#i barely even know what i'm saying half the time and that's. terrifying

[nightunite]

Yes I know I’m literally talking to you via our DMs about this, but what do you think Konig’s first first impressions of Maid Reader is? Does he fully register the new personnel at the manor, or is it more of a “yes new people to be a good employer too”

Hello my little secret agent, thank you for sending in an ask. This is how I imagine their first interaction to go.

Konig can feel a headache brewing, his grip tight on his pen while he massages at his temple with his free hand. It's barely past noon, and already he has had more social interaction than he cares for. If it weren't for these damn papers, he would be free from this stuffy office to roam the chilly woods. He glares with disdain at his filing shelves, the only piece of furniture not built with him in mind, the muscles in his back between his shoulders protesting at the thought of being hunched inwards, squinting at the documents while bent lest he smack the back of his skull into the hanging cabinets again. He glances down at his feet, a sturdy bag resting under his desk. Inside are rations packed by the cooks, a bedroll, some matches and a flint, a canteen, and the various hunting gear he requires. Enough to last him several days, free from the burdens and expectations of the nobility and their incessant need to gossip. A gentle rap on his door forces his gaze from the bag, a grunt signaling for his footman, Felix to come in. When he sees him enter with a shaky young woman whose face he did not recognize he represses the urge to groan, headache kicking in fully. It doesn't help that Felix has an amused expression on his face, mustache hiding his smug grin at escorting her into his presence. Once again, those pesky rumors plague him. He had recently had several of his staff retire, having been with him for over a decade, following him from his homeland to this new place. Close companions over those years, an understanding between them regarding how he would like the estate run and the boundaries concerning privacy. Yet they were already into their years when they followed him, and he could not bear to keep them here when they desired to return to their true home and be with family.

Word spread of his estate needing workers to step in, and it's true he did need new individuals to help, but not the way the rumors had exaggerated; mostly it was errand runners and cooks that he needed, with space for maybe a single maid or two to step in. For all that he was a large man, he wasn't fond of mess and clutter, and beyond the habitual cleaning the estate didn't require much upkeep. Yet in came what seemed to be half of the workforce's maids, each claiming to want to work for him yet looking at him as though he were going to force them to sign their names in a black book. He has no desire to keep staff that are terrified of him, and even less desire to feel uncomfortable in his own house. He looks towards this hopeful woman and pauses, taking her in. He is used to people being frightened by him, but this is something else. Her body is thinner than he suspects it should be, like a tree choked by mistletoe, something leeching the life from her bones. Skin pallid as though she's fighting off something and being left empty as a result. Eyes that are focused yet tired, not yet able to rest...

"Name?" He asks, watching her jump slightly before she responds. "Business?" He keeps his questions short; if she has a problem with it she says nothing, which is good. He hates having to try and string together long sentences around people who do not know his native tongue. "I'm a maid, sir" Ah, he was right. This should be over quickly then. "Employer?" "Duke-Duke MacTavish, sir." He watches her bite her lip, strained smile falling while rubbing her fingertips on her skirt. Ah, MacTavish. His lips purse under his shroud. He'd had the...pleasure of seeing the man for the first time at a gala the previous summer. The man had been quite boisterous, making his rounds to chat with most everyone before settling amongst his friends. Throughout the night Konig had watched everyone, and found himself tired of Duke MacTavish's need to fawn and fool with the ladies that evening, both courtly and common alike. He glances back at the maid in the chair in front of him, observing how she fidgets, before the idea comes to him.

She bears resemblance to a deer. Like a doe, stark against the white snow, eyes taking in everything as though readying for an escape at any moment. A prey animal spooked from its den by something, running from a greater threat than he. Something close to home perhaps, that left her under duress in such a way that she could not help but show signs of wearing down. An endurance predator, running her into the ground, a feeling he has caused hunting both man and beast. The concealed look of panic in her eyes is not something he caused, given the startling way she looks him in the eye as she waits for his next question, and he finds himself less put-upon than before. "Skills?" It does no good to take in someone if they cannot earn their keep. "Sweeping, dusting, washing of both laundry and dishes, polishing, folding, and mending to name a few" Good. Very good. He stands, letting out a sigh as he feels his back pop slightly. He makes his way around the desk, extending a hand to her to help her up. She takes it gently, not with hesitation but with care to be soft with him. It's enough to make his lips quirk a little, someone so small and fragile compared to him worrying about causing him harm. She keeps her head down as he gently ushers her out of the office and towards the front door, steps slow and shoulders drawn inwards. Once she reaches the door though, he speaks. "Next Monday" "Sir?" She asks, staring up at him, brows pinched in confusion. "Start next Monday. Come at 9. Bring all things, Annika will show you everything." He watches as she realizes that she will in fact be employed, escaping whatever he's sure haunts her at the duchy. The relieved smile she gives him makes something in his chest twitch, her face lighting up and shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you, my Lord! I will be sure to be on time!" She gives him a curtsy which he inclines his head at, and then she's off down the cobblestone path towards a waiting carriage. Once the door shuts, he groans and rolls his neck, hearing several of the bones pop. He marches back into the office and hooks the bag with his fingers, long strides taking him towards the mudroom and the sprawling expanse of woods beyond. The papers can wait, he's earned some time to himself.

[harrowharkwife]

.

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 1)

TW: Mentions/allusions to cannibalism, death, and violence.

Three years had passed since that fateful day and your life had only gotten more miserable. Whatever hopes you had for being a part of a family were thwarted as soon as you stepped foot in the household. Bruce doesn't care about you, Dick was straight up mean, Jason (as the pack protector) was aggressive, Tim found you annoying, and Damien simply loathed your existence and would join Dick with his cruelty.

Both Stephanie and Barbara were civil with you, but neither really cared about what you did. Cassandra was nice, sometimes signing to you and giving you scented clothing, but she still didn't really go out of her way to engage with you. The only person who you felt truly cared about you was Alfred.

The first two years you tried your hardest to fit in and get the others to like you. You did whatever they wanted, made sure to learn their interests so you could talk to them, never complained, and made sure to respect the pack's boundaries.

You hoped that eventually, you’d all move past this hurdle and soon you would get along and be allowed in the pack den and other pack activities. Unfortunately, you realized that you would never be considered part of the family or the pack. Which as heartbreaking as it was, was the least of your worries.

You see, there was an ancient custom in werewolf culture concerning new pack members and pack initiation. When a new werewolf is introduced to a pack and their territory, the new werewolf has a certain amount of time to be accepted into the pack; if they’re not, well, they're killed and eaten. 

Yeah… quite terrifying and barbaric if you think about it, but mostly only the old lineages still continue this practice. Which is why you’re absolutely fucked. See, typically when children come to a pack they get accepted immediately, pups were (usually) considered precious.

In your case, being a half-blood severely reduced your chances and well, you guessed the Wayne family just didn't like you. Which sucks because you only have until your 18th birthday to get them to accept you, and considering your 16th birthday was coming up, your time was coming to a close. 

