#how to find the best Black Friday deals

[lambilegs]

best friend's older sister!sevika headcanons

contains: modern!au, mentions of smoking weed and cigarettes, nsfw content (so minors dni), not proofread, mentions of porn, clitplay and fingering, cunnilingus, degradation (word "slut" is used), sevika being a jackass and teasing the reader about their clothes + possible inexperience, reader's body is referred to with the following terms: "pussy," "clit," "cunt" and "tits," kinda imagined a younger version of sevika here, maybe late twenties

pt. 2

best friend's older sister!sevika who is always cooped up in her bedroom, whirring noises entering the halls from the mechanics she's working with. if you walk past her room, your body immediately gets blanketed with goosebumps from the cold air streaming in from her window, which is always cracked open so that she can blow the smoke from her weed and cigarettes out of there.

sometimes you run into her in the hall outside of her bedroom, cigarette hanging out of her lips, loud music blasting from the speakers she has in there. if you guys are both heading to the bathroom, she'll quietly nod, leaning back into the doorframe to let you go first.

there have been a few occasions where through the open door, you can see a girl laid out on her bed or sneaking out of her window. all you can do is ignore it and try to resist having wandering thoughts about exactly how good she must be in bed to have different girls over all the time.

best friend's older sister!sevika who doesn't really talk to any of you guys, just ruffling your best friend's hair or teasing her before heading back to her room, leaving the rest of you without a word from her. whenever she walks into the kitchen while your friend group is eating or making late night instant ramen, you feel your face heat up at the sight of her in a tight tank top, leaving nothing to the imagination, from her sculpted arms and the grooves of her stomach's abs. she's so tall, so effortlessly handsome, and you can't help but sneak in glances at her back when she bends to the fridge to get some gatorade.

best friend's older sister!sevika who talks to you for the first time when your best friend leaves you alone in the living room to go shower, and sevika enters through the front door, short, black hair tied back. just the sight of her neck is enough to get you tensing up, suddenly acutely aware of the patterned pajamas you have on and how childish they must look to her.

when she spots you, she raises her hand, mumbling an apology, but you insist that the two of you of two can sit together, you were only about to put something on. the truth is, you really don't want to miss the opportunity to get to know her more.

she hesitates, but gives in, sitting on the opposite end of the couch with you, twisting off the cap of her beer bottle and taking a swing from it, grey eyes focused on the television as you scroll through the options.

when you linger on gilmore girls, she scoffs. and not subtly. oh, no, she scoffs loudly, and you turn to find her lips twisted up into a smirk.

embarrassment and defensiveness make for an ugly combination, immediately arousing an irritated, "yes?" from you.

"are we seriously going to watch this crap?"

your mouth drops open. it's the first time she's properly spoken to you one-and-one, except for the brief interactions during your run-ins in the hall, and this is what she says? for a second, you're just stunned at her blunt rudeness, and you need a second to formulate a response before saying, "crap?"

"yes, crap." she tosses her hand at the television. "just a bunch of privileged little shits."

"the show literally deals with money issues!"

she snickers, and you try to ignore the bulge of her arms as they fold over her chest. "which sure aren't that stressful when you have two blue-blooded parents always there to save your ass."

"yes, but on conditions, though!"

she squints at you, lips turned down into a disbelieving frown. "friday night dinner? you're either just as spoiled as them or really naive, because trust me, weekly dinners don't mean shit."

your eyes sharpen into a hard glare, bitterness spilling through at her assumption. "you don't know anything about me!" with an indignant toss of your head, you mutter, "not that you've ever even tried to."

she suddenly bellows with a loud laugh, the edges of it rough and irritatingly pleasing to your ear. "awe, is someone sad over that?"

you roll your eyes. yes, but you weren't about to tell her that, of all people. "no, don't flatter yourself."

"you're not that good of a liar, you know that, right?"

with a twitching eye, you turn on the show, drowning out the noise of her chuckle with an immediate escalation of the volume.

best friend's older sister!sevika who doesn't stop teasing you after that night. now, when you're in the kitchen and she saunters in, she flashes you a smile that's nothing short of complete and utter self-satisfaction. when your best friend leaves you alone in her room, sevika knocks and steps inside, leaning on the wall and asking you how you are, how's work or school, sometimes teasingly tossing in, "you haven't been here in a while -- I didn't make you nervous, did I?"

you always fight back. partially because your attraction to her makes you feel so exposed and flustered that you want to try to hide it through challenging her back rather than being reduced to a blushing, spluttering mess. you know arguing back might be counterproductive, though, since it seems to only amuse even more. but, that leads you to the second reason you keep doing it. because, as on-the-spot and vulnerable it makes you feel, her prodding comments and mischievous attention makes you giddy. sevika, the allusive older sister of your best friend, is actually bantering with you, maybe even flirting with you. and seeing how easily she bounces off your words, how sharp her wit is, makes you only more excited. unnerving as it is, this little thing you guys have going spikes your excitement everytime you come over.

best friend's older sister!sevika who gets bolder and bolder. when she comes into the bathroom as you're brushing your teeth, looking for a hair tie to get her hair out of her face, you catch her in the mirror's reflection glancing at you, eyes quickly flicking up and down. the double take nearly makes you tighten your thighs together, mind whirling with thoughts, speculating over what she might be thinking.

you get your answer when she suddenly snaps the band of your tank top, which causes you to leap on the spot. when your eyebrows furrow into what you hope is a stare strict enough to hide just how turned on you are, she laughs, the noise low and velvety. "cute," she muses, eyes raking over you shamelessly before she reaches to the hairtie on your wrist, snapping it off and tying her hair back with it.

best friend's older sister!sevika who starts working out very intentionally in front of you. doing pull-ups in the kitchen when your friend group is there, lips curling up as her eyes seek you out. usually, by the time she looks in your direction, you've already been staring at her unabashedly for minutes as her arms flex and roll under her ministrations.

you want to crawl into a hole when your best friend smacks your arm, her face squeezed into a sour cringe. "dude, gross."

of course, sevika totally hears the reprimand, and she wiggles a scolding finger in your direction from her corner in the room.

best friend's older sister!sevika who can't stop laughing at the way you gasp and cover your mouth when you catch sight of the lesbian porn opened up on her laptop, which rests amongst her bunched up purple blanket. it only leaves you wondering about what she was doing moments before, if that happy trail you sometimes spot in her loose, muscle-shaped crop tops leads to a curl of hair between her thighs.

"oh, c'mon, have you never seen porn before?"

despite the fact that you can barely keep a straight face in light of this revelation, you manage to bristle. "of course I have."

"oh, yeah?" she leans on her doorframe, tilting her head down to watch you carefully. "got any recs?"

"if I did, I wouldn't share them with you."

"why not?"

"you would just--" you manage to squeeze out before trailing off into silence. the truth is, the idea of you and her watching the same porn, fucking yourselves to the same video, has your clit aching with desire. but, you don't wanna give in that easily, and just do as she requests. something tells you she's too used to getting her way. "you would just corrupt it!"

she raises an eyebrow. "corrupt the porn? by watching it?"

god, you're an idiot. "yes."

"that's quite a feat to manage."

"... yes."

"this wouldn't at all be because you're lying, right? and you really haven't watched porn?"

you grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes at her. god, she's so fucking irritating, talking to you like you're completely sexually oblivious.

at your silence, she ducks her head lower, and you suck in a sharp breath at the feeling of one of her dark locks tickling your cheek. "maybe you're more inexperienced than you let on. maybe you're looking to get corrupted."

fuck, she has no idea. at this point, the rest of your thoughts are practically zapped into silence from the mental image of sevika laying you on her bed, your back to her chest, with her big hands shoved down your panties and massaging your pussy, using your slick to circle your clit into a swollen little bud. her soft lips planting wet, sloppy kisses on your neck and cheek as she coaxes you to watch the filthy video, laughing darkly when you gush at the two women in it eating each other out. biting your ear, whispering how she wants to do this thing or that thing to you, how she'd fuck you better than anyone in these videos could. her thick fingers plunging into your hole, other hand covering your mouth as she makes you come over and over again in her cramped up bedroom.

jesus, this is going too far. you force your body to stiffen, lest her attentive gaze catches any telltale signs of your arousal. "well, maybe you're delusional."

she's unfazed, eyes darting to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "I'm sure I am."

best friend's older sister!sevika who tells your best friend she'll pick you up when she finds out you need a ride home from your part-time job. she insists this is because she doesn't trust your best friend with her car, so she should be the only one to drive it.

when you climb into the passenger seat, you can't help but feel self-conscious, sweaty and exhausted after the long shift. matters are only worsened by being in such a cramped space with her, the very act of being picked up way too date-like for comfort. you can smell her coconut shampoo from here, mixed in with the cologne she wears. her hands on the wheel captivate you, fingers long and thick, veins begging for your tongue to trace them. her hair, which is still bound by your hairtie, is damp and soft.

she takes you out for food, insisting you "get something in you after a long day" (you're certain she's aware of the innuendo, shit-eating grin present when she speaks). when she takes her car into a drive through, she hands you her phone, muttering that you can turn on whatever music you want.

she proceeds to make fun of every song you play.

ignoring your protests, and using her strong arms to shove you aside when you try to lurch over her, she pays. when you thank her profusely, her nose twitches and she nods quietly. you can't help but smile at her modesty.

instead of driving you guys back to hers and your best friend's home, she parks outside the store. you guys continue to listen to music, sharing the meal and talking. her usual snark is present, yes, but she actually listens to you, earnestly so, as you ramble about your shift. she asks you questions, and listens patiently. her answers, on the other hand, are short and to-the-point, but after some nudges to her shoulder and whining, she relents with a sigh and shares some more details.

as the sky darkens, the conversation becomes a bit more personal, and you see a side to her you've never bore witness to before. eyes soft, gaze downcast, voice low, she shows a side to you that's vulnerable. a side that has the layers of responsibility shed.

best friend's older sister!sevika who you can't help but smirk at when her jaw drops upon seeing you in the lacey, skimpy pajamas you recently bought. it costed enough, that's for sure, but you feel immensely successful. after all, you only bought them after seeing them in the porn video she had been watching weeks ago.

"what-- what is that?" her voice is low, hushed.

you touch the back of your neck, suddenly plagued with acute self-awareness over how you look. "just-- it's just pajamas."

that breaks her out of her trance, face breaking into a bout of laughter. "pajamas? you're kidding me, right? you look like you're about to seduce me."

you swallow hard. well, not exactly. all you had wanted was a reaction out of her. actual sex felt like too far-fetched a daydream to get excited over. you try to brush her off, self-doubt gripping you too tightly to allow yourself to be direct. "please, you wish."

"oh? someone's gotten bold." her eyes wander over your body languidly, as though you already belong to her and it's just a matter of time before you admit it. she leans back in the seat at her desk, mouth curving into a playful grin. "besides, who knows if you even have it in you?"

"have it in me to what?"

she snorts. "seduce me, bonehead."

"well, yeah, wouldn't wanna risk disappointing you after all the girls that have been in here."

you wince as soon as the words leave your mouth. god, how pathetic are you? you already sound like a jealous girlfriend, and you haven't even confessed to her.

luckily, sevika chooses not to tease. instead, her mouth presses into a firm line and she says, "you don't need to worry about that."

you gulp at the earnest words. what the hell is that supposed to mean? does she know just how serious your words are? because it sure does sound like that. the thrill of her maybe knowing, maybe even returning, your feelings has your stomach flipping. "why?"

she fiddles with some diagrams on her desk, flicking a thumb on the corner, before her shoulders heave with a sigh. "for the same reason I haven't had any girl over for months."

you nearly flinch at the words, the sheer vulnerability in them yanking you into an intense fixation on her words. is she implying she hasn't had any girl over for months because of you? because, well, what reason could explain both that and why you needn't be afraid of dissatisfying her?

you can only think of one.

best friend's older sister!sevika who pulls away from her desk, spreading her thick thighs over the seat, and nods you over. "come here."

when your trembling body reaches her, she hesitates before spreading her hand along your thighs. you immediately clutch onto her shoulders, shivering at the feeling of her rough, warm palm scraping along your skin.

the gap between her teeth flashes as she laughs. "liked that?"

your nails dig into her shoulders. you don't wanna give up the game just yet. "no."

"no?" she mumbles, leaning in and grazing her teeth right where the lace trimming of your silk shorts meets your skin. "that's too bad. because if you had confirmed my suspicions, I would've rewarded you." her head leans back, eyes shining under the lamp of her bedroom. "you're lucky I'm nice and will give you one last chance."

fuck. you can't resist, not when you're this tantalizingly close to getting what you want. "fine. I--I liked it, okay?"

she presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. "finally."

twenty minutes later, she's on her back in her bed, arms hooked around your thighs while you practically hump her face. your fingers ache with how hard they're grasping onto her headboard, forehead pressed to it as she helps you move your hips on her face. your pussy is making all kinds of squelching noises as she tongues at it, the slippery muscle making a mess of spit and juices as she licks you up so messily, no direction, no rhythm, just raw instinct. her hands have your top shoved up, large hands groping your tits and tweaking your nipples. and god, she just slurps you up, drinking down the thick, sticky arousal coating your folds, wrapping her lips around them to run the tip of her tongue along their shape.

"yeah, fuck my face," she grunts into your pussy. "such a little slut, wandering into my bedroom dressed like that."

a choked out moan leaves you, and she digs her nails hard into your ass as a warning. it makes you jerk harder on her face, her nose bumping against your clit just right and making you cover your mouth in panic. of course sevika takes notice of this reaction, and just a moment later, she's rubbing the point of her nose into your stiff clit, shaking her head side to side so that you get flicked with it.

you think nothing can get better than this -- a notion immediately disproved when sevika's lips round your clit and start sucking it in, her tongue darting out to stroke roughly at it.

and that's how you come, legs shaking as you sag against her headboard and fully sit on her face, unable to stay upright. not that sevika minds, groans of pleasure lost into wetness of your cunt.

best friend's older sister!sevika who actually got her sister's blessing weeks ago and was now just waiting on you.

[solxamber]

Signed, Sealed, Bonded || Jade Leech

Being an Esper is hard. Finding a Guide is harder. Somehow, the only one who can handle you is Jade Leech, who is both the best and worst thing that has ever happened to you.

or: Guideverse AU!

Series Masterlist

So, picture this: You wake up, make yourself some coffee, look outside the window… and BAM—a glowing hell portal is vomiting out nightmare creatures like it’s Black Friday at the Underworld’s Walmart.

No big deal. Just another Tuesday.

This is life now. The universe is one big, unstable loot box, and sometimes, instead of daily struggles like taxes or existential dread, you get eldritch horrors trying to redecorate your city with human remains.

And that’s why Espers and Guides exist.

Espers are the special little guys (derogatory) with godlike powers and a tendency to explode if left unattended. They punch things, obliterate monsters, and generally keep civilization from crumbling like a stale cookie.

But Espers have one teeny, tiny problem. A small, insignificant, itsy-bitsy little flaw—

Espers have a fun little self-destruct feature where, if they overuse their powers and aren’t calmed down properly afterward, they go berserk and start turning cities into craters.

Whoops.

That’s where Guides come in—people with the power to keep Espers from self-destructing and turning the planet into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. They are the Espers’ emotional support humans. Their job is to keep Espers stable, sane, and not prone to going Godzilla-mode on a bad day.

Cool system, right? Makes sense? Keeps society from crumbling?

Yeah, except there’s a problem.

The problem is you.

You are the single strongest Esper on the planet. SSS-Class. Top of the charts. The kind of power that makes scientists scream and military generals start sweating through their uniforms. If Espers were trading cards, you’d be the one people would sell their kidneys for.

There’s just one little issue.

You… cannot be guided.

Like, at all.

Every time a top-ranking Guide tries to do their job, your body reacts like you just swallowed a fork.

S-Class Guide tries to guide you? You feel like you’ve swallowed a beehive.

A-Class Guide reaches out? Your skin crawls like you’re being haunted by the ghosts of bad life choices.

Government’s best, most elite SSS Guide gives it a shot? You feel like throwing up and committing a crime, but you can’t decide which one first.

Basically, your Esper powers took one look at every high-ranking Guide and said, “I’d rather die.”

The entire world is losing its shit over this.

The government is stressed. Scientists are conducting emergency research at 3 AM. High-ranking Guides are offended because how dare you reject their very expensive, very prestigious guidance?

Nobody knows why.

Is it a genetic anomaly? A cosmic joke? Are the gods simply looking down at you and laughing? Science is baffled. The government is stressed. At this point, your mere existence is a “can we patch this in the next update?” level of disaster.

You’re a walking nuclear reactor with no off-switch. And people are starting to panic.

And meanwhile, you’re just standing there, the world’s most unstable walking nuke, trying not to sneeze too hard in case you accidentally vaporize a small country.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

It’s absolutely not fine.

Because if they don’t find a Guide who can actually handle you soon…

You’re going to go berserk.

And when an SSS-Class Esper goes berserk? Well. You know those fantasy novels where an ancient dragon wakes up and annihilates an entire civilization in one breath? That, but worse.

You had been this close to blacking out.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. You were an SSS-Class Esper, for crying out loud. You could sneeze and flatten a city block. But that Gate had been a nightmare, and without proper guidance, your body was losing its mind. Your veins felt like molten lava, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and your head was pounding with the kind of stress headache that could legally qualify as an assassination attempt.

So, like any responsible, law-abiding Esper who didn’t want to be put down like an unruly dog, you dragged yourself to the Guidance Center.

The moment you stepped inside, they immediately threw their best Guide at you—a fellow SSS-Class, the crème de la crème, the poster child of the entire system.

“Let’s begin,” they said, voice dripping with confidence, as if you weren’t already suffering. They reached out, their hands warm as they pressed against your skin.

And then.

Oh, God.

It hit you like a truck full of nausea and existential horror. Your stomach flipped so violently you actually gagged. Your muscles screamed in protest, every cell in your body rejecting the touch like a bad Tinder match.

You scrambled backward so fast you almost ate floor.

The SSS-Class Guide stood there, horrifically offended.

"Are you serious?" They demanded, arms crossed like a petulant child. "Again?"

You barely heard them over the sound of your own labored breathing because Wow. That had been unpleasant.

So now you were curled up on the floor of the Guidance Center, shaking from both overexertion and the delightful aftereffects of a guide touch that had made you want to throw yourself into oncoming traffic.

The SSS-Class Guide was still watching you, arms crossed, debating whether they should be more concerned about your wellbeing or their ego.

Which is exactly when Jade Leech walked in.

There was a pause.

Then a slow, deliberate click of polished shoes as he stepped toward you, tilting his head.

“…Are they supposed to look like that?” he mused aloud.

“No,” said the SSS-Class Guide, deeply unamused.

Jade hummed thoughtfully before crouching beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant.

And for the first time since your powers awakened, you didn’t want to fling yourself off a building.

Your whole body went limp.

The shaking stopped. The nausea faded.

Your mind, which had been screaming at a constant 200% volume since you turned eighteen and acquired your powers, went quiet.

It was the most blissful thing you had ever felt in your entire life.

The SSS-Class Guide was gaping at you like you had just committed high treason.

"Are you kidding me?" they spluttered. "Him?"

And then, with a huff, they stomped away, absolutely furious that you—the greatest Esper in history, the walking apocalypse—had rejected them but accepted some random nobody.

You, meanwhile, felt clear-headed for the first time in years.

You looked at Jade—at his unreadable expression, at the sharpness of his gaze.

And then you asked, voice hoarse but steady, "What’s your name?"

His lips curled into a polite smile. "Jade Leech."

"And your grade?"

He tilted his head slightly, as if entertained by the question.

“B-Class.”

Silence.

You stared at him.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you started laughing.

Of course this was happening. Of course the universe gave you a Guide you could accidentally kill.

What an absolute joke.

And yet…

You didn’t let go.

Jade Leech was the key to your survival.

Not in the romantic, fated, "I would perish without you, my love," kind of way (you weren't that dramatic, despite what your coworkers said). No, this was purely a matter of self-preservation.

For years, you had been operating like a high-powered, government-issued, barely-functioning time bomb.

Every time you subdued a gate, your body veered dangerously close to going berserk, and the only thing keeping you from breaking reality into tiny, apocalyptic pieces was the occasional half-hearted guidance session that felt about as effective as slapping a band-aid on a leaking nuclear reactor.

It was not ideal.

But now?

Now you had Jade.

Jade, the B-Class Guide who had accidentally waltzed into your life, touched your shoulder, and immediately rewired your entire nervous system.

For the first time since awakening as an Esper, you had felt calm. Like your power wasn’t on the verge of ripping itself apart. Like your own body wasn’t actively rejecting the guidance meant to stabilize you.

And it was incredible.

So, being the responsible and absolutely not impulsive person that you were, you did the only logical thing.

You decided to bribe him with a gift and ask him to temporarily bind himself to you.

Look, it wasn’t permanent.

Permanent bonding was a whole different beast.

If you bonded with Jade permanently, that was it. Game over. No take-backs, no re-dos. No guiding anyone else for the rest of his life.

Espers could still receive guidance from others, sure. But Guides? They could never guide anyone else again.

Which—haha, wow,—that had never caused any problems, ever. Definitely not an entirely predictable storm of jealousy and possessiveness among Guides who suddenly couldn’t tolerate the idea of their Esper ever touching another person.

So, no. You were not going to ask him chain himself to you for eternity. That would be both cruel and incredibly selfish.

But a temporary bond?

A temporary bond would greatly reduce the risk of you accidentally draining him to the point of no return. It would give you the stability to actually push your limits without fear of self-destruction. And most importantly, it would allow both of you to thrive.

It was perfect.

Which was why, two days later, you found yourself standing at the entrance of the Guidance Center once again, clutching a neatly wrapped gift like it was a sacrificial offering.

You marched inside with the confidence of a person who had rehearsed this conversation in their head a thousand times.

And then promptly lost all of that confidence the second Jade turned to face you, smiling like he already knew exactly what you were about to say.

"Back so soon?" he asked, his voice perfectly polite. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You cleared your throat and forced yourself to act like a normal human being.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said, shoving the box into his hands before you could second-guess yourself. “For the other day.”

Jade’s eyes flickered with something sharp and unreadable as he took the box, his fingers brushing lightly against yours.

Then, before your already struggling brain could catch up to the recklessness of what you were about to do, you pushed forward.

“I also had a proposal for you.”

Jade tilted his head, looking far too entertained.

“I see,” he said. “Do tell.”

You inhaled deeply.

"Would you be interested in forming a temporary bond with me?"

There. You said it.

Now, all you had to do was wait for him to either:

A) Refuse outright because it was too much effort.

B) Agree immediately because having the strongest Esper in existence on a leash would give him unfathomable influence.

What you did not expect was for him to smile.

Not a normal smile. Not a polite, professional, "oh wow, what a fascinating suggestion," kind of smile.

No.

This was something else.

A slow, deliberate, sharp-edged thing.

Jade stepped closer, gaze glinting with quiet amusement.

"And what," he murmured, voice too smooth, too knowing, "would you be willing to offer me in return?"

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh, you might be in deep shit.

It had been weeks.

Weeks of asking Jade to temporarily bind himself to you. Weeks of bargaining, negotiating, and trying to convince him that this wasn’t some tragic, toxic love story where the frail Guide got used up like an expired battery. Weeks of him smiling at you like you were a particularly amusing lab rat scrambling against the walls of a maze.

And yet.

Despite all of that—he still guided you.

He still stepped in when your brain felt like it was melting from the inside out, still pressed a steady hand against your skin like it was the easiest thing in the world, still whispered, “Don’t fight it. Just relax.”

Which was a very funny thing to say to someone who could literally kill you by accident.

And that was the problem.

Because he wasn’t bound to you.

Which meant that if you drained him too much—if you accidentally pushed him past his limits—there would be no failsafe.

And if that happened—if you were even a fraction too reckless—

He would die.

And you would go to jail.

And, even worse, you would probably cry.

So, obviously, the rational thing to do was to pull away whenever you felt like you were taking too much.

Which brings you to now.

Jade had been guiding you for forty-five minutes.

FORTY-FIVE. MINUTES.

An ungodly amount of time. A suicidal amount of time.

You could already see the signs of fatigue in him. His touch had grown warmer, heavier, his breaths had slowed into something almost too steady.

He was getting tired.

Which meant it was time to get the hell out of here before you became a murderer.

You twisted, trying to sit up, and—like the absolute menace he was—Jade simply… swung his legs over yours, caging you beneath him like some deranged, smug, lanky cryptid that refused to let you escape.

You froze.

He smiled.

That sharp, infuriating, absolutely unhinged smile.

"Now, now," he murmured, voice sickeningly patient, "where do you think you're going?"

You stared at him in horror.

"You've been guiding me for almost an hour," you hissed, your muscles tense with the effort of not launching him across the room. "I refuse to let you die because you’re too stubborn to let me leave."

Jade tilted his head, considering.

"Hm."

You blinked.

"Hm"???

You had just laid out the possibility of a tragic demise and all he had to say was ‘hm’???

"What the hell does that mean?" you demanded.

Jade leaned in slightly, pressing his fingers against your neck, his touch featherlight.

"I wonder," he mused, eyes glinting with something that looked too much like amusement, "do you think perhaps you are underestimating me?"

"Underestimating you?" You nearly choked on your own disbelief. "Jade, you are a B-Class Guide. I could literally snap you in half like a goddamn glow stick."

"And yet," he said smoothly, "I am still here."

Your eye twitched.

"That is not the flex you think it is—"

"Shhh," he murmured, pressing his fingers against your temple. "Relax. Just a little longer."

You wanted to argue. You really, really did.

But the second his touch deepened the guiding, your entire body sagged under the weight of exhaustion.

You hated how much you trusted it.

You hated that, in the end, you let him win.

Because as much as you wanted to fight him, as much as you wanted to break free and flee the room—

You needed this.

And he knew it.

Which was why he was smiling so much.

The absolute menace.

Today, you did something very dangerous.

No, not fighting another Gate. Not risking your life for the safety of others. Not even getting guided by a man who was one unfortunate sneeze away from becoming a tragic obituary.

No, you did something far worse.

You asked Jade Leech what he wanted in return for keeping you alive.

It was a reasonable question! A necessary question! Because at this point, the man was essentially your life support, and it felt a little irresponsible to just assume he’d be happy with some gift baskets and heartfelt thank-you notes. If you were going to keep depending on him, you needed to know what he wanted.

So you asked.

And the menace smiled.

Which immediately sent your self-preservation instincts screaming.

That was never a good sign. Jade’s smiles were like sharks in shallow water—unsettling, unnatural, and a clear warning that something was about to go very, very wrong.

You braced yourself.

And then he said:

"A nature trail."

You stared at him.

And blinked.

And then stared at him some more.

Because surely you had misheard him.

“A nature trail,” you repeated slowly, because there was no possible way that was all he wanted. You had prepared for blackmail. You had budgeted for bribes. Hell, you had been willing to break the bank if it meant keeping him around (not to brag, but the government paid you stupidly well for constantly risking your life). And yet, out of all the possible insane, ominous, power-hungry demands he could’ve made—

He was asking for a casual stroll through the wilderness?

Jade nodded, the picture of serenity. “Yes.”

"That’s it?" You squinted at him, like maybe if you looked hard enough, you’d find some hidden, sinister agenda buried in his expression. "That's all you want? Not money? Not status? Not, I don’t know, government secrets?"

Jade’s lips twitched, his amusement almost palpable. “For now.”

