#i did what i could but i still feel like it may not have been enough

[kirammanswifey]

how would be the first time with arcane characters x fem reader (nsfw)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: hi guys, this took me longer than it should have but it's finally ready and i'm pretty happy with the result. some smuts are more explicit than others, and not for any particular reason, it's just how my inspiration flowed and how i imagine the dynamic with each character's personality. as you already know request are open ;)

The room is bathed in the soft light of a lamp on Viktor's desk, barely enough to illuminate the blueprints scattered across the table. But this time, there are no scientific projects demanding his attention, only you. Viktor is sitting on the edge of the bed, his honey-colored eyes watching you with a mix of nervousness and tenderness.

Viktor

"Are you sure you want to do this with me?" he asks in a low voice, almost a whisper, as his trembling hand caresses your cheek. You can feel the warmth in his touch, a warmth that contrasts with his usually reserved exterior. Viktor has always been so cautious, so focused on his work, that this moment feels as if time has stopped for the two of you.

You nod softly, but the knot in your stomach is inescapable. "There’s nothing I want more. I want to take this step. We’ve been together for four months, I think we’ve waited long enough."

However, the words taste half-hearted, and your mind starts filling with doubts. You bite your lower lip, the weight of a secret you've carried for years pressing against your chest. Should you tell him? Will it change anything between you if you do? A small voice inside you whispers that he may not understand, that he could see you differently.

The silence stretches, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks. "Viktor, there's something I need to tell you before... before we do this," you begin, your voice barely a murmur. You take a second, looking at your hands intertwined in your lap. "I’ve never… I’ve never done this before."

Lifting your gaze just a little, you see the confusion on his face, but there’s no judgment, only patience. You take a breath and continue, even lower, as if saying it aloud was a confirmation you've avoided for years. "I’m still a virgin."

The last word comes out as a whisper, and you wish you could hide from the vulnerability you just showed. You were twenty-seven and hadn’t had sex, hadn’t even thought about it. It had never been a priority in your life. But now that you were with Viktor, it was one of the things you couldn’t stop thinking about. You look away, your fingers nervously playing with a fold in your clothing. "I know it’s unusual for my age. I always thought... it should have happened before, but it just never did. It’s a bit embarrassing."

The room fills with a heavy silence, and you fear what Viktor might think. But then, his warm hand envelops yours, stopping your nervous movements. "You don’t have to feel embarrassed," he says with a tenderness that makes your heart relax a little. "Experience doesn’t define the value of a moment like this."

You look at him and find his eyes full of understanding. "I don’t have much experience either," he admits softly, a small blush appearing on his cheeks. "I’ve always been so immersed in my work that… I never had time for these things."

Your lips curve into a small smile at his words, finding comfort in the shared sincerity. Viktor has always been someone you can trust, and this moment is no different. You felt so comfortable.

"But," he adds, gently squeezing your hands, "I’ll do my best. I want this moment to be special for both of us."

A wave of emotion envelops you, dispelling the embarrassment and replacing it with something deeper: trust. Viktor, always so considerate, makes you feel safe, loved, and it is in this space of mutual vulnerability that you find the courage to move forward.

His lips meet yours again, this time with more intention. The kiss is slow, laden with silent promises and desires that have been waiting to be explored. Viktor’s hands slide over your body with a mix of curiosity and reverence, stopping to feel every curve, every line.

You do the same, letting your fingers explore his body, acknowledging the delicacy of his movements, the firmness of his chest under your hands. Every caress is a discovery, a reaffirmation of the connection you both share.

"Let’s take it slow," he whispers against your lips, his voice soft and reassuring. "I want us both to feel comfortable."

You nod, feeling more confident with every passing second. He removes your blouse, leaving you in your bra, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on your collarbone, savoring the smoothness of your skin. His fingers worked quickly, almost desperately, on the clasp of the garment.

"I didn’t know you were so skilled at this," you confessed with a nervous giggle as you felt the usual freedom in your chest, the straps falling but still covering your breasts, only to be uncovered by a gesture from Viktor, a gesture with a grace that could only be characteristic of him.

Viktor brushed the hair covering your right ear aside, leaned in, and whispered with his marked accent, "I work with machines, my dear, I’m especially agile with my hands."

Those words filled you with courage, and you threw yourself into kissing him, your bare breasts rubbing against the covered skin of his chest. You moved your hips frenetically, your body begging for more, pleading for that unknown pleasure you were dying to experience. You wanted to taste that forbidden fruit exclusively from Viktor's hand.

With Viktor, everything was slow, full of meaning, every touch, every whisper, a promise of eternal love. Both naked in bed. The movements become more intimate, more laden with desire. You feel his warm breath on your neck, his hands finding places that make your skin tingle, your heart race faster.

And when you finally cross that line together, it’s with a mix of awe and love, discovering that experience doesn’t define how special a moment can be, but the person with whom you share it.

"Do you dare to follow me?" Jinx asks, almost as if she isn't posing a question but throwing down a challenge. Her voice is playful, but there's something in her gaze that lets you know things could get much more intense than they seem.

Jinx

The sound of metal clashing against concrete is the only thing filling the air. The lights of Zaun flicker in the distance, creating an atmosphere that feels as electric as the chaos dwelling in Jinx's heart. You're there, standing in front of her, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins after a night of mischief and shared laughter. Her laugh, like her energy, is unpredictable, dangerous, and so contagious that you can't help but smile every time she looks at you with those bright blue eyes, filled with fun and madness. The kind of madness that takes your breath away and makes you crave more and more.

You nod, feeling your body tense with anticipation. This isn't the first time you've been close to her, but it is the first time the air feels charged with something different. The atmosphere, the closeness of her body, the way she subtly touches you while questioning everything you've done wrong in your life... it all gives you the sense that this is a point of no return.

You're nervous, but the thrill of being with Jinx, that unpredictable and uninhibited girl, quickly dissipates any trace of fear. Jinx is a whirlwind, and though you know you could lose yourself in her, you also feel there's something deeper, something you've never seen in anyone else.

Jinx moves closer, her mischievous smile never fading as she gently takes your hand. "Let's do it, toots," she says with that spark in her eyes that always drives you crazy. "This will be the most fun ride of your life."

The kiss comes unexpectedly, but perfectly. Her lips are a clash of energy, warm, quick, impetuous. You're surprised at how tender her touches can be, despite being so chaotic in everything else. Her hands explore your body with a mix of curiosity and desire, as if she's trying to disassemble you playfully. One of her hands slips under your skirt and brushes against your clit with her index finger, as if testing you, wanting to see your reaction, wanting to have fun with you.

A gasp of surprise is enough to make her laugh and move faster; before you know it, she has three fingers working inside you. You didn't even have time to think, and that's exactly what you shouldn't do with Jinx. With Jinx, you just have to relax and not fill your head with unnecessary thoughts. With Jinx, you just have to accept her and not question her actions.

And that's why you didn't utter a word when she bit one of your nipples hard enough to make you scream. She was pushing you to the limit, her fingers never stopping, never ceasing to stimulate you.

Your eyes rolled back from the pleasure, that mischievous, incoherent pleasure. Your first orgasm came without warning, juices running down Jinx's fingers like a broken fountain. The second followed, feeling like stepping on cool sand on an early morning beach, refreshing and necessary. After that, you lost count. You knew nothing anymore. You were just aware that you were enjoying it as if the world were ending tomorrow.

"Tell me I'm the best, tell me no one has ever made you feel as much as I have," Jinx whispered against your neck, covered in hickeys and bruises.

You tried to focus your blurry vision on Jinx, and in her eyes, there was a fragile layer of vulnerability that you could barely grasp but knew was there.

You took her face in your hands and kissed her with much saliva and a lot of uncoordinated passion, something that made the moment even more exciting. Because it was a kiss born from your instincts, from the vulnerability of your being, and the best part was that it hadn't been perfect. It was real and authentic, like your love for her.

"You are. No one has ever made me come so many times in a row. You're incredible, sweets," you admitted between breathless gasps, your body still sensitive but arching for more.

"I knew it, I'm the best," she patted herself on the shoulder, proud of herself.

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension in your body easing a bit. Jinx had a way of making what should be uncomfortable into something liberating, something you had never experienced before.

"Well, get ready, toots. This is just the beginning," she promised, going back to attacking your overstimulated clit.

Her lips trailed down your neck, and you felt how her body responded to yours with an urgency that made you feel alive in a way you never imagined.

From there, the night was filled with tender moments, sincere connections, and a vulnerability you only shared with her.

You and Vi in your room, she had sneaked through one of the windows in the middle of the night. And her excuse for waking you up in such an overwhelming and unexpected way, was that she missed you. And you couldn't scold her, you couldn't question her for her impulsive action because you missed her just the same. And you didn't say anything when she snuck under your sheets and started eating your pussy hungrily.

Vi

Her strong arms kept your trembling legs apart, her hair tickled your belly and her tongue, oh god, her tongue was so deep inside you. She was so dedicated to her task, she was trying her best, enjoying every lick. The air in the room was filled with the obscene sounds of her tongue and your muffled moans.

Every now and then you would bend your torso to get closer to her, but Vi would quickly push you back again, immobilizing you with her hand on your neck. She didn't want you to distract her, she didn't want you to interrupt her.

Even then you wanted to tease her, you wanted her eyes to look at you. You needed it. You'd always had a dangerous fixation on her attention.

"Did you really get past the security guards and climb up to my window for this? You must have really missed me." You commented in a mocking, almost contemptuous tone.

And you succeeded, her intense gaze now locked on your face. She pulled away from your pussy for a moment to talk to you.

"From down here it doesn't seem like it bothered you much," She bit the inside of your thighs, an area so sensitive it made you moan louder than you should.

She teased you and went back to her arduous task. And you, you were going crazy, it was the first time you two had done something like this. And it wasn't even half as good as you had imagined. It was much better. You could easily tell she was an expert, she knows where, how and where to touch to make you see stars in a clear sky.

“Why are you so sweet?��� Vi panted into your pussy, sucking your clit between her lips and making light circular motions with her tongue. You were going to lose your mind if she kept this up.

You leaned down and the straps of your dress fell down, one of your breasts was exposed and Vi didn’t hesitate to take it in her hard hand to squeeze it.

“Don’t say things like that,” You squirmed into her touch, your hips moving forward as she moved away from your private part.

“Oh, are you embarrassed, little deer?” She said, her typical cheeky smile coming to the surface. “You don’t have to, you’re gorgeous and delicious.” You were going to complain, but you felt two of her fingers enter your hole and all rational thought went out the window.

“Fuck, Vi,” You panted as her fingers twisted around inside you, touching parts you didn’t even know existed or that would feel this good.

Vi licked her lips, tasting you, and squeezed your neck tighter.

"Shut up, we can't let your parents hear us," Her comment made a kind of glint appear in your eyes that she didn't miss. "Or do you want us to be discovered? What a dirty girl!" Her voice has that playful mockery, that challenging tone that always makes you laugh, but also makes you a little nervous.

"No... that's not true," you answer, your words now much more uninhibited. But your voice trembles a little, betraying the confidence you try to show.

"Don't lie to me, you liked the idea," Vi pulled you closer, pulling your hair with the hand that previously held your neck. "Your pussy squeezed my fingers." She whispered on your lips, teasing and humiliating you.

You tried to deny it again, but it felt so good, you loved that she treated you so roughly. That she wasn't careful with you. That she didn't worry about hurting you. Because she knew just what to do and what not to do. Vi was fucking perfect for you, and you were fucking perfect for her.

"I don't blame you, the image is morbid. The little girl from home who doesn't break a plate being ravished by the dirty and rude criminal from Zaun. That's what your prissy parents would think. They'd think I forced you, that I'm forcing you into this. Ironic, right?" The tone of her voice is brazen, almost defiant, but there's something else in her words that makes you blush. Is she challenging you? Is she provoking you? What does all this mean? You feel trapped in her gaze, that intensity that always accompanies it, as imposing as the sound of his fists hitting a punching bag.

And the intensity of her caresses didn't cease, they only increased in magnitude more and more, you didn't know how much more you could take.

"I would love to see their surprised faces when they see the reality, that their good little girl is a fucking bitch hungry for my fingers," her hot breath on your skin feels like a touch of fire.

“Shut up,” you barked, a knot forming in your stomach.

"Why? You're getting wetter, you're enjoying this too much," Vi teases you, continuing to penetrate you, taking you to the edge.

And finally you came. You could feel the energy in your body vibrating with the same intensity as your soul moved. It was magical. Everything around you, all you can think about, is her.

Vi didn't waste the opportunity and she went back down to your pussy, feeding on every drop of your orgasm.

"Shit," You cursed under your breath as you watched her.

When she finished she stood up with a triumphant smile, the back of her right hand wiping away the fluid left on her chin. The confidence in her voice and in her actions melts you inside. Despite her defiant attitude, there's something deeply protective in the way she takes you, in how she guides your every move with a mix of dominance and care. There are no doubts, no insecurities when you're with Vi, and you realize that even though your nervousness almost paralyzed you at first, now you just feel the need to be closer to her.

"Thanks, little deer. I was thirsty," She winked at you and laid down next to you.

She closed her eyes and held you close, falling asleep as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn't just given you the best orgasm in the world.

That night, everything seemed to be aligned: the fresh air of Piltover, the soft light of the stars, and the closeness between the two of you. You had gone to deliver a report, one thing had led to another, and now you were kissing as if your lives depended on it.

Caitlyn

You clung to her body like a magnet, not wanting to let her go; finally, your greatest dream was coming true. Since you joined the Enforcers, you had been attracted to Caitlyn, and not just because of her impressive physique and British accent. Everything about Caitlyn is serene, controlled, perfect. It’s hard not to admire the calm with which she moves through the world, with her well-mannered ways and always upright posture, almost like an unbreakable force. But in that same stillness, there’s something that draws you in, something that makes you want to know what lies behind her façade.

Caitlyn stopped the kiss, her hand holding your jaw in a dominant yet gentle manner. Her dark navy blue hair was tousled thanks to your restless hands, and she was catching her breath. She looked incredibly beautiful. You didn’t think you’d ever seen such a perfect human being.

The sound of the wind is the only witness to what’s about to happen. Caitlyn is there, right in front of you, her gaze fixed on yours, deep and penetrating.

"I think what we're doing is a bit... out of the ordinary, isn't it?" Caitlyn says, her voice soft, but with a tone that makes you feel like she’s watching your every move.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply, nervousness pulsing through your veins, but you can’t look away from her. There’s something in her calm that soothes you, but it also challenges you. The fact that she looks at you that way, almost as if she’s expecting something, makes you feel a whirlwind of emotions you don’t know how to handle.

Caitlyn takes a step towards you, just enough for you to feel the warmth of her body near yours. She observes you in silence, as if she’s evaluating every small change in your expression. “I think it’s a bit much to call me that after what just happened. Call me Cait.”

And in that moment, you felt like you melted.

“Cait,” the way your tongue savored her name was timid and tender, like testing if you weren’t doing something wrong, but a half-smile from her confirmed the opposite.

She was your superior; it hadn’t been wise of you to steal a kiss, a kiss that she reciprocated, but you didn’t know if she might punish you for it. She could throw you out of the Enforcers or, much worse, ignore you and treat you with discomfort. Doubts were eating you alive. The fear of having done something stupid was tormenting you over and over.

“Listen carefully. Through the physical contact we shared a few minutes ago, I think it’s quite noticeable that we feel a mutual attraction,” she made a small pause, and your heart almost jumped out of your chest. “However, we cannot let it affect us in the workplace. Do you think you can separate the two?” she asks, and although her tone is calm, there’s a glimmer of something more in her gaze, something deeper.

You found yourself nodding pathetically fast, like an addict when offered their favorite drug.

She smiles slightly, a soft but confident smile, as if she knows what’s about to happen is inevitable. Suddenly, her hands touch your face gently, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The contact is electric, and though her touch is soft, there’s a strength in it that makes you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t experienced before.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Caitlyn whispers, slowly leaning in. “I’ll take care of you.”

And with those words, her lips touch yours once more, softly at first, but it doesn’t take long for it to intensify. The gentleness gave way to a burning desire both of you had been holding back. She quickly removed your uniform, amid passionate and sweet kisses, pushing you onto her bed. She gets on top of you, observing your naked figure, a look of approval crossing her face, and at that moment, you felt like the happiest person in the world.

Her hands, firm but delicate, trace your body, exploring every corner with a precision that leaves you breathless. It’s the perfect contrast: her external calm and the intensity that emanates from her touch.

Every movement of Caitlyn is calculated, but also filled with an emotional connection that captures you. There’s no rush, no fear, just a desire to be close, to discover what both of you can offer in this moment. She knows how to make you feel special, how to make your body respond to her touch, how to provoke a fire inside you with just a glance.

In an instant, you are completely lost in her, in her tenderness, in her strength. Caitlyn is not like the others. The way she touches you is not just physical but reaches your soul, as if she is baring your heart while pushing you beyond your own limits. Every sigh, every brush of her skin against yours, is a promise that there’s nothing she cannot expect from you, but also that there’s nothing you should fear while she’s by your side.

When she finally stops, her gaze meets yours, filled with desire but also with something much deeper. Caitlyn doesn’t need to say anything else. You understand everything in her eyes: this is a beginning, not an end, and what happens between the two of you will only build on trust, passion, and something much more genuine than just physical desire.

“I’d love to see how far you could go if you let yourself go,” Caitlyn murmurs, with a subtle smile that makes you blush, but at the same time makes you feel like the only person in the world to her. “Do you want to let yourself go?”

Once again, you didn’t hesitate to nod. You almost protested when she got up; you had already gotten used to the weight of her body, her hands on your skin, her eyes on yours. But curiosity formed when you saw her rummaging through the cabinet beside the bed, your eyes widened when you saw her walking back to you with a black dildo.

Everything was so surreal, you had so many nerves, so many questions, so many doubts, but it all vanished when Caitlyn's fingers danced along the smooth, curved surface of the dildo, teasing you with the promise of what’s to come. Her touch sends shivers of anticipation racing up your spine as she brings the toy to her lips, her tongue flicking out to moisten the tip. Caitlyn's eyes, darkened with lust, never leave yours as she traces the contours of her mouth along the length, her breath hot and heavy against the cool silicone.

"Let's get you nice and ready," Caitlyn purrs, her voice low and sultry. She takes your hand, guiding it to the base of the dildo, letting your fingers explore the textured surface. The weight of it, the solidity, is a thrilling reminder of the pleasure that awaits you.

Caitlyn's fingers curl around yours, both of your hands now wrapped around the thick shaft. Together, you slowly inch the toy between your legs, the head nudging against your inner thigh. The first touch against your most intimate place sends a gasp tumbling from your lips, your hips instinctively canting forward.

Everything was a madness, a kaleidoscope of sensations and feelings.

"Feel how wet you are," Caitlyn whispers, her thumb circling your clit with a feather-light touch. Your arousal coats the toy, making the glide easier as inch by inch, Caitlyn slowly pushes it inside you. The stretch, the fullness, is exquisite, your walls yielding to accommodate the girth.

Caitlyn sets a steady rhythm, the toy sliding in and out of you with practiced ease. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you, your body trembling and shaking. The obscene sound of the dildo plunging in and out of your dripping sex fills the room, mingling with your wanton moans and cries.

She picks up the pace, the toy driving deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. Your cries grow louder, more urgent, as the first stirrings of your orgasm begin to build. Caitlyn's free hand finds your breast, kneading the soft flesh, her thumb and forefinger pinching and rolling your nipple.

It was too much, too much, you couldn't take it anymore. The woman of your dreams was fucking you with a damn dildo in her fucking room. You thought you were dreaming. Hallucinating.

"Come on, darling, let it go. You deserve it, you’ve been a good girl," Caitlyn whispered in her marked accent, and you didn’t need anything more to let it flow.

Caitlyn held you for a moment longer, her hand resting gently on your back. Both shared a brief sigh, allowing the calm to fill the space between you.

"Are you okay?" she asked with a slight smile, her voice soft but firm.

You nodded, taking a deep breath and feeling the tension slowly dissipate. Caitlyn moved back a bit, giving you your space, but her gaze remained attentive, as it always did.

"Thank you," you whispered, feeling a bit lighter.

Caitlyn turned towards you, intending to ask why exactly you were thanking her, but stopped when she saw you already asleep in her bed, your breathing calm and relaxed. A soft smile formed on her lips as she watched you for a moment, appreciating the serenity on your face.

Without making any noise, she got up and took the report you had brought her. She sat on a nearby chair and, with the same calm she had shown you, began inspecting the documents, letting you rest in peace while she worked in silence.

Jayce's office is impressive, filled with blueprints and artifacts that reveal his brilliant and ambitious mind. You're there, beside his desk, watching him move, standing by the window, unaware of the way you look at him. There's something about his posture, something about the way he speaks with such confidence, that makes you feel an undeniable attraction.

Jayce

But you know, you've noticed for a while: there's something about him that calls to you beyond the professional. You move closer, silently, but somehow your steps resonate in the air of the office.

"Have you finished the meeting?" you ask, your voice soft but with a clarity that makes him turn towards you. Jayce looks at you, and for a moment, everything seems to stop.

"Yes, I have," he responds, but something in his tone sounds more relaxed than usual. The look he gives you is inquisitive, but also something more. He lets you know with a smile that hides a slight challenge. "Is there anything else you need?"

Without warning, you move closer, the space between the two of you narrowing. He doesn't say anything, but you can see the surprise in his eyes when you stand right in front of him, your fingers lightly touching his chest. The air becomes dense, heavy, as if you're waiting for him to say something.

But you take the initiative. You place a hand on his neck, forcing his gaze to yours. "Yes, actually... there is something I need," you say, and the way you say it makes him fall silent. The tone of your voice is firm, but it's charged with palpable electricity, something both of you can feel.

Jayce stays still, but you can see he's tense, slightly surprised by what you're doing, as if he's not used to someone taking control in a situation like this. But it's not like he's upset, rather, he seems to be waiting for you to continue with what you have in mind.

The hand that was on his neck now slowly moves down, sliding over his chest until it reaches his waist, delving into his pants. The touch is soft, yet confident. Your fingers touch his semi-hard cock, feeling how his breathing quickens.

"And that, Jayce, is for you to stop for a second and listen to me," you say, and with a smile that's part challenge, part promise.

Jayce is left speechless, but he plays along, letting you lead him to the edge of the desk. You have his full attention now, and the way he looks at you, the way he seems to be waiting for each of your moves, makes you feel incredibly powerful. He, the great leader of Piltover, is now in your hands, and you know it.

Without taking your eyes off him, you lower yourself to his lower part, maneuvering to unbutton his pants. And when you succeed, you sigh with joy, his impressive length bouncing against your face, ready for you.

You look directly into his eyes, seeing a slight tension form on his face, but there's also something else: desire. A desire hidden beneath his facade of power and control.

"I've seen you very stressed lately, and I don't like seeing that pretty face full of wrinkles. I'm going to make you feel good, my fellow" you whisper against his cock, blowing warm air on his large, leaking member.

He seems to take a deep breath, as if he's trying to process what's happening. But when your hands start to glide along his length, everything else disappears.

Your touch is gentle, teasing at first, barely grazing his sensitive flesh. You watch, transfixed, as a bead of moisture wells up at the flushed tip, tempting you to taste. Unable to resist, you lean in and lap at it with the flat of your tongue, savoring the heady, masculine flavor that explodes across your senses.

Spurred on by his sharp intake of breath, you take him into your mouth, engulfing the swollen head and suckling gently. Your tongue swirls around him, taking him deeper on each downstroke until he hits the back of your throat. You can feel him throbbing against your tongue, growing even harder and more insistent.

You pull back slowly, releasing him from your mouth with a lewd pop. A string of saliva connects your bottom lip to the engorged head of his cock. You look up at him with hooded eyes, your lips curling into a seductive smile. "You taste so good," you purr, stroking him faster now. "I want to make you feel amazing, golden boy."

You see him lose control, but it's different. He's more vulnerable, more human, more real. And you're there, enjoying every second of that power.

The brush of your lips over his cock makes him sigh, but this time, the sigh is a whisper of surrender. He is no longer the leader of Piltover, the man of steel and determination. Now he's just Jayce, the man who yields to you, the man who lets himself be carried away by desire, by the need to feel closer to you.

With every step, you take him further beyond his limits. And as you do, he also shows you, in silence, how much he wants you, how much he needs you. Everything else fades away, leaving only the desire you both share.

But then, a familiar laugh cuts through the stillness of the night. You turn around to see Ekko, jumping from one ledge to another as if it were the most natural thing in the world, landing beside you with a smile only he could offer. The mischievous glint in his eyes tells you this night is going to be anything but boring.

Ekko

It's a cool night in the Undercity, the moonlight reflecting off the crumbling walls of the buildings as you stand atop a rooftop, watching the city sprawled beneath your feet. From here, everything seems calmer, more distant, even though life continues behind you.

"What are you doing here without me?" Ekko asks, raising an eyebrow, never taking his eyes off you. "Did you think you could enjoy the view without me joining you?"

You laugh, knowing exactly how he plays, how he always manages to make situations feel fun and full of energy. "Did you think I'd sit idly by while you strut around like the king of Zaun?" you respond with an equally playful smile.

The closeness between the two of you becomes more palpable, more charged, as if every shared word heightens the tension between you. The cool night air feels light, but the heat growing between you is anything but.

Ekko steps closer, his eyes gleaming with the confidence he always has, but there's something more. Something that makes you wonder if this moment will be different from the rest. He stands in front of you, his breath now closer to yours.

"The good thing about being up here," he says, looking you up and down, "is that no one can interrupt us." His tone is soft but with a hint of something you know exactly where it's leading.

You follow him with your gaze as he steps even closer. The tension builds, almost like a non-verbal challenge, and you can't help the mischievous smile forming on your face. Something about him incites you to play, to see how things unfold.

"Oh, yeah? And what do you want to do with all this privacy?" Of course, you knew, but you were playing along, as that was the dynamic between you.

Ekko's gaze intensifies, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he steps closer to you. His hands rest on your hips, lightly firm but without pressing, as if waiting for something. His eyes never leave yours, teasing with the idea of what the two of you could do.

"Why use words when there are actions?" he responds, his voice so low and deep it makes you shiver. Without warning, his hands slide around your waist, lifting you slightly and pulling you closer to his chest.

The contact is gentle, but it feels like an electric jolt, as if everything between you had condensed into that single moment. He caresses your back with his fingers, as if wanting to explore every inch, but in a relaxed way, without haste. His game is subtle, but you're sure he's enjoying the uncertainty you're both creating.

"I want you," he murmurs against your lips.

You smirk and touch his crotch, enjoying his soft gasp in response.

"I know, I can feel it," you say with a provocative air, marking the first victory of the night.

But Ekko wasn't someone who gave up easily. He slid a hand between your legs, brushing against your sensitive spot still covered. You moaned and dug your nails into his shoulders.

"Yeah, I can feel it too," his tone was teasing, but not in a bad way.

A few seconds of playing, of tension, and then you dare to take the next step. You give him a gentle push, not too hard, but enough to stop his movement and make him look at you, amused but also a little surprised. "Is that all you got, Ekko?" you challenge, unable to resist the provocation in your tone.

With a low laugh, Ekko responds, "You're right, how could I underestimate you?" Then, he leans close to your ear, his breath brushing your skin. "I think this night is going to be more interesting than I thought."