Or, you could always just run away. Hey! It was an option, one that you weren't sure the Bats would even let happen. Still it was worth a try. Which leads to your current situation in Bruce's office; you were trying to cut your losses a little early.

~~~~~~

“Look, I just feel as though this is the best course of action for your pack’s and my own safety.” Came your exasperated and desperate voice.

“Safety?” Bruce questions, causally flipping through some Wayne Industries documents, as if he doesn't know exactly what you're talking about.

“Considering Damian’s tried to kill me five times, two of his attempts almost being successful, and Jason's pit aggression that has him ready to rip my throat out, you can see why someone would feel unsafe.” You state, voice raising slightly in pitch.

He hummed noncommittally, his eyes still focusing on whatever paperwork he was going over.

“I'll think about it.” He replies, still disinterested.

“There’s nothing to think about! I should be allowed to leave if I want to, and if anything I'll finally be out of your pack's way.” You say, finally letting your frustration show through.

Why couldn't he just let you leave? Did he seriously want to keep you here just to kill– sorry, eat you in another two years?

“Excuse me?” He finally looks up from his work, his blue eyes meeting yours. He was unimpressed, you could tell that much at least, coupled with a dark look of simmering anger.

Okay, so maybe you should tone it down a notch.

“Come on, I'm not an idiot. I know me being here is simply a public formality, good fluff bits for the press y'know. But I'm not part of your family, and I'm certainly not part of your pack. You and the others have made that very clear. So please, allow me to do us both a favor and get out of your way.” You add.

“Where would you go?”

“Huh?” You blink in surprise.

“Where would you go?” Bruce repeats again.

“That–that is honestly none of your concern.”

“None of my concern? Aren't I entitled to know where my kid is?”

“No, you’re not. Sure you're biologically considered my father, but we all know I'm not really considered your kid.”

“Is that what you think?” He questions.

“Am I supposed to think any differently?”

“You carry the Wayne surname do you not?”

“I do.”

“Then you belong to the Waynes. To me. Which means that I decide what happens to you.”

There was the familiar darkness that you saw pooling in Bruce’s eyes, the type that left the Joker a tortured mess, the type that disemboweled Ra’s Al Ghul, the type of darkness that reminded you that Batman doesn’t kill. Oh no, he maims and tortures instead.

You unconsciously take a careful step back. 

Bruce’s stare felt like ice, and his words hung in the air, thick and heavy with an authority that was absolute. You wanted to argue, to say something, but every instinct in your body screamed for caution. There was a darkness in his gaze that you had seen glimpses of before, but never directed at you, and now it was there, unblinking, cutting through any hope you’d harbored for mercy or understanding.

Your heart hammered, yet you forced yourself to stand straighter, swallowing down the instinctive fear. 

“With all due respect,” you began, your voice smaller than you intended but steady, “staying here for another two years just for you all to—to follow through with that—custom, doesn’t seem fair.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t soften, but his posture shifted slightly, his gaze piercing through you like he could see every thought you tried to hide. 

“Belonging is earned. It isn’t granted because of blood,” he stated coldly. “If you truly wish to belong somewhere, you work for it.”

“I’ve tried,” you said, voice thick with frustration. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve followed your rules, I tried with everyone, and stayed out of everyone’s way. But nothing I do is good enough.”

“You assume that acceptance is given on your terms,” he replied, voice as controlled as ever. “Pack structure doesn’t bend to anyone’s whims. Least of all a half-blood who hasn’t proven their loyalty.”

The words stung, tearing open a wound that you thought had scarred over. You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp ache of your own nails digging into your palms. “And what exactly does proving myself look like here? Surviving Damian’s attacks? Letting Jason rip me apart every chance he gets?”

“Watch your tone,” he warned, his voice low, cutting through any retort you’d planned.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to take another step back from his desk. Challenging him wouldn’t help. He’d already decided where you stood, and nothing you said would change that. Maybe it was better to save your energy, conserve your strength for the day you’d finally slip away.

“Understood,” you said, swallowing the bitterness in your throat. “If that’s how it is, then I’ll stay out of everyone’s way.”

 But you’d still leave when the time comes.

Bruce’s gaze hardened, like he knew what you were thinking. “Your place is here until I decide otherwise,” he said, a finality in his tone that told you any further argument would only worsen things.

He dismissed you with a look, returning to his papers as if the conversation were over, as if you were no longer there. Every step you took out of the office felt heavier, like the manor itself was holding you down, binding you to this place that was never truly a home.

As you closed the door behind you, the cold emptiness of the hallway wrapped around you, and you knew then—you were on your own. If you were to survive this, it would be on your own terms.

It's like clockwork when Alfred calls you down for dinner. The same time, the same routine.

You show  up to dinner, hands still shaking and mind still reeling from your disturbingly cryptic conversation with Bruce. But, never mind that you’d just eat quietly and leave like you always do. You moved to your normal seat only to find that all the chairs near the end of the table had disappeared. What the actual fuck. Was this some type of powerplay? Something to imply that you didn’t even have a seat at their table anymore? 

You mean, you wouldn't mind eating in the safety and comfort of your own room. With an exasperated sigh, which had a couple of heads turn their attention to you, you grabbed an empty plate and started loading it up with food. You were about to head back to your room when you heard an outraged growl from behind you.

The kind of growl that had you tensing, ready to submit and roll onto your back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jason growled out from behind you.

You freeze.

“To my room?” You responded meekly, curling in on yourself as much as you could.

“And pray tell, why do you think that’d be acceptable?”

“Uh–um, ‘cause my seats’ gone?”

Jason only smirked, the feral kind that almost always promised pain to his enemies.

“Oh, but your chair isn't gone, it's right here.” Jason says pointing to a chair right near the head of the table.

You blanked. That's not right. Only pack was allowed that close to the head of the table, where Bruce sat, where the pack leader sat.

“B-But, I can’t–”

“Did that sound like a suggestion?”

You shook your head no, swallowing down a whimper that almost escaped your lungs.

“Then sit your ass down,” Jason growled.

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Immediately you shakily sat down in your new seat, on the left side of Bruce’s seat at the head of the table with Jason sitting at your left shoulder and Dick across from you. Not good, not good at all. You could feel the acidic, green gaze of Jason burning into the side of your face whilst Dick languidly sipped his wine, a sickeningly sweet smile (with way too many teeth to be considered anything but malicious), plastered on his face as he stared at the new seating chart. You let out a shaky breath, trying to get your heart rate back to normal; you were so gonna die tonight.

Thankfully, Bruce arrived and sat himself in his seat at the head of the table; right next to you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on getting air in your lungs and slowing your racing heart. Unbeknownst to you, Bruce shot a knowing stare at the rest of the table. As much as you tried to conceal it, they could all hear your rapidly fluttering heartbeat and your poorly hidden breathing. Tim and Jason both watched you amused; you looked so darn pathetic, sitting there trembling like a leaf. 

You glanced down at your plate, picking at the food without really tasting it, hoping that staying silent would help you melt into the background.

Bruce, however, remained still and silent, his presence looming over you, radiating the authority that seemed to keep everyone else in check. But even that felt like a facade; the way his gaze lingered on you for a split second too long told you he was watching closely, assessing.

You forced yourself to take a bite, trying to steady your hands enough to appear somewhat composed. But the sound of your own heartbeat seemed to echo in your ears, loud and unrelenting, as if amplifying the anxiety that twisted in your gut. They could hear it too; you knew that much from the way Jason’s smirk deepened, from the way Tim’s lips twitched with barely-contained laughter.

As the dinner dragged on, every clink of a fork, every quiet murmur, felt like it was directed at you. The food turned to ash in your mouth, each bite only reminding you of the eyes trained on you, dissecting you with every chew and every breath.

The rest of the dinner passed in strained silence, every second an endurance test as you forced yourself to stay seated, to keep your head down. When Bruce finally pushed his chair back and dismissed everyone, the wave of relief was almost enough to make you lightheaded. Quick as a whip, you practically ran up the stairs towards the safety and solace of your room.

When you make it, the locks on your door are immediately fastened (not that it would do much if anyone wanted to actually force their way in). You exhale in relief as you try to collect your thoughts. Fuck, everything was going to shit; the worst part being you had school tomorrow (which thankfully you did not go to Gotham Prep; you'd kill yourself if you did). You groaned at the thought, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to relieve the ache shooting through them.

Looks like another night of shitty sleep.

Taglist!!: @lostsomewhereinthegarden, @the-rouge-robin, @confused-they

[moonlightspencie]

don't want you like a best friend

Description: James is nervous about his inexperience with girls. Luckily he has a best friend who's more than willing to help. (based on an idea formed in part by @amiableness. check out the post)

Pairing: best friend!James Potter x fem!Reader

Warnings: DESPERATE!james, inexperienced!james, blowjob (m receiving), porn with barely any plot

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: kind of muggle!au? doesn't really matter in the context of this though lmao

You walked into James's flat, quite pleased he'd given you a key. It was much easier to bother him whenever you pleased when you could just waltz in any time.

"James!" you called out, toeing off your shoes.

"In here!" he shouted back.

You followed his voice to his room, seeing him laying on his tummy watching tv. You ran up to his bed and flopping down on it next to him. He laughed in that squeaky, joyful way he only ever seemed to do around you.

"Hi," he greeted with a cheeky smile.

"Hi," you replied with an equal grin, then glanced at the television. "What are you watching?"

"Nature documentary about penguins," he responded simply.

You glanced up at him with a quirked brow. "Why?"

"Cause I like penguins," he shrugged.

"...we need to get you a girlfriend."

He went a little quiet, prompting you to look at him again. You tilted your head.

"James?"

He chewed his lip. "I– I do kind of have a date. Tomorrow."

"What?" you exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight. "Who? Since when?"

His cheeks went a little pink. "Sirius set it up for me."

"Oh my god! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I'm nervous!"

You chuckled softly, still in a bit of disbelief. The boy had been single for far too long in your opinion, especially considering how much girls threw themselves at him in school. He always said that it was just because he had high standards, but part of you was half-convinced he must be terrified of girls. Or commitment. Maybe both.

"I just... I can't believe it. Is she cute?"

He almost grimaced. Not a great sign.

"Uh oh," you snorted a laugh.

"It's not that she's ugly! She's... she is pretty, its just," he sighed, shrugging a little, "she's not really my type, I guess."

"At this point, I'm beginning to believe you don't have a type."

He frowned. "Hey."

"Just saying, James. You never date, and it's not for lack of girls who like you."

"I kind of have to like them back for that to work."

"You sure you're not scared of girls?" you asked with a laugh.

He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "No."

"Commitment?"

"No."

"...Sex?"

"Ugh, don't say that," he groaned, dropping his face against the mattress.

You laughed again. "Sounds like a yes. It's really not that scary."

"It's kinda scary," he mumbled against his comforter.

"James," you called quietly, resting your cheek on the mattress to look at him.

He turned his face towards you, his cheeks pink and his hair even messier than usual. His lips were slightly pouty. Frankly, it was absolutely adorable.

"Everyone but me has done it at this point. The furthest I ever got was touching a boob over clothes in fifth year."

You couldn't help but to laugh at that, causing him to whine your name in protest.

"Sorry..." you said, not all that apologetic. "It's just... cute. You get so flustered. It's really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal to me."

"Aw. I'm sorry, Jamie. I just mean that nobody's going to fault you for being inexperienced."

"They might!"

"No they won't."

"You don't know that."

"At any rate, I think it's sweet."

"But I'm not having sex with you," he argued, then snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks going even darker. "That sounds... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you ran a hand through his hair, and he leaned into the touch. "I just mean to say that I'm sure if I think it's sweet, other girls would also probably think it's cute."

"I'm a man. I shouldn't be cute, I should be... strong and masculine. Hot."

"You're very hot, James."

He sighed, still pouting a little.

"Put that lip away," you muttered, tapping his bottom lip.

"You're being mean."

"No, I'm not."

"You're teasing me," he pouted again.

"What? How?"

"You're very hot, James," he mocked in an overly-high-pitched voice.

You snorted a laugh. "Heaven forbid I tell my hot best friend that he is, in fact, hot."

He fell quiet for a moment. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do."

"Mm," he hummed softly, then sighed. "Why can't there be more girls like you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, smiling curiously.

"You're always so sweet to me. I just wish there were more girls who act like you, cause then I could just... do it with them and not be so worried about it."

You raised your brows, trying to hold back another laugh. "Oh, really?"

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not. Just, why don't–" you stopped abruptly.

He looked at you with wide eyes. "What?"

"If you're so worried about getting your first time over with, then why don't you just do it with me?"

He looked like he got the wind knocked out of him in that moment, blinking a few times as if he was trying to wake up from a dream. He opened his mouth a few times, though no sound came out.

"I just mean that... you said you'd do it with a girl like me, so why not me? You trust me, I know what I'm doing, you know I won't judge," you listed off some reasons. "It could work, you know?"

"Cause you're... you're my best friend."

"And?"

"And friends don't do that."

"Friends do that all the time," you replied with a shrug.

"What?" he asked, looking totally mortified.

"Friends have sex all the time."

"Since when?"

"Since forever," you chuckled a little. "I'm not saying we have to. Just putting it out there, since you're so nervous about it and all."

"I–I don't..."

"You don't have to say yes."

"I know," he nodded, looking a little uncomfortable. "It's just... I don't think I'm ready to do all of that right now."

You smile a little. "I'm not saying I'd take you to pound town right now..."

"Ugh," he groaned.

"Sorry. I just mean to say that, if you wanted to, we could start slow. Work you up to the main event."

He chewed his lip, looking away from you. You sighed softly, then stood from the bed.

"Alright. Let's go and grab a snack or something and take your mind off all this. Stop stressing so much," you said, trying to grab his arm to pull him up.

He shook his head. "Can't."

"What? Yes, you can."

"No, I can't," he emphasized, his cheeks still dark.

"Why not."

He stared at you for a moment, then whined, dropping his head into the comforter again. He mumbled something into the fabric, causing you to groan in annoyance.

"What are you saying? I can't hear you when you mumble."

"You don't understand," he said, looking at you again with a pouty face. "You're not a guy."

"What the hell is that supposed to... Oh," your eyes widened. You let out a disbelieving, delighted little giggle. "Are you–"

"Please don't talk about it. It'll make it worse," he said quickly in his whiny little voice.

"Aww. Poor baby."

"Stop it."

"Let me see."

His eyes widened comically. "What?"

"Let me see. Come on, turn over," you giggle, trying to turn him.

"Lovie, no, I..."

"Please?" you pouted, knowing he could never resist it.

He whined. "Please don't. It's embarrassing."

"It's hot."

He gulped. "...It is?"

You nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of flattering, too. The fact that I barely suggested it and you got all excited."

"It's not my fault. I just... my brain started thinking..."

"Yeah, brains tend to do that," you joked, relishing in him being all flustered. It was so unlike his usual demeanor. "Come on, Jamie. I just want to see."

He swallowed, nodding a little awkwardly before he turned onto his back. You smirked a little to yourself at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. You sat back on the bed right next to him, glancing back at his nervous face.

"Can I touch?"

"I... I don't know."

"Just over the pants right now."

He considered it for a few moments, before taking a deep breath, nodding.

"Okay," he said quietly, his hands balling into fists.

You smiled. "Relax."

You let your hand rest on his thigh first, watching him as his eyes trailed your every move. You slowly slid up his leg, teasingly, just so you could see him sweat a little at the thought of being touched for the first time. He was generally quite confident, but somehow missed out on anything and everything intimate outside of kissing.

He sucked in a breath as you reached his hip, looking as if he could pass out.

"Hey," you said gently, trying to catch his eye. "Take a deep breath. Relax. It's supposed to feel good."

He sniffed, nodding shakily. "Y-yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Jamie. Just... relax. Okay?"

"Okay."

You let your hand move again, barely ghosting over his bulge, the tips of your fingers touching the fabric of his sweatpants. You looked up at his face. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were wide and almost glossy. His pretty, pouty lips were just barely parted as he waited in anticipation for your next move.

You lowered your hand, gripping him gently through his pants, forcing a shaky gasp through his lips. You smirked to yourself a little, stroking him through his pants.

"Feels good, huh?" you asked in a quiet voice.

He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a pathetic little moan. You chuckled at the sound, stroking him again. He was bigger than you expected him to be, but not terribly massive. His hips bucked into your hand, another soft whine coming from him.

"Aww. You like it, huh?"

He nodded, breath coming in short.

"Can I do a little more?"

"Uh..."

"I think you'll like it."

"M-maybe," he gasped out, looking utterly wrecked already.

"Can I take off your pants?"

He looked at your face again. "Huh?"

"Can I take them off? I wanna touch you," you stated simply.

He whimpered. "Um... For... for what?"

You furrowed your brow. "So I can feel you. I just want to touch your skin. It'll feel better for you, too. You touch yourself, right?"

"I... Y-yeah. Yeah, sometimes."

"And I assume you don't do it through your pants, right?" you laugh a little.

He merely swallows, nodding dumbly. "Right."

"So... Can I touch you like that? I won't do it unless you say yes."

"Oh..." he sucked in a shaky breath. "O-okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

You smiled, hooking your fingers in his sweatpants and underwear. "Hips up, please."

He followed your instructions easily, lifting his hips for you. You tugged everything down in one go, leaving it all pooled at his ankles on the bed. You nearly moaned yourself when you saw him, hard and leaky and ready. You traced his dick softly with your fingertips, impressed with him, and drawing another moan from his lips.

"So pretty, Jamie. Look at you."

"Don't... fuck," he gasped. "Don't say that."

"I mean it. Your cock is perfect."