For now.

For now???

You triple checked that he was being serious, eyed him with the kind of deep, unblinking suspicion normally reserved for politicians and people who ate their cereal without milk, but all he did was nod serenely.

And so, finally, reluctantly, completely aware that you were probably walking into some elaborate trap—

You sighed and muttered, "Sure. What the hell."

It was almost alarming how much fun you were having.

For once, you weren’t dealing with the constant, soul-crushing sensation of your own mind and body trying to rip each other apart like two rabid raccoons fighting over a single McDonald’s fry.

For once, you could just exist without the underlying fear of accidentally exploding something—or someone—if you weren’t careful.

And as it turned out, existing was kind of nice.

You took the time to smell the flowers (literally, because Jade had shoved one under your nose and said, “Tell me, do you also detect the faintest hint of decay?” which was an incredibly alarming sentence but a nice flower).

You watched as little woodland creatures scampered through the underbrush, entirely unbothered by the fact that an SSS-Class Esper and a B-Class Guide were just casually strolling through their home like a scenic couple in a nature documentary. And honestly?

It was peaceful. Disturbingly peaceful.

But the real sight—the real discovery—was Jade himself.

You had never seen him like this before. Completely in his element. He had dumped the entirety of your picnic basket into your arms without hesitation and was now roaming freely, examining plants with the intense curiosity of a man who had just found Atlantis.

Every few minutes, he’d pause and rattle off some absurdly specific nature fact at you, like, “This particular plant releases a toxin that causes temporary blindness if ingested. Isn’t that fascinating?” or “Did you know that otters sometimes use tools to crack open shellfish? Much like humans, they have a preference for certain objects. Some even carry the same rock with them for years.”

You had absolutely no idea why you found this so entertaining.

Maybe it was the way he spoke, all smooth enthusiasm and quiet amusement. Maybe it was the way he moved, effortless, unhurried, utterly unbothered by anything except whatever flora had captured his attention next. Or maybe—God help you—it was just him.

Not that you’d ever admit that. You’d rather eat your own boots.

Still, you couldn’t help but watch as he suddenly stilled. His gaze snapped toward something in the distance, eyes gleaming with open delight, and you knew—instinctively, immediately—that something was about to go down.

And sure enough—

"Ah."

That single, quiet syllable was so ominous you had to physically fight the urge to take a step back.

Then, Jade turned toward you, expression eerily composed despite the unmistakable excitement in his gaze, and said, “Do you see that mushroom?”

You followed his gaze toward the completely ordinary-looking tree. And then you squinted.

There, just barely within sight, was a mushroom.

A mushroom that looked like every other goddamn mushroom you had passed on this trip.

And yet.

Based on the way Jade’s entire soul had just left his body in pure, unfiltered joy, you could only assume it was some rare, once-in-a-lifetime god of the fungi.

You watched as he immediately took his phone out, snapping so many pictures you were half convinced he was going to submit them to a mushroom appreciation forum.

Then he paused.

And the exhilaration on his face dimmed—just slightly.

Because, unfortunately for him, the mushroom in question was just barely out of reach.

And you—a fool, an absolute clown, an irredeemable dumbass—

Put your bags down.

Walked up to him.

And lifted him up.

For a single, terrifying moment, there was silence.

Jade froze. His hands hovered in midair, like even he couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

Then, slowly, he reached forward.

Plucked the mushroom from its resting place.

And you—practically sweating bullets at the realization of what you had just done without even thinking about it—lowered him back onto solid ground.

The first thing he did was examine the sample like it was the most precious object in the entire world. The second thing he did was glance up at you—not with his usual smug amusement, not with teasing mirth, but something else entirely.

A slow, quiet smile.

Warm. Gentle. Uncharacteristically soft.

And that was the exact moment you thought, “Fuck my life, I’m doomed.”

Without another word, you picked your bags back up and followed him to the next area.

The Gate had been particularly easy to suppress today—by which you meant no spontaneous explosions, no sudden existential dread, and, most importantly, no feeling like your brain had been wrung out like a wet dishcloth. All in all, a successful day.

So when you spotted Jade afterward, you figured you wouldn’t need much from him. A little guidance, maybe. Some grounding. Nothing too serious.

What you did not expect, however, was to immediately slump against him like a Victorian maiden succumbing to the vapors.

At first, Jade visibly tensed. His muscles coiled, and he took a sharp breath—like he had genuinely thought you had just dropped dead in his arms.

But then he glanced down.

And instead of finding you on the verge of unconsciousness due to Esper-induced burnout, he found you…completely at peace.

Relaxed.

Asleep.

And oh.

Oh, this was interesting.

Jade stilled, the way a hunter does when something rare and unexpected steps into their sights. His lips quirked, amusement flickering across his face as he tilted his head, watching you with the same fascination he reserved for poisonous plants and particularly lively prey.

You had just…collapsed. Right into his arms.

Voluntarily.

Slowly—very slowly, like he was testing the weight of a particularly fragile glass sculpture—he adjusted his stance, shifting just enough so you could lean more comfortably against him.

And when you made a soft, barely audible sigh of contentment—an actual sigh of contentment—he almost laughed.

Jade glanced around, taking in the others in the vicinity. There were still a few agents packing up equipment, cataloging monster remains, finishing the usual post-Gate cleanup. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to your current predicament.

He debated waking you.

For about half a second.

Then, instead of nudging you upright, instead of rousing you from your accidental nap, he merely settled in more comfortably, adjusted his grip, and decided:

"A little while more wouldn’t hurt."

The first time you met Floyd Leech was…an experience.

Not in the way people say, “Oh, yeah, skydiving was an experience!” or “That seafood buffet really did a number on my stomach, what an experience!” No. This was more of a “I just survived a category five hurricane with nothing but a pool noodle and sheer willpower” kind of experience.

You knew Jade's twin was an Esper, and you'd heard the rumors about Floyd’s personality. Some people said he was unpredictable, others called him a walking natural disaster with an attention span that could either last three seconds or three months. B Rank Esper Floyd Leech, SSS Rank Menace.

And then, by sheer misfortune (or fate, depending on whose side you were on), you both ended up suppressing the same Gate.

Hearing him laugh as he shredded a monster like it was nothing but a chew toy was unsettling even for you. You had seen horrors beyond human comprehension, had fought creatures made of shadows and teeth, had experienced the kind of pain that would make a lesser being crumble—and yet.

Yet.

The way Floyd’s eyes locked onto you in the middle of the battlefield, the way his grin stretched wider, wider, as if he had just found a new favorite thing to play with—your instincts screamed at you. Your fight-or-flight response hit so hard you almost accidentally activated your Esper abilities on pure reflex.

(And the worst part? You were technically stronger than him. That did not make you feel any safer.)

Then, as if to truly cement his status as an absolute enigma, he took one look at you, tilted his head, and said:

"Ooooh~! A shrimpy!"

A shrimpy.

He just…he called you shrimpy.

And the worst part? It was kind of funny. Actually, it was lowkey adorable.

So you just. Didn’t stop him.

Which he took as an invitation, apparently, because the next thing you knew, he was slapping an arm around your shoulders like you were old friends. And with zero hesitation, he dragged you along as you both exited the Gate, whistling a happy little tune as if he hadn’t just been reveling in combat two minutes ago.

You barely had time to process what had just happened before you saw Jade.

Jade’s gaze looked…sharper.

It wasn’t obvious—he was still smiling, still polite, still the ever-composed Guide who had saved your ass on multiple occasions—but there was a distinct flicker of something behind his eyes as he looked at Floyd practically draping himself over you.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t frown. Didn’t tell Floyd off.

He simply stepped forward, placed a hand on your shoulder, and gently pulled you away.

And just like that, the weight of Floyd’s arm disappeared, replaced by the steadier, more deliberate touch of his twin.

And Floyd?

Floyd just looked between the two of you.

Then, he grinned.

Then, he laughed.

And then, with all the enthusiasm of a man about to cause absolute chaos, he threw his head back and cackled.

"Ooooh, Azul is gonna LOVE this~!"

And before you could even begin to ask what the hell that meant, he waved and walked off toward a Guide—one who was probably prepared to deal with his absolute insanity.

You barely had time to recover before Jade gestured for you to sit.

Guidance was nothing new at this point. Usually, he just held your hand, grounded you with a touch, let his presence stabilize your energy until you were back to normal.

But today.

Today, he touched your foreheads together.

Your breath caught.

His hand was light against your jaw, but firm enough to keep you still. His forehead pressed against yours, close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting against your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut on pure reflex, your fists clenching as if that would somehow stop the sudden, ridiculous way your pulse spiked.

This was fine.

This was fine.

Your mind was clear. Your energy was balanced. You were not thinking about his breath on your lips.

You absolutely, one hundred percent, were not thinking about how his voice, so soft, so deceptively gentle, murmured:

"Breathe."

You were so, so doomed.

The Gate had been massive—one of the worst ones in years.

It had opened with no warning, no telltale energy fluctuations, nothing. By the time the first responders had arrived, the battlefield was already drenched in blood.

A-class Espers, gone.

S-class Espers, gone.

By the time you had been thrown into the fray, the situation had spiraled so far out of control that your arrival felt less like a strategic decision and more like a last-ditch gamble.

Eight hours.

Eight hours of relentless combat.

Wave after wave, monster after monster, every time you cut one down, another two would replace it.

You had fought until your muscles felt like molten lead, until your vision blurred at the edges, until the very air around you burned with overuse of your own power—until the Gate finally stabilized just enough for you to close it.

And then, you stumbled out.

And everything hurt.

Everything was too much.

The sound of voices, the shifting of energy, the distant cries of the wounded—it all crashed into you like a tidal wave, scraping against your raw, frayed nerves. You were this close to losing control, to snapping under the pressure, to letting your Esper abilities swallow you whole.

But Jade wasn’t here.

Jade, your Guide, the one person who knew how to handle you when you reached your breaking point—wasn’t here.

Apparently, no one had informed him of your involvement in the battle. He was still on his way.

Which meant you were falling apart, and there was no one to catch you.

And so, the SSS-ranked Guide on standby stepped in.

The moment their hands touched you, you recoiled. Their presence was too much, too invasive, too overbearing, like someone trying to force a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong.

But you didn’t have a choice.

Their energy pressed against yours, crushing down, shoving your frayed emotions back into place like jamming a lid onto a boiling pot.

You wanted to throw up.

Your entire body screamed wrong, wrong, wrong.

But if you pushed them away, if you lost control, if you went berserk right here in the aftermath of this bloodbath—people would die.

So you clung to them, shaking, white-knuckled, letting them guide you as best as they could.

And you hoped—prayed—that Jade would get here soon.

When Jade first stabilized you, he had thought of you as entertainment.

It was hilarious, really. The strongest Esper to ever exist, the one the government practically worshiped, the one whose very presence made monsters hesitate—completely helpless without him.

Oh, you could fight. You could tear through Gates like they were made of paper, you could reduce monsters to mist and regrets, but the moment it was over? The moment your power turned inward and tried to rip you apart? Only he could fix it.

Jade had never considered himself sentimental, and certainly not possessive. People were people. They came, they went, they lived, they died. He had met more than a few Espers in his life, had guided his fair share, and yet—none of them had ever needed him. Not the way you did.

And the best part? You were terrified of hurting him.

Absolutely adorable.

Your desperation to keep him safe was comedy gold. You were an SSS-rank nightmare, strong enough to turn city blocks into craters, and yet, the moment he touched you, you flinched like you might break him. You barely let him guide you for more than a few minutes, always watching him like he was made of glass, like he might shatter if you took too much.

Jade had never been one for attachment, so he simply dodged all your attempts at even a temporary bond. What was the point? He liked the little game you two had going on. You kept asking, kept trying to tie him down, and he kept laughing and evading, watching you get more and more frustrated. Too much fun to stop now.

Even when he invited you to the nature trail, it had been on a whim. A little curiosity, a little test. He expected you to sulk in the corner, maybe grumble under your breath about how boring it was, or sigh dramatically like you were suffering for his sake.

Instead, you had participated.

You had followed him through the trees, asked questions, even leaned in close to examine the plants he showed you. And when he couldn’t reach a mushroom, you had—without hesitation, without even thinking—simply lifted him up.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That had been the moment something inside him had shifted.

Jade wasn’t sure he liked it.

It was unfamiliar, uncomfortable. Unsettling. A quiet sort of tug, deep in his chest, something that made him pause when he looked at you.

Before, it had been easy to laugh off questions.

"Jade, what’s the deal with you and them?" someone would ask, and he would smirk, deflect, change the subject.

Now?

Now, when people asked, he had to bite back the urge to say, “They’re mine.”

So when he heard about the Gate—eight hours, a battle, an ambush that had already killed dozens before you were called in—

He didn’t hesitate.

He had barely taken the time to grab Floyd, all but shoving him into the driver’s seat. "Drive."

Floyd, ever delighted by drama, had driven like a man possessed. Jade wasn’t entirely sure how they weren’t in a burning wreck by the time they arrived, but at least they got there fast.

And when he stepped onto the battlefield, pushing past medics, ignoring protocol—he saw you.

Sick. Wounded. Barely standing.

In the arms of someone else.

His stomach turned.

Jade had never experienced jealousy before, not in any real way. He was too patient, too controlled, too much of a sadist to truly be envious of anything. But seeing you there, shaking and exhausted, clinging to someone who wasn’t him—

Something ugly coiled in his chest.

For the first time in his life, Jade Leech felt like throwing up.

The moment you saw Jade, it was over for the poor, unfortunate soul currently keeping you upright.

You shoved the deeply offended Guide off you like they were an inconvenience, a minor roadblock between you and salvation. You could apologize later. Right now, your legs were giving out, your head was spinning, and the only thing you knew for certain was that you needed him.

Jade barely had time to react before you reached for him, stumbling forward, barely coherent, barely standing.

And he ran to you.

Jade Leech—calm, composed, unshakable Jade—ran.

You collapsed against him the second he was close enough, clutching him like a man stranded in the desert clutching the first drop of rain. His touch was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality, the only thing that made the burning, suffocating feeling inside you ease just a little.

“Thank you,” you gasped, fingers twisting in the fabric of his uniform, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you for coming.”

Jade stiffened.

You barely registered it. You were too far gone, too exhausted, too feverish. But if you had been paying attention, you would have seen something rare, something almost unheard of—

Jade Leech looking completely and utterly shocked.

Like he hadn’t expected you to say that. Like he hadn’t expected you to look at him like he was something worth holding onto.

And then, because you were nothing if not a disaster, you giggled—actually giggled, delirious and exhausted and overwhelmed by relief.

“Your face…” you murmured, the edges of your vision darkening. “You look so—”

And then you went completely limp in his arms.

Jade was not panicking.

No, truly, he wasn’t. Panic was an unbecoming emotion, a pointless thing that only clouded one’s judgment. It was inefficient. Wasteful. Jade Leech did not panic.

So when you went completely limp in his arms, when your body sagged against him like a puppet with its strings cut, he did not panic.

He simply—assessed the situation.

He shook you gently, then not-so-gently, but you were completely unresponsive, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. His hands slid over your back, fingers pressing against the pulse points in your wrists, your neck—too fast, too unsteady, too weak.

He tried guiding you, pushing that familiar, stabilizing force into you, but it was like pouring water into a cup that had already shattered—it wasn’t enough.

You needed something more.

Jade hesitated.

For the first time in years, he hesitated.

And then, before he could think better of it, before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was not soft, nor was it gentle. This was not a kiss meant to be romantic, nor was it something he had ever done before. But kissing—intimate, overwhelming, all-encompassing kissing—had long been known as one of the most effective ways for a Guide to stabilize an Esper.

And Jade had never needed to put in this much effort before.

Your lips were warm beneath his, feverish and trembling. He could feel it the second it worked—your grip on him tightened, fingers twisting in his coat as you gasped against his mouth. A shudder ran through your body as you pulled him closer, kissed him back.

Jade felt something snap.

It was an ugly thing, this feeling in his chest. Sharp-edged and burning. He didn’t know if he was kissing you to help you, to save you—

Or if he was kissing you because he wanted to.

But then—oh, then—his lips curled against yours as a slow, unbearable sense of triumph unfurled inside him. Because you weren’t just kissing him back.

You were kissing him back in front of everyone.

In front of all the other Guides who had spent years chasing after you, aching for the chance to stabilize you, to prove themselves worthy of being your match.

And yet, it was his arms you had collapsed into. His touch that had soothed you. His lips you were parting for, grasping at like he was the only thing keeping you from slipping into the abyss.

Jade had spent months dodging your attempts at forming a temporary bond, laughing as you fumbled for something more than what he was willing to give.

Now, you were clinging to him.

And wasn’t that just the most delicious thing?

Waking up to someone kissing you was new.

Waking up to Jade kissing you, though? That was absolutely not on your bingo card.

Your mind, sluggish from the near-death experience of the century, took a moment to catch up. There was warmth against your lips—soft, careful, lingering. A hand at the back of your neck, cool fingers threading through your hair. The faint scent of damp earth and saltwater, familiar, grounding.

And then, your body caught up with your brain and realized oh, holy shit, that’s Jade.

A normal person would pull away, maybe demand an explanation. Possibly scream.

You?

You wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.

Jade let out a noise—half a laugh, half a surprised hum—but he didn’t stop you. If anything, he melted into you, his lips curling into a smile against yours. His hand tightened at your nape, fingers splaying against your back, and when you deepened the kiss, he sighed into your mouth like he had been waiting for you to do it.

That was almost enough to send you straight into cardiac arrest.

When you finally pulled away, you were fully awake, body thrumming with energy. Not just from the guiding—though, yeah, that was part of it—but from the undeniable, inescapable fact that Jade Leech had just kissed you. That you had kissed him back.

Jade didn’t move far. If anything, he leaned in closer, forehead brushing against yours, his breath still warm on your lips. His gaze flickered across your face, taking in the flush burning its way up your cheeks, the way you were still holding onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

You wanted to say something, maybe tease him, maybe demand an explanation, but words weren’t exactly functioning right now. You could barely think beyond holy shit that was the best kiss of my life.

Jade, for once, wasn’t smug.

Or, no. He was trying to be. He had the smirk, the casual tone, the playful tilt of his head. But his fingers twitched against your back, his grip just a little too tight. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a fraction softer than usual, a little too careful.

"Would you," he said, "perhaps, be interested in permanently bonding with me?"

You blinked.

Jade Leech. Jade Leech. The same Jade who had dodged every attempt you made at even a temporary bond, who found it hilarious that only he could stabilize you, who treated your guiding sessions like some kind of ongoing game.

That Jade had just asked if you wanted to bond.

Permanently.

Your heart stuttered. His hand was trembling.

He swallowed, like he was waiting for you to say no.

You didn't answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you grabbed him by the collar and kissed him again.

Jade made a startled sound before melting into you completely, his arms locking around you like he had no plans of letting go. His lips curled into another smile against yours—this time, not smug, but genuine.

Like he had won.

You had asked him eighteen times.

Eighteen.

And, frankly, Jade was getting impatient.

The first time, it had been endearing. You had looked at him with wide, wary eyes, like you thought this was some elaborate joke. You had stammered out a, "You—You're sure? Like, actually sure?" and Jade, who was in a good mood, had simply hummed and said yes.

The second time, it had been amusing. You had grabbed him by the wrist, pulled him aside, and, in a whisper like you were plotting treason, said, "Look, I won’t be mad if you back out. You know that, right? Like, this is a huge deal, and if this was just, y’know, heat of the moment, that’s totally okay. No hard feelings."

The third, fourth, fifth, and so on?

Infuriating.

Jade could not, for the life of him, figure out how to convince you that he meant what he said. Yes, he wanted to bond. Yes, permanently. No, he had not lost his mind.

And yet, here you were, pacing across his living room, your arms crossed, rambling for the nineteenth time about how he still had a choice, how you wouldn’t hold it against him if he didn’t want to go through with it, how he wouldn’t be able to guide anyone else ever again if he bonded to you, how that might be too much to give up.

Jade, stretched out on the couch, chin propped against his palm, sighed.

He had enough patience to last centuries.

But this?

This was getting ridiculous.

"—and I'm just saying," you continued, voice a little frantic, "I've seen Guides get really resentful about it. You could go from stabilizing a hundred people to just me. And you know how bad I get, how it hurts, and I'm not saying you can't handle it, but, like, are you sure? Like, really sure? Because—"

Jade leaned forward, grabbed your collar, and kissed you.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and his lips curled when he felt you tense up before relaxing completely. He kissed you slow, deliberate, like he was trying to make you feel the answer you had refused to believe.

And when he finally pulled away, he let his teeth graze your bottom lip just slightly, smirking when he felt you shiver.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked, voice smooth, teasing.

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water.

Jade’s smirk widened.

"You're overthinking it," he said, reaching out, gripping your wrist, tugging you closer. "There’s no one who could entertain me quite like you do, you know? Maybe it’s time for a career change. I’ll be your Guide, and yours alone."

Something inside you lurched.

Something possessive.

Jade, yours.

Only yours.

His gaze flickered to your lips. Amused. Challenging.

"So?" he said, voice mocking light, but his fingers tightened around your wrist, his pulse beating just a little too fast. "Are we doing this or not?"

Your breath hitched.

And then, you grabbed him by his collar, yanked him down, and kissed him again.

This time, you bit his lip.

Jade laughed into your mouth—pleased, triumphant—before pulling you against him and kissing you so deeply you felt it in your bones.

And just like that, the bond clicked into place.

Waking up with Jade curled against you was a rare privilege.

For one, he was a light sleeper. Most of the time, you barely shifted and he’d already be watching you like some creepy forest cryptid. But today, he must’ve been exhausted from the bonding because he was still tucked against you, his breathing slow and utterly unguarded.

It was… nice.

Nice enough that you felt unreasonably smug about it.

You shifted just a little, tightening your hold around him, and he hummed in contentment, pressing closer without fully waking up. Unfair. How was this the same Jade who deliberately guided you half the time by whispering things against your lips just to make you flustered?

You could get used to this.

And then it hit you.

You’d bonded. Permanently.

But you had never actually asked him to be yours.

As in, romantically.

Your eyes snapped open. Oh. Oh, you had fumbled.

You knew Jade had agreed to the bond, obviously, but—was he in love with you? Did he see this as just a Guide-Esper partnership? Did you just lock yourself into a lifelong working relationship like some corporate contract??

He slowly stirred and just as he blinked at you, before you could think better of it, you blurted out, "What are we?"

Jade went still.

Like, completely, horrifyingly motionless.

You felt him exhale sharply, his hand twitching against your side, as if physically restraining himself.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face was somewhere between fondness, disbelief, and the soul-crushing realization that he was in love with a complete idiot.

"...Are you serious?" he asked, his voice painfully even.

You hesitated. "...Yes?"

Jade closed his eyes.

He inhaled.

He exhaled.

He inhaled again.

Then, finally, he muttered, "God give me strength."

You frowned. "Look, I’m just saying, you never actually—"

"Do you think I would bond with you permanently if I wasn't in love with you?" he asked, voice slower, more deliberate, as if carefully handling a very stupid but very precious object.

You blinked.

Paused.

And then you felt heat creep up your neck.

"...Oh," you said, a little dumbly.

Jade sighed.

But before he could say anything else, you reached out and pulled him back into your chest.

You hid your face against his hair.

"...Love you too," you mumbled, voice muffled, but he could hear the smile in it.

Jade, after a long beat of silence, finally let out a breathless laugh.

And as you held him close, warm and undeniably happy, he thought, Yup. They’re my dumbass.

Masterlist

[gold-onthe-inside]

greylist

verb (transitive): to hold (someone) in suspicion, without actually excluding him or her from a particular activity

who? spencer reid (s6, post-JJ, pre-Doyle) x tech analyst!reader summary: when your celebratory drink with penelope is disrupted, you end up at a bar with the person you famously cannot get along with even if you were paid... until you do. based on: request by @brownbunnyb: I’m thinking something along lines of me being Penelope’s best friend and coworker and she sees how much me and Spencer bump heads and she sets me up on a blind date and the guy end up being Spencer (she does it on purpose) and we get a little too tipsy and he invites me over to his place and I stay the night and he confess his feelings bc he assumed I was sleeping word count: 3.4k a/n: r is an intelligence analyst for the counterintelligence division, and roommates with penelope, famous for not having any of the pleasance and charm that penelope does (the grumpy to her sunshine) and for not getting along with men, including spencer. i may have gotten carried away with it.

You don't get many off days in counterintelligence, but when you find a chain of coded messages about a military officer in Alaska trying to sell classified documents to the Russians, and manipulate him right into the hands of an undercover operative, you have to celebrate somehow. There aren't many easy wins in your line of work, not like Penelope who comes to your shared apartment with an arrest on her belt almost every week, and when you hear the front door close, Penelope walking in with her heels in hand, you have no doubt that she's on a high from a solved case.

"Hey, so I figured we'd leave in 15," you said, stepping out from the bathroom in a sleek black dress with a cut out by your hips, your walk stuttering at the sight of Kevin in the doorway behind Penelope, who was wincing. "And you forgot," you said, unsurprised, your hands falling from your ear where you had just fixed a gold hoop.

"I'm so sorry," Penelope cried, rushing towards you. "I swear, I swear I had it written somewhere that we were going out, but this reservation opened up at L'Auberge, and you know we've been on the waitlist for months--"

You held up your hand, stopping her. "Go," you said, with patience that seemed to be bottomless when it came to Penelope.

"I swear, I will make it up to you right now," Penelope said and you frowned instantly as she pulled out her phone.

"You don't have to--"

"Ba-bup, nothing out of you," Penelope interrupted, picking up the phone. "You're going to a bar. I don't wanna hear any excuses, you still owe me for Friday. You will be there by 7." She looked to you. "7?"

You shrugged helplessly, glancing at Kevin who just seemed amused by his girlfriend.

"Where are you going?" Penelope repeated the question, then looked at you.

"Crown and Crow," you said, knowing better than to get in Penelope's way, watching her as she repeated it to the phone, then snapped it shut, looking at you with a giddy smile.

"Okay, have fun, don't be mean, and have a cute cocktail on me," Penelope said, kissing your cheek, leaving a smear of lip gloss. "You deserve the win," she said, then promptly disappeared off to the bathroom to change for her own date.

You looked at Kevin. "Home by midnight, no more than three drinks, capiche?" you said, firmly and he held up his hands in surrender to you.

"I couldn't afford it," he said and you nodded, satisfied. You slipped into your classic black pumps, grabbed your purse, keys, and a black coat before stepping out, the door closing before you remember to ask Penelope who your date for the night was.

You're on your first drink when he arrived, almost spitting it out at the sight of Spencer as he searched the bar for Penelope. If you rush into the bathroom, maybe you don't have to deal with him tonight… but then he spots you, and frowns as he raised a hand before walking over. "No Penelope?"

"Date with Kevin," you replied, not hiding your sourness. Don't be mean, my ass. This is her making it up to me?

"Oh," he said, looking confused. "So… why am I here?"

"Evidently, Pen's playing matchmaker tonight," you said, keeping your voice even and he sighed.

"Should've figured," he said quietly, then gestured to the empty seat beside her. "May I?"

"Since you're here," you replied, sipping your rum and coke.

"I take it I'm not who you expected," he said as he flagged the bartender for a soda.

"Given the history of our interactions, no, you're not." You watched his arm fall to the oak bar, his hazel eyes on you, sparkling darkly in the low amber light.

"Disappointed?" he asked and you took a breath in.

