finger on her thigh to wake her. The sun was rising. It had already peeked over the mountains, pushing away the shadows of night as fresh shades of pink and yellow welcomed in the new day. He could have let her sleep a little longer; he was sure she needed all the rest she could get to recover from what she’d been through, but he was bored, ready to go, and he’d already done more than enough for her as it was. Which meant, she needed to get up.

“Hey,” His voice was husky while he tapped her leg again, this time with the entire backside of his hand. Kagome didn’t stir, her deep, rhythmic breathing remaining the same. She was sleeping on her side, her hands tucked just before her mouth, and raven hair waving over her cheeks. If she was normally this deep of a sleeper, she’d better learn to pray before she dozed off at night. If she didn’t wake up at the slightest off sound, the crack of a twig, the whisper of sneaky bandits planning a surprise attack, she was screwed.

“Wake up.” Inuyasha tried again, applying a little more force into his tap that time. She moved her leg the slightest amount in response, but she didn’t rouse. The hanyou shook his head, setting a knee down as he comfortable kneeled to get a little closer.

In the morning light, her fair skin was accented with little hints of peach, her nose and the bits of cheek he could see blushed delicately. To himself, he wouldn’t deny she was sort of cute, and there was even a somewhat eager part of him that wanted to see what she looked like unharmed and undeniably happy. Would her cheeks tint deeper? Was her laughter contagious? Was her real voice soothing, or was it high-pitched and girly? Additionally, did she freckle in the summer? Were her shoulders sprinkled with those little, brown blemishes that would attract eyes and lips? Did she speak with her irises and the twitch of her brow, or was she expressive all over? Did she look as good in a gown as she did in pants? His mind was wandering now, going way too far, so Inuyasha snuffed out the remainder of his curiosity. None of those answers mattered. He didn’t actually care to know.

Though, beyond his control, he found his hand drifting toward her face, carefully and gently pushing the strands of rogue hairs away from her cheeks. Her hair was soft and just the graze of his middle finger had him wanting to run them all through her locks. Again, too far. Coming to his senses, Inuyasha stopped himself before tucking the strands behind her ear, settling on letting them rest along her jaw. If she’d woken up while he was touching her, it could have easily turned into an uncomfortable situation for the both of them.

Tired of being gentle, and wanting to end the waiting he’d been doing, Inuyasha pinpointed a common ticklish spot on the girl’s ribs. With his thumb and index, he gave a rough squeeze to the area that would be felt even through her brown bodice. Just as the girl heavily flinched, gasping hard and eyes shooting open, he bounced back some to avoid any absentminded reflexes she may have had.

Brown eyes stared at him confused, shifting into a rotten glare as he assumed she’d realized what he’d done. It was impossible to swallow his amusement, chuckling at her grumpy expression as she slowly pushed herself to sit up.

“Why?” She asked.

“You weren’t waking up.” Inuyasha shrugged, standing and walking away to kick out whatever embers still lived in the small pit he’d created the night before.

Kagome kind of sunk into herself while she blinked the sleep from her eyes. The crisp, fresh air of the morning was cold on the tip of her nose, her exposed chest, and even the flesh beneath the thin shirt she wore. She realized then that she was no longer covered by Inuyasha’s garment, and the chill was able to get to her that way. Even as she looked around her to see if she’d accidentally pushed it off in her sleep, she didn’t see it. He must have already taken it back before waking her. Maybe it was done in one of his attempts to rouse her. Maybe he’d never intended for her to know he’d covered her with it in the first place. Either way, she chose not to bring it up. The rising sun would bring warmth, and she’d be adjusted to the atmosphere in no time.

“How long have you been up?” Kagome asked conversationally, standing on her feet and taking a huge stretch. Her arms reached over her head and her feet pushed to the tips of her toes, her body creating space in all the tense areas that it needed.

“Didn’t sleep.” He stated, grabbing the medical kit she’d never collected and tossing it on top of her bag.

“Why not? Aren’t you tired?”

He sort of scoffed, making sure all of his shit was together before throwing the straps of his bag over his shoulders. “I don’t need as much sleep as humans do.”

“Right, right.” Kagome bobbed her head, absorbing the information. “But, you are half human, are you not?”

“Your point?”

“You need some sleep, right?”

“Occasionally, yes.” Inuyasha answered, a little annoyed by her excessive questioning. “Last night was not one of those times.”

Kagome nibbled on her lip slightly, shrugging her brows in meager recognition. She took his cue and began getting ready to head off, kneeling beside her bag and shoving the medical box inside. She reached for her canteen, opening it up to take a swig, the water cold and shocking in her mouth but still refreshing. Then, she shoved it into the side of her bag where she’d initially made its home.

“Your voice sounds better today.” Inuyasha nonchalantly commented, securing Tessaiga on his hip after readjusting everything on him.

Kagome hadn’t even noticed she was speaking smoother than she had been yesterday. It still wasn’t back to normal, per se, but she was hoping that was due to typical, morning grogginess. Then again, it’d be remarkable if she’d fully recovered within the span of a day. Either way, she felt it was nice of him to notice. She pulled the drawstring tight on her bag, then got the straps comfortably set over her shoulders. “Oh, I guess you’re right. How are my bruises looking?”

“Gross.” He chuckled. “Your neck isn’t looking too pretty, but it’ll fade in another day or two. It wasn’t horrible to begin with, so you’ll be fine.”

“Good to know.” She giggled. “I haven’t really gotten to look at myself. I wasn’t paying attention to it when I’d had the chance, so I really don’t know what I look like right now.”

“You look like you’re covered in dirt and there’s a leaf in your hair.” Inuyasha said, cocking a brow in amusement. The girl’s eyes widened in embarrassment as she glanced down at her hips, noticing the loose dirt clinging to her dark pants. Quickly, she dusted herself off, slapping her hand along her calf, her thigh, her hip, butt, waist, and arm to clean herself off. Then, she brought her thick hair forward, finding the dry, breaking leaf and pulling all the pieces of it out.

“How’d that even happen?” She grimaced, referring to the leaf. She’d been on her bag the whole night. Of course, she’d look like a total freaking mess in front of him. The last thing she wanted was to give him more ammunition to make fun of her before they parted. She preferred his nice side, and it was humiliating that she would walk right into any opportunities for him to tease her.

“Have you ever been on your own before, kid?” The half demon asked. The girl had grabbed her bow and arrows, securing the quiver over her right shoulder properly, and making sure her arrows were accessible as she reached back for them.

“Completely? No.” Kagome admitted, opting to hold onto her bow for the time being. “One time, my cousin and I ventured a little too far into the woods while training and got turned around. Had to camp out for the night and wait for the sun to rise so we could actually see any landmarks we recognized to get home. I know it doesn’t seem like much. Believe me, I’m aware the situation was extremely different than what I’m doing now, but it was something of a wake up call of how observant and cognizant you need to be when you’re alone in a dangerous, foreign area.”

“No kidding.” Inuyasha remarked, shrugging his brows. “Are you normally a deep sleeper?”

“No, not really. I usually wake up from any sound.”

It was sort of a relief to hear that. Inuyasha was more than willing to give her the benefit of the doubt for this morning. She’d had a rough past couple of days, so it was only natural that she’d be undoubtedly exhausted. Her body was probably demanding the rest by holding her captive in the unconscious state she was in.

“Alright, look,” He began, crossing his arms over his chest as he fully faced her. “What I’m about to say isn’t meant lightly. I fully think you’re in way over your head, and one false move will cause you to drown, so listen to me carefully. If you’re smart, you’ll turn around. Go home, kid. You’ve got a family and friends, and your place is with them. If you still want to see this thing out, whoever you’re looking for can wait until you’ve got a rounded and reliable party to back you up. I may not know the details of what you’re planning, but given how much you have told me, doing this alone is a death wish, and you know it. Given the stubborn wench I’ve come to know in the last day, though, I’m willing to bet you’re about to tell me that’s not an option. Would I be out money this time around?”

“Not this time, no.” Kagome shook her head, meeting his stare with matching fervency. No way was she about to turn around. No way was she about to call it quits just because he told her to, or even because this was difficult. No way. He didn’t know what she was capable of, but despite the harsh and critical tone he spoke to her in, she could tell he was only looking out for her. It wasn’t his place to tell her what to do, but she could see the compassion in the depths of it. “I’m not going home.”

“Fine. It’s your life; do with it what you will.” He rolled his eyes. “Here’s some advice: sleep with one eye open, always have your weapon at the ready, be quick, and whatever you do, don’t go picking fights with people. I’m sure you’re fully aware of this, but the world treats women a lot differently than it does men. As much as that would flare your instincts to demand equality, you need to be more cautious than righteous right now, understand? You’ve got tits, an ass, a nice body, and a pretty face. Men have eyes, cocks, no self control, and muscles to take whatever the fuck they want. Keep your head down, don’t bring attention to yourself, and do whatever you need to do to stay out of trouble. Go find whoever it is you’re looking for, and then go home. Do you hear me?”

Kagome gave him a nod of acknowledgment, but suddenly her nerves were disturbed. He was right; the world was a lot more unfair to women than to men. She could boast her ego all she wanted, declare that she stood a chance with her powers and experience, but the truth of it was, if she was outnumbered and caught off guard, Kagome could have a lot done to her that she wouldn’t be able to stop. She was tough, yes. She wasn’t entirely helpless, no. But, if something happened at the wrong time, in the wrong circumstance, so much could go awry. As blunt as Inuyasha had been, it was appreciated. There was no tip-toeing around the subject. Kagome was on her own, so she needed to bring her A-game.

“You were headed that way.” Inuyasha pointed in the general direction in front of him. “It’d be smart to stay near a water source, or at least know where the nearest one is. You got good aim?”

That was one thing she could definitely pride herself on, and Kagome smiled into her nod. “Yes.”

“Good. You’d be useless without it given the weapon you’re holding. You can’t afford niceties, so if someone threatens you, shoot ‘em. You don’t have to kill them, but if you nail them in the leg, they can’t chase after you.”