He whimpered again, sounding like he could cry. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking him softly as hips bucked into your hand, soft moans and squeaks leaving him in utter desperation.

"P-please," he begged, staring at you as if you hung the stars.

"Please?"

"I... I don't know," he shook his head, his lip quivering.

"You need more?"

He sniffled, nodding quickly. "So bad. Please."

"Can I suck your cock, love?"

The sound that left his lips was utterly pornographic, his chest heaving like he'd run a marathon.

"God..."

"That's not my name, baby," you stroke him again. "I need you to say yes if this is what you want."

"Y-yes. Fuck yes," he said, his hips still shifting under you, trying to get more friction from your hand.

"So needy," you chide jokingly, moving to settle between his legs.

He whined watching you climb between his legs, nearly hyperventilating at the sight and feeling of you kissing along his stomach with your hand pushing his shirt up.

"So pretty," he groaned, stroking your hair.

You smiled against his stomach, licking nearly up to his chest just to hear him make that sound again. You kissed back down his stomach, barely ghosting over the tip of his cock at you looked back up at him.

"Ready?"

He nodded, in a trance as he watched you. You kept his eye contact as you darted your tongue out, tasting him for the first time. He practically sobbed in pleasure, pulling on your hair slightly.

"Told you it would feel good, baby," you mutter, licking from base to tip as he squirmed under your touch. "Isn't this nice?"

"Mmmm..." he nodded, chest heaving.

"Good boy," you kissed his tip.

You stared up at him, smiling to yourself at his sweet little reactions as you started stroking him. He looked so adorable totally wrecked. Like he could pass out at any moment. You couldn't help but to want more.

You wet your lips, figuring you could probably fit most of him into your mouth in one go: so you decided to give it a go. You licked him once more, then shoved his cock down your throat, letting it hit far enough to make you gag.

He shouted, gasping for air before he fell into a puddle of moans and desperate praises of your name. You pulled off of him, but only for a second before you went back down, sucking on him as if your life depended on it. It felt like it did.

He gripped the fabric of his comforter, sobbing in pleasure as his hips jutted up into your mouth. You were about to pull off to make some sly remark, when he whimpered loudly, shooting his cum down your throat. You hummed around him, swallowing everything you could despite your utter surprise that he had finished so quickly. He whined and kept his grip tight in your hair until he was done, his seed dribbling past your lips as you couldn't quite swallow everything. You weren't sure if you'd ever witnessed someone cumming so much before.

You did your best to clean him off without making him overly-sensitive, and finally pulled off.

"Mm... Holy fuck, Jamie. You cum that much every time?” You ask, chuckling a little despite being wildly aroused.

He shook his head, sweaty and still whimpering.

"Awww," you cooed softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You okay?"

"That... that felt..."

"What?"

"Best thing ever," he managed breathily.

You laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he uttered, a small smile on his face as he opened his eyes. "I... you're really good at that."

"Apparently too good," you snorted.

"Maybe," he nodded, then hummed softly in pleasure. "Sorry for cumming so fast."

"It was sweet."

"It's not sweet," he shook his head.

"I think so. You're so sensitive," you kissed his cheek.

He hummed again, then sighed softly. You watched him as he took a few steadying breaths before he moved his eyes back to you. He let his eyes linger on your form for several moments, then chewed his lip. He looked up at you, clearly debating something in his mind.

Then he smiled a little.

"Can I return the favor next time?"

[poppy-metal]

PATRICK HUMPING YOU TO SHOW YOU HOW HE'S GONNA FUCK YOU NAURRRRRR 🥺

Really truly pretending his cock is inside you with how he's thrusting and it almost kinda hurts because he's wearing those jeans and he's being kinda mean about it but it has your pussy throbbing and aching and the front of his jeans are so wet by the time he cums and he's making fun of you for it and and and 🥺🥺🥺

hhhhhh him fully clothed and you're half undressed. legs splayed wide around his waist as he grinds between your legs - aurrrrrr. in nothing but your little panties the friction of his cock through his jeans rubbing against you feels so intense. the pressure feels like he's really inside you -

"you're so big -" because you can feel him, can feel how big he is, how wide his cock is - can feel it broad and thick through his denim. "oh god patrick. it feels so good -"

and patrick never thought he'd get off this much from some clumsy rutting when his dick isn't even out, but fuck you're so pretty under him. how desperate you're getting - just from a little rubbing? he's theobbing - feels like he's gonna burst out of his jeans he's so hard - and that makes him rut against you harder, to alleviate the pressure building in his balls - "I can't wait to fuck you - " he tells you, because it's true. he braces his hands on either side of your head, but he uses one of them to curl around your head, cupping the back of it to drag your lips closer to his - "god, I wanna fuck you so bad."

he's okay with waiting, though. he is. he thinks about it constantly though - the anticipation of the day you finally give the okay for him to work you open on his bare cock. at this point he knows feeling it is going to alter his brain chemistry. he's never wanted something so much.

you whine under him. you want it to, "you'll tear me apart," but the way you say it, all breathless and whimpered, it doesn't sound much like a con. you're terrified of being in pain, the stigma around how the first time hurts and there's blood involved has always made you scared - and how big patrick is.... but the more and more time you spend with him, the more you kiss and hump against eachother like this, the less you start to care about the potential pain of his big cock breaking you in. sometimes, you even think that's what might make it better.

patrick doesn't even bother denying it, just kisses into your mouth, licks inside it with his tongue. your moan feeds into his mouth as he grinds down purposely, moves his hips in a way that has his clothed dick sliding right between the lips of your cunt - through the thin fabric of your panties. "I know." he bumps your nose with his, your hands glide up to grip his flexing forearms - "I know, baby, but I'll make it good for you - "

you feel the gush of wet come from your pussy. know it's soaking the front of his jeans and making a mess and you're too turned on to be embarrassed. clinging to him as he dryfucks you into your squeaky dormbed, your thighs hugging his hips, urging him on. "I want it," you admit - even if you're still scared, still intimidated, you can't lie, "keep talking, please. tell me - tell me how you're gonna fuck me -"

he groans from deep in his chest - sounds like a rumbling. he takes your lips again and starts working his hips faster against you, forcing you further down into the bed - "gonna get you so wet. spread you fucking open and eat your pussy till' you can't take it. but you're gonna take it - because it feels good - and you want it - want my big dick in that tiny little pussy -" you're sharing breaths now, panting against eachothers lips, noses brushing with every rock of his hips - you feel so close - you're soaking through your panties - throbbing and throbbing and throbbing for him, so fucking needy for something you've never experienced before. "- gonna fuck you just like this, on your back so I can see your face when I push inside you. fuck, you're gonna strangle my cock, I'm gonna give it to you so fucking hard - yeah, baby - " he nods when you gasp - and you don't know why you say it, it just comes out -

"no, no, you can't - you'll be too big -"

and he's right there with you, pinning you under him, heavy and big and imposing - gripping the back of your skull -

"yes, I can. I will, baby. I have to. I have to fuck you, I won't be able to stop."

oh, god. oh god.

"patrick -"

you cum.

[ma1dita]

BABEEE happy birthday!! (i'm so terribly late i'm so sorry) congrats on 23💖

🐥 so i'm having thoughts right now about luke x reader and physical affection. like maybe one of them being touch starved and always craving the other person's touch and the other person noticing it and doing it more? maybe from platonic (i will go down with best friends to lovers) to romantic, i'm just on this brainrot tonight

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x reader

a/n: back from the klerb but here with a classic 4am post 🥂 but the hangxiety wont let me rest until this is out! ill edit this in the morning... or not 😗

wc: 1.1k

—

It’s hard to miss what you’ve never had.

Luke Castellan was never a touchy guy. Sure, he’ll hold a new camper’s hand during welcome tours (especially the little ones who can barely keep up with his long legs; if they’re lucky they get a piggy back ride), and he won’t shy away from a clap on the back when his strategies for capture the flag bring his team to victory (they always do, mind you), and when he feels like it, he’ll even shove Annabeth playfully to show her he adores her (but she packs a punch now that she’s older).

It never really goes past that, and he’s never had to think too hard about it—physical touch.

He’s the one who takes care of others—a part of his nature like it is for Hermes’ cabin to take in unclaimed demigods. But something changed in the months that he’s gotten closer to you. At first, he’d bite his tongue at the way you’re so open to patting his cheek when he does something funny (which he doesn’t try to make a show of, but now…), how you choose to sit so close to him during bonfires that your knees touch (the Apollo kids could be singing about the heavens falling down on them for all he cares but he zeroes in on every word that leaves your lips), and the way you’d lock your fingers with him for a pinky promise after every little thing ‘to make sure it’s real’ (Luke didn’t understand the merit of a pinky promise over whether you could have his dessert for the next week if you took over arts and crafts with the kiddie campers for him; truthfully he’d give it to you anyway). It was unusual for him to have someone comfort him, to show care without a true reason. But he didn’t realize how much more it bothered him now that you wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

Silena and some of the other Aphrodite children had asked you the very defining question of, “Do you like Luke Castellan?” and having never thought of it that way, or being able to put your feelings for him in words instead of fingers in his belt loops or in the muss of his curls—that shit was terrifying!

You spent all Saturday afternoon at the docks with them belly down under the glare of the sun’s rays as they explained to you what the five love languages are. By the end of it, sunburn wasn’t the only reason you felt hot.

“Your love language is physical touch,” one of Silena’s older half-siblings—Connelly, says like he’s explaining that the sky is blue, “And Luke’s not that type of guy! Think he’s more acts of service…”

“Ooh, or words of affirmation….” another one of them muses, but the sound of your heartbeat tunes it all out. Well shit, have you been sending him the wrong signals? Or are there even any signals you want to send him? 

Nevertheless, in the matters of love or even the tiniest whisper of it—maybe there’s no one else you can trust with this stuff besides Cabin 10.

Wrong.

Absolutely wrong. Whatever the hell you’ve been convinced or whatever’s changed since last weekend—Luke just knows he hates it, and he’s angry. He’s angry at how you gasp in surprise every time you brush shoulders during archery practice when you used to let him fix your form, he’s angry at how you’ll squeeze campers’ shoulders to tell them they’re doing a good job carrying the strawberry crates—and all he gets is a mumbled ‘Thanks, Castellan’ when he stacks them up and takes your load.

Luke’s so terribly angry that Travis told him he’s been walking around like a big strawberry, face red and irritated—but not at you. 

He realizes he’s also angry at the fact that he can’t protect you from the onslaught of a rain cloud—or maybe it was the fact that you’re so okay with the rain touching your skin and seeping through your orange shirt like he wishes you’d let him. He’s angry at the way the wind blows your hair into your face and your fingers brush the strands away like he wishes he can. Most of all, Luke Castellan is angry that he didn’t know how good a simple touch could be until he lost it—before he even really got to appreciate yours.

You’re sitting on the opposite end of the row in the amphitheater laughing with your friends and the furrow in his thick brow is a tell-tale sign of his discomfort. Luke doesn’t dare to remember what it’s like before you to be honest—he’d rather give up Elysium instead of having you ignore him like this. He calls your name, a tinge of both anger and desperation until you look over at him, eyelashes kissing your cheeks. The hold you have on him transcends the physical touch of your fingers but he wants, no—needs you next to him.

“C’mere! Why are you so far away?”

Luke hopes it doesn’t sound pathetic, but a crooked grin splits across his face as soon as you make your way over, sitting down and crossing your legs away from him. It’s still too far, even if he can feel your breath on his shoulder.

“Did I do something to make you angry? I…” The words escape his mouth in a jumble—quick wit from his father escaping him, though he knows not to rely on that asshole, god or not. You mutter words that almost escape him too, and he leans in, chasing your hands and putting them in his own until they’re gentle and soft in his lap.

“No, no…. I just… don’t want to push your boundaries. I know you don’t like it when I’m too touchy,” and he thinks his heart clenches a little like how you’re squeezing his hands. Luke shouldn’t feel instant gratification from a subconscious action. He wants to know you mean it with him—that’s what he can’t put into words.

“I….like it when you do.”

You notice the way his fingers tangle tighter with yours, pinkys interlocking with yours. When he lets go, Luke wraps his arm around your shoulders until you’re able to laugh in the crook of his neck. He chooses to place a kiss on the corner of your mouth when your head sways to face him at the silly tune about centaurs and then you realize that Luke loves the way you love him. You wonder if he accidentally missed meeting your lips, but then the noise in your head quiets down when he pulls you closer, lips locking tenderly, intentionally—as they were always meant to.

You both hear a giggle that sounds a lot like tinkling bells belonging to children of Aphrodite. 

For once they were wrong about love. 

Luke’s tongue parts through your lips and meets your own like they’re in a long awaited embrace, dancing and devouring you from the inside out but this, you— are what he can rely on. This, your touch, and how he chooses to let it consume him, never letting go.

[xlatiwritesx]

Serious, serious | CL16

A/N: an F1 imagine 🏎️ !!! Yes, yes, I’m into F1 finally, so I of course had to write something and who else would it be than THE Charles Leclerc. Ngl, this isn’t my best work but I just had to get this idea out of my system 😵‍💫. Hope you guys enjoy it !!

Words: 1.6K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: after your first serious scare being an F1 girlfriend, you’re rewarded with a new found emotion.

…

Time is a funny thing. Humorous, at times. It goes fast or slow as it pleases. Chooses its pace to get on your weakest nerve.

For instance, the past three months flew by. Meeting him, texting for the first time, your first date, your first kiss, attending his first race, getting to know his friends.

It felt as fast as blinking an eye. Or as fast as you were falling for him.

"A Ferrari car is off the track!" The commentator's voice boomed through the TV speakers. You jumped to your feet from the leather couch you were sat on.

"Oh no" the commentator said soon after. Soon after Charles' car crashed into the concrete wall alongside the track.

Your heart fell, your breath quickening at a dangerous rate. You shut your eyes, reminding yourself of what Charles always said to you.

"Crashes happen. All the time. These cars, though, they're meant to protect us. So, crashes aren’t as dangerous as they seem in F1"

"He's okay" you whispered to yourself. However, when you opened your eyes, everyone's face didn't confirm that, though.

"Right?" You asked, looking around the Ferrari unit. Everyone was frozen, eyes glued on the screen that showed smoke coming out of the crashed Ferrari car.

Charles' car.

Your legs moved before you even decided. You ran so fast. Faster than any car still racing out there even though the world seemed to crumble and break into pieces.

You gasped for air, the wind making it colder than usual. You reached a half empty Ferrari station. All those screens deserted. You barely held yourself up. You wondered how bad was it that half the team had to go to the scene.

"Crashes are normal in Formula One. Almost inevitable"

Not when it's the guy that you were realizing meant much more to you than you thought. The thought terrified you. So much terrified you all of a sudden.

"How do I get there?" You didn't realize how panicked you were until you heard yourself speak. The man stared at you in confusion.

"How do I get to the crash?" You urged. You couldn't believe you were saying that.

"Ma'am, you can't just go-“

"No, no! I have to!" You could feel your eyes well with tears.

"It's Charles Leclerc! Hurry!" A group of paramedics ran to their veichle. You ran after them.

"Ma'am this is not allowed-"

"Please!" You begged them.

"I'm sorry, this is for authorized-"

"Y/n!" You turned around, desperate to believe what you were hearing.

"Carlos! Carlos, please tell me he's okay" you ran to the only person that you felt would care enough to tend to your worries.

"They're taking him to the hospital" he sighed, bowing his head, his fingertips barely holding his helmet.

"W-why?" You stuttered. He finally looked at you.

"Let's just go"

You silently followed Carlos to his car after he quickly changed out of his suit. The drive to the hospital drove you insane. So many questions. Wondering about so much, too much at once.

As soon as Carlos parked outside the emergencies, you ran out of the car and through the glass doors, not caring about all the chaos going just outside of them.

"How serious is it?!"

"Do you think Leclerc will be able to go back to racing?!"

"Will he be there for the next race?!"

It was a lot. Too much, even. You wanted to scream them away. Tell them that this wasn't the time to ask all those questions with bright cameras and microphones everywhere. To respect the other patients' and their families' privacy. But you care more about Charles right now. So you kept running until your hands hit the edge of the counter.

"Charles Leclerc just came in" you breathed. The nurse widened her eyes at your state and just pointed to where he was.

You got to his bed in no time, him just lying there, unconscious. You immediately held his hand and the waterworks began. Carlos walked into the curtain closed space and stood in front of the bed, leaning on the edge.

"Hey" he called so quietly. You just kept crying.

"I don't recommend dating a Formula One driver if you'll cry this hard every time he crashes" he said casually. You stopped sobbing and looked up and to your left. You glared. Carlos shrugged.

"Just saying" he said, looking away.

"Carlos!" You whined. He looked at you, but you just went back to looking at Charles.

You noticed some bruises already forming on his hands. You held it tighter. You felt like time was not moving. It just dragged on and on. Carlos stood there. You sat there. Charles laid there. Just like that. For eternity.

"You didn't eat anything. What do you want?" Carlos' voice reminded you of his existence. You slowly turned to look at him, your tears barely dried on your face.

"How can you be so…chill?" You asked. Not in annoyance. Just out of pure curiosity. Carlos frowned at you for a second, before breaking into a fit of laughter. You stared at him blankly, your hand still holding Charles' tightly.

"I'm telling you! This sport is not for the faint of heart!" He waved a warning finger at you and you frowned at him. This time in annoyance.

"We just" he sighed when he stopped laughing, only a smile left behind from it.

"We get used to this. To seeing it. To being victims of it" he said ever so casually that it terrified you. It was terrifying the things passion makes a person do. How far people would go for what they love.

"I'm getting food and you will eat it. Charles would kill me if he woke up to a starving you while I was just hanging here. Deal?" He raised a brow at you. You hesitated, but Carlos kept his gaze. You finally nodded.

"Good. I'll be back in a bit" he said before leaving. You watched him go and something warm filled you. Gratitude.

You were grateful for him staying with you. With Charles. Not all drivers care enough to do that, unfortunately. You didn't notice the smile on your face until a few minutes later. When Charles spoke.