"It's not all you," you said, tipping the glass as you take a sip. "Supposed to be celebrating an op, but Penelope bailed."

"Criswell's case?" he asked and you sighed, his question stinging like the back of your throat.

"Criswell's case," you scoffed. "I do all the work and he's the one they credit? I swear to God, you Special Agents--"

"It's hardly my fault that Criswell's name gets put on the report. He was the arresting officer--"

"Only because I led the guy right to him," you argued, looking at Spencer and then you just sighed. "You don't get it. You're not an intelligence analyst."

"No, I do," he insisted. "I know you think we all come home with wins every week, but it's not me, or the BAU, or even the FBI that gets the credit. It's the local police department who can't pull their heads out of the asses, sorry, long enough to realise that all they need is to empathise to catch their killers."

You looked at him, with a mix of surprise and respect, and a little amusement at his apology after saying 'asses', and he ran out of steam at your look. "T-The point is, I get it," he continued. "You probably don't sleep for days, and if you do, it's not enough. You're probably going to suffer from debilitating eye strain in your 70s, and all for some half-wit tactical analyst to get the credit. You're right to be pissed, but getting mad at me isn't gonna get you anywhere."

You wet your stained lips, downing the rest of your glass, and stare at it for a moment. "I've been kind of unfair to you, haven't I?" you asked, looking at him.

Spencer looked at his clear glass, bubbles of soda rising to the surface. "Kind of feels diminutive," he said and you laugh, a brightness in your eyes that wasn't there a minute ago.

"Be grateful I admitted anything at all," you said and he nodded graciously.

"Of course. Thank you for the bare minimum," he said and you huff.

"Look at that, the robot knows sarcasm," you teased and he made an offended noise before watching you snicker. "So, just the soda or are you gonna drink something stronger?"

"Just the soda," he said and you know better than to ask as you order yourself a mojito. "So, how did you do it?" Spencer asked. "How'd you track him down?"

You shrugged, not particularly in a bragging mood. "It wasn't that hard, really. I already had an alert set up for requests for encryption keys, and there was no reason for this military officer in Alaska to request them. He didn't have the clearance or approval from someone who did to have eyes on it. All I did was figure out what he wanted access to and fudge it and put a code in so I could track the user before giving him the encryption key. Then it was just a matter of posing as a buyer for the intel."

"Child's play," Spencer remarked dryly, his lips curling and you shrugged.

"If you can learn sarcasm, I can learn humility," you said, sipping your mojito and it was his turn to laugh quietly.

"It's a new look on you," he said, meeting your gaze, and you're not sure if it's the rum, but there's a moment of tension, and you're half-convinced he's leaning in to kiss you when your phone beeped and it shatters like you've dropped your glass. You fumbled through your purse for your cell, pulling it out to find a text message from Penelope.

Penny: Kevin's staying the night.

How was this night getting worse by the minute?

You: Can't you go to his place?

No reply. It turned out your bottomless patience wasn't so limitless, and Spencer could tell.

"Problem?" he asked, raising his soda to finish it.

"It appears I'm homeless for the night," you replied, downing your entire mojito in one go.

"Hey, hey, slow down," he insisted, pulling the glass away from you, but it was just mint and ice now. "What do you mean?"

You grasped Spencer's shoulder. "See, Data, when two people go out on a date, which is a kind of human mating ritual, one of them offers their habitat to copulate in, never mind the other females who maybe sharing said habitat," you said, mocking and he swatted your hand away, knowing you well enough to know you were just projecting your irritation on to him.

"You could just say that Garcia was taking Kevin home, you don't have to be so--"

"Mean?" you asked hollowly and Spencer pursed his lips.

"Hostile," he replied and you nodded.

"It's fine, I'll just flirt with someone and let them take me to their place," you said, slipping off your seat.

"Hey, no," Spencer said firmly, his hands loosely grasping your arms. "A) you're drunk--"

"I had two drinks--"

"And B) Penelope would kill me if I let you become one of our cases. You can stay with me."

"What? No," you protested. "I'm mean and unfair to you, why would you--"

"Because no matter how much disdain you hold for me, I'm not actually a bad guy," he said patiently. "Can you honestly tell me you trust anyone else in this bar to not take advantage of you?"

You sucked your cheek in and sighed. "No," you said petulantly, and Spencer stood up, holding your coat up for you to help you into it.

He doesn't drive and you share Esther with Penelope who needed it tonight, so you're on the Metro back to his place, Spencer's hand on your waist keeping you standing until there's a place to sit. You realise, rather dully, that if you weren't wearing your coat, his hand would have found the cut-out of your waist, and you wonder what it feels like. "I'm never drinking rum again," you murmured. Clearly, it was poisoning your mind.

"Sure, you won't," he said dryly, standing in front of you and you have to look up at him to see his eyes.

"You're really tall," you said, distastefully. You don't like having to crane your neck just to look at him… not that you like looking at him. It's easier to be mean, you decide, when you can look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, the doctor said there's no cure for it," he replied, clearly mocking.

"I could always lop your knees off," you said helpfully, smiling up at him and he snorted.

"I think they've been through enough." He watched the frown form on your forehead, and, stupid impulse, he moved his hand to smooth it out. "I was shot in the knee a couple years ago," he explained. "Reconstructive surgery."

"Must make kneeling hard," you said without thinking and he tilted his head at you, his hand returning to your waist.

"Was that a joke?" he asked and you shook your head.

"No, I'm just--" The train jolted and Spencer grabbed your hips before you could fall, your hands on his arms. "Embarrassing," you finished as he righted you, then guided your hands to the pole. He was warm, smelling like Irish espresso. It must be nice, being his girlfriend, smelling that all the time. What is wrong with me?

The rest of the ride is silent, and then he's guiding you out of the carriage and onto the station closest to his apartment. He tapped both your metro cards, which you don't remember giving to him, before walking out of the subway with his hand on the small of your back, and you're out of quips and clever things to say. You didn't think that was possible, but maybe the train jolted it out of you. Or maybe the rum did. But you're silent all the way to his apartment, and a little curious about how he lives.

He lets you in, letting go of your waist, and you don't see how his hand clenches, too busy taking the apartment in. The wall's a lovely green and he has lamps that remind you of old libraries with the green steel shade, and he has bookshelves everywhere, nothing with a contemporary cover on it. They're all old hardbounds that you're compelled to touch reverently, foreign titles that you're able to decipher. "Of course you have War and Peace in the original Russian," you scoffed, tracing the golden Russian letters while he set your purse down on his coffee table.

"You can read it?" he asked, surprised and you look at him with narrowed eyes.

"How do you think I posed as a Russian buyer of international secrets?" you asked and he held his hands up in surrender.

"My bad," he admitted, trying not to look impressed. But it was the truth, you were impressive. It was impressive enough how skilled you were at coding and creating algorithms, able to take over for Penelope without complaint from anyone but Derek who would get shut down every time he tried to call you baby girl. In a lot of ways, you were like Penelope, always ready with a pop-culture reference and a barb, preferring steel over sexual innuendo. In the early days, he had been sensitive to it, avoiding you when he could, but he'd seen your softer side when Penelope had been shot, how you'd been unafraid to yell at Rossi for pushing the boundaries of interrogation with her. He knew you were kind, really, you just weren't very generous with it.

He filled up a glass of water, walking over to you, doing his best to keep his gaze off your waist as he passed it to you, noticing you perusing the Art of War… in the original Chinese. "Don't tell me… Chinese too?"

"Kind of a prerequisite for counterintelligence," you said, swapping the book for the water, and an uncomfortable expression flashed across your face, shifting in your heels. He was an idiot, he should have noticed it. You were standing for so long in the train. You frowned as he knelt silently, hand grasping your ankle and you lifted your heel so he could take it off. One, then the other. "Thanks," you said quietly, unused to his kindness.

"It's not that hard," he said, standing up, putting your heels by your purse.

"What is?" you asked and he looked back at you.

"Kneeling," he said simply and it's stupid but your heart stops for a second, caught off-guard. "I'm gonna get you something more comfortable to wear. Finish that."

Oh, this was not good. You were not going to catch feelings for a man you've told everyone you know, which is mostly Penelope, and by association Kevin, that you hate. Your phone beeps and you pick it up.

Penny: Talked to Emily, you can stay at hers.

Escape. Emily can pick you up, you get along with Emily just fine, Emily's not a tall brunet with hazel eyes and makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. Emily's safe. You could be safe… or you could be with Spencer.

You: Don't bother, I'm already at Spencer's. You owe me so big.

You simply hope it sounds more casual and unbothered than you feel.

"So, I couldn't find anything that fit-" he started and you flinched as he walked back into the room, holding sweats and a t-shirt, almost dropping your glass, and he looked at you with wide eyes. "Sorry, carpeted floors," he said, assuming that was why you were so startled, and walked over, swapping your empty glass with the clothes. "They'll have to do, I'm afraid."

You nodded. "Bathroom?"

"Inside, on your left," he said, frowning as you rushed away.

You have to roll up the legs of the pants so you can actually walk in them, too afraid to ask for shorts for the fear that he might just hand you a pair of boxers, and then you really would crack, just like that.

You stepped out eventually, finding him setting up the couch with blankets and pillows, and he looked at you, his expression unreadable in the low light. "I know, they're baggy and I look awful."

"No," he said quickly, sitting on the couch. "You don't. Look awful, that is. Even if they are baggy."

"Right," you said, if only to move on to something else. "Um… do you have any cotton balls or something? I have all this make-up--"

"Sure, yeah," he said, moving and almost tripping over the coffee table in his rush to service you.

"--wouldn't want to ruin your pillows," you said to deaf ears, following him with a frown as he retrieves a cosmetic bag from his dresser. "Why do you have that?"

"Uh…" He looked at you with a wincing expression. "Halloween," he said, hoping it would suffice, and it did. You've seen him come into work at the end of every October with props and gimmicks. Emily ended up pawning off a Baba Yaga head to you that still hangs in your cubicle. You've named her Meredith.

"Right," you replied and he handed it to you.

"What, no clever retort?" he asked and you shook your head.

"No, I think the cosmetic bag speaks for itself," you said, showing him the pumpkin shaped cartoons on it, and he sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he said dryly and you snickered as you headed to the bathroom.

"Does Morgan know about your clown make-up?" you asked and he lingered in the doorway.

"Please don't," he begged, watching you dab removal cream on the pad and wipe your make-up away. You're teasing and mean, hostile and snappish, but you're not cruel. You've kept secrets for him before, like the magazine cover of him and Lila from 2005 that Emily almost finds if not for you distracting her with a linguistic question, your hand stealthily picking it out of his drawer, and then tossing it to him when she turned her back.

"Depends, do you have clown shoes somewhere in your closet?" you asked, smiling as you ridicule him.

"No, the shoes I rented, the nose I own, the hair I spraypainted," he said and you look at him.

"Seriously?" you asked with a giddy grin. "Please tell me there are pictures."

"What? No!" he retorted, in that high pitch where you know he's lying, "Even if there were, why would I show you?"

"Because you know I can find them anyway," you retorted.

"Not if they're not digital," he snapped back, thinking he's pulled a fast one until he sees your devious grin. "No. Absolutely not."

"You've made a horrible mistake letting me into your home," you said, grinning giddily.

"You're a terrible person," he said, blocking your way bodily. "Sadistic, twisted, horrible--"

"I'm gonna find it," you said, stepping towards him.

"Not if I lock you in here all night," he said, but it was weak, he knew it was. He'd cave the minute he heard your pleading voice, or pretending to vomit. You tilt your head at him.

"Show me the pictures, Spencer," you said and his shoulders sag.

"Alright, come on," he said, resigned, leading you to the bedroom and pulling at a locked drawer in his desk before picking up the album. You plopped onto the bed, curling your feet up underneath you, Spencer sliding into bed beside you with the album on his thighs. "Please don't be mean," he asked, looking at you with a pleading look.

"If I don't have something nice to say, I won't speak," you promised, and he opens it up, knowing it's the best you can offer. You instantly clap a hand over your mouth at the sight of ten year old Spencer dressed like a Russian gymnast. So, he was that extra as a kid too.

"You… dressed like that all night, and you survived?" you asked, looking at him and he shrugged.

"I didn't actually do much trick-or-treating. But my mom would help me make my costume and I'd watch scary movies when she was asleep."

There's a Ghostbuster's costume, a vampire costume, a Frankenstein costume, all creative and handmade, and you watch Spencer age through the photographs, until he's 14 and you're half-asleep on his shoulder.

A fondness warms his chest as he tucked hair behind your ear. He's never seen you unmade like this. You weren't as flamboyant as Penelope (you once said Bowie wasn't as flamboyant as Penelope), usually in greys, browns and blacks, with plain jewellery and simple make-up, and tonight had only gone up in tone by your eyeshadow, grey and silver, with black eyeliner.

But now? You looked vulnerable and pretty, unarmed, and he carefully laid you against the pillow. Maybe he thinks he'll get over it if he says it, or 'manifest' it like Penelope says, and it's not exactly a heavy thing he says, but he whispered it as he stroked your hair back in place.

"I wish you liked me as much as I like you."

[therealmylesmorales]

Loser!Vi Headcannons pt 2

Y’all gave so much love, I feel like I had to reward you guys ☺️

Warnings: uhhh same as last time, I guess. I’m too lazy to check what it was, masc4masc relationship

WC: 700

⭒ Vi is a chronic biter. You learned that pretty early in your relationship. And yet, you never know when it’s coming until it’s too late. She would act like she would be leaning in for a kiss…until she bit the closest part of your body; your cheeks, your arm, your ass

“OW— fuck Vi!”

”That didn’t hurt, you're being dramatic.”

⭒ Another cute but annoying thing Vi does is that she fake boxes you. Her fists will never come in contact with your face or body but she still finds it funny. She’ll even make sound effects while doing so. But the second you lightly punch her stomach to get her to stop, it’s the end of the world.

⭒ She cried like a baby when she got her nose pierced. You were with her and by how hard she clutched your hand, you would’ve thought she got shot. You made fun of her the entire time.

”Not only do you have a big ass back tattoo, you also have one on your face.”

“That’s DIFFERENT!”

⭒ Vi’s major changes every few months. She just loves doing new things and will get obsessed with it and unfortunately be bored with it in not too long after. However, she would probably get a degree in business so she could take over Vander’s bar once he decided to retire.

⭒ Sticking with the college theme for a second; you’re known around campus for being chill and somewhat friendly to others. Vi, on the other hand…people think she’s brash and her temper definitely doesn’t help. But people have noticed that when she’s around you, she’ll siphon off your energy and is a lot more pleasant to be around.

⭒ Vi likes kissing you more than actual sex. She’ll still never turn down the offer, but kissing you feels calming to her. After a day of classes or dealing with whatever, it is her favorite way to unwind.

⭒ Vi loves horror movies, and loves when you watch them with her (even if you hate them/are scared easily). Her favorite franchise is probably Friday the 13th but Ghostface is her favorite slasher. The only problem with her watching horror movies is her inability to easily fall asleep afterwards. Normally, it takes her five minutes to be knocked out.

”Cupcake, are you awake?”

”Vi, PLEASE go to sleep.”

⭒ Surprise to no one, she cuts her hair on her own. Every few weeks you’ll find her in the bathroom with scissors and a shaver in hand, trying her best to get her hair looking good. You help her with the back of her head and she appreciates you for that.

⭒ Vi is literally obsessed with you. Her entire camera roll is filled with pictures of you both or just you; pictures she took on dates or just candid ones. Her wallpaper is even one of you, a rare selfie you took and she cherished it as soon as you sent it. Vi even gave you a special ringtone and whenever you text or call her, she can’t help but kick her feet.

⭒ Like everyone, Vi has red flags. But her most noticeable one is that she’s hardheaded. She doesn’t like to listen, especially when she knows thinks she’s right. She will stand on business until she can’t…and when that happens, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs, hoping you’re not too mad at her.

“Hey…are you mad at me?”

”Did you learn your lesson?”

”I did. I’m sorry.”

A little something extra for my black!readers 🫶🏾

⭒ No matter how hard both you and Mel tried to teach her, she nor Jayce still understand Spades. Viktor got it down within thirty minutes, but those two were still clueless. So, you all decided on a more easier game, Uno!

Uno was banned that same night after you two almost broke up and she and Jayce almost got into a fist fight.

⭒ And someone said that Vi would take the fuchsia bonnet with the black headband, and that was totally the one I was talking about (cause I have the same one). She refused to give it back at that point so the only logical solution was to buy another.

[malsmind]

vampire!matt 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 antisocial!reader 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

✰ - content warnings: ✦ underage drinking ✦ smoking weed ✦ pet names ✦ mentions of social anxiety ✦

wc - 1.3k

friday night.

you already hated it.

your best friend had been buzzing about the party all goddamn week, practically begging you to come until you finally caved, just to shut her up. and now you’re here, standing in the backyard of some rich kid’s overpriced, overdecorated house, half a red solo cup in, already regretting every choice you’ve ever made leading up to this moment.

there’s too many people. too many fake smiles, too many drunken laughs echoing off the fence line.

you stick close to the sliding glass doors, watching her laugh and cling to chris—the worst part of this whole fucking setup. you know how it goes. once she and chris link up, you’re on your own. and right on cue, they’re already disappearing into the crowd together, her hand in his, giggling like they’re the only two people who exist.

“fuckin’ awesome,” you mutter to yourself, taking a bigger sip from your cup.

the social anxiety is already curling up your spine like a second skin. you shift from foot to foot, feeling that too-familiar panic crawling up your throat. you could leave—but that would mean dealing with the “why’d you bail” texts tomorrow. and besides, a tiny, fucked up part of you was hoping… maybe tonight would be different. maybe you wouldn’t feel so alone in a room full of people for once.

but you do.

solution?

alcohol. more of it.

you ditch your cup, steal a half-full bottle of cheap vodka from the kitchen counter, and start drinking straight from it as you wander upstairs, avoiding the sweaty crowds and the too-loud music vibrating the walls. you find the master bathroom unlocked—huge, marble everything, one of those stupid spa bathtubs that’s basically a small pool. you grin to yourself, stumbling a little as you kick off your boots and crawl into the empty tub, bottle still in hand. somewhere along the line, someone left a half-burnt joint on the edge of the tub.

fuck it.

you grab it, spark it, and inhale deep.

you don’t even like smoking weed that much—paranoia, bad memories—but when you’re this wasted, it smooths over the sharp edges. makes the loneliness just another dull ache in the back of your mind. you don’t know how long you sit there, cross-legged in the dry tub, hotboxed in the fog of your own bad decisions, but you hear the door creak open and lazy footsteps shuffle closer.

“jesus christ, angel,” a familiar voice says, and you squint up at the figure looming over you.

matt.

of course it’s him. you grin, wide and lazy, blowing a thin stream of smoke toward him.

“hey, dickhead,” you slur, voice syrupy sweet.

he looks unimpressed. his arms are crossed, jaw tight, standing there in his black, baggy jeans and some old band t-shirt you can’t quite focus on. he looks… annoyingly good. even under the gross fluorescent bathroom lights. and he’s staring at you, deadpan, like you’re the biggest headache of his life. you giggle. actually giggle.

“you good?” he asks flatly, stepping closer.

you nod dramatically, taking another hit and holding it in too long, making yourself cough. he winces like just watching you hurts.

“yeah, you’re real good,” he mutters. he plucks the blunt out of your fingers with two of his, taking it away and stubbing it out in a soap dish like you’re some dumbass toddler he’s babysitting.

“hey,” you whine, reaching for it.

he lifts it out of reach easily. “you don't even smoke that shit, dumbass.”

“m’fine, matt,” you mumble, slumping back against the side of the tub. “you’re so— so mean to me.”

he huffs out a sharp breath through his nose, crouching down so he’s eye level with you now. you can see the tattoos on his arms again. the little axe. the falling leafs.

god, you’re drunk.

“you’re no fun, matt...we could have so much fun...”

you reach out clumsily, fingertips grazing the edge of his sleeve. he grabs your hand before you can trail your fingers up his arm, gently but firmly setting it back down on your lap

“not when you’re drunk outta your goddamn mind, angel.”

you huff, laring at him trough half-lidded eyes. you don’t even know why you’re upset. you just are.

“why not?” you whisper, voice breaking a little.

he lets go of your wrist immediately like it burned him, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“because,” he mutters, jaw clenching. “you’re wasted, angel. you don’t mean any of this.”

you’re too wasted to catch the way his voice softens at the end of that. too wasted to notice the way he watches you, jaw clenching every time you sway closer, every time you bat those glassy, desperate eyes at him.

you blink up at him, everything blurry, all the fear and loneliness you keep caged up spilling over.

“maybe i do,” you say, almost too soft to hear.

matt looks like you punched him. like he doesn’t know whether to hug you or shove you away. his mouth opens. closes. no smartass comment this time. you feel it building—the crash. the way too much alcohol and too much loneliness wrap around you like a weighted blanket, pressing the sadness into your bones. being rejected, even gently—it hits you harder when you’re this drunk, makes you feel stupid and small and wrong.

you go quiet, staring at nothing, shoulders sagging.

he notices immediately.

“hey,” he mutters, reaching over to set the vodka bottle far, far away. “none of that shit, c'mon..”

you can’t even look at him. you’re too embarrassed. your throat locks up, words stuck somewhere you can’t reach, and you hate it. you hate feeling like this—like you want something you can’t have, someone who wouldn’t want you anyway.

matt exhales through his nose, standing up and offering you his hand. “let’s go. i’m driving you home.”

you nod, too tired to argue.

the drive back to your house is silent except for the low hum of whatever sad-ass playlist matt has on. you stare out the window, head pounding already, your hands fidgeting in your lap. every now and then you catch him glancing at you, you notice the way his fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel like he’s fighting every instinct he has. but he doesn’t say anything.

so you do.

“you don’t drink,” you slur quietly.

he glances at you. shrugs. “nah.”

“thought you would.”

“lotta things you don’t know about me, angel.”

you stare at him for a second, looking him up and down. he's right. you now barely anything about the kid. if the alcohol wasn't fogging up every thought in your head you'd usually overthink, you probably would've been freaked out by it. but right now, you couldn't care less.

he parks in front of your house and helps you inside, guiding you to your bedroom like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before. you sit on the edge of your bed, swaying slightly, staring up at him.

“stay,” you mumble, voice small. “please.”

for a second—just a second—matt’s whole face shifts. like you punched him right in the gut. he presses his lips together, jaw tight, forcing himself to shake his head.

“can’t,” he says, voice low and rough. “you’re drunk, sweetheart. ask me again when you’re sober.”

you blink hard, fighting the stupid burn in your eyes. you hate yourself. hate that you asked. hate that you probably don't even mean it and probably just created something really awkward between you two. the fact that he'd remember every second of this, and you most likely wouldn't made you feel sick, embarrassed.

“call me tomorrow,” matt adds, kneeling down to help untie your shoes. “i’ll come over. bring advil and all that shit. fix your hangover.”

you don’t answer. you just nod once, slow and tired. he stands up, hesitates like he wants to say something else, then shoves his hands in his pockets and leaves without another word. the door clicks shut behind him.

and there you are. alone with your thoughts after the boy who you couldn't stand was the nicest person ever to you, unlike anyone ever has.

dividers by @issysh3ll

₊⊹ @tits4matt @mattspillowprincess @h3arts4nat @starryfantasydreams @sturns-mermaid @sturniolochrismatt @sturrrrnslvt @bluessturniolo @spaghettislut1 @kittybitch @abbystromboli @urlocallera @loser41ifee @courta13 @phonysuperstarr @sturnsrecord @bbgirlmatt @secretlifeofspace @mattssslutbby @backwardshatnick @oopsiedaisydeer @tezzzzzzzz @sturniolosluttt @aflairforthedramattic @matts-247 @pink1man

[kingtomura]

Uber Eats

synopsis: What a crappy Friday night! You’re the only driver for your restaurant and you have to deliver to this Tomura S. guy. The worst part? He never tips. wc: 2.7k content: tomura shigaraki x female reader, quirkless au, oral (f! receiving), overstim, degredation, vaginal fingering, mdni cross posted to ao3

You hated this guy. 

He ordered every week without fail, like clockwork. 

“Do I have to make this delivery?” You ask your manager, wishing the ticket in your hand would burst into flames. 

It did not. 

The black ink only stared back at you as you stewed in your own misery: 

Tomura S. 

“You’re the only driver we have!” Your manager calls back to you, tossing some rice around in a wok before dropping it into a takeout container. “But after this, you’re good to go.” he placed the next order into the wok and the hiss of the food only added to the bustle of the restaurant.

You sigh, accepting your fate and crumple the receipt in your hand. It was the last delivery of the night so you find solace in at least being able to leave once you were done.

This guy was a known regular, and better known for not leaving a tip. Ever. It didn’t matter how big the order was and it didn’t matter what the weather had been outside — Tomura S. would not tip. And unfortunately for you it seemed he was more likely to order on your shift so you had to be the one to deliver. What awful luck.

Your manager waves you off after he finishes packing Tomura’s order and you step outside to your bike. It was about a fifteen minute bike ride, and the sweet promise of going home was all the motivation you needed to get it over and done. You put the order in the front basket of your bike and were off, hitting more than a few bumps in the road on your way.

Once you reach the apartment complex, you set your bike aside and head up to his door.

You’ve been here many times before, but that doesnt stop the nerves. 

Tomura was an… interesting fellow. Never a smile on his face and rarely a thank you. 

You steel yourself at the door of his apartment, taking a breath before raising your fist to knock. Maybe today would be different, you ponder, shifting your weight to cool your nerves. Maybe he would tip generously and send you on your way.

Everything could all be a big misunderstanding and you start to feel yourself get a little hopeful. He could be a nice guy under that rocky demeanor — maybe you’ve misjudged him.

The door opens with a little too much force and a vermillion glare meets your eyes. 

You feel yourself falter under his gaze. “Um, Tomura?" You put on the best smile you could and extend your arm, the bag of takeout presented to him. "Here’s your order.”

He looks down at the bag and then back up to you — carmine eyes giving away ill hidden boredom before ripping it from your hand and turning on his heels. The slam of his door making you jolt as you strained to hear his muttered thanks. So quiet you’re sure you may have imagined it. 

It would be generous to say you were shocked, but tonight had not been a kind night to you. A few too many potholes on your way here and a few too little tips given out has your lips pursed and fists clenching in anger. You had just about had it with this man. 

What was his deal? You come all this way, make sure his food is hot — hell, you even smile and that's still not enough. Well, you were done playing nice and found your fist tapping against his door before your brain could process your actions.

In less than a few seconds the door swung open, this time a much more annoyed Tomura greeting you. 

“What?” He rasped, face turned down into a scowl, much different from his earlier indifference. 

You don't waver, “What is your deal?”

His brows shoot up in surprise, “Excuse me?”

“I said, what is your deal? I’ve been delivering to you for months and not a single time have you tipped me! You know that's how I make a living right? It's just unfair.” you huff, exasperated.

This seems to surprise him further, and if you weren't crazy you would think that was amusement on his lips. “Tip? Is that what you want?”

You are surprised, but you nod. 

He huffs, taking a step back, “Fine.”

And then he’s gone. 

You’re not sure if he intends for you to follow him inside the apartment, but you have an idea that he wouldn't leave his door open otherwise — so, against your better judgment, you go in. 