While Kagome knew the value of a life, and sometimes struggled with the general idea of ending one, she had killed before. Animals. Demons. She could do it without hesitation if hers or someone else’s life was on the line. It wasn’t something she enjoyed doing in the least, which was what divided good and evil, but some situations called for it, and if there was no room for stalling, then she’d shoot her enemy down. Kagome had been hardened to accept that when she was younger while she trained with her dad. He’d made it clear that if it was ever between your life or your enemy’s, you have to do what you have to do. You can pay your respects after.

“Anything else?”

She genuinely wanted to know, Inuyasha could tell. Kagome was listening to everything he had to say, collecting the advice to keep it all in mind. He admired that about her. She could be annoying, but when something important was being said, she didn’t let her ego take over like your average person would. She didn’t claim that she knew it all, or give the irritating I can take care of myself speech. She was paying attention, and asking if he had anything more to give before they went their separate ways.

“Yeah.” Inuyasha said, stepping closer to her. The girl neither flinched back, appeared uncomfortable, or moved away. She stood in place, her chin inching upward with his approach as her brown eyes stayed glued to his amber. Her natural scent was sweet, muddled by the earth and fire she’d laid so close to. There was less spice in what he picked up from her; more of a soothing, soft, floral aroma that attracted his attention. He’d intended to memorize it just in case, but even if he hadn’t, his senses demanded more. He hadn’t meant to become intoxicated by her pheromones. He merely wanted to remember who she was. Inuyasha was lucky he had a sharp mind, and it was easy to pull his head out of things and ground himself. He curled his fingers into fists, his claws slightly biting into his palms as he looked down at Kagome. Her face had colored more now that she was up and conscious, now that she’d rested, now that they stood so close, now that he’d given her the unwanted truth of what she could potentially encounter. Surprisingly, she didn’t look scared, and only held a rational amount of concern, noticeable in the subtle way her lips had parted. This was the last thing he was going to say to her. And, it was the most important. “Don’t let me find you dead anywhere. You’d better survive.”

Kagome’s heart gave a soft sputter and she wondered if he could hear it. They hardly knew each other, but his demand was so earnest. In that same regard, she was surprised by how much it had meant to her. She had no plans on dying before seeing her objective through, but a new fire was flickering to life in her abdomen. Now, it was like nothing was allowed to stand in her way. Inuyasha would never find her body; she wouldn’t let him experience that. He may not know where she was going, or what she was aiming to do, but in the end, when it was all over, she hoped word would get out that she was partially responsible for Naraku’s demise. She wanted him to know, however far off that may be from now, that she did it. And, she lived. Life for half demons would improve, and she wanted him to know that his impact was a part of that.

“I will.” Kagome stated bravely, giving a single nod of her head.

“Alright. Get going.” Inuyasha gestured with a small flick of his chin, amber eyes darting toward the direction she was to walk off in, and she graced him with a sweet smile. He felt warm in that moment, almost inclined to return the expression, but his straight face held as steady as it always had.

“I’d thank you for everything you’ve done, but you also kidnapped me.” Kagome said, taking several steps back before turning on her heel to face the direction she wandered in. Her grin only grew wider when she looked over her shoulder at him, a soft giggle on her tongue. “So, we’ll call it even. Bye, Inuyasha.”

“Ingrate!” The hanyou shouted after her, half annoyed and half amused. Cheeky brat.

Kagome only laughed harder, continuing on her way through the trees.

He must have traveled off in the opposite direction, because it was only small moments later that she stopped sensing his demonic energy. Kagome optimized her heightened senses, immediately following through with the promises she’d made to tread carefully. Her powers weren’t a curse out here, they were her friend. She didn’t have to hold back for the sake of her village, her family, or the fear that someone would see her while she trained, because this was what she’d been training for. This was the exact moment she needed to release the restraints she’d consciously formed out of weariness of exposure. By no means would she be careless, but by no means would she hold herself back anymore. With the vivid look she’d gotten at Kikyo last night, she didn’t have time for that.

Kagome had followed the river upstream for a few miles, stopping for a break as the sun was almost in the center of the sky. It was as good a time as any to reevaluate her plans. She went ahead and took off her belongings that weighed down her back, stretching her neck to the sides while she massaged the aching muscles of her shoulders. She reached into her bag and pulled out her water, chugging the contents of the bottle before sitting in the grass.

When she’d left home, and even before then, she’d always thought her first move would be to find Kikyo. Wherever Kikyo went was where she was supposed to go. Or, so she thought. That plan was now flushed. They couldn’t find each other, it was too dangerous. So, now what? Was she meant to go straight for Naraku? Or, was she meant to find someone who could help her improve on her powers? If that was the case, maybe that someone would be able to help her unlock skillsets she didn’t know she yet had. What were the odds of her stumbling across a well-educated conjurer, though? It wasn’t like Kagome could just go around asking, and she’d only ever heard of two who could potentially help. Both were unreachable. Kikyo was one, but obviously that was a no-go. And, through her father - who’d heard this on one of his many adventures - she’d learned of a conjurer who was extremely powerful. Midoriko. It took some riddle solving, but with Miroku’s help and a little bit of risky research, they figured out that Midoriko was a conjurer who lived before they were known as such. She was a priestess. She was never black-listed, and was looked up to for her strength and ability to contain evil demons. She faced a war, fought valiantly, and she lost - all well before Kagome was born. So, given that, Kagome was on her own.

Kikyo had said she needed to use her powers to figure out where she was meant to go, so she focused. Kagome shut her eyes, taking a series of deep, meditative breaths as she thought of different routes she could potentially take. One involved searching for help, one involved wandering until everything fell into place on its own, and one involved going directly for Naraku. Nothing quite sat right with her; there were problems will all options. The first ran the risk of dead end after dead end. She didn’t have a single lead to support her taking that path, and it wouldn’t be an easy task to find one to get her going. The second was a little too hopeful and ran the risk of wasting precious time. Though, she would admit, the option inexplicably sat higher than all else. The last sounded borderline disastrous. She didn’t feel ready for that challenge; not in the least. Even Kikyo had mentioned she had a lot to learn before she was ready to take Naraku on, so heading straight toward the monster was the most perilous choice she could make. If she went with the second, as blind as she’d feel on the route, she’d be able to train every step of the way. She’d shoot a hundred arrows before resting at night to make sure her aim always stayed deadly, she’d enhance her conjurer abilities in whatever manner she could, and eventually, she would find Kikyo and face Naraku by her side.

It worked best this way. Kagome didn’t even know where Naraku was hiding, so no matter what, she was going to be blind for a while. Ultimately, she could say she was after him; his fall was the endgame. There was just a rather large gap between where she sat now and where she’d be when that day finally came. The gap, Kagome felt, was nothing but a mystery. It looked blank. It looked like a space of nothingness that her intuition only told her she’d understand once she inevitably walked through it. She could say the adventure began two days ago, but truthfully, she felt it was barely beginning now.

The world didn’t seem any brighter now that she’d made a decision. Usually, it felt like a load off your chest or a defined moment of clarity shined like rays of light from the sun. This was nothing like that. Subsequently, her decision to figure it out as she went along, to trust the process so to say, was also a decision to remain in the dark until the unknown played out on its own volition. Although it was a clear day, Kagome looked at the world right now as if fog trickled over the forest floor, between exposed tree roots, and above the river in front of her. The metaphorical haze in her mind became physical as she let the anticipation of the unprecedented future overwhelm her. She allowed herself thirty more seconds to cope. Kagome acknowledged her anxiety, validated it, took three deep breaths that expanded her lungs to their fullest capacity, and then pushed herself to her feet. Sauntering over to the river bank, she lowered herself to her knees, taking an unclear gaze at her reflection in the slow-moving water.

As horribly frustrating as it was to not know what to do, to not know where she was going, to not know her next definitive move or even when things would fall into place, as horribly frustrating as it was to feel lost and like she held no control, Kagome could do nothing more in that moment but accept it. She went from having a plan to merely having a goal. How was it Kikyo seemed so sure while Kagome was nothing but confused? She felt so harshly ridiculed the night before that she couldn’t help but be worried every step she was taking, or thought she was thinking, was wrong.

“If you’re watching me, Kikyo, go away.” Kagome murmured, glancing over both of her shoulders to see if she’d spot that white, serpent thing Kikyo admitted to using in order to spy on her. What was it called, a shinidamachu?

A mouthful, was what it was.

“You told me you can’t help me,” She continued, eyes scouring the trees across the river. “So you don’t get to be upset with how things do play out. Go ahead and relay that message, floaty-snake-grave-robber. Let her know I don’t want to hear it.”

The interesting part was, though she didn’t see the shinidamachu anywhere, Kagome didn’t even feel ridiculous talking to herself at this point. There was still the possibility it was there, listening, and she’d said what she said.

Kagome gave a small, defeated shake of her head as her attention fell back to her blurred reflection. After a moment of trying to make out her features, she gave up. It didn’t much matter what she looked like; there was nothing she could do about it. So, she went off of how she felt. Her skin was a little oily, and it wouldn’t hurt any to freshen up. In fact, it would probably aid in revitalizing energy. A cool splash of water always helped.

Quickly, she went back over to her bag, seeking out the tie for her hair and pulling it back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Kagome yanked the sleeves of her shirt up as high as they would go, kneeling at the bank of the river and leaning forward. Cupping her hands, she dunked them into the cold water, bringing a generous amount up to run over her face. Over and over, Kagome repeated this, rinsing the oils from her skin, the dirt, the soot, the sweat. The chilling liquid dripped down her chin and neck, over her chest and into her shirt, drenching the top hem at her breasts but she didn’t care. It felt too refreshing to stop in time to prevent the dampening of her clothes.