"What's so funny?" He mumbled. Your eyes shot to his and you stood up in an instant.

"Charles?!" You exclaimed, tears filling your eyes for the millionth time today. He just blinked, wincing.

“Who won the race?” He asked, still trying to find his voice.

"Oh my god" you covered your face, walking away from his bed in disbelief.

“Seriously?!” You spun around, crying. You wanted to fight even harder when a smile slowly took form on his tired face.

“Charles do you know how terrified I was?! And all you’re worried about is who won that race?!” You kept scolding. He placed one arm behind his head, still watching you in amusement. You breathed heavily, not bothering to wipe your tears as you crossed your arms over your chest.

You watched him laying there, smiling with his arm under his head, giving him better view of your tear-stained face.

“You know what?” He spoke. You had to walk a step closer so you could hear him clearly.

“I don’t want to know who won the race. I want to know how on earth did I get this lucky” he started.

“Yeah! I’m so glad it just cane down to some bruises. And, and, you’re awake, and you’re talking, and you seem okay!” You rambled, now sitting by his side on the edge of the bed. He chuckled softly at you missing what he meant, raising a hand to wipe your tears, then tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Right when I realized what was happening, there was one thought that kept echoing in my mind” he whispered, suddenly all serious. Your heartbeat quickened, not enjoying the memory of watching him crash and not knowing what he was feeling or if he was going to be okay.

“I just kept thinking ‘fuck. I didn’t get to tell her I love her’” he confessed. You raised your brows slightly, surprised at the sudden confession. You’ve been together for three months now and neither of you had said it, yet.

But there it was. And it felt like the world that crumbled after the race was patched and stitched back to perfect, pristine condition.

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips. Charles smiled as well, his heart monitor exposing how important this moment was to him.

You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his neck carefully, holding him tightly to make up for all the fear of losing him. For all the fear of him not feeling the same way.

“I love you, too, Charles” you whispered.

You held each other for as long as it took for your flushed cheeks and racing hearts to quiet down, giving your new found feelings some sense of privacy.

Once you pulled away, your faces met, less than an inch apart. Charles leaned in. You were grateful there was no heart monitor on you, or that would’ve been the end.

“So, I didn’t know which is your favorite, so I got all flavors-“

Carlos’ voice sent you flying to your feet. Charles sat where he was and pierced his lips shut, staring at nothing in particular.

Carlos’ eyes danced between the two of you and he broke into a grin when he realized.

“I think it finally happened?” Carlos asked, hinting at what you both just confessed to one another. You glanced at Charles just to catch him glancing at you. He cleared his throat and you held back a smile.

“So now it’s serious, serious?” Carlos asked excitedly.

“Serious, serious” you both answered.

[kykyonthemoon]

Hello, i've read your work recently and i'm in love with your writing! If you mind can i ask where the reader somehow remember their past life and saying sorry to the love and deepspace character? I wonder about their reaction where mc feels really guilty at them. Thank you <3

Dear lonely-dreamer,

Thank you so much for the request. It took awhile but I finally managed to finish it. Since we know too little about Sylus (or even Caleb), I wrote for only the 3 first MLs. I might write something else for Sylus and Caleb later :3

Hope you like this piece. Have a wonderful day!

Lost. Found.

When you suddenly find the memories of the past lives, which you once lived with him.

── .✦ Character x Female Reader|MC

Included parts in order: Rafayel, Xavier, Zayne.

♡︎. Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, short, myths related.

♡︎. Word count: 2k1

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

Roam on, my love

down life's

long road

we will

be lost

and found

a thousand times

before

we meet again.

— ATTICUS.

Rafayel

Talia came to find Rafayel in the middle of the night, while you were still half asleep, feeling his warmth slowly fade from the space next to you in bed. You sensed a major event had happened, which was why Talia hurried here alone at such a dark hour, looking so terrified. 

You had intended to go downstairs and make some tea for the guest. But as soon as you reached the stairs, Talia's voice echoed through the half-open door. 

"He will not be the last Lemurian to be slain... You know that, don't you, Rafayel? That we don't have any time left..."

Your bare feet paused. The cold air from the stone stairway touched your palm, waking you up. Yes, you were no longer dreaming. This was real. As real as everything you had seen since touching that protocore. During a mission last month, you happened to resonate with a strange protocore. It caused you to perceive illusions, but not quite so. They were like recollections from your past lives, fragmented and sewn together in front of your eyes.  The feud between you and Rafayel from a long, long time ago.

So you were aware that your tale and what Talia had said were related. Rafayel’s silence made her even more impatient. She added:

“They want her, Rafayel. They will come for you. I can’t convince them anymore… They will find her sooner or later. You already know the price…”

Time passed slowly in the dark corridor. You understood everything Talia had said, that the girl was you. What the Lemurians desired was inside your chest. You remembered, not everything, but vivid dreams told you what you had done to the Lemurians, to Rafayel.

But it wasn’t you. It was a completely unfamiliar version of you. 

A moment after Talia left, you entered the room. The warm firelight from the enormous fireplace filled the room and illuminated Rafayel's slumped back. When he heard your footsteps, he turned around with a feeble smile and asked: 

“Why are you out here, my princess? Did I and our unexpected guest awaken you?” 

You gazed at him for a brief moment. After all, you understood that every time he called you princess, it was not just a loving pet name.

You moved closer and hugged Rafayel. You had not told him about your dreams or what you had recalled. That night, you were determined to tell him everything.

Rafayel was astonished. The warm firelight in his eyes blurred, and pure white pearls began to tumble to the floor.

“I’m sorry… Rafayel… I’m so sorry…”

Rafayel seized your hands, drew them closer, and kissed them with his lips.

"To be loved, it's not a sin."

His fingers tenderly wiped the tears from your face. He had waited so long for you to discover who you really were, and at the same time he hoped you would never know. That way you could live your days freely, not bound by the hatred of the past. Yet you still remembered everything.

Your breathing became heavy with each sob. You said: 

“Rafayel… If you want my heart…”

"I want it to stay there," Rafayel said. "Within your chest. It's yours. Across the past, present, and future. I have never once regretted giving it to you. If you remember, you know I always try to rewrite our story, right?”

“But the Lemurians…”

“They are losing faith in me. I understand. But all I need is your faith. We will get through this and never be apart again. Do you understand?”

You did not dare to believe that there might truly be a happy ending for you and Rafayel. But in that moment, as you gazed into his resolute eyes, you realized that you would do everything just to stay with him.

Xavier 

Lately, you had a hunch that Xavier was going to leave. 

Ever since you returned from that mission, there appeared to be an unseen divide between you two. You knew it was not him, it was you. The mysterious protocore you accidentally came into contact with during the mission caused you to see things. The dreams were fractured, with no beginning or end. However, you comprehended them as if they were recollections from your former lives.

You kept it hidden from Xavier. He merely thought you were acting odd since you returned, but he would not compel you to say anything against your will. You secretly searched for evidence to back up what you suspected. And you found it.

You knew about the Backtracker fleet. You knew about Philos. And you knew about Lumiere.

Xavier kept everything hidden for your safety. And yet, you kept this a secret because you did not wish for him to suffer. Again.

You still did not know what to say to him, or how to compensate for his loss. He had sacrificed so much, for you. But somewhere inside, you still felt a little resentful that he had left you all alone. You knew he was ready to make the same decision as when he abandoned you at Philos.

“Go to bed early.” Xavier stroked your head gently. “In a few days, when you wake up, I’ll be by your side.”

Lie.

“Do you really have to go?” You hesitated. “I mean… You could have refused this mission.”

You could have stayed. You could have told me the truth.

"I have to go." Xavier responded. He gently squeezed your cheek. "But I'll be back shortly. Do not worry too much. Remember to eat well and skip any meals. Don't stay awake too late. It's getting colder; remember to stay warm. If you are bored and miss me, you may play the video games I recently purchased or watch the unfinished movies..."

It sounds like you're not coming back! You held back the tears and replied:

“If you don’t come back soon, I might have to watch them all by myself.”

���Then I’ll have to ask you to tell me the plots.” Xavier smiled. He lightly kissed your forehead. “I’ll leave now.”

You sat on the sofa, listening to his footsteps as they slowly walked away. A slight "click" was heard as the door closed.

His mission was only an excuse. A few days back, you overheard him and Jeremiah talking. He intended to use this expedition to stage a phony "missing case" to distract those who had betrayed him. With Jeremiah, he would lead them away from Linkon, away from you.

He chose to leave you. Again.

Warm tears streamed down your cheeks.  All alone, what should you do? You recalled the scene in the past, in which you sat on the throne with the blessings of so many people, yet absolutely on your own. You had counted every star waiting for the day Xavier would return to you as promised. But he had completely disappeared.

This time, he pledged to return to you. This time, he would also break his promise.

You brushed the tears away. You had been thinking a lot in the last several days. You still blamed Xavier, but you understood why he had done so. And you had distanced yourself from him since you were unsure how to confront him. But, at this point, none of that mattered when you might lose Xavier again. Forever.

You raced out of the home. You did not care about the past. You had no concern what the future held. The most important thing to you right that moment was Xavier alone.

Unable to wait for the elevator, you decided to run. You caught Xavier standing outside, likely waiting for Jeremiah. You hurried over to embrace his back. To Xavier's amazement and your weeping, you stated:

“Don’t go… Xavier… Don’t leave me alone again… I’m sorry that I assumed you left me to find your true star… I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, that ever since I touched that protocore, I started remembering what happened in Philos… I know who you are. Who I am… So don’t think you can fool me again… This time, I’ll go wherever you go. Let me face it with you, okay?…”

Xavier did not have time to respond. You could feel his entire body shudder as a burning tear fell onto your hand, which he had just squeezed so tightly.

Zayne 

"Doctor Zayne is out of danger. You can come in." Greyson's voice sounded out. Yvonne stood alongside him, relieved. You nodded at each of them and entered the hospital ward.

How strange, since in all the previous cases, it was Zayne standing here, and you were the one lying on the bed.

There was an attack on the outskirts of Linkon. You were sent to investigate, and Zayne had accompanied his team from Akso Hospital to treat the injured. While fighting the Wanderers, you encountered a peculiar protocore. It had drawn you into a bizarre realm where you appeared to glimpse the lives you had once lived, with Zayne.

You were not sure how long you had been there. It was like a dream, with no sense of time or who you were. You were lost down there, so deep that Zayne had given up everything to find you. The real Zayne, yours, in this timeline. 

The price of bringing you back was him lying there, fighting for every breath, body covered in wounds and almost completely frozen. 

The price of bringing you back was him laying there, battling for every breath, his body covered in wounds and almost frozen. 

You lightly stroke his frigid hand. Zayne did not respond but his heartbeat remained steady. He would live. That was what Greyson told you, and it was all you held on to that moment. 

Hope.

You stayed by his bedside all night, breathing life and all of your love into Zayne’s hands. When the first rays of the morning light woke you and the warmth returned to him, his eyes fluttered and gradually opened. You squeezed his hand.

“Zayne… Zayne… You're here!…” You cried out. You called for him and not completely him, but the Zayne of all the lives you had found.

Tears began to trickle down your pale cheeks. Zayne carefully wiped them away.

“Why are you crying?… I… did not go anywhere…”

You grabbed his hand and pressed your face against it. You kissed his hand aggressively, as if you were scared he would disappear again. 

“I don’t believe you anymore… You lied… You always said that I would live a happy life in the end… But then, you vanished without a trace… Did you think you could fool me again this time?” 

Zayne’s pupils widened. In an instant, his reaction shifted from astonishment to joy, then despair.

“I…”

"You know, right?" You dried your tears, halting whatever he was about to say. “You know that we don’t have just this one life. Right? You know that you disappeared in front of me in the jasmine field… You left me seeking for you among mountains and hills… This time, you really intended to leave me again… Do you believe that I could really live happily in a world without you?” You let out all your pent-up emotions through each word, each tear. Zayne stared at you with a mix of anguish and joy. You were aware of the same thing he was.

"I'm sorry…" Zayne spoke softly. His fingers cradled your chin and softly elevated your face. 

“Why should you apologize?… After all… The one who is most at fault is me… Because of meeting me, Zayne…” 

You trailed off. Choking. Your entire body trembled as emotions came to the surface. Zayne struggled to sit up, then drew you into his arms and embraced you hard. 

“Because of meeting you, I learned what it means to love someone. Because of meeting you, my world is no longer lost in ice and snow… I chose you. It will always be you…”

You let out another sob. You clutched to Zayne. “I’m sorry… I’m really… I’m sorry…” 

Zayne's weight was resting on your head as he kissed your hair. He rubbed your back to soothe you, like he always did. 

“It's alright now… It’s alright… When I came to find you and get you out of the protofield, I thought I wouldn’t have the strength to go back anymore… Yet I heard you calling my name all night long… You helped me find my way back. You found me. You saved me… This time, I have no intention of letting you go ever again.”

[greyskyflowers]

I have a lot of half thoughts about the hell scenes so I'm just going to ramble them out on here and hope they're semi coherent.

1.) I think it's so interesting that Edwin screamed for Charles while he was being taken to hell.

I would bet that Edwin cried for someone his his first trip down to hell too.

I really can't think of who he would have called for specifically. His parents? Maybe. I do think that there's something in everyone that wants the comfort of their mother when they're truely terrified but it doesn't seem like Edwin would have screamed for them. That goes for any siblings too.

He certainly didn't seem to have any friends that he could have cried for. Doesn't necessarily strike me as the type to be close to God but this situation would make a holy man out of anyone. Maybe he just called for every name that crossed his mind. Family, grade school friends, neighbors, teachers, etc.

Regardless, even if he had screamed for them, what would they have done? Who would have answered?

No one. No one answered. No one came. They were never coming.

He was completely alone.

He does scream for Charles though. Charles will always respond. Charles will always come get him.

I dont know, just seems like he screamed this time because he knew someone was listening. He said a name because he knew that person would come.

2.) I wonder if a very small, little sliver of Charles hated Crystal for just a split second when he found Edwin in hell and realized what exactly happens to him down there.

Crystal was very brave to want to come and that's important, she cares and wanted to help. I think that means a lot to Charles and Edwin.

However, she pushed back after she was told no, and that humans couldn't go to hell.

She argued with Charles and it might have been just a few minutes but how many times did Edwin get ripped apart in those few minutes?

That awful pile in the corner says many times.

3.) I'm curious what Edwin being taken back to hell would have looked like if we had followed him instead of staying with Charles.

Did the spider demon wait until it got to those horrid hallways before starting to chase?

Did it throw Edwin in there and muscle memory had him take off running the second his bare feet hit the ground? The demon already behind him and catching up quick.

Was he torn apart and back before he even knew what happened? How many times did it take before it hit him that he's really back?

This particular ones gets me. The idea that he was still in shock from being taken, was killed and back again while still trying to figure out what was even happening is heartbreaking.

If Edwin was torn apart and back before he even realized it, maybe that means it was a quick first death. Maybe the demon spider was too excited to have it's toy back.

I guess when the realization would have hit him that this was real, that he had already started the loop of runhurtagainrunhurtagain, that's what gets me.

Also, how familiar it probably was. How horrible to be so familiar with a certain type of pain that it would have immediately brushed aside all the scattered and chaotic thoughts in his head and narrowed it down to, he's back.

4.) Charles held it together pretty well in hell. Especially because I feel like he was probably furious. Everything in the past few days has been adding to his anger and what's a great way to piss him off even when he's not in a bad mood? Fucking around with Edwin.

The night nurse has made a liar out of him. She called that awful thing to Edwin, as accidental as it might have been, and it took him.

Charles promised that Edwin would not go back to hell. He said he was going to fight whoever and whatever he needed to in order to keep them together and Edwin out of hell.

Edwin is in hell. They're not together anymore.

It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that Charles wasn't able to do anything.

He has broken two promises in the seconds it took the demon spider to grab Edwin and disappear.

When he finds Edwin the second time and he gets the run down of what really happens here, he did this thing while Edwin's hand is still over his mouth where he kind of closes his eyes and nods a few times.

It's like he's telling himself to pull it together. Trying to passively take in the information and doing the equivalent of taking a few deep breathes while incredibly anxious or stressed and forcing yourself to focus on specific things one at a time.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

Swallow it all down, all the devastation and fury and fear.

Edwin needs him to be okay and calm because Edwin is absolutely not okay and not calm.

So even though Charles is probably feeling a lot things right now, he swallows it down and says Okay. Let's get you out of here.

Charles is a fixer. He's a protecter. He's a fighter.

He can do none of those things right now. Not really. The only thing he can really do is give Edwin enough hope to run though hell with him.

Add in the later stuff with Esther and Charles has got to be thinking 'how many times do we have to go through this before everyone gets the message and backs the fuck off?'

[ashwhowrites]

Steve having a senior little sister who has a crush on Eddie. Can barely string two words together any time he talks to her. She’s a cheerleader, her parents expect her to marry an Ivy League business major or a senator’s son or something. She kept her crush a secret until Jason calls him a freak in front of the whole cafeteria- and she punches him. Possibly breaking her hand. Most likely getting suspended or at the very least detention for quite a while.

I adore this so much

Never proofread- wrote half of this high, so if I'm sober and it sucks, I will be fixing it