It's dark in the apartment, and not very spacious. The dim lighting gives you little to work with but the blue light from the idle game screen playing on the tv in the living room helps you make out what you're looking at. Tomura has already gone deeper into the home, no doubt to his bedroom or wherever he may keep his money. You decide to stay where you are in the living room and look around a little.

The space wasn’t… awful, messy — yes, but not disgusting. It looked average to what any other twenty-something living alone would look like. 

You try not to make a habit of getting to know customers you deliver to, but judging from the nintendo switch docked near his television, it seems you may have a little in common. 

What surprises you are the anime figurines and plushies lining the bookshelf near the television. He didn’t strike you as a plushie enjoyer. Finding yourself smiling, you walk over to one. A green dino with goofy teeth and cute eyes. Cute. You reach out to touch it, the plushie feeling as soft as it looked.

The sound of footsteps on hardwood break your focus and you look back to see a grumpy Tomura, looking through his – assumedly empty –  wallet, “I don’t have any cash on me.”

His hair is fluffy and white, but looks a pale blue in the hue of the paused game on the television screen. His frustration is prominent in his scowl and you take this moment to really look at him, carmine eyes focused and brooding. He was taller than you originally thought and his black shirt was loose around the collar area, exposing his collar bones and you find your eyes drifting lower. You could tell he was toned under the thin black shirt he wore but you had never had a chance to really notice. Unconsciously, you lick your lips.

“Did you hear me?” 

Your eyes snap up, cheeks flushing, “Y-yeah!”

He huffed, irritation obvious but continued anyway, “well, what do you want?”

You don't know what you want anymore. If he doesn't have cash then it doesn’t matter. This seems like it may have just been an oversight on his part, so you may be better off letting this go. Maybe he would order again and tip you extra next time.

You take a few steps forward, every intention to walk by him and get to the front door when you stop, finally responding to his question, “nothing, just remember next time.” Your gaze catches his and then drifts lower, to his lips. Tomura catches the trail of your gaze and it forces you to look away. You swore there was a hint of a smile on his lips but maybe you were tired, it has been a long day. 

You shift your weight, ready to continue on your way out when Tomura reaches for your arm, grip tight and demanding. It takes you by surprise, but surprises you even further when he dips down and crashes his lips into yours, rough ones meeting the softness of yours. The kiss is not smooth or slow, but needy and hungry, Tomura playfully nipping your bottom lip before pulling away. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes and pulls you by the hand to his couch, falling ungracefully onto it and in an instant he's on top of you. 

Your cheeks are burning as you place both palms onto his chest to halt his movements, “H-hey, what are you doing?”

His laugh is low as if you should already know the plan. “I’m going to give you your tip.” 

And then he's down again, lips warm and demanding. A moan escapes your throat and you fist a hand in his hair, overwhelmed and desperate to get more of him. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you waste no time letting him in. His large hand trailed down your side, and you pressed closer to him. He felt intoxicating, and arousal pooled in your belly as Tomura pulled away, panting. He was just as flushed as you knew you were, the wild look in his eyes only making the arousal between your thighs slicker.

Tomura trailed kisses down your jaw and neck, leaving soft bites in between licks. A particularly hard bite made you gasp, gripping his shoulder and turning your head, giving him better access to your neck.

He only chuckled, sitting back and looking down at you, “You look like whore.” he spat, teasing tone in his smile. “All spread out on my couch like this.”

His hands moved to your pants, popping the buttons and pulling them down. You should stop him, tell him to wait because you barely know him and it's a little soon, but his words have you biting your lip and lifting your hips to help him get your pants down and off. 

That only makes Tomura shake his head in disbelief, a pleased smile betraying his false disappointment. 

He reaches down and presses his middle finger to your clothed cunt, rubbing soft circles and laughs, “You’re soaked. Didn’t take you for such a slut.”

The words only spurred you on, spreading your legs further and closing your eyes. It felt good to finally get some kind of contact – he was right where he needed to be. Until he pulled away, leaving you more desperate and a complaint on your lips. You stop in your tracks though as Tomura leans down, tongue licking you through your panties. 

Your hands fly to his hair, moan erupting from your lips. You’re unsure how thin his apartment walls are, but you don't care. The feeling sends pleasure shooting up your spine and your heart picks up its pace.

Tomura laps at your clothed cunt, fabric muting the full feeling but giving you enough to cry out. You find yourself grinding closer, body begging him to keep going and he obliges, only for a moment. He gives your cunt one more kiss before pulling back and pulling your soaked panties down and off, tossing them across the living room. 

He wastes no time diving back in, tongue licking a strip from your hole to your clit and your back arches. The hold you have on Tomura’s hair is so tight, you're sure it’s painful at this point, but he only groans, wet muscle lapping your clit eagerly. Your thighs reflexively try to close, but Tomura is faster, hand stopping them and thumb rubbing soothing circles. 

“Oh, god,” you squeeze your eyes shut, the pleasure building quickly and you will yourself not to go over – not yet. That would be embarrassing. 

You feel the pressure in your abdomen tighten and it's clear you won't last much longer. Tomura took that moment to suck your sensitive nub and you spill over, mouth open in a silent moan and thighs quivering.

Tomura rides you through it, only pulling away from his ministrations once you catch your breath. “That soon, huh?” There's no bite to his words and you only give him a halfhearted glare, heavy lidded eyes still reeling from your orgasm. 

You’re distracted and don’t notice Tomura’s not finished with his antics. It wasn’t until you felt a digit pressing at your heat, slipping in slowly and making you mewl in pleasure. You were soaked, and the pressure making your head loll onto the armrest of the couch. It felt so full already. 

“Ah!” you gasped, feeling the familiar glide of Tomura’s tongue against your oversensitive clit once more. 

It was almost too much, your cries reaching new heights as he pumped his digit in and out of your sopping cunt, juices from your arousal mixing with his saliva. He was taking his time building your next orgasm, moving slow and steady, making your toes curl in pleasure. 

The push of a second finger against your hole had you tapping Tomura’s shoulder, “t-too much! Tomura!” 

Your cries fell on deaf ears as he continued, tip of his tongue flicking your clit as the second finger pushed in to join the first, waisting no time fucking you in earnest. His fingers were thick and the feeling of being so full made you dizzy, pleasure spiraling as you tried to ground yourself mentally. You grabbed Tomura’s shoulder, fisting his shirt in your hand as you lost yourself in the pleasure once more. 

Tomura’s motions ceased as his eyes met yours. You could only imagine how blissed out you looked in this moment, breath ragged and sweat clinging to your brow. Tomura wasn’t much better off — he was as desperate as you, hair splayed in wild directions after your hands ravaged through it. You open your mouth – impatient words on the tip of your tongue and Tomura curls his fingers, digits hitting that spongy spot inside that made you see stars.

He flattens his tongue, giving your clit a final lap and it sends you over – for the second time tonight. 

Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm washes over you. The feeling sends waves of pleasure throughout your body, eyes squeezed shut and mind buzzing. 

Tomura watches as you come apart, palming his erection in awe. You meet his eyes once you come down from your second high of the night and Tomura wastes no time in crashing his lips to yours, clumsy and wet. You could taste yourself on his lips and groan when he pulls you closer. 

There's a trail of saliva linking the two of you once he pulls away, but Tomura’s heavy gaze is only on you. He leans back in once more to give you a much softer kiss, before pulling away again and giving the same soft kiss on your cheek — heat rushing to them for reasons entirely different from what just transpired between you both. 

It was very… intimate – in a way you did not expect from someone who had just called you a slut. 

It makes you want to reach out for him when he pulls away further, eyes seemingly pondering something you’re unaware of. He looked down at you one more time, before looking to his television and his unopened takeout bag on the coffee table. 

“My show is about to start, so…” he starts, picking up the remote to change the channel of the television, screen lighting up and noise filling the room. You stare as Tomura sits back and gets comfortable, opening his takeout bag and removing the contents. 

Was he… was he kicking you out right now? Seriously? 

Your brows fly up, eyes widened in disbelief — his lack of reaction at your scoff only proves you right. He was kicking you out. Bullshit. The humiliation is evident as you scurry to find your pants, not bothering to find wherever the hell he tossed your underwear earlier, and get the hell out of there before you said something you would regret. 

The only thing on your mind was the front door as you brushed by Tomura one last time. 

“Hey!” he called, gluing you to your spot. Your heart jumped as you turned back to him vaguely hoping he would offer you to stay a little longer.

That small flame of hope died as soon as it came because Tomura was only extending your long forgotten phone to you. 

You snatch the device from his hand and make your way out the door, face burning and legs still tingling from the way he made you come undone mere moments before. 

Once you reach your bike you find yourself huffing in annoyance. What else did you expect? Him to offer you some of his takeout? That would just be silly. You’re walking your bike to the sidewalk, ready to hop on and go back to the restaurant – sure your manager is worried sick about his only driver – before your phone buzzes in your back pocket. 

Tomura S.

Your eyes widened as you read a text from the name you knew you hadn't saved in your contacts before. 

You forgot my drink.

[kumkaniudaku]

First

Summary: Terry and Patrice take their relationship to the next level.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: Smut (18+)

For a breezy September Friday off the coast of an island, Patrice was dealing with a heat that was too sweltering to ignore. 

Initially, she assumed the sudden increase in her body temperature was the natural result of driving from the comforts of North Carolina to the muggy, humid haven the United States Marine Corps called Parris Island. It wasn't much of an island, according to Terry, as he talked a mile a minute during their Family Day gathering while she tried to focus on stabbing blanched green beans with her fork and not how his bottom lip glistened from water droplets reflecting the sunlight streaming through the window. But that didn't make much sense. Diedra spent the entire dinner complaining about the steady blast of frigid air blowing through the AC vent and how it was aggravating a shoulder injury sustained in a tennis match from her high school years. 

The next day, while dressed in their Sunday's best on Friday morning, Patrice tried to blame the constant waves of internal heat on a relentless South Carolina sun illuminating young men and women from every corner of the world as they transitioned from American civilians to the few and proud fighting force they'd been auditioning to join for 13 grueling weeks. While Terry received praise from his proud parents and excitable twin sisters, Patrice could feel sweat sliding down the valley between her shoulder blades. Her mind slowed to a creep with only thoughts of how good Terry looked in uniform. Starched blue pants highlighting long, muscled legs more typical of a Greek god provided a straight shot to a waist so cinched, Wilhelmina models would stare daggers and drop their jaws in envy and awe. 

A hug encapsulating 91 days of missed time and an hour-long ride back to their Hilton Head accommodation for the weekend cooled Patrice temporarily, nearly tricking her into believing her hypothesis was correct. Then Terry touched her too close to the part of her that hadn't quite met him yet. 

In the last row of his family's rented minivan, with twin ten year old's in minute ten of an argument about nothing important, mentally exhausted parents trying to play referee, and Terry's hand innocently resting on her leg while he scrolled through the playlist of missed releases she'd compiled for him on her iPod, Patrice's brain drifted back to lessons learned in Napheesa and Victoria's dorm room. 

Once Patrice's nails were painted Bubble Bath pink and nether regions were free from a near nightmare at the hands of Patrice and a bottle of Nair bikini cream, a crash course in fucking became little more than a glorified rehashing of sex education courses and giggling through dirty movies on Phee's laptop as a group. Patrice took what little valuable information existed in their makeshift classroom and tried to turn them into instructional videos in her mind. For research purposes, of course.

Vivid images of Terry on top, beneath, and behind her body completely overtook Patrice's brain, sending her body back into a sauna with her as the lone inhabitant. Patrice's heartbeat had gone south, creating an uncomfortable ache between her thighs that forced her ankles to cross in hopes of release. She squirmed in her seat and let her lips part to draw in a shaky breath. The world around her fell away. Thoughts of kissing, biting, and touching replaced tangible sights and sounds. She'd slipped into that special place in her dreams where fantasies were damn near reality. 

"You good, Treecey? Terry's voice alone slammed Patrice into the present and flushed her body with unbearable heat. She blinked twice and looked to her right to find her boyfriend looking at her. "I was talkin', and you didn't say anything. You alright? Need me to shut up for a second?" 

Patrice tried to quell Terry's bubbling anxiety by forcing a smile as she subtly threaded her fingers between his to give her senses a break. "I-I'm fine. I'm just thinking about how happy I am to have you back. Congratulations, TJ. I love you." 

"I love you more," He spoke against the back of Patrice's hand before gracing it with a kiss. "This B.o.B song sucks, by the way. Who the fuck is Bruno Mars?" 

"Ooooh! Mama, Terrence said a cuss word!"

The hotel room she shared with Zorah and Zanah provided temporary respite, shielding her from the sweltering heat of the backseat and replacing it with the heat of overstimulation. Twin girls fascinated by long box braids tugged at tender roots to practice their plaiting skills while a heavy, shaved head compressed vital nerves in her thigh. Terry had long allowed his first solo shower in months and a comfortable couch to lull him into a deep sleep, leaving Patrice to entertain her talkative inherited sisters until Deidra and Marvin stepped in to put her out of her misery. 

When she offered to end Terry's slumber prematurely, Dee politely waved her off. 

"No, no," Diedra conceded, still looking at her baby boy's chest rise and fall peacefully. A half smile graced her face as she shifted her focus to Patrice. "When he wakes up, give us a call. Marvin will come back and get you two. We'll have lunch near the pier." 

"I will?" 

Dee turned to her husband and lowered her glasses to reveal the fire dancing behind her expressive eyes. "Marvin James, don't make me get ugly. If my baby wakes up and wants to get to the beach, he'll get to that beach!"

Patrice couldn't believe her stroke of luck. She'd hoped and prayed for a sliver of alone time in the hours-long trip down South but never imagined it'd be presented to her on a platter without begging on her hands and knees. 

A resting boyfriend and unlimited access to the television should have been enough to keep Patrice occupied until hunger gnawed at her stomach. But logic left with the rest of the Richmonds to enjoy the sun and sand, leaving Patrice with an overactive mind and that pesky heat spreading from a pit deep inside her belly to the meeting at her thighs. 

She tried to ignore what she now knew as desire creeping in to act as the devil on her shoulder, reminding her of the opportunity literally resting in her lap. There were other entertainment options – other ways to pass the time until Terry had refueled his energy reserve and released her from her duty as a human mattress. Patrice gave them all a whirl. Text messages to Napheese and Victoria went unanswered. Random Google searches quickly ran their course. SpongeBob was never as funny as Junior tried to convince her, and a missing remote removed the option to seek another show to pass the time. 

A look down gave her another avenue to explore. Terry's eyes danced behind closed lids while his mouth hung open to sing a little tune of exhaustion. He looked so peaceful. Too peaceful. Boredom convinced Patrice to trail her index finger down the peak of his cheekbones, to the tip of his nose, and across his bottom lip. Her exploration briefly stirred Terry out of his sleep. 

"Stop, Z. Leave my face alone before I tell Mom," Terry grunted, chastising a ghost as he fanned a hand in front of his face. 

Patrice giggled. "There's nobody in here but us, TJ. They left us behind because you won't wake up."

"Well, you stop. Give me a few more minutes." Terry never opened an eye to acknowledge the frown on Patrice's face, instead choosing to turn onto his back and drape his legs over the arm of the couch. 

"You know there's beds in here, right? Why cram yourself on this small ass couch when you can sleep in one of them?" 

Terry shook his head to dismiss Patrice's comment. "I like sleepin' on you, though. Let me have a little longer, and we can go to the pool or something. Swear, baby."

Enlisting his secret weapon seemed to appease Patrice momentarily, judging by her sweet kiss on his forehead. He popped open an eye and found his reward in her beautiful face and grin. 

"Promise," Patrice questioned, her eyes glittering and hopeful as she gazed down at Terry. "I really want to spend time with you. There's something I think we should talk about." 

"Promise. We can talk about whatever you want in 10 minutes. Set an alarm and everything." 

Pressing up on his elbows, Terry sealed his confirmation with a soft peck to Patrice's lips before settling back into her lap. She took the kiss as a sacred covenant and allowed Terry to return to sleep without protest, hoping the twenty minutes would fly by like 20 seconds. In many ways, time obeyed her command for speed. Patrice barely registered the clock ticking away as she studied missed class notes shared in her American Government group chat. But, then, 10 minutes turned into 20 despite the alarm's trill ringing throughout the room, effectively demoralizing a young woman feeling a golden opportunity slip through her fingers.

Silence and the feel of thighs on his cheeks introduced Terry to a false sense of security that came crashing to a halt once Patrice lifted his head from her lap and carefully lowered it to the couch cushions to maintain his neck's integrity. Terry's eyes shot open in time to see Patrice searching for her flip-flops and beach bag. He rushed to his feet. 

"Woah, woah," Terry rasped, still trying to find his voice in a throat dry from deep sleep. Long strides helped him catch her before she could dash toward the door. "Where you going? I thought we were hanging out." 

Patrice shrugged. "It's okay. We can wait until tomorrow. I didn't realize how tired you'd be afterward, so my bad. Want some food from downstairs?" 

"No," Terry scoffed as if offended by the notion that he might want sustenance. "I want you to stay with me. Come here." 

A face once contorted into a despondent frown quickly morphed into one filled with immeasurable joy as Terry walked Patrice back toward the bedroom with his lips attached to her jawline. Half-hearted calls for him to stop tickling the base of her neck with his tongue went ignored, turning her into a giggling mess, excited for the affection she'd been craving. 

Blind steps and eager snogging held their undivided attention, leaving size 13.5 feet to fumble through a maze of small suitcases and discarded backpacks until the bed designated for Patrice provided a soft landing spot for two crazy kids slowly falling in love. 

Shared laughter mixed harmoniously once they hit the sheets with a dull thud. Patrice welcomed Terry's weight with her wrists crossed at the nape of his neck. He happily obliged her unspoken request, pressing his torso on the body he'd committed to learning every curve and contour. Simple, chaste kisses reacquainted their lips, each peck lasting longer than the one before. 

Patrice reveled in the attention, arching into Terry's embrace and giggling once he covered her face in intentionally messy love letters. 

"You so fuckin' cute," Terry mumbled against Patrice's cheek, punctuating each word with a kiss. He pulled away to tap her nose and grin. "Even prettier in person. My dreams weren't worth a damn. Motherfuckers had my brain scrambled from day one," he laughed.

"Drill sergeants were on your ass that bad?" 

"Hell yeah! I should've took my ass to school. Fuck football," Terry laughed.

In 13 weeks, the memories he'd conjured of her appearance day in and day out had missed so many wonderful details. He'd forgotten the beauty mark on her right cheek and how her ears wiggled when she spoke. He'd somehow forgotten how her eyes glittered in the sun and how her smell often entered the room before she did. That unique mix of sweet strawberry and the fairy dust naturally gifted to Black women awakened him like no drill sergeant ever could. Patrice was back in the flesh, tracing aimless patterns on his skin and absorbing warm sun rays like a goddess made exclusively for him. 

"You said you wanted to talk. What's up?" The question barely left Terry's lips before his nose was back against the crook of Patrice's neck while he focused on French kissing her collarbone. 

A rush of heat consumed every spot his mouth touched, turning thoughts into useless sludge milling about Patrice's brainwaves. She opened her mouth to speak plenty of times as Terry's fingers danced across her belly beneath her tank top in search of her bathing suit top. 

Patrice's breath hitched once Terry found his treasure, kneading the soft mound of her left breast before rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger. In their short sports of exploration, he'd become something of a master of touch. He'd learned when to graze his fingertips over her supple skin gently and when to grip or squeeze his favorite spots to elicit the quiet, heart-flipping whimper he'd seared into the ridges of his developing brain.

Any words she'd intended to share became a low moan as Terry turned all his attention to grinding his front against hers to meet the demand she'd silently set by doing the same. Thin blends of nylon and polyester covering their most intimate bits absorbed frantic friction as they drove each other crazy while fully clothed. Part of them braced for intrusion. On too many occasions, an interruption had robbed them of whatever existed on the other side of an unfamiliar coiling in the pit of their stomachs. Only Terry knew what might happen if they were ever allowed to carry out the full extent of their private experience. He'd felt the fruits of wrist labor once or twice when the house was empty and fantasizing wasn't enough for a young man entering a new phase of life. 

Intrusion, however, never came. They were free. Free of distractions, free of fear, and free to approach a volcanic eruption together. 

Strained sounds mixed with the cartoon theme song playing in the background as Terry built up a rhythm that creaked the bedframe. Patrice clutched the back of his Marine Corps t-shirt with both hands, her mouth opening to whisper "Oh my God" to the ceiling. Pressure corked inside her body bubbled to the surface. Her body tingled like some unseen force had gifted her superpowers. White hot flames warmed the blood pumping through her veins. 

"Terry, I…" Patrice started before the words became choked inside her throat. She took a deep breath and tried again. "I-I think…I think I'm ready to- to have sex." 

The part of Terry's brain he'd flipped off to focus on a new kind of romantic expression suddenly lit up like Christmas lights. He pulled away from Patrice's neck to look into her eyes. "What?" 

"I want to have sex. With you. If…if you want to have sex with me. You can say no. I won't be mad." 

Patrice's timid voice and shy eyes sent Terry's heartbeat into overdrive more than her admission. He gazed down at her and cleaned lip gloss from the corner of her lips with his thumb before answering. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?" 

"Yeah," Patrice whispered as the evil grip of shame began to creep in. 

"You sure you want to? Don't think you gotta -" 

A manicured finger placed light pressure on his lips to stop more words from coming forth. "I'm sure, Terry. I've been thinking about this for a really long time. I know what I want, and I know I want it with you." Patrice moved her hand to hold the sides of Terry's face and bring him to her lips for another deep kiss. She spoke against his mouth. "Please. I only wanna do this with you."

She drove a hard bargain. With a face like that and words so sincere they felt more like scriptures than a request, how could Terry deny her? Terry swallowed hard and nodded his agreement. "Yeah, me too. Only with you." 

Nerves gripped Terry in a spiral of fear as he led a fiery kiss to distract from the inevitable. He'd only mastered fondling and the mechanics of tongue hide and seek, not the assumed complexities of intercourse. Talks with his father, older cousins, and friends were only half the equation. The mechanics – the actual nitty-gritty application of the deed – were as foreign as Mandarin in his young mind. Logic told him to be honest about his novice status and save himself from embarrassment. Pride and ego told him to fake it until things made sense. He chose the latter voice as he left the familiarity of making out to stand in front of the first girl to ever get this close to seeing him naked. 

Terry tried to feign confidence as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor beside his feet. Step one was easy enough. Patrice propped herself on her elbows to watch him disrobe, barely concealing the grin spreading across her lips as Terry hooked his thumbs at the waistband of his trunks and pulled them down. 

Patrice didn't know what to expect. The only time she'd come into contact with anybody's genitalia but her own was via a screen when curiosity got the best of her and online websites answered questions she wouldn't dare ask aloud. She'd seen photos and diagrams galore, but none of her research could prepare her for seeing Terry naked as the day he came into the world. 

Her eyes traveled down his torso, made a pitstop at the part of him standing at attention, then back up to his shifty eyes to smile in appreciation for his trust. "Wow." 

"Don't make it weird, Patrice," Terry groaned. "It's already sort of embarrassing." 

"I'm sorry! I just…may I…touch you?"

Terry could only blink and nod to grant Patrice permission. His muscles, still sore from the 50+ hours of his training's culminating event, tensed as she stood to examine his body closer. Patrice started at Terry's chest, dragging her digits across the expanse of his broad shoulders before traveling below the navel. 

When her fingers teased the point of no return, Terry's eyelids fluttered closed as he let out a sharp breath. "Fuck." The harshness of his expletive became washed away by the gentle kiss on his jawline and the delicate care Patrice put into exploring new depths. 

She withdrew just as quickly as she'd made her presence known, leaving Terry aching for her touch again. Patrice stepped back and chewed her bottom lip before speaking. "I guess it's my turn." 

"Want me to look away?" 

"No," Patrice answered. "I'm okay. You let me look, so it's only fair." 

Terry stood awkwardly in place, watching with rapt focus as Patrice rapidly discarded her tank top and cut-off shorts. He fought to keep his eyes inside their socket once a quick tug at the string on her bikini loosened the garment enough to slide off her neck and pool where her arms crossed in front of her chest. 

For a moment, Patrice regretted telling Terry not to look away. He seemed to sense her trepidation and quickly softened his gaze. He didn't need words to convince Patrice to commit to what she'd started. With a deep breath, she moved her arms and let the swimsuit top drop to the floor. 

It was Terry's turn to voice his surprise. "Woah," he whispered, eyes locked on what he'd never seen up close. He quickly looked back up with a boyish grin to save face. "This is crazy." 

"I know, right?" Patrice giggled. Laughter helped lighten the mood, making the final stage of her exhibition the easiest. She stepped out of her bottoms and shrugged. "This is it," she joked. "The big reveal." 

"It's perfect. You're beautiful," Terry offered without hesitation. 

Patrice diverted her attention to her toes to hide her bashful smile. "Thank you."

"Of course." Terry slid his index finger under her chin and directed Patrice's eyes back to his. He leaned down to initiate a head-spinning, slow kiss. Pulling away left both teenagers breathless. Terry pressed his forehead against Patrice's and smiled. "Can I try something?" 

A bevy of outside influences and genuine curiosity led Terry's next steps. He guided Patrice to sit on the bed before he knelt at her feet. His lips started a slow journey at her left knee, kissing his way to her inner thigh like they had the luxury of time on their side. 

Patrice watched him under heavy eyelids as she ran her short fingernails across the top of his shaved head. Every lick and suckle against flesh untouched by another added to a feeling of weightlessness she wasn't warned about by her friends. Had they never felt this way? Was it new or wrong or only delivered to two people so energetically aligned their spirits transcended the physical plane of existence? Patrice pushed discovering an answer to the back of her mind once a lick at her navel brought her attention to the hazel and green eyes slowly descending to the apex of her thighs. He inhaled deeply before dropping a kiss where the fire burned the hottest. 

Terry had no clue what he was attempting. He only knew the carnal temptation calling him forth and chose to follow what his mind and body desired most. Teammates, family, and friends had warned him about what a taste of nectar might offer. Some asserted they were too macho to enjoy a woman that way, complaining about masculinity mumbo jumbo he only sort of believed. Others mentioned peculiar tastes and smells as deterrents, imploring him to keep the fun strictly body to body. Terry often pretended to agree but could no longer ignore curiosity or the cat. 

Hesitant licks around the area quickly introduced a young man full of questions to a world of confirmation he never knew existed. Whatever those other guys were talking about was bullshit. If they'd been in love, Terry thought, maybe they'd have thought twice before spewing nonsense into the world. 

Though Heaven and Earth were permanently altered for Terry, Patrice allowed her smile to drop into a grimace as she fought to understand what her body was feeling. Pain wasn't the correct descriptor. Every wet revolution of his tongue in unchartered waters felt silly at best. Quick shocks of pleasure crumbled into long spells of nothing but strange kitten licks, leaving Patrice to wonder if all she'd heard about the deed was a lie. 

"Oh, that's…alright," Patrice spoke through a breathy sigh as Terry briefly created a tingle in her toes but missed the mark on a second attempt. She attempted to wiggle her lower half into place, hoping her gesture would guide a young man trying his best to more favorable results. 

Hooking his hands around her thighs, Terry pulled Patrice closer and took a beat to speak. "Does that feel good?" 

"Um, yeah," she lied, half smiling, hoping he couldn't see through her facade. Quick thinking helped Patrice change the subject. "I want you up here with me, though." 

Terry's worry about his performance consumed him before Patrice pulled his face to hers and reignited flames almost snuffed out by fear. Their tongues danced together as skin-on-skin contact sent shivers down their young spines. 