In a swift move, he works on his belt, then pulls down his pants and underwear to his knees. But he doesn't stop there; he lifts you and raises your dress. In less than a second, he's inside you, large and warm, throbbing.

You gasped loudly and pulled his hair. Everything had happened so suddenly, so wild and erratic. But it was to be expected; you two had had immediate sexual tension from the first time you saw each other. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time before this happened.

The heat intensified, the electricity between you became palpable, your hips moving side to side, guided by his firm hands—it was a beautiful, coordinated dance. And before you can react, his lips meet yours in an intense but playful kiss. It's not rushed or desperate but filled with the passion you've both kept at bay, that spark that had always been there, waiting for a moment like this.

The kiss is deep, slow, as his hands explore your body softly but with a need for more. Ekko's playfulness doesn't fade, and you can feel how he changes the rhythm, how his caresses go from gentle to more demanding, as if challenging you to keep up.

"I knew you had something up your sleeve," he says, with a mocking smile between kisses. "But I didn't think you'd be this good at it." Ekko traced lines on your tense abdomen with his fingers while you rode him—you were a sight to behold. His muse. There, under the moonlight caressing your face, your body united with his, it was a masterpiece.

"It's just that you make me want to play at your level," you respond, riding him with a steady, confident rhythm.

Ekko throws his head back, allowing himself to let go for a moment, enjoying your delicious motion. His expression is a delight, mouth slightly open and brows furrowed—the face he makes when he's angry. And you've always had a particular fixation on angry Ekko, so you took advantage of the situation and kissed him once more. You needed it. You needed this. You've needed this for so long.

Every kiss became more frantic, every touch more necessary, every moan more intimate. On the rooftop, under the starry lights and the whisper of the wind, there was only you and Ekko. And that was all that mattered.

Silco

The atmosphere in the room is charged with tension. You've been close to him for some time, ever since that day he took you out of the brothel, that repugnant place that, for reasons you still don't fully understand, he allowed you to leave behind. Life with him is not easy, and you know he's watching you, testing, evaluating you at every moment. But you also know that, in some way, he's protected you, cared for you. And at this moment, that protection seems to be the foundation of what's about to happen between you two.

Silco, standing next to his desk, observes you in silence. His gaze is intense, calculating, but there's something more in it, something that makes you feel a warmth inside. You know you desire him, but you also know that in this moment, in this game between the two of you, you are not in control. And that's something that, strangely, excites you more than you imagined.

"I've been wondering for a while, dear," he says with his deep, controlled voice, "what did you learn in that unpleasant place where I found you?" His tone is cold, but there's something in his gaze that makes everything more intense.

You can't help a wave of shame mingling with desire. You remember that brothel, the looks you received, how you felt empty and worthless. But Silco didn't look at you like the others, he saw something more, something that made you feel important. Now, in front of him, you can't help but wonder what he thinks of you at this moment.

"I want to see how well you learned the lessons there. Maybe I can teach you some new ones." He takes a step toward you, his gaze now warmer but equally firm. "I'm dying to see what you're capable of doing with your hands, with your body."

The comment, though direct and unmistakably harsh, provokes you. And instead of feeling uncomfortable, you feel a surge of excitement fill you. You approach him, without a word, and with a bold gesture, your hands glide over his chest with a softness that contrasts with the hardness of his attitude.

He watches in silence, with that same look that always gives you the feeling he can see beyond the obvious. Silco takes your wrist firmly, without you resisting. He knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to go after it.

"Do you think you're capable of doing it, or should you keep waiting to be 'saved'?" The way he says it challenges you, and it's not the question that bothers you, but the way he throws it at you, as if demanding an answer no matter how much you hate or desire him.

At that moment, something inside you snaps, and you can't help it. You stare at him, defying him, knowing you want him, but not wanting to give in so easily. "Do you really think you can teach me something? I don't think so," you say with a playful tone but with that fire in your eyes that you know he likes.

His response is immediate. He grabs you by the waist and, in a swift movement, pushes you against his desk, bending your torso and pressing your face against the wooden surface. The distance between your bodies is minimal, almost nonexistent, as his hands find your underwear, in a brutal and demanding manner. There is no softness, no tender caresses; it's all hardness, passion, and control. Silco owns the moment, and you are his.

"I think it's time you see what happens when you act like a spoiled brat," he whispers, his voice low and almost dangerous. And you have the feeling you're on slippery ground, but that only increases the intensity of the moment. His cock enters you slowly, painfully slow, as if he were torturing you, and before you could say anything, he had already started fucking you hard.

Your body reacts immediately, feeling his dominance and the way his hands move over you with urgency. You don't resist because you know this is what you've been waiting for. In his thrusts, there is power, control, but also a palpable desire to possess you, to take what belongs to him.

Silco isn't afraid to show you his rough side. He caresses you firmly, no matter what you think, as if everything you have been until now fades away in the act. You are not the girl you used to be, the one who escaped from men who saw her as mere merchandise. No, now you are in front of him, showing him that you also know what you want.

"I should have fucked you earlier. You feel incredible. Now I understand why you were so expensive; you must have been one of the star workers," he says, with his rough voice, as his hands cling to your hips, pushing into you relentlessly, each movement more demanding than the last. "But now you're mine."

And though every word he says burns you, you know this is a game where neither of you is afraid to lose. Silco has taken over you, but the truth is you have also taken over him, and both are caught in this whirlwind of desire and power, where passion consumes everything.

When you enter, Mel greets you with a soft smile, her gaze as always, deep, calculating, but this time there’s something different in her eyes, something that makes you feel like you’re not in the middle of a negotiation or a political discussion, but in something much more personal.

Mel

"Stay close," she says with that soft but firm voice that always makes you feel like everything else disappears. There are no rules, no power tensions, only the weight of desire slowly building between the two of you.

The distance between you is minimal, but Mel doesn’t make the first move, she waits. She looks at you with those eyes that seem to see everything about you, making you feel exposed but, at the same time, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s as if there’s a tacit permission in her gaze, an understanding that this moment will belong to just the two of you.

The space between you fills with palpable energy, the room dimly lit by candlelight, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. It’s not a place of power, but of calm, where the rules are different, and emotions are raw.

You gasp in surprise when you see her shed her robe, revealing nothing underneath. Her beautiful dark skin contrasted with the golden details she always wore as accessories. She was ethereal. That woman was ethereal.

Insecure, you undress as well, nervous about not meeting her expectations. Because you could never come close to her beauty and divinity. Once you’re naked, your trembling hands move to cover your body.

Mel steps toward you, her delicate but firm hands brushing against your face. "You don’t have to hide," she whispers, and the softness of her voice completely envelops you. For a moment, it seems like nothing else matters. The tension you’ve been feeling dissipates, replaced by a deep desire, something that pulls you toward her.

The touch of her fingers on your skin makes you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to be carried away by the sensation. She gracefully caresses your breasts, tracing every imperfection. There’s no rush, no anxiety, only the slow rhythm set by Mel, allowing you to explore whatever is blossoming between the two of you.

"I want you here," she murmurs in your ear, taking your hand and placing it on her pussy, the warmth there sending a shiver through you. You begin to stimulate her, and she does the same to you. You can feel how her presence fills the space, how her words are not just a whisper, but an invitation to something deeper. In her embrace, in her hands on you, you find a calm you never thought you’d find, but also an intensity you hadn’t anticipated.

It doesn’t matter what’s between you, what’s happened in the past, or what will come in the future, because in this moment, the only thing that exists is Mel and you, and the connection that feels more natural than ever. She doesn’t need anything more from you, she doesn’t demand anything, but you know that what happens between you won’t be just a physical encounter; it will be a turning point, something both of you will treasure.

Mel leans into you, her lips, soft but filled with determination, meeting yours. The intensity of her kiss isn’t aggressive, but it has a depth that captivates you, wrapping you in a calm passion, where every move, every gesture, holds a meaning much greater than physical desire. Your fingers work harder to give her pleasure; you’ve become addicted to her moans, to the way her coded seriousness crumbles in front of you.

She holds you by the waist with one hand, while with the other, she caresses your cheek tenderly, as if, for once, she allows herself to be vulnerable with you. The softness of her touch is almost unsettling but so comforting at the same time. "I trust you," she says, and those words are all you need to hear.

You take control of the situation, pressing her against the nearest wall, your lips sucking on her skin, and your fingers never leaving her wet pussy for a second. She embraces you and lets it happen, allowing herself to be vulnerable with you.

The moment stretches on, and Mel, with her confidence but also with her vulnerability, guides you without rush, without pressure. There are no expectations, only the desire to share something genuine, something real.

Sevika

The alley is dark and silent, shadows are the only thing surrounding you after the mission you just completed with Sevika. Sweat covers your skin, along with the blood you’re not sure belongs to you or the men you took down with your own hands. Torn clothes and dirt on your face are reminders of what you just went through: more than 30 men, and only you and Sevika, emerging victorious from the battle.

Sevika stands by your side, her gaze fierce, her face as marked by the fight as yours. Yet, there is no fear in her eyes, only a determination that ignites something in you, a need for something more, something raw, whatever may arise at this moment. In the middle of the darkness, the air heavy with dust and adrenaline, the chemistry between the two of you is palpable, almost unbearable.

"Did you have fun?" Sevika's voice is rough, as if the battle left more than just physical marks. She takes a step towards you, her large, strong body invading your personal space in a way that makes you feel more alive than ever. It’s not just her presence that burns you; it’s the way she looks at you, as if she’s not afraid of what might happen between the two of you, as if she already knows that, at this moment, there’s only the two of you.

Your breathing quickens, not from exhaustion but from the tension building in the air. You don’t need to say anything; there’s no need for words. The silence between you fills with the mutual need that has been accumulating since the first second you clashed in that alley, fighting side by side.

"We did it, right?" Sevika almost challenges you with her words, her tone low and loaded with desire. Her body moves slowly towards yours, and when her hands grab your waist firmly, you realize there’s no turning back.

Your body trembles when her lips meet yours, rough and filled with unexpected passion. There’s no sweetness in this kiss, only hunger, a need that can’t be hidden. Sevika’s hands roam your back, pulling you toward her with force, as if she’s marking her territory. There’s no play, only the rawness of two people who’ve been on the edge of the abyss and now surrender completely to whatever comes. She makes you climb on her body, your legs wrapping around her hips.

The air smells of sweat, blood and hot skin, the atmosphere so charged that you can feel the heat of her body as if it were merging with yours. Sevika doesn't ask your permission to explore, to take what you both know you've been wanting for far too long. Sevika is strong enough to carry you with one hand and with the other to literally tear your underwear apart. She didn't wait for a yes from you, nor an invitation, because she was sure that you wanted her, oh and how right she was.

Her fingers pumped savagely in and out, the obscene sound of wet flesh smacking against flesh echoing in the close confines of the alley.

"Fuck, you're so fucking wet, little thing," Sevika snarled, her breath hot and ragged against your neck. She punctuated her words with a particularly brutal thrust, bending you nearly in half over her arm.

You could only whimper and writhe, impaled on Sevika's invading fingers, the rough brick scraping your back raw. Sevika's other hand gripped your thigh hard enough to bruise, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh as she fucked you with wild abandon.

It was pure, animalistic rutting, a savage taking of pleasure and seeking of release. Your moans turned to desperate cries, your nails scrabbling at her shoulders as the pleasure bordered on pain.

Every movement is wild, fierce, a whirlwind of sensations you barely manage to process. The sound of ripping clothes, the clattering of shoes against the pavement, and the labored breathing filled with adrenaline fill the alley. In this moment, all that exists is the way Sevika possesses you, with that unstoppable force, with the energy of someone who doesn’t ask permission but takes what’s theirs.

Her fingers never slowed, plunging in and out, stirring up your insides, until finally, with a hoarse scream, you came undone. Your cunt clenched and spasmed around Sevika's fingers, gushing fluid down her wrist and splattering onto the filthy ground below.

But she didn't stop. She kept fucking you through your orgasm, extending it, drawing it out until you were a boneless, mewling mess.

"I've been watching you all this time, you know what you're doing," she whispers between kisses, her deep voice filled with admiration and desire. "I love women who know how to fight."

Then she pulls her fingers out, bringing them to her mouth and sucking your essence from them with a low, satisfied groan.

"Tastes like a woman who knows how to fight to me," she grins wickedly.

The passion was raw, direct, an explosion of repressed emotions, and when it all ends, only the cold sweat of the battle and the warmth of her body still pressed against yours remain, the feeling that, despite everything, this is what both of you needed.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 43: Lies

Summary: Things are getting better...or are they?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 5,029 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, omegaverse, angst, kissing, 'mega being a badass, angst, emotions, fluff, angst

A/N: Sorry not sorry

“Kyle.” 

The name is whispered in the silence, floating through the air around you. There’s no response from the body wrapped around you aside from a quiet snore. You drive your elbow back into his chest, whispering his name once more. 

“Kyle.” 

He lets out a snore, jolting out of sleep suddenly as your elbow digs into his pectoral muscle. “Hm, what?” He slurs, still half asleep. 

“Kyle, I didn’t have a nightmare last night.” You say quietly, kicking the volume up to just above a whisper. 

“Mmm that’s good.” He murmurs sleepily, scooting closer to you to press his face against your shoulder blade. “Really good.” 

“No Phil this time either.” You say, excitement starting to bubble in your stomach. No nightmares, no sign of Phil haunting your mind in sleep or awake. 

Maybe Dr. Keller is right and you really are healing. 

It’s been weeks since he died, since you drove that knife into his neck. The memories of warm blood spurting onto your skin, the life leaving his eyes still has your stomach twisting with nausea, but the nightmares of his haunting presence have ceased for now. 

“It’s been a year today,” You say into the silence. “Since I joined the pack.” 

“Mhm.” Kyle hums against your shoulder, pressing his face closer against your skin. 

“So much has happened in such a short amount of time.” You muse. 

Kyle’s arm moves from around your waist, lifting up towards your face. His hand covers your mouth, cutting off the words that had been on the tip of your tongue. “‘S too early.” He murmurs. “Go back to sleep.” 

His lips brushing your skin with every word has butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It feels much like it did in the early stages of your integration into their pack, back when you had small crushes on each of them, when the relationships were new and exciting. They feel new now, the dynamics changing between all of you since that day you sat them down and set the record straight. 

“Sit down and listen.” You try to stop your voice from shaking as you stand before the four giant forms that make up the rest of your pack. Dr. Keller has gone out for the day, leaving just the five of you alone. 

You may or may not have asked her to do so.

The four of them look surprised by your authoritative tone, shocked even. They stand there dumbly, staring at you with wide eyes. 

You let out a quiet sigh. This is going to be harder than you thought it was going to be. 

“I said, sit down and listen.” You repeat, the four of them slowly sinking down onto their seats. Their eyes are still on you, still filled with surprise at this sudden change. 

You stare at them, John seated in the chair across from you, the most taken aback at this sudden shift in your attitude. Johnny and Kyle are seated to your right, both of them staring at you in surprise. Simon looks the least surprised by this outburst, yet his eyes are still softer than the hardened gaze he’s been giving you for weeks. 

You clear your throat, straightening your back as you stand before them. “We have some things to discuss as a pack.” You shift on your feet, trying to shove down those nervous butterflies in your stomach. 

This could go south fast if they wanted it to. 

“Some things about where we stand,” You continue. “How things are going to look moving forward.” You fall silent for a moment, looking at each of them. The surprise has faded, all of them focused and dialed in on you. 

You can’t help but wonder if this is how they looked during debriefs, so laser focused and in tune with what’s happening. You can’t help but wonder if they’re shifting into that mindset, if they’re viewing this as a mission and not as what it should be. 

You shove those thoughts back into the recesses of your mind, steeling yourself again for the coming storm you’re about to brew.

“I don’t want things to go back to the way they were.” You say, your hands tugging at your shirt nervously. “They didn’t work that way. Well, they might have worked for you, but they didn’t for me and that’s why we’re here today. To have a conversation we should have had at the start.” 

They stay sitting there, all of them scarily still as you speak. You’re not even sure they’re still breathing. You may as well be talking to a bunch of statues. You stare at John until he blinks just to be sure. 

“I don’t want things to go back to the way they were because it wasn’t fair for me. You were all kind and welcoming and you treated me well, but you weren’t supportive of me and what I needed.” You swallow the nervous lump in your throat. “I know you were trying, but it wasn’t right and I was too afraid to say anything. Omegas are supposed to be the glue that holds packs together.” You quote the book, the one you tried to keep secret from them until Simon found it. “We’re the ones doing the heavy lifting, the ones clinging to the threads of bonds for dear life. Even if I’m not involved in your bonds with each other, I’m still holding those strings. I fall, you all fall.” You clear your throat. “I think we’ve seen enough proof of that over the past couple months.” 

None of them move as you speak. You hope they already knew what you were addressing, that they already understood. You hope this isn’t news to them, that you’re not walking them through some mind-boggling discovery. 

“I’m the one holding this pack together, so I should be treated fairly.” You take a breath to steady yourself. “I know you tried before, but you weren’t...doing it right. You weren’t allowing me into the places I should have been, into the roles I’m supposed to play.” You gulp, your eyes flicking over the four of them. “I’m in charge.” 

Finally one of them moves, John shifting slightly in his seat. It’s a direct challenge to his status, to his role in the pack, and it’s coming from an omega. In hindsight, you could have worded it better, but you were too worried about losing the nerve that’s fueled you up to this moment. 

“I’m the one in charge of how these bonds develop, how they work, how they flow together, so I need to be in charge of things that might affect those bonds.” Your eyes are glued to John’s, watching his face. “I need a voice in this pack. I may not be able to point us in a direction, but I need to know what that direction is so I can understand how that direction might affect us as a pack, and if it's worth it.” 

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the emotions starting to rise in you. Nerves still twist in your stomach as you continue, their lack of reactions only fueling the nerves. What are they thinking? How are they going to react? None of them have interrupted you so far, berating you for making such demands or shutting you down before you can get much further. 

They really are sitting and listening to you. 

“I know the situation made that impossible. I know it wasn’t any of your faults for the way things had to be because of the military and your jobs and all of the secrecy, but it can’t be like that anymore. I know you kept me separated and in the dark for my own safety, but...” You hold your arms out. “Look at where it got us anyway. No matter what happens next, I can’t be in the dark anymore. It’s...it’s killing me. It almost did kill me.” 

They all shift at your words. Voicing that reality has struck a chord deep within them. They’ve all thought it, but none of them have acknowledged it outright. None of them quite understand the gravity of what happened at the level you do...except perhaps Simon. He was knee deep in it with you. He’s the reason it didn’t kill you. 

“No matter what happens next, no matter what unfolds, I can’t be an outsider anymore.” Your voice has softened, your tone lowering as the nerves begin to settle. You’re losing steam, your overworked adrenal glands wearing out faster than you might have planned. “I just...I don’t want this pack to fall apart, and...I can’t do it alone. I’m not supposed to be alone. None of us are.” You shift on your feet. “So kiss and make up already because you’re driving me crazy.” 

They all let out quiet chuckles at your words, the nerves settling even more at their reactions. No screaming, no berating, no opposition. Just sitting and listening like you said. 

John leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think we can all agree with what you said. It wasn’t fair, the way we treated you. Sure the situation was complicated, but things could have been done differently. We could have let you in more than we did.” 

“We cut ye off too much.” Johnny says. 

“You’re right.” John continues, taking you by surprise. “Alphas and omegas are supposed to work together. We all have our roles we play, and alpha and omega should be equal.” He glances around at the rest of the pack. “We shouldn’t go back to the way things were. They won’t ever be like that again, and that’s a good thing. We’ve all learned from our mistakes, mistakes that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. We’ll never truly be able to make up for them, but we can work to fix what can be repaired.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, realizing he’s waiting for your approval. It makes you feel good, proud. Your omega preens happily, some of the weight being removed from your shoulders. They’re willing to work with you, willing to bend the knee and allow you to lead them in this. 

You nod. “Good. I’m glad we could come to this agreement.” 

You feel like passing out as the tension and adrenaline starts to wear off. You plop down on the couch next to Simon, letting out a long breath.

“You okay?” Kyle asks. 

You huff out a laugh. “That was scary.” 

Kyle’s hand droops from your mouth, sliding down to rest under your chin. Butterflies still flutter in your stomach as his warm breath fans across your skin. It feels so close and intimate now after weeks of separation and distance between everyone. You know they’ve taken your words to heart, rebuilding those bonds between them. You can feel it, the strings starting to strengthen, no longer fraying and clinging on by a hair. You’re not holding the weight of the world anymore, clinging to those rapidly fraying bonds in desperation. 

The load has been eased off of your shoulders, your alpha starting to carry some of that weight for you. 

Your alpha. 

It feels almost foreign calling him that again. He hasn’t felt like your alpha in so long the bond almost feels like it’s rebuilding itself from the ground up. A new bond, a changed one from the weak one that held the two of you together before. Your fingers lift to brush over your mark. It throbs, but not in pain this time. Your fingers brush Kyle’s hand where it’s tucked under your chin as you lower them from your mark. You wrap your fingers around his hand, pulling his arm so it’s wrapped around you instead. 

“Kyle?” You whisper, but you get nothing more than a snore in return. 

***

“You seem happier.” Dr. Keller says, sitting in the chair next to you. 

“I feel happier.” You say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were right, about having that conversation. It’s helped a lot.” 

“I knew it would. They were trying, they just needed a bit of direction.” She takes a sip of her tea. 

“Military men.” You roll your eyes. “Can’t do anything without being told what to do first.” 

“I think that’s just all men.” Dr. Keller says. 

You laugh, a genuine laugh. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t attracted to them.” 

“I don’t blame you.” She huffs out a laugh. “That is one small mercy I was granted in this life.” 

You smile softly. “I’m happy for you.” You glance at her. “You deserve it, after everything you’ve done for me, for us.” 

“Just doing my job.” She shrugs. 

“I think you’ve gone above and beyond your job lately.” You say. “Thank you, for getting me through this.” 

“Of course. I wasn’t going to leave you floundering.” 

“Some might have.” You say, and it’s the truth. A different omega specialist might have run as soon as things went south. Dr. Keller went halfway across the globe and back to help you in a vulnerable time. She’s put in more work in the last few weeks to try and keep you alive, to try and keep your pack in one piece than she should have ever had to. 

“Then they shouldn’t be omega specialists.” She says. “Lines can get blurry in this profession, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat if it means even one omega can have a chance at a good life.” 

“Consider that a success, then.” You say with a small smile. 

“Good. I’m glad you feel that way.” She squeezes your hand. “You know I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.” 

“I know. Maybe someday soon you’ll even be family.” You give her a knowing grin. 

“Well, I wouldn’t put too much stock in that right away.” She says, shifting in her seat. 

“You really like her.” 

“It’s hard not to.” She says. “The Garrick family might be the closest we have to angels on earth.” 

“They are just so...perfect.” You agree. 

“Some people just have it all, don’t they?” 

“Must be nice.” You muse. “I think we’re both pretty lucky though, snagging ourselves one of those angels.” 

Dr. Keller smiles at you. “I can hardly disagree.” 

It feels good to see them finally getting over themselves. Sitting closer, lingering touches, even holding hands. You did that. You forced them together to work out those barriers they put between themselves. The pack is healing because of you. 

It makes your omega preen in happiness. She’s finally settled, finally tucked back in her cage with the door shut tight. She’s content with the strong bonds beginning to reform. There’s no need for her now that the threat of danger has passed, now that your pack is beginning to come together again. That safety and security of the bonds has shoved her back into her place where she rests contently. 

Yet, despite that you still feel a bit on edge, still waiting for that shoe to drop. Sure things are getting better, but what about you? Where do you stand with all of them? It still feels like they're tiptoeing around you, like they don’t know where to start, where to jump back in. Where does that boundary lie now that things are beginning to improve? 

You’re not even quite so sure yourself. You can’t just jump back into where things were when they fell apart.  It doesn’t feel right. You’re not ready for that yet, but you can’t help the desires starting to burn in you again as those bonds repair themselves. You got far the first time, but yet no one is willing to take it that far right away. 

Not even you. 

You have to lay that barrier, mark down in the sand where that line is between where you were and where you are. How far would they push it if you left it up to them? They might never push it further with how they’re tiptoeing around you. You might get stuck in this realm of the unknown if you leave it up to them. But, how will they react if you do push it? Will they push back? Are they ready for things to move forward? Are they ready for the relationships to develop like that once more? 

A rock and a hard place. 

Maybe you should push it. Maybe you should be the one to test the boundaries this time. They’ve had their chance, and they’re not going to push it any further. You’re tired of this dance, so maybe you should take the plunge for them. 

Omegas always have to do the hard work. 

“Are you drawing me again?” 

The soft scratch of pencil on paper that has filled the quiet of the house pauses. 

“I cannae help it.” Johnny murmurs, shifting in his seat. “Yer the perfect model, kitten.” 

“Why, cause I can sit and dissociate for hours at a time?” You tease. 

“Cause yer so beautiful.” He counters. 

Your face warms at his words, not expecting such a comeback. You quickly tuck yourself further under the blanket, hiding part of your face bashfully. “Am not.” 

“Are too.” He argues playfully. “The most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on.” 

Woman, not omega. You half expected him to designate you to your status, but instead he’s surprised you once more. Your face warms at his words, yet you can’t help that tickle in the back of your mind. This is coming from somewhere.

You side-eye him, giving him a suspicious look. “What do you want?”

“What?” He asks in mock surprise. 

“You’re buttering me up for something.” You say, turning to face him. 

“I dinnae what ye mean.” He shrugs. “Can’t I just compliment my beautiful omega?” 

You give him a look. 

“I do mean it.” He says, setting his notebook on the table before joining you on the couch. He tugs you into his chest, making you nearly fall against him at the sudden movement. “Yer stunning, kitten.” 

“Alright, alright, fine.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “I get it.” 

You stare up at him, tracing his jawline with your eyes. “Now what is it you want?” 

“Nothing.” He says, holding his hands up. “Swear it.” 

You hum, lifting your head up so you can stare at him. He stares back with those bright blue eyes, soft with emotion as he studies your face. You feel like you’re staring at him for the first time again, studying his features. Your finger traces the scar on his chin, the short hairs of his stubble tickling your fingers. He’s shaved recently, trimming down the sides of his hair too. They’ve all cleaned up a bit, trimming scraggly beards and long hair. At least longer than you’ve ever seen. 

You take it as a sign of the improvement in your pack. You’re no longer drowning in the depths of fraying bonds. There’s life in the pack once more. You’re back in the pack once more. 

You continue to stare at Johnny, getting lost in those sea blue eyes. Your heart starts to beat faster, pounding away in your chest. You’re worried he might be able to hear it from how hard it’s beating. There’s a slight tremble to your fingers as you slide them from his chin up to his lips. 

You really want to kiss him. 

He presses a soft kiss to your fingertips, the soft touch lingering as your hand drops away. The air in the cottage is electric, the heat of the fire suddenly unnecessary as warmth blooms under your skin. 

Take the plunge. 

You can’t stop yourself as you start to move, leaning in closer to him. 

He doesn’t move, staying freakishly still as you lean closer and closer. You press your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering closed as you linger there for a moment. His lips have parted, his warm breath fanning against your own lips. They suddenly feel chapped, your tongue darting out to wet them. A soft sound leaves his lips at the action, a long, warm breath fanning across your face. 

You close the gap between the two of you, pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to his lips. It’s short and sweet, nothing more than a test of the waters. He doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t push you off of him. Instead his arm tightens around you, his other hand lifting to cup your cheek. You take it as a good sign, kissing him again. 