Kagome slowed, making sure not to abruptly stop her movements in an obvious manner, but a twinge in her senses made it difficult. She was being watched. She’d caught that subtle, spine-tingling feeling that traveled down her back like the legs of an unwelcome spider. For a moment, she wanted to write it off as the shinidamachu, but Kagome had a gut feeling the serpent was undetectable. It wasn’t a demon, and it wasn’t an earth-bound creature. Frankly, she didn’t know its origins, but this was Kikyo. She kept a low profile, appeared to be a lone wolf sort of girl, and the last thing she’d do was use something obvious that anyone could trace back to her. No, these were eyes on Kagome. Eyes that refused to blink, eyes that violated boundaries.

She could feel demonic energy. Two maybe. One for sure. They weren’t approaching, though. Kagome didn’t feel their presence getting stronger; it was just there. Stable. There was distance dividing them. Were they literally just watching her? Maybe they were passing through, saw her washing up, and thought they’d get lucky enough to watch her strip down and bathe.

It took effort to bite back her groan as she rolled her eyes. Men.

It would be wise of her to get going. Lingering with them looming around was text book for trouble.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the mischief-maker, Inuyasha.”

“Oh god, is that what you guys are calling me?” The hanyou grimaced, turning to face the two idiots behind him. They’d been following him for a while now, so he was unsurprised when they finally popped out. It was honestly about fucking time. He was getting ready to expose them, himself.

“Among the other names we’ve given you.”

“Are they as creative as ‘mischief-maker’? I feel like I’ve earned myself a little more of a reputable nickname than that.” Inuyasha dully stated.

“How about, half-breed bastard?”

“A little better.”

“How about, dead?” The other suggested.

“Now, see, you lost me with that one. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t think you’re grasping the concept of nicknames; they’ve gotta be relevant.” Inuyasha pointed, giving the demon a wry grin.

“Believe me, it’ll be relevant by the time we’re done with you.”

“Can you at least let me know who the fuck you are first? Manners, boys. Manners.” He clicked his tongue. Steadily, Inuyasha’s hand found the hilt of his sword, not yet unsheathing it, but firmly grasping in preparation. He’d honestly never seen these guys in his life, but they looked like bandits. Acted like bandits. Smelled like bandits. The scent of unmaintained body odor, sweat, dirt, their own semen staining their clothing because they’ve only got their hands to do the trick, and the meal they ate the night before. Inuyasha crinkled his poor nose. Yeah, definitely bandits.

“Remember Gatenmaru and Garamaru?”

“I’m sorry, are those foods or something?” The hanyou inquired, confused.

“He’s playing dumb; don’t take the bait. He just wants to piss us off.” One said to the other, both of which appearing quite peeved for trying to ignore his question.

“I’m serious. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Gatenmaru and Garamaru!”

“Wow. Now that you’ve said it a second time, it’s all coming back to me.” He stated sarcastically.

“They’re moth demons! Bandit leaders! You killed -“

“Oh!” Inuyasha loudly exclaimed, a light flicking on in his mind. “Those two brothers that liked to collect women. Yeah, they’re dead.”

“We know. We’re here to avenge them.” One growled.

The hanyou snorted some, his smirk only growing. “Seriously? It’s been months.”

“Doesn’t matter how long it’s been, you bastard! This has just given us ample timing to join forces and devise a plan.”

“Join forces?”

“Yes.”

“Like, one bitch boy’s bandits working with the other’s?”

“Yes.” The demon seethed, hating the disrespectful remark but forcing himself not to comment on it and stay on topic.

“Hey, you guys remember they hated each other right?”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Which one did you work for?”

“Garamaru.”

“Yeah, he hated Gatenmaru for working with humans. And, now you’re working with humans.” Again, Inuyasha clicked his tongue in mocking disappointment. “What would Garamaru say?”

The two demon bandits looked at one another bemusedly and seemingly at a loss for words. He could see it on their faces; they were realizing he was right and most likely remembered the way Garamaru talked shit about his brother. Inuyasha was in his presence for all of twenty minutes and heard it all, so it was impossible that the bandits beneath him wouldn’t have. The bothers lived life apart, refusing to acknowledge the other’s existence, but ironically enough, they died together. Metaphorically speaking, of course. They committed identical crimes, and were charged as two wanted entities in one package. From the reward he’d collected from that job alone, Inuyasha still had plenty of money left over.

“Too late now.” One shrugged. “So, I guess it doesn’t really matter. You murdered both of them and fucked us all over by doing so. A lot of people want your head.”

“What, because you were solely co-dependent on a cheap demon? How is that my problem?”

“Because -“

“Rhetorical.” Inuyasha held up a hand to stop them from talking. “I don’t actually care. In fact, you should be thanking me. None of you are forced to call your masters ‘daddy’ while being used as a cock sleeve anymore.”

“Why you son of a -“

“Careful now.” The half demon smiled, arching a brow. Steadily, he pulled Tessaiga from its sheath, the sword transforming into its large and powerful state as each inch was freed. “You act too hastily and you wont be able to fight alongside your makeshift army. Then all your months of hard work will be down the drain. Wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“Figured it out, have you?” A demon smirked.

“Aside from the fact that you told me already, yeah. I can smell them all getting closer. Some are still lingering far away, waiting for a signal I presume. Were you trying to plan a surprise attack?”

“Surprise or not, we didn’t much care. We knew you had some demon in you, so it’d be difficult to actually sneak up. But, we did know the best option was to overwhelm you.”

“Because, you’ve got quite the number on your side.” Inuyasha added, really taking in the scent of all he was up against. It wasn’t just a dozen or two. It was more like seven or eight. There was no fucking way all these men worked for Garamaru and Gatenmaru. The two brothers were a lower tier of demon. They weren’t wealthy, weren’t necessarily powerful, and their biggest skill was deception. Gatenmaru took full advantage of his human dependents, manipulating them, even scaring some into loyalty. It didn’t take a genius to determine that both demons made big promises to their groups; promises they didn’t get the opportunity to cheat their way out of. Therefore, leading to the bandits feeling robbed and blaming Inuyasha. So, who made up the rest of their army?

“You’ve got a sharp nose.”

“Who are the extras?”

“Like we said, we’ve joined forces.”

The hanyou shook his head in disbelief. “This is just the combination of Gatenmaru’s and Garamaru’s men? No one else?”

“No one else.”

“Seriously?”

“Garamaru had a huge following. I’m sure you didn’t know that.” The two goons looked a little too proud, but he couldn’t much blame them. They really succeeded in throwing him for a loop.

“Wow. Ho-ly shit.” Inuyasha remarked, pursing his lips. He was strong, but he was also one man. One man against about a hundred. This should be interesting.

Kagome pulled the tie from her hair, shoving it into her pocket while she continued walking, her raven waves freely flowing around her shoulders. She was growing irritated now, her huffs clenched in the back of her throat. The two demons were following her, their auras growing stronger as they stuck close so they wouldn’t lose her. Yet, they never came out of hiding. She was hoping she would have lost them at the river, but they’d been following her for over thirty minutes now, and Kagome was over it. At one point, she’d gotten so distracted by their presence that she’d mindlessly found herself on the trail she’d come from, walking in the direction she’d left Inuyasha in for who knows how long.

Would it be picking a fight if she called them out? Would she be asking for trouble if she didn’t continue to ignore it, or would she just be considered proactive? With their incessant stalking, Kagome was convinced they were bound to make an appearance sooner or later. Sooner rather than later would be favorable, though.

Her bow was still held tight in her hand, and she twitched her finger along the wood of the arch in debate. Should she raise it and instigate, or should she wait?

The choice was taken from her as she heard some rustling in a bush from behind. Kagome turned around to see the two demons sauntering forward, smiles worn on their aged faces. Actively, she showed no sign of disturbance, merely watching them with curious eyes.

“Hello, wench.”

She hated being called that by sleazy, unwashed men. It felt more like they were referring to her as a sex object rather than a woman.

“Hello.” Kagome greeted semi-pleasantly.

“What’s a girl like you wandering the woods alone for? Don’t ya know you could get lost?”

“Oh, no need to worry.” She played off, her tone sweet as she waved away the fake concern they presented. “I know my way around these parts. I was just actually running an errand, and now I’m on my way home.”

“What kind of errand?”

“My grandma makes fruit baskets. I was out delivering one for her.”

“I’ve never known the fruit basket industry to be very dangerous.” One called her bluff, gesturing to the bow in her hands and the arrows on her shoulder.

“Oh, this? You’re right, it’s not. I carry it just in case anything out of the norm ever arises. For instance, two strange men follow me in the woods for over a mile and start harassing me. Wouldn’t want to be defenseless.” She replied, appearing unfazed.

The two chuckled, their teeth sharp and stained. “Knew we were there, did you?”

“Your smell gave you away.” She slighted.

“So did yours. See, we’re on our way to see someone who we happen to know you’re in cahoots with. Figure you might want to join in on the happy, little reunion we’re about to have.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our good, old friend, Inuyasha.”

“Who?” Crap. Crap, crap, crap. What sort of mess was she involved in now? That no good, dog-eared, ruffian, middle-aged-man-colored-hair, jerk. She’s in his presence for a day and she’s got men tracing her thanks to their obvious bad blood.

Kagome’s poker face held steady while she swallowed her annoyance, brown eyes shifting back and forth to the demons standing just before her with an arm and a half’s length to spare. She’d take a step back, but she’d already tried that. They were persistent in keeping her within reach, and merely closed the gap she’d created.

“Don’t play coy. You’ve got his scent all over you.” One grumbled.

That’s right. Of course, she did. That’s how they must have found her in the first place. He’d covered her in that red cloth last night while she slept, so it was only natural that his scent would linger. And, be identifiable by those with sharper senses. What she couldn’t detect, the smell so subtle, they would with ease.

That didn’t mean she was about to go easily.

“All over… What smell?”

“The smell of a half demon.”

“Hm.” Kagome hummed, acting intrigued. “Does it smell nice?”

“What?”

“Do I smell nice?”

“No!”