Oxytocin flooded their systems equally, turning juvenile feelings into robust, full-grown bonds. Connections forged during intimacy too mature for their young minds to comprehend clung to them like quicksand, slowly clouding their judgment as Terry positioned himself between Patrice's legs. 

From Terry's vantage point, Patrice was a vision. With her dark braids spread wildly against a stark white pillowcase, he thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. His calloused fingers traced the perimeter of her face, slid down her graceful neck, and trailed her shoulder on the way to her forearm.

He smiled while adjusting her arms around his neck. "You nervous?" 

"A little," she answered, her voice growing small as she stared back at him. "You?" 

"A little," he chuckled. 

Patrice lifted her head to press a kiss to his lips. "You don't have to be scared of me. Let's just try." 

Their entire lives, trying meant final efforts. They'd never attempted anything. Expectations of perfection weighed on them as firstborns tasked with validating parental sacrifices and making entire lineages proud. Patrice wasn't allowed to simply try her best in school. Being top of her class was the demand, and she rose to the occasion despite an often fragile mental state teetering on collapse. Terry could try on the football field. Glory, respect, and champion status were requirements. When he didn't reach the goals set for him before he had any input, he was shipped to a government-sponsored finishing school to earn his stripes a different way. 

But in the relative safety of a mid-tier hotel room where no one but each other existed, they'd been permitted to give their best effort without fear of consequence. Terry felt his heart rate match Patrice's as the pulse in her wrist rested on the back of his neck. His eyes drifted toward the space where their hips met, hoping he wouldn't stumble out of the gate and ruin an otherwise perfect afternoon. 

One hand gripping his manhood guided him forward while the other held her hip steady. First contact felt like instant warmth in a shallow, heated pool. An untamed fluttering made Terry contract his stomach muscles and sigh as the unknown answered questions he never knew existed inside his mind. Slow, measured movements came with a prayer Terry knew he shouldn't have let cross his mind. He asked for protection, confidence, precision and–

"Shiiit."

Harsh curses pulled Terry out of his mental oasis to focus on Patrice and her face screwed in a mix of emotions. He stilled. "I can stop. I swear. I'm gonna stop." 

Discomfort like she'd never known took Patrice by surprise, tensing a body once loose with excitement and forcing out an expletive she hadn't intended to share. As Terry scrambled to pull away, Patrice tightened her grip to stop progress. 

"No," she exclaimed, not wanting the culmination of four years to end. Don't! I'm fine." She fought to even her breathing and display a calm exterior to quell Terry's apprehension. Turning her head, she kissed his inner arm three times and looked back into concerned eyes. "I'm okay. Go slow." 

More reassurance, presented as encouragement to continue, slowly coaxed Terry back into action. He watched Patrice's face with acute focus, taking in every wince and furrowed brow, waiting for what looked like pain to level into something akin to the bliss one feels after their first lick of ice cream on a scorching Summer day.

An anxious back-and-forth of hips far too tight for the moment remained slow and steady until Patrice's soft grunts of discomfort turned into light, breathy requests for more. More of what, she didn't know. More of the love surrounding them. More of feeling like the only girl in the world. More of having their bodies fit together like the final puzzle pieces, creating a beautiful portrait for them to carry into forever. 

Breaths shared in a rhythmic in and out that matched Terry's tempo helped them meld into one being, consumed by their carnal nature. For Terry, the shared energy felt ten times greater than graduating. He'd experienced the highest heights of satisfaction, but none compared to feeling Patrice envelop him in body and heart. 

The notion of a kismet connection crossed Patrice's mind as her body relaxed into the deed, and pleasure rushed in like high tide. Their bodies growing slick from sweat cooling limbs running hot under the burden of exertion rivaled fine silk rubbing together in her mind. She'd imagined the scene unfolding before her eye more times than she cared to count. Nothing compared to the high of loving and being loved. 

Moving his hand from her hip, Terry trailed his fingertips up the sheets to thread them between the gaps between Patrice's fingers. They locked eyes and giggled before separate, strong tremors turned joy into desire. He gently pecked her lips and nuzzled their noses. 

"You good," Terry questioned through heavy breaths.

Patrice gripped his hand tighter and croaked out, "Mhmm," before coiling in her belly stole an opportunity to say more. "Keep goin'."

Connecting physically was a drug worth repeatedly trying to determine if every high would feel this perfect. Sheets jostled around them as Patrick and Spongebob's idiotic chatter became background fodder. Even the sun seemed to burn hotter in reverence of their first foray into lovemaking.

Terry's entire body seized in response to immense, min-numbing pleasure. His breathing went ragged. The grip on Patrice's hand tightened as he rocked himself into her with hips stuttering out of control. 

Terry chanted a call to the heavens above while Patrice looked up in awe, snapping mental pictures of his uninhibited euphoria to take as a parting gift when the weekend and all its gifts were no more. Though her approach to the mountaintop was a less earth-shattering occasion, Patrice reveled in the tingles dancing across her body, and the barrage of kisses left on her neck and clavicle as Terry tried to regulate himself. 

Silence welcomed two young lovers to reality once Terry's back hit the space beside Patrice. Once they locked eyes, mirrored bright smiles slid across their faces in sync, making way for genuine laughter to bounce off decorated walls. 

"I guess that's it," Patrice surmised before presenting her palm for Terry to reciprocate a hi-five. 

Terry returned the gesture and shrugged. "We can go again. Maybe try something else?" 

"You know your mama is gonna come lookin' for us soon, right? She's probably on her way back to check on her Peanut right now," Patrice teased as she watched Terry scoot closer to her side and fondle both breasts to his heart's content. 

"You're probably right," Terry murmured with his attention elsewhere. 

"I'm always right. Don't forget it." Patrice's challenge earned a tickle attack on her rib cage before Terry used his strength to pull her body on top of his. Amorous feelings bubbled under the surface as quick kisses deepened into something sure to threaten their pact to end on a high note. 

Pulling away, Terry brushed a braid behind Patrice's shoulder and grinned. "I love you, P. Mean it." 

"I love you, too. Mean it." 

Realization slowly set in while they allowed intense gazes to communicate words too heavy and unfamiliar to share so soon. They'd done it. After years of friendship and the courage to push the boundaries of what they could be, they'd reached the point of no return. The possibilities of tomorrow felt endless, exciting, and overwhelming. They welcomed the challenge hand in hand.

A final kiss sent Patrice into the bathroom with her pile of clothing to follow the article she'd taken a picture of to the letter and send discreet yet excited confirmation texts to the two girls eagerly awaiting updates. Terry sat alone in a messy hotel room, smiling like he'd been gifted season tickets for life, contemplating whether a proposal without a ring was appropriate for a girl as great as Patrice. He ultimately decided against his rash decision and resolved to calculate how much a measly Lance Corporal's salary could afford before shooting his father a text. There'd be other opportunities. If Terry was sure of nothing else, he'd hang his hat on their union without a second thought.

By Sunday afternoon, the weekend was but a soul-stirring memory. The awkward nature of a first time under their belts created a newfound confidence that prompted perceptive parents to frantically try and fail to confirm the details of what they were sure was a relationship-altering experience. The itch to try again had attached itself to fated lovers left to their own devices in a cramped dorm room on North Carolina A&T's campus. 

Round two of Terry's deep sea dive proved more successful than the first. Patrice was suspended on a cloud while students in the hallway enjoyed their waning hours of freedom. 

"Mmmm. Right there, right there," she begged in a harsh whisper meant to conceal the inner workings of her room from the public. Terry pulled away from his work to look up for confirmation, prompting her to push his head back into action. "No, no, no, no. Don't stop. I'm close." 

Close to what, Patrice didn't know, but she needed to see the tightening in her abdomen to the finish line. Tears pricked her eyes as Terry lapped between her legs like a man with something to prove. Her body began to shiver. Her toes curled to the point of cramping. Colors danced behind her eyelids. This was what Victoria was talking about. This was the gold on the other side of the rainbow. 

Patrice gasped for air and moaned a throaty "Oh shit," not caring who could hear. She'd waited too long for her turn. Nothing could knock her off her wave. 

Except for the locked doorknob wiggling and her nice but overbearing roommate attempting to enter. Patrice whined and sat up to shoo Eni away. "Hey, girl, can you give me a few more minutes?" 

"Not really," Eni responded, her voice muffled on the other side of the door. "I forgot my laptop charger, and I kind of need it to work in the common area." 

"You can't wait a couple more minutes?" 

Eni sighed. "I've waited fifteen. If I keep waiting, I'm gonna lose my spot on the good couch by the window. You know I love to look at the trees while I study. It's calming." 

Terry quietly kissed back down Patrice's thighs before resting his chin on her knee to smile. "It's okay. Let her in. We can try another time." 

"I wanna try today!" Patrice's whining and pouting earned a laugh from Terry as he helped her back into panties he'd planned to keep in his pocket. 

"It'll be worth the wait," he assured once she was redressed and standing in front of him. He leaned down to kiss her nose before stepping back to adjust himself inside his jeans. "I'm a Marine now. I literally have to keep my word." 

"I'm pretty sure this is not one of the situations they trained you in." 

Their laughter prompted Eni to clear her throat and knock again. "No, seriously, Patrice. They're gonna take my seat and probably my laptop. Can I come in?"

Terry chuckled as Patrice groaned and trudged her way to the door. Both of them watched Eni's eyes grow wide once she saw her roommate's present distraction gathering his wallet and keys off Patrice's desk. 

"I'm sorry," she mouthed when Terry turned his back, receiving an understanding shrug from Patrice. 

"Eni, this is my boyfriend, Terrence. TJ, this is Eni." 

Terry presented his fist for Eni to bump. "Nice to meet you. Hopefully, I'm not intruding." 

"Intruding? What? No," Eni scoffed as if she hadn't spent the previous fifteen minutes locked out of her room. "It's me! I'm the intruder! You are just, um, you are…wow! Is it hot in here?" 

Patrice rolled her eyes at Terry's growing smile and began pushing him out of the room. "Terrence is leaving now, so it should cool down. Say goodbye, Terry." 

His farewell became lost in the rumble of voices filtering out of other rooms as she ushered him out of the building, away from prying eyes, and to his truck. Terry's hands found a home on Patrice's waist once they'd reached a safe distance from the residence hall He pulled her close to mumble against her neck. 

"I'm home for eight more days and then Quanitco for school. Let's figure something out. I'll take you on a real date and everything." 

He'd take her on the date. By Saturday night, Terry had planned that Patrice would have her last name changed by her college graduation. He only needed a loan from his parents and an opportunity to pop the question.

Patrice let his promise flow in one ear and out of the other as she cradled him closer and hummed her agreement. "I'll work on it." 

"Don't work on it, Piggy. Make it happen." A cheeky smack on her backside dissolved Patrice into a giggling mess, and she playfully slapped his broad chest. When they settled their loud laughter, Terry pressed his forehead against Patrice's and smiled. "I'll call you when I'm home." 

"And I'll answer," she confirmed. "See you later to finish what we started?"

"Plus a couple things we didn't." 

"I'm holding you to that," Patice giggled.

Kisses filled with the promise of next time kept naive eighteen-year-olds giddy as they parted ways, content with today and hopeful for tomorrow like soothsayers looking to a future only they could see. The horizon was stunning. Golden rays of sunlight illuminated everything the light touched. Beautiful treasure chests gleamed to invite them to claim the riches inside. Songs from angels on high welcomed them to a higher plane of existence.

But off in the distance, beyond where untrained eyes could see, unpredictable dark clouds ambling like a menacing force threatened to rain on a pretty picnic set for two.

------

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[ceesimz]

I'm a Star, How Could I Not Shine?

This is just a lil soft blurb I got the idea to write tonight, I still have my other story in the works and I'm loving creating it :)

Life was hardly fair, that much you knew. But it seemed like the last few months had been especially harsh on your girlfriend. And it was a hard watch, almost agonising to see her come home a shell of her true self everyday.

Today, though, it reached its peak.

Work was being a lot kinder to you; you typically had a lighter load than Alexia but the past few weeks had kind of been a breeze, you were promoted to a new branch and it was a dream to be there. So, as you watched on from the sidelines as the media tore Alexia apart, inventing new reasons to needlessly hate on her, you were doing your best to make life at home a safe haven for her.

Today was Friday, and your plan was to come home from work and get all the chores out of the way, before ordering food in so that there was as little as possible for Alexia to have to worry about. Maybe you'd run a bath for her, give her a massage, or let her have some alone time before falling asleep with your chest to her back as you ran a hand softly through her hair.

What you weren't expecting, however, was to find a familiar figure in a black tracksuit curled up on the sofa, soundly sleeping.

You froze in the doorway, unsure what to do next. The first thing you thought was just how much the sight concerned you. Alexia wasn't meant to be home for a number of hours yet, her day was filled with meetings after she'd had training in the morning. Tie that in with the fact that she was adamant in never taking naps, ever, as well as how she always followed her schedule to the second, and your body was wracked with worry from head to toe.

Long story short, this only alluded to unimaginable things consuming her right now. You didn't even want to think about it. If it hurt you this much, and you weren't even the one experiencing all she was, then god only knows how she's feeling. Hopefully you can coax it out of her.

Instead of disturbing her right now, you backed out of the room and headed towards the kitchen. Once in there, you off-loaded your bag and your jacket onto the dining table, before opening your phone and putting in the order for dinner. Then you took a moment to compose yourself, to come up with a way to approach the delicate situation currently festering in the lounge of the apartment.

Alexia could wake up and be in one of either two moods: she doesn't really want company as she needs time to process what's pacing through her mind, or, and you're not sure if you preferred this one or not, she'd be in such an utterly wrecked state of mind that she would just melt into your arms and unload weeks, if not months, worth of bottled up emotions. You knew the latter would happen at some point, but you definitely didn't think it would come about so soon.

Really, this wasn't how you expected the night to go, you just assumed that Alexia would complete her work day before coming home, speaking very few words for the rest of the evening. It wasn't out of displeasure, it was how she processed things. Until the pressure built up inside her and exploded, she would keep pretty schtum about how things were going for her, and no matter how much you tried to shake her out of these habits, it was just something about her you had to deal with.

But now, with somewhat of an idea built up in your head, you slip your shoes off and put them on the rack by the front door, and walk back towards your sleeping girlfriend. As you get closer to her, you spot the scowl to her brow and slight frown on her lips - even as she sleeps, she still can't catch a break. She looks perturbed and uncomfortable, like there's things she can't quite shake off, and it breaks your heart.

With a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sleeps on her side with her face slightly covered by her hood, you gently nudge her.

"Hey, Ale, wake up. It's me, wake up." You whisper, leaning down to place a kiss on her temple. At the affectionate touch, she jolts awake, breathing a little heavy. "Hey, it's only me."

"Oh." She muttered, rubbing her eyes and sighing. "Por qué estás aquí?"

"I just got home from work, it's half four." Wrong thing to say.

She sits up in shock, looking at you agasp, her stomach churning with dread. She never missed meetings, she never missed any kind of work, period.

"Mierda. Lo siento, tengo que irme, ahora." Alexia jumps up and rushes to grab her keys from the kitchen, but you grab her hand and stop her. "No, amor, I-"

"Ale, take a breath. Slow down." You say, standing up and taking her other hand. Her eyes are everywhere but you, her body language is tense and radiates anxiety. "Look at me. Hey, mírame, Ale."

"Amor, you do not understand, I am missing a meeting ri-"

"No, you are here with me, and you need to take a minute. Just a minute, if anything. Please." You plead, dropping her hands to cup her face and get her to look at you. "Sit down with me, relax for a moment. I won't hear otherwise."

A reluctant nod later, she sits down with you on the couch, though she perches on the edge like she could take off any second. You don't doubt that she won't.

"Sorry." She states a quiet moment after, her hands coming to cover her face as she sighs heavily yet again.

"For what, Ale?" You ask, shuffling closer to her side and draping an arm across her shoulders. She shrugs, making you frown, so with your free hand you delicately turn her head to face you. "Take the day off. Anyone can see you need it."

Her nod isn't so hesitant this time, and that's terrifying in itself. The ease in which she agreed to skiving the rest of her schedule is so unnerving that you're not entirely sure where to go from here. You were expecting more of a fight, expecting her to be hard work for the night, but here she was just giving up in front of you. Near enough relinquishing her role as if it wasn't such a mental battle for her.

At her agreement, you tug her into you and she follows easily, resting her forehead against your collarbone and breathing out shakily.

"Let me look after you tonight, Ale. You don't have to apologise, not for anything." You whisper, scattering light, caring kisses across her cheek.

You pull down the hood of her jumper and, finally, see the full effect of what the month's brazen nature has done to her. The bags under her eyes are more prominent than ever, there's a permanent frown line etched onto her forehead, and she's a worryingly grey colour. Her face gives off a perturbed look, and to be honest you didn't think it was possible to be able to visibly see the aftermath of a mentally degrading few weeks.

Right now, it seems like sleep is the best option for her. And fortunately for you, and for Alexia, the restaurant you ordered from won't deliver your dinner for another forty or so minutes. It's a small miracle you'll happily take at this time, and if Alexia was in the right mind she'd probably laugh, because the wait time normally drives you crazy. You've never been more grateful for it though.

"Why don't you sleep some more? I got us some food, it won't be here for a while yet and I really think you need the rest." You suggest, tucking a few wisps of hair behind her ear.

"You... you will stay here?" She questions in such a childlike manner that it splits your heart in two.

"Yes, I'll be right here, Ale, I promise. I'm not going anywhere, ever." You tell her, and that's when she meets your eye. The look she gives is devastating, it's filled with all sorts that would take you the rest of the night to unpack. And, quite frankly, Alexia isn't ready for that.

You urge her to lay down just like she was earlier, except this time you take the place by her head and let her rest it on your lap. It's now that you're carding your fingers through her hair, not in your bed. It's now that Alexia finally breaks, as sniffles sound through the room sporadically.

"Tan cansada." She uttered, almost unintelligibly, as she covers her eyes with her hand and buries her face in your stomach.

"It's okay. You can relax now. It's just us here, and you're safe. You're gonna be okay." You reasurre her, and you mean it with every ounce of your being. How could you not, when the light of your life has been dimmed by clouds of disdain from people who aren't even aware of the joy she brings you?

Alexia may come across as a force to be reckoned with, but after all, she's just your Ale, the one that cries at animal shelter adverts on TV and smiles like a fool at the little things like when you bring home her favourite snack as a surprise one day. She's a sensitive soul, but that's what you love about her. Everything she does, she does it with her whole heart, and you'd sooner be six feet under than to let your love for her go untold.

"I love you, Ale, and I'm really proud of everything you do. Everything."

"Even when I am not strong enough to go to one meeting?" She mumbles insecurely, stealing a glance up at you with one eye.

"Especially then. You are strongest in your weakest moments, when you're afraid to ask for help but you do it anyway. So, I'm always proud of you, and I always will be. I swear by that."

[hirayalore]

( 00. ) IN THE WAKE OF US.

when the passing of james and lily turns your world upside down, sirius is determined to face it with you, taking it upon himself to be the person that you need now that your older brother is no longer here.

amidst balancing shared grief, unexpected responsibilities, and a blooming familial dynamic with him and harry—you suddenly find yourself forging an unexplainable deeper bond with sirius that you’re not sure what to make out of, especially when other... odd emotions get involved that can’t be easily ignored.

pairing: sirius black x potter!reader

word count: 1.5k

rating: 18+

content: angst, fluff, nsfw | muggle au, modern au, brother’s best friend trope, forced proximity trope, childhood sweethearts trope (if you squint lmao), slow burn!!!! | ft. forensic scientist!sirius, artist!reader; philosophy professor!remus

warning/s: james and lily death (car crash, not detailed), grief, swearing, mature themes

[ chapter index. ]

PROLOGUE: SIRIUS

Sirius is a bit buzzed when he receives your call.

It’s a miracle how he managed to notice it, given how the pretty blonde perched on his lap is whispering filth in his ear as he grins, nursing his drink and squeezing her thigh underneath the table. It’s Friday night, and after a long week of dealing with cases and colleagues who seem to have a contest of who can test his patience the most, he feels like going into a pub and finding a pretty thing he can take home is the way to remove  all the stress in his system.

“You gonna take that or what?” the blonde murmurs against his ear, her red lips brushing against his skin while she traced a finger along the collar of his leather jacket. “Seems important.”

He gives her a lazy grin. “Possessive already, are we?”

She hums and places an open-mouthed kiss on his neck. “Just don’t want to have to compete for your attention tonight.”

Sirius lets her continue her ministrations, smirking, squeezing her flesh, and finally gets his phone inside the inside pockets of his jacket.

It flashes your name for a few seconds before his screen goes black. He raises an eyebrow, no longer focusing on the girl on his lap, and taps on his phone—only to see that you’ve left him six messages and 10 miscalls already.

Was he that distracted to not notice you’ve been spamming him with texts and calls?

A weird feeling twists in his gut. He knows you, knows that the last thing on earth that you would willingly do is call him. He can’t blame the dedication, really—it’s what keeps an insufferable person like him going, truth be told, knowing that he can still elicit an entertaining reaction from you even though the both of you are no longer 13 and 10. It’s practically embedded in him now, and he can’t let go of his title of being the designated annoying best friend of your older brother since the moment he realized that your comebacks to his teasing remarks were amusing as hell. 

Your name lights up again and he answers without further delay.

“Hey—”

“Sirius,” you say his name, uttering the syllables with a tone that makes him tense. Your breathing is ragged and from how your voice cracks and sounds muffled, he thinks that you’re in tears. “Fuckin—finally, I’ve been trying to—” you cut yourself off, struggling on speaking coherently. “Why the fuck weren’t you answering?”

His typical response would be a smart retort, a comment that he knows would have you swearing at him more, but from how you’re talking to him already, he can’t bring himself to be an arse.

“I—I need you,” you add after a few seconds when he doesn’t reply. His grip tightens over his phone at the admission and the sudden showcase of vulnerability. “James is… James—” You don’t finish the sentence once more, a choked sound being heard instead. You’re breathing too hard against the other line, like you’re having a hard time getting the air in and out of your lungs.

“James is what?” Sirius stands up so fast that the blonde slides off, almost landing harshly on her bottom.

“He was—he was with Lily. Date night. I’m babysitting Harry. And then—” More heavy breathing. More crying. Sirius no longer hesitates and dashes towards the exit, not even looking back, not even saying goodbye to the girl who’s now shouting something behind him that he can’t hear. “Then… then someone calls me… James’ phone… says something about a car crash—” 

He curses under his breath. You don’t need to be a genius to piece everything together.

“I’m in the hospital. They’re trying, trying to stabilize them,” you say, the noise in the background being more prominent now that he has a clearer idea of where you are. He can distinguish other indistinguishable voices, shoes rapidly padding on the floor, and high-pitched crying, perhaps Harry. “But it doesn’t—fuck, Sirius, it doesn’t look—I saw them, they don’t—” You don’t get to finish for the nth time that evening, only sobbing that makes Sirius want to fucking teleport to where you are.

He reaches his motorbike in fast strides and does everything at twice his usual speed, hopping on the vehicle and grabbing his helmet. “Text me the address. I’m coming.”

“I already did. I did it before calling you.” You croak, annoyance lacing your tone once more, and he wants to apologize if it isn’t for his growing frantic state. “Can you hurry? I–I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll be there, ____.” He kicks the stand. “Hold on, alright? I’m coming.”

“Okay.” Your breath shudders, a clear indication that you’re barely holding it together.

In one swift motion, he wears the helmet and speeds off.

****

Sirius arrives too late.

He wants to pretend that he’s overreacting, that he’s got plenty of time, that he’s reading into it wrong.

As far as he’s concerned, it took him less than 15 minutes to arrive at the hospital, a duration that should have been enough to see James and Lily while their hearts were still beating. He was under the impression that he’ll still get the chance to demand the people in charge of stabilizing to be better at their jobs, to go to James and demand that he wakes up, to tell Lily the same and do the shitty thing of guilt tripping her by saying that they can’t leave their one-year-old son alone.

But when he finally spots you—crouched on the floor with your hands tangled in your hair, a doctor in front of you, and a kind-looking nurse holding Harry—his stomach drops. A wave of nausea rises in his throat, the acid burn making him want to vomit as it dawns to him what’s happening right now.

“____,” he calls your name, his voice eerily calm despite the war going inside his mind and chest.

Your head snaps up, following his voice.

When you meet his gaze, your expression crumples up, a choked sob escaping your lips. You don’t give it a second thought as you force yourself up to your knees and run towards him, wounding your arms around his neck and sobbing against his shirt.

“They—they…” you stammer, clutching to him so tight that it hurts his shoulders a bit. “They didn’t—they’re gone, Sirius.” You gasp in between tears. “James and Lily—they’re… they’re—” You can’t even bring yourself to say it out loud, knees buckling and he instinctively tightens his arms around your body, a hand behind your head pressing you closer as you break down.

It’s a mystery to him how he’s not falling apart himself, but he reckons it’s his body telling him to prioritize you at this second. 

In all the years that he’s known you, you have never been this hysteric. You’ve always been the composed one, the rational one, the one who can stop for a moment and think of the consequences before going forth with a plan. Hell, he doesn’t even think he’s seen you cry before. You were always too strong and independent for your own good; the walls you’ve surrounded yourself with are too high and sturdy for anyone else to shatter.

Sirius looks at the nurse holding Harry, a silent question if she has his godson—who he realizes will never get to meet his parents—handled, and when she nods, he focuses his attention back on you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t say comforting words, but just embraces you, aware that it’s not something that you need to hear right now. You just lost your brother after all, the only living relative you have, and he can’t imagine what’s going on inside your head as that realization sinks.

“Sirius,” you say his name for no reason at all, maybe a silent plea to tell him that this isn’t real, that you’re in some fucked up nightmare—and his chest aches even more.

“I’m here,” he whispers, voice wobbly, throat closing. “I’ve got you, love.”

“James—” You cry your brother’s name— “it’s too—too soon—”

“I know, I know.”

You whimper, a few more tears falling from your eyes. You say something else, but it’s too muffled as you bury your face against his chest, and the room is beginning to close in that makes it harder for Sirius to breathe too.

Then, without warning, he feels you slack in his arms.

He exhales shakily, hoisting you up the best that he can.

James and Lily are gone. Harry is left orphaned. No doubt you’ll be taking custody as he’s fairly certain that Lily’s sister wouldn’t willingly take in her son. And there’s nobody else that you can actively rely on. You might think that you’re essentially on your own now for fuck’s sake—and Sirius knows it’s going to take a lot from you to begin raising Harry on your own amidst your own grief and the obvious fact that you have no clue about being a parent.

So, as you’re hanging against him and as he hears his godson beginning to wail in the busy hospital, he vows to himself that whatever happens next, you won’t definitely go through all of this alone.

He’ll spend the rest of his life making sure of it.

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

[gh0stly-pages]

Painted Mornings (Ledger!Joker x GN!Reader one shot)

Plot: Joker has a habit of leaving in the middle of the night or early morning, vanishing without letting you know. You catch him one morning before he leaves and help him do his makeup.

Words: 2.5k

CW: just some minor swearing, reference to nudity

Notes: The next part to the series I'm writing should be out, hopefully, by Friday, but here's this to fill the void :)

______________________________________________

When you awaken, you reach your arm out, instinctively reaching for the space beside you in bed only to find it empty. All you can feel is the other half of your blanket, messed up and discarded to the side. You yawn as you sit up on your elbow, peering into the darkness around you. It seemed a certain clown had slipped away while you were sleeping. The Clown Prince of Crime, your boyfriend, the Joker, was nowhere to be found.