~~~

Popularity came with the Harrigton name, and so did high expectations from everyone. Y/N was popular all throughout high school, following behind King Steve.

She was already known by everyone before she even introduced herself. Already accepted into the popular crowd, she joined cheer, something her mother wanted her to be part of.

Even though she was younger than Steve, she had a close relationship with him. Their parents had high standards for them, and it could get draining. Together, they learned to be there for each other when the disappointment started to settle in. They hung out all the time, which led her to be friends with Steve's friends.....including Eddie Munson.

Y/N had confidence, was very smart, well-mannered, and was all around a golden child. She knew how to make friends, she was kind, sweet, and friendly. It was easy for people to like her and it was easy for her to talk to anyone.

Except for Eddie.

The long-haired senior with brown eyes always had her tongue-tied. She always saw him in the halls but never had the courage to talk to him. He hated the popular crowd and he made that very clear. She had no chance at a friendship or any relationship with the boy.

Then Steve needed his wallet, meeting his friends for dinner but leaving his wallet in his bedroom. Y/N, who had no problem leaving her house whenever she could, brought his wallet to him.

That was the day Steve introduced her to Eddie Munson. He smiled and gave her a small wave. She felt judged by his stare, she knew he knew she was popular. But he is friends with ex-king Steve, maybe he'd give her a chance too.

"You have a gorgeous deer in the headlights look going on," Eddie teased with a smirk, using his hands to gesture to her face.

She felt her body heat up from her cheeks down to her neck. First impression and she was embarrassing herself. With a terrified squeak, she threw the wallet on the table and raced out of the restaurant.

~~~

Sadly after that, she did not improve her communication skills with the boy. Any time he spoke a word near or to her, she never had a response. Just staring as her brain shut off. If she's lucky, she'll get out half a sentence.

She hoped by spending more time with him it would get better, but it never did.

Whenever the group would hang out, she'd talk to Dustin and Robin. Her usual self taking control of the conversation. But the second Eddie walked in, took a seat, and threw his heavy boots on the table with his arms behind his head, she was silent.

~~~

At first Eddie thought she had a small crush on him. The way she'd squeak at his compliments and run in the other direction.

But the more he was around her, the more he felt like she didn't want to be near him. She was popular and never had any issues talking with people. She talked with Dustin and Robin, they weren't popular. Maybe Eddie was still socially under them but she didn't care about it. But once Eddie walked into the room, her lips went shut and she didn't speak a word.

The group accepted Eddie, even with his freak status. Maybe Y/N just wasn't ready for that yet.

~~~

Y/N hated that with every passing day, her crush grew stronger. And yet, she couldn't say one word to the guy.

A part of her is scared to admit she likes him. He wasn't at all what her parents would approve of. She didn't know exactly if Steve would be so on board with it. And she didn't see herself as his type in any sort of way.

Just a silly high school crush and she'll move on. End up with the guy who owns a business and is super clean. Someone her parents would want.

Even though she couldn't talk to him, she wasn't going to let others talk about him.

She was sitting at the lunch table with Chrissy as Jason flew into the seat next to him. He was hysterically laughing as he tried to talk.

Y/N could barely get any words out, when Eddie came racing into the cafeteria. His white hellfire shirt soaked with a sticky liquid. She could see feathers were stuck to him. She assumed Jason covered Eddie with glue and threw feathers at him.

Y/N never found Jason funny or enjoyed the way he tortured Eddie.

Eddie looked pissed as he marched towards Jason, blinded by his anger he didn't realize his surroundings and tripped over another jock's foot.

She watched in horror as Eddie's face planted into the ground, his nose smacking into the floor. She grew worried when he looked up and the blood was running down his nose.

Jason laughed as he stood up. Clapping as he loudly screamed,

"EDWARD MUNSON, THE FREAK OF FREAKS!"

Y/N wasn't sure what came over her. The guilt for being afraid she liked him. The hurt from seeing Eddie's nose in pain. The anger she felt towards Jason. Maybe one or all of those.

Whatever it was, it led her to march up to Jason and punch him straight on the nose. Jason collapsed on the floor, holding his nose as he looked up at her

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he screamed

Before she could say a word, she was being dragged out.

~~~

Y/N sat in the office with an ice pack on her knuckles. Rolling her eyes as she heard her mother's voice screaming on the other side of the phone call with the principal.

As she iced her knuckles, she felt a body sit next to her. A hand taking over her ice pack, holding it softly to her bruised hand.

She looked up and swallowed. Eddie sat there with a dried up bloody nose. He somehow still looked gorgeous.

"Can't say I ever thought I'd see the day when an Harrington won a fight." Eddie teased

Y/N felt herself laughing at the joke, Eddie's laugh following behind.

"I've always been the better Harrington." She teased back.

Finally finding herself able to talk to him. She looked him over, most of the feathers were off of him. His shirt looked drenched like he scrubbed it in the bathroom sink.

"I'd have to agree. Better looking too." Eddie winked. Enjoying the way she quickly looked away. Maybe Eddie was right, she did have a crush.

A comfortable silence rested in the space between them.

The girl he had a crush on likes him too. And she broke Jason's nose.

Eddie thinks he might have found his match.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @slightlyvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila

[coolemmasulivan2]

Rewinding Us | 2

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: You and Mason built a love story over five years, but after an accident, your memories are wiped away, including any feelings for your constant bickering "rival". Can you remember your love story with Mason, or will you have to start all over?

Word count: 2736

You can read more chapters here.

I am thinking of you In my sleepless solitude tonight If it's wrong to love you Then my heart just won't let me be right

The villa was filled with the anxious feeling of saying goodbye. Tomorrow, everyone would go back to their own lives, leaving behind the sun and freedom of the past week.

You zipped and unzipped your suitcase, feeling that you were forgetting something. You couldn't remember what it was and that frustrated you. Your head was a confusing mess.

Things had been awkward with Mason since you brought up the kiss. Every glance, every brush of your arms, sent shivers down your spine. You tried to ignore it, pretend nothing had changed, but you would be lying. The accident hadn't just stolen your memories, it had changed something deep inside you.

"I hate you!"

"Do you really, Y/n?"

The flashback vanished, leaving you staring at your half-packed suitcase. A cold sweat ran through your skin. You knew the answer to that question. You hated him then, but now the feeling was different and it was terrifying. So, you ran.

The morning after the confrontation, a suffocating silence settled between you and Mason. You maintained your distance and were drawn to others, ensuring there was always a physical barrier between you and him.

Seeing your calculated distance hurt Mason. He wanted to tell you how much he missed the way you used to laugh with him, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke with him, your touch and your lips. But he had to give you time. More time.

"You're still packing?" Ben entered the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to the open luggage.

You were sat on the other side of the bed, folding slowly some of your clothes. "I'm getting there. What's the rush? I have all night." You smiled and he smiled back.

"Is everything okay?" His voice was gentle.

You looked up at him. "Yeah. Just tired from the beach, that's all!"

Ben's gaze held yours, amusement quickly replaced by a knowing sparkle. "You've been quiet!" He observed, his voice soft. "For these past two days." You kept folding clothes, slowly and carefully. Ben continued, his voice laced with a quiet persistence. "Does it have anything to do with… Mase?"

You paused, the question hanging heavy in the air. How could you explain the tangled mess of emotions stirring inside you?

You locked eyes with Ben, the lie a bitter flavour on your tongue. "No!" You forced out, the word barely a whisper.

Ben chuckled. "You forget I know you, Y/N. You've been ignoring him like a ghost." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Ignoring him more than usual, I mean. You haven't even started your usual arguing routine."

Frustration bubbled up, spilling over in a sigh. You slammed the suitcase shut. "It feels like everyone's lying to me." You blurted out, your voice thick with a tremor you couldn't control. "You included! Why can't anyone just tell me the truth?"

Ben raised an eyebrow, concern etched on his face. "What do you mean?"

"It's like you're all walking on eggshells." You said, throwing a frustrated hand in the air. "There's something you're not telling me. Everyone."

Ben's easy smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features. "You're imagining things."

His words felt like a weak dam incapable of holding back the suspicion inside of you. "Imagining?" You scoffed. "Then tell me, Ben. What was my life like before the accident? Was I happy?"

"Happy? Yeah, of course you were. Living your life, having a job you liked, good friends…"

"And Mason? Did we still…hated each other?" You pressed on, your voice laced with a desperate need for answers. A hesitant pause followed your question.

Ben shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting away from yours. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. "I mean… you started to become more friendly with each other, yes… is that a bad thing?" His answer was carefully chosen, without revealing the true nature of your relationship with Mason.

You narrowed your eyes. "Friendly?" You repeated the single word dripping with disbelief. "Ben, you're lying to me."

Ben stuttered, his carefully constructed facade crumbling. "I, uh... I think it's better if you ask Mason about that, don't you think?"

The suggestion felt like a betrayal. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you mumbled: "He's probably going to lie too." Asking Mason about your relationship meant facing the possibility of something more.

Ben reached for your hand. "Look…" He said, his voice softer now. "I can't even imagine how it feels to wake up without memory. But if you want answers, maybe you should ask them to the right people." His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary. Then, with a quick kiss on your forehead, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The next day, the drive to the airport was a blur of familiar views and friendly conversation. Charlotte, in the front seat, chatted excitedly about her plans, when they arrived back in London, while Ben and Mason talked quietly about an old football match.

The airport was loud with lots of people and long lines. As you checked in, you felt more and more worried. You just couldn't shake the feeling that you had left something behind.

Finally, when you got to the gate to wait for the plane, you remembered. "Wait!" You shouted. Your hand went straight to your neck. "I can't leave! I forgot my necklace."

"We can't go back, Y/n." Ben said kindly. "We'll miss our flight."

"But I have to!" Your voice was desperate. "It's a silver chain with a heart pendant. I can't leave without it!"

Surprise flickered across Mason's face. Mason knew about the necklace, he had given it to you on your first anniversary as a couple, but he hadn't realised that you had been wearing it all this time.

"Y/n, we really don't have time for this." Charlotte added.

"Then you guys go!" You snapped, the words tumbling out before youe could stop them. "I'll catch a later flight."

A tense silence descended upon the group. It confused him why the necklace meant so much to you, especially since you couldn't even recall that it was a gift from him.

"I'll go with her." Mason said. "We'll be quick, but if you need to leave, you can go!" You stared at him, your heart pounding. Why would he offer to go with you? Was it pity? "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

You were so anxious that you kept your mouth closed and followed him out of the airport.

The car ride back to the villa was tense. The music offered a thin shield against the awkward silence that installed between you and Mason. He stole glances your way, craving to hear your voice, to see your familiar eyes. Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, he spoke.

"Why is the necklace so important to you?" Mason asked, his voice soft.

"Because it's mine!" You replied, looking at him. "I don't know why exactly. I woke up with it, and I just take it off to shower. Must've left it on the sink by mistake." You mumbled the last part, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Maybe you could just buy a new one. It's easier." He suggested. When you sighed heavily, he realized he was pissing you off.

"I don't want another one, Mount." You snapped, his last name slipping out in irritation. "That is my necklace."

A small smile tugged at Mason's lips. The human brain was a fascinating thing, he thought, storing away memories even when you couldn't access them.

Back at the villa, you recovered the spare key from the hidden place and hurried inside, the urgency of the situation finally sinking in. You raced upstairs, Mason following at a slower pace. He knew the chances of making the flight were slim, so there was no point in rushing.

He found you in the bathroom, kneeling on the floor and frantically searching for the silver necklace. "Oh my god, it's not here!"

"Maybe it's in the bedroom." Mason offered. "Come on, I'll help you find it."

In the bedroom, you checked the nightstand, under the bed, and even tossed the pillows aside, but it was nowhere to be found. Just as despair began to set in, Mason spotted a glint of silver on the floor.

"Found it!"

The familiar sight made your eyes light up, a spark that sent a jolt through Mason. He hadn't realized how much he missed seeing that spark in your eyes. A shy smile graced your lips, and for a moment, Mason felt like he was falling in love with you all over again.

"Oh my god, thank you." You breathed out.

"Turn around." He said, his voice barely a whisper. You hesitated for a second but then found yourself turning, allowing him to clasp the necklace around your neck.

His movements were slow, his body brushing tantalizingly close. You could feel his warm breath on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. As his fingers brushed your skin, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, and a memory slammed into your mind out of nowhere.

"What do you have behind your back?" You asked, your voice thick with joy.

It was your first anniversary together, and after dinner, you'd settled on the couch for a movie night. But Mason had excused himself for a few minutes, returning with a mischievous grin and his hand hidden behind his back.

He sat down beside you and brushed a kiss across your lips, his familiar cologne making you smile. "I have something for you." He announced.

He smirked as he opened a small black box, revealing a delicate silver necklace adorned with a perfectly formed heart, causing your heart to melt.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Mason, it's beautiful!" You whispered, taking the delicate gift from his hand.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours. "Just like you." He murmured, his voice husky with emotion. And then, he closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

The memory hit you so vividly that it took your breath away. You gasped, clutching the necklace to your chest and stepping back from Mason, your eyes wide with shock. He stood there with a confused expression on his face, his hands still hovering in the air where they'd just clasped the necklace around your neck.

"What?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

You attempted to steady your breathing, but your mind was in turmoil.

This memory explained the strange possessiveness in his eyes when you first mentioned the necklace and the way his touch sent a familiar shiver down your spine. You didn't even know what to say. The memory left you in a sea of confusion.

"Y-You…" You stuttered, the word catching in your throat.

Mason was starting to get worried. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly. "What is it, Y/n?"

"You were the one!" You blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips. "You gave me the necklace!"

Mason swallowed the lump in his throat and his heart was beating very fast. He wanted to say yes, that the necklace was a gift from him, a symbol of his love, but by the terrifying look in your eyes, he controlled himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said, his voice a low rumble.

You took a step back, confused and terrified by what the memory had brought surging to the surface. "I saw you!" You insisted, your voice shaking. "The necklace. It was a black box."

Mason let out a nervous chuckle, the sound strained and unconvincing. "Y/n, I think you're confusing things."

"STOP LYING TO ME!" You yelled, a burst of frustration.

"YES, IT WAS ME!" He shouted in response, finally letting go. The frustration in his voice mirrored yours. He was tired. He was tired of pretending he didn't want to be by your side every single day. "I gave you the necklace. Happy now?"

You squeezed the necklace in your hand. You didn't know what to feel. Since you'd met Mason years ago, your interactions had been filled with annoyance and hatred. But now, those new feelings were scary. You were afraid. Afraid of feeling something more for the handsome footballer standing before you.

"Why?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. "Why did you give me the necklace?"

Mason ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "If you remember the box was black, you also remember we kissed." His eyes locked on yours. "God, Y/n, it's not that difficult. We were together."

You shook your head in denial, the image of his lips meeting yours in the memory flashing before your eyes. "No!" You breathed.