He holds you tightly against him as you kiss him harder this time. Your hand slides from his jaw to the side of his neck. You can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingers, beating almost as fast as yours. It’s a relief more than anything, to feel him as excited about this as you are. You doubt he’d be kissing you back if he wasn’t, but it’s still a nice sign that you haven’t pushed the boundaries too far. 

He hums contently against your lips, a smile tugging at his. 

“You’re going to be insufferable after this aren’t you?” You murmur as you pull back. 

“I’ll try not to be.” He murmurs back. 

“Something tells me I shouldn’t believe you.” You lean in for another soft kiss. 

He hums against your lips, unable to stop his grin. “First again.” 

“There we go.” You say, pulling back. 

“I promise.” He says, letting you go. 

“I still don’t believe you.” You say. 

“Probably shouldn’t.” He says, poking your nose softly. “Now go back tae the way ye were so I can finish my drawing.” 

You roll your eyes but acquiesce, adjusting your position on the couch once more. 

You know it’s coming before it happens. 

You could feel it, the shift in the air, the change in the atmosphere of the house. Something happened, something is going to happen. There’s something lingering on the precipice and it’s affecting the entire pack. They’re all on edge, all tiptoeing again. You hate it, but you can’t figure out what it is to fix it. It makes you almost feel sick with worry, your exhausted adrenal glands kicking back into high gear. You’re getting stressed and you don’t like it. 

You don’t know what it is, until you catch part of a conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. 

It’s midday and you’ve just woken from your daily nap. The sun is out for the first time in a week, though you know it’s still chilly outside. It’s shining in through the window, through the curtains you forgot to close. It’s a peaceful afternoon, or at least you thought it was. 

That’s when you hear the footsteps coming down the steps. Heavy, rushed thudding of boots. Two pairs of feet, you think, judging by the sound. Hushed voices murmur through the wall in a muffled conversation that has obviously begun upstairs. It sounds intense, something being debated or argued. 

Curiosity and that omega need to know what’s causing such a disagreement has you rising from your prone position. You kick the covers back quietly, slipping off of the mattress. You move slowly, tiptoeing across the floor until you reach the door. You’re quiet as you lean against it, pressing your ear to the wood. 

You don’t like what you’re hearing. 

It’s John and Simon, speaking hurriedly and angrily about something, something you don’t like the sounds of. You catch words here and there as they move across the living room towards the front door. A nervous twisting begins in your stomach as you stand there and listen to them, picking up a few words here and there from their conversation. Johnny and Kyle have left the house, and it’s likely they think you’re still sleeping, otherwise they wouldn’t be discussing this so out in the open. 

The conversation has stopped abruptly as the front door opens, boots storming out of the house before the door closes rather harshly. You stand there, holding your breath for a moment before footsteps turn, approaching your door. Your eyes widen as you push away from the wood, nearly leaping across the floor to dive onto the bed. You curl up in a ball, tugging the blanket over yourself seconds before the door opens. 

You have half a mind to feign sleep as footsteps approach the bed, but you know it will be useless. The stench of your nervous energy has permeated the room, the proof of your stressed state hanging heavily in the air. Emotions twist in your chest like the roiling of a stormy sea. He’d be able to tell in that way he always does, even if you could try to mask your scent. 

The side of the bed sinks as John sits down with a sigh. You lay there still for a moment before slowly rolling over onto your back. His shoulders are tense and tight, his hands closed into fists as he leans his elbows on his knees. It’s not hard to tell that the conversation ended on a negative note. Even if you hadn’t gotten up to listen in, you would have known by the slamming of the door and the tension in his body. 

He knows you listened in, but he doesn’t say anything as he sits there. Slowly you move, pushing yourself up to sit. You pull your knees into your chest, staring at the side of his face. He’s waiting for you to make the first move, to admit that you know what that argument between alphas was about. 

“You’re leaving.” Tears prick behind your eyes as you voice the summation of what you overheard from the conversation. Putting it into words has those roiling emotions stirring, rising in your chest until they threaten to choke you. 

He lets out another sigh, his gaze on the floor. “I have to do this.” 

So he really is leaving. The finality in his tone tells you there’s no convincing him otherwise. Those words tell you no matter how hard you fight, there’s no changing his mind. He’s going to do this no matter what. He’s going to leave no matter what you say, no matter how hard you try to stop him. He has to do this. He has to leave. Or, at least he thinks he does. 

Things were going so well. Things were finally starting to heal and now he’s threatening to undo them all once again. 

You can never have anything nice, can you?

“But you don’t.” You say, your voice wavering. Your heart is pounding in your chest, the threat of confrontation making your insides turn into a mushy soup. You have to try. You know it’s useless, but you have to try. At least you can tell yourself you did your best, you tried your hardest to convince him when he is gone. 

“I don’t have a choice.” He says, pushing himself upright. His eyes are hard and focused as he turns to stare at you. “I have to be sure.” 

“What about the rest of us? What about me?” You argue. “You can just up and leave when things are finally starting to heal and improve?”

“For this, yes.” He reaches for you but you flinch back. You’ll regret it later, but you don’t care about that right now. Right now, you’re too angry. 

“The job always comes first, right?” You say, staring at his hand where it lands on the bed. You sound broken and defeated. 

“This is more complex than that.” He shakes his head. 

“Is it?” You snap, holding his gaze. “Is it different? You said things would change.” 

“They will.” He tries to reassure you. “But this is something I have to do.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing down the words you want to scream at him. You want to hit him, shove him out of the room and lock the door. He promised you things would change, but then again, he’s broken promises before. He’s really willing to just up and leave in such a delicate time when bonds are being rebuilt within the pack. How little he thinks of you, of the rest of your pack. They won’t stop him either. He probably had to stop them from wanting to go too, to be there to assist him in this errand. 

Nothing has changed. It was all just empty promises from your pack. They can’t help what they are. They’ll never be able to stop doing what it is they were trained to do. Everything was a lie to placate you into healing, to stop you from severing the ties that hold you all together. 

You thought things were going to get better. 

How stupid you were. 

There’s a sour taste in your mouth as you sit there, staring hard at him. Of course he’d do this. Of course he’d break his promises. Of course he’d leave in a moment’s notice. You’re shocked he’s even told you. You’re shocked you got any warning at all. You wouldn’t put it past him to just up and leave, just like that without any warning. 

“You’re really leaving.” You whimper, your voice shaking with the emotions and the adrenaline pumping through your body. 

You don’t move your hand this time as he reaches for it, his fingers brushing over yours before curling around them. It should feel nice and grounding and reassuring, but instead it feels hollow and empty. You want to hate him, you want to get angry and scream at him, but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do that. Not after everything. You’re just so tired, so exhausted from fighting for this pack, for your place in it, for things to work. 

All that fighting and it was for nothing. 

“I have to.” He says, squeezing your hand. He stares down at your hands for a moment before looking back up at him. “Do you want me to come back?” 

You sit there staring at him, anger and resentment swirling inside of you like a violent storm. 

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[luimagines]

Link, shut up and kiss me.

Another Commission!

They asked for Time, Twilight, and Warrior with the phrase above.

Masterlist

Enjoy!

Content under the cut!

Time

It was nearing sunset when you were called to follow your husband on some stroll through the forest. The dwindling sunlight draped itself over the trees and sparkled downward to illuminate the bits of dust and leaf particles that would otherwise have been naked to the human eye. The sunset had turned the earth pink. It would have been lovely to see, had Link not steadily led you deeper and deeper into the forest. The shadows progressively got darker and darker. The animals got quieter and somehow more foreign to your senses.

A consistent stream of anxiety began to creep into your body. You didn’t want to look like a scaredy cat but you couldn’t ignore how you were scanning your surroundings more and more frequently.

Link for his part, didn’t look bothered at all. 

“Is there any reason we’re doing this?” You looked around the crooked trees and subconsciously took a step closer to Link. Nowadays he was going by the name Time, if only to avoid confusion with the other eight Links that have been his traveling companions in the past months.

You’re not entirely sure how they found each other. Link hadn’t told you the exact details but then again, you trusted his judgment. You knew that he went through a lot of trouble to keep you, and by extension, all of Hyrule safe. There was a lot of darkness that he unfortunately had been privy to. He had used himself as the filter of a lot of wicked visions and realities that he had guarded you from. 

It had taken its toll on him.

There were countless nights when you could hear him grunting and whimpering in his sleep. The demons refused to leave him alone even then. He’d woken up screaming more than once and each time you had taken it upon yourself to calm him down and soothe him back to sleep. It hurt, knowing that despite all his efforts and strength, Link wasn’t strong enough to defeat the monsters in his own head. To add salt to the wound, you knew there was nothing you could do about it except hum a lullaby and hold him just a little bit tighter.

Still, Link did his best to keep the evil away from you.

There was a moment of silence where Link held his hand up and you paused behind him. He waited, searching for some hidden clue before reaching for your hand. “We’re doing this just to take a moment to breathe,” He gives you a cheeky wink. “Is it so wrong to merely want a moment with my darling, away from prying eyes?”

“That’s not what I was asking and you know it.” You give him a playfully flat look. “We didn’t have to travel this far to get away from the boys. I’m sure if we asked nicely they would have found a way to entertain themselves without us.”

Link rolled his eyes, squeezing your hand in his. “I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Alright, fine, but you still haven’t told me whatever it is you have planned.”

“It’s called a surprise, my love.”

You tried your hardest not to pout. It wasn’t often Link got this playful. While he wasn’t usually grumpy on a good day, (despite what the other Links may have tried to convince you of), he didn’t usually like to keep you in the dark if it involved get-away plans either. On one hand, part of you was glad that he seemed less stressed enough to play with you this way. It was cute and made him look ten years younger. On the other hand, you were annoyed and feeling nosey as hell. You wanted to know! Why is he keeping these sorts of secrets from you? Now? Of all times!

Link, for all his perception, obviously notices that you’re being a tad petulant. He laughs as quietly as he can under his breath before tugging you along again. “This way. We’re almost there.”

You bit your tongue, otherwise you would have stuck it out at him. You can feel Link’s smirk on his face, and frankly, you don’t care for it.

Within seconds, Link moves a branch out of the way, revealing a babbling brook with a picnic blanket on the ground. There’s a picnic basket filled to the brim with goodies and treats alike and a very expensive bottle of wine. You didn’t even drink! Where did he find the time to do all of this?

Your heart swelled, wiping off the minor irritation from his earlier teasing. “...Oh Link… How did you-? Where did-? Why-?”

“I’ve missed you.” He says softly, gently tugging you closer. “Getting your letters isn’t the same as actually talking to your face. I’ve missed your laugh and your smile. I’ve missed holding you in my arms. I’ve missed waking up next to your face every morning. I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you while I’m out traveling to protect our home-”

“Link, shut up and kiss me.” You blurt, cutting him off at once.

Smirking, Link pulls you flush against his chest, cupping your jaw with his free hand. Leaning down, he tilts your head just enough to close the distance easier. A breath passes and the air leaves your lungs. Link presses his lips to yours with retrained hunger. There’s a depth that warns you of the impending desperation behind his touch. His touch is firm but not painful. You reciprocate in kind, clutching onto the front of his shirt as your knees begin to buckle from underneath you.

Link pulls away first, letting go of your hand to wrap it around the small of your back. There’s a delight clean in his eyes. His eyes have gone stormy and borderline sultry. “Not to cut it short, my love, but if I don’t restrain myself, I fear we won’t be leaving this little slice of paradise any time soon.”

Wordlessly, you nod. How lovely. 

Twilight 

“Link?” You quietly call out to The Rancher.

The group decided to take a break for a day or two purely to regroup and regenerate their forces before continuing on the next leg of their journey. It would have been fine and dandy to get more supplies and rest your feet if Twilight hadn’t been acting… strange.

He’d been distant and distracted.

It was worrying, to say the least. Granted, it wasn’t as if he was a man of many words. Twilight, you’ve noticed, was a bigger man of action than you’ve ever had the privilege to meet in your life. On top of that, silence was commonplace among anyone in the group named Link, but lately, it was heavier when you stood next to him. Pensive. Lost in thought.

You didn’t want to pry. It wasn’t like it was any of your business.

But you were nosey as hell.

I mean- you care about him! Of course! Naturally, that was the bigger- the biggest reason you wanted to ask him what was up. If something was bothering him you wanted to know and you wanted to help him.

Sure.

After everyone had checked into the inn and had settled for the night, you found that you couldn’t get your brain to shut up. Twilight had been the last to get one to go to bed and you weren’t entirely sure that he followed through with his promise to head to bed anytime soon.

You walked into the lobby of the inn and found The Rancher resting on one of the provided chairs. Lo and behold, he was still very much awake and staring off into the fireplace that the inn had kept lit just for him.

You don’t think he heard you call for him.

“Twilight.” You try again, moving to stand by his side. Bending your knees, you squat next to his chair so you’d be able to look up and meet his gaze better. “Hey. I think it’s past your bedtime, Rancher. What are you doing still up?”

He took a breath and looked over to you. His eyes widened and he leaned back as if noticing your presence for the first time. He said your name under his breath and it sent goosebumps down your spine. He didn’t have to say it like a prayer.

You gulped and nodded. Yes. That was your name. You asked him a question.

He responded in kind and shook his head free of the thoughts in his head. Twilight opened his mouth to question your intentions but you beat him to the punch.

“What’s going on, Link? Don’t lie to me.”

His eyes widened once more and he cleared his throat. “Do you… Do you ever think that maybe-... Nevermind, it’s stupid.”

“No, tell me.” You stressed, putting your hand on his knee. “You’ve been all out of sorts lately. It’s had me worried.”

“Really?” Twilight turned back to you. “Was I that obvious?”

“You lack subtlety Link.”

“...Oh…”

You wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. If anything, it looks at war with himself. He opens his mouth multiple times, looking back and forth between you and his lap. He’s silent. Multiple minutes passed as he tried to get his thoughts in order. You were willing to wait for him to make headway with his thoughts. There was no use pushing him before he was ready.

“I think I’m in love with you,” He blurts.

You fall backward onto your butt.

Twilight coughed, blushing a bright red that traveled all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“L-Look, I’m not going to pressure you or anything.” He stumbled into an unwarranted explanation. “I’ve been trying to think this through and I’m aware this isn’t exactly the most opportune moment to say this or admit this and we still have a job to do so this is arguably the last place for a relationship. But I don’t even know if you want a relationship or if you even think about me that way-”

Your jaw slowly dropped as he continued to verbally barf into the space. You couldn’t get a word out otherwise. He just kept talking.

“And then there’s Midna and everything that she was to me.” Twilight desperately runs his hands through his hair. “I almost feel like I’m betraying her and everything I stood for at the time but this is different. It feels different. You’re different. It’s stronger. All-encompassing. From the top of my head to my toes, this is a drowning sensation of ever-loving need and I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t know if I want to stop it.”

“Link-”

“And you’re so beautiful.” He shakes his head, ruffling his hair roughly. “And I’m a shotgun nobody from the deep ends of the country-”

“Link-”

“How do I even begin to start with how amazing you are? With how talented and great and absolutely breathtaking-”

“Link, shut up and kiss me.” You grab the front of his shirt and tug him closer to you. 

Twilight completely freezes on the spot, staring in your eyes like a fish out of water.

A beat passes.

Then a second.

And then he surges forward, scooping you up from the ground and placing you in his lap with very little issue. One hand stayed by your hip while the other caressed your jaw. His touch was soft, tentative, like handling fine china.

You, however, had no such reservations.

You weren’t about to let this hunk of a man slip through your grapes and allow his self-doubt to dictate what happened next. You wanted to eliminate any sort of inquiry about where you stood from his mind. You wanted him. You have been wanting him.

You undoubtedly returned his kiss with more passion than he had anticipated. After a second of scrambling to match your energy, Twilight finally got with the program.

You had absolutely zero regrets.

Warrior

“Why would you do this?” You hissed, vibrating from the sheer force of will you exerted over your body to keep from throttling the man in front of you. “Didn’t you say that we had a plan? Weren’t you yelling at me earlier about sticking to the plan we came up with?”

“Things got… complicated…” Warrior sighed, rubbing his temple. He had taken a gnarly hit to the head and it wasn’t going to do anyone any good if he had a concussion. The sight made your heart ache, but it was also fully brought upon him by himself. “...The plan needed… last-minute reconfigurations.”

You growled and ruffled your hair violently. This was the farthest thing from ideal. You were both in the middle of nowhere and there was no sign of any villages or fairy fountains.

You had both set off to scout ahead before anyone arrived to survey the land. Your efforts were more or less fruitless. It was a mountain range with countless dips and swells that held more hidden threats than you were able to avoid.

The plan had been to stay out of as much as possible and to not engage in any fights or battles if you could help it. That being said, that didn’t account for any hidden threats or monsters that were laid in an ambush. You would have thought that would have been what had caused Warrior’s injury. Nope! It was far more simple, and frankly, far more stupid than that.

Frustrations aside, the land was beautiful. It struck you as odd that this mountain range would cease to exist by the time your Hyrule came into fruition. There were hundreds of maple trees scattered about that gave the earth an absolute darling shade of red as the sun traveled across the sky. A gentle, if bitterly cold breeze shook the leaves from their branches, sending them to flutter through the air in their dance to the ground.

You throw your pack onto the dirt and begin to rifle through it. You needed to find something, anything! You didn’t want to deal with Warrior while he dealt with his concussion. You weren’t entirely sure if it was bleeding, but given that his golden blond hair hadn’t been stained yet, you were willing to bet a pretty rupee that it wasn’t as bad as you had initially feared.

You cursed your luck. You had no potions, no painkillers, and no bandages at all. You could have hit yourself. Weren’t you warned by the Vet to pack extra of everything on the off chance something gets lost or stolen? Granted, neither of those things was stolen or lost, they were simply used up and not restocked. You had only yourself to blame.

“I blame you,” You tell Warrior, giving him a sideways glare. “Tell me why you thought it was a good idea to do a double backflip off a rock, then proceed to slip on the landing and hit your head on the very same rock.”

Warrior groaned loudly and rubbed the goose egg that was thankfully hidden under his hair. “Well, for starters, it’s not like I intended to slip. I had the full intention of landing that flip.”

“Ok… So, tell me again why you didn’t.”

“...”

“...”

“I may be in need of new boots.”

“Oh shut up! That wasn’t the problem I was trying to highlight! You shouldn’t have done it to begin with! We knew it had been raining earlier.” You shout, watching unapologetically as Warrior winces at the sound. You huff and helplessly turn in circles, trying to spot something in the distance where you could go. But you don’t see anything despite turning around multiple times. It feels demoralizing. 

Sighing, you walk over to Warrior and wrap your arms around his middle for safekeeping. You’re not entirely sure how steady he is on his feet and you don’t need to risk him slipping and hitting his head again. 

He tries to push you off but you’re not having it. After getting swiped at no less than three times, you poke his stomach eliciting a soft ‘oof’ from him as a result. “Stop squirming. I can’t trust you to not get hurt again and we’re not in the position to take any more chances.”

Warrior puffs up, offended and indignant. “I’m the captain and leader of the entire royal battalion-” 

“And you nearly tried to crack your skull open with no one around to impress,” You hiss and jostle him to prove a point. “Tell me you didn’t think that I would find that particularly impressive.”

Warrior stays silent.

“Oh for Nayru’s sake,” You grumble, shaking your head exasperatedly. You adored Link, truly you did, but your tolerance of shenanigans could only contain so much before you’ve reached your limit. Since then, Warrior decided, (or rather he gathered that he wasn’t going to win the upcoming argument any time soon), that it was better to not engage in a verbal sparring match about his stupid decisions and that his safety would depend on keeping his mouth shut for the time being.

Walking beside him, side to side, was actually quite nice, you admitted to yourself. He was warm, lean but not without the feeling of power he carried beneath his skin. You never had a reason to be this close to The Captain so this was a pleasant surprise. Warrior leaned against you, favoring a leg no doubt as you walked. You wanted to stop and yell at him again for hiding it, but there wasn’t much that would change if you decided to follow through with that thought.

There was still no hope of rescue or hiding civilization to get him treated. Feeling antagonized, you managed to maneuver the both of you into a cave and set him down. Without another word, you got to work on making a fire to warm you both against the chill of the stone. Warrior hissed softly as he rested his body and he was beginning to look a little worse for wear.

‘The pain must be finally settling into his body,’ you think to yourself as you watch him from the corner of your eyes. With a sigh, you try once again, in vain, to look through your pack for anything that could help him.

Nothing.

“...Oh wow…” Warrior says breathlessly. “You look really pretty like that.”

You freeze.

“...”

“...”

“...Excuse me?” You say gently and slowly crawl to his side. As subtly as you could, you look over the side of his head.

“Next to the firelight,” Warrior says, adjusting his position against the stone wall of the cave. “It made your hair glow and your eyes sparkled. There were flecks of gold that shimmered and shined. It was pretty. You looked pretty.”

“H-hush,” You ran a hand through his hair to check the damage. The swelling had begun to settle at long last. “It’s the concussion talking. You don’t mean it.”

“My filter is busted but my thoughts are valid,” He growls under his breath. “I’m not sure how I’m going to think of this when I gather my wits about me this time tomorrow. But I’m certain enough now to not regret my words.”

You flush against your will. You couldn’t stop it. You turn your face away from the fire to hide in the shadows. You pray it would be enough for him to not notice the way his words had affected you.

“The pink looks cute on you too.”

Too late.

“OH-! Shut up.” You huff and spin back to him. “You’re cheating. That’s not fair.”

“Cheating for being honest?” Warrior gets a boyish smirk on his face. It’s lethal damage. “For giving you a compliment?”

“Shut.”

“Can you at least look at me?”

“Nope.”

“Please?” He says sweetly.

“Shut up.” You say weakly, turning to face him anyway. “Shut up and kiss me before I do something stupid.”

Warrior laughs and tugs you closer by your sleeve. “You have to come closer. I can’t move much like this.”

With a small whine, you scoot even closer, letting him move you the way he wants before he gently presses his lips to yours. Something tells you that perhaps you shouldn’t take advantage of the situation like this. He still took a hit to the head. That hasn’t changed in the past hour.

Still, Warrior tugs you impossibly closer, snaking his hand from your arm and into your hair. The slight tug catapults the thoughts from your mind as you sink deeper into his arms. Your hands come up to cradle his face and pull him closer as well. Right as you feel the need to pick up speed, he pulls back, a pure, satisfied smile full of male pride dancing on his lips.

The look would have had you buckling at the knees if Warrior hadn’t decided it was a good moment to break the silence. 

“Enjoy yourself?”

You nearly smack him in the head again.

[yuzuvrse]

yeah so i may be insane // cw nsft

thinking about grant curly with a saviour complex, who thinks he can save your fucked up ass. he's so kind and gentle — he's the perfect boyfriend, so tender in everything he does. but something inside of you is a little bit broken and curly just isn't scratching that itch for you, yknow?

surely you can't actually be loved. there's no way he sees all your disgusting flaws and loves you despite them. so you pull away, avoiding him more and more, and you end up going for his best friend jimmy zare.

jimmy, who's worse than you. jimmy, who you can pretend to save. jimmy, who's irreparably shattered and would very much like to break you too. you always liked a fixer upper, just not when you're the one being fixed.

and that's how curly catches you with jimmy's dick down your throat. the worst part? he gets hard.

thinking about curly who's seen jimmy get too close with unwilling girls too many times. he's never said anything before but when it comes to you? that's a different story. he's fully convinced jimmy forced you into this, you could tell him to his face that you slept with jimmy on purpose and he'll still say that jimmy is manipulating/coercing you into saying all this things.

you don't have to worry, baby, curly knows what that evil jimmy's been doing to you. it's okay, curly's here now. he'll replace all memory of jimmy with his touch instead.

thinking about how at this point curly is the one who's gaslighting/manipulating you into sleeping with him bc you could not give less of a fuck abt him. like yeah he's nice. he was a great boyfriend. he may have actually come devastatingly close to melting your heart and making you love him.

but you've nipped that in the bud and now your feelings for him have switched off, just like that. a bit like a leaky faucet, still dripping out tiny droplets of affection occasionally, like when he spreads your legs and asks, "where did jimmy touch you, baby? here? it's okay, daddy's got you now."

or maybe that's just lust. at this point you can't tell the difference.

[dammit-tazmuir]

It's also coming from a Pyrrha who knew Wake died with a baby that Pyrrha believed for two decades was hers.

Hers or G1deon's, I guess, but honestly? G1deon was "legendarily unamorous", and coupled with Wake's "later I kissed him before I knew what you were", I personally get the impression G1deon was aroace-spec of a recipro-variety, where the sheer intensity of Wake's attraction and confidence with which she acted like they were already intimate sparked something in him. (Even then, I have to wonder if he might have been more chaste than Pyrrha?) Point is though, from Pyrrha's perspective, there'd be a solid case to see any conceived kid as still hers regardless of who was fronting, even if the body sharing wasn't already enough to nullify any distinction.

Pyrrha spent nineteen years grieving a child she thought was hers only to find out the kid was alive (and now isn't, but kind of is, but it's complicated) but not hers, but she's still Wake's child and that still means something. And also, far more than Pyrrha realized, this kid is the thing Wake died for. The thing she and G1deon were ordered to kill Wake for. The Bomb with which she'd wanted to damn near literally rig the universe to explode, that she was so determined to procure she grew it with her own body for nine grueling months. Gideon is the single most Landmine People thing Wake ever did incarnate.

And then when Pyrrha does meet her (but she's not who she thought, but also not as dead as she thought, but also holy shit she's WHAT now? and JOHN'S?) they get all of a few minutes to actually talk as they're trying not to die (again for real this time, or maybe worse in the River), and THEN, for all Pyrrha knows, she might have lost her AGAIN, IMMEDIATELY. And she spends six months "playing mother and father" to a kid who does not look like Wake and is not the young woman she so briefly met but may or may not have part of the same soul? And it turns out she doesn't (unless), and she loves Nona as Nona even when she grows to understand she's Alecto, but Gideon is still around and once again sporting that fiery red hair.

AND FROM GIDEON'S PERSPECTIVE...

:/ Some dead chick who apparently could hijack her necro's body used that to bang her mom (who was not only apparently a huge dick but managed to betray Gideon's trust beyond anything she could have ever imagined despite having been dead for all but one day of Gideon's entire life) and for some reason thinks that gives her any kind of connection to Gideon. Like, okay??? Even her mom didn't see her as a daughter, why the fuck is this bitch trying to all of a sudden? Plus she just got one new parent and frankly he kinda sucks but he's God and he actually makes her feel special and important. At least he didn't know she existed! Pyrrha can't say the same! Hell, Pyrrha basically killed Gideon once already (or might literally have but ya know, Jesus). And she wants to, what, just be buddy-buddy now? Because she had the hots for Gideon's mom? Shut the fuck up.

As we the audience sit recognizing how insanely good and healing for each other they could be if they really got the chance and not knowing for sure if they ever will. I hate it here.

the miscommunication between Pyrrha and Gideon is killing me. when Pyrrha brings up Wake, she is saying "your mother was important to me, I wanted to be someone important to you too. I still do". but Wake is a sore spot for Gideon! the very first thing we learn about her is that she loves her mother, she goes down to talk to her bones one last time. Gideon survived the Ninth believing that at least her mother loved her

and then she is proven wrong! Wake had her just to kill her, didn't even name her, instead calling her Bomb! she is mourning the idea of a mother and every time Pyrrha brings up fucking Wake, an awkward way to show she cares, it's just another reminder that her mother never loved her. I need to hug her so bad

[scoutofmymind]

Saw that someone said Luigi’s Reddit had a post where he eluded to a pretty heavy drinking habit in college, which then makes me think about drunk ex!luigi. I’m sorry, but you write angst too well

Unlearn Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, slight pining, mentions of canon back pain, ex’s reminiscing, heartbreak all over again.