You sigh, getting up and kicking your feet over the side of the bed. It’s not unusual for Joker to disappear on you like this. You two may already be a year into dating, but that doesn’t mean Joker has adjusted to typical domestic life quite yet. You don’t think he ever will, and while it can get on your nerves at times, you don’t really mind. He isn’t like any other guy you’ve ever met, and that’s what you like about him. Joker has the tendency to slip away without telling you, sometimes for days at a time, and you never know what he’s up to until you turn on the TV just to see whatever scheme he enacted to mess with Batman. No doubt he’s somewhere now, rigging up explosives, barking at his goons to follow orders. You smile at the thought of it. The worst part is never where he is, you know he’ll be lurking somewhere in Gotham, it’s him vanishing and you never knowing when he’ll come back. Or if he’ll come back. The Joker was the biggest mystery in your life.

You stare at the clock and realize just how early it is, about 2:00 AM, but you know you won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon. So, you slip out of bed, and make your way towards the bathroom. Might as well shower or something, freshen up.

As you get to the door, a sound from inside makes you jump. You pause, pressing your ear against the door, hearing rummaging from inside. Someone is in there. For a moment, you think about possibly running to grab one of Joker’s numerous blades that he keeps around your bedroom. If someone has broken in, you know how to deal with it. But instead, you step back from the door, hope blooming in your chest as you call out. “J?” you ask. “You in there?”

For a second, you expect the worst, that maybe one of Joker’s many enemies finally found you, but instead your boyfriend's voice carries through the door. “Yeah, doll.”

Your heart swells. Joker was still there with you! Excitedly, you open the door to see your boyfriend standing in front of the mirror, his greasepaint sitting on the sink. He’s barefaced still, which means he must not have woken up too long before you. Before you even go over to him, you stand for a moment and appreciate the scene in front of you. Seeing Joker without makeup was one of the first times in your relationship you felt that Joker truly trusted you, and everytime you’ve seen him barefaced since then, you always make sure to appreciate it. You look at the mangled flesh that make up his scars, scars that you find beautiful, before your eyes drift to his perfect nose and then his perfect brown eyes. But seeing him without makeup, without his walls up, isn’t even the best part, it’s seeing the Joker in your apartment bathroom, in nothing but a black t-shirt and boxers, now that’s a damn sight. It was a side of him he kept only for you, and it made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer, doll” Joker murmurs, snapping you from your thoughts. You smile and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your cheek into his back. “Didn’t expect you to be, ah, up this early.”

You shrug. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. I thought you had left already.” You can’t help but smile even wider. “Pleasant surprise to see you still here.”

“Yeah? Well you caught me just in time. I was just aboutta put my paint on,” he says, smacking his lips together. “You should go back to bed, doll.”

You shake your head, moving so that you press your full face into his back. He smells like soap since he (thankfully) showered yesterday, but you swear you can still smell the lingering traces of gunpowder on him. “I won’t be able to,” you say, pulling back from him. “I wanna stay with you.”

Peeking around his arm, you can see him glower in the mirror. “You need your rest, and ah, I’ve got plans today.” He licks the inside of his cheeks. “I can walk you to the room if you’d like.” You almost laugh at seeing him all upset over you not getting all the sleep you need. It’s his odd way of showing affection, getting upset when you’re not taking care of yourself properly. If you ever forget to eat, he’ll grumble and complain, leaving you as if he doesn’t care until you find food sitting on the kitchen counter. He isn’t the kind to sweetly bring you to the kitchen and cook up a meal for you, or tuck you into bed, but you know he cares, even if he doesn’t show it in the softest of ways.

You adjust yourself, shifting so that your chest is against his side so you can look at him in the mirror. He puts an arm around your shoulder. “Can I stay with you until you’re done?”

“Doll-”

“Please, J, I’ll go to bed right after. Just lemme stay with you until you’re done getting ready. Then I’ll sleep.”

He considers you for a second before sighing. “Fine, you’re, ah, lucky I’m feeling generous.”

Your arms slip away from him, and you grab his tin of white greasepaint. “Can I…can I do your paint for you?”

“My makeup?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. You expect him to deny you. You’ve washed him, dyed his hair, seen him naked several times, and yet there’s something that has held you back from ever asking to apply Joker’s face paint. You’ve been in the bathroom plenty of times when he’s put it on, watching intently as he rubs each color into his skin, slowly morphing into the infamous Gotham villain everyone knows him as. Yet another side of the Joker you love, but one you share with the rest of the city. There’s just something ritualistic about his makeup application, something you have never wanted to intrude on. It’s Joker making himself Joker, and you’re not sure if you have any part in it. You hold your breath until Joker finally responds. “Mmmm, sure.”

It’s a short, ‘whatever’ response but you’re thrilled, trying not to let your excitement show too much, though you’re sure Joker can see it on you. He was always better at reading you than you are at reading him. You grab the rest of Joker’s greasepaint and use your chin to gesture to the toilet. “Take a seat.”

Slowly, Joker sits on the toilet lid, and you settle in front of him, bending down. Again, you just sit there and admire him, reaching up and tracing along the scar on his right side, feeling the ragged flesh beneath your fingertips. Joker leans into your touch for just a second before pretending to try and bite at your finger. Well, you’re sure he would bite you, just not hard. “Focus, doll, I have places to be.”

You pull your hand away, smirking before opening the tin of white greasepaint, unscrewing the lid. “What’s your plan this time?” You dip two fingers into the paint, reaching up and smearing it on Joker’s cheek. The paint feels nicer than you thought.

Instead of shutting his eyes, Joker looks intently at you as you apply the white all over his face. “Oh ya know, a little this, a little that.” He licks his lips. “A bit of destruction here and there.”

His answer is vague, which leads you to believe he has something big up his sleeve. You’ll have to keep your eyes peeled on the news later. When it comes to Joker’s schemes, that’s yet another part of him he tends to keep on the down low, but occasionally he’ll let you in on a plan or two, showing you his erratic sketches and notes in his journals. It’s not that Joker doesn’t want you to know what he’s doing, he just likes to be secretive, likes a good surprise. “Sounds like fun, J.” You finish up smearing the white all over his face. It’s a bit splotchy, but it usually is, and you think it adds to the look. “Gonna have to close your eyes now, gonna put the black on.”

“Aw, but I’ve got such a nice view,” he complains, his voice a low, tired growl and your stomach flutters. 

You poke his chest. “Eyes. Closed. Now.”

“Bossy, bossy, bossy.” He grumbles, but obliges, though you know he isn’t actually upset over you bossing him around. You can tell he’s tired, the way his eyes shut immediately, his head tilting, but he’d never admit to being tired. He manages to stay awake from a mix of black coffee and adrenaline. 

You grab the black paint next, popping off the lid and diving in, rubbing the paint around Joker’s eyes. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

He sighs. “Dunno, doll, maybe a day or two. Depends just how much of what I do goes right, assuming Batsy doesn’t mess it all up.” His ‘t’s are more pronounced when gets upset, and honestly, you find it awfully adorable. “Chaos is un-pre-dictable.”

When you’re done with his left eye, you move on to the right. “You know, it’s not very fun to wake up and see my boyfriend has vanished without a word to shake up the streets of Gotham…” You trail off, not quite sure where you’re going with this. You’re not angry. You weren’t even planning on saying anything about it. But sitting in front of J, in this quiet, sacred space, you felt the need to say something. To get it off your chest. 

His eyes blink open. “Should I, ah, leave a voicemail next time?” He’s joking about it, trying to defuse the tension, but that makes you even more upset. “Send a letter?”

You drop your hand, frowning. “J, I’m being serious. You worry me.”

“You know I’ll be fine.”

“No, I don’t.” Your words have a bite to them. Because you don’t know if he’ll be okay. Joker is afraid of nothing, and you’re scared one day this will be the death of him. You’re not expecting Joker to ever fully settle into domestic life, to be the prized boyfriend a younger you may have wanted. You like the wild, chaotic relationship you have with Joker. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare you. “What if one day you go out, never tell me, and I lose you and don’t even get to say goodbye?” Your voice cracks. Shit. You wipe your eyes. You weren’t expecting to cry.

At the sight of your tears, Joker softens, his shoulders deflating. He reaches up and grabs your face, his palms gently settling on your cheeks. “Hey, uh, don’t cry doll, I didn’t mean to joke. You know I can’t help myself.” He shifts awkwardly. As ever, he is still clumsy at dealing with your emotions, and if it were any other time you may have laughed. “That stupid Bat isn’t gonna get me, neither are any of those Gotham crooks, come on, darlin.”

“Just because you’re scared of nothing doesn’t mean I’m the same.” You sniff. “I’m scared of losing you, J. And here you are, vanishing in the early mornings before I even get the chance to know.”

Joker isn’t exactly empathetic. He doesn’t deal with emotions in the same way you do. You cry, he blows things up and fights fellow criminals. He tries not to feel things. But you’ve certainly softened him, allowed him to feel more than he has before. You can tell it scares him. He’s trying though. Really damn hard. “Aw, well, doll, next time I make my way out for a, ah, night on the town, I can let you know beforehand.” He smiles, leaning in closer. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“I know, it’s upsettin’.” Before you can even react to his words, he continues. “I don’t mean as in I’m angry, but I don’t like knowin’ that every little thing I do is gonna worry you.” Joker was not the best with words either, but you can tell what he was getting at. He wasn’t gonna say it, but you being upset over him made him upset for you. He didn’t like seeing you upset. His version of sympathy, you suppose. “I know I seem reckless, but I really have been tryin’ to be careful ever since you came along.”

Careful was not a word you would use to describe Joker, but you didn’t think he was lying. Had he really been trying to be more careful? Just for you? “Really?”

“Really, doll. I won’t go dyin’ on you anytime soon. If I was gone, other people could have you all to themselves, and I won’t let that happen.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “So greedy.”

“Only when it comes to what’s mine.” His hands drop, but he lets one finger trace along your lips. “Stop the frownin’, doll, you look so serious.”

The Joker was unlike anyone else. He would not say he was sorry, or that he loved you, because those words meant very little to him. Joker was all action. He may have made you upset over his disappearing habits, but now that you brought it up, you knew he would start trying to be better at it. Frankly, you were glad he didn’t apologize. The words would mean very little to you either. You needed to see him actually do something about it, and you were confident he would. “J…” You lean in and kiss him, smiling against his lips. “You’re really hard to stay mad at, you know.”

He smiles back at you. “I, uh, believe you need to finish up my makeup.”

“Oh, right! Well, I was just about done with your eye makeup. Gotta work on your smile.” You take the red greasepaint, putting some on your fingers and tenderly swiping it across his smile, starting at the tip of his left scar and moving towards the other end. “Beautiful. I think I just might have to start doing your makeup more often.”

Joker grunts, getting up and looking at himself in the mirror above the sink. He leans in real close, analyzing every little detail as if he’s some critic. You can’t help but laugh. “Mmmm, you did do a pretty good job, dollface. There’s only one person this makeup would look better on, though.”

“Who?”

He spins around and grabs you, and you squeal as he lifts you into his arms. “You.” His mouth lands on yours hard, and you wrap your arms around him, desperately clinging on. It’s a messy, desperate kiss that is sure to leave red paint all over you. 

Just what Joker wants.

[sukunas-wife]

Valentines Special

A little something for the masses 🤍💌 Happy Valentines Day everyone 🤍🤍🤍

“Two of whatever just came out.” Sukuna knew what came out, it was Friday on Friday they made snickerdoodles fresh. The smell always filled the school entrance and shoe locker room pulling students in to buy. He was always there just in time for the old to sell out and the fresh to come out. The same amount every day 143 yen, he kept the exact change daily in the stupid little coin pocket of his wallet. The jingle of his wallet while he took out the coins was always accompanied by the whispers and giggles of girls when Gojo Satoru would make his daily appearance gracing everyone with his cheeky smile, hands stuffed into his pockets, crude remarks being passed off as flirting.

“Thanks for that.” Gojo slid the pack of cookies Sukuna was about to pay for toward himself, “Fuck of Satoru don’t touch my shit unless your looking to lose the hand you jack off with.” Sukuna slammed the coins on the counter, snatching the pack away from him before walking away. He didn’t care to listen to whatever Gojo was screaming back at him, he had his own stuff to worry about, that stuff being finding you before you started running late to your class. Sure he was late to his classes but a teacher wouldn’t say a damn thing once they saw his face. But you, you were a mess. He didn’t understand what you saw in being Student Body President. You show up early to school, skip breakfast because your sense of time is shitty, stay late after school and always look so tired after dealing with incompetent fools. At lunch it’d be a miracle for you to eat on your own, more often than not he’s dragging you to the school's garden and feeding you whatever you packed him for lunch. And when it’s the right season, whatever fruit he can steal from the garden.

Perfect timing as always, he caught you running up the stairs. You stopped smiling up at him, he was at the top staring down at you, eyebrow raised at why you were holding your skirt down like you could flash anyone. Why were you wearing one of those slutty mini skirts anyways, usually only Gojo’s fan girl wore those to catch his eye. He usually saw you in those skirts that were knee length, sometimes ankle length. He liked it like that, you looked different from everyone else, it amused him when you’d grab the front of your skirt hitching it up to run up the stairs, his eyes would always long in your stocking covered squished thighs when you’d raise your skirt too high in a hurry. But this mini skirt, you didn’t miss the change in his face, and you looked down, “My skirt got torn by my desk and this is all the nurse had in the and found.. i don’t know how you lose a skirt really but…”

He sighed, “damnit Y/n you really are a mess ya know.” You watched as he untied the black sweater from his waist. He moved to stand behind you, one step down, “Ya know how many fucking perverts are in this damn school just waiting to get an up shot of some girls underwear.” You felt his arms come around your waist and you moved your hands away watching as he tied a knot with the sleeves, “It’s disgusting.” He didn’t move away, your hands rested on his around your waist, you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder, “What happens if one day I’m not here to take care of you huh?” You turned your face to look at him, his red eyes were staring down at you. You did your best to kiss his cheek, “I’ll just have to suffer alone Kuna.” He scoffed at you, “whatever.”

You couldn’t help the smile when you pressed your lips to his cheek again, your lips lingering and he hummed before moving to face you, catching your lips. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, smiling up at him, his eyes were lidded with a lazy smile. The warning bell pulled you out of your little lovey staring contest, “Change that skirt when you get the chance or I’m killing the first pervert to look up your skirt.” You rushed up the stairs and he leisurely followed behind til you made it to your class. He never failed to eye your class out of judgement, more specifically looking for that dumbass Gojo that was in your class. He was always ready to get into a fight with that prissy twink. You watched him make a face and looked into your class, there was Gojo Satoru, staring right at your boyfriend with a frown of his own. Between the two it was like watching an adolescent Snow Leopard and Tiger getting ready to fight for a fresh meal. What would you expect from two of the most well known families in your city? Satoru’s family was well into being wealthy, their lineage producing world class Models and successful doctors, it was no surprise when on show and tell in elementary school Satoru brought in magazine’s of a white haired blue eyed child saying he was a baby/toddler model. As for Sukuna’s family, they have a much longer history in this city then Satoru’s. Trumping Satoru’s family in wealth, but what would you expect from a family who had long been dedicated to beating the head of a successful and thriving branch of the Yakuza.

You remember the first time you met Sukuna’s father. Sukuna had taken you out to buy a traditional kimono, get your hair done with jade combs and pins. Telling you about how his father was a very traditional man with values such as, respect your elders and those above you, never steal or wrong the everyday man or woman, never disrupt the harmony of your family or those around you, never become involved with drugs and always act chivalrously. You admired the way he talked about his dad, he looked up to him with respect, admiration so you agreed to do the best you could.

His house was not just a house, it was a Shinden Zukuri, it was massive, and glorious. It was exactly what you would have expected from his father from just hearing of him. “It’s…amazing Sukuna.” You turned to look at him and he was smirking down at you, “I know it is.” He led you along the path to one of the entrances and to the Genkan, you slid your shoes off and held onto your bag. Following sukuna further into the house, and out onto the engawa of the home until he stops at another room, he slid the shoji door open telling you to enter. He took your bag, placing it on a shelf against the wall, and you looked around the room. It was almost empty except for the white men's kimono on the kimono rack. You looked at Sukuna. His school shirt was open and he pulled it off, throwing it over your head, “Leave that on.”

you heard the rustle of fabric, all you could see was the white fabric in front of you until we pulled it off of you and you looked up at him, his brow was furrowed as he tried to fix a hair comb that came loose. You could see a part of his chest showing through his Kimono, he leaned closer mumbling something about the comb being difficult. He smelt good, it was masculine but clean, he smelt like a candle he once bought you, Bergamot, Lavender and Cedar. You couldn’t help the little sniff you took and he let out a single laugh pulling away from you, “weirdo.”

You just smiled up at him and he led you further into the “home.” Stopping right outside double sliding doors, “alright, if you’re not ready by now, you’ll never be. So if you're not ready and you fail, sorry to break it to you now you’ll probably never see me again.” He gave you a cheeky smile when he saw your scared and worried expression, “Su-alright no backing out now.” He slid the doors open bowing and greeting his father, and there he was, frozen for a second the man was massive in size and he was only sitting. He was shirtless and covered in tattoos, you swallowed before dropping into a deep bow greeting him and introducing yourself in a calm but confident way. You didn’t look back up until you heard him let out a low chuckle and tell you to stand at ease. Your face was still looking down, if that’s what Sukuna was going to look like when he was older, there was already no doubt in your mind you wanted to marry him but if there was even a smidge or shadow it was gone. Sukuna’s father cleared his throat, “Sit, I want to learn more about the little lady who managed to leash my boy.” Sukuna groaned as he put a hand on your lower back, ushering you forward to sit with him across from his dad…. The rest was history.

The Late bell pulled you from your memory, “I’ll see you-at Lunch yeah yeah go before that teacher Yaga comes in and marks you absent.” He nodded with his head finally looking at you, you smiled. You saw the small twitch in the corner of his lips before he stepped back and started walking to his own class with no haste.

——————

It had been a week since that day but more importantly it was the weekend before valentines. Here you were in your kitchen doing everything to make the perfect gift. You’d gone to the store that morning spending a decent amount of your savings on things to make sweets and bake little things for him. There was no doubt in your mind that just like last year, your boyfriend's locker would be filled with love notes and chocolates that he’d either let you have your choice of or throw away. The love letters, you’d read and go though all the candy bullying him about his little secret admirers before he’d crumple them up throwing them into the trash.

But right now! You were focused on making homemade chocolate filled with red velvet cream, smooth white chocolate, or almonds. You had taste tested so many you finally got the right flavour. They weren’t bitter, but not overly sweet like the store chocolate you watched him make a face at, one time. On the other hand, you had little chocolate heart shaped cookies you’d decorated with royal icing trying to make cute valentines designs. The lines weren’t the cleanest or fanciest but you liked them enough to pack them into a little treat bag with a red bow and a name tag. The Chocolate you packed into a gold box with a bright red satin ribbon. And the little cake tin you chose was a gold tin with a clear top. You wanted to make a milky cake with whipped cream and strawberries. You even bought a bigger bento box to make a special lunch for him, you had it all planned out. It was a three layer bento. Your plan was to stuff him and push him into a food coma for his final class. The first was beef and vegetables with white rice with pickled plum and pickled ginger he always ate like it was nothing. The second layer was tempura shrimp, a pickled cucumber salad and fried rice. The final layer was two egg salad onigiri with sesame snap pea salad. On the side was going to be your cake and a little egg pudding. There was no way he’d be cranky in his last class if he was stuffed to the brim.

——————

“no more…” You watched Sukuna as he dramatically fell over into your lap breathing heavily as he huffed. One arm thrown over his eyes, the other hanging down still holding the onigiri he had yet to bite into. Your hand scratching his head gently, “Happy Valentine's Kuna.” You did your best to angle yourself and lean over to kiss his forehead. You didn't miss the smile on his lips when you pulled away, he held the onigiri up blocking the sun when he uncovered his eyes, the little face you worked so diligently on for him. “Maybe one more.” You watched wide eyes when he stuffed half of it in his mouth before holding it up to your lips, his cheeks puffed out while chewing, it was cute for someone who without a doubt could snap your neck or make anyone cry and want to die with just words without having to raise his voice. He hummed offering to feed you some of the onigiri again and you took a small bite. Before your finger came to pick a grain of rice off his cheek, it was cliche and even worse when he eyed your finger and pulled it to his lips licking the grain off. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me.” His cheeky smile made you break out into a smile when he shoved the last of his rice ball into his mouth struggling to sit up, “damnit, I can’t.” He gave up and laid back in your lap, “I live here now.”

“Wait there’s one mo-no I can't I’m full, look at me.” He patted his stomach with his hands, you didn't see a difference in his fit form, that was until he saw the reflective gold and his eyes widened, “wait!” You watched him wiggling and struggling to sit up, putting a hand on his back to push him up, he made grabby hands at the tin when you pulled it away, “I thought you couldn’t- I can! I lied, I do that sometimes.” He tried to lean over you to grab it but you leaned further, so he did what he would never do publicly. He grabbed you and hauled you over into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist holding you there, “Now feed me y/n.” He rested his chin on your shoulder looking at the cake. Whipped cream and a heart made of strawberry purée and strawberries, “heh, you do all this for me, pretty girl?” Your smile was big and ungraceful when you laughed at his nose grazing your jaw and neck. “Yes, it’s all for you Sukuna, I wouldn’t do this much for anyone else.” You turned and kissed the side of his temple and he smiled, “cmon open it.” You fed him and he hummed, his chin resting on your shoulder tilting it so it rested against yours.

You sat like this for while feeding him and yourself until the bell rang, he squeezed you holding you against him, “C‘mom even little miss perfect can take a break, let’s stay out here a little longer.” You reluctantly agreed and kept feeding him what was left of the box cake. Eventually he just held you there, smiling and laughing at how you told him your story of how you messed up and your poor parents who had to be taste testers.

Soon the last school bell rang, he opened his eyes just barely glaring at the intercom that played the obnoxious chime. One arm was tucked behind his head, the other around your shoulders holding you against him. He was sitting back leaning against the plum tree the school planted. Your head on his chest, eyes closed with soft breaths, arm draped over his chest. His school coat was over you, he almost didn’t want to wake you, but his back and butt were aching from being in this slouched angle for so long. So slowly he started to sit up, trying to gently wake you, your eyes opening to look up at him. He was so beautiful in the setting sun in your eyes, “What time is it?” Your question went almost unanswered until he pulled out his phone, “it’s time to go home is all that matters.” You didn’t look away from his face and he looked back at you, holding eye contact. “Happy Valentine’s Day Kuna.” Your small tires smile and sleepy eyes squeezed his heart. He leaned in nuzzling his head to yours, “it’s not your day yet but Happy Valentine’s Day Brat.” You closed your eyes smiling until you felt his lips, you were delighted to kiss him back before he sat up pulling away, “we gotta get up my ass is starting to hurt.” You laughed getting up with the help of his outstretched hand, “I guess you’ll just have to take these home with you.” You didn’t miss the flash of excitement in his eyes when you pulled out the gold box of Chocolates and red ribbon tied cookies. You smiled and he grinned like a mad man carefully stuffing them into his bag.

“Ya know brat, I never celebrated Valentines before…” he trailed off and you didn’t miss the hint of pink on his cheeks, it made you smile and take his hand. “Guess I’ll just have to spoil you next year too.” He scoffed looking away but you didn’t miss the way he held on tighter to your hand, “Good because if you think you can just leave your dead wrong.”

It was the full bloom of red on his shocked face when you kissed his cheek so innocently and said “If I leave anything it’ll be my last name,” that assured you in a way he wouldn’t fight you on that subject.

Tag: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@cyder-puff @bofadeezs

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

[azrielbrainrot]

Maybe We Could Be The Start of Something

Pairing: Band member!Azriel x College Student!Reader

Description: Your friends invite you to a bar and you could never imagine who you'd meet there.

Word Count: 3294

Warnings: none

Notes: I had this idea after seeing this art and couldn't stop thinking about it. I actually had a lot of ideas for little stories in this universe but it makes sense to start with how they met. Also I know that's a terrible band name but I never had to name a band before okay. I didn't proofread this because I think I'd delete the whole thing if I did, sorry. This is really self-indulgent but I hope you like it!

Band AU masterlist

You could only blame yourself for agreeing to meet Viviane. Your skull felt like it was going to split open with this headache that has lasted all week. The only thing you wanted to do right now was try to sleep it off under your warm blankets, but instead you willingly came to a bar knowing it was just going to make it worse.

She's been telling you about this place and the bands that perform here occasionally for ages. Apparently it's a real hotspot for up and coming musicians ever since two bands made it big after starting out here. You've been turning her down for weeks so you had promised her that you'd finally come this friday, of course when you agreed you couldn't have known your week was going to be absolute shit. Though most of your days have been shit lately. That might be the actual reason Viv has been so insistent about you going out with her, she knew your mental health was ready to take a vacation and was just being a good friend.

This really hadn't been a good day to come though. Aside from your headache, your last class had also run late, making you lose your bus and barely have time to drop everything off at home and change to come meet your friends. As a little treat you also couldn't find your nice black skirt so you had to just wear jeans, you definitely needed the extra confidence the pretty skirt provided but the universe didn't seem to care about that.

The bar was already packed by the time you got there, you were almost being pushed around while you were searching for your friends. You look down at your phone to ask them where they are and see a text from Viv asking if you're still coming. Reading it makes you stop in your tracks. You can't really blame her for thinking you wouldn't show up since you've been declining every invitation lately, but seeing that she thought you wouldn't even give her a heads up hurt a little. You knew you had been distant lately but you were trying your best to deal with life and you never meant to do it at the expense of your friendships.

You're pushed out of your thoughts when someone taps your shoulder gently, making you look back at them. Turning your head you were faced with a muscular chest, slowly looking up a tattooed neck to meet beautiful hazel eyes staring back at yours.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” he says, breaking eye contact for a second before continuing, “but I think you dropped this.” He raises his hand so you can see him holding your keys. Your house keys, the ones you would undoubtedly only notice were missing when you went back home and tried to open the door. That would have been the cherry on the cake after this whole day. Maybe you should see a witch to make sure it's not actually a curse, no one should experience this much bad luck.

“Thank you so much,” you almost yell as you grab them from his hand in excitement. He just saved you from having no place to sleep tonight. You notice him tensing up when your fingers brush against his hand and realize you might have made him uncomfortable. “I'm sorry,” you take a tiny step back in the crowded bar, “I would have been locked out of my apartment if you hadn't seen that. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” he said, giving you a nod and something close to a smile, before going on his way. You curse yourself again for acting so awkwardly. You hope you didn't make him feel uncomfortable, he was nice in picking up your keys and giving them back to you. He was also really cute which only made it more of a shame that you met like this. At least you didn't lose your keys, that would have seriously sucked.

Making your way to the table Viviane told you they would be at, you notice almost everyone is here. She was leaning against her boyfriend, Kallias, while they listened to whatever story Alba was telling them about. Ezio and Celia were both looking down at their phones and showing each other something while giggling like schoolgirls. As much as you love your friends, you don't know how much socializing you can handle today. You already fucked up what could have been a very simple interaction. Then again, with all of them here you know Viv won't try to ask you about Eleanor so at least you can keep avoiding hard topics. Viv greets you with a grin as soon as she sees you, everyone following right after.