"Yes!" He said, his voice firm.

"No. We hate each other. That's impossible." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt to cling to the reality you remembered.

Ignoring the protest in your voice, Mason took a step forward, forcing you to back up until you felt the cool wall against your back. The gesture sent a jolt through you, a mix of fear and a strange, unfamiliar excitement. He slowly took another step, and another, until he was impossibly close, his chest brushing against yours. You could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Do you hate me?" He asked, his voice a husky whisper. He was so close that you could count the small freckles peppered across his nose. "Do you hate me like you used to?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. His lips were a mere breath away, distracting you. "No-- yes, y-yes, I do!"

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The tension was unbearable. "I don't believe you." He said.

"I don't car--"

"I love you!" The words exploded from him. His eyes holding yours captive. The force of his words left you speechless. Your legs felt like jelly, threatening to buckle beneath you. "I have been loving you for a long time."

"Don't say that, Mason."

"I missed you calling me Mason." He murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. The air crackled with unspoken desire. "Fuck," He breathed, his voice thick with frustration. "I miss you so damn much."

There was a tense silence between you. You and Mason stared at each other, searching each other's eyes for answers. A slow smile played on Mason's lips, a hint of worry mixed in. He leaned closer, slowly, like a magnet drawn to you. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic drum against your ribs. Every part of you wanted to step back, to run away. But you couldn't move. Then, a second later, his lips met yours.

The kiss was passionate and gentle. Mason's hands cupped your face softly like he was afraid to break something. You wrapped your hand in his shirt, clinging to him as the kiss deepened. Without even thinking, you kissed him back, pouring all your jumbled emotions into the kiss.

It was a kiss that belonged to a different you. A you who maybe, loved Mason back. The realization slammed into you like a cold shower. You pulled away abruptly, gasping for air.

Mason's eyes searched your face. His hand brushed your cheek, a lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine. "Y/n…" He started, his voice hoarse., because of the kiss.

"I-I can't." You stuttered, the words slipping out in a rush. You stumbled away, needing distance. It was all too much.

"Wait!" Mason reached for you, but you were already running towards the exit. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision. You didn't dare look back, afraid of wanting to stay with him.

The fresh air hit you as you burst out of the villa, your lungs burning.

Focused on escaping from Mason, you hadn't noticed the car speeding down the street. It wasn't slowing down.

A screech of tyres tore through the pavement, followed by a loud honk. You heard a desperate shout - "Y/N!" - but it was too late. The world seemed to blur as the blinding headlights filled your vision.

[highhhfiveee]

safety net, part three

part two: 🚿 | part four: 🏆

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: y/n gets a taste of mike's world and things begin to shift. wc: 3.1k tags: lots of mentions of porn, smut (descriptions of sex being filmed, featuring unprotected sex, dirty talk, clit rubbing, squirting, some workplace intimacy lmao), angst?, exposition! proofread many times but if there are still errors, idk what to say lmao

“wow."

"i know right," you say plainly, eyes wide at your best friend, claire, as you take a large gulp of your hot latte. claire cuts her gaze to you, puffing her cheeks out in a sigh. you were always so in awe by her, the feeling proved once again when she'd actually agreed wholeheartedly to view your boyfriend's porn.

"i still don't believe that you're dating him," she sputters with outrage as she points to your computer on the dining room table, open to a still of mike with dick in hand, coming on some dark-haired girl's keen face. "and i don't believe it even more so because you decided to wait six months before telling me. i thought we were best friends!"

you can tell her outrage is whimsical by the way she faints into your arms, and you reach forward to catch her. 

"yeah but, like, best friends from adolescence that don't see each other very often. last time i saw you was three months ago." 

"okay, but by then you'd been dating him for three months, and that's almost half a year!" 

"barely, claire." 

you couldn't even believe that you were dating him. you hadn't known how you two went from meeting outside an underwhelming, overpriced restaurant to making out and cuddling intimately in mike's bed four out of seven days a week. it'd felt like no time had passed at all; you'd just been living without thinking. mike took every worry off your shoulders, freeing you of anxiety in so many ways that you couldn't believe someone that caring and accommodating was real.

he paid for your sessions after you'd mindlessly rambled about not being able to afford this therapist you really liked. he sent you the credentials to his grocery delivery membership, encouraging you to get anything you wanted or needed. you could finally consistently get things that were good, and healthy. he paid your rent, and respected the fact that you didn't want to move in with him and wanted autonomy to work and pay for your other personal expenses.

"i just want you to be happy. you tell me what you want, and we'll make it happen."

he had you and it didn't feel real. you felt like you couldn't tell anyone about it, terrified that everything would crumble if you spoke even a word about him being your partner, so sweet and good and rewarding. you didn't want to hide him, but you didn't want things to collapse. not this time. 

you wouldn't be able to take it this time. 

you explain all this to claire, ending with, "i'm sorry it took so long. i just really want this to last." you'd told her about everything, even about dating simon briefly and how he led you to mike. 

claire nods, chewing on a wedge of pineapple speared by a fork. she's given up her fainting performance, once again munching on her breakfast and clicking the pad on your laptop. the video you two were watching resumes, and you watch her face for bit, eyes shifting around the screen in intrigue, before turning back to it as well.

"you deserve it, y/n. that simon guy sounded like a dickhead. an expired card, and the bathroom excuse? fucking lame." her voice doesn't chop through the amplified sound of both mike and the girl moaning, whiny and feral. they're absolutely gone, and you're really not thinking about simon anymore. fuck him. 

now, you thought of mike.

granted, you hadn't been like the people in mike's videos, up to a certain point. you'd done the kissing and the heavy petting, but you hadn't had sex at all, in any form, and he didn't pressure you into feeling like it was some sort of requirement. he agreed with taking it slow, placing emphasis on the romantic before the sexual. you knew there would be no issues with the sexual; why rush into it when you could have the slow burn, all the tension you wanted up until you were ready?

mike hadn't fought it, and yeah, you thought, you did deserve it. you deserved to be treated like this. 

"called me over for an art date, i guess you still painted," the girl mewls with a devilish smile, licking at mike's---sorry, chase cox's---come around her mouth. 

"mhm, baby. masterpiece, if i do say so myself." mike is so pretty on the screen; sweaty and flustered, but so confident at the same time, polite too. even when he's in an act, he's so attentive; he moves hair away from eyes and wipes spit off chins and cradles waists while he adjusts his hips to hit various angles, turning almost everyone he filmed with into a "braindead fucktoy"---claire's filthy words, not yours (though you didn't mind the idea). 

the video ends with a snippet of aftercare, the both of them wiping at each other's bodies with gentle motions. it's how they all end, and you think it's really nice, showing a crucial part of sex that most people forgo. you'd seen plenty of mike's videos by now, and knew that while some were vastly more kinky than others, they all followed the same formula of care, concern, and curtesy. 

you could tell mike lived by that, too. 

"well, i gotta scoot to work," claire murmurs, leaning down to grab for her bag. "but thank you for inviting me to breakfast so you could show and tell me that you've been dating a wildly handsome, generous, and charismatic sex worker. best videos i've seen by far, honestly. are you seeing him today?" 

you nod sheepishly, and claire laughs into the sky, doctored with comical bitterness. "well, let the record show that i am both extremely jealous and extraordinarily happy for you." she gives you a toothy smile, poking at your shoulder with both index fingers. "seriously. you deserve it all." 

you carry this thought with you as you ride in one of the company's chartered cars, traversing through the roads to their main studio, the biggest one in the city. there were only 4 throughout the metro area, but this one, a gigantic penthouse isolated at the top of a 275-foot tall apartment complex, had the most space and atmosphere of them all. you remember coming here to take your picture for the all-access card mike had given you. he was so happy to gift it to you a few months ago, finally getting through after bugging the execs to give him another card with unhindered access for months. 

"finally got the hard copy, just for you. got your name on it and everything," he'd smiled so wide, clipping it on one of his merch lanyards; white with black, serif text that read, "chase cox world domination". you'd fallen over in laughter, kissing at his cheeks while thanking him between giggles. 

you hadn't been here many times over the last three months, but when you were, you were able to slip through every door and security checkpoint without hassle. people knew who you were and attended to you, telling you exactly where mike was in the studio or offering to get you any refreshments or sundries you were after. you'd always declined, extending extreme gratitude to everyone servicing you, but today, you ask for a bottle of fancy artesian water. you deserve it. 

the few times you'd been here before were usually half-hours after mike had finished a scene, helping him pack up to head home for the day, but this time, you'd come early, wanting to catch a glimpse of him at work. 

you take the elevator to the top, stepping out into the concrete foyer of the industrial workspace. the gray of the material was accented with bright art and other pops of color in furniture and decor that conveyed the new age principles and ideology of the production company. it made sense why the videos were so honored, with the people behind them being young and progressive and on the right side of history (and design). 

there are eight rooms on the floor; three for shooting, three for aesthetics and dressing, one for an office, and one for storage. there were bathrooms in three of them and two down the main hallway that opened into the formal living room/break area and kitchen. you'd been told that mike was in the hunger room; this one set up for messier, more bodily fluid oriented videos, as opposed to the softer passion and kinkier desire shooting rooms. 

the rooms are all hidden behind frosted, sliding glass doors with the titles printed onto placards affixed next to them. you find hunger after walking a little, and gently pull on the handle. the door slides open soundlessly, and you're closing it behind you as you step inside, your eyes locked on the scene in front of you. 

mike and his partner are arranged on a leather couch in a living room set, his hips shoving into her in this perceptive way. he's reading her body language and reacting accordingly, and you can see why she's moaning so genuinely, feet dangling by the ankle over mike's shoulders. the couch is already drenched in liquid, wet and puddled under the girl's ass.

he grabs for the back of the couch to go deeper, leaning down to press kisses on her lips as the cameraman focuses in on where they're connected. the sound is so lewd, and it makes you press your thighs together as you watch alongside the small production crew. 

"feel good? happy to have a friend like me? someone who knows you, knows your body? someone who makes you feel better and come harder than your stupid fucking boyfriend?" his partner mewls out a broken, exasperated, "y-yyesssss" between gritted teeth as her moans get higher and higher pitched. suddenly, she's reaching at mike's back to scratch at his skin, screaming out as mike leans off to the side of her, massaging his fingertips over her clit and cooing, "yeah, just let go. know he's never made you feel like this, wasting this perfect pussy..."

his partner squirts against the camera with a screech, loud and raw but pretty. the lens is covered in a heavy spray of bodily fluid as she arches her back and grinds her mound into mike's hand, chest rising and falling at a rapid rate. "that's fucking it," he encourages, speaking in her ear as he looks down at the mess in his peripherals and rides her through it. "just the way you deserve." you swear he locks eyes with you when he says it, and he only confirms it with the small smirk he throws your way, managing to fit it into the ending of the shot. his eyes twinkle through the aftercare segment, and he talks with his spent coworker, calling, "she just wants to sit for a second" to a PA with a chuckle. 

"okay, ten minute break and then we're shooting the come shot."

her legs slowly straighten out as mike throws the towel he's handed around his waist and slides his feet into the slippers stored behind the couch. he grabs a water from an outstretched hand as he makes his way over to you, smelling like sweat and sex and glistening with this nearly angelic post-fuck glow. it's like he's coming down from the gates of porn heaven.

"hi, my love," he muses, pulling you into a tight hug before saying, "how much did you see?" 

"like right before the squirting. it's very..." you're not sure what to say, really. maybe, just maybe, you need to change your underwear, but you don't want to be weird about it. you're sure he's heard weird, and beyond weird, but you want to maintain composure in front of his coworkers. you give him a tight smile, resting your hand on his pulsing bicep. "just makes me think things." 

"maybe we should add 'thought-provoking' to the list of labels for the company," he jokes, taking a sip of water while winking at you. "you're a genius, baby." 

you're giggling along with him, opening your mouth to continue the joke when two tanned arms reach from behind him to cross in an X over his chest. a head peeks from behind him, and she's immediately unmistakable to you. 

it's his current scene partner, who is also the girl from the video you watched earlier today. the one eager for his come, whining for him to make a mess of her face while letting him beat his dick on her tongue. you think back to all of the videos you've seen her in where she's with mike. she always comes the hardest working with him, and vice versa. something about it makes you sick. 

she's smiling at his cheek, eyes focused on his as he turns his glance towards her. her arms get tighter around him and you notice how she gets closer, pressing her front tighter against his back. "caught your breath?" 

"you know i always do," she brags, licking at her canines as her stare moves to you, looking you up and down with snarky scrutiny. "casting department's starting to slack." 

you shrink, feeling so small that you don't feel like you're interrupting something anymore. you might as well just not be there, and you're about to sink into pitiful posture when mike snarls, "hey, watch yourself. y/n, this is amelie, and li, this is y/n, my girlfriend. i told you about her." the sound of mike saying the nickname turns to bile in your throat, searing you on the way down and keeping you from speaking.

amelie gives you a blank expression now, standing beside mike with no qualms at being fully naked in front of a stranger. "y/n, y/n...not ringing any bells," she places her hands on her hips, tossing her dark, sex-tousled hair over her collarbones. "sorry."

you don't know why you're daunted by her; you're usually daunted by no one, and able to speak up for yourself when people are acting catty. this time, you can't help but be unnerved by her perfection, or how close she is to it. perfect skin, perfect hair, perfect body, perfect boobs...

"i'm kidding," amelie's smooth, beguiling voice rips you from your thoughts, and you're gasping for something to say when she continues, "he's shown me endless pictures, and knows that i think you're gorgeous." her tone picks up the tiniest bit as she quips, "my eyes are up here, by the way." she's throwing you off, frustrating you in so many ways and you're just stammering with mike looking between the two of you.

"i'm sorry---"

"it's really fine. millions of people have seen them, everyone's always thirsty for more of me and chase cox..." she drags the end of her sentence out as she runs the tips of her long, cherry red nails along the back of mike's neck, ending in a laugh.

"'mike schmidt' isn't a porn name, we already had this conversation." 

"neither is chase cox, if we're being real," they launch into a chitchat, and you once again feel like you're intruding. there's no denying that they have insane chemistry, but it still rips at you;  you're aware of them having an entire moment in front of you, complete with the body language and glances and suddenly, you don't care about their connection. mike was your boyfriend, and it didn't matter what she said or did. they'd made so many videos together, yet, every night he came home to you, and not her. 

"yeah, well you're still moaning chase when you come," 

"because i can't dox you like that--"

you clear your throat noisily, gaining their attention with an eyeroll, and amelie observes you and your curled lip with recognition of your game. she didn't expect you to have bite, not with the way you look now. you're not the assertive, 'take-no-shit' girl from the pictures mike showed her. she thinks you're merely a hint of that, and that it completely evaporates when someone lights a fire under your ass, but maybe she's wrong for once. "watched a bunch of your stuff. it was really good, you're talented." 