W.c: 4,336 (holy shit)

Notes; Two semesters of carefully crafted distance crumbles at 3AM in the computer lab when your final project implodes hours before the deadline, leaving you with no choice but to seek help from the one person you've been avoiding since the breakup.

Before we continue, I cannot ignore that wildfires continue to ravage Los Angeles, countless families have lost their homes and livelihoods. I urge you to consider supporting those affected through any of these donation links, additionally, Roadogs on Instagram is looking for fosters for mass evacuations of shelter dogs in California.

Foster or donate if you can. xo.

Now, let’s go.

"Mother fucker," you curse, attacking your keyboard with increasingly desperate keystrokes.

Each combination might be the one to salvage this disaster, but deep down you know it's hopeless — your software has corrupted itself into oblivion, taking six months of work with it.

"You can ask for an extension," Emma suggests, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion that matches your own. Your roommate had burst into the media center still wearing her pink silk pajamas, immediately launching into a nervous tirade about after-hours permissions and potential expulsion risks.

Her constant hovering and worrying grates on your last nerve, and you tell her to leave.

Predictably, she refuses.

"Listen, I'm not just gonna leave you here on your own." She leans across your workspace, her body pressing against your laptop screen until it tilts halfway closed. You freeze, fingers suspended above the keys, terrified of losing what little progress you've made in this digital archaeology expedition. "There's - like - a murderer on campus."

"One girl said she was followed home," you gently remind. Under normal circumstances, Emma's mother-hen routine would be endearing — charming, even. But right now, with your project in shambles and deadline looming, her protective hovering feels suffocating. "Not murdered, Em."

"May as well have been." Emma fixes you with that look — the one that screams why am I the only rational person here? While her nails tap nervously against your desk. "Probably hasn't left her room since. And you know what? Smart girl.”

You scrub your hands over your face, your eyes fixed on the projector's word vomit — an endless stream of error messages and unintelligible code painting the drywall from a tired projector like some twisted modern art piece.

Not exactly what you were going for.

Emma stands mesmerized, "How did you even do this?" She watches the cryptic display crawl across the wall, her eyes tracking each line as if she could decode it. "This reminds me of-" she catches herself, the name hanging unspoken between you. She's learned that lesson the hard way. "This is wild.”

You can't help but notice.

Notice how she almost speaks his name, how these meaningless strings of letters and numbers somehow bridge the gap to memories you've tried so hard to bury — promises whispered under star-sprinkled skies, fingers intertwined beneath the cosmic glow.

Moments that felt eternal then, ephemeral now.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, lying face-down like a surrender.

You blink several times, trying to clear the ghosts from your vision before speaking, your voice emerging barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves might shatter something in the air, "Should I text him?" You ask, offering the idea as if it was something too controversial to be spoken aloud.

Emma shifts her weight, both from exhaustion and the sudden weight of responsibility.

Your night's trajectory now rests in her hands — she who has witnessed every shade of you, from triumph to devastation. Her own memories of him surface: the way he'd raid her ice cream stash only to replace it with a premium pint the next day, how he'd tackle the dish mountain without prompting, those small gestures that made him feel like family.

"He was my favorite boyfriend of yours," she'd told you once, in a moment of wine-honest conversation. "He was a good boy."

A good boy who made a couple mistakes.

But those mistakes had compounded like interest on a debt you never agreed to pay, until the rift between you and Luigi widened into an ocean.

Everything good had been pulled out with the tide — your trust, your shared future — swept away to depths where no light could reach.

"I-" Emma's hand finds the back of her neck, her expression cycling through a slideshow of conflicted emotions. You can see her internal struggle; the desire to crawl into her bed warring with her loyalty to you. And she knows you well enough to realize you'd stay here until sunrise if necessary. "I mean — babe, I love you, but you can't fix this." The admission seems to pain her, as if acknowledging your limitations feels like betrayal. "We aren't techies."

You stare helplessly at your gutted gallery, stripped bare by your own accidental digital vandalism. Your artwork, your portfolio, your future — all reduced to incomprehensible strings of code projected onto an indifferent wall.

"Do you think he'd come?" The question escapes before you can stop it, your eyes magnetized to your phone as if your stare alone could resurrect that old text thread, buried beneath months of careful silence.

"Of course he would."

A soft, defeated whine escapes you as you turn back to glare at your corrupted work, as if you could intimidate it into fixing itself through sheer force of will.

Emma's voice softens, "Hey, he's mature enough to understand you've exhausted your options."

A violent shudder runs through you at the thought of Luigi being your last resort.

You'd managed to exile the visceral memories — the heated arguments that left you gasping for air, the promises that turned to vapor in the morning light.

"Which are?"

Emma looks down at her Pokemon-clad self, then back at you. "Me." She gestures vaguely in your direction, "and you."

The campus sleeps around you, everyone else lost to their dreams or late-night calls home. Just the two of you remain, trapped in this dimly-lit purgatory on a Wednesday night, while error messages mock your existence with their endless scroll.

"Slim pickin's," you mutter as your fingers betray you, finding Luigi's contact with muscle memory that refuses to die.

How many times had you pressed these same digits before?

But this is different.

Different because you haven't spoken since that night in your kitchen, when you stood with your back to him, voice steady despite the trembling in your hands, "So, we aren't going to try to figure this out?" You asked, and he’d responded with some pretentious comparison about your relationship being like corrupted code, fundamentally flawed, destined to fail its own quality test.

The irony isn't lost on you — the very metaphor he used to end things is now the thread that might pull you back into his orbit. Your only connection besides the elaborate dance of avoidance across campus, treating each other's paths like holy ground neither dares to tread.

Opening the thread, you're greeted by your last exchange — your final words to him blazing across the screen in angry blue bubbles: "I want my fucking shit back or I'll make your life a living hell." Such poetry. Your new message hovers in the text box, simpler, desperate in its brevity.

Hey need help with somethin. U up??

You thrust your phone at Emma like it's burning your fingers, watching her eyes widen as they catch on those months-old texts — digital artifacts of your rage that should have been scrubbed before tonight's desperate plea. "Jesus," she whispers, amusement dancing in her expression. "I'd still be licking my wounds if I were hi-"

The familiar buzz cuts through the air, a notification chime that once made your heart leap but now makes it sink.

"What'd he say?" You mumble, gaze fixed on the mocking projection that bathes the room in its sickly digital glow, code continuing its relentless march across the wall.

Emma settles into a chair, hunching over your laptop's makeshift altar. "Said he's at Ruddy's." She squints at a fresh message. "He said 'what do you want?'" She deepens her voice into a cartoonish baritone, making him sound like a caveman discovering text messaging for the first time.

You can't blame him for the cold response — you’d scorched that earth thoroughly.

But a selfish part of you wants to delete the whole exchange, pretend this moment of weakness never happened, go back to the careful choreography of avoiding each other's existence.

But you can't.

The corrupted gallery looming on the wall is a stark reminder that pride is a luxury you can't afford right now.

His icy reception is the natural consequence of your scorched-earth campaign, those venom-laced messages sent in the throes of heartbreak and confusion.

You'd played the role of the woman scorned perfectly, even though you'd written your own tragic script.

"Just send him a picture." You wave listlessly at the wall, where your work continues its digital decomposition, folding in on itself like a dying star. The error messages stretch into an endless serpent of nonsense, each iteration making less sense than the last.

The artificial shutter sound of Emma's photo breaks the silence, followed by the soft swoosh of sending. The wait feels eternal until-

Ding

Emma's attention snaps to your phone resting on her thigh, her eyes widening. "He's typing like he-"

Sorry;m,, I’m fucked uo

Up

I am

fucked up

Emma clicks her tongue and rises, crossing the room to lob your phone into your lap, screen up. "Guess some things don't change." You manage a weak half-grin, memories flooding back unbidden — Luigi stumbling into your dorm in the small hours, wrapped in whiskeys warmth, all soft edges and desperate hands.

"Well, make up your mind." Emma's yawn threatens to unhinge her jaw, arms wrapping around herself like armor. "Are we done here, or are you gonna have him come take a look?"

I’n be there son

I’ll be rherw soo

I’ll be there soon

You stand to wrap your arms around Emma’s shoulders who reluctantly curves her arms upward to squeeze your shoulders. “Go home.” She seems reluctant to listen, staring at your phone screen as if it would take her home itself. “I promise, I’ll be just fine.”

The space between you pulses with that unique warmth reserved for someone who shares your roof, your darkest secrets, and the monthly struggle with Con Edison. "Just don't make any brash decisions."

"Oh, Em." You press a kiss to her forehead. "You think I'm so much cooler than I am."

Emma's laugh follows her as she spins toward the door, collecting pieces of herself like breadcrumbs — the scarf draped over a chair, the coat hung forgotten, the backpack abandoned when the day still held promise.

Each item a marker of how long this digital nightmare has stretched, from sunshine to moonlight.

And as if summoned by cosmic irony, the lab door swings open to reveal Luigi. "Oh - hey, E." The surprise flickers across his face before he schools his features back to neutral.

"Hey, Lu." Her greeting carries the easy familiarity of their old routine, like NPCs in a cozy game exchanging preset dialogue, their paths crossing exactly as programmed.

"You g'na help me with this?"

Emma shakes her head, patting his shoulder as she passes — a gentle handoff. "I did my time." You want to protest, but words fail as you absorb the sight of him, eight months of careful avoidance crumbling in an instant.

"Ahh-" Luigi waves, feigning disappointment through the druken haze. "Need a walk back home?"

Ever the shepherd, guardian of late-night wanderers.

It didn't matter who you were — friend, stranger, ex-lover’s best friend and roommate — his self-appointed mission to ensure everyone's safe return never wavered.

You'd once wondered if it stemmed from some deeper anxiety, his mind unable to rest until every sheep was accounted for in its fold.

Tonight though, the alcohol has mercifully dulled that protective instinct. Emma's potential disappearance into the night ranks lower on his list of concerns than usual, although Emma herself had been the one earlier to warn you of the murderer on campus.

"You still got my location," Emma reminds him — a callback to conversations past, to the day she'd granted Luigi permanent access to her whereabouts, a level of trust you'd wisely withheld.

"Right."

She presses a kiss to her fingers, flashing you a peace sign with the same hand before it briefly lands on Luigi's shoulder. Then she's gone, disappearing into the snow-globe world he'd just stumbled in from. He stands before you now, arms hanging like dead weight, his eyes somehow both wide and narrow.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey."

You gesture weakly at the wall where your work writhes in digital agony. "So, uh — remember that time you salvaged Professor Wren’s entire thesis when her drive crashed?"

Luigi's eyes follow your hand, professional interest temporarily overriding the awkwardness. He steps closer, squinting at the corrupted display, "Jesus," he mutters, "what did you do to it?"

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" The laugh that escapes is more nervous than you'd like. "It just. - it started disintegrating during final checks."

He's already pulling out his laptop, muscle memory from countless late-night tech rescues. The familiarity of it hits you in the chest — how many times had you watched him do this same thing, hunched over his keyboard, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration?

"I can try," he says finally, not quite meeting your eyes. "But no promises. When's this due?"

"Tomorrow at nine."

"Of course it is." He drops into the chair beside you, close enough that your elbows almost touch, but enough of a distance to still feel far away. “Okay, walk me through what it's supposed to look like when it's not — uh - whatever this is."

For a moment, Luigi stares at the corrupted display where red pixels bleed and stutter across the wall. His fingers hover over his keyboard, then pause. "Wait. This is your circulatory modeling project? The one you were-“ He cuts himself off, remembering this was before the eight months of silence.

"Yeah." You swallow. "It was working perfectly until an hour ago. Real-time hemodynamics, pressure differentials, vessel elasticity. Everything." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, feeling more helpless when you verbalize it.

He nods, already typing with uncanny precision despite the slight sway in his posture. "Show me the base code. Did you save any backups?"

"Three. All corrupted." You lean forward, careful not to crowd him as you pull up the mangled files. "It's like something got into the core simulation and just - I dunno - started rewriting them."

"Hm." His eyes scan the screen with that laser focus he somehow maintains no matter how much he drinks, that familiar furrow appearing between his brows. "These values are cascading. One corrupted variable triggering a chain reaction through the whole system." He glances at you, slightly overshooting before correcting. "When's the last time it ran correctly?"

You check your phone. "6:43 PM. I have a screen recording from then."

"Good. That's good." He pulls up a second window, his typing still flawless even as he reaches with his free hand to steady himself against the desk. "We can compare the execution logs, maybe isolate where it started going wrong." His fingers fly across the keys with a precision that seems to mock his clearly inebriated state, and for a moment, it feels like those eight months never happened. "I'm going to need coffee for this." He looks up at you from where he sat, “Or more booze.”

You land on coffee, your feet carrying you down the familiar path to the kitchenette.

The fluorescent lights flicker dimly at this hour, casting strange shadows across the linoleum, the lab's overpriced espresso machine hums to life under your touch, its gentle whirring a counterpoint to the distant sound of Luigi's typing.

Suddenly you're back in that first year, both of you hunched over at 3 AM, him teaching you the proper way to pull a shot: “You're murdering it, stop torturing the beans”, your quiet laughter echoing through empty halls.

"Got it.” His voice carries down the corridor, slurred but triumphant, snapping you back to present.

You return to find him illuminated by screen-glow, his tie loosened and dark hair disheveled. The paper cup lands in front of him — double shot, one packet of raw sugar.

He doesn't stir it, never has.

Instead, he tips the cup back, and you hear that familiar crunch of sugar crystals between his teeth, a sound that used to drive you crazy, until somewhere along the way it became endearing.

Still, the jumbled code taunts you from the screen, though its chaos seems less threatening now. Under Luigi's touch — steady despite the alcohol —- your final project is slowly remembering its original shape.

"You should have texted sooner," Luigi murmurs, tilting his head back to collect the last sugar crystals from his cup. The movement exposes his throat, his collar wrinkled where he's been tugging at it all night.

"Well," you say, watching the way his fingers dance across the keys, each stroke precise despite his obvious intoxication, "takes a minute to swallow something as big as my ego."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, eyes never leaving the screen where broken code is knitting itself back together under his attention.

"Oh," he huffs out a laugh, the sound low and dangerous in the quiet lab, "I've seen you swallow far bigger things before."

It strikes like summer lightning — quick, bright, and leaving the air charged in its wake. The innuendo lands with no real bite, yet you find your jaw slack, a startled laugh shaking loose from your chest.

"Kidding," Luigi says, his eyes flicking from screen to you and back again. There’s a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, softened by the alcohol but still sharp enough to cut. You wave him back to his work, grateful for the blue glow of monitors that hides your flush. "You kinda set that up perfectly, though."

He squints up at the projection where your broken code still bleeds across the wall, letting out a soft grunt of frustration at some digital roadblock. "Just mean — ya know, you could have caught me two beers deep instead of seven."

You shrug a shoulder, watching as the projection slowly crystallizes into something recognizable. "Seems you work better under such conditions."

The lie tastes metallic.

You both know the truth.

Luigi would have come if he was sober as sunrise or drowning in bourbon. Would have come with broken ribs or pneumonia or his heart barely beating. Would have traced these familiar hallways blind, deaf, or dying — because that's what the two of you do.

Have always done.

You've seen him at rock bottom, curled into himself on cold bathroom tiles at midnight, trembling hands pressed against his mouth as if he could physically hold back the pain that wracked his body. Watched him try to explain to puzzled doctors how someone so young could hurt so constantly, the frustration in his voice when they suggested it was all in his head.

You were there through the trials of medications, the nights when existence itself seemed too heavy to bear.

And you've seen him soar; standing tall in that charcoal suit that made him look older, more polished, shaking hands with tech giants who saw in him what you'd always known was there, his future spreading out before him like a golden road, brilliant and boundless.

Now he sits here, seven drinks deep but coding like he's never been clearer, and you realize that maybe both versions are equally true.

Maybe that's what makes him Luigi — the ability to contain multitudes, to be simultaneously broken and brilliant, wounded and wonderful.

He catches you watching him and raises an eyebrow, the gesture slightly delayed, which means you must have been a bit too obvious. "What?"

"Nothing.”

His fingers pause on the keys, and even through the alcoholic haze, his gaze pins you like a butterfly to cork. "No, really. What?" The words have a slight blur around their edges, but his focus is knife-sharp.

You could deflect again, but there's something about 4 AM and code that glows like dying stars that makes honesty feel less dangerous, perhaps you’re finding comfort in the fact that Luigi is drunk, although you’re stone cold sober.

"Just thinking about that time in the Thompson building bathroom." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "When you couldn't stand up, and I had to convince the janitor you had food poisoning."

He doesn't flinch from the memory like he used to.

Instead, his mouth curves into something caught between a smile and a grimace. "You told him it was from the cafeteria." His fingers resume their dance across the keyboard, but slower now. "Got the whole place investigated by health services."

"Yeah, but got us three days off while they checked fucking everything.” you remind him.

"Got me through that week," he corrects quietly, and for a moment, the mask of that brilliant-drunk-techie slips, showing the man underneath who still remembers what it feels like to be held together by nothing but someone else's faith in you.

Then he blinks, and the vulnerability is gone, replaced by that familiar crooked grin. "Though I maintain the cafeteria deserved the inspection anyway."

The projection flickers, another section of code healing itself under his touch, and you wonder if he knows you'd do it all again.

Every bathroom floor, every late-night crisis, every moment of putting him back together - you'd choose it every time.

"Speaking of which," you venture carefully, watching his hands move across the keyboard. "How's the new treatment working?"

His right shoulder shifts in what might be a shrug, but there's a shadow of a real smile playing at his mouth.

Not the sharp, defensive one he wears like armor, but something softer, more genuine. "Six months post-op and I actually slept through the night last week. First time in -“ he pauses, considering, "Fuck, I don't even remember how long."

The admission hangs in the air between you, weighted with the two years of 2 AM phone calls, of nights spent pacing, of pain medications that never quite touched the core of the problem.

Watching him try to code through hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

"Still hurts sometimes," he adds, almost absently. "But it's different now. More like background noise than a scream." His fingers still on the keyboard, and for a moment he looks almost surprised by his own words. "Guess that's what normal people feel like all the time, huh?"

The question carries an edge of wonder, like someone who's lived in darkness suddenly discovering dawn.

You watch him roll his shoulder — a gesture that used to be followed by a wince but now flows smooth and unconscious — and think about how strange it must be, learning to live without constant pain after it's become part of your identity.

"Though I kind of miss having an excuse to drunk-code at 4 AM" he adds, but you both know it's a lie.

The code blurs on the projection as silence settles between you, charged with something that's been building for ages — through bathroom floors and hospital visits, through triumphs and failures, through pain and healing.

The alcohol has stripped away Luigi’s careful boundaries, leaving raw honesty in their place.

"You know," Luigi says slowly, finally turning from the screen to face you fully, "I never thanked you properly. For all of it."

"You don't need to-"

Your diagram pulses back to life, the holographic heart rotating lazily against the wall.

Its red glow bathes the room in a surreal warmth, catching on the sharp angles of Luigi's face, softening them into something almost dreamlike.

The light flickers across his cheekbones, turns his eyes to amber, makes the whole moment feel suspended between reality and imagination.

"I do." His voice is quiet but firm, steadier than someone seven drinks deep should manage. "Because I've been thinking — now that I can actually think clearly without-“he gestures vaguely at his back, at all the years of pain, "I've been thinking about how you're the only constant. The only person who never-“ He trails off.

You lean a little closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Never what?"

"Never saw me as broken." He turns himself toward you, and there's something desperate in his eyes, something the alcohol has finally given him the courage to show. "Never treated me like I needed fixing. Just stayed. Through everything."

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. He takes your silence as a sign, turning back to the screen with a sharp exhale that might be resignation or relief — you're not sure which would be worse.

"Lu,” you say softly, and something in your voice makes his fingers still on the keyboard. "Look at me."

He does, slowly, like he's afraid of what he might find.

The neon bathes half his face in crimson, leaving the other half in shadow, and you see the moment his carefully constructed walls start to crumble.

"Time hasn’t changed that much about me.” you say, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.

His breath catches audibly. You watch the impact of your words ripple across his face — surprise, understanding, and something else, something that makes your heart race against your ribs.

"Hasn’t it?” Luigi is focusing on you now, the reason he really came here now practically completed but pushed aside until further notice. “Eight months is a long time to hold onto -“ he gestures vaguely between you, as if he can’t quite say what it was. Hopeless devotion, the right person, wrong time.

“Not long enough to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You.”

His breath catches again, a sharp inhale that seems to pull all the oxygen from the room. When he speaks, his voice is rough and ragged, “Maybe that’s the problem.” His gaze drifts down to watch as you lick your lips, and back up again. “Maybe you should have.”

[elryuse]

My Toxic Ex

Yandere Seola X Male Reader

Tags : Cheating Seola, Toxic Seola, Regrets, Yandere, Obsessive, Forceful Sex, Hatred, Manipulation, Pregnancy?

Words : 3,4509 Words

This Is a Commission Work for My friend @Pizza_anon on Ko-fi. I hope you like it Buddy.

"Seola..what the fuck". Y/n yelled, as He saw a terrible sight. His girlfriend of 2 years, have been sleeping with guys all around campus, as she giggles and moaned. Y/n was heartbroken, Seeing how seola clearly enjoyed it.

Seola his once pure and caring Girlfriend, was changed. She was no longer the cheerful, happy, and loving girlfriend once more. She became toxic, cruel, manipulative. Sometimes Y/n wondered what went wrong, What did he do wrong. As her habits grew more and more destructive, Y/n finally has enough.

After a ton of Cheating that she has done, Y/n was finally tired. He's tired hearing all of this news from his friends that Seola is with another guy, Seola slept with some guy, etc. He's done. And so, He simply left. He moved into a new College, far from Seola. He slowly composed himself, Getting his mentality into a better state. As he finally made new friends, and left the ties from his previous life.

Y/n met a beautiful girl. Eunji, was her name. She was cute, smart, and most importantly, Caring. It has been years, since Y/n felt loved, wanted. And it clearly shows, as after a few months of dating her, Y/n was committed to become his boyfriend. Eunji smiled, as she hugged him under the Apple tree. However, as Y/n may thinks this story would end on a happy ending. It was from happy, nor sad. It would be devastating.

Seola, Who all this time was busy having fun with guys all over the campus found herself stuck in a limbo. A sudden news, Her porn videos and naked pics were leaked all over the internet, and most importantly on her university. This made her popularity crumble into dust. As people began mocking her, slut shaming her, and what's even worse, the friends that she thought was there for her, turned out to be the monster that leaked all of her vids and pics.

They all laugh, as they sneered at her, mocking her. Seola was broken. The guys who she slept with, didn't bother to care for her. Instead they feel more proud than ever, as they still kept those videos and pictures all inside their phones. Seola trembles, as day by day, Her friends would leave her, and in the end, the were none left.

Seola suddenly remembered about Y/n. The man who truly cared for her. The man who actually cared for her. She suddenly cried, as She started to remember all of those good times she had with him. She remembered the time where the two got into a small fight, and even though it was unnecessary his fault, Y/n still decided to be the one who apologize first, which made Seola really happy and proud.

She imagined, if she still go back to him. Will he accept her apology. Will he still get back with her, after all of this time, and after all of this suffering that she gave him. Seola was stucked, didn't know what to do, what to act. But she thinks again and again, and not wanting to regrets her decision, she finally started to do some research on Y/n.

And to her surprise and shock, Y/n looked different. He seems happy. His smile, that once was shown to her, now shines brightly on the digital screen, He shares the world about his new girlfriend, Eunji. The two seems perfect, they lack any negativity, far beyond what Y/n and Seola used to have. At that moment, Seola cried. She had lost. She had truly made the biggest mistake in her life.

As she caresses the phone screen once more, a devious plan suddenly showed up. She could still win him over. She could still be with him. And even though this plan would hurt her and him, She didn't care. She only wanted Y/n to be with her again. And so, Any plans good or bad, suddenly become the pinnacle of the system. Seola laughed, as She opened a small wrinkled picture from her jacket. A photo of Y/n and Her. She knew, This wasn't going to be easy. But she knows, that whatever the outcome is, She'll have him back.

As Y/n and Eunji get up from their tiring slumber, He could see that today was a good day. The Sun was shining brightly, the clouds doesn't look cloudy. The evening air was crisp, the kind that made you want to pull your jacket tighter around yourself. Y/n walked home from Eunji’s apartment, his mind still buzzing with the warmth of her laugh and the softness of her touch. He couldn’t believe how different life felt now—how free he was. No more walking on eggshells, no more wondering if Seola would blow up over something trivial. For the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe.

But as he turned the corner onto his quiet street, a familiar silhouette caught his eye. His heart skipped a beat. No. It can’t be.

Seola stood under the flickering streetlamp, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked... smaller somehow, less vibrant than the girl he remembered. Her once perfectly styled hair was slightly disheveled, and her makeup, though still striking, couldn’t hide the shadows under her eyes.

“Y/n,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to make him pause. “We need to talk.”

He clenched his jaw, stopping a few feet away from her. “Seola, I don’t think there’s anything left to say. We’re done.”

Her lips quivered, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry. But then, her expression hardened, and she took a step closer. “You think it’s that easy? You think you can just walk away from me and start over like nothing happened?”

“I didn’t walk away, Seola. You did. Every single time you chose someone else over me, you pushed me further away. And now... I’m done.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You really believe that? That it was all my fault? Maybe if you had cared enough, if you had fought for me, things would’ve been different. But you didn’t. You just gave up.”

Y/n stared at her, incredulous. “Fought for you? Seola, you were sleeping with half the campus. What was I supposed to do? Beg you to stop?”

Her eyes burned with intensity, and she closed the distance between them in two quick strides. “You were supposed to fight for me!” she yelled, her voice cracking. “Because I needed you! I needed you to show me that I was worth something!”

The raw pain in her voice stopped him cold. For the first time, he saw past the bravado, the cruelty, the arrogance. All he saw was a girl who was broken, who had been hurting long before their relationship fell apart.

“Seola...” he started, his voice softening despite himself.

But she cut him off, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered, her nails digging into his shirt. “Don’t pretend to care now. Not when you’ve already moved on. Not when you’re with her.”

He frowned, stepping back. “Eunji has nothing to do with this.”

“Doesn’t she?” Seola’s voice was low, dangerous. “You think I don’t know about her? How perfect she is? How kind and caring and loving? Tell me, Y/n, does she make you feel like I did? Does she make your heart race? Does she make you want her so badly it hurts?”

“Seola, stop—”

“No,” she hissed, grabbing the front of his jacket and pulling him close. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. But you do owe me this. One last chance. One night. That’s all I’m asking.”

Her breath was hot against his skin, and despite everything, he felt his body respond. She was so close, too close, and the scent of her perfume—something sweet and floral—filled his senses. Memories flooded his mind: late nights tangled together, whispered promises, stolen kisses. But then, the darker memories followed: her cruel words, her betrayal, the way she always made him feel so small.

“I can’t,” he said firmly, trying to push her away. But she held on tighter, her fingers digging into his skin.