“What a rude thing to say.” She criticized, appalled and shrinking back dramatically. It was a feeble attempt to create space, and thankfully, this time, they didn’t think to close it again, falling for her dramatics. “To a lady, no less!”

“You ain’t no lady.”

“Oh? What am I, then?”

“A half-breed’s whore. Which makes you filth.” The smile the humanoid demon wore was wide and proud, gleaming with the afterglow of his insult.

Kagome couldn’t even attempt to hide her expression then. The corners of her mouth grew into a grin, eyes dropping to the ground, her head following suit as she shrugged her brows in contempt. The smallest chuckle escaped her teeth before she inhaled and looked back up at the men. She ran her fingers through her hair, not caring how her bangs may have ruffled messily when she pushed them from her face, and slowly, carefully, but also daringly, Kagome’s fingers raked down the length of her waves until they met the nock of one of her arrows.

“Wow. Charming.” She said, pulling the arrow from its quiver. Naturally, the demons took her as no threat. Much like every demon she’d ever faced, all they saw was a young girl with a weapon that would merely leave a flesh wound on them if it actually managed to hit. This worked in Kagome’s favor. They could laugh all they wanted, mock her, point and guffaw, because that just meant they weren’t lunging to stop her.

“So, this Inuyasha guy,” Kagome spoke as their amusement began to subside. She hardly watched them, her attention minding their feet as she took her time aligning the nock with the string of her bow. The shaft of the arrow lightly tapped the grip above her hand while she got her fingers situated, knuckles clutching the nock just right. “What’d he do?”

“He messed with the wrong crowd, that’s what.” The one on her left stated, his tone telling her the smile still remained on his ugly face.

She finally glanced up, her weapon still held low. “Yeah, but what did he do?”

“He killed our leader, wench.” The one on her right said, and she could tell he was the more serious of the two.

“Ah, gotcha.” She nodded, sucking in her bottom lip. Must have been another bounty. Which meant Inuyasha was only doing his job and bringing down someone with proper justification. Of course, this was a guess, but it was an educated one. With the way the men before her looked and acted, they were up to no good and so their leader had to have been worse. She felt a little bad for mentally jumping on Inuyasha the way she initially had when she’d found out this was about him. Chances are, he didn’t know they’d be out for blood, and he definitely couldn’t have guessed that they’d involve her after one night’s encounter. “What’s that got to do with me, though?”

“Jesus, do we need to spell everything out for you? Are you stupid?”

“Quite the contrary. A stupid person wouldn’t have known you were following them since the river, wouldn’t have held a straight face while they lied, and wouldn’t have already figured out that your boss probably deserved to die without you having to tell me who they were or what they’d done.” She replied, stepping her right leg back as she leveled her weapon at them, the feather at the end of her arrow grazing her cheekbone lightly. “Yeah, I know who Inuyasha is, but your assumption is all wrong. I just met him yesterday, so nothing’s on a personal level. So, go ahead. Tell me what this has to do with me.”

“You’re one bold bitch.” The one on her left snarled, spittle flying out with his enunciation of the slur. “We’re going to use you against him. As we speak, he’s being attacked by our forces. We outnumber him greatly, so our victory is a given, but the motherfucker fights dirty with that sword of his. Bringing you along, using you as our pretty, little hostage will get him to forfeit, and make his death much quicker and easier.”

Kagome scrunched her nose, shaking her head as she hummed a negate. “Nope. Sorry, bud. That wouldn’t work at all. All I did was annoy the guy. The majority of the time I was with him, he had me tied up and held as his own hostage. Like I said, you’ve got it wrong; we aren’t friends.”

“I think we’ll take our chances.” The one on the right growled.

“Not interested. Being held hostage once is enough for me, thanks.” She pulled the arrow back another centimeter, pointing it at him to prevent him from taking a step forward.

“The fuck do you think you’re even gonna do with that?”

“Shoot you.” Her tone was calm, steady, the residing scratch in it temporarily abating as she kept her voice low.

“And, then what? You should know that it would hardly leave a scratch, and the only reason you’d be able to hit us in the first place is because we’re within five feet of you. We oughta kill you right here, right now for thinking you stand a chance. Who the fuck are you to raise a bow to us?” The demon on her left spoke, taking a large, threatening step inward, almost lunging. Kagome acted. It was a matter of time before something would happen, and she’d been counting down the seconds. The last thing she could afford to do right now was allow them to touch her. They do that, and she loses. They meant business, and she understood from the moment they stepped out of the bushes that they weren’t going to just let her walk away.

A rush of energy bubbled to the surface of her core, expanding outward and gravitating toward the head of her arrow. She could see her own power shining around the sharp edges, the shaft, the feathers, glowing lavender where she focused her strength. In one quick move, Kagome redirected her aim and released her arrow, the head plunging into the demon’s chest and disintegrating his body before he even had a chance to stumble backward. Her hand reached behind and grasped another arrow without missing a beat, aligning the nock with the string as she pulled it back and aimed at the demon to her right.

He was stunned, red eyes wide and angered. His lips, thin and cracked, were held open, choked sounds escaping his throat as he processed what had just happened.

“What’s the matter?” Kagome asked, claiming his attention once more. “Never met a conjurer before?”

“You wench! I’m going to fucking kill you! No, better,” He grinned viciously. “I’ll hand deliver you to Naraku and watch him rip your head off!”

“No, you won’t.” She said clearly. The threat didn’t faze her. His words were empty, and even if they weren’t, she wasn’t about to let him come near her. “You aren’t going to touch me. What you are going to do is tell me about this attack on Inuyasha. Your buddy said you outnumbered him. By how much?”

“Fuck off, bitch!”

“Try again.”

“Suck my dick!”

“You won’t have one for long if you keep this up.” Kagome swore, arching a brow and lowering her aim a few inches.

“You won’t do shit to me!”

“Won’t I? You saw what I just did to your friend.”

“I’m much stronger than he was.” He growled, hands furled into fists as he lowered slightly, almost in a crouch to leap at her.

Kagome made a loud warning sound, her knuckles tightening around the notch of her arrow as she pulled it back slightly. “Don’t. Move. You’ve never met someone like me, so let me give you fair warning as to what I can do to you, exactly. I can make it quick, which I’ve already demonstrated. I can make it slow, which you don’t want. Believe me. Or, I can use just enough power to torture you from the inside out. It’ll be extremely painful, and you’ll be begging for death. That’s a relief I won’t give to you until you answer me, though. So, which will it be? I’d choose wisely if I were you.”

“What the fuck do you want!? An exact number!?”

“You got one?”

“No, you fucking cunt!”

“Give me a guess. Are we talking ten? Twenty?”

“Hah! Yeah, right! More like eighty or ninety!”

Kagome’s brows twitched inward, lips curving in dismay. “That’s a bit excessive to take on one man, don’t you think?”

“Inuyasha not only killed our leader, but his brother as well, leaving both of their packs of men with nothing. Instead of going on with our lives and starting over, we decided to band together to get revenge first. Gatenmaru sickeningly worked exclusively with human bandits, and his reasonings were unknown to us, but be that as it may, they still had a healthy number of skilled fighters with the same thirst for vengeance. Not as much as we, the demons under Garamaru had. Garamaru was a powerful moth demon, one with a large and dedicated following. The vast majority of our forces come from my group and we’ll undoubtedly prove to be lethal against that half breed.”

“Wow. Inuyasha seriously pissed off almost a hundred people in one go? Not gonna lie, it’s a little impressive. Where’s this happening?”

“What do you care if you aren’t friends? You gonna try to save him or something? You’re not leaving this spot alive, and even if you manage to, he’ll be dead by the time you get there.”

“You’ve got a lot of confidence for looking the way you do, pal.”

“What did you -“

“I may not know Inuyasha well, but I’ve got a huge feeling the worst thing your guys will manage to do to him is leave a scratch or two. You’re the one who won’t be around to see it out.”

“No wonder Naraku wants your lot dead! You’re a sick, twisted cunt! I’ve heard your kind is supposed to be peaceful and pure, and here you are threatening to kill me.”

“Oh, shut it!” Kagome barked, growing fed up. Her body was warm, tingling, her spiritual power laying just beneath the surface as she kept the flames fanned and strong. She was righteous, and mad, and as the seconds ticked by, staring into the eyes of a monster who vowed not only to kill her but Inuyasha, her fingers began to shake. It wasn’t of trepidation. No. It was because her might continued to build. While she felt completely in control, she’d also never felt so powerful. “The only sick and twisted one is Naraku! You want to validate his bloodlust while you were just saying you were going to kill me, too? Nice double standards, creep. Take a look at the world we’re living in. There’s no such thing as peace and purity anymore. People are constantly living in fear, hiding away, there’s division, judgement, brutality, and an outrageous amount of darkness. In order to survive, you have to be adaptable, right? Killing you won’t take anything from me, I can guarantee it.”

He smiled sinisterly, licking his fangs. “If you’re as adaptable as you say, find the hanyou by your goddamn self then.”

“Fine. I will.” Kagome said, releasing her arrow. The demon stood no chance in dodging, succumbing to her power and crumbling to a pile of ash.

She turned on her heel then, running down the path she’d been on, the path she’d traveled down since she’d left Inuyasha’s side that morning. He went in the opposite direction, she could only guess. So, she hoped that if she just kept running, she’d eventually feel his aura and be able to use that as her guide.

A part of her questioned why it felt so imperative she run to him. Because, it did. He was part demon; he could handle his own. Against eighty or ninety, she wasn’t sure, but that’s where his demonic sword came to play. Right? Who had ever been up against such a large number and lived to tell about it, though? Perhaps that was it. It had to be. It was unnaturally unfair, and even if he didn’t actually need her help, she couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat caused by her concern. She had to see for herself. She had to see him walk away. She needed to make sure Inuyasha lived.

They weren’t kidding when they’d mentioned their goal was to overwhelm Inuyasha. Had they been watching him from afar? Studying him? His techniques? Tessaiga, if used right, could demolish a hundred demons in one swing. The thing was, he had to actually be able to swing the fucking sword.