"thanks," her gratitude is dry and bitchy, and you're about to say more when a PA calls a two minute warning and she squints her eyes into slits at you. "hope you're ready to see a lot more of me." she uses mike's shoulder to pivot with a sly smirk, sauntering back to the now wiped down leather couch, ripples coursing through her ass with every step. 

you look to mike with astonishment, wondering where he's been during this whole thing, and who that girl is, and if she's genuine bad news or simply one of those callous girls that guys love to chase.

mike had defended you, sure, but he'd gotten captured too. what if she's indoctrinating him some--

"she's nice," you blurt, stopping yourself from the overthinking you'd resorted to. you needed to be nice to yourself. you deserved this, deserved everything you had with mike. nothing was taking that away from you, and you could feel secure in that. mike would reassure you.

he does, saying, "isn't she?" with a snicker. "don't worry about her, okay? it's her personality, and she does everyone like that, so she's not just targeting you. ignore her, and if you don't like the small jokes either, i can tell her to knock it off. whatever you want. also, lunch after i wrap?" 

you nod your head, about to say something again when the PA announces that it's time for shooting to start back up. mike gives you a fat kiss on the lips as he drops his towel into a director's chair next to you, and makes his way back over to amelie folded on the couch. her knees are by her chin at a filthy angle, and she's using a squeeze bottle with a tapered tip to squeeze shiny lube all over her clit and both holes. 

mike watches, rubbing his hand all through it to spread it around. amelie bites at her lip as he does, staring up at him with eyes that are filled with unadulterated lust, and he uses the leftover lube on his dick, stroking the slippery surface as he gets harder and harder in his hand. 

the director asks them if they're ready, and when they both answer yes, she says, "okay, we're gonna go insertion, sink in, wait five for the kiss, and go from there. alright...rolling...action." 

amelie flicks her eyes to you in a leer, winking at you like mike did earlier as he plunges into her sopping wet walls. her head falls back against the couch while she outstares you, open-mouthed moans transitioning into "cockdrunk" laughs that you know are calculated.  

you begin to chug your bottle of water, deliberately ogling her in return. you were down with playing a game for two, but not for long. 

lord. the hell i've gone through to get this up /: lmao i need to go to bed. things are about to heat up, so prepare yourselves for what's next to come!

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz-@0-tatiana-0-@dusstory-@delwrites-@mikeschmidtgf

[mustainegf]

Hi, Elena! I need some hurt/comfort bittersweet story with Kirk (any era). He tells his girlfriend about his tough childhood with a crazy father, and the reader comforts him in a sweet manner 🥺

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐃 ¹⁹⁹⁰

That summer was thick with heat to our heads like a wool blanket. Even with the windows open, the small cabin we had rented on the outskirts of Mill Valley felt like an oven. Kirk sprawled all over the leather couch, shirtless, his dark hair curled at his damp forehead. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the cool stone at the fireplace, with a half glass of wine in my hand.

We hadn't been together very long, only a year, but it felt like forever. We were comfortable together. We didn't talk much about his life on the road. He was Kirk Hammett, after all. The Kirk Hammett. Lead guitarist for Metallica. But all of it went away when it was just him and me.

He'd been quiet that night, quieter than usual. I could tell something was chewing at him, but I didn't push. I just watched him, the way his fingers strummed the air, searching for comfort of the guitar. Finally, he turned in my general direction, his eyes blacker than the dark night coming through the windows into the room.

"You want to know why I never talk about my dad?" he murmured lowly.

This made me nod, he'd said it so suddenly that I knew he must've been thinking about it for a while. I set my glass on the table and moved to sit closer on the sofa, letting my leg fall against his. He didn't pull away as he turned to me.

"He was a mean son of a bitch," Kirk began, his voice rough, like gravel scraping the bottom of a shoe. "He'd beat the shit out of my mom, and me too if he was drunk enough. I was just a kid, but I remember every goddamn moment..."

I stayed silent, letting him talk, my mouth going dry as I imagined his childhood. He never opened up like this before. I reached out, and my fingers found his. He grabbed onto my hand tight.

"There was this one time," he continued, his voice full of the memory, "My 16th birthday... He came home late, drunk as hell, and just went at my mom. I can still hear her crying, begging him to stop." A hint of the crack in his voice, I squeezed his hand tighter, for him to continue. "I just… I couldn't take it anymore. I jumped on him to pull him off her. He turned around and hit me so hard I..."

Kirk stopped, and his eyes dove into mine for anything I could offer. I felt stinging tears in my eyes, not only for him, but for the little boy he'd been, for the one who had grown up too soon in a house of fear.

"One day I woke up and he was gone," he said, his voice barely more than a breath. "My mom was on the floor, bleeding. I thought she was dead, but she wasn't. Somehow, she wasn't. I tried to help her, but I didn't know what to do. I was just a kid, you know? I was so fucking scared."

His hand swallowed around mine in a way that made me want to move closer, to try and hide him from such terrifying memories, I knew actions spoke louder than words. "Kirk, baby..." I whispered in a. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Don't be. It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault but his."

We sat silent for a little while, his admission hanging heavy. I mean, how could I ever find the words to say? But I wanted him to know I was there for him, that more than anything, I wasn't going anywhere. I moved in and kissed his cheek, teared with the taste of salt through his wet skin, and he turned into me, burying his face into my neck.

"I never told nobody that," he murmured. "Just James."

I held him, felt his heart. That was all he seemed to need. "You don't have to carry it alone... Not anymore," I said softly, my fingers mindlessly toying with his tight curls. "I'm here, Kirk..."

He pulled back far enough to look at me. "I'm scared," he confessed. "That I'll end up like him. That I'll hurt you."

I shook my head, pressing my forehead to his. "You're not him," I told him firmly. "You could never be him. You're kind and you're good, and I know you'd never hurt me... or anyone for that matter."

For a beat, he just stared at me, his eyes boring into my own. Then he kissed me. Though a tad shocked, I kissed him back just as sweetly.

When we finally pulled apart, Kirk smiled. His fingers traced the outline of my face. He had this look... Perhaps it was peace, or maybe the beginning of it.

[blackkatmagic]

Mace Windu?

“Captain,” Mace says, and when Keeli turns, he inclines his head in greeting, refusing to let the usual flicker of caution stop him as he advances across the space set aside as a makeshift sparring ring. Ryloth’s red dust is a thick coating over everything, turning the white parts of Keeli's armor to rust and giving his hair even more of a red cast than usual, and Mace can feel his surprise, his concern, his wariness.

Not unexpected, given that Mace hasn’t had a chance to visit since droids ambushed Keeli's party, and it was only Mace's last-minute intervention that saved them. With Ima Gun-Di being taken to New Holstice for treatment, that means Keeli and his men are now under Mace's direct command, and Ponds brought Mace plenty of whispers about the whole company being terrified of being sent back to Kamino for decommissioning or reeducation.

Mace would be offended that any clone could assume he would do such a thing, but—it speaks volumes as to the clones’ situation and their servitude to the Republic.

There's very little Mace values the way he values the Republic, but at this point in the war, that bedrock faith is cracking, tarnished, and the way the clones exist is the entire reason as to why.

“General Windu,” Keeli says promptly, snapping to attention. He’s stripped down to just the lower half of his armor, skin bare and slicked with sweat, breath coming quick, and Mace can feel the wash of prickling self-awareness, bordering on embarrassment as he hesitates.

Nothing in Mace is capable of leaving Keeli to squirm, even for a moment, no matter how uncertain he is about his offer being accepted. He nods, waving Keeli out of his stiff attention, and says, “At ease, Captain. I wanted to make sure that you and the rest of the men were settling in.”

That doesn’t ease the wariness, but Keeli nods, mouth pulling into the start of a grimace. “We’re fine, sir. Just a couple of minor injuries, but everyone should be on their feet in a few days.” He hesitates, just for a second, and then says a little stiffly, “If you're going to transfer us back behind the lines, sir, I can assure you, an incident like before won't happen again—”

Mace raises a hand, stopping the words. “I know,” he says evenly, and meets Keeli's eyes. “You weren’t able to spot the ambush in time to avoid it last time. I want to make sure that next time, you can.”

There's a moment of outright alarm that’s blunted by anger, and Keeli says, “Sir, if you're sending us back for reconditioning—”

Mace shakes his head, takes a step closer. “I'm not,” he says plainly. “Close your eyes.”

“Sir?” Keeli asks in confusion, but he does so regardless of his concern, standing stiff and uncertain in the heavy sunlight.

Considering him for a moment, Mace tips his head, breathes out. He trained Depa, helped train Quinlan, helped train A'Sharad. This is hardly the first time he’s offered lessons to someone who could use them.

It’s the first time he’s made such an offer to a man who might not believe he’s able to say no, though.

“Commander Ponds tells me that you're an excellent earthbender,” he says steadily, and then, “I want to put my hand on your shoulder, and share the way I see the world, mind to mind. Do I have your permission?”

“Of course, sir,” Keeli says, bemused. “Do I need to do anything?”

“No, just pay attention.” Mace closes his own eyes, breathes out, reaches as he shifts his feet. Feels the twitch Keeli gives at the foreign sensation of another mind alongside his, and then—

An inhale, sharp, and then an equally sharp surge of something that Mace can only identify as fascination.

“Sir, what is that?” Keeli asks, intent, and shifts, dragging one foot along the ground. Mace shares how it feels in his carefully tuned senses, the ripples that run through the earth, the way it shifts the image in his mind. Doesn’t answer, but watches Keeli's face, and—

He’s been watching Keeli since well before the mission went south. That same edge of hunger right beneath his even expression is still there, almost hidden but not quite, as he takes in the ripples spreading outward.

All the clones are hungry to learn what they can about bending, beyond the absolute basics the Kaminoans and the Mandalorian trainers drilled into them. Mace has seen it in practically every clone, but Keeli's want is even sharper, even greater. Every time he earthbends, every time Mace sees him across the practice field, he can sense Keeli's focus, see his grace and grit as he pushes himself further.

The thought of teaching him this arose before, but Mace is viciously aware of just how any advance, any suggestion, could be taken when Keeli doesn’t believe he can say no, and he hadn’t wanted to press.

And then, startled, Keeli opens his eyes, looks straight at Mace. “Vibrations,” he says with surprise. “You’re feeling the vibrations through the earth? With your bending?”

Mace can't help the faint pull of a smile. Teaching quick students is always the most rewarding task, and enjoyable. “Indeed. We don’t have much time before our orders come in, but I can teach you if you’d like to learn.”

“Yes,” Keeli says, almost before Mace can get the words out, and then coughs, sheepishly drawing back and rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean. Yes sir, I’d like that. If you think I can manage.”

“I do,” Mace says steadily, and catches his gaze squarely. “You understood what I was doing with no context beyond your own bending. Ponds was right to call you impressive.”

Keeli scoffs, looking away, and—that sense of embarrassment twists up with pleasure in a way that hooks itself into Mace's ribs. “Ponds is a waterbender. He wouldn’t know a good earthbender if they dropped a rock on his thick skull.”

Mace hides his amusement. “I’ll have to tell him you said as much,” he says gravely, and when Keeli's eyes widen in alarm, he snorts. “A joke, Captain. Though I think Ponds would take it as a compliment.”

Keeli rolls his eyes, the tips of his ears flushed. “That’s not proving me wrong,” he says, and steps back, turns to scan the ring. “We should have time right now if you're not doing anything better—Sir!”

Mace pauses, halfway through unbolting his robes, and raises a brow.

Keeli stares at him for a moment, looking a little like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming train—

The earth shivers, rises like the start of a wave right beneath Keeli's feet as he yelps, but Mace has seen this particular trick too many times to fall for it, and slams the roll of stone back down with a sharp gesture. Turns, levels a speaking look across the camp, and pins Depa with a wholly unimpressed stare.

Undeterred as ever, Depa waves cheerfully, then ducks out of sight behind a tent, though Mace isn't foolish enough to think that that’s anywhere close to the end of her little matchmaking attempt.

This is going to be a long training session, it seems. And Keeli's grin, half-hidden behind one hand, isn't doing anything to make it easier.

[soulchjer]

No one talked about it, or at least i didn't saw it.

"Yup, I can take that."

(For all the monster fuckers in this app, and for me.)

There is something about humans that makes us quite simple, we really have a strange addiction to anything that could kill us.

That is a definition of how we can describe in *very* summary how we interact with aliens.

Especially Dan, he is one of the space idiots that humans would describe as a monster fucker.

Indeed, Dan could go after anyone who could break him in half.

...

Jia is a small and furry looking alien, he had sat next to the human Dan today and was talking to him for a while, today was his first interaction with the human and despite all the myths and legends around humans, Dan is very nice!

Jia was going to continue talking, but Dan made him stay quiet for a second.

Dan stared in perplexity at one of the new recruits, a kuaghan, a type of large alien, a terrifying-looking but gentle and large-sized predator. Jia thought that perhaps the human was scared, but he never thought that the human Dan had actually thought otherwise.

Dan: Oh my god... how tall is he? No, do they have a specific genre? Jia, tell me, do you know him, can you introduce him to me?...Wow, is huge, I can take it, barely... mhn, I'm sure..." He heard Dan murmur at the end.

Jia was dumbfounded, the little alien didn't knew the new recruit, but before he even managed to say a thing, Dan had already dragged him to meet this new recruit.

The little alien was scared! Did Dan take his new recruit as a threat?! It just can't be! He want to take him in a fight?! He has to prevent the new recruit and the human from getting hurt!

...

Dan: You're new, right? Hello, my name is Dan, I'm thirty-one this year, I'm single, I got a house in my planet and I have a job here, I got a lot of savings...

The alien hesitated but nodded in response and Dan stuck to him like a tick. Jia watched without words as that predator feared by the aliens acted just as surprised as he was at the human's approach.

Jia witnessed how the kuaghan was not only treated quite well by the human, but was also able to specifically smell the hormones released by the human when it approached the kuaghan.

The Kuaghan have a reproductive method similar to that of penguins according to the human Dan, the more beautiful the stones, the more impressed their partners will be.

Dan gave every gemstone he could find to the new recruit, earning surprised looks from everyone.

No one dares get too close to the Kuaghan, only Dan seems eager to talk to him, but this recruit knew specifically why he was giving him stones.

Jia only found out when human Dan told him.

The kuaghan even... started to get shy every time the human approached?!

Jia felt like his jaw might drop to the ground.

...Human Dan... Is Human Dan trying to court a predator twice his size?! and is it working?!

Jia's surprise could not grow any more when he found the Kuaghan leaving the human Dan's room. When the new recruit saw him, he ran away embarrassed.

Dan greeted him from inside his room, shaking and smiling with weak legs, only a fool wouldn't know what had happened in there, the aroma of the two was permeated in the room.

The little furry alien was finally able to understand the meaning of the human's murmurs.

Of course you said you could take him, but not in a fight!