“Yes, you can,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his ear. “You miss me. I know you do. You miss the way I touched you, the way I made you feel. And deep down, you want me just as much as I want you.”

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and he hated how right she was. Even now, after everything, a part of him still longed for her. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not after everything she’d put him through.

“Seola, this isn’t going to work,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m with Eunji now. I’m happy. Please, just let me go.”

For a moment, she was silent, her grip loosening slightly. Then, without warning, she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was desperate, hungry, full of years of pent-up longing and regret. Y/n froze, torn between pushing her away and giving in. Her tongue slid against his, coaxing his mouth open, and he felt himself responding despite his better judgment.

When she finally pulled away, she looked up at him with pleading eyes. “One night,” she whispered again. “That’s all I need. Let me remind you why we belonged together. And then... if you still want to leave, I’ll let you go. I promise.”

His chest heaved as he struggled to think clearly. This was wrong. So wrong. But the ache in his body told him otherwise. The way her hands roamed over his chest, the way her hips pressed against his... it was too much. And yet, not enough.

“Seola...” he breathed, barely able to form the words.

Her lips curved into a sly smile, and she leaned in close again. “Shh,” she whispered, tracing a finger along his jaw. “Just let me take care of you. Like I used to.”

Before he could protest, she dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands already working to unbuckle his belt. His mind screamed at him to stop her, to pull away, but his body betrayed him. He was hard, achingly so, and the sight of her looking up at him with those dark, possessive eyes only made it worse.

“Wait—” he started, but she silenced him with a sharp tug on his pants. They pooled around his ankles, leaving him exposed to the cool night air—and to her.

Seola didn’t waste any time. She wrapped her lips around him, taking him deep into her mouth with a practiced ease that made his knees buckle. Her tongue swirled around the tip, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through him. He gripped her shoulders, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer.

“God, Seola...” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a wicked grin. “Missed this, didn’t you?” she purred, before sinking down again, deeper this time. Her hands gripped his thighs, holding him in place as she worked him with relentless precision.

He was losing control, fast. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop, to end this before it went too far. But the rest of him was drowning in sensation, in the heat of her mouth and the way she moaned around him, as if she couldn’t get enough.

“Stop,” he managed to choke out, though his body betrayed him by thrusting forward. “Seola, we can’t...”

She pulled away again, panting slightly. “We can,” she insisted, standing up and pressing her body against his. “And we will. Because you’re mine, Y/n. You always have been.”

Her lips crashed against his again, silencing any protests. She guided his hands to her waist, encouraging him to touch her, to feel her. And despite everything, he couldn’t resist. His fingers found the hem of her skirt, sliding underneath to cup her ass. She moaned into his mouth, grinding against him.

“Take me upstairs,” she whispered, biting his lower lip. “Let me remind you what you’ve been missing.”

He hesitated, torn between the guilt of betraying Eunji and the undeniable pull of Seola’s body against his. But in the end, it wasn’t a choice. Not really. With a groan, he grabbed her hand and led her toward the building, his mind racing with what was about to happen.

As they stumbled into his apartment, Seola pushed him against the door, kissing him furiously. Her hands pulled at his shirt, while his fumbled with the zipper of her dress. Clothes fell to the floor in a haphazard pile, and soon they were both naked, pressed together in a tangle of limbs and desperate need.

She broke the kiss, stepping back slightly to admire him. “You’re still so beautiful,” she murmured, running a hand down his chest. “And you’re all mine.”

Then she turned around, bending over the couch and looking back at him over her shoulder. “Come on, Y/n,” she said, her voice dripping with temptation. “What are you waiting for?”

He hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, his hands gripping her hips. She gasped as he entered her, her nails digging into the cushions beneath her.

“That’s it,” she moaned, arching her back to meet his thrusts. “Just like that. Fuck me, Y/n. Make me yours again.”

The sound of her voice, the feel of her tight around him... it was too much. He lost himself in the rhythm, in the way she whimpered and begged for more. But even as he moved inside her, a nagging thought crept into his mind. This is wrong. This is...

“Harder,” she demanded, cutting off his thoughts. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

And so, he gave in, letting the heat of the moment consume him. But as he glanced down at her, at the way her body writhed beneath his, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a mistake. A delicious, intoxicating, irresistible mistake.

“Seola...” he murmured, his voice rough.

She looked back at him, her eyes glazed with lust. “What is it? Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

And he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not until...

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting streaks of gold across the rumpled sheets. Y/n stirred, his body heavy with exhaustion, his mind foggy from the night before. He blinked slowly, trying to piece together what had happened. Seola. Her name echoed in his head like a warning bell. He turned his head, expecting to see her gone, as she often was after their reckless encounters back in university. But this time, she was still there, curled up beside him, her hair splayed across the pillow like ink spilled on paper.

She looked so peaceful—soft, even. It made his chest ache. He shouldn’t have let this happen. He had Eunji now. Sweet, kind Eunji, who deserved better than this. He sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to steady his breathing. His heart pounded, not from desire but from guilt. The weight of it pressed down on him, suffocating.

“Morning,” Seola’s voice broke the silence, smooth and melodic, yet laced with something he couldn’t quite place. She stretched languidly, her bare skin catching the sunlight, and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. Her lips curved into a sly smile. “You look awful. Rough night?”

Y/n didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Words felt trapped in his throat, tangled with regret and confusion. He wanted to get up, to leave, to pretend this never happened. But his body refused to move.

Seola sighed dramatically, sitting up fully, letting the sheet pool around her waist. She leaned closer, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. “You know,” she began, her tone casual, almost too casual, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

He tensed immediately, his instincts screaming that whatever she was about to say would only make things worse. “Don’t,” he said quickly, his voice hoarse. “Just… don’t.”

Her smile widened, and there was a glint in her eyes that made his stomach twist. “Oh, come on, Y/n. You’re going to want to hear this.” She paused, letting the tension build, savoring it. Then, softly, almost sweetly, she dropped the bomb. “I’m pregnant.”

The room seemed to tilt. Y/n stared at her, his mind struggling to process the words. Pregnant. The word hung in the air between them, heavy and unrelenting. He shook his head, disbelief coursing through him. “No. No, you’re lying.”

Seola laughed lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. “Why would I lie about something like this? It’s true. I found out last week.” She reached for his hand, placing it gently on her stomach. Her skin was warm beneath his palm, and for a moment, he felt frozen. “There’s a little piece of us growing right here. Isn’t that amazing?”

He jerked his hand away as if burned, scrambling to his feet. His chest heaved as he backed away from the bed, his mind racing. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after everything. “You… you can’t be serious.”

Her expression shifted, her playful smirk fading into something sharper, more intense. “Dead serious,” she said, her voice low and steady. “And it’s yours. I haven’t been with anyone else since we…” She trailed off, letting the implication sink in. “You’re the father, Y/n.”

His knees threatened to buckle. He sank into a chair, his hands gripping the edge of the seat so tightly his knuckles turned white. Father. The word reverberated in his skull, each repetition louder than the last. He felt sick. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had finally moved on, found someone who truly cared about him. And now… now this.

Seola watched him closely, her gaze calculating. She slid out of bed, standing naked before him without an ounce of shame. She knelt in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs, her touch both grounding and suffocating. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” she asked softly, her voice dripping with false innocence. “A family? A future together?”

He shook his head, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “No. Seola, no. That’s not… we’re not…”

She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But we could be,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath hot against his ear. “Think about it, Y/n. You could have me all to yourself. No more fighting. No more games. Just… us.”

Her words were like a poison, seeping into his veins, clouding his thoughts. He wanted to push her away, to scream that this wasn’t what he wanted. But the way she looked at him—like he was the center of her world—made something inside him waver. For years, he had loved her. Or at least, he thought he had. And despite everything she had done, some small, stupid part of him still craved the warmth she once offered.

As if sensing his hesitation, Seola pressed further. She kissed him, soft and slow, her lips moving against his with practiced ease. He tried to resist, but his body betrayed him, responding instinctively. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark with satisfaction. “See?” she murmured, trailing her fingers along his jaw. “You still want me. You always have.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. How could he deny it when his body screamed otherwise? When every fiber of his being seemed drawn to her, despite the chaos she brought?

Seola stood then, pulling him to his feet. Her hands slid up his chest, her touch deliberate, possessive. “Let me remind you,” she whispered, her voice a dangerous purr. “Let me show you why you belong to me.”

Before he could protest, she kissed him again, harder this time, her teeth grazing his bottom lip. His hands hesitated at his sides before giving in, gripping her hips as if clinging to life itself. She smiled against his mouth, triumphant. “That’s it,” she coaxed, guiding him back toward the bed. “Let go, Y/n. Just let go.”

He was falling, spiraling deeper into her web. And as she lowered him onto the mattress, her hands roaming greedily over his body, he knew he was lost. The guilt, the doubt, the fear—it all melted away under her touch.

For now, at least, she had won.

[heart-eyed-love]

Winston

Summary | A stray that wonders the trailer park, that you’ve claimed as yours, as gone missing

Contains | Fem!Reader, Friends-to-Lovers (eventually), Cursing, Cute kitty, Mentions of Dealer Eddie, Psycho kids attempt to hurt the kitty :(

Pairing | BestFriend!Eddie x BestFriend!Reader

Word count | 2.1k

An | Another cat story cause I love them and I’m cat sitting rn!!! Also sorry this is kinda bad

The boys had decided that their favorite hang out place was Eddie’s trailer. Much to your dismay, cause sometimes they apparently wanted boy time and you had to sit in your own trailer like it didn’t affect you.

It had taken you awhile to find a friend outside of Eddie, excluding the rest of the boys, but as of this year Nancy and her friend Barb had become some nice acquaintances of yours. Nice enough you’ve even recently been invited to a slumber party with the two at Nancy’s house.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t still want to hang out with the boys when they came around, but you let them have their time. And from the sound of it, it has something to do with the band they had recently established. You could hear eddie’s guitar from out on your porch where you sat next to a can of cat food you had bought for the special cat you had come quite close with.

Eddie had informed you he was a stray that had been abandoned by one of the previous owners of one of the trailers. You teared up at the thought of someone leaving him behind, which Eddie had teased you about being so sensitive when it came to animals.

That earned him a glare and quick snap from you, “since when isn’t it sad to be abandoned?” He shut up after that.

You had begged your mother to let you keep him, promising to take care of him, and that you’d pay for all the things he needed with your own money. But she didn’t hesitate to say no, and after begging for a full week after coming across the cat you’d accept your fate, and settled for making a small bedding area around the side of your trailer and feeding him as often as you could.

You had informed Eddie that he’d now be called Winston.

Which is what you were currently trying to do, even with a small pout on your face as you stared at Eddie’s trailer across from yours.

You’re a bit preoccupied by boredom to realize that it has taken Winston quite a bit longer to arrive at his food than he normally did. You had a system that you both seemed to know pretty well, once you came home you’d come back outside with something to eat for the sweet old guy, he seemed to surprisingly be pretty aware of the time frame too.

But as the time went on you began very aware of the lack of cuddly creature you came to love so much.

You stand from your spot on the porch, “Winston?” You called you looking around in front of you. He didn’t come though. You hop down and venture to the padded box that was tucked a bit under your trailer but it was empty, you furrowed your brows slightly.

You felt silly for already being worried but you couldn’t help it, he wasn't some young, nimble cat that enjoyed running around and playing. He liked sleeping, scratches, and food. He never passed up on food.

You wandered towards Eddie trailer, sneakily, the last thing you needed was then think you were spying. You peaked under his trailer, whisper yelling his name out and not hearing or seeing a thing.

You popped back up and rushed quickly back over to your trailer, feeling more and more panicked when you couldn’t find him, you rushed into your trailer grabbing a flashlight, ready to search under every other trailer to find him. But knowing he couldn’t have gone too far, you were worried he may have gotten hurt somewhere.

After searching under and around the nearest trailers and having no sign of Winston, you got teary eyed when you saw it was getting darker.

You decided you didn’t care for Eddie’s boy time, you really needed his help. You ran up the steps to his trailer, knocking a bit frantically as a tear fell down your check and you anxiously chewed at your lip as you waited for him to answer.

And soon enough he does, “Hey, what’s up?” He asks with a smirk, but it quickly drops as he sees the sadness on your face, “Y/n? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Winston… I had his food out ready to feed him and he didn’t show up so I went and looked around for him and I still can’t find, and I’m scared he might’ve gotten hurt and-“

“Hey, Hey, calm down. We’ll find him, wait out here I’m gonna got get the guys, okay?”

You nod and he’s quickly rushing inside. “Hey, so change of plans… We got a missing cat so, we’re gonna have to go look for him, Kay?” He says as he as he rummages through a drawer in his kitchen, grabbing a flashing, ready to look under trailers for a second time just to ensure you have your cat back by the end of the night.

He remembers when you met Winston, He was a skittish cat not appreciating the presence of just about anyone until he met you. Eddie slightly felt like he related to the cat in that way, but Winston had warmed up to him after he discovered he was a friend of yours. He smiled when you had revealed the name you had picked for the old guy, it was fitting.

And when Eddie found out that your mother had told you ‘There’s no way I’m taking in a gross old stray. It’s not gonna end well, Y/n.’ He wanted to offer to take the cat in at his trailer, telling you that the cat could be both of yours and you could come over as often as you wanted to see him, but that idea was stomped out by the fact that Wayne’s was allergic.

So he tried to play his part by helping anyways, he occasionally brings home a bag of cat food for you to give to Winston. And one he had gone as far to get some catnip.

You laughed and joked, claiming he was doing a great job solidifying his place as a dealer.

“What? Why?” Gareth asked, he had now stopped aimlessly twirling his drumsticks.

“Because Y/n can’t find him on her own so where gonna go help her.” Eddie said matter a factly.

“Maybe the cat just need a break from her.” He’s smirking, as if this is a laughing matter to you. Jeff tries to nudge the boy with his elbow before he can get the sentence out, but Eddie already has that glare on his face, the one they know all too well, the one he uses when he needs to shut them up real quick. And it works.

Eddie tosses one of the flashlights harshly at the boy, “We’re gonna get our asses out there and we’re gonna look for that cat until it’s found. Got it?” His tone has all the boys nodding. Eddie makes his way towards the door, grabbing a hoodie on the hanger by the door, and throwing it over his shoulder as they make their way outside.

You stand from your spot on the bottom step, quickly wiping your tears so the other boys don’t see, “Thanks for this guys…”

“Don’t worry about it…” Eddie says as he makes his way down the steps to where you’re now standing, “Here…” He adds, handing you the hoodie he brought out.

“Thank you…” You say as you slip the hoodie over your head.

“Jeff, Grant.“ Eddie nods his head off to the side, “Gareth you stay with her, help her look under the trailer again in case he comes back…” Eddie says.

“What? Why do-“ Gareth freezes yet again as Eddie send another glare his way and Gareth nods his head, “Yeah, okay… well look over here…” He points his flashlight in the opposite direction and begins trailing off, you’re quick to follow behind him.

You and Gareth begin checking under the trailers that you had already looked under, it felt useless, which made you feel even worse for interrupting their night.

“Hey, uhm… I’m sorry… really I didn’t want to have to come and ask for help… I’m just really worried…” You’re voice was sad, and he felt bad for making you feel worse about it. He turned around the flashlight hitting your eyes as you squinted, and he lowered it quickly.

“No it’s okay… I get it. I’ve you that cat with you, seems like he really loves you…” He says softer than before, he turns back around shining his light in more spots, you come stand next to him.

“You think…?” You duck down where he’s shining the flashlight to check under this trailer.

“Yeah, totally… I have a cat, you know?” Causing you to pop up from where you were crouched, looking at him with a small smile. He thinks it the first time he’s seen you smile since you’ve come over to Eddie’s.

“Really?”

“Yeah, her names Coco. She’s a little diva…” He says as he look over at you, and now there’s a genuine smile on your face, “We’ll find him, okay?”

You nod softly, “Okay…”

On the other side of the trailer park Eddie can hear the chatter of what sounds like some younger kids, maybe a couple years younger than his own group.

He has been acquainted with these boys before, they were fucking nuisances in his eyes. Constantly being a pain in the asses of people within the trailer park, but they stayed away from Eddie, which in turn meant they stayed clear of you as well.

As Eddie approached the kids ready to ask whether or not they had seen an older cat, he caught sound of a distressed meowing sound.

He looked over at Jeff and Grant whose eyes widened at the sight and Eddie rushed over to the boys. They were circled around Winston. Eddie approaches fast, “the fuck are you doing?!” He yells, crushing the boys to jump, startled by the voice that appeared behind them. One of the boys accidentally dropped another one of the fire crackers letting it pop onto the ground.

Winston seemed to recognize the voice and quickly ran away from the boys in the gap of their moment of weakness, “nothing we’re… just playing…” one of the boys says, Jeff and Grant could tell that Eddie had an affect on these boys as well, and they’d hardly ever heard him yell the way he just did.

“Playing?! In what fucking world is torturing a cat fun? Don't be psychopaths.” Eddie sounded so pissed. Which is valid, those boys were being insane, “I know where you guys live, so it’s probably best you don’t fuck with the cat again. Got it?” They nod quickly, walking away, throwing more of their crackers onto the ground as they did.

He looked down to where Winston was standing by his feet, the cat didn’t usually get this close to him if you weren’t around, but Eddie guesses given the circumstances this was different. Eddie picked the old cat up and began walking back to his trailer, and on the way back he spotted you and Gareth poking your head under The Smiths trailer.

“Hey, look.” Gareth says as he taps your shoulder, causing you to pop up and follow where his finger is pointed at Eddie holding Winston.

“You found him!” You say approaching him quickly, Winston seems to recognize the voice as he squirms in Eddie’s arm and jumps down, running up to you. You kneel down picking the cat, “thank you…” You say, looking at Eddie as tearing up again, “thank you all, honestly… I really appreciate…”

“It’s no problem…” Eddie shrugs, trying to play off how happy he feels for helping you.

You turn to Gareth, “And thanks for making me feel better… sorry to interrupt your… band practice?”

“Not really a practice, more so us having to sit around and listen to Eddie play guitar…” Gareth says with a smirk, and he catches Eddie raised brow look.

“You’re lucky we found the cat and I’m in a good mood.” Eddie shoves the boy's head as he makes his way back to the trailer, everyone follows behind him and you follow as well, making your way to your own.

“Thanks again, guys!” You wave from your porch, Winston still in your arm. They wave and you go inside.

You’d sneak Winston into your room that night, feeding him treats and scratching his neck until he’s fast asleep.

[shanastoryteller]

They destroy a hundred seals in thirty days, which feels like good progress until Sam realizes even if they can keep up this pace, it’s going to take them nearly two years. “There has to be a faster way to do this.”

“It took three hundred thousand years to set the apocalypse in motion,” Castiel says dryly. “Patience is a virtue.”

“It took a year from first seal to last, don’t exaggerate,” he says, pacing the length of the motel room. Cas may not need things like food and sleep, but Sam is still human at the end of the day.

He’s refusing to touch the virtue bit. No one’s keeping track of those and they both know it.

Cas gives him a bitchy look that Sam tells himself he’s not growing fond of. “Yes. Sixty six seals took a year to open. We’ve destroyed nearly twice that in a month. You are not being reasonable about this.”

Maybe not, but they don’t have time to be. Can’t Cas feel it? Like something’s bearing down on them, hot breath on the back of their necks. If there’s one constant in Sam’s life, it’s that he never gets enough time. He doesn’t see why this should be any different. “What if we killed Lilith? She’s the last one, right? As long as the first seal hasn’t been opened, killing her destroys the seal. If the last one can’t be opened, Lucifer can’t be set free. Right?”

Cas tilts his head to the side. Sam kind of hates how quickly he’s picked that up this time around, but he’s only realizing now that it’s a gesture Cas learned from him, not Dean, and the first go around they hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together in the beginning. “Likely correct. But even if we could find her, I’m unsure of your capabilities.”

“Fuck you too,” he says without heat. “I killed Azazel. I killed her before. I can do it again.”

“She wanted to be killed, last time,” Cas says. “She knew her death would grant Lucifer’s freedom and she did not fight you with all her strength. Killing Azazel is not killing Lilith. They are different beasts.”

“Wait,” he says, “are you telling me that Lilith is stronger than Azazel?”

Having killed them both, that’s really not what he would have guessed. Which means that Cas is probably right. Damn.

“What is stronger, blood or bone?” he asks. “She is Lucifer’s firstborn. There is power there.”

Great. “I’m more powerful this time,” he points out. Azazel’s blood – Lucifer’s blood – is still buzzing under his skin, not quite as hot and pounding as it was at first swallow, but not fading and sputtering out like Ruby’s blood always had. Something in between, maybe, except those first few drops of blood as a baby hadn’t had any immediate affects either. It’s probably a good thing he won’t live another twenty two years. Who knows what Lucifer’s blood will have done to him by then.

“Yes,” Cas says. “I just don’t know if you’re powerful enough.”

And if he’s not, Lilith won’t even kill him. He needs to be alive for Lucifer to wear, after all. No, whatever she does to him will be much worse.

Sam.

He turns, even though he knows they’re alone. But his name had been so clear.

Sam, please!

He looks around uneasily. “Do you hear that?”

Cas blinks. “No.”

“Seriously?” he demands.

Sam, please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give anything, please help me. Help her. Sam –

He moves, not entirely sure what he’s doing, shifting from one place to the other, not entirely sure where he’s going until he arrives.

He’s standing in an empty apartment building, a ghost howling in front of him that looks sort of familiar. What the hell?

“Sam!”

Taking his eyes off the ghost is probably stupid, but he looks behind him anyway and finds Ellen on her knees, tears streaming down her face. Jo is clutched in her arms, skin pale and eyes open and unseeing, bits of plaster in her hair and a gaping hole in the wall behind them.

“Holmes?” he asked incredulously, turning back to the ghost who’s getting steadily closer. Last time they trapped him in the basement and cemented him inside. Last time Sam hadn’t spent years researching how to banish the worst sorts of evil.

The incantation rolls off his tongue easily, half Latin and half something older than that, and Holmes screams as he burns up in whisps of smoke.

“Sam, please,” Ellen begs. “Please. You have to help her.”

How does Ellen even know him? They’ve never met before. Not here. He kneels across from her, heart clenching at Jo’s body. He’s supposed to be making things better, leaving and destroying the seals is supposed to fix things. Except he guesses he and Dean weren’t here to find Jo this time and Ellen got there too late. “She’s dead, Ellen.”

“So?” she asks fiercely. “Jim was dead. Caleb, that girl, Meg. They were all dead. You brought them back.”

He stares. “How do you know that?”

“Please,” she repeats. “She’s all I have left. Please, Sam. I’ll do anything. I’ll give anything. Just bring her back.”

Sam knows that desperation. He’s felt that desperation, those miserable four months when hell tore his brother apart.

But he doesn’t have the same overfull, burning power he had with the taste of Azazel’s blood in the back of his throat.

Ellen, proud, tough Ellen, has tears down her face and begging him.

She lost her husband because of his father. He can try and save her daughter.

He reaches out, gripping the back of Ellen’s neck, and pulls her towards him. She opens his mouth for him, kissing him back without hesitation. He bites her tongue, blood hot and salty, and she doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t pause, just holds Jo between them and lets Sam take.

When he pulls back, his mouth is full of blood. He leans down, pressing his lips to Jo’s, letting her mother’s blood slide between her lips and presses his hand against her chest, trying to quicken something in her that will bring her home.

She gasps under him and he pulls back. Her eyes dart around, cheeks flushed, and stutters, “What – who–”

Ellen lets out a sob and clutches Jo to her, letting out a choked litany of scolding that has Jo patting her back and making soothing noises that Sam doubts Ellen hears at all.

He sits back on his ass, rubbing a hand over his face and wondering if anyone will care if he just lays down and takes a nap. Resurrection is exhausting.

“How?” Ellen asks, looking at him with red eyes and a puffy face and so much gratitude he can barely stand it. “There’s nothing special about my blood.”

“There’s power in sacrifice,” he says, wincing at the roughness of his voice. “Not a lot. Not enough. But,” he shrugs. He’s spent a lifetime making something out of not enough.

“What did I sacrifice?” she asks. It’s curiosity, nothing more. He can tell that she doesn’t care about the answer, that it really good be anything ant it would still be a bargain well made as far as she’s concerned.

This is how apocalypses are started.

“Nothing I’m going to collect on,” he says tiredly. “But it’s not a trick that works more than once. So be careful, okay?”

That last bit he directs to Jo, who’s just staring at him with huge eyes. “You’re Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “How do you know who I am?”

Jo and Ellen share a look, then she says carefully, “I met your brother.”

“How is he?” he asks, almost before she’s finished speaking. “Is he – I mean,” he cuts himself off, grimacing. Sam made out with their possessed father, killed the demon, and left. It’s a real toss up about what messed him up the most. “You shouldn’t hunt on your own,” he says, switching tracks. “You need a partner, one who can show you the ropes if you’re going to keep this up. See if you can talk Dean into it. I think you two will get along.”

Jo swallows. “Uh, okay. You’re not what I expected.”

What had she expected? He’s sure the rumors about him are nothing good, if not outright setting a bounty on his head. Ellen might have been desperate enough to seek him out with Jo dead, but that doesn’t mean anything. He and Dean both ran to demons when they lost the other.

There are footsteps down the hall and he tries to muster a smile for them before he’s leaving, returning to the motel room he’d been in with Cas.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Getting back here had taken the last bit of energy he had. He flips Cas off and collapses face first into the bed, barely managing to kick of his shoes before he falls asleep.

Dean would have taken them off for him, but Dean isn’t here.

~

When he wakes up twelve hours later, it’s to Cas standing above him and staring.

He groans, rolling over and away from that piercing blue gaze. “Don’t do that.”

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Sam tells him. It doesn’t take long, but his voice is still strained by the end of it.

“You heard her prayers?” Cas asks.

“No,” he says, then frowns. “I don’t know. I guess. Can I do that?”

Cas is learning human expressions one by one. Judgement had come quickly and easily.

Whatever. Apparently he can do that now.

“You said Azazel was a prince of hell,” Sam says. “Does that mean there are more of them?”

“Three,” he says warily. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Think they’d be willing to part with some blood in exchange for their lives?”

Sam’s not going to survive this. He knew that from beginning. It doesn’t really matter he has to do to himself to finish it.

There’s power in sacrifice.

“This is a terrible idea,” Cas says, which isn’t a no.

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[melosliving]

IM OBSESSED WITH UR AARON & KELVIN BLURBS,, PLS KEEP IT UP, UR WRITING IS AMAZINGGG !! ❤️❤️.

just wanted to say thank you for all the love I’ve been receiving ! It means so much to me, may god keep blessing y’all and y´all mamas ! ❤️❤️

aaron pierre & kelvin Harrison jr x actress!reader

Variety’s actors on actors

The bright lights of the studio shone down on the minimalist set, the iconic “Actors on Actors” logo gleaming behind you. The three of you sat in a perfect triangle—aaron on your left, kelvin on your right, and you in the middle, the it girl of the moment. The producers had called it “a meeting of cinematic greatness,” but to you, it felt like two boys scheming to make you look crazy on camera.

“Alright, let’s get started,” kelvin said, leaning back in his chair with a grin that could charm the devil himself. He adjusted the cue cards in his hand, before dramatically clearing his throat “before we get back to the official questions, can we talk about this? Apparently, the streets are saying we are in a poly relationship.”

You laughed, covering your face with your hands. “not this again. The streets are getting out of hand honestly.” Aaron tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Should we tell them the truth?”