He’d gotten one good wind scar in before they closed in on him, making it damn near impossible to use it again. With how close they were, Inuyasha was only able to block with his blade, occasionally slicing someone down, basically reducing the Tessaiga to nothing more than a standard sword. He needed room to attack. He needed space to thrust the blade and conjure a pernicious assault. But, it was all he could do just to defend himself at the moment.

There were too fucking many, and Inuyasha was getting more pissed by the second. Tessaiga wasn’t light by any means, but with his adrenaline levels kicking, he used it to block weapons with one hand while slashing bandits with the sharp claws of his other. He’d grab them by their throats and shove them away, usually into others so multiple fell back at a time. Inuyasha realized that he was subconsciously doing anything he could to create space. He was too reliant on Tessaiga’s power, and it was only holding him back. It was going to be his downfall if he didn’t think of something else.

Kagome had to stop. She had no choice. Her lungs were burning, aching for air, her legs begging for rest, and she clung to the bark of a tree as she tried to calm herself through her body’s frantic attempt at supplying itself with oxygen. Sweat was dripping down the sides of her face, over the bridge of her nose, tickling on its path down, and even getting her arm to cooperate to use her sleeve to wipe the moisture on her brow away was difficult. She was trembling, and she didn’t know why.

Maybe she’d gotten too far into her head, scaring herself into thinking Inuyasha wasn’t going to be okay. Maybe her brain registered the sprinting she’d been doing as a sign to secrete epinephrine to keep her going, maybe even releasing a little too much. Kagome felt so hot, and she couldn’t tell if it was from her spiritual power or the fact that she’d been running for who knows how long now. She wanted to say it was the latter - it made perfect sense - but she could feel her abilities just ready to spring free, so it really could have been both at play. Maybe that was why she quaked. Or, the incredible amount of demonic energy she felt from ahead was the cause. She’d been following it for a while, and it had become sickening.

It took moments, moments that consumed too much time on their own, until the rise and fall of her chest slowed to a more manageable rate. Her heart was thumping behind her ribcage, each pound felt and reverberating through her entire torso, but the blood being pumped no longer drowned through her ears. Now, what she heard were shouts and battle cries, curses and death threats, and the clashing sound of metal smacking metal. No wonder the energy was dense with malevolence. Kagome was closer than she’d thought. She was close to Inuyasha and a heavy, unwelcome feeling sank into her abdomen.

Mindful to stay alert just in case, Kagome pushed forward, her boots hitting the dirt as she ran in the direction her senses pulled her in, in the direction of the fight.

Tessaiga was knocked from Inuyasha’s hand, de-transforming the instant it hit the ground. Fuck. This was bad. He dipped the fingers of his right hand into the cut on his left shoulder, making the wound bigger in the act but that was irrelevant. Inuyasha made sure his claws were doused before swiping at the bandits, blades forming from his blood to kill the bastards that leapt at him.

There were too many. It didn’t matter if they were weak on their own, didn’t matter if they were insignificant in size. There were too damn many at once. It was like a swarm of ants taking down a bee. Alone, they were negligible. Together, they were dangerous.

Inuyasha had taken down a good portion, but he was growing tired and they just kept coming at him. He had good hand-to-hand combat skills, but they had weapons to one-up him. He was good at dodging, but there wasn’t much space to do so. He was bleeding, drenched in sweat, breathing erratically and trying not to let it show to avoid letting his enemies know he was weakening. Despite his disposition, it was impossible to miss the burning sensation within his chest. Not one of his lungs pleading for a break, but one of the blood within his veins. His demonic blood.

He was in mortal danger; he knew, his body knew, and his mind knew. The chemicals that made up Inuyasha were revving into high gear, and no matter how many times he swallowed, no matter how many times he willed the call to subside, no matter how many times he stepped away or pushed them back to make it seem like he had the high ground, there was no calming his instincts. His demonic blood was much like adrenaline, but more potent. Adrenaline was fight or flight, do whatever you must to survive. Inuyasha’s demonic half was fight or kill, and it usually opted for the extremes.

He needed to get back to Tessaiga. He needed the hilt in his hands. The sword, the demonic source within it, helped keep his own demonic side at bay. It gave him security to subside his nature, it provided a sheath to conceal the evil he couldn’t control. Willingly, he stepped back, keeping his golden eyes on the men ambushing him while making it seem like they were pushing him. He knew where his sword had fallen, so he stepped in that direction, punching, swiping his claws, and dodging blades all the way. He’d fallen short though, someone blocking his path. Without knowing, he’d been backed against a steep hill, and the back of his heel hit the slope, making him fall.

Kagome peeked around the edge of a tree trunk to spot a man several feet before her in waiting, watching the scene from the thickets. It was difficult to tell if there were any others in the same vicinity; her senses were a jumbled mess with how horridly thick the air was. It would be impossible to sneak around him, and given the circumstances, Kagome didn’t have time to find an alternate route. As quietly as she possibly could, she stole an arrow from her quiver to align the nock with the string of her bow. It was hard enough to keep her heavy breathing silent, forcing her lungs to take slow and steady inhales through her nostrils no matter how much they demanded quick-paced air supply. The last thing she wanted was him hearing and jumping on her, or even alerting others nearby of her attendance.

It was a low move to kill from behind, to deny another the opportunity to defend themselves, but Kagome didn’t have a choice. Even if she intentionally alerted him of her presence, she would only release her arrow the moment he spun to face her. It didn’t matter right now. He was bad, he was one of the people threatening Inuyasha, and therefore, he had to go. Kagome pulled her arrow back incrementally to prevent the creak in her bow, and the moment she had enough tension built, she let go, the spiritual power she’d attached to her weapon obliterating her target the moment it hit.

She stole his place then, running forward to spot the disastrous scene ahead. From her angle, she could see the side of Inuyasha as he was pushed back against the incline of the small hill, stumbling down onto his bottom and forced to block, roll to dodge, and kick troops away from him. He was unarmed. His life was in danger.

It was like something took control of Kagome then. There was no time to think, so she didn’t. There was no time to tell her body how to act, so she let it do it on its own. There was no time to try to understand the sensation that coursed beneath her skin, so she didn’t bother, allowing it to consume her entirely. Over and over, all she could hear from within was the shout, the urge, the absolute demand to save Inuyasha. It was her own voice, and it was loud, clear, strong, and authoritative in its will as it declared “He won’t die!”

Kagome ran from her spot, following the curve in the mound as she raced to get to the area above where Inuyasha was trapped. Along the way, she prepared an arrow against her bow, her weapon at the ready until she came to a break in the trees. So many were attacking the hanyou below her, so many were furious with how he kept managing to fight them off, surviving when they so badly wanted him dead. The atmosphere was riddled with horrible, intense energy, and it just kept getting worse. Her stomach was leadened, a mass clumped in the very center of Kagome’s throat, and she wondered if it was the result of all the catastrophic vitality, or if there was something else. Something worse.

Inuyasha’s yell, his growl, the sound released from his throat - one of pain - brought Kagome’s attention right back where it belonged. Nothing else mattered. There was no discovery that needed to be had; nothing needed an explanation right now. Her anger, determination, empowered the heat within her veins. Once again, she could feel her heart pounding against her chest, seemingly growing heavier by the second, especially as she raised her bow and pulled her arrow back to graze the side of her cheek. For the moment, she held her breath. A rush of power flooded over every inch of her flesh, tingling, prickling, but she stood steady. Her instincts took over, and she didn’t aim at one single combatant. No, she aimed as if her arrow was about to sweep the field and erase every villain from sight. Pulling the string back another inch, making it incredibly taught, she waited just one more moment, giving ample time for her power to saturate. With an exhale, Kagome released, the light she created, the evidence of her power that only she could see, flying outward as the head of her arrow sliced through the current of air, purifying the evil, killing Inuyasha’s enemies, and freeing him from his perilous assault.

Inuyasha was about ready to give up the fight against his demonic side. He couldn’t reach his sword, and his left arm was bleeding heavily, the pain of his wounds only assisting the energetic approach of the half of him he had little-to-no control over. The bandits were infuriatingly relentless, and though his plan was to wipe them out either way, his demon side left no room for survivors. Those who waved their white flag and ran for safety wouldn’t be able to get away, and that was the unforgiving part that Inuyasha fought back. It was brutality at its core, and he fucking despised it, but if it was the only way he was bound to survive, then fuck this shit.

His body was burning, his fingers shaking, and his growls were growing deeper. His kicks were becoming stronger, and a voice in his ear told him to use his claws to rip their tracheas out. Inuyasha threw in the towel, releasing whatever control he had remaining, his instincts sharpening even though everything was going dark. He, his true self, wouldn’t be conscious for what was about to happen.

Just before he slipped, a shift in the atmosphere slowed everything down. Something whizzed by, the sound effect loud in his ears as it shot through the field, a formidable shock clearing the offenders all around. All of a sudden, Inuyasha’s attack had completely halted. There was no one in front of him, at his sides, in the distance, coming forward. He’d watched them all decompose before his eyes, from nearest to furthest as the arrow pierced the ground at an angle quite a ways ahead. No longer did he feel weighted with the horrible shift of his indocile half. It had suppressed, and not even he had felt the clean dissipation of its need for bloodshed.

What the fuck just happened?

He’d never seen this before. The only time he’d ever witnessed a field wiped clean was with incredibly powerful attacks only demons were capable of, and even that was a rare occurrence. This wasn’t the result of a demon, though. No. It was light and relieving. It was strong and just. It was purifying. Inuyasha had only ever heard of this sort of thing; he never thought he’d actually be present in this sort of circumstance. This had to be…

This had to be the work of a conjurer.