[stsgluver]

I'M HERE – gojo satoru

synopsis. reluctantly, you agree to a new life with two children and your ex. PART TWO OF FOUR.

wc. 3.4k

tags. angst, swearing, happy ending-ish, spoilers for s2

“get out.”

satoru flinches at the coldness in your tone, and you want to scoff. as if though he gets to be the one who’s hurt right now. your hands ache and your head feels like it’s imploding as you struggle to take in everything he says. it’s too much, too important, too soon.

a year has passed but you’ve barely had the chance to accept how cruel he’d been when he pushed you away, like you had meant nothing. like you hadn’t spent almost three years side-by-side, majority of that as his girl. 

gojo satoru is someone who always got what he wants – and he got you. he had all of you: mind, body, and soul… but that wasn’t enough for him. you weren’t enough for him. 

“yn–” again, he tries reaching for you and, again, you reject the advancement, standing up abruptly to ensure you can keep the space between the two of you. you swallow thickly and point towards your half open door. gojo’s eyes don’t follow the direction of your hand, instead staying intently on your face as he indulges himself in his favourite picture, even if that picture is stained with damp streaks.

“get out,” you repeat slowly. he needs to leave you in peace again – or whatever peace you’d come to accept after his sudden departure from your orbit. as much as you hate him, your body and mind is still intuitive with his. it feels wrong to watch him cry and not try and comfort him, and from his actions and the way his hands remain stiff at his sides, fidgeting with the material of his pants, you know he feels the same.

after all he just confessed his love for you, you’re aware of how he feels. but you don’t know what he’s thinking and that terrifies you.

“please.” he is begging, the strongest sorcerer alive is pleading for you, but you’re not sure what he expects you to say. i love you? let’s get back together? yes, i’ll totally take care of that monster’s children with you? i’m totally fine even though my best friend decided to murder a tonne of people and then you broke up with me and then i spent 12 months trying not to die on insane missions that i was sent on because the higher ups hate me and i don’t have you as a buffer anymore?

you scoff, arms crossing in front of as you roll your eyes at his ignorance to your suffering, “gojo satoru, i swear to go–”

“woah, woah, what’s going on in here?” 

your eyes dart to the door and you have never been so happy to hear the voice of your dear friend, shoko ieiri. in one hand is her usual unlit cigarette (she swears she’s quitting for real this time, she just needs the comfort of one in her hand), and in the other is her phone. you assume she must’ve been distracted by a call and that’s why he was able to come into the room and not her.

since satoru had put up this wall between the two of you, shoko had been your shoulder to lean on and you know she wouldn’t have just let him waltz in without her support. you thought he was your person, and shoko had watched as you fell apart alone and without him.

you don’t want to know what you look like if it’s anywhere close to how horrible you feel right now. your heart aches and every stitch you had made to patch back together your heart are slowly coming loose. there’s probably mascara running down your cheeks by this point and you’re thirty more seconds of being in satoru’s presence from breaking down into full on sobs as you relive the loss of him and geto.

shoko, your saviour and rock for the past twelve months, comes to your rescue. “what are you going here?” she asks in an accusatory tone towards satoru, head tilted with a raised brow. it hadn’t just been you that satoru had pushed away twelve months ago – it had been everyone. but you know that shoko has still managed to maintain some relationship with him, and from the way his shoulder deflates, he’s smart enough to not burn that bridge too.

“leaving,” satoru responds curtly, brushing past shoko as he makes his swift exit. well, his infinity brushes past shoko and she flips his back the middle finger as she’s gently pushed aside by the invisible force.

you drop down onto your back on your empty bed, both hands covering your face as you try to relax your heartbeat again that runs high wire. you’d be lying if you said you don’t miss satoru; miss seeing him in your room after a long mission or long day of lessons; miss waking up to his raspy voice as he pokes you in the side to wake you up for class; miss being loved by him.

“i thought he was still giving you the silent treatment.”

peeking between your fingers, you glance over to shoko who’s flicking through your open boxes full of your life of the last four years. “i wish he still was,” you admit, voice a little more stable now that you’re not in the middle of crying. the tears have stopped but your cheeks are still flushed red. “has he really taken in fushiguro’s kids?” 

“one’s his, the other is his step daughter,” shoko responds, as though that is common knowledge.

you frown, sitting back up, hands in your lap. “you knew then?” shoko pauses her snooping but doesn’t look back at you. if there’s one thing you and satoru still have in common, is lashing out when you’re upset. ironic given how much you hate him for it. 

“he has… changed. y’know, since geto,” shoko clarifies. the name itself makes you bite down on your tongue and the never ending ache you’re enduring reminds you why you need to leave this place.

“no shit,” you bite back and shoko gives you a blank look. “i’m sorry.” she’d been with you every night for the first month following the break up, she is the reason you are still alive following your sudden increase in mission difficulty. she had been the first to talk shit about satoru or throw random objects at him and just hope his infinity just so happened not to be active (it always was).

“don’t apologise, say whatever you want to me,” shoko shrugs, offering you a sad smile, “i’ll never leave.” three simple words that hold more meaning than you could’ve ever comprehended twelve months ago.

“thank you, love you always.” the two of you share a brief hug (shoko’s never been one for overtly physical affection). 

“good,” shoko pulls back first, checking her phone before waving it in your face. there’s a message but you can’t make it out as she shakes the screen, “now more importantly, are you ready to go? nanami said that he wants to take the next train into the city.”

“can you just give me a minute?” you gesture to the last boxes that you needed to close up – the school had been kind enough to sort out the removal of your belongings (shocker) so all you need to do is just get to the airport and make your plane. 

“of course,” shoko nods understandingly. the split in your class had only led to the two of you coming closer. blood aside, she is and would always be your sister. you know she isn’t happy that you’re quitting sorcery but she knows she can’t keep you happy here, so she’s kept her complaints to herself. 

there’s a soft click as your door closes and you breathe out a sigh of relief. satoru’s words still sit at the back of your mind (‘i love you, i’ve got two kids’ – like what?!), and then you flinch as you remember the wounds that have only just healed on your arm – one of which being a large gash that would’ve killed you had you not been so close to the school when you’d been caught off guard by the curse. this world isn’t for you. 

maybe in another life, one where geto never left the school and satoru never left you, but that is not this life.

grabbing your tape, you go to close the box that shoko had been flicking through when the flash of a familiar photo catches your eye. you hesitate but ultimately that feeling of home consumes you and you can’t stop yourself from lifting the frame from the box. 

it’s you and satoru and geto and shoko and nanami and even haibara.

you remember when the photo was taken: the middle of summer in your second year. satoru and geto had forgone their uniform jackets, the former having one arm around the latter and the other around you. shoko is next to geto and the two second years follow after them. she’s wearing satoru’s glasses as she often did steal them. you’re all smiling – even nanami – and you can’t stop yourself from mirroring the same expression.

those were better times, one where the responsibility and stress of being a sorcerer was only a whispered warning. within a short period that would all fall apart. your teenage years cut short and your innocences stolen following fushiguro toji’s attack.

fushiguro…

you think of his children, the life they will never be able to have because of the thing they are associated with, and the power they've inherited. the children that your ex boyfriend has oh so generously taken in. 

it’s still ingrained in your mind; the sound of geto’s voice over the phone as he struggled to breathe, let alone speak. riko is dead, satoru is dead. that’s all he could repeat over, and over, and over, again. it had been shoko he’d called put you’d been there as she put it on speaker. if it weren’t for nanami being beside you you would’ve collapsed to your knees as you refused to accept what he was saying.

the next few hours were a blur, shoko saving geto, geto going to retrieve satoru, satoru being alive… 

he changed after that. it wasn’t overly apparent, not just to anyone, but you were his girlfriend. he’d reached a state of ‘enlightenment’, as he called it, his cursed technique now far superior to any other sorcerer alive (not that it wasn’t already).

the seven of you never deserved what happened to you – haibara especially never deserved to have his life cut short and the more you remember, the more you decide these children don’t deserve that either.

you bite down on your lip as you realise the conclusion that you’re beginning to come to. one that you’re not 100% sure you won’t regret in the coming months. 

to nanami: i’m sorry i’m not going to make it on the train

from nanami: don’t worry, shoko already let me know you’d probably changed your mind

from nanami: stay safe x

you smile down at your phone. nanami is the closest you’ll ever get to a little brother and even if you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life, you’re glad he’s escaping this hell.

to unknown: meet me at the old park.

from unknown: what about your plane?

to unknown: 2pm

it’s for those kids, you remind yourself, not for him.

despite being the one to choose the meeting location and time, you’re late and you’re already almost in tears yet again. the park was a regular for you, satoru, geto and shoko as teens. shoko and geto would climb up onto the roof of the public bathrooms to smoke whilst satoru made you push his lanky frame on the big swings. those nights practically always ended at dawn, and no matter how sneaky the four of you thought you were, yaga always caught you sneaking back onto the school campus.

things were so much simpler and you were so happy. a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions your experiencing now.

you’d chosen the park to give yourself an advantage, to remind satoru of the memories he could only remember and never relive. it was his fault he’d lost that…

…though even as you think that you know that you’re putting him at too much fault. everything was lost the second geto chose to make the first kill. none of you could’ve stopped that.

shaking your head and brushing your hands down the front of your clothes to brush off the invisible dust and compose yourself, your eyes scan the park for a white haired beanpole and two children. 

it’s not difficult to find the children as the boy – megumi, you think shoko said (she’d given you a quick debrief of what satoru had told her about the children over the phone on your walk there) – is a mini version of his dad. a shudder ran down your spine involuntarily the instant your eye caught sight of the spiky-haired boy. you try to push away the unease; it’s likely megumi barely even knows or remembers his dad, or at least you hope for his sake he doesn’t. either way it’s not far for you to cast judgement yet. the sister is close behind him, running circles around a slide four times their heights.

satoru is sitting on a bench, his gaze focused on the two small children. well, you assume so since that's the way his head is turned. he’s wearing his usual black glasses and tokyo uniform. to any outsider, he looks bored, like an older brother forced to take care of his siblings as his long limbs lounge on the bench. but you know better – his knee is bouncing and he keeps running one hand through his white hair, revealing an undercut beneath it. he’s just as stressed as you are. 

good, as he should be.

he knows you're there. he’s a special grade sorcerer after all, probably the most powerful of them all, he must’ve sensed your cursed energy the second you came within a mile of this place. still, he doesn’t turn his head, even as you walk down the path to him. 

though somewhere deep down you still long for him and what you had, every step closer you feel the same anger and resentment towards him bubbling up and threatening to spill over the surface. meeting him in a public area with impressionable children’s ears around is definitely not your finest idea. you’re within several yards from him now and you’re really starting to think this is a bad idea. 

satoru is a bad idea.

sitting gingerly on the edge of the bench next to him, you pick quietly at the skin around your nails. neither of you speak for several minutes. satoru still seems too afraid to even acknowledge that you’re there. he’s woken up too many times from a dream with you in his arms to an empty bed that he lay in alone, no trace of your perfume on the other side of the bed anymore.

the tension between you two is thick and palpable. 

“they’re cute kids.” you’re the one to break the silence as the two of them begin climbing a spider web apparatus. satoru hums in agreement and his knee slowly halts its bouncing. 

there’s two beats before you let your frustration spill over the edge. “you’re a dick you know that?” so much for your concern about doing this in this locatiom.

satoru’s mouth slacks a little, and he begins to utter something but you shake your head at him to cut him off.

“that was rhetorical. there’s no defending or denying that. it’s fact,” you laugh dryly, crossing your arms in front of yourself as you watch on at the park. in the corner of your eyes, you can see satoru slip off his glasses revealing his own cerulean eyes to you. you avoid them though, if you are going to stay and make this work you need to get all of this off your chest. and preferably without balling your eyes out again. 

“i cried a lot at first,” you continue, “blamed myself for suguru turning away,” he winces and does so again when you cement that point, “blamed myself for taking your best friend from you. i started having those nightmares of haibara calling me a murderer again.” he knows every word you say is true – he caused the former and he would be the one you’d come to when the latter had first started. it breaks his heart to be reminded of the agony he caused you – how he wasn’t there to pick up the pieces from the damage he caused.

following haibara’s death, there were some nights neither of you would get any sleep. you were afraid of what you’d see when you closed your eyes and satoru was afraid of losing you. so he would stay up with you, more often than not sitting against the backboard of the bed, your body curled up tightly against his as you watched funny compilations on his phone (he thought they were hilarious, you just wanted to hear his laugh). for satoru to throw that back in your face after geto’s defection tarnished any comfort you’d ever associated with him. 

it didn’t matter that he’d carved a permanent spot in your heart, the idea of letting him in that close again sends shudders down your spine. he had you in the palm of his hands and he destroyed you.

you take a deep breath and dare to glance over at satoru. his expression is blank but his eyes scream how he feels, the swirls of blue glassy as you relay all that he put you through. 

he had been aware of the hurt he’d caused you – of course he had, he felt it too – seen it on your face when you’d pass him in the hallways. you lacked enthusiasm in class and often went on missions alone without complaint (something you never previously did because how dare the higher-ups send you on a job hours away without anyone to talk to).

“and then i nearly died.” satoru’s brows furrow at this, he’d still kept tabs on you to a certain extent. so how had this slipped through the cracks? “two grade one curses among other nuisances,” you hum, “i shouldn’t have been there alone… but i wasn’t surprised the higher ups had sent me.” there’s something else missing there, how you would’ve never been sent on such a mission of satoru was still with you. the higher ups hated the power you held over their special grade, but they weren’t stupid enough to put you in significant harm’s way when you were together. 

“i’m sor–”

“gojo! can we get some ice cream?” tsumiki runs up to the two of you, cutting off his futile attempt at an apology. her little cheeks are flushed red from the exercise and megumi pokes his head out from behind her, eyes zeroed in on you. 

“who are you?” 

you flicker your gaze between satoru and the children who are awaiting your answer. for once, the white-haired sorcerer is at a loss for words. you want to scoff. 

standing up, you offer a small smile, “just a friend.” you point to the ice cream parlour on the opposite side of the park and nudge satoru’s shoulder gently, “go treat them to ice cream. we can talk about the logistics of this later.”

“this?” he repeats, sitting up straight, and a flash of hope dashes across his features. “so you’re staying?” 

tsumiki’s eyes are bright and full of excitement at the prospect of a treat and it reminds you of haibara. you blink harshly and quickly as you try not to let a tear slip past.

“they deserve better than what we had.” what you had.

series masterlist

a/n. next part will defo be the longest part!! expect fluff, angst, some spice, the whole SHEBANG. I have mocks coming up soon but I'm hoping the next instalment will be up in the next 3-4 weeks. thank you all for being so patient and I hope this meets expectations &lt;3

also a massive thank you to @bontensh0e because they massively helped with the inspo for the rest of the series. ly loads <333

taglist. @sanokiss. @dummyf. @erenssin. @makiuchiha97. @sosoa. @cole-silas. @fenrysashryver. @istanuwow. @dovahkiinsbitch. @mor-pheus. @creolequeen11210. @thefictionalcharacterssimp. @mariapierce789. @cynopcis.