“Hey, thought you weren't coming after all.” Yeah, you almost forgot about that. You smile anyway, knowing she didn't mean to remind you of how much of a bad friend you've been lately.

“Sorry, guys,” you sit down in the empty chair next to Alba before continuing, “Class ran late and then I lost my bus.”

“Oh. Bad luck.” You have no idea, Kallias. Conversation picked back up after that and you let them do most of the talking, taking a back seat and just watching them. You're glad that they either noticed you weren't in a talking mood or just didn't realize you were mostly quiet anyway.

You have no new stories to tell them since you've barely been functioning outside of school and talking about your feelings is definitely a resounding no, especially at a bar, so you just let them keep up with their conversations and just nod along every once in a while.

Eventually, the DJ introduces the band playing tonight. The Night Court. Judging by the screams and the way everyone moves closer to watch, they're very popular around here and you understand part of the reason for said popularity as soon as you see them step up on stage.

“Oh, they're really good!” Viviane's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “The guitarist is Mor's cousin. You remember her, right?” You nod. Of course you do. The blonde with sparkly eyeshadow and red lips leaves a big impression, forgetting Morrigan is probably impossible.

You study the guitarist as he introduces himself and the band. He's extremely handsome, the type of handsome that would make you think he can't be human, like some kind of fairy or vampire. You can tell he's aware of this fact with every honey dipped word that comes out of his mouth, literally flirting with the whole crowd. Despite not having many physical similarities with Mor, that allure he exudes definitely matches with hers.

The drummer was already sitting in place, looking eager to play. It takes you a second to notice he was in fact already sitting down as he's probably one of the tallest men you've ever seen in real life. But, with the messy shoulder length hair and big boyish grin on his face, he doesn't look scary at all.

As your eyes travel to the bassist, half hidden in the shadows, you wonder why you didn't recognize him immediately. It was the same guy that helped you before. You had thought he was beautiful before but, considering the situation, you didn't have much time to linger on that fact. However now that he was standing on stage, you could fully appreciate it. He was tall - this much you knew since you were at head level with his chest - and by the way his arms strained against his black t-shirt as he picked up his bass, you could tell he was fit too. He was looking down at the bass in his hands, making the few lights that caught him cast an ethereal glow on his face and on his onyx hair. This man looks like he stepped right down heaven's gates.

They start playing what you think is an original song but can't be sure since you were too distracted checking their bassist out to hear what Mor's cousin had said. He does have a really good singing voice but as your mystery angel starts singing, you can't help but feel bewitched back to watching him.

You barely take your eyes off him during the whole performance but they're all undeniably good. It's easy to understand why this bar is so popular if this is the level of talent their bands have. You can definitely imagine them making it big. They all seem very comfortable and content on stage and the crowd can't get enough of them.

You're so distracted by them that you don't even notice your head pounding anymore, or how fast time flies because, before you know it, they're saying their goodbyes to the crowd and leaving the stage.

Conversation starts back up after that, everyone is gushing about how talented and hot they are and you find yourself easily agreeing with their sentiments. But, with no distraction and the dj back playing songs you've heard a thousand times and the pressure of keeping conversation going, your headache comes back. You wait out just a little longer until you think it's an acceptable time to leave without worrying everyone too much.

“I'm sorry guys but I think I'm going to head home.” You finish the last of your drink even though it's mostly melted ice by that point and start putting your jacket on.

“Already?” You're not surprised Alba is the first to speak up. You'll never understand how this girl has so much energy, you had the same morning class as her but she's still as energetic as she was at lunchtime.

“It's still kind of early,” Viviane looks up at you with her icy eyes and you can recognize the concern in them immediately.

“It was just a busy week,” you explain with a smile on your face, hoping no one reads too much into it even though you all know that's not all. “I think I need to go sleep it off.”

“Are you going by yourself though?” Out of everyone at the table, Enzo is the worst one at hiding his emotions. You can see as clear as day that he's worried about you.

“I'll get an uber. Don't worry.” You gesture to your phone hoping they'll drop it.

“I can wait with you outside.” Kallias offers immediately, ever the responsible one. You really wanted to stay alone right now though.

“You don't have to.” You put your bag over your shoulder to add some finality to your words. “It's cold and there's going to be enough cars out at this hour, I won't be waiting for long.” It looks like he's about to say more but Viv puts a hand over his arm subtly, making him shut up. The bass of the music keeps hammering at your head so you don't linger and just say your goodbyes, waving at everyone with what you hope is a seemingly content smile, before leaving.

As soon as you step outside the pressure you feel starts slowing down. The front of the bar is still full of people so you walk a bit more to the little parking lot on this street. The air is cold but it feels amazing after being in the stuffed bar and your thoughts don't seem so overbearing when you don't have to try to act happy with your friends.

You love them to death but everything about how tonight went just proves that they've been talking about you behind your back. You know this is just them being good friends. You've been acting so differently in these last few months that even one of your professors noticed so it's only natural that they also did, but knowing everyone can tell only makes it worse.

You didn't want to make anyone worry about you. Life has just been going for your throat lately, minor inconveniences keep popping up and piling on top of what was already a pretty shitty situation. But you know once the semester ends, you'll get the chance to finally breathe and solve some of the problems you've been ignoring. And then things will hopefully get better. It just really sucks that your friendships and even school life has been affected by this.

Sitting down on top of the small wall that wrapped around the parking lot, you look up at the sky, willing your mind to let you rest for a bit. Watching the stars twinkling and your breath turn into white clouds of smoke because of the cold. You should probably get that uber and go home before any of your friends find you here, but your body doesn't want to move for some reason.

You feel someone approach you and look back down to meet familiar hazel eyes. You both stare at each other for a second longer than what would be normal, not expecting to see each other again.

“We keep running into each other,” you can hear his voice better here. You didn't notice how deep it was in the crowded bar. His singing voice is also deep but a bit softer than this.

“Yeah.” You smile. Seeing him again after how he helped you and then watching him on stage is making you a little giddy despite your somber mood. He seems a bit less unsure after you respond as well.

“Are you here alone?” He asks as he stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“No, I'm just waiting for an uber.” You hope you're not making a bad impression again. He probably hadn't seen you with your friends before either.

“Alright,” he looks over to what you assume is his car and then back to you, “I can wait here with you.”

“You don't have to. It's cold,” you start but he shakes his head before you even finish speaking, “I actually haven't called it yet.” He gives you a look of amusement and it just makes you try to explain yourself faster. “I have a headache. The cold just felt calming. I'll get it now.” Opening the app, you start searching and, just like you expected, there's a car barely 10 minutes away from you. A wave of disappointment washes over you at the thought that you won't get to talk to him for longer but you push it aside quickly, you barely know him.

“A bar probably isn't the best place to be if you have a headache,” he tilts his head slightly in what you're almost sure is concern. He's a little hard to read.

“I know but I already had told my friends I was coming so…” You shrug and change the subject, trying to allow this moment to let you forget about your earlier thoughts. “Didn't turn out too bad. There was this really good band playing today.” You can see a flush take over his cheeks and the tips of his ears and you feel incredibly proud of yourself for being the reason behind it.

“I'm glad you liked it,” he says as he dips his head slightly in thanks. You feel like this might be the best compliment you could have given him.

“You were all really good. I even forgot about my headache while I was watching you play,” you try not to sound too excited and make it weird but you want him to know how good his band is, “Do you perform here a lot?”

“Yeah,” he leans sideways against the wall next to you, “At least twice a month.” You're starting to notice that, although his face doesn't show too much emotion, his eyes are a little more expressive. His band seems to be a topic he likes talking about. You can understand why.

“Isn't that a big deal? I heard this bar is really popular nowadays, there has to be a lot of bands trying to perform here.” The blush seems to be back but it could also be because of the cold you're subjecting him to.

“We always try to do our best but we've been playing here for a long time. That helps too.”

“You know that's not it,” you point to the entrance of the bar, where some people are smoking, “The bar was packed. I don't know if that's how it always is but I'm pretty sure it was mostly people wanting to watch you perform.”

“You've never been here before?” It looks like he's getting a bit embarrassed by the praise so you let him change the subject.

You shake your head. “Need to come more often though. When are you performing again?”

“We don't always have a schedule,” he looks down at your phone in your hands then back up at you, “But I can text you the details.”

“Oh.” He wants your number. The thought makes warmth rush to your cheeks. “Alright.” You unlock your phone and hand it to him. While he's typing his number, you can't help but notice the scars on his hand. They completely cover his hands, the skin completely marred. It looks as if they were burned. You look away from them, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by staring. He hands you your phone back and you see he saved his number under his name.

“Azriel,” you say the name out loud, tasting it in your mouth. He's watching you a little more intensely than before and you have to break eye contact to stop yourself from blushing. You quickly send him a text so he can save your number as well.

“I'll need yours too.” You give him your name and he repeats it, just as you had done. He makes it sound beautiful in his warm timbre and you can't help the flutter in your stomach. “I'll text you as soon as I find out when we're coming here next.”

“Okay.” You lock eyes and don't look away, just enjoying the moment, until you see a car pass by and realize it's yours.

You think you could have stayed there in the cold talking to him all night. You're not sure why but talking to him is effortless, it's like you've been friends for years. It just feels right and you find yourself wishing that he texts you soon with the concert information and anything else he comes up with. You wouldn't need much of an excuse to talk to him.

“That's my ride,” You say as you hop down from the wall. He looks at the car and when his eyes meet yours again you think you can see a hint of disappointment, hopefully at having to cut the moment short. “Thank you for waiting with me,” you smile at him again, “You didn't have to do that.”

“No problem.” He gives you a smile too, the biggest one you've seen on him. “I'll see you next time.”

“Of course.” You'd be an idiot to not want to see him again. You linger for as long as you can, suddenly not feeling like going home at all.

You wave at him again before getting in the car and something beats faster in your chest when he waves back and watches the car speed off down the street, it's almost like your heart is telling you to stay with him. You're not exactly sure what just happened but you hope you don't regret not staying with him for the rest of the night.

You keep thinking about him during the whole car ride and he's the last thing on your mind when you're laying down to sleep. And when he texts you the next day you know you'll have many more opportunities to spend the night talking to him.

[ai-art-thieves]

Investigation: Lavenderconstellation.store (or, how I started worrying and hate the aesthetic and meme blogs)

Looks like we got yet another epidemic of scammy garbage on our hands.

It's name is available HERE

GET IT HERE

GET THIS SHIRT HERE

Advertisements for websites disguised as posts.

Only problem?

These websites are dropshipping scam sites that inflate prices and create fake flash deals to make oblivious buyers take their products.

And it has infected numerous meme and aesthetic blogs.

They're already catalogued on this blog, so I won't have to restate myself.

HOWEVER, I did find something interesting.

Lavenderconstellation is not the only one.

It started when I looked into one of the sites plants, @/im-going-gh0st.

They created the blog on June 2022.

Initially, things seemed pretty normal.

Reblogging posts and memes.

That is... until June 22.

This right here is the first post and potentially the first appearance of loveandthunder.com

But that post was nothing compared to July 10th, 2022.

From there, numerous posts advertising the site began to flood the page, albeit with some regular reblogged posts to make them look less suspicious.

It also made me learn that @/throwbackblr, @/marvelness, @/deejay, @/johnwickofficial, @/heroesnewday, @/bong, @/elephantwildlife and @/im-so-3008 were a part of this at the time.

Love and Thunder even had their own tumblr, @/love-and-thvnder.

And all of us were unknowingly reblogging these posts.

Some people didn't even know these were ADS.

Luckily the site no longer exists.

....unfortunately it changed to Retro Mini.

Which is.... also a scam.

So we already got two stores that are straight up scams.

And a selection of blogs that have been advertising the site.

Most of them were aesthetic and meme blogs.

Sound familiar?

Wait, no. It gets better.

We got December 19th 2023.

That's when this thing started to show up.

Behold. The beginning of a new wave of stealth dropshipping store ads.

Adverts for RetroMini, Miyoo, and... on December 26th, 2023....

lavenderconstellation.store.

Scarily enough, that's not even the first appearance of that store.

It goes back further to 2022. In APRIL.

I found out when I saw one of their plants, @/shutupandtakemymonies, reblogged an account with only one post.

From this account.

That blog reblogged the hell out of that post.

These guys aren't just plants.

These guys are ASTROTURFERS.

@/best-black-friday-deals, @/bellaela, @/@cute-lovely-bee, @/bellapretty, @/viral-pink-toks, @/goth--roseee, @/carolineeeeeeeeeeeee, @/rosit-aaa, @/ee-jos, @/sword-grandma, @/alfred-xx @/dreamcore-posts, @/my-random--thoughts-deactivated, @/romaaaa-n....

And that's just the ones I could find in im-going-gh0st's archive.

A lot of blogs that reblog aesthetic or meme posts, reblog the hell out of the site, and leave the blog dormant when they are no longer needed.... which usually means that they moved to a different blog.

Some are less obvious about it than others.

I'm glad that there are people that are becoming more and more aware of this.... but that's not good enough.

We are dealing with a dropshipping, cheap videogame, price inflating online store with an army of astroturfers disguised as run of the mill meme blogs and aesthetic blogs.

And again, a lot of accounts fall for these posts.

This gives me some serious "They Live" vibes and I don't like it.

The only way we can stop them is to become the Nada of this story.

It's time to chew bubblegum and kick ass.

And we are all out of bubblegum.

[gummydummy19]

Not now (male reader version)

Summary: You and Natasha are major enemies with benefits. You can hardly be in the same room together, let alone an elevator...

Content Warnings: smut (blowjob), angst, fluffy ending (you know me), LANGUAGE!

A/N: This fic is one of my favorites out of everything i've ever written, so I decided to make a male reader version :)) hope you like it! feedback is always welcomed

Word Count: 3.4K+

It had been a long, exhausting day. You weren't even supposed to go on any more missions until next week, but Fury decided to wreck your Friday and send you on your hardest mission yet. Your body ached and you just wanted to crawl into your bed as soon as possible. So when you saw Nat approaching the elevator, you silently prayed the doors would close before she got in. You just couldn't deal with her right now. Not now.

Of course, luck wasn't on your side today. Natasha slipped her slender body in between the doors just as they were about to close, joining you in the space that suddenly felt too small.

She smirked widely when you noticeably rolled your eyes.

"In a hurry?" she asked.

"Just tired." You dryly stated.

"Yeah, I can tell. You look like shit" She teased.

To be quite honest, you were fairly sure Nat hated you way more than you actually hated her, but you weren't about to let her know that.

You and Natasha started this whole enemies-with-benefits thing a while ago, and somewhere along the way, you started finding it harder and harder to keep up the hating game.

Sometimes you just wanted someone to talk to, to watch a movie with, to hold you after you'd a long day like this.

Admittedly, hating each other's guts resulted in some mind-blowing sex. Nat might be an arrogant bitch most of the time, but she was still the best fuck you've ever had, and you didn't wanna throw that away just because you were getting a little needy. So you decided to just suck it up and stick with what you did best, annoying her until she let you fuck her stupid.

And it had been working out just fine, but today you were so exhausted and she looked so good in her big comfy sweater and her tight black yoga pants. She had been growing out her hair lately and it was currently tied up in a messy bun.

You could barely look her in the eye, desperately trying to come up with a snarky response, but your brain failed you as the only thing you could think of was how good it would feel her nails rake through your hair right now.

She frowned, clearly confused and quite frankly annoyed at your lack of attitude.

She let out an annoyed huff and in one quick movement, her hand hit the emergency button, making the elevator halt.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" You snapped

"ME? What the hell is wrong with YOU? Did I fuck you stupid last time? What's going on?" She yelled.

Natasha had noticed the change in your behavior lately, and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

Her words made a blush creep up your neck and you silently cursed your body for betraying you.

You knew Nat thrived off your attitude. You were the only one who ever questioned her authority, it kept her on her toes.

She took a step closer to you and you immediately took a step back, not knowing if you could do this much longer.

Desperately trying to match her stern energy, you snapped back at her.

"Why the fuck do you even care?? Talk about being fucking cock drunk, Romanoff."

"That's what you'd like, huh, big boy? To get me cock drunk on that big dick of yours?" Natasha inched closer to you as you tried your best to ignore how hard you were getting from her voice alone.

"In your dreams, you fucking bitch" You turned around and hit the button again, making the elevator restart.

You felt her boobs push against your back and all you could do was stare at your shoes and pray to whatever was good and holy that this stupid elevator would just hurry the fuck up already.

Soft hands with perfectly manicured nails crept up the sides of your arms, while her plush lips left teasing kisses on your clothed back. The body heat radiating off her made it hard to think straight.

Gathering all your willpower, you softly shoved your elbow against her side, shaky arm pushing against her torso, trying to get her to move.

"Get off me, Natasha." Your tone almost had her believing you actually didn't want this.

Almost.

"Not until you tell me who shoved a stick up your ass." her voice was soft and teasing, tingling against the shell of your ear as she stood on her tippy toes.

She stopped the elevator for a second time.

"Natasha, I'm serious, cut it out!" You groaned, before pushing the button again.

"So am I?" she continued and her hand moved towards the button yet again.

"Would you stop?! You're acting like a child!" you yelled, trying to get the upper hand as the small metal cage rumbled.

The poor emergency stop must have been hit damn near a dozen times as you and Nat continued your pointless bickering.

Suddenly, the entire elevator shook and came to an abrupt stop, making her cling to your side for balance.

The lights flickered out and the buzzing noise that usually lingered around was gone.

You pushed Natasha off you and desperately tried hitting a couple buttons.

Nothing.

"Look what you fucking did!" you screamed at her.

"Me?" she yelled.

If looks could kill, Natasha Romanoff would be dead on the floor of that elevator right now.

A thick, deafening silence settled in between the two of you, and you let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding. Dropping your gaze to the floor, you let your shoulders hang, rubbing your hands over your face in exhaustion.

You turned around, staring at the buttons.

Fed up and extremely done with this stupid situation, tears started welling in your eyes. Fuck.

The emergency lights had gone on. You checked your phone. Of course there was no reception and it was late already, everyone else had gone to bed on their own floor and there was no way they'd hear you all the way from here.

"Perfect. Just perfect." You muttered.

Fresh out of fucks to give, you finally let the numb feeling you had been trying to push away all day take over your body. You slid down the wall, sitting with your knees drawn up and your fingers tangled in your hair as Nat just stood there and watched.

"Should have taken the fucking stairs," she mumbled.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath.

You were utterly exhausted, every muscle in your body ached. All you wanted was a hot shower and some sleep, and now you were trapped in this stupid elevator and you had to look at Natasha's stupid cranky face all night. Any other day you would have given her her crap right back, but not today. Not now.

Simply lacking the energy to be your usual witty and confident self, you let out an annoyed sigh.

"I'm so fucking tired." You finally muttered. If it wasn't for the deafening silence surrounding you, she probably wouldn't even have heard it.

Making eye contact with her was impossible at this point. And even if you had it in you to look her in the eye right now, the thick tears that started welling blurred your sight.

"Oh great, now he's fucking crying." Nat groaned, more to herself than to you.

You rolled your teary eyes at her typical arrogance. But when she took an awkward step closer, you pointed your finger at her.

"Don't even think about coming near me right now, Romanoff." You warned.

She smirked at the remark, finally catching a glimpse of the snarky man she was secretly so crazy about.

To your surprise, she moved closer and sat down beside you.

You glared down at her.

"You don't have to prete-"

"Oh, shut up." she cut you off as she cuddled closer to your side, dropping her head on your arm.

The smell of her hair brought you a weird sense of peace, which you welcomed nonetheless. There was something about her, about being this close to her. You couldn't put your finger on it, but it melted away your anxiety like snow in the sun.

A comfortable silence settled in between the two of you as you sniffled quietly, wiping away a couple of stray tears that had escaped your eyes.

She sat back up to look at you. You felt her eyes burning against your face but you couldn't bring yourself to return her stare. In all honestly, this was probably the most embarrassing moment of your life.

Clearing your throat, you pulled away from her.

"Alright, thanks," you said, before scooting a few inches to the other side.

As much as you hated to acknowledge it, being away from her even a few inches filled you with a slight cold, empty feeling. And you had to go against every fiber in your body not to scoot closer and ask her to snuggle up against you again.

"You don't always need to be such a tough guy," she spoke, making you scoff

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you."

To your surprise, she didn't say anything after that. She just cuddled closer to you again, clinging to your arm and she nuzzled her face comfortably against your shoulder.

A weird sense of comfort took over your body. That urge you had to be held and taken care of bubbled up again and you let Natasha fill that void. You knew it wasn't real. She didn't want to be here. But she was. And you were going to enjoy her warmth for as long as you could.

The intoxicating smell of his perfume and her body wash mixed with her natural sweet scent invaded your nostrils and made a heat run through you, warming you from the inside out.

You must have dosed off after that, because the next thing you know you felt your body being shoved aside, abruptly waking you from your slumber.

"Finally you guys got here! Her was starting to drool on my shirt." Natasha's arrogant voice spoke to Sam and Bucky, who had apparently found you in the elevator.

You knew it was too good to last. At least now you could go to your room and get some rest. Alone.

You slowly sat up, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you gaped at the three men in front of you. The smell of Nat was still heavy on you. Before any of them could say anything you scrambled out of the elevator. Running through the hallway to your room, wanting nothing more than for this day to just be over with already.

"Hey, wait!" Nat's voice sounded through the hallway as you looked for your keys, rolling your eyes.

"Oh for fucks sake, does she ever take a break?" you mumbled to yourself.

"Looking for these?" she asked, dangling your keys in front of you with a smug look on her face.

You groaned, reaching for the keys only to have them pulled away at the last second. It was quiet between the two of you for a beat, before you lunged for the keys again, failing miserably.

Okay. now you were pissed.

Natasha looked at you with a shit-eating grin.

"Come on, pretty boy." she teased, "come and get them"

Okay. Now you were pissed.

There was no way in hell you were faster than her. You knew it. She knew it. She just wanted to see you try. See you emberrass yourself even further.

And you actually debated it. For a split second, you debated it.

Nope.

Not today, Romanoff.

You were done. Done with this day. Done with these games. Done with her.

You scraped together every ounce of dignity you had left and turned around, walking away from her.

You got halfway through the hall before you heard her chuckle.

"And where are you going now, huh?" she questioned, obviously very amused.

"To sleep in Wanda's room." you simply said, not even bothering to turn around. You didn't need to see her face to know the grin had fallen.

"The hell you are." you heard her say, suddenly way closer to you as you heard her footsteps approach.

Before you could even comprehend what was happening Natasha yanked your arm back and walked you back down the hallway.

“What the-…HEY STOP” you tried to wriggle your arm out of her grasp but your already exhausted body just wouldn’t work with you. And perhaps your needy brain didn’t mind being held by Natasha...

Before you knew it you were being pushed into a room as she slammed the door behind her. You quickly realized you had entered a bedroom, but it wasn’t yours…oh no this was Natasha's room. You could recognize it from the scent alone…

She walked over to the bed and sat down at the foot of it, looking you straight in the eyes.

You stared at her from across the room, arms crossed, trying your best to appear stern despite the fact that the entire room smelled of her and it was making you want to crawl up in a ball on the floor, like a cat waiting to be cuddled.

"come here," she said, voice calm yet commanding.

"Bite me "

"I said come here."

"And I said bite me."

"If you come here then maybe I will."

You rolled your eyes but did as she said.

"Now what?" You asked in the most pissed-off voice you could muster.

Natasha saw right passed your macho behavior, knowing exactly what you needed from her. She grabbed your wrist and pulled you down onto her bed next to her before getting on your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck

"Now you let me make you feel good, sweetheart." her warm breath caressed the shell of your ear, making the hair at the back of your neck stand up as goosebumps started to spread all the way down to your spine.

She slowly pulled off her sweater and you groaned when you realized she wasn't wearing anything underneath, immediately sitting up to suck on her nipples.

A groan tumbled over your lips when her nails raked through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. Your hands touched every inch of flesh they could find, trailing up and down over her back, making her whimper.

Thoroughly enjoying each other's embrace, her impatient fingers moved down your torso and tugged at your shirt. Your lips curled into a smile against her to let her know he got the message. Within the blink of an eye, your shirt was gone and her lips were back on yours, devouring you as if you were her very last meal.

Your hands played with her tits as she started pressing kisses against your neck and down to your chest, pushing you back down on the bed.

"Stay down for me, handsome," she whispered in that low, sultry voice of hers.

She peppered your entire chest with soft, warm kisses, not leaving an inch of your body untouched. You laid back comfortably in her fluffy pillows and you felt your entire body relax. You enjoyed the view of her crawling down your body and unbuckling your belt. Natasha's plump lips moved down to your stomach and started kissing along the trail of hair growing down to your pubic bone as she pulled down your pants and boxers, revealing your growing cock. Her nails trailed over your skin sporadically, leaving goosebumps wherever they touched. Just as you noticed you had begun to smile to yourself, you got pulled from the cloud you were happily floating on by a sharp pain on your hip.

"AH!! Did you just bite me?!"

"'I'm a lady of my word."

Before you could scramble away from her, she licked a ferm stripe up your cock, all the way from your balls to your tip. You let out a low groan that quickly turned into a steam of moans as Natasha started bobbing her head up and down. She wasted no time, hollowing out her cheeks and swirling his soft tongue over your leaking cockhead, absolutely devouring you with all she had.

One of her hands reached down to play with your balls. Gently squeezing the soft flesh blindly while her eyes stayed focused on yours. She moved her hand to yours, guiding it to her head and throwing a wink at you. Your fingers quickly tangled in her hair as you pushed her down a little to take your cock deeper.

"Oh fucckkk...." you moaned, feeling your balls draw up as you got closer and closet to your peak.

Natasha kept sucking you off like her life depended on it as she moved her free hand down between her legs to play with her sopping pussy, messily rubbing her clit she started moaning on your cock. God she loved the taste of you, she simply couldn't get enough, it was making drip.

Both of your moans got louder and your hips started bucking up in her throat. Every square inch of your body was on fire.

Nat took her mouth off you for a second and stroked your spit-covered dick as fast as she could.

"Please, cum for me...m'so close..." she whined, making you realize she's been touching herself while sucking your cock.

"shit....please...gonna cum..." you moaned desperately

"Yeah? Cum down my throat while I cum on my fingers....shit..." she whined before taking you back in her mouth, immediately letting your cock slide deep down her throat as she choked on it.

"Fuck Nat I'm gonna cum!" you yelled, "You're gonna make me cum! You're gonna...I'm gonna...Oh fuck..fuck, please! Don't fucking stop...ah!"

And she didn't, she kept sucking your cock as she touched herself, and when her body started trembling from her own orgasm you finally couldn't take it anymore.

You came down her throat while she came all over her own fingers. You trembled and whined as she gently suckled on your cock, swallowing every last drop of your cum.

You tried to blink away your tears until they finally rolled down your cheeks, you tried to calm down your breathing as you layed there, trembling on her bed.

"What do you need, baby?" Natasha finally spoke, sitting up between your legs and softly stroking your thighs.

It took a while for your breathing to calm down, you didn't even know why you were crying to be honest. You just felt like you were experiencing a lot of emotions at once, and it was pretty intense.

"A fucking hug." you finally spoke.

Nat giggled at your reply before scooting over to sit next to you, leaning against the headboard.

"Come here."