Kelvin’s jaw dropped. “Wait, no. we should make this an exclusive, sell this to newspapers or whatever."

“No!” you said quickly, glaring at both of them. “They’re messing with you. There’s no truth to it y’all." Aaron shrugged, his eyes twinkling.

Kelvin looked between you two, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know. I think our chemistry’s too real...” You shook your head, laughing. “Next question !”

Kelvin, leaned forward with a devilish grin. “Alright, Aaron, this one’s for you : What’s it like working with ❁, and do you ever feel overshadowed by her greatness ?”

Aaron chuckled, his tongue pressing into his cheek. “it’s tough. Really tough. Every time she’s on screen, all I can do is stand there and hope I don’t look like a complete amateur.”

“quit playing, big guy.” you laughed, shaking your head. “He’s lying. Aaron’s the type to come onto set, nail every take in one shot, and still look good while doing it. If anything im the one trying to keep up.”

"See, they’re bickering again !" Kelvin looks at the camera.

“Okay, question for you kel,” you said, tapping your cue card against the armrest. “When you first read the script for your movie waves, did you immediately know you’d take the role, or did someone have to convince you?”

Kelvin smiled, stealing a glance at you before answering. “I think I knew pretty early on. There was this one scene in the script—it was so raw, so vulnerable—it made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time. That’s when I knew.”

Aaron leaned closer, resting his chin on his hand. “What scene was it?” You met kelvin’s gaze, your smile softening. “It’s the one where tyler has this kind of massive mental breakdown in front of his parents and he’s trying to go."

"You know, I cried when seeing the film." You say, now a bit blushing since it was a vulnerable moment for you. "The story was so touching and to be able to witness the distress in your eyes from start to end was something I will probably remember forever." You explain, pouring your heart out. Looking back at you, kelvin extended his arms to take your hand in his and kiss it softly. "I appreciate you, a lot." He mumbles against the back of your hand.

aaron looks a you two with softness in his eyes. "Look at them. Never beating the allegations."

“Ok, let’s talk about that final scene in one of your movies, ❁” one person of the crew said, redirecting the discussion. “The one where you’re standing in the rain, and you don’t say a word, but everything you’re feeling is written on your face. How did you prepare for that?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question “Wow, um... I guess I just thought about all the things I’ve wanted to say but never could. It was about channeling that silence, you know ?”

Aaron nodded, his gaze steady. “And It was beautiful. You were beautiful.”

Kelvin let out a loud cough, breaking the moment. “Alright, Romeo. Save some compliments for the rest of us.”

Aaron smirked but didn’t look away from you. “Can’t help it. She deserves them.”

"This is what I have to deal with everyday y’all.." you say, looking at the camera which is now focused on your pretty face.

"Im not against the idea of a threesome between us though, so hit me up producers. I’m ready." Finishes kelvin, winking.

"Boy you have lost your mind."

@ melosliving 2025

[rivalsispunk]

Beneath The Surface (Chapter 2 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.6k

Chapter summary: Declan grapples with the risk of hiring you while you grapple with whether or not you're good enough. Once the verdict is in, you both realise you may have jumped in feet first a little too hastily.

A/N: Things are heating up in more ways than one and I am soooo ready for you guys to meet the silently unhinged Declan... Oh, and in this universe, Declan did end up interviewing Margaret Thatcher. Also not entirely proofread so may be some mistakes. Happy reading!

Chapter Two: Beneath The Surface

“A promise of secrecy was of course very dutifully given, but it could not be kept without difficulty; for the curiosity excited by his long absence burst forth in such very direct questions on his return as required some ingenuity to evade, and he was at the same time exercising great self-denial, for he was longing to publish his prosperous love.”

You’ve spent the last half hour reading, then rereading, the same page of Pride and Prejudice, your creature-comfort book since you were a young teenager. Normally, you’d be able to recite the passage from memory by now, but your mind has been elsewhere than focussed on the words in front of you. It’s been over a week since your interview with Declan and you’ve heard nothing. Zilch. Nada. For days, your brain has been stuck in a constant loop of questions you’ve no answers for.

Why hasn’t he called? 

Why haven’t you heard anything? 

Did he find someone better?

That last one has been the most burning question of them all, coupled with the memory of Declan’s gravelly voice telling you, I’d be lucky to have ya.

So, why hasn’t he called?

It’s not lost on you that you sound more like a needy girl hanging out for a guy after a date than someone waiting to hear back about a job you weren’t even sure you wanted until the moment you were sat in his office. But you do want it.

The job, that is.

Taggie was none the wiser, too. She’d told you her father had barely given her an inkling of where his head was at, and that he remained suspiciously mum on the outcome of the interviews he’d had in the days succeeding yours. “I think he’s just been busy,” she countered, mentioning that Declan had been on edge in the lead up and preparation for his televised interview with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. You were well aware, and knew how much the opportunity meant to him, so you’d made a conscious effort to stay away from The Priory, as not to overwhelm Declan or put any additional pressure on him to make a decision about the assistant position. Instead, you’d met Taggie in town for afternoon tea on the days she wasn’t preparing for an event, or a meal at Bar Sinister when time called for a catch up. But the Thatcher interview was days ago now — a roaring success with both viewers and ratings — and you were getting restless for news.

Slamming your worn out copy of Pride and Prejudice shut, you reach for the phone by your bedside and dial your best friend for what feels like the fiftieth time this week. You’ve called The Priory so often in recent days that she doesn’t even say hello when she answers.

“Still no word yet,” she sighs down the line. “He’s in an awful mood tonight, though. Went straight up to his office when he got home, refused dinner. I think Mummy being away is getting to him.”

You hum in agreement, not that you have any real insight on the matter. “I’m sure he’s fine, Tag. Probably tired of putting up with that Tony Baddingam’s shit. I told you what a right arse he was to your dad when I was there, didn’t you?”

“You did. Honestly, I didn’t think about anyone else at Corinium when I suggested you work for Daddy. It’s one thing for you to be under him, but to be at the beck and call of Lord Baddingham, too?” You practically hear Tag shudder down the line. “Makes me feel ill the way he treats the women who work for him.”

You push aside any runaway thoughts elicited by Taggie’s mention of you under Declan and shrug. “It’s fine, Tag. I’ve dealt with enough Baddinghams in my time to know to tread carefully.” You pull the phone cable taut and pluck it with your finger. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve got the job anyway. I should have heard by now.”

In the room above Taggie, Declan stubs out his cigarette, reclining in his office chair as he listens to his daughter’s voice reverberate through the house. One final plume of smoke emerges from the pile of ashes and butts that have accumulated in the tray over the last twenty-four hours. He ought to be prepping for his next TV interview, a fairly benign chat with a local farmer who has grand plans for the land on the outskirts of the Cotswolds. A piece of cake, he’d told Tony earlier today when he was asked how his preparation was coming. However, he’d flicked through his notes and research God knows how many times this evening, yet couldn’t recall one lick of fact about his upcoming subject. Instead, he’d spent hours — no, days — agonising over whether he should hire you. His producer, Cameron Cook, was breathing down his neck for him to hire someone so he was spread less thin, but it’s not an easy task. On paper, you’re the perfect choice. Hell, in reality, you’re the perfect choice. Still, he prayed that one of the interviewees after you would prove better candidates (and notably male), but no one measured up to you. Sure, they were intelligent. Passionate, somewhat. But then there was you; intelligent and passionate, and looking far too delectable in that bloody skirt that belongs to his fucking wife. Yes, his wife — that’s if she still even wants to be called that — who’s been gone for weeks without as much as a phone call or letter to the house. Their son, Patrick, had mentioned that she’d phoned a couple of weeks ago to inform him she was back in the city, but spared their university-bound child the details of her whereabouts. Declan loves Maud, despite her shortcomings — of which there are many — but he couldn’t help but resent his wife for her absence, and moreover, for the constant dull ache that had been burdening his cock since seeing her skirt on you. He rationalised that if Maud was here, he wouldn’t be up at night thinking obscene thoughts about his daughter’s best friend who had showed up to his office all smiles and curves in his wife’s long-forgotten hand-me-downs. Every time Declan closes his eyes he sees the shallow dimple that adorns your left cheek. He gets random flashbacks of that black lace bra he imagines holds perfect breasts, if he just allows his mind to wander.

He flexes his hand in an attempt to rid it of the itch that’s been daring him to relieve himself ever since you left his Corinium office. There have been countless instances over the last week where he wondered if he just gave in — just a little, just a stroke, something, anything — that the ache will go away. But there’s a bigger part of him that’s afraid that once he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and then how will he ever be able to face you again? Face Taggie again, knowing the pure filth that’s taken him over in the moments when he’s alone?

Cameron had demanded that afternoon that he chooses someone to pick up his slack by the weekend so help her God or she’ll stick him with an intern with more boobs for brains, and he knows — he knows — he can’t be stuck with someone with the same level IQ as a stale loaf of bread. He’d combust. So, against his better judgement, he decides as he lights yet another cigarette, that he’ll offer you the job as his assistant.

So help him God.

The phone rang just after half seven as you took your first bite of marmite toast. “Do you want the good news or the best news first?” You wince at Taggie’s chirpiness so early in the morning.

“Umm, best ‘til last,” you option. “Good news first.”

“Well, I’m making shepherd’s pie for dinner and you’re coming over.”

“Alright,” you giggle. “And the other news?”

“We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating you making shepherd’s pie?”

“No, you nitwit! We’re celebrating you! You got the job! Daddy just told me on his way out this morning.”

Your chair whines against the floorboards of your flat as you shoot to your feet. “I got the job?”

“You got the job!” Taggie shrieks down the line. “Daddy said he was going to phone you when he gets to the office but I couldn’t wait to tell you myself. I know you’ve been anxious waiting to hear back.”

“Oh, Tag, I can’t believe it! I really thought he’d found someone more suited,” you express, cheeks pinching with a grin.

“He said he was very impressed with you,” your friend continues, voice laced with pride. “He also suggested we go shopping for some new officewear.”

“So, he hated my outfit, is what you’re saying.” Him and everybody else at that bloody station.

“No, it’s not that. I think him seeing you in Mummy’s clothes freaked him out a little, is all,” Taggie confesses. “He’s been a bit all over the shop since she’s been gone and I suppose when it comes to her, out of sight, out of mind is best.”

You think back to Declan spluttering his tea everywhere during your interview, and his little explosion afterwards. It makes sense that he doesn’t wanted be reminded of the woman who stepped out on him. You were just glad his reaction wasn’t to something you had done.

You and Taggie chat for a few minutes more about potential shopping destinations and your plans for the day before she rushes through a goodbye, eager to get to the market to pick up groceries for your celebratory meal. An hour later, Declan calls.

“Morning, it’s Declan,” he says, words stifled by the cigarette between his lips. “Declan O’Hara.”

You bite down a smile at the unnecessary clarification. You do the same to thwart your enthusiasm at finally receiving his call. “Hiya. It’s nice to hear from you. How’re you this morning, Declan?”

“Yeah, good, good. Tony’s riding my arse as per usual but other than that, good.�� Silence reigns as you wait for Declan to relay the good news. After a moment, he clears his throat like he just remembered you’re on the other end of the line. “Look, I don’t have long, but I wanted to give you a bell to let you know the assistant job is yours. If you want it.”

Although you were already aware of the job offer, you do a happy jig in your kitchen. “Yes, thank you! Of course, I accept.”

“Great. Does Monday work as a start date?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be there. Thank you, Declan.”

“Welcome. Chat soon.”

The line goes dead not second later, and while you’re still overcome with excitement about the new job, your chat with your new boss seemed off. Declan seemed off. Far removed from the chatty, friendly man you sat across from at Corinium just days ago. But like he said, Tony was on his back. He’s probably just… tense.

It becomes clear to Declan as he watches you and Taggie move seamlessly around the kitchen while clearing up after dinner that you’re effervescent. Far more than he’s ever noticed, in all the times you’ve visited his daughter over the recent months, and it bothers him. He hated how his pulse quickened at the sight of you on his doorstep two hours earlier, David Bowie T-shirt peeking out from beneath your checkered coat. If you were at least the tiniest bit irksome or slow-witted or just plain dull, he’d be able to reckon with the fact that his reaction to you was purely chemical. Just another man taken by a young woman’s good looks. But then again, if he found you any of those things, he wouldn’t dare allow you anywhere near his work, near his research. Nor would he be impressed with his daughter adopting a friend as such, either. 

Your laughter trills, egged on by the celebratory champagne Taggie had provided, and Declan catches the tailend of his daughter flinging a handful of dishsoap suds in your direction. You were a good girl, a good friend, being there for Taggie in the last few months. Always willing to lend a hand, or an ear, certainly a shoulder to cry on more than Declan liked to think about or admit. But you were just that: a girl. A girl who was now his assistant. He’ll be damned if he were to become another man at Corinium taking advantage of that power imbalance, which is why he replaces his glass of bubbles with a whiskey and retires to his office after supper, pressing a kiss to his daughter’s forehead as he goes.

You decide to sleepover at The Priory after consuming a few too many glasses of champagne for it be considered safe to drive home. Although, sleepover may be too generous of a word because you’ve barely slept a wink since sinking into bed beside Taggie over an hour ago. Your friend, however, had no trouble drifting off, only to start snoring so loudly the whole bed vibrates. You’ve already tried covering your head with a pillow and the counting backwards from one hundred trick to coax yourself to sleep, but it’s no use. You slide out from under the poppy-printed covers and tip-toe downstairs in a sweater hanging on the back of Taggie’s bedroom door. You’re swimming in the woollen brown garment. It falls to mid-thigh and is sleeves are at least half an arm-length too long, but it keeps the chill at bay when you swing open The Priory’s back door. You slide on a pair of Wellington boots that sit on the doormat and step out into the biting air. In it, the inches of skin between the hem of the sweater and your long socks prickle with goosebumps, and your breath forms a fog under the soft glow of fairy lights leftover from a garden party the O’Hara’s hosted in the summer. Somewhere in the distance, a owl twoos and foxes rustle through shrubbery. When you lived in the city, the nights were overrun with sirens and drunken hooligans singing football chants down the alleyways and other racket that made it very difficult to hear yourself think. Meanwhile, out here, in the countryside, you could just be.

“Nice sweater.”

“Fuck!” The sudden verbiage shocks your shoulders to your ears. There’s no mistaking that voice, yet you have to scan the area to see where the Irish lilt is stemming from. It’s not until you hear the swish of water that you realise he’s in the hot tub that’s tucked away from the courtyard, his silhouette barely visible against the night. “Declan. You gave me a fright.”

“Sorry,” he croaks. “Can’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “Taggie’s snoring like a freight train.”

As your eyes adjust to the dark, you just catch Declan’s moustache quirk with a lazy smile. “Just like her mother.”

The comment coaxes you closer to the tub, waiting for Declan to elaborate, but whatever story he might’ve spieled evaporates with the steam from the water. The heated pool was just another of Maud’s extravagant buys, and Declan hated the addition when it showed up in a delivery van, during summer, of all seasons, because he knew it would be forgotten about in a matter of days once she’d found something new to obsess over. There was always something with Maud. If it wasn’t an extravagant purchase to distract herself with, it was a lover, and if it wasn’t a lover, it was a trip far, far away from the Cotswolds. Her recent truancy being case in point.

There’s hardly any light in this corner of the yard, aside from a small golden glimmer beneath the hot tub surface, but it’s enough for you to take in Declan’s form. He’s lax, whiskey in hand, with his head reclined against the lip of the pool. You notice the thick smattering of chest hair across the breadth of his torso, dark and unruly. The few men you’ve ever been with have been around your age, either trimmed or unable to grow body hair where its desired. But then again, they were just boys in the scheme of things. Declan has always been so fucking manly. His already dark hair black with water, pushed away from his face like he’s slicked it back with his hands. It hasn’t stopped miniscule curls frizzing to fruition at his temples. Declan takes a sip of the amber liquid in his glass.

“If I’m being honest, I thought you’d be a tad more excited when I spoke to you this morning.” The subject change surprises you.

“Oh, trust me, I was! But–“

“But Taggie had already broken the news to you by then, hadn’t she?”

You look down at your feet, not wanting to give your friend away, but Declan knows his daughter has a hard time keeping a lid on her excitement. “It’s alright,” he chuckles. “She means well.”

“She’s a good friend. They’re hard to come by.”

You’re telling me, Declan thinks, taking a one-handed inventory of his own close companions.

The frosty air hugs you and your toes seize under its bite, even through your socks and boots. “Do you mind?” You point to the hot tub. It takes a moment for it to click in Declan’s brain that you’re asking if you can join him. It would be rude for him to say no. Stupid for him to say yes. Instead, he gives a non-commital shrug and whispers Lord, help me into his glass. Over its rim, he watches you perch on the edge of the tub to while you toe off your wellies. They land with a thud on the pavement and you giggle to yourself, oops, when one ricochets into a nearby shrub. Muscles zip up the back of your leg when you peel off your socks, and Declan has to force himself to look away when the hem of your sweater — no, his sweater, one of many Taggie had stolen away — rides dangerously high on your thighs as you swing your legs over the lip of the heated pool. He’s thankful that only one of the lights below the surface is in working order because his prick rouses when a satisfied hum seeps from you as your feet kiss the warm surface. Declan’s jaw ticks. The devil on his shoulder probes that you’re purposely torturing him and his conscious bites back that he’s a sleazy bastard for thinking as much. You’re not doing anything. You’re just here.

Get a grip on yourself, O’Hara, he scolds, and chases it with a swig of whiskey he only hopes will burn away the filthy thoughts you manage to conjure for him.

“You got another one of them?” When he faces you again, you’re pointing at the glass that’s fogged up in his sweaty palm.

“The champagne not enough for ya?”

You roll your eyes. “If you don’t want to share, just say so.”

“You can’t handle this.”

“Are you really going to sit there and tell a girl what she can and can’t handle?” you press, eyes locked in on his. “You’d be surprised what I can handle, Declan.” You don’t mean for it to sound so provocative, but challenging him has set your whole body ablaze. For good measure, you quirk an eyebrow at Declan, and the subtle move has his cock doing the same in the confines of his striped swim shorts. Without another word, Declan floats across the hot tub to where you’re seated and presses his glass into your hand. You offer a thank you in the form of a gentle smile before pressing your full, blush lips to the rim. Tilting the glass to the sky, you can feel Declan’s heavy gaze on you, watching. Waiting. You allow your eyes to fall shut as the bitter prickle of the whiskey waves over your tongue, so you don’t see him slide a hand to the back of his neck. His nails dig crecsents into the skin there, both as punishment for and distraction from the fact his mind is trekking to dark places where your lips are pressed somewhere far more sinister. He can’t keep his eyes off you while you drain what’s left of the whiskey, your eyes fluttering open when you realise there’s nothing left.

“I told you I could handle it,” you tell Declan, ignoring the slight burn that stings at the back of your throat. You both reach your hand into the small space between you, fingers grazing as you pass the glass back to Declan. 

The air between the two of you is charged. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone lit a match and the whole world went up in flames taking the pair of you with it. That same pained look that took Declan’s expression over during your interview rears its head again. Before you get the opportunity to put a name to it, a door creaks in the distance and your name echoes into the night.

“Are you out there?”

Taggie.

Taggie.

There’s a flurry of movement as Declan slides to the opposite side of the hot tub again and you all but catapult yourself onto the pavement as if you’d been caught redhanded. Doing what, you weren’t entirely sure, but you were certain it wasn’t a good look. You yank your socks over your damp feet, followed by the wellies and make a start for where the kitchen light illuminates your friend in the doorway.

“There you are!” she sighs, almost relieved, when you meet her at the step. “You alright? I thought you might’ve driven home after all.” “God, no. I’m fine! Just…” you glance over your shoulder to where the blaze of a cigarette burns in the darkness. “Just getting some air.”

Loved writing this chapter, and things are just getting started!! Reblog, share, comment: it all means the world to me!! <3

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview

[dailynnt]

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘Number of part: 20/?

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻From the author: Can you imagine that this is the 20th part? 🫣 I remember being shocked when I wrote 10 parts, and now it's 20. 🤭 By the way, this is about the middle of the story. What did you guys think of this part? Let me know in the comments. 🙏🏻 Do you think they'll make up quickly this time? 🤔

⊹ 🫂Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and love you🥰💜 Bright times will come and you will be happy, my love 🥺💜

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad, @kelsyx33, @bhonbhon, @unholyforjk, @byeolluvher (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 20. House of Cards.

The sensation of cold metal on your lips brings you back to consciousness. But you don't want to open your eyes. What's the point? What will you see when you open your eyes? Shouldn't you stay still until Jungkook comes for you?

Jungkook. That name sounds like a life preserver. Jungkook. Where is he? Why did he let this happen to you? Is he looking for you? Does he know you've been kidnapped? Will he make it before these people do something to you?

The sharp tip of the knife rests against your lips, pressing. But you don't open your eyes. The knife leaves an unpleasant mark on your jaw, on your cheeks.

"Jungkook…That fucking bastard." - You hear it very close and somewhere above your head. "I've been waiting for this moment for so long. Now I have the opportunity to take revenge on him by cutting his sweet whore almost to straw." - You feel your heart start to beat fast. It's as if there's a little bird inside your chest begging to be free and ready to smash against the cage just to be free.

Are you afraid of being hurt? Yes. You scared. Will it hurt? Probably yes. You gather your courage and open your eyes. The darkness of the warehouse, lit by only one lamp, created an oppressive atmosphere. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the sound of water drops falling on a metal surface. Your heart was pounding so loudly that it seemed to drown out even this sound.

A man stood in front of you, tall and stout, with rough features and a sparse beard. His eyes burned with hatred, and in his hands he was clutching a knife that looked like it was used to freshly cut the carcasses of dead animals.

Meeting his hateful glare in his eyes, you felt your insides twist into a tight knot. It was painful.

"Oh, finally, our beauty has woken up." - You don't know how long you were unconscious. The last thing you remember is being brought to an abandoned warehouse and this man, who standing in front of your eyes, ordered no one to touch you. Only to watching for you. The conversation stopped and you felt a prick in your neck and lost consciousness.

You were sitting on a chair tied up. Your hands were tied behind your back, aching with pain. Your legs were also tied, and your body was aching. You were freezing. Although you were wearing a coat, it was unbuttoned. Your thigh was visible, and your neckline was also on display. You were uncomfortable with this bastard looking at you, inspecting your body.

The man stretched his cracked lips in a nasty smile, running the tip of the knife across your cheek again, but not cutting the skin. His voice sounded ominous, and you felt every word burning you from the inside.

"Are you waiting for your saviour?" - He asks with venom in his voice. He takes the knife away from your face and touches his watch with the hand he was holding it with. "He's taking his time. You've been here for more than 5 hours." - He looks at you and you realize that it's about 7 am. "Do you think I should have played with you right away?" - He puts the knife to your neck again, this time forcing you to turn your head away.

"What did he do to you?" - You say quietly, trying to stay calm, even though your hands and feet were shaking with fear. You decided to stall for time, to start a conversation and maybe better understand why you were here.

The man was in no hurry to answer you. He ran the knife down from your neck to your chest. He was standing over you, too close, and you were very scared and disgusted at the same time.

"What did he do? Oh, girl, you can't even imagine." - He said with a smile on his lips, ugly and crazy.

"I can, if you tell me." - You say more boldly. The man wiggles his eyebrows sensing your tone.

"I had a company. A legitimate business. Not a big one, but it worked. Logistics, warehouses, transportation. And then he comes along, this dumbass and his gang." - He finally starts to speak. He squeezes the handle of the knife and presses it into the gap between your breasts. "They came to me like predators. They said I 'owed them money'. This bastard told me that Namjun was waiting for his money, but I had paid all the debts I had. I didn't understand why they sent your guy to me." - The man took a step away from you and turned his back as if thinking aloud. "But you know what? It turned out they wanted to get the securities I had. Namjoon thought I should give them to them voluntarily. And when I didn't, they sent your nice boy and he grabbed me and tortured me for eight fucking hours." - The man says and turns to you.

"Did he really do that to you?" - You ask. When he turns to you, you see his face distorted by anger.

"He beat me, cut me, burned my skin, he broke almost every bone in my body. As I was lying on the ground, bleeding, this little psychopath whispered to me that if I didn't voluntarily give them the shares of my company and the papers that Namjoon wanted, they would force me to do it. Do you know how?" - The man turned to you and poked you again with the knife. It was painful, and you felt a drop of blood leak out of your cheek.

"How?" - You asked in a trembling voice.

"He showed me a picture of my little girl, who they watched , and said he would do things to her that would make me not only want to give up the company myself, but that I would sell my soul to the devil." - Your captor growls. You freeze in horror. No. Jungkook would never do that. He would never hurt a little child. This is definitely not Jungkook.

"He would never lay a finger on a little child. You're lying!" - You snapped. A hard blow landed on your lip. It was a fist or a slap, you don't know for sure, but your lip instantly went numb and you felt a metallic taste in your mouth.

"Who gave you the right to raise your voice to me, bitch?" - The kidnapper shouted at you, hitting you painfully. You looked up at him and glared. He grabbed you by the hair, pulling your head back, and came closer. "This piece of shit is going to pay for everything now. Did you think you knew him? You don't. He's a cold-blooded killer, and I'm just lucky to be alive. My wife left me and took our child when she found out I was threatened and that I had given away my company. I lost everything because of him."

"If you hate Jungkook so much, why don't you deal with him personally? Do you haven’t the guts? Do you? Do you think that by grabbing me, you'll pay him back in kind?" - You asked boldly. It was foolish of you. You're not in the best condition to throw out words like that. But that's you, your sharp tongue hasn't gone away.

"What a long tongue you have!" - The kidnapper laughed. "I can easily shorten it for you." - He squeezed your hair tighter.

"Only cowards do that." - You provoked. "You could meet him and talk to him like a man. You could have called your henchmen for help and resolved the old issue. And you kidnapped me, and you think he'll feel bad if you hurt me?" - The man looks at you with contempt. His lips are pressed into a thin line. "You know he'll come and you'll be dead. You could have been smart and taken him by surprise, but you chose to act in a primitive wa..." - You didn't finish speaking because you got hit in the face again. It hurt so much. It woke you up. You shouldn't talk like that, in front of a man who holds a knife and can cut you without hesitation.

"Shut your mouth!" - He snarled. "You have no idea what you're talking about or what you're getting yourself into. I'm going to make him feel what I've been feeling all along. The fear. The despair. The pain. And you're going to help me do that, little one."

"I won't do anything for you." - You wheezed, shaking with pain.

"Oh, you already have. You're his weakness. Now he will run around like a mad dog trying to find you. And when he does, I'll make sure you see him suffer." - Your captor growled.

You were silent, trying to gather strength to defend yourself somehow. Your head was spinning and your body was in pain, but you didn't let yourself break.

"When Jungkook comes, you will that one who feel pain, despair, and fear again. You know that." - You say sharply. The man laughs at how restless you are.

"Do you know what people are the most frightening? Those who have nothing to lose. And I am exactly like that. I have nothing. And your Jungkook took it all away from me." - He stops talking. He looks at you, wondering where to start. "I'm looking forward to him. Now let's decorate your beautiful skin with perfect cuts." - Says your captor. He touches your cheek with the knife and you hold your breath. Another moment and he will cut your face. Suddenly you hear the sound of a struggle. The kidnapper also hears something happening outside.

"Has Jungkook really come? I have to go meet him with honors." - You see the man shove the knife into the sheath and a moment later pull out a gun. You are frozen with horror. The man loads the weapon and walks to the exit of the warehouse.