Quickly, the hanyou twisted around in his seat to see who’d invoked such incredible magic. A woman stood directly above him at the top of the incline, her black hair long and wavy, bangs curling and sticking to her forehead and temples from the sweat that dripped down her face and from her chin, dotting her chest that rose and fell with her heavy breaths. Her bow was still raised, the hand that’d released the arrow hovering beside her head as if she’d let it go a split second ago. Her eyes, deep with courage and perseverance, were aimed ahead of her, over his head, staring at the arrow she’d stabbed the earth with, and her pink lips sat parted, opened for the air her lungs pleaded for. Inuyasha could see it on her face. He could see her processing what had just happened, where she was, what she’d produced as her brows relaxed, her expression shifting into one of shock. Her arms progressively lowered, eyes darting around the now-empty premises before landing on him just as he spoke.

“Kagome?”

What had she done? How had she done it? The revelation of her capabilities was both astonishing and frightening. Never in her life had she generated so much spiritual power, and she wondered if she’d always been able to do something this amazing or if it only came forth because of her pressing fear that Inuyasha was going to be killed. Seconds later, it all came crashing down, short-lived. Screw wonderment and disbelief. Kagome had just committed a conjurer’s act in front of someone; an incredibly strong demonstration of what she could do, at that. No one was ever supposed to see that sort of thing. Not unless they were well-trusted, or were on the other end of her attack. There was no way around it, she understood this, but that didn’t keep the guilt and panic from sinking deep into her core. She’d simultaneously succeeded and fucked up. Big time.

Kagome stared at the awe-struck half demon, still on the ground, amber eyes wide as they gazed up at her. She needed to leave while he was frozen. She saved his life, and that was all she’d come to do. For all she knew, he could turn on her at any second. He may not be on Naraku’s side, but that didn’t mean conjurer’s didn’t have a bad reputation as it stood. It was why they went through so many titles through the decades; it was the spun tales of the ignorant who didn’t understand. He could kill her. He could turn her in. He could do a dozen things that Kagome couldn’t even begin to fathom right now. This was what she’d learned to fear; an outsider finding out what she was. Suddenly, she felt so terrified of the circumstances at hand that she felt painfully nauseous. Her legs felt wobbly, her fingers were trembling, a flash of warmth rode over her flesh, and it seemed she’d begun perspiring even more than before. Kagome hadn’t thought as far ahead as she wished she had. Her plan stopped at saving Inuyasha when it should have stopped at staying hidden so he’d never turn around to see her.

She swallowed thickly to push down her sickness, stepping back and stiffening her muscles to force them to cooperate properly. Inuyasha didn’t move, and with each step backward she took, she sent out silent gratitude. But, she stopped, a heavy and menacing aura approaching from the far right tree line.

There were more.

Kagome hadn’t pieced together that if one man was standing on the sidelines watching, waiting, there were most definitely more planning on eventually jumping out. There were more men, there was more evil, coming forward. Had they seen? Did they know, too? She had to go. No more slow movements; they needed to get the hell out of there. Separately.

“Th-there’s more.” She spoke brokenly. “Inuyasha, get up. There’s more. You need to go.”

The hanyou spun around to face the exact direction she felt them coming from. His ears twitched, swiveling, no doubt hearing them as he hastily lunged to the side for his sword. Kagome took the opportunity then to take off, spinning around on her heel without saying another word and sprinting as fast as she could.

Inuyasha grabbed Tessaiga and pushed to his feet in the same motion. He had no plans to stick around for another ambush. Fuck that. Not with his condition. But, as he turned around to tell Kagome to run, she was already gone. He didn’t have to question why, it was written all over her face. She wasn’t just running from the incoming attack, Kagome was running from him.

“Wait! Kagome!” He called, thrusting Tessaiga back into its sheath just as the next wave of bandits appeared, charging forward. Inuyasha pushed himself up the incline, catching her scent and racing after it to catch up. Better than anyone, he understood why she took off. He could help, though. Chances were, the bandits had seen, and he needed to get her far away from here. He wasn’t going to let them have her. “Stop!”

Kagome tried to run faster, her throat and lungs burning, her muscles aching, but she fought through it, pleading with her body to help her get away. It felt like she was weakening, slowing, and Kagome took to outwardly begging for her legs to keep going, repeating “please” over and over until tears burned at her eyes. She was so ungodly scared of what could happen, everything seeming so deleterious and life-threatening at that moment.

The heavy thump of footsteps were behind her, closing in, and Kagome barely had an opportunity to push herself passed her limits before a large, hot hand closed around her wrists, pulling her to slow but then jerking her in a different direction just as she inadvertently yelped, almost making her choke when she gasped at the same time. Inuyasha held onto her tightly, his grip almost bruising while he ran directly in front of her, guiding her, and then abruptly, he stopped, pushing Kagome flat against a tree and pressing his body against hers.

His calloused hand covered her mouth, glowing eyes meeting her own. They were inches apart, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against her own, clashing with the rhythm her lungs held. Kagome didn’t know what was going on or what he was doing, but just as she tried to push him away from her, Inuyasha pressed further inward, his hold on her mouth firming.

She felt it then, the incoming swarm of people. Kagome could hear their thudding footsteps hurdling their way, and immediately she stopped fighting the hanyou, her fingers clutching onto the fabric of his black shirt, quaking, keeping him on top of her. Her nausea never subsided, only growing worse with each passing moment, and she swallowed profusely, over and over, willing her stomach to calm but it wouldn’t listen. She held her breath as he pushed impossibly closer, and she shut her eyes tight. Inuyasha’s face was directly next to her own, his head bent slightly to match her height. She could feel his sweat drip onto her clavicle, his hot breath on her ear before he sucked in and held it at the very moment the assailants closed in and raced right by them.

Each beat of their boots on the earth had Kagome’s heart thrusting against her ribcage painfully. She never released her hold on Inuyasha, her searing tears gliding over her cheeks and then pooling at the top of his hand, spilling over his fingers. She counted the seconds that passed, allowing herself to breathe but only very, very steadily so that she could continue to swallow and push down the bile that felt to be rising through her esophagus.

Gradually, it grew quiet. Inuyasha let it sit for a moment, thankful the majority of those that passed seemed to be human. The demons, these kinds at least, didn’t appear to have sharp senses. That, or they didn’t rely on them like the wiser did, bringing them to completely miss the two they ran right past. No one stopped, no one realized they were there, and even afterward, which was what he was waiting for, no one turned around.

He eased off of Kagome, though he kept his hand on her mouth. She was terrified, shaking against him, and the last thing he wanted her to do was yell or scream. As he gave her space, Inuyasha glanced down at her, watching her brown eyes blink open. She returned his stare, and she seemed to be calming, but it shifted so quickly when her eyes widened and the hands she’d braced against his chest released his shirt to frantically push him away. He sensed her panic, saw her panic, and the hanyou released her and jumped back just as Kagome folded forward and vomited.

The girl was choking on her sobs, trembling, and she dropped to her hands and knees as her stomach heaved. She’d felt burning hot when his cheek was to her temple, but he hadn’t thought anything of it. There was no time. There still wasn’t. They were sitting ducks and he needed to get her out of here. Before that, Kagome needed to get this out of her system. Calmly, Inuyasha knelt beside her, moving cautiously when she flinched to pull her hair behind her shoulders and hold it out of her way. He slipped his palm beneath her bag, rubbing her back slowly, soothingly. Her whole body was racked with hiccups and quakes, her flesh scalding even through her shirt and bodice. What the fuck had happened to her?

“Please - please don’t…” Were the only words she managed to cry out. She’d finished puking; it had been minutes since her stomach clenched violently, but she was a defeated, sickened mess.

“Please don’t, what?” Inuyasha asked, mindfully keeping his tone quiet. She sobbed hard, wiping her mouth with her sleeve and sitting back on her legs where he released her hair. He’d caught a peek at her paled face before she shook her head and looked away from him, unable to speak clearly so she didn’t even try. She was scared and weak, and he knew, he just fucking knew that this all had to do with who she was. He had very limited knowledge on conjurers, but even when he pinned her yesterday she didn’t look nearly this afraid. Her secret was still safe then.

“Kagome, I’m not going to hurt you. Look at me.” Inuyasha waited a moment for her to respond, pulling his hand from her back. When she made no motion to comply, he gently grabbed her forearm but took a more serious tone when he repeated himself. “Look at me.”

Slowly, she shifted his way, holding her sleeve in front of her mouth. He couldn’t tell if it was an anxious quirk or if she didn’t want to take chances of him seeing any of her illness she may have missed cleaning. He could comprehend both. At this point though, it wasn’t important. He reached over and pushed the hand away, gesturing to her that she had nothing to worry about. And, she didn’t. She was clean. But, she seemed even paler, and he was sincerely concerned. Her eyes, though bloodshot, were large, sad, and swollen. Her lips were curved in a quivering frown, and her cheeks were clammy with sweat.

“I am not going to hurt you. I swear. You’re safe, Kagome. We need to get going so we can keep it that way, though.” He pushed the straps of his bag off of his shoulders, discarding it to the side. “Come on, get on my back.”

“What?” Kagome mouthed, her voice failing her in her state. She didn’t know how to read Inuyasha right now. Her head was pounding, her body wouldn’t stop shaking, her throat was burning, and she felt dizzy. She still needed to try and understand what was happening, though.

The hanyou reached over to her, softly pushing sweat-soaked strands of hair behind her ear. “I need you to trust me. Okay? I know you’re scared, but I’ve got you. Nothing bad is going to happen. I know someone who can help us both. I’m going to take you to her.”

Unintentionally, Kagome held out her pinky to him. A pinky promise. Of all times, of all people, she was requesting a pinky promise, as if it would actually keep her life in tact. It was habit. He wouldn’t understand, and she shouldn’t expect him to.

To her surprise, Inuyasha tangled her pinky with his, showing minimal hesitation to give her what she wanted. With that same grip, he pulled her closer, silently telling her to climb on his back.

“Did - did you want me to hold your bag?”

“No,” He replied, though her inquiry reminded him to think of one thing he’d have been pissed to leave behind. He pulled the drawstring of his bag open, pulling out the folded, red robe that used to belong to his father. He stood, walking to the backside of Kagome to pull her drawstring open and shove it in her own bag before securing it shut. “I don’t need anything else from it.”