Slowly, you crawled into her open arms, curling up against her into a ball with your head right against her bare tits.

Surprisingly, Natasha was very soft and sweet, not at all what she was usually like with you.

She rubbed your back and just laid there with you, enjoying each other's warmth and the comfortable silence that had settled in the room.

You couldn't help but let out more tears, softly sniffling into her chest as you clung to her.

"shhh" he whispered comfortingly, pressing a few kisses to the top of your head. "It's okay, l'm here. And you did so so good."

For the next few minutes, Natasha just held you, until you were ready to talk to him about what exactly it was that got you so overwhelmed.

After some time, you sat up and just looked at Nat. At her eyes, her nose, her mouth.

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against her lips.

"Thanks," you said.

"For letting you cum down my throat?" she joked, trying to get rid of some of the tension.

"For the care," you replied, meaning what you said.

She just smiled at you.

You didn't even know what to say. Never in your life have you expected Natasha to be so caring, especially not for you.

"Wanna shower together?" she suggested, leaving you even more stunned.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with Natasha Romanoff?"

At first, she giggled at your reaction, but then her face grew a little more serious.

"I wanna be here for you for more than just fucking. The whole cat and mouse game was fun while it lasted, but seeing you the way I saw you today, so exhausted you could barely stand up straight. I never wanna see you like that again, baby. Unless of course, it's my doing." she added smugly before pressing another kiss to your lips.

"There she is again." you chuckled against her lips.

After some more kisses and giggles, you decided to accept Nat's offer and you took a long hot shower together, followed by some much-deserved cuddles and a movie you never saw the end of because you drifted off, with Natasha happily snuggled against your chest.

[laincelebi]

Honestly the more I think a werewolf au for dandadan would work so well, especially if we take actual folklore as a base instead of the whole Hollywood stuff.

So the idea, okarun being cursed to be a werewolf maybe after losing his powers a werewolf attacking him.

Now what I have in mind, I think Brazilian werewolf legends could be used, as Japan has a huge Brazilian population, it would make sense to have a Brazilian werewolf in Japan XD.

So what would be the characteristics? One of the ways to become a werewolf is having werewolf blood spilled on you though there are other ways but I think this one would fit best.

Most legends werewolves don't become irrational beasts but once they sense fear they get into hunting mode as is irresistible, though they won't kill most of the time cause they still have their consciousness.

We have many types of werewolves in Brazil, many descriptions and how they work but one that I think fits is one that needs to run by 7 crossroads, 7 churches and 7 graveyards in one night ( sometimes it's just one of these) as they are said to be very fast. And they transform when they want or Thursdays or Fridays when it's forced, no moon influence.

Werewolves in Brazil usually don't have a tail and may have a pig nose or look like black dogs. With tall ears, some have long floopy ears. I think I would go with the tall ears for okarun.

Now what the story would be no idea lol I think it could be he trying to find a way to get rid of it while having to learn to deal with being a werewolf and how that would affect his relationship with momo. But I think it could give some fun situations

[slaymitchabernathy]

epiphany

| “…just a flesh wound, here's your rifle. crawling up the beaches now, "sir, i think he's bleeding out". and some things you just can't speak about. with you, i serve, with you, i fall down, down. watch you breathe in, watch you breathing out, out…” |

Coriolanus has felt many things in his short life.

Heartbreak, betrayal, fear, anger, passion, lust.

Never in his life did he think that he'd experience the feeling of a gunshot wound to the gut.

District Twelve is just full of surprises.

He was sent here because he cheated, played the system. He didn't think he'd get caught, let alone sentenced to twenty years as a Peackeeper, and in Twelve of all places.

The bottom of a barrel.

He did well though, excelled in the physical training and even took an Officer's test in hopes that he'd be able to move up the ranks. Until then, there was work to do, crowds to contain. There had been a small fight at the Hob, a black market of sorts run out of an old mining warehouse.

He had been there a few times on a Friday evening, drank some bad liquor, and watched people dance. It was much different during the daytime though, the atmosphere was hostile rather than welcoming.

He had entered the Hob with a squadron of Peacekeepers, all armed with rifles. None of them suspected that people from the District would be armed as well.

What started out as a simple misunderstanding led to punches being thrown, noses being bloodied, and eventually, shots being fired. Coriolanus heard it before he felt it, that undeniable sound of a bullet finding its target.

It wasn't until he saw the horrifed look on Smiley's face that he realized what had just happened to him.

"Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit! Gents been shot!" Smiley cries out over the ruckus.

Coriolanus falls to his knees, clutching his abdomen as blood begins to seep through his uniform and the pain starts to kick in.

Is this how he'll die? Like his father? Taken out by Rebels?

"HELP!' Smiley yells, reaching down to steady Coriolanus, "Man down! Man down!"

The rioters are detained, and Coriolanus is surrounded by his comrades. He does his best to look cool, calm, and collected. He gets shot all the time; this is no big deal. Oh, but it is.

"He's losing a lot of blood," one of them whispers. "We need to get him back to the Base."

"Yeah, take him to the infirmanry."

That sounds nice, he thinks while falling onto the ground.

"Aw man, hang in there, Gent! We've got you! Alright, Beanpole, grab his arm, and I'll grab the other. Ready? On three."

Coriolanus is dizzy from all the pain, so dizzy that he doesn't even register that he's being hoisted off the ground and slung over his friend's shoulders like a wounded soldier in battle.

But isn't he just that? What will his headstone read?

'Here lies Coriolanus Snow. Shot at the Hob.'

Coriolanus lets out a pained groan when they start moving. He tries to walk with his friends but ends up being dragged along with them. "He doesn't look too good," Beanpole whispers, "I mean, he's paler than usual."

"He's always pale," Smiley notes as they step out into the bright sun.

Coriolanus can hear people gasping at the sight of him. It's not every day you see a Peacekeeper getting shot. He wonders what happened to the man that shot him. If he's still alive, he better watch his back.

"He's losing too much blood. We need to take him into town, take him to the merchant."

Coriolanus tries to shake his head, he'd rather die than be tended to by District people, even if they live in town. The merchants who live in town are arguably the most well-off people in Twelve. Which means by Capitol standards, they'd be the poorest in the city.

There are a few shops in town. The bakery, the sweet shop, the apothecary.

They lug him into the square, he feels like such a spectacle, a sign that even the mighty can fall. "Here we go," Smiley grunts, pushing the door open to one of the shops. His vision is too blurry to read the sign, but Coriolanus is overwhelmed by the sharp scents of lavender and rubbing alcohol.

"Help! Help, someone's been shot!" Beanpole cries out into the empty shop. A man comes running out a moment later, wearing glasses and a white apron. His eyes go wide at the sight of Coriolanus slowly bleeding to death.

"Bring him back here," the man says, lifting up the counter. They do as he says and follow the man into the back of the shop. Through his blurred vision, Coriolanus sees a room filled with different bottles, a staircase, a few framed photographs, and a...a white cat?

"Back here, lie him down on the table. I'll go get my daughter to help with removing the bullet."

He's carried into a small room with a cot in the middle of it. Coriolanus groans when he's lifted up by his friends, flopping onto the bed like a dead weight.

"It's okay, Gent, we're gonna get you all patched up. The Nightingales are gonna fix you right up."

Coriolanus shakes his head and tries to sit up, failing miserably. "No," he says, his voice strained, "no, take me...take me to the Base."

Smiley and Beanpole exchange worried looks for their friend. He's lost a lot of blood.

"It's alright, Gent, she's gonna take good care of ya. She's the best healer they've got in Twelve."

Coriolanus squeezes his eyes shut, he's starting to see stars.

"Don't want, don't want District scum touching me or my gunshot wound," he grits out, "I don't fucking trust any of them."

Coriolanus goes to sit up again, and this time, he's successful. His friends immediately try to push him back down. "Woah, woah, woah, take it easy there, Gent. You've got a bullet inside of you. Remember?"

Maybe it's the adrenaline or the fact that he's not being taken seriously despite the gruesome circumstances, but Coriolanus grabs Smiley by the collar, dragging him down until they're at eye level with each other.

"Take me to the Base," he says through gritted teeth and ebbing pain, "I don't trust anyone here. They don't know what the hell they're doi-"

"Excuse me."

It's the softest voice he's ever heard.

Coriolanus looks over at the door, and he swears he sees an angel. Dressed in a white apron over her long-sleeved dress, a girl stands in the doorway, watching him.

The man appears behind her, carrying what looks like a lot of painful tools. "Oh, he's still awake. Let's get him to lie down."

Coriolanus is pushed down and the wind is knocked right out of him. He lies there, staring at the ceiling while muffled conversation takes place around him. He only catches a few words here and there.

"...sir, I think he's bleeding out..."

"...located in the abdomen..."

"...missed any vital organs..."

"...morphling for the pain..."

"....gonna be just fine, Gent..."

Coriolanus feels a sharp prick in his arm, causing the pain to slowly fade into a numb pounding. The girl appears right over him, covering the overhead light with her face, like a halo. She looks like an angel.

"I don't...I don't," he tries to say, but she shushes him, gently placing a hand on his cheek. "It's alright," she assures him kindly, "no need to be scared. We'll take good care of you, I promise. Now go to sleep so we can get the bullet out."

Perhaps it's the drugs she gave him or how sweet she sounds, but Coriolanus finally closes his eyes. Content to never wake up again.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus wakes up in a strange room in a strange bed.

His uniform is gone.

So is the bullet.

He groans softly, trying to gain his bearings and remember what happened before he fell asleep. He was at the Hob, there was a fight, he got shot, and then, there was an angel.

There is no sign of this angel girl in the small room he's in. The walls are made of wood paneling, and the flannel blanket he's covered with smells like lemon bars.

He can hear footsteps outside. He wishes he still had his rifle, he's in enemy territory as far as he's concerned. The door to his room slowly starts to open, and he prepares himself for the inevitable ambush planned to finish him off once and for all.

It's the girl again, the angel girl.

She looks surprised to see him awake. "Good morning, Coriolanus," she greets him. She has a small basket in her hands, he wonders what's inside of it. More drugs maybe, or a knife to slit his throat.

He watches her approach the bed and set the basket down on a small table next to him. This girl is very pretty. Her hair is so blonde that it's almost white.

She smiles down at him, somehow putting him at ease. "How, how long was I asleep?" He asks her with a scratchy voice. Maybe she brought him some water. She reaches into the basket and, to his pleasant surprise, brandishes a water bottle.

"You slept through the night," she answers, unscrewing the lid, "you haven't even been asleep for a full day." That makes him feel much better. She offers him the bottle, but to drink it, he'd need to sit up.

"Here, let me help you."

The angel girl sets the bottle down and reaches behind his head, grabbing the pillow. "Why don't you try to sit up?" Coriolanus feels a sharp pain in his abdomen, probably where the bullet used to be. He ignores the pain and ever so slowly sits up in the bed. The blanket falls down to his lap, and he's suddenly very aware that he's shirtless.

The angel girl doesn't bat an eye. She just props the pillow against the wooden headboard. "There, much better."

Coriolanus presses his back to the pillow and reaches for the water bottle. He feels like he hasn't had water in years. She lets him have it, and he drinks the whole thing in seconds, not even stopping to breathe.

She pulls out a few things while he finishes the bottle. Some gauze pads, some bandage wraps, and a small bottle of something else.

"I'm going to need to change your bandages," she explains, "it'll only take a second, and then you can go back to sleep."

He lowers the bottle from his lips. "What's your name?"

She looks taken aback by his question, but he wants to know the name of the pretty girl taking care of him. It's the least he could do.

"My name is Soarynn."

That's a nice name. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

"I'm Coriolanus."

Soarynn nods. "I know."

Of course, she does.

Her small hands go to unwrap the bandages from around his torso, moving deftly and diligently as if she's done this a hundred times. He wonders if she grew up tending to the sick and needy, if she helped soldiers during the war. She's District, which leads him to believe that she sided with the Rebels. But she's helping him right now.

"Have you, have you done this before?" His voice feels much better now that he's had some water. Soarynn hums, taking the old bandages and placing them in the basket. "I help a lot of people."

She goes to remove the patch of gauze covering his wound, and he flinches at her touch. He's still sensitive down there. "Sorry," he mumbles, "but, um, you said you help District people? Did you help them during the war?"

Soarynn removes the pad, and it's honestly not as bad as he thought it would be. For some reason, Coriolanus imagined a big gaping hole instead of a few neat stitches.

"I help all people," she corrects, finally looking into his eyes. Coriolanus has blue eyes, but hers are different, they're like a blue mixed with a cloudy gray. "District or Capitol, everyone deserves to be helped."

That's so...sweet of her.

She gets to work cleaning his wound with cotton pads and some ointment that her father concocted in their shop. "Your family owns this shop?"

"Yes, we've owned the apothecary for quite some time now."

Coriolanus wants to ask how they know what to use and how to make it, but he keeps his mouth shut when it starts to get a bit more painful. Soarynn dabs a little more ointment onto the stitches and places a fresh pad of gauze over them.

"You'll need to get this changed every day," she tells him, "and avoid any strenuous activity that might tear your stitches loose. If they come loose, you can always come back."

Coriolanus can't help but notice how soft and warm her hands are on his skin. He's glad that he takes such pride in his appearance, his abdomen is well sculpted, but she doesn't seem to care. She probably sees out-of-shape miners all the time with broken backs.

"Will it scar? Am I going to die?"

Soarynn smiles. "Just a flesh wound. You'll live."

Ah. Good. Good.

"I'll let you get some more rest. Call if you need anything."

Coriolanus thought she might stay for a little longer, maybe get to know him, but she packs up and leaves in under a minute. So much for making polite conversation. Coriolanus sits there in the small room, arms crossed, feeling sorry for himself.

It could be worse, he reminds himself, you could've died, or gotten shot somewhere worse.

He's a survivor.

꧁ ꧂

When Coriolanus wakes up for the second time, there's a heavy weight on his chest. He thinks it might be his stitches, that this might be the end. He slowly cracks one eye open and finds that white fluffy cat sitting on his chest, not a care in the world.

"Hello," he says slowly, unsure of how to proceed. He's seen lots of stray cats in the Seam, running around, chasing mice. This cat actually looks very clean though, well taken care of with her soft white fur. He can't help but compare the feline's eyes to Soarynn's, blue and gray.

It's wearing a collar, and he reads the name plate.

꧁ Petunia ꧂

"Hmm, that's a nice name," he mumbles, wondering if Soarynn is nearby. Petunia meows at him, she probably sees people come and go all the time. Some say that animals can bring great comfort to those who are sick, but Coriolanus doesn't feel too comfortable right now. Especially with her sharp claws digging into his skin.

"Alright, Petunia," he groans, "time to get off." He ignores her meows of protest as he sits up, feeling a bit better than the last time he did this. Whatever ointment Soarynn gave him is working. It's as if she's been summoned. Soarynn opens the door and also looks surprised to see her cat paying him a visit.

"Come here, Petunia," she calls, crouching down. Petunia leaps off the bed the second she hears Soarynn's soft voice, trotting over to her owner.

"How old is she?"

Soarynn smiles, petting Petunia's back, "She's three. Usually, she likes to sit by the front window and soak up the sun."

It must be nice, he thinks, to be a merchant cat who sunbathes.

"I saw her when I came in, but I saw a lot of things," he admits, scratching the back of his neck. Coriolanus can't tell what was real and what wasn't while under that immense amount of pain from getting shot. He just can't believe he got shot and lived.

Soarynn scoops Petunia into her arms, standing back up. She's wearing a different dress than before, this one is yellow, with sleeves that go down to her elbows. She's also barefoot which is a brave choice where he's concerned.

"Lots of people experience hallucinations while under anesthesia, or in your case, morphling." His eyebrows rise. If he were in the Capitol, he'd be given a full written report on every drug that was administered to him while unconscious.

They do things a little differently here in Twelve.

"Morphling? As in the highly addictive drug?"

Dean Casca Highbottom is the poster child for morphling addiction; the old man can't go an hour without it. Even as he sentenced Coriolanus to twenty years as a Peacekeeper, he dropped a few dribbles into his mouth.

Soarynn cracks a smile, stopping at the foot of the bed. "No need to worry. We barely gave you anything, just a tiny bit to calm you down. You were very erratic."

Coriolanus can feel his cheeks turning red. He likes to present himself as cool and reserved, not erratic. Yes, he got shot, but he could've handled it a little better, now that he thinks about it.

"Wish I could remember what I said."

"I believe you refered to us a 'District Scum' who didn't know what we were doing," she recalls.

Oh.

"Well, like you said, people hallucinate. I was probably out of my mind," he easily lies.

Soarynn doesn't appear to be swayed in her opinions of him. "Yes. Well, you're free to go. I laid some clothes for you on the table, and we let your Commander know that you're in stable condition."

"I can leave?"

"Yes."

"How will I...how will I pay you?"

"Your Commander said the bill would be deducted from your paycheck."

Coriolanus thought she might let him go without expecting payment. He thought maybe she and her father did these things out of the goodness of their hearts, but this is clearly how they make a living.

"Thanks."

"Get back safely."

Soarynn leaves, and Coriolanus stares at the flannel sheets. He got shot, and all he's been left with is a lousy scar and a cut from his paycheck.

Typical for District Twelve.

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus is hailed as a hero when he returns. It's the type of reception he expected from Soarynn when he first woke up. He's slapped on the back and commended for his sacrifice toward the greater good of Panem.

"Good to see you back on your feet, Snow," Commander Hoff greets him, patting his shoulder. "We thought we lost you there, son."

Coriolanus grins, maybe he's a little cocky now that he has some battle scars, but Hoff likes that sort of thing. "Can't keep a good man down," he replies.

Coriolanus is sent to the infirmary, where a Capitol doctor inspects his wound and applies some antiseptic spray. "Whoever did your stitches did a fantastic job," the doctor muses, placing a fresh gauze pad over the wound.

"The man who runs the apothecary in town, his daughter did these," Coriolanus tells the woman. "Where did she learn how to do it? And where do they get all of their...their things? Do they get them from the Capitol?"

The doctor wraps more bandages around his abdomen and gives him some painkillers to sleep easier.

"Most people in the Districts are self-taught unless a family member was a doctor before. I think her mother was a nurse. A lot of the merchants expect their children to learn their keep. And they mostly get their medicines from gathering. You'd be surprised at how many medicines come from plants."

Coriolanus didn't realize how resourceful they needed to be out here. Whenever the infirmary needs something, it's delivered straight from the Capitol labs.

"Come see me tomorrow for fresh bandages."

Coriolanus heads back to his barracks with a new mission while he's on bed rest: to learn more about Soarynn, the merchant's daughter.

꧁ ꧂

He finds her near the woods.

Basket in hand, her hair pulled back in a braid. She's picking at something when he comes up behind her, causing her to jump.

"Oh," she says, placing a hand over her heart, "oh, you scared me."

Coriolanus must look a bit...odd. He came out to the meadow after visiting her family's shop in town. Her father, Glen, was more than friendly towards Coriolanus. He found Glen to be somewhat normal for a man who lived in District Twelve. He wore glasses on the tip of his nose and had a soft voice.

Petunia had been lounging on the counter while Glen told Coriolanus that Soarynn had gone off to the meadow to collect some herbs. "There's more in the woods, but I don't want her getting lost in there," Glen had told him.

Coriolanus gave Petunia a scratch behind the ears and set off to find Soarynn. Thankfully, she was easy to find in her pink dress with thin straps. "I stopped by the shop, your father said I'd find you out here."

Soarynn nods, looking up at him with more curiosity than fear. He's curious about her too. "Had to collect some more mint leaves," she gestures towards a large bush. It looks like any other bush you'd see in the woods, but when the wind blows in his direction, he can smell the minty aroma.

"What does it help with?"

"Poison."

Coriolanus feels his eyes grow bigger at her answer. Are people really poisoning each other out here? The Districts are worse than he thought!

"Venom," she corrects herself, "from wasps and things like that. Trackerjackers can be lethal, so you chew some of this stuff up and slap it on where you got stung. Sucks the poison right out."

Thank goodness he has the Base doctor to rely on. Chewing up leaves and putting them on bee stings, please.

"How interesting."

Soarynn giggles, shaking her head, "It's okay if you don't care. Most people don't."

"Did your father teach you about the mint leaves?"

"He did," she confirms. "My momma taught me about other things, though. How to stitch people up, change out bandages. I learned a lot from her during the war." Her eyes fall to the rifle slung over his back, he never goes anywhere without it, not after getting shot.

Does it make her nervous?

"Guess I don't need this," he says, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. He tosses it into the tall grass, and she visibly relaxes. "Nothin' out here but squirrels, and they don't bite."

It's not the squirrels he's worried about.

So, despite his better judgment, Coriolanus lets his guard down. She's a merchant's child, which must mean that she's a little more civilized than other people in Twelve.

Coriolanus helps her gather more mint leaves, even putting a few on his tongue when she tells him how good they taste. She's right, they're delicious. Soarynn gains a bit more trust in him and shows him other plants, raspberries, and even blueberries. He goes to reach for another plant of berries, but Soarynn slaps his hand away.

He recoils in an instant. Was there a spider?

"Those are nightlock berries," she nods at the bush, "eat one of those, and you'll die just like that," she snaps her fingers, "nothin' can bring you back from those."

Coriolanus nervously edges away from the nightlock bush. It looked so delectable. "Can't even tell the difference."

"That's why it's important to learn," Soarynn explains, "don't want the kids eating those."

They gather more herbs, putting them all in the basket until Coriolanus offers to carry it for her.

Soarynn led them to a shady spot at the forest's edge. The sun will set soon and they'll both part ways. He spots a boy walking through the meadow, tall, with brown hair from the looks of it. The boy looks over at them and waves. Soarynn waves back, and the boy disappears into the tall grass.

"Who was that?"

"Jett Yearwood," she picks at her nails, "he knows these woods like the back of his hand. Brings us a lot of useful plants to make medicines with." Coriolanus is both impressed and peeved at Jett Yearwood, the boy who fearlessly ventured into the woods while Coriolanus was picking berries with Soarynn.

But he was the one who got to spend time with her. That has to count for something.

Right?

"Is he your boyfriend?"

Soarynn laughs, sounding like an angel when she does it. Everything she does is so soft and feminine. "No. No, he's not my boyfriend. He's got a girl in town."

Sometimes Coriolanus forgets that even District people have personal lives, romantic lives. "Oh, yeah? Who is it?"

"Dorothea Mellark, she's the baker's daughter."

So, every girl in town has a boyfriend. Except for Soarynn.

"But you don't have a boyfriend?"

Their eyes meet, and maybe, just maybe, he feels something he shouldn't.

"Nope," she shrugs, "I don't have anybody."

Coriolanus looks back at the meadow, so quiet and peaceful compared to the Capitol.

"Good to know."

꧁ ꧂

After their afternoon in the meadow, Coriolanus finds any excuse to visit Soarynn in town.

He gets a paper cut, and he's running for the apothecary. It doesn't help that she's so very resourceful in her healing practices. It also doesn't help that she's so sweet, so pretty, and charming without even trying. Coriolanus finds her fascinating in comparison to Capitol girls who only care about their physical appearances.

Soarynn is more likely to judge someone based on what's on the inside than on the outside. He sees it time and time again when people come to her shop needing help. Some people can't sleep at night, others have sick children, some are injured from working in the mines.

Soarynn and Glen have a remedy for everything. Special leaves, drops, ointments, and even pills. Coriolanus notices how sometimes they'll slip it under the counter without charging their customers, who most likely can't afford it.

His fellow Peacekeepers start to notice him frequenting the shop, and a few poke fun at him, claiming that he's gone soft. He brushes them off but he has gone soft, but just on her. He buys her gumdrops from the candy shop next door and always brings her favorite muffin from the bakery.

Coriolanus doesn't know how or why, but he's besotted with a District girl.

His father is most likely rolling in his grave.

On his one day off a week, Coriolanus finds himself accompanying Soarynn to the train station. Apparently, the Capitol sends out basic supplies for town merchants in all the Districts, setting a standard price for them to pay. Because Twelve is the poorest District with the smallest population, they're always the last stop.

"Most things are picked over," Soarynn tells him, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "but anything helps. It's cleaner than buying from the Hob, too." She's right about that. You can buy a cup from the Hob but you better like the taste of rust.

Because he's still somewhat in his uniform, a white shirt and his blue pants, he's automatically given more respect by the Peacekeepers standing guard at the train doors. One of them eyes Soarynn before deciding she's no threat and allows them to board the train.

Coriolanus finds comfort in the lavishly decorated car. It feels like he's back at home for a second. Soarynn goes left, and he follows her down the narrow hallway. "Where are we going?" He asks when they pass by a car loaded with alcohol.

"There's a small infirmary at the front. That's where we get a lot of our more expensive goods."

Sure enough, there's a small infirmary at the front of the train, but the door is guarded by another Peacekeeper, and this one has his gun out in the open. Coriolanus supposes that some people might try to steal certain medications.

Soarynn fumbles with her basket and pulls out a small card, offering it up to the man who's easily twice her size. She's built like a bird, narrow in frame but swift on her feet. The man takes the card and scans it with his eyes, grunting once he's finished. He gives the card back and steps to the side.

They're allowed to enter.

"What was that card?"

Soarynn tucks the card back into her basket. "It's a business card," she says softly, "my father uses it to show his credentials."

They step into the small room, and it's bright white, nearly blinding Coriolanus, who's gotten used to the muted grays that seem to cover District Twelve and its citizens. An old man sits on a stool, and he looks thrilled when he sees Soarynn.

"Ah, Ms. Nightingale, I was wondering when you'd stop by," he croaks.

Soarynn greets the man with a smile and looks up at Coriolanus. "This is Dr. Falzbar. He works for the Capitol."

Coriolanus holds out his hand, and Dr. Falzbar almost falls off the stool trying to shake it. "You, you look familiar, young man," the doctor says, pointing a crooked finger at him.

Coriolanus feels his heart start beating faster and faster. He's done a good job at remaining inconspicuous here in Twelve, but this doctor might just run back and tell all his secrets.

"Can't imagine why," he replies cooly, "I've been here for quite some time now." Soarynn nods, unaware of his internal dilemma. "Mhm. Coriolanus helps us out at the shop sometimes." His cheeks turn the lightest shade of red, the most he's done is help label bottles.

But Dr. Falzbar gives a nod of approval. "Never too late to get into medicine," he declares, "now, I have one bottle of morphling left. Would you and your father be interested?"

Soarynn clasps her hands, she looks like a kid in a candy shop. "Oh yes, that would be wonderful."

Dr. Falzbar digs out the glass bottle and shows it to Soarynn, who carefully reads over the label. "I also have some more syringes, beakers, oh, and some bandages."

"We're good on bandages. But we'll take the syringes."

Business is done, and the price of a single bottle of morphling is sky high.

Coriolanus mentions the price once they're off the train. "That's why we're so stingy with it," Soarynn tells him. "You gave me some," he points out, remembering the feeling of it running through his veins.

"Because you got shot."

She's right.

"How come you froze up when the doctor said you looked familiar?" Coriolanus has forgotten how perceptive she can be. Soarynn is a quiet little thing, but that means she notices everything.

He can either come clean or lie.

He chooses the latter.

"I just want to leave that life behind me, you know? That's not who I am anymore."

Coriolanus knows it's wrong to lie to her, to his girl. But he can't stay here forever, he'll have to leave at some point. She knows it, he knows it.

There are a lot of uncomfortable things to speak about in a relationship.

Some things you just can't speak about.

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