Your brain is working at full capacity. You hear screams, sounds of blows. You try to figure out how to free yourself from the ropes. But your arms and legs are tied so tightly that you can barely move.

You are literally petrified when you hear a few shots and everything goes silent. It's quiet. And you hear the drops drumming on the metal in time with your heartbeat. The door opens and you see someone coming. Because of the light shining in your face, you hope it's Jungkook. From the way he looks, it's him.

"Jungkook..." - You cry, calling out to your boyfriend. When he ends up next to your lap, you don't immediately realize that it's not Jungkook. It's Doohoon. Tears wash away your mascara, closing your eyes. You blink your eyes open and finally see clearly. He still has the bruises under his eyes, the marks of Jungkook's beatings.

"Candy..." - He touches your cheek with cold fingers. You cry harder. You're actually glad that Doohoon is here. It doesn't matter who he is. What matters is that he came to save you. How did he find you so quickly? Was it because he was following you? "Bastards. What did they do?" - He wipes away the blood running from the wound on his lip.

"How did you find me?" - You ask in a shaky voice. Doohoon hurries to untie you. He unties your hands first. Your wrists burn with pain. You rubbed them with your hands to ease the pain. You waited for him to respond, but he was in no hurry to answer. Doohoon knelt down and began to untie your legs.

"I saw you run out of Jimin's club. I was right behind you. I texted you, when you were there. I knew something bad had happened. I went after you and wanted to pick you up...." - You were so focused on Doohoon words and his movements trying to free you from the ropes that you didn't hear someone appear next to you.

It's like you're in slow motion, seeing Doohoon flying backwards with great force. You see Jungkook grabbing him by the collar and punching him in the face, decorating his face with a new bruise.

"You fucking shit!" - Jungkook yelled. You had to react somehow. You saw Jungkook beating Doohoon, who was covering his face with his hands to shield himself from the blows. Jungkook pushed Doohoon against the wall and continued to beat him.

"Jungkook!" - You called to get his attention. You called out to your boyfriend again and again to get him to pay attention to you, but it seemed like his main goal was to destroy Doohoon.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, motherfucker!" - Jungkook yelled between punches. At some point, while you were trying to untie your legs, Doohoon fought back against Jungkook. He seized the moment and punched Jungkook in the face. Jungkook fell back on, not expecting to miss Doohoon’s fist.

You released your legs and stood up. Your legs were shaking and you were dizzy. You had to stop the fight that was happening. You froze in horror when you were almost to them and saw Jungkook pull out a gun and point it at Doohoon’s face. He loaded the gun in a matter of seconds.

Doohoon froze just like you, but he didn't look scared. In fact, he was trying to hold back a smile. With his peripheral vision, he sees you standing behind Jungkook with terror on your face.

"Jungkook, I came to save Y/N..." - Doohoon says, his voice desperate.

"I'll make a sieve out of your head." - Jungkook said coldly. "This is all your fault, you fucking bastard. I know."

"Are you crazy? I didn't kidnap her, it wasn't me." - Doohoon almost doesn't cry. He makes his voice sound so innocent that your heart clenches in your chest. Jungkook doesn't look like himself. He looks like the monster you saw in Niseko again.

You see Jungkook breathing heavily. He's so focused on Doohoon and the possibility of destroying him that he doesn't even pay attention to you. He didn't come over to you when you were tied up. Did he not care what happened to you? And if you were lying unconscious, all cut up, he really would have run to kill Doohoon first thing in, too?

You see Jungkook take a step toward Doohoon and put the muzzle of the gun directly to his forehead.

"You bore me." - He says. Jungkook takes the safety off the gun and you realize that in the state Jungkook is in now, he can do anything.

You run to them and shout at the top of your lungs.

"JUNGKOOK ENOUGH!" - Your voice echoes in the warehouse and your eyes finally meet the two black buttons. Jungkook sees your bruised lip and the cut on your cheek. There are traces of smeared blood on your chin. Your mascara is smeared black on your cheeks. Your eyes are red, like you've been crying a lot. It hurts Jungkook to see what these assholes have done to you. He's going to kill everyone who hurt you, and he's going to start with Doohoon, who's responsible for kidnapping you.

"Baby..." - Jungkook says quietly, still holding the gun pointed at Doohoon.

At that moment, Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok, and a few other guys run into the warehouse. You stare at them indifferently for a second and then turn your gaze to Jungkook.

"Let him go. He saved me, and you want to kill him?" - You ask colorlessly.

"This is his handiwork. He set up this kidnapping..." - Jungkook explains. But that's not possible, because the kidnapper told you everything. And it wasn't Doohoon who took everything from the man who kidnapped you.

"What are you talking about?" - You ask, almost crying again. "The man who kidnapped me told me everything. You tortured him for eight hours to make him give the company to your boss and threatened to kill his little child. He went crazy, the man dreamed of take revenge with you, threatening to cut me into pieces. And you blame Doohoon for kidnapping me?" - All you hear was your voice filled with hysteria. You grabbed your hair, realizing the danger you were in because of your relationship with Jungkook. You were sick from the sleeping pills, from your nerves, and from the terrible Jungkook, who turned out to be a real wolf pretending to be a sheep. Everything you knew about your "best friend" and "boyfriend" was a lie and an illusion that he skillfully showed to you and his family.

"Let's all calm down." - You heard Hosok's voice. You looked at him and felt a wave of anger wash over you. The only one who was happy about the whole situation was Doohoon. Without showing his satisfaction, he was quietly rejoicing that his plan had worked out in the best possible way.

"It's your fault, Jeon, that I'm the here. Don't put the blame on someone else. You couldn't protect me, even though you promised me you would more than once." - You said. Your voice became hard because it was filled with anger and frustration. "I was really a fool to think that we could be a couple. I didn't see or realize who you really were. My feelings for you closed my eyes to your true personality, which I see right now. It's not Doohoon's fault that you've become what you are. You make your own decisions and do the things that you will be responsible for." - You stop talking, and everyone around you is stunned, like statues, frozen in place. Jungkook puts down the gun and wants to approach you.

"Baby... you have it all wrong...." - Jungkook says as he approaches you. You take a few steps back. Again, you are afraid of him, and now you are really afraid. Because you don't know the man in front of you. He only has the appearance of a man you've known since childhood.

"Don't even think about coming near me, Jeon." - You say, holding out your hand. "I don't want to know you anymore. I don't want anything to do with you." - Jungkook freezes. He feels like he's been hit in the chest with a hammer. Your words wound his soul. He looks at you and wants to hug you, wants to lean against you and hide you in his arms. Jungkook is a fool. He let everything happen: falling in love with you, telling you who he really is, having someone kidnap you, allowed Doohoon to do everything to make you think he was the really scumbag. It looks like Jungkook is really to blame and shouldn't be blaming anyone else. It's completely his fault.

"You need to go to the hospital." - Jungkook said. "Jimin will take you..." - He offered you.

"No." - You cut him off. "I'm not going with any of these thugs." - You say. Doohoon almost laughs out loud. You're a fire. He always knew you were sharp with your tongue. Unlike Doohoon, Jimin can't hold back his laughter. Everyone looks at him, especially Jungkook, who raises his eyebrows.

"Give me my phone back. I'll get out of here." - You tell Jungkook, knowing that he has your phone. Jungkook silently reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out your phone. He takes a step toward you and you take the phone away.

"Please, baby, if you don't want to go with me or Jimin, then go with Taehyung or Hoseok. You need to see a doctor." - Jungkook pleads with you.

"I don't need you to take care of me." - You say as you walk over to Doohoon. You take his hand and throw it over your shoulder. "I'm going to leave here with Doohoon. And God forbid you follow us. I'll call the police on you." - You say. You want to take a step with Doohoon, and then you laugh hysterically. "Oh right, who am I talking to. The mafia that controls the police. If the police don't protect me, I think…your mother will. Seems she's more powerful than the Seoul police." - You stare fiercely into Jungkook's angry gaze at you. "I'll tell her everything if you try to get close to me." - You threaten. A second's silence almost physically presses on everyone present. "Do you understand me, Jeon?" - You ask.

You don't wait for an answer. You and Doohoon walk away and you don't see that Jungkook is simply devastated. He is destroyed by your words and actions. From the very beginning, your relationship was like a house of cards. You and Jungkook were seduced by the possibility of feeling love, building a fragile house of cards which of fate that gave you false hope. And the real world destroyed that house in one day.

Three weeks later

Three weeks have passed, but the wounds from the experience still hurt. Not only bruises on your skin, but also deep scars in your soul. You feel empty, as if something important was torn from your heart. All these days you tried to cope, you got a job, set up a new apartment, taking things from Jungkook's apartment when he wasn’t be at home (on the third day of the new year). You tried to find a footing in your new life. But every night, thoughts of Jungkook returned like shadows.

Your mind is filled with questions: how could you have been so blind? How could you not notice Jungkook's dark side, which used to be just a vague feeling, but now became clear and obvious?

The image of him beating Doohoon and holding a gun to his head haunts you. That moment turned your perception of him upside down. He is not just the man you loved. He's a gangster. A dangerous one. Unpredictable. And although your heart screams that he is like that because of his circumstances, your mind says otherwise: you don't belong with him.

At the same time, you feel guilty. You've seen his other side, the gentle, caring one, the one who would give up everything for you. But even these memories are shattered by reality. You are afraid of him, afraid of who he has become, or who he has always been. And this fear destroys all hope. Everything fell apart in one moment, like a house of cards.

You wake up when the sun has already set. Today is your night shift at the convenience store you got a job at in your new neighborhood. There were many advantages to working there. The salary is enough for rent, the store is close to your new apartment. The scholarship will be enough to live on.

The fourth year is about to start. You will be writing your thesis. Your head is swollen with how you are going to combine study and work. You have to try again. But to be honest, you don't have much of a choice. You can't go back to Suwon to live with your parents because they still think you live alone in the apartment and are doing fine, even though you look back at your shadow even during the day. Now every man is a potential kidnapper for you. And you are afraid that Jungkook is watching you. Maybe he is, but you haven't seen or heard anything suspicious in the three weeks you've lived without him. And there hasn't been a single news from Jungkook himself. Not a text, not a call. Nothing.

You put on a black oversized hoodie and wide black pants to make yourself look big and more like a boy than a girl. You came up with the idea to do this when you were dressed to work in a store. This peculiar disguise may not have worked properly, but it made you feel at ease.

Luckily for you, in the two weeks you've been working in the store, working at night has been quite pleasant, the only trigger is being sleepy even if you've slept during the day, and maybe some grumpy man who wants to get free lunchboxes that will only expire at the end of the day.

Doohoon also bored you off a lot. He helped you find an apartment and had a habit of coming to see you whenever he felt like it. Of course, you rarely let him in, and you could almost always come up with some excuse, but there were a few times when you just couldn't do it. You are annoyed by his pre-housekeeping, he thinks he can throw money at you and you will idolize him. He reassures you that he is just "your good friend" who helps you in your time of need, and you tell him that you have had enough "friends" in your life and that he should leave you alone. But he just laughs and doesn't take your words seriously.

You put a deep hood over your head so that you can't see your face and pull on your jacket. In 15 minutes you will reach the store and take over the shift from your partner Sunchol. He's boring to tears and has a joke flatter than the ground.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you take it out to see who could have texted you so late. Of course, you already guessed, even before you see for Dohun's name on the phone.

"Candy, I can take you to the university tomorrow. I remember when you talked to Suyong on the phone and you agreed that you would go together to choose a topic for your diploma. I have some business tomorrow in the area of your campus, so we're on the way 😉"

You read the message and close the cocoa-talk without answering Doohoon. You roll your eyes upwards. Your eyes seem to see inside your skull. It's so annoying, he's so intrusive. You'd rather travel across Seoul by subway and bus ten times by yourself than be in Doohoon's company for an extra 40 minutes. Even if the trip takes 1.5 hours, you're calm and nothing stresses you out.

You come to work, change your clothes. You take over from your partner's shift. You tolerate his several stupid, flat jokes, almost politely, and get to work. Actually, today you had to arrange the new ramen that arrived, remove the expired food boxes from the display window, and that's it.

You didn't start working right away, around twelve o'clock in the morning, you had people coming in, and you served people almost one by one. When the flow of people ended, you were able to start arranging the goods. You did the ramen quickly. The food boxes were next in line.

You had almost finished collecting the expired food when you heard the sound of the "wind song", which meant that someone had come. You went to the counter where the cash register was and saw Mr. Yon. He was a man of about 45 and he worked in the police. You were friends with him and had interesting conversations about his work. He came in early today. You looked at the clock and saw 12.21. He usually came for groceries at 1 am or even 2 am. His work took up all his free time, so he didn't have a family.

"Are you going to have dinner early, Mr. Yon?" - You asked with a smile on your lips, holding a whole stack of food boxes. The man heard you and walked over, smiling back.

"Good night, beautiful. You're working so hard, isn't it hard for you? Let me help you." - Mr. Yon offered to help you. You shook your head in refusal.

"Thanks, but no. I've already done it. You choose what you want to eat, and I'll go to the service room and leave the boxes. That's all I have to do and my night is free." - You say. Mr. Yon smiles at you awkwardly, scratches the back of his head, and walks to the shelves with the kimpabs. You put the expired food in the warehouse and hurry back behind the counter.

Mr. Yon is taking pibimbap, onigiri with tuna in an egg, and fish cake with soup.

"How was your day today? Did you finally find out who stole that van?" - You asked about the case Mr. Yon was working on. You had a warm relationship with him, so he sometimes shared details of his work with you. Mr. Yon smiled that you were interested in his case and replied in a friendly manner.

"Yes, I know who is him. Now I just need to find him and then everything will become clearer." - The detective replies. The two of you listen to the sound of the cash register, and the man lets out a scream. You smile in confusion.

"I forgot to get a makgeolli, I want to relax a little." - He says and goes to the shelves with the algogol. While you're packing and waiting for Mr. Yon, someone else enters the store. The sound of the "wind song" doesn't let you miss anyone.

You see out of the corner of your eye that it is a young man dressed in all black. He has a cap on his head, also black, and a wide hood over it. He does not raise his head to you, so you do not greet him. He keeps his hands in his karmas and walks to the shelves of ramen’s. You look ordinary, but you feel some slight tension. In any case, you have nothing to fear. There is a detective nearby. Should you ask him to stay until this guy leaves?

Mr. Yon returns with a bottle of makgeolli and two cans of Heineken. You punch the alcohol and name the amount. Mr. Yon pays, and you watch the guy picking out the ramen. His cap hides his face well. You take the money and count the change. You want to ask the detective to stay with you and talk for a while (until this suspicious guy leaves), but while you're counting the money, his phone rings.

"Yes." - Mr. Yon answers the phone. He is silent for a long moment, you give him the change and he takes it. "I'm at the convenience store near my house right now, but I can be there in 20 minutes. Wait for me and interview the witnesses when I get there." - Mr. Yon takes the whole bag of food in his hands and smiles at you disappointedly. "I guess I won't be able to relax as much as wanted, and it’s seems I didn’t be able to eat dinner too." - You smile nervously. The detective won't be able to stay. Okay, then you'll have to taken the “panic” button.

"It's just the way the job is. What will you do?" - You say politely.

"That's right. Have a cood night, beautiful, I'll see you tomorrow?" - He asks, getting ready to leave.

"Yes, I'm working the night shift again tomorrow." - You say kindly. Mr. Yon throws you a satisfied smile.

"See you then." - He says and leaves. You stay behind the counter and feel your tension rising. The guy in black is standing by the shelves with ramen as the detective leaves. You sit down on a chair, put the panic button in your pocket, which was meant to be used to call a private security service. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the guy go to the shelves with kimpabs and onigiri. He took some food and headed in your direction.

You don't know why, but your heart started pounding and your breathing became rapid. You tried to calm him down.

"Good night." - You greeted him, not looking up when the young man came to the counter. You waited for him to put the food on the table so you could run it through the cash register.

Your heart sank to your heels as he placed the ramen on the table and you saw the tattoo on his arm. A purple heart near his thumb, a crown on his index finger, an inscription with his initials, and an emoticon with a curved eyebrow that conveys irony or sarcasm. These tattoos can belong to only one person.

"Good night." - You hear a velvety voice, with a slight hoarseness. The voice you missed so much. A voice that instantly set your whole being on fire.

Jungkook was standing in front of you, smiling slightly, and you wanted to fall through the ground just to avoid seeing him. Just not to hear that your favorite voice. You seem to have forgotten how to breathe. You come to when he steals a box of cooked rice and a few corndogs next to ramen. You don't know what to do. But you're in a fog, so you look down and punch the goods.

Jungkook does not continue the dialog with you. He doesn't ask you anything, just waits in silence for you to tell him how much the food is.

"5900 won." - You don't say it as confidently as you want to sound.

"I will card payment, please." - He says. And you feel like you're in an invisible press. You're nervous and it shows in your hands, which tremble as you get ready the payment to the card.

Jungkook sees your hands shaking, but he doesn't say anything. He is trembling just like you, only inside. He has been wanting to come to you for so long. He forbade himself all three Sundays, which he barely lived without you. But his desire was unbearable. He had to see you, he had to hear your sweet voice, without which he cannot imagine his life. That why he here.

Jungkook doesn't know how to fix everything. He realizes that he has ruined everything. He turned their relationship into a house of cards, and now it's fallen down. But he has to start from the beginning. He wants you by his side, and if it takes years, he won't hesitate to spend them. This time he will try to control everything and make sure that no one lays a finger on you. He knows he can do it no matter what it takes.

That's why he doesn't say anything to you, he just stands there quietly and admires your beautiful face. Damn, have you become even more beautiful? Have you become even more attractive? Have you always been this fascinating?

Jungkook puts the card on the counter and the payment sounds. Jungkook takes the food.

"Does the microwave work here?" - Jungkook asks, taking a step away from the counter. You stare at him, not sure whether to lie to make him leave or tell him the truth that he's staying. Jungkook is waiting too. He knows. That if you tell the truth, it will be a sign to him that you want him to stay.

"It's working." - You say without looking at him. Your desire to have him around is stronger than any common sense you've ever had. You want to be with him. Let him eat in one place near you.

Let him stay in your life forever.

↰ Previous chapter ⋮ ≣ Index ↓ ⋮ Next chapter ↱

Note from author: By the way, for this part, I was inspired by the BTS song "House of Cards". It always reminded me of the motives of the mafia. And I also thought it perfectly described Y/N and Jungkook's relationship in my story at this particular stage. So if you want to, listen to this song while reading chapter 20.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Curse

- Summary: He loved you despite knowing he would never have you.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Brynden Rivers

- Note: Keep in mind how some things may have been changed from the canon, and any inconsistencies you notice are on purpose to compliment the narrative of this story.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (blood, gore, violence)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The chill of the evening air seeped into the stone walls of the Red Keep as you sat by the hearth in your chambers, the flickering flames casting shadows on the silver of your hair. The room was quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the scratching of a quill as you composed a letter. The soft fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders framed you like an artist's masterpiece, your features illuminated in the warm glow of the firelight.

Brynden Rivers stood silently in the doorway, his dark, brooding gaze fixed on you. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too engrossed in your writing. His chest tightened as he took you in, your familiar presence stirring emotions he could no longer deny.

“Why must it be you?” The thought gnawed at him relentlessly, the bitter truth of it threatening to unman him. You were his sister by blood, his equal in both fire and ice, but the heart cares little for titles or propriety. The gods, cruel and capricious, had cursed him to love you. And yet, for all his cunning and resolve, Brynden Rivers, the master of shadows, had no strategy for this war within himself.

He stepped into the room at last, his boots soft against the stone floor. You looked up, surprised but not alarmed. A small smile curved your lips, a sight that could bring kingdoms to ruin, though you remained blissfully unaware of the effect it had on him.

“Brynden,” you said warmly, setting your quill aside. “I thought you’d be skulking about the council chambers or locked away in some dark corner of the library.”

“Do I skulk, then?” he replied, his tone light but his eyes betraying the heaviness in his heart. He walked closer, his long white hair trailing behind him like a specter. His mismatched eyes—one the color of fresh blood, the other pale as milkglass—lingered on you as though committing every detail to memory.

You laughed softly, a sound like bells on a crisp morning. “You are the Bloodraven, are you not? Isn’t skulking in your nature?”

He couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips, but it faded as quickly as it came. He stopped before the fire, hands clasped behind his back. “What are you writing?” he asked, more to distract himself than out of curiosity.

“A letter to Daeron,” you replied, gesturing to the parchment. “He frets over my welfare as if I were still a child. I thought I’d ease his mind.”

Brynden nodded, though his jaw tightened at the mention of your elder brother. Of course Daeron would fret over you; who wouldn’t? You were the jewel of the Targaryen line, a creature of beauty and grace wrapped in Valyrian steel. Brynden had seen the way men looked at you—the way Daemon Waters, that charming fool, lingered too long in your company, the way even Baelor Breakspear treated you with a deference bordering on reverence. It filled Brynden with a fury he could barely contain, though he had no right to feel it.

“Daeron is right to worry,” he said, his voice lower now. “The court is full of snakes, and not all wear their venom openly.”

You tilted your head, studying him with those lilac eyes that seemed to pierce through his very soul. “And you, Brynden? Do you worry for me too?”

He froze. The question was innocent enough, but it struck him like a blade. Did he worry for you? Of course he did. He worried for your safety, for your happiness, for the day someone else might take you away from him forever. But his worry wasn’t born of a brother’s duty. It was something far darker, something shameful.

“Always,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, and you reached out to touch his hand. The gesture was innocent—sisterly—but it set his skin ablaze. He wanted to pull away, to shield you from the storm raging within him, but he couldn’t move. Your touch was his undoing.

“Brynden,” you said, your voice gentler now. “You’ve been so distant of late. Is something troubling you?”

He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “Many things trouble me, sister. That is the curse of a bastard, is it not? To carry burdens that are not entirely yours.”

You frowned, your hand tightening on his. “You are not just a bastard. You are a Targaryen, Brynden. You are my brother. You are…” You trailed off, as if searching for the right words. “You are more than you believe yourself to be.”

He looked at you then, truly looked at you, and felt the last of his resolve crumbling. He wanted to tell you everything—that you were his light in the darkness, his solace in a world of treachery and lies. But he couldn’t. To love you was to curse you, to drag you into the shadows where he dwelled.

Instead, he stepped back, breaking the contact. “You are kind, sister, but you do not know what you say.”

Your brow furrowed, concern etched across your face. “Brynden—”

“Enough,” he said sharply, his voice like a whip. Regret washed over him the moment he saw the hurt in your eyes, but he turned away before he could falter. “It is late. You should rest.”

Without another word, he left the room, his heart a storm of longing and despair. As he walked the shadowed halls of the Red Keep, he knew he would carry this secret to his grave.

For what chance did a creature like him have to love something as pure and untouchable as you? His love was a fire, and you were the dragon; yet even dragons burned when the fire raged too hot.

The raven arrived at dawn, its wings streaked with the ash-gray of storm clouds. Brynden stood at the window of his solar, the letter clutched in his hand, its contents sharp enough to draw blood. The words swam before his eyes, written in a hurried hand that reeked of desperation. His breathing was shallow, his mismatched gaze locked on the jagged lines of the Blackwater Bay beyond.

You were gone. Stolen.

Daemon Blackfyre, legitimized bastard of Aegon IV and the shadow that loomed over Brynden’s existence, had taken you. Not merely taken—you were wed. A quiet ceremony, the raven reported, held under the banners of the pretender's house. Brynden's grip on the letter tightened until the parchment threatened to tear, his mind racing with visions he could not unsee.

“Brynden?” A soft voice called from the doorway, but he did not turn. It was Shiera, her tone cautious, almost hesitant—a rarity for her. She knew, as she always did. Her presence in the room only sharpened the knife twisting in his chest.

“He dared,” Brynden said, his voice low, cold as the Narrow Sea in winter. “That coward dared to lay his hands on her.”

Shiera stepped closer, her crimson gown rustling like whispers in the dark. “It was not unexpected, was it? Daemon has always craved what you value most. This… marriage… is just another way to wound you.”

Her words were oil on the fire raging in his chest. He turned to face her, his face a mask of fury barely contained. “She is not some trinket to be used in his petty games, Shiera. She is…” His voice broke, the words he could never say threatening to spill forth.

Shiera raised a dark brow, her expression unreadable. “She is your sister.”

Brynden flinched as if struck. It was the truth, the one fact that made this torment so unbearable. You were his sister, and that bond should have been enough to temper his feelings. But it wasn’t. It never had been.

“You know it isn’t that simple,” he said bitterly, turning away again.

“No, it never is with you,” Shiera replied, her voice softening. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch gentle but firm. “If you love her, Brynden, then act. Sitting here in the shadows won’t bring her back.”

He shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. “She is beyond my reach now. Daemon will ensure that.”

Shiera’s laugh was sharp, almost cruel. “Beyond your reach? You are Bloodraven, master of whispers and shadows. Daemon may have stolen her, but he hasn’t won. Not yet.”

Brynden didn’t respond, his thoughts a whirlwind of anger, regret, and despair. He could see it now, the image burned into his mind: you, standing beside Daemon, your pale hair entwined with his, your lilac eyes dimmed by the weight of the choice forced upon you. Did you go willingly, he wondered, or did Daemon drag you into this as he had dragged others into his rebellion?

The thought of your smile—so warm, so full of life—now belonging to Daemon Blackfyre was more than he could bear.

“What would you have me do, Shiera?” he asked, his voice raw. “Storm his camp? Kill him in cold blood? What would that make me? A brother who loves his sister too much, or a bastard no better than him?”

Shiera studied him, her gaze piercing as always. “It would make you a man who fights for what he cannot live without. Or,” she added, her voice softening, “it would make you a man who knows when to let go.”

Brynden recoiled at the thought. Let go? Of you? He had tried, gods knew he had tried, but it was as futile as holding back the tide. You were the sun in his shadowed world, the one thing that made his cursed existence bearable. Without you, what was he? A ghost haunting the halls of the Red Keep, a puppet master with no heart to guide his strings.

But he also knew the truth. If he went after you, it wouldn’t be for justice or even love. It would be for vengeance. Vengeance against Daemon, against the cruel twist of fate that made you his sister when his heart screamed for you to be something more.

He turned back to Shiera, his decision made. “Send word to my spies. I want to know where they are, every step they take.”

Shiera’s lips curved into a sly smile. “And when you find them? What then?”

Brynden’s gaze was as cold and unyielding as the shadow of the wall behind him. “Then, I’ll decide what kind of man I am.”

As Shiera left, the room fell silent once more. Brynden moved to the hearth, staring into the flames as if they held the answers he sought. The fire crackled and hissed, its light dancing in his eyes.

“You are mine,” he whispered, the words a vow, a curse, and a plea all at once. “Even if the gods will it otherwise, even if the world turns against me, you are mine.”

And though he knew his love for you was doomed, though he knew it would destroy him in the end, he swore he would not let Daemon Blackfyre win. Not this time. Not with you.

The battlefield was chaos—a sea of blood and fire, steel and screams. Brynden’s cloak billowed behind him as he dismounted his pale mare, his mismatched eyes scanning the carnage with keen precision. The crimson of Blackfyre clashed with those of the crown, black dragons rippling in the smoky air. Yet amidst the maelstrom, his focus was singular.

You.