“Are you sure?” She asked as he crouched before her again.

“Promise. Climb on. We gotta go.”

She did as he asked, tensing her muscles again to make them cooperate, though her vertigo made it difficult just to position herself on his back. Even though she didn’t feel completely settled, Inuyasha took over for the rest, firmly clutching the backs of her thighs and standing. With a little jostle, he hiked her up to position her perfectly, the backs of his hands finding each other beneath her bottom so she was secured.

“If you feel sick again at any point, let me know and I’ll stop immediately. Otherwise, hang on tight.”

| previous chapter | <- -> | next chapter |

[tuanyiems]

Cookies and Cream

Yugyeom x Reader (f) fluff x smut words: 4k plot: annoyed by some (really just one) of your gratuitous “self-care” rituals, he decides to teach you a little lesson about indulgence, established relationship!au warnings – dom!gyeom, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, overstimulation, praise kink, squirting a/n – sorry for the delay, coincidentally I also had to work overtime for work this week lol now if only I had Gyeom too…but in other news, got7 is coming back in 3.5 more hours!!!!!!!!! I’m so excited y’all!!! // part of Le Chocolatier drabble series, which you can find the masterlist for in my blog. feel free to read this as a one-shot or part of the series, in any order you want <3

It’s 9PM on a Friday when you decide to turn off your work computer and call it quits. When you blink, the blue shadow of your screen still flickers behind your eyes and for the past two hours your right lid has been twitching every few minutes. When you stand up from your office chair, the world spins and you are briefly nauseated. You swallow down the feeling with a huff, throwing on your jacket and purse.

It’s quiet on your floor, everyone else having left already. It’s been like this the entire week ever since your project manager proposed a new venture and put you in charge of actually making it happen. Yugyeom tells you to just quit, but you figure it’s partially your fault too. You don’t know how to say no. 

So instead, you stop by the convenience store next door and buy yourself a couple of bath bombs. As an afterthought you throw in a box of Ferrero Rocher at checkout.

It’s another thirty minutes when you finally get home. Your whole body aches from being crouched at your desk. As you kick off your flats, Yugyeom greets you with a much too eager smile.

“Babe!” he exclaims, his black hair practically bouncing with every step towards you. “The boys are having game night tonight!”

You let out a yawn as you put your things down. “Sounds great, Gyeom, you go have fun.”

He let out a pout, “You don’t want to come with me?”

You answer with a tired smile and only grow even more weary when you see his infamous puppy dog eyes. “Gyeom,” you plead softly.

“I’ve barely seen you all week. Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I missed you baby!” You pull him into your arms, nestling your face in his chest. You take a deep breath, his distinct warm bergamot tones filling your senses. You truly have missed him. Two years in and coming home to him every night still isn’t enough. Boy, are you in deep, huh?

“Then come with. Someone needs to put Bambam in his place. He bought a PC and suddenly thinks he’s a gamer,” you feel the rumble of his chest as he squeezes you closer.

And you feel your own resolve breaking the longer you stay in his arms, but when you blink, your eyes still sting from the strain of overuse and fatigue.

“But…I bought bath bombs.”

Yugyeom pulls away slightly and you offer up a weak smile. He knows you’ve been working hard this week. He assumed you would enjoy letting go and playing games for the rest of the night, so your rejection blindsides him. He was really looking forward to spending time with you and the guys. From above, he can see the bags under your eyes more clearly and you do look tired.

“Are you sure?” he offers up one final plea and you answer with a firm nod.

“Go and have fun for the both of us,” you assure, pulling away and heading towards your shared bedroom.

“Are you sure?” Yugyeom repeats, following after you like a shadow. “Want me to stay in with you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you pull out a pair of mismatched pajamas from your drawers. “Please, I don’t think I can handle all your energy right now.”

“Hey!”

“You are the love of my life,” You press a kiss to his frown and watch how easily the corner of his lips lift. “I love you, I love you, I love you, but please Gyeom, go out and have fun and I’ll enjoy myself at home and when you come back, I will welcome you into my arms and we can have the whole weekend together, just us. Okay?”

Seeing your exasperation, Yugyeom puckers his lips before breaking out into a boyish grin. “Oh alright! Go have fun with your bubble bath, I guess.”

“I will,” you press one last kiss to his lips before shooing him away.

It’s not long before you finally have the apartment to yourself. Humming, you slowly disrobe as you make your way to the minibar, breaking out a glass of wine. And just as you are about to sashay over to the bathroom, you pause and decide to take the whole bottle with you.

Impeccably timed, the water you left running is filled to the perfect level as you enter. Taking in a deep breath, you smile as you sip at your wine. The bath bomb you bought fizzes in the water, dispersing in the hot liquid in pastel purple and pinks, and fills the small room with the aroma of vanilla and lavender. For a convenience store bath bomb, it does its job perfectly, which is great because you honestly needed this one win for the week.

When you finally sink into the water, it feels like heaven on your aching muscles. For the first time in what feels like this entire week, you feel your shoulders untensing from the heat of the water.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. 

And you almost fall asleep right there before you remember the chocolates sitting at the edge of the tub. Picking up one of the golden orbs, you bite at the curve of your lips and admire the crinkled foil before your eyes shift furtively to the bathroom door like a thief. Despite being alone in the apartment, you can’t help feeling like a child up to no good.

Yugyeom has a, well, disliking towards convenience store chocolates. He believes they dishonor the art of chocolate making with their “sick capitalist greed” (even though he happens to own a chocolate store). As a result, you very rarely ever ate chocolates that were not made by Yugyeom, himself, which was great because who doesn’t love free, expensive chocolates? But sometimes, you missed the taste of other chocolates.

Especially, Ferrero Rocher. Back in high school, these were your “expensive” desserts. Almost every month, they were your go-to treat whenever you were nursing your period pains and hormonal mood swings. When you entered adulthood and your self-care treatments became more expensive, so did your taste in chocolates.

But now, here you are, savoring the chocolatey, nutty flavor of convenience store goodness on your tongue while your lover is away like a wife with a dirty secret. Your life has come full circle.

You giggle, hand already tearing the wrapper off another piece before the taste of the first is even fully gone. Man, did you miss this flavor. If you could have it your way, you’d put Nutella in everything! The hazelnut spread was like crack! You make a mental note to buy yourself a jar on your next grocery run. 

With the delicious taste of hazelnut glazed over your tongue, you sink back into the tub and watch mindlessly as the pastel water swirls around you. 

Suddenly, the door creaks open and a hand pops through with your pink bra hanging by the strap on a finger. Yugyeom pushes open the door, revealing his amused face.

“So eager to kick me out that you left a whole trail of your clothes on the floor?” 

You smile up at him before sinking your lips into the water.

“And here I was thinking you’d be so lonely by yourself,” he pouts, setting your bra on the sink counter and approaching you.

You sit up straighter, lifting your head fully out of the water, as he gets closer. “I left a trail so you could find me.”

“Too late for your lame excuses,” he chuckles, sitting at the edge of the tub. His eyes follow your movements as you hug your legs closer to your chest. Most of your makeup has washed off, though the ghost of your eyeliner still tints the ends of your eyes, and though your lipstick has rubbed off, the inside of your lip is awkwardly wine stained. The ends of your hair are wet by the water and the strands stick to your skin in clumps.

And you are so beautiful. Not because you look particularly different in this moment, but because you look so real. It makes him think back to when the two of you first started dating. You had been so nervous, waking up early to put on makeup before he could see you and wearing lingerie every time he slept over. Back then, you’d even refrained from your regular self-care routines because you had been so worried he would think you were too high maintenance. 

But now, he is blessed to have you here, completely bare to him, literally and figuratively. All curled up in the tub, smiling up at him without an ounce of fear—it makes his insides all gooey. You do that to him.

The guys had given him a hard time about leaving game night early, but now that he’s here, he’s sure he made the right choice. 

“Babe,” your soft whisper breaks him out of his reverie. Your eyes brighten when he meets your gaze. “Wanna join me?”

Yugyeom closes his eyes, tilting his head up, and lets out a loud exhale. “You are perfect.”

You giggle, nose scrunching, until you hear the sound of crunching plastic. You watch, in slow motion, as Yugyeom’s gaze drops to the floor and the both of you freeze.

You blink up, swallowing. The residue of chocolate suddenly tastes sour in your mouth.

“Is that…” The words get caught in Yugyeom’s throat. But his silence feels worse when he’s staring at you with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Gyeom, I-I can explain!” the words come jumbling out of you in a rush, your mouth suddenly dry.

“You…You…In our house, babe?” 

“All the stores were closed by the time I left work. I just-I just wanted a quick snack!”

You feel like drowning in your own guilt when Yugyeom looks at you so sadly.

“You could’ve asked me to bring you home chocolates. Unless,” he pauses and a frown forms on his face, “you didn’t want to?”

You hurry to stand in the tub, water splashing from the sudden movement, but you don’t care. You twine your wet, raisined fingers between his.

“Baby, I love your chocolates! They’re my favorite, you know that,” you squeeze his fingers, ignoring the cold air around your bare skin. 

“Do I?” he sulks, looking back at the half-eaten tray of Ferrero Rocher.

You sway to the side, angling your body so your eyes meet his again. “I went into the convenience store to buy bath bombs and grabbed these chocolates at checkout as an afterthought. If I knew I was going to crave chocolates when I saw it, I really would have called you. But it was already late at night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Yugyeom sighs. “You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re allowed to eat and love whatever you want…but just so you know, you’re never bothering me. I will make you chocolates even if it’s the middle of the night and you’re on the other side of the world.”

“Gyeom,” you pout, endeared by his words even as he’s saying it with a frown on his face. You press your palm to his cheek, guiding his lips to yours. “I love your chocolates, and I love you.”