You were there, somewhere, caught between two forces too cruel for love to soften. You had been dragged into this war, a pawn in Daemon’s rebellion, and Brynden had sworn to get you out. He had promised himself—promised you—that he would not let fate take you.

But fate, it seemed, was indifferent to his promises.

His spies had found you at last—at the edge of the battlefield, atop a ridge overlooking the slaughter. Daemon’s men surrounded you, and though you bore no blade, Brynden could see the steel in your eyes even from afar. You were always brave, always defiant, even now when the world seemed poised to crumble around you.

He spurred his mare forward, cutting through the fray with lethal precision. His sword was an extension of his will, cutting down any who dared to stand in his path. Blood splattered across his pale skin, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but reaching you.

As he neared, he saw Daemon dismount, his black armor glinting in the fading sunlight. The pretender’s greatsword, Blackfyre, gleamed in his hand as he turned to you, his expression a mix of anger and desperation. Brynden could hear their voices now, faint but unmistakable.

“You’re mad to stay here, woman,” Daemon growled, his voice cutting as the steel he wielded. “You’ll die with them, do you understand? You’ll die because he—” He pointed his blade in the direction of the chaos, where Brynden’s crimson eye burned like a beacon. “Because he will not stop!”

You stood tall, unyielding even in the face of Daemon’s wrath. “I chose to stay,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging around you. “I chose to fight for what I believe, Daemon. You cannot force me to be something I am not.”

Brynden’s heart twisted at your words, pride warring with panic. You were brave, too brave, and it would cost you everything.

“Enough!” he roared as he reached the ridge, his voice cutting through the din. He dismounted in a rush, his boots crunching against the rocky ground as he advanced on the two of you. His sword was raised, its edge glinting with blood and fire. “Step away from her, Daemon.”

Daemon turned, his dark eyes narrowing as a cruel smile curled his lips. “Ah, the shadow himself. Come to play the hero, have you? What will you do, Brynden? Kill me? Will you stain your hands with your sister’s blood, too?”

Brynden ignored him, his gaze locked on you. “Come with me,” he pleaded, his voice low but urgent. “There’s still time. I can get you away from this madness. Away from him.”

You hesitated, your expression flickering with something he couldn’t quite place. Regret? Pain? Or was it something deeper, something he had never dared to hope for?

But before you could respond, Daemon stepped between you. “She’s made her choice, Rivers. You think you can claim her now, after everything?” He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’re too late.”

Brynden lunged, his sword striking against Daemon’s with a deafening clang. The two men clashed, their movements a brutal dance of fury and desperation. Blackfyre against steel, brother against brother, shadow against flame.

You shouted for them to stop, your voice breaking over the sound of their blades, but neither listened. They were consumed, two sides of the same cursed coin, both fighting for something that could never truly be theirs.

It happened too fast.

Daemon feinted to the left, and Brynden lunged too far. The pretender twisted, his blade arcing wide—and then, suddenly, there was silence.

The sound of steel hitting flesh. A gasp.

Brynden froze, his sword falling from his hand as he turned to see you standing between them. Blackfyre’s blade protruded from your chest, its dark steel slick with blood.

Your blood.

Daemon’s eyes widened in horror, and he stumbled back, releasing the hilt. You fell to your knees, your hands clutching the wound as crimson stained your gown.

“No,” Brynden whispered, rushing to your side. He caught you before you hit the ground, cradling you against him as if his arms alone could hold your soul to this world. “No, no, no. Gods, no.”

You looked up at him, your lilac eyes clouded with pain but still achingly familiar. “Brynden,” you whispered, your voice weak but steady. “It’s… all right.”

“It’s not,” he choked, his mismatched eyes brimming with tears. “It’s not all right. Stay with me. Please.”

Your hand, trembling and bloodstained, reached up to touch his face. “You were always the better man,” you said, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “Don’t let this… break you.”

Your hand fell away, your eyes sliding shut as your body went limp in his arms.

Brynden stared down at you, the world around him fading into nothing. You were gone. The one light in his shadowed existence, extinguished.

Daemon stood frozen, his expression a mask of anguish. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw with grief and rage. “This is your doing, Rivers. You brought her to this. You killed her.”

Brynden didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The world was ash and silence, and all he could feel was the weight of your lifeless body in his arms.

For the first time in his life, Brynden Rivers—the master of whispers, the shadow of the realm—was truly and utterly lost.

[iminyourwallsbabe]

Hey I'm back with more arcane thoughts and they're sad! Because god forbid we catch a break in this fandom, right? Anyway (spoilers ahead)

MEL DOESN'T HAVE FRIENDS :(

I know that's gonna sound crazy. You're probably saying, "oh but she's so cool and lovely" and I agree but I really need y'all to think about this. Who does she talk to for any reason except political intrigue? Nobody but Jayce and Viktor. You could make an argument for Lest but she was also spying for her, so we don't know the nature of that relationship. It may very well have been another political thing.

Now I just wanna say upfront that I don't think any of this is really her fault, I mean you've seen how the council is and she probably doesn't know anybody else in Piltover. I mean think about it, she's a whole princess, her life IS politics. Her existence is political. Anyone she knew before her exile is probably a noble of some kind and it's very hard to remove politics from those relationships. That's probably how she ended up on the council to begin with. Jayce and Viktor are the only people who aren't nobility that she talks to. Jayce is a part of a family that was only just starting to gain significant wealth and respect, he's new money. Viktor is from the undercity. All of his money is coming from whoever's paying for him to be there. They're the only people who exist outside of the politics of the council. They're also dead now.

So let me summarize and put it in perspective. Mel lost her brother, was exiled from her home and whatever relationships she had there (which was probably with a whole bunch of nobles), went to Piltover and became a politician, thus becoming surrounded by nobles once again, she then had to kill her mom, and the only people who didn't want anything from her and didn't pressure her are now space dust. Let it sink in.

It makes this scene right here just that much sadder. She's really doing it all on her own now. Once again, her whole life will revolve around politics and there's nobody to give her a break. Nobody she can trust enough to be vulnerable around. She has more power than ever before but I don't think that's ever what she wanted. She knew she'd get it, I don't think this was a surprise, she knew she didn't have a choice.

I'm also thinking about how she didn't even have time to process her grief. They just cleaned up the aftermath of the war, which took a few weeks if not a month. They're probably still wondering what happened to Jayce and Viktor, did they figure it out yet? Can they even figure it out? She's probably still waiting on that news here. She probably already assumed they were gone in some capacity. That must be hurting her like you wouldn't believe, especially considering that she and Jayce never officially ended their relationship. They got separated, argued a little bit but made up, and then just went to war. There was no time to break up even if they wanted to, and honestly I'm not sure that they did and I'm saying this as a Jayvik truther. And don't even get me started on the guilt she probably feels about her mother. That could be a whole other post in itself.

Anyway, point is, Mel needs a hug so so badly oh my GOD

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Now, I never played Persona 3 but the protagonist looks breedable. So The Persona 3 protagonist (the male one) investigating an haunted/creepy site only to meet an horny male werewolf reader who fucks them 🎃

Author's Note: Makoto truly is one of the hottest persona protags (possibly even one of the hottest characters in general). Not to mention both of his English VAs did a fantastic job! I could gush over Makoto all day…so I'm just going to let the smut to the talking now 😶‍🌫️

Pairings: Makoto Yuki x male reader

Warnings: Male werewolf!reader, dom/top!reader, paranormal investigator!Makoto, adult Makoto, sub/bottom!Makoto, dubcon, finger sucking, dry orgasms, premature ejaculation(?)

This was supposed to be an easy job for once. Another "haunted" old cabin, multiple eye witnesses and videos and pictures worth of "proof", only to end up being a hoax unintentionally created by some local kids. He's been there and done that, time and time again. So, this place should not be any different, right?

Well… as luck would have it, Makoto would finally encounter something paranormal — a real experience, unlike the majority of his previous calls.

That's how Makoto ended up here; bent over a desk with the air knocked from his lungs while something wet drips all over the back of his body.

Drool drips from your snarling mouth, pooling on the back of the human's shirt, while your cock drips all over the ass of his pants and slides down the sides. You keep one clawed hand on the back of the human's head, and the other on his waist to prevent him from escaping.

The scent of iron and dirt burns Makoto's nostrils, invading every deep inhale as he's just short of hyperventilating. You're obviously not any sort of spectre, nor spirit nor ghostly being—you're really more of a beast, though your features are still quite human in nature. The man's best guess is a werewolf. Whatever you are, he's seen enough to know that he doesn't want to stick around any longer.

Attempts at wiggling free don't go so well, only building up Makoto's frustration and yours. Silly as it may sound to think a beast can understand the human language, he decides to try it anyway. “What do you- hnngh… what do you want?!” he hisses, “Are you the one…causing trouble, scaring the locals?”

You almost want to laugh at that absurd question. Causing trouble, he says. “Me? Please, ask yourself who's the real troublemaker here; the dozens of humans trashing my house and surrounding woods, or me, the guy who's lived here for decades — long before that filth migrated in.” you growl. Ignorant, ignorant humans as always.

“If anyone here is a troublemaker, it's you–” your razor-like nails dig into Makoto's side, and he winces, glaring at you with the eye not covered by his hair. “walking in here with that sexy body of yours, having the audacity to bend over and pick things up and present that fine ass for me.”

The human's heart leaps within his chest, pounding away loudly while he grips the edge of the table harder. “Your job is to help people, yeah? You wanna help these people? Then…” you lean down, covering the human's body with your heat, and whisper in his ear; “…give me the relief I need to not be so fuckin' grumpy, maybe I'll let some of their idiotic actions slide, hm?”

Truly, Makoto should protest, or try to run, literally do anything to fight this situation, but he doesn't. For some reason, he feels like…like he wants to see where this goes.

When you yank his pants down and flip up his jacket, he doesn't stop you. When you rest your heavy, leaking cock in between his cheeks and groan like a perv, he's not disgusted by it. When you let go of his head and stuff your fingers in his mouth, his tongue dances in between the spaces of your digits.

It's a surprise to you too, when the smaller human man lifts his ass up, almost inviting you—giving you permission—to fuck him. And you're not about to pass up a cute slut like this.

Makoto's knees shake when you spit on his hole, giving him at least a tiny courtesy before you break his body with your cock. Your tip pushes incessantly at his entrance, adding slippery precum to it as you swipe your cock up and down, then finally slip the head in. The human flinches, nearly causing himself to choke on your fingers, but he recovers just fine and makes no signs of protest.

Soon enough, you're moving a few inches of your length in and out, enjoying the tightness around only a third of your dick. “Sho mush…sho big…” he slurs, unable to properly enunciate with your fingers keeping his mouth occupied. Little does he realize how big your full length is. You push a little more, and the human moans again, drool spilling out from the corners of his mouth while his ass stretches to accommodate the larger girth filling it up.

“Big, yeah? You think this is big, little guy? This ain't even halfway in yet~” you taunt, keeping a tight hold on his waist. At this point, you're confident that he can take plenty more without breaking yet, so you go a little harder until half of your dick is pumping in and out. “Mmm feel that? Now that is halfway in. Feels even better, right?”

“aAahAAAHhhNn–!! gHNH-!” Makoto spasms on the table, whining something unintelligible while his body twitches. Slightly concerned, you ask him what the hell that was all about, but he doesn't answer you. Frustrated, you remove your fingers from his mouth and yank his body up by his hair, forcing him to stand while you inspect the situation.

It only takes a second for you to notice the puddle of translucent white fluid dripping from the edge of the wooden table and onto the ground, with a matching fluid dribbling from Makoto's flushed dick.

“Goddamn– cummin' before me…I haven't even fucked you yet, little guy. Is it that good for you?” you laugh, pulling the human's head back so far that he's forced to look up at you, meeting your gaze with pink cheeks and cloudy eyes.

With a newfound confidence, and a newfound horniness, you decide that your little slut is more than ready to take it all in. Makoto makes a little noise at first, but when you bottom out and, finally, begin thrusting with intent, those noises turn into happy little moans and whimpers. The fucked out look on his face is proof enough that your fat cock is hitting the right places—filling his tummy with butterflies with every long drag against his walls.

Makoto holds onto your arms for dear life, taking your length like the good boy he is, while you rail him with enough force to knock him over, if you weren't holding his smaller body. “Ah-ah-ah-yes-yes-yes-!!” he stutters, smiling like he's on cloud nine. “Ah! Hard-er! Harderharderharder~!!”

When you blow your first load in him, the tightness of Makoto's ass and the strong scent of his hormones are enough to make your eyes roll back. Your hips slam into him a few times to empty all of your cum in there, and each time only brings the human that much closer to a complete mindbreak.

“Ooohhfuck… haah~ That was fuckin' good er- damn, I never got your name, did I?” The human shakes his head 'no', panting as his dick stays stiff as a board, red from cumming a second time.

He mutters something under his breath, but you can't quite make it out. You ask him to repeat it and he replies, “it'sss…Makoto…” in a sleepy, worn out tone.

“Well, Makoto, you think you're up for more?” you're asking, but not really asking…because you're going to fuck him again regardless. After all, all of these dumbass locals keep you stressed out every damn day — at this point, a full 24 hours of sex probably wouldn't be enough, much less one tiny orgasm.

Makoto lazily nods along, grinning up at you while you scratch his scalp affectionately. He has zero time to react as you begin thrusting again, ready to pound his hole until it's permanently molded to your shape.

His ass tightens around you again, and a third round of cum shoots out of his dick as it slaps against his warm body. His dick seems to stay hard even after that, turning redder by the minute, all while you ensure that his ass will be left gaping and oozing with your seed long after you're satisfied.

By the time you fill him up again, Makoto has orgasmed five times before, and his sixth nearly causes his voice to crack as his whole body convulses in your arms — his twitching cock shoots nothing this time, and the human is left with only dry orgasms for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, you have no intentions of stopping yet, even if it means your new human will fall unconscious—he'll still be your fuck doll while he rests.

[azrielover]

Skyfall : Beyond

Azriel x oc fic! It’s not completely important to read the first part unless you want the background of how they first met (some things may make for sense though)

Inspired by the tangled song “when will my life begin”

Go to the masterlist to see more parts and timeline! 🖤

Summary: Azriel is let out of his cell for the first time at six years old. His best friend is there to protect him.

Warnings: Child abuse

Word Count: 2.8k

Skyfall Masterlist: click here

31BCE

“Az?”

Drip. Drip.

“Azriel?”

The cells felt darker today. More dangerous. Noelle felt uneasy as she made her way down the familiar path to Azriel’s cell, trying to avoid the cold, damp stone walls from touching her soft skin.

For the past two years, Noelle had been coming down to visit Azriel all alone, giving him food, blankets and good company. She told him fantastical stories of the world above and he offered up some gruesome ones of his one. Stories of Kraven and Matteo coming down for nothing else but to torture him with their words, stories of Lord Tobias, who she no longer considered her father, giving the orders for the guards to unleash their cruelties onto the small boy, stories she would not have believed if it were not of the proof right in front of her eyes.

The rest of the noble Illyrian family were away making their appearances to the surrounding camps. Noelle had insisted she was too ill to travel and convinced Lady Thera to let her stay in bed. The lady had seemed unconvinced but still followed her husband and boys, stopping to Noelle’s bedside with a quick kiss to the forehead and promising to be home before supper.

Her entire family had been a lie and she hated them all. Sometimes Noelle liked to dream about what her life would be like if her true mother had never died and her real father was around. It was useless thinking and only made her angry.

As she moved through the darkness, she could sense she was getting closer, the insistent tug in her chest always leading her directly to him.

“Az,” she tried again, frustrated at the lack of reply, “I swear, if you’re ignoring me again I’ll-”, Noelle halted suddenly as a wall of thick, hissing shadows, rose above her, her lips parted slightly as she took a tentative step back. The shadows took up the entire space of the corridor from floor to ceiling and slinked around one another like snakes in a cage.

Brows furrowing, Noelle reached her hand out slowly, as if to not scare them, and pushed her hand through the black mass. As soon as her fingers made contact, the shadows jerked back. She drew her hand away. Interesting indeed.

Inhaling deeply, and squeezing her eyes together hard, Noelle stepped her entire body through the shadowy wall. The change was felt almost immediately. It became achingly cold, and deafenly silent. She could sense the shadows around her, not touching, but close enough to feel the ripple in the air as they twirled.

One tentative step at a time lead her to the beginnings of her friend’s cell, “Azriel?” she whispered, raising her hands to grasp onto the strong metal bars of the cage, “where-”. She sucked in a breath as another pair of small hands wrapped around her own, violet eyes locking onto Azriel’s as he stood on the other side. “Ellie?” he asked softly, resting his head on the bar closest to her own.

“Oh Az,” she breathed, readjusting her grip on him as she noticed his damp cheeks and red eyes, “what did they do this time?” The boy in front of her shook his head, eyes clamping shut. It wouldn’t be easy to get him to tell her how he was feeling, although it never was. Over the past two years, Noelle had been able to find out quite a bit more about Lord Tobias’ secret affair child.

Number one. He loves moon flowers.

“Really?!”, she remembered saying, laughing slightly at the absurdity of it all, “but I thought you’ve never left this place. How in the mothers name do you know-” He cut her off silently, gesturing to the miniature window above him, “They bloom once a year right up there,” the window rested at ground level and was covered by Thera herself, who had planted an array of extravagant plants to hide the evils that lay beneath her home, “once, they came through the wards and said hello to me.”

Noelle later found out that his mother had taught him all this when she came to visit once and claimed that the night they bloomed fell on his birthday. Every single year. The moonflower was his mothers favourite so naturally he claimed them for himself as well, something they could share.

Number two. The shadows could speak to him.

A year into their daily meetings lead by Noelle, Azriel had confessed to her that the shadows of his cell had started to whisper things to him. He explained they only used to sing him lullabies at night when he was younger, but now it seemed he was beginning to understand them. He had Noelle convinced that the lack of daylight had done some permanent mental damage and he had offically gone insane, yet her curiosity won her over and she began her own research on ‘speaking shadows’.

As a noble lady of the Blackwell household in Illyria, she had private tutors and handmaids at her disposal. And although it was near damning if an Illyrian woman received an education on anything other than childbearing and motherhood, the servants usually turned a blind eye if they saw her wandering towards the manor’s library.

Number three. His mother was his whole world.

Noelle knew she visited Az once a week in his cell, and that the guards always only unlocked it for her to go in, not Az to come out. Noelle herself had never seen the female but based on the stories Azriel had whispered to her through the cell bars, she desperately wanted to.

Like clockwork, every Wednesday morning, security around and inside the manor would grow, subtly signifying her weekly visit was in session. They only ever had an hour together at most, and so when the extra Illyrian warriors had not appeared in her home this morning, Noelle began to grow suspicious. Maybe Azriel’s mother had not come today.

“Your mum,” she started slowly, “she comes down here to see you, yes?” Azriel nodded, his head lowering to the ground.

“Did she,” Noelle cocked her head to the side, trying to catch the boy’s eyes, “not come today?”

“No.”

She squeezed his hands and he finally looked up at her, “They told me no.” His eyes hardened in anger, and Noelle’s heart ached for him. His entire existence being controlled by the Blackwell’s was cruel enough, for them to refuse the one part they knew he found happiness in, well, it was utterly barbaric.

“Well.. would you like to do something with me today?” she asked, sticking her face as close to his as she could with the bars separating them, he hummed, a yes then.

“I’ve been preparing something for us,” she told him excitedly, “for weeks! Think of it as a distraction from earlier” Azriel’s brows rose apprehensively, Noelle grinned and rolled her eyes at him, “I swear, trust me.” Sighing quietly, he nodded as if he knew he had no choice anyway, how could he ever refuse her anything?

Noelle stepped back and broke away from him, “So, you know how I’ve been training my magic with Miss Cordelia?” Azriel’s head dipped once in answer, “And you also know how in order to get you out of the cell we would need to unlock the wards?” His head nodded again, “Well Azzy, I have figured it out!” The expression stuck on his face seemed to say, what are you talking about crazy girl? Letting out a dramatic sigh of exasperation, Noelle closed her eyes and held her hands up to the cell door, “Let me show you then”.

Light, pure light, slowly poured out of Noelle’s outstretched hands and curled around the oval lock on the cell door. The door itself began thumbing like a heartbeat, slowly become entirely encapsulated by Noelle’s magic.

The young Illyrian girl began to sweat in effort, these wards were hard to unlock for a reason, but her magic had grown so much over the past few years that she knew it was only a matter of time before..

The door swung open.

For the first time, there was nothing separating Azriel and Noelle from barreling into each other and holding on tightly.

Azriel was laughing joyously in her arms, “I can’t believe- how did-,” she giggled in response to his blubbering, “I told you, now come on!” Noelle broke away, tugging him along the cell corridor, hand in hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pair had successfully made it out of the cells through the secret entrance which connected her room to the dungeons and outdoors. Before she and Azriel had met, she used the secret passage to sneak extra playtime with herself in the snow.

Standing together in the semi-darkness, she quietly led him over to the door which would take them outside. She could feel Azriel’s hazel eyes trained on the stone door before them.

She raised one eyebrow cheekily, “You wanna go out there?” His head whipped towards hers so suddenly, and she laughed at his disbeliving expression, as if he had just been told the greatest news of his life, which she guessed he probably just had.

“It’s still sort of green outside,” she explained reaching to open the door, “but father- Lord Tobias told me the first snow of the season is due today! Just like when I first met you.” She tugged it open with one final pull and a gust of wind blew in to meet them. The smell of fresh grass and winter chill refreshed her senses after being below ground for so long.

Turning to look at her best friend beside her, she tracked the tears that ran silently down his cheeks. Swallowing harshly he finally looked at her, “Thank you.”

She smiled up at him, even though she was a year older, at just six years old Azriel still stood over her.

Walking outside alone, Noelle gestured for Az to follow. The Illyrian boy looked down suspiciously at the green below him, “It’s grass,” Noelle confirmed for him as he nodded absentmindedly, finally taking a small step towards the girl with long white hair.

Azriel stood still for a moment, barefooted in the soil and grass, toes wiggling around. He let out a shy giggle, “Just like I dreamed they be,” she nodded enthusiastically, beckoning him closer with her outstretched hand, “the winter breeze,” he breathed in deeply, looking up in wonder, “the way it’s calling me.” Noelle saw his wings twitch in answer, and she wondered how painful it was to ignore his own instinct to fly.

Tobias had restricted her own flying practices since she was female up until she was five. When she started to get curious around the age of three, he ordered her handmaidens to tie them up with thick rope everyday. It was only forgone last year because Thera had finally put her foot down on the matter.

“She’s still an Illyrian,” she had said angrily, “and she is still our daughter.” Tobias had scoffed at that but eventually agreed to appease his wife.

Since then, she had started gliding off of high surfaces and perfecting her landing. Some of her personal guards even took her flying with them on the rare occasion they needed to stretch their own wings, holding her under her arms and allowing her to glide along beside them. However they were nearly always caught since her wings were very recognisable. White in colour, it was hard to miss when she flew across the sky.

She used to ask Thera when she was very young where her wings had come from, she always replied with, “Your mother’s goodness and light now resides inside of you, and your wings.” She always used to laugh at that, “Mama,” she would giggle, clasping Thera’s hands, “thats just not true!”

She shook her head away from the memory.

“Walk with me?” Azriel asked, now standing beside her.

“Always.”

The pair ended up sitting atop the thick branch of an ancient tree that surrounded the manor, just out of reach from any prying eyes. White wings next to black wings.

Their feet swayed back and forth as they spoke, “You know your my best friend, right Az?”

The boys head turned to face her as a shy grin spread across his face, “Well, you’re my best friend too.”

She tsked at him shaking her head slightly, “But you don’t know many other people, when you get out of here, someone else will replace me.”

“That won’t happen Ellie.”

Azriel was very serious for a six year old and the tone in his voice made Noelle laugh, “No one calls me that,” bumping her shoulder against his playfully, a knowing grin spread further across her face. She caught Azriel’s eye right before he bashfully looked down at the ground, studying the moss on the floor rather intensely.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, I don’t mind, I love it. Truely.”

They sat in comfortable silence, Azriel zipping his gaze about to try imprint everything in sight within his memory. Noelle studied him as he did so, the familiar tug in her chest pushing her to get closer. Flicking her eyes to his absent gaze once more, she sighed. Noelle had heard of a near by camp, Windhaven, which the Lady of Night frequently visited with her young son. Every description of the Night Courts Lady seemed to hold the idea that she was kind, generous and progressive for Illyrian standards. If Noelle could get to her, maybe she could get Azriel out of his cell forever.

She would make the travel for any chance Azriel would be safe from his father forever.

“Thank you Noelle,” Azriel whispered, “For the first time ever, I feel completely free.”

She flung herself at him for the second time that day before he had the chance to protest, squeezing tightly.

He squeezed back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several hours had passed since the young shadow singer and light wielder had stepped outside early this morning. It had started to snow as they played and chased eachother around the manor grounds, giggling and laughing freely.

Azriel’s feet were becoming more and more frostbitten by the minute as he didn’t own a pair of shoes himself, but Noelle bounded ahead freely. If Azriel hadn’t known for certain they were in Illyria, he would have thought that she was the princess of the Winter Court from one of Noelle’s extravegant novels she retold rather animatedly to him.

He watched as she raised her head to the sky to let the snow flakes fall on her pale skin and platinum curls. He tracked the frost as it landed on her sharp nose, melting softly into her.

She danced gracefully, as she always was, but seeing her above ground in the daylight made her look ethereal. The familiar thread connecting himself to his companion glowed brightly in recognition of the young Illyrian’s thoughts.

He was so entraptured with her, Azriel hadn’t heard the ugly stomping of his half-brothers boots behind him, getting closer, and closer.

“Now what do we have here?”

Azriel froze and Noelle blanched at the bulky figure behind him.

The two locked eyes and Noelle shook her head slightly in his direction.

Do not turn around.

“Matteo, please.”

The voice that taunted Azriel’s nightmares laughed cruelly, “Stupid girl.”

Azriel felt the wind shift and Matteo launched himself into the air, soaring high, no doubt running off to tell Lord Tobias of his findings.

“Azriel,” Noelle turned to him stoicly, “get back to the hidden door and into you’re cell. You have never been outside. You do not know me. I do not know you. Got it?” He nodded, though her words created a deep hole in his chest.

“Good-bye Ellie” he whispered moving to turn away,

“Bye-bye Azzy” she sniffled back.

Then he ran.

Through the snow covered trees and frosted ground, atop frozen lakes and icy blades of grass, into the dark stone corridors he grew to know all too well as he pushed open the hidden stone door, deeper and deeper into the dungeons of the manor. Letting his shadows show him the way, Azriel pumped his straining legs faster, but it hurt so much, he had never run before today.

Reaching the entrance of his cell, he quickly scampered inside, shut the gate and watched as the wards reworked themselves over the metal. Slumping heavily against the stone wall, Azriel slide down in exhaustion.

His own heavy pants were all he could hear, heart pounding so hard, he could feel it vibrate into his finger tips.

He sat dazed as guards rushed down to check on him, didn’t move until they left. His head did whip upright as the sound of faint voices cascaded from his cell window, whispers being carried down to him from the wind.

“Your wings, or him.” His father.

“What?” Noelle.

He scrambled to stand at the sound of his friend. No, not her.

“You heard me girl. Your wings,” a pause, “or the bastard.”

No

“I still do not know who it is you speak of.”

All he heard next was a harsh slap and a child-like squeak before silence over took.

It was silent for a long while after.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks so much for reading!!! 🖤🖤🖤