Finally, Yugyeom smiles and you meet his with your own. It’s not long before he’s edging his tongue through the seam of your lips, tangling in your mouth. It’s been too long since you’ve been able to taste him on your lips like this. The quick morning kiss goodbye could only keep you going for so long.

You’ve missed this so much. You’ve missed him. How long has it been since the two of you had sex? A week? No, ten days? For the both of you, that was like an eternity.

You can feel your hunger stirring against the pliant muscle of Yugyeom’s tongue. You forget to breathe as he sucks at the bottom of your lip until it is red and swollen. It’s not until your lungs feel like they are burning that the both of you break away with heaving breaths.

Yugyeom makes a face of disgust despite the shine of your saliva on his lips. “You taste like that stupid generic crap.”

He kicks at the tray of chocolates on the floor and you giggle.

“I don’t know, Gyeom, it seemed like you were enjoying the taste,” you tease, tongue poking slyly out the corner of your lips.

It’s then that he realizes your bare state and a smirk replaces his frown.

“You wanna have a self-care night, right? Let me teach you something about self-care.” Without another word, Yugyeom taps twice at your thigh and like a trained puppy, you jump for him. Clinging to his neck, you wrap your wet legs around his waist and let him carry you into your bedroom.

You let out a squeak of surprise when he tosses you roughly onto the mattress.

“If you want to indulge, I’ll give you something to indulge in,” Yugyeom grabs at the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head before flinging it across the room. You watch with hungry eyes as his hands move down to his jeans, veins protruding up his arms as he undoes his button. You can’t help the disappointment that fills you when he stops there.

His brows arch at your expression. “Only good girls get rewarded, baby.”

“I’ll be good for you,” you plead, crawling to the edge of the bed to meet him. He cups your face in his large hands sweetly.

“You promise?” You nod eagerly, making him scoff at your desperation. “Good girls don’t break their promises, so keep that in mind.”

“I promise,” you breathe out as Yugyeom trails his fingers down your cheek before grabbing you sharply by the chin.

“I don’t know, kitten, it seemed like earlier you didn’t even want me in the house. Feels like you didn’t miss me at all.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his gaze, brows arching with concern. He points his nose in the air haughtily, but if experience has taught you anything, there was definitely a hint of hurt in his words.

You touch your fingers to his wrist softly. “I missed you so much,” you utter softly. And contrary to the gentleness of your voice, your gaze is strong and sure. It’s only when Yugyeom’s lips twitch into the slightest of smiles that you relax into his touch again.

He pinches your chin between his thumb, forcing your head to tilt back further. His eyes returning to their dark, demanding gaze. “What exactly did you miss so much, kitten?”

“Everything—your touch, your taste, the way you make me feel wanted and loved and safe and warm,” your eyes glaze over, conflicted between giving into your lust or your love, and feeling it all jumbling inside your gut. Both your chest and your core aches for him and it’s so apparent in the way your body seems to melt into the grip of his hand. “I miss feeling you inside me. No one else can make me feel that good.”

“Oh, I’ll make you feel good tonight, kitten,” he smirks, releasing your chin. “Spread out for me baby.”

As soon as he utters the command, you are rushing to the pillows. With your head sinking into the silk pillowcase, you open your legs wide for Yugyeom to admire. And he admires, taking his sweet time to follow you onto the bed, eyes glued to the heavenly sight of your cunt just absolutely glistening with lust for him.

His mouth waters just looking at you spread out for him. “Pretty pussy, so wet for me already.”

He trails his hands slowly up your inner thighs and you are practically vibrating, careening for more of his touch. Yugyeom smirks as he stares at your pussy. Even in his peripheral vision, he can already tell you’re on edge. Brushing two fingers up your wet pussy lips, he spreads your folds apart with the V of his fingers.

Your shaky inhale is audible, much to Yugyeom’s satisfaction.

“So impatient, kitten,” he chuckles darkly, enjoying the way your cunt clenches around nothing. He lifts his fingers off of you and raises it to his mouth. He watches you closely before releasing a low moan at your taste on his tongue. When you bite your bottom lip and watch him quietly, Yugyeom releases his fingers with a pop and lifts his brow. “You’re really trying to keep your promise, aren’t you?”

You nod fervently, making him laugh.

“Then as I promised, good girls get rewarded,” he smiles, a shine in his eyes that promises mischief.

With that, Yugyeom presses his two fingers back between your legs and you release a loud sigh at the feeling of his fingers stretching your walls. The ache is delicious and you find yourself whining a little too loudly at just his two fingers alone. You’ve been so wound up this entire week, the sudden stretch of his two fingers is almost overwhelming. Already, your walls are quivering around his digits.

You feel your cheeks heat, eyes diverting from Yugyeom’s gaze to the ceiling. When you hear his dark chuckles, you know he’s noticed too. You’re already so close, it’s embarrassing. When Yugyeom curls his fingers into your soft, velvety flesh, a moan releases from your throat as you feel a fluttering straight in your core.

It feels too good too fast and soon you are whining, palms flying to cover your face as the knot in your core tightens.

“Gyeom, wait, I-”

“Aw, is kitten going to cum already?” Yugyeom coos sadistically, fingers curling faster against your walls. “What’s the rush baby? I haven’t even tasted you properly.”

“Please,” you whine, tensing at your abdomen in a sorry attempt to fight off your orgasm. 

“Missed me that much, baby?” he laughs, feeling your walls squeeze against his digits.

“Yes!” you admit, feeling the telltale signs of your cunt contracting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits you, making your body quiver with pleasure. Heat spreads across your limbs as you ride out your high. 

Yugyeom’s fingers continue to stroke against your pulsing walls as he watches you cum on his fingers. His smirk grows when you open your eyes again, looking at him with surprise. Your hands come to his wrist.

“B-babe,” you stutter, body shaking from his continued ministrations. “It’s too much.”

“Shh,” he strokes his fingers softly against the swell of your walls while his other hand gently lifts your hand from his wrist. “You can do this, kitten. Be a good girl for me.”

You swallow, letting his fingers intertwine with yours as a thrill runs down your spine. Finally, you give a small nod, and he smiles at you with crescent eyes.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers encouragingly. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, baby. Show me how you cum, okay?”

You nod, squeezing his hand as he presses a third finger into your sopping hole. As soon as you’re stretched by his third finger, you can already feel your core tightening. Your heart races in your chest as Yugyeom curls his fingers into you faster, chasing the delicious high that is just tipping you at the very edge.

You let out a whimper, eyes squeezing as your walls tighten around him for the second time. His fingers dig into the perfect spot inside of you over and over until you are exploding with pleasure. All thoughts leave you as your mind fills with hot white pleasure.

As you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm, the fog slowly lifts from your mind and you are relieved to find Yugyeom’s fingers have stopped moving inside you.

“You did so great, baby,” he praises you and you feel yourself glowing from his words.

And then you feel his fingers move again.

“Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pulling his fingers out of you. He smiles, coming up to press a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re amazing, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “I love seeing you cum around my fingers.”

You pout, running your fingers through his hair. “Only for you.”

You feel him smile against you before he moves to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You can do one more for me, kitten,” he murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver, and he can already feel you arching into him. “I missed your taste, baby.”

At those words, you groan. God, you missed his tongue on you.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” he chuckles, brushing his wet fingers between your folds. You whine, nodding. “Such a good girl. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“I know,” you exhale, already shivering from his touch. You watch him with hooded eyes as he smiles from your admittance.

Slowly, he makes his way back down your body, tickling your skin with butterfly kisses down your neck and sucking red bruises down the valley of your chest. Planting a sweet kiss to your mound, Yugyeom pulls away to blow air at your glistening folds, admiring the way you shiver at the sensation.

Finally, with eyes on you, he dips down and licks a stripe up your pussy. He smirks with satisfaction as your eyes flutter close. He taps your thigh, bringing your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

You whimper, nodding, and you rise on your elbows, gaze fixed on him. Pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, Yugyeom gives you one last smile before pressing his lips around your clit. You suck in a breath as he laps at the bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue in intoxicating circles. His mouth feels so warm and soft around you, you can’t help the sigh of pleasure that escapes you.

“God,” you moan, feeling the tightening of your core once again.

Yugyeom answers you with the press of his fingers at your entrance again. You let out a loud moan, feeling your walls quiver at the familiar intrusion. Despite yourself, you find your body clenching around his digits. 

The room fills with your heavy panting and the loud squelch of his fingers thrusting into your sopping entrance. But you can barely hear anything, your brain buzzing from oversensitivity. It almost hurts, how good he makes you feel. When he groans around your clit, it sends vibrations straight to your tightening core.

“Gyeom!” you whine, eyes prickling with tears as he sucks harder.

Your legs shake out of control when he curls his fingers against your g-spot, sending you hurtling into another orgasm. A guttural wail of his name leaves your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut. Tears run down your cheeks as your head hits the pillow and you shake against the mattress, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure erupting throughout you. Wave after wave of hot pleasure spreads across your skin and Yugyeom watches in awe as your pussy squirts all over him and down his bare chest.

“Fuck, baby!” He laughs when you finally come to. “You just squirted!”

You feel your cheeks heat as you look down at his wet body and the mess on the sheets. “I-I did,” you mutter, suddenly shy.

“Don’t get embarrassed on me now, kitten,” he smiles reassuringly at you. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever done, babe. I just want to eat you out forever now!”

You suck in a breath when he dips down and laps at your cum. You shiver at the sting of oversensitivity, pushing his head away. 

“Too much, Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your thigh before sitting back up. 

The smirk returns to his face as his eyes darken again. “Too much, kitten? But I’m just taking care of you. I know you love your self-care nights so much.”

Your eyes grow wide as you follow his hands. You swallow, seeing the bulge of his jeans. And despite having orgasmed the hardest you ever have just moments ago, you find your pussy clenching against air.

And the ache for your boyfriend returns, tenfold. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses his red, hard cock to your swollen pussy. A little indulgence never hurt anyone right? After all, you had a very rough week.