#i've been inhaling smoke for so long

[violet-jessop]

two nights in a row gripping ice cubes like i'm 14 this is fucking pathetic

[kamaluhkhan]

HER CANINE TEETH IN THE SIDE OF MY NECK

pairing: werewolf!vi x vampire slayer!reader word count: 11.1 k summary: she's a monster, and you're essentially a monster hunter. it shouldn't work, but it does. (or — you and vi decide to escape the narrative together) warnings: ooh various mentions of fighting + blood + injuries ranging from mild to life-threatening; reader and vi both smoke + consume alcohol; rough sex (fingering [vi receiving], oral [reader receiving], tribbing, biting, spitting ++ aftercare); 18+ ! vibes are basically buffy the vampire slayer with chaotic lesbians loving each other so much it consumes them both a/n: i think i've been watching too much buffy and fantasizing about werewolf!vi for like,, too long,, and this unholy mess is the result. this has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for a WHILE but tonight is the wolf moon so it felt right to post now, i really hope y'all enjoy 🖤 i'll include credit for each subtitle in the tags too <33

♪: "bullet with butterfly wings" by the smashing pumpkins; "dig me out" by sleater-kinney; "taste my despair" by lesbian bed death; "i wanna be your dog" by joan jett; "fantastic" by king princess

i. sorry about the blood in your mouth

vi wakes up with a terrible motherfucking headache, which isn’t anything new. 

she doesn’t know where she is — that isn’t particularly something new, either — but what is new is the tongue slobbering all over her face. when she opens her eyes, vi sees a 50-pound black dog standing over her.

“whoa!” vi sits up abruptly, but the dog only gets more excited and jumps up on the couch, caging her in.

“sorry. she usually isn’t so enthusiastic about company.”

the voice is coming from the other side of the room, where you’re sitting on the edge of the mattress closest to the window. there’s a cigarette in your hand, and each time you exhale, you point your chin accordingly so the smoke travels outside. a crisp breeze trickles in. 

“morning, killer.”

vi swallows the heart that has jumped into her throat, takes a deep breath to steady her breathing. fuck, she literally just moved here and might already need to leave. she tries to remember if something bad happened last night. 

it wasn’t the full moon, was it? no, that shouldn’t be for another few weeks. but then why are you calling her a —

“killer?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.

she stares at you, eyes trailing your injured jawline as she waits for you to respond. you do look vaguely, achingly familiar. whatever happened last night, you were probably part of it. 

“well, you’ve got a killer right hook,” you quip. you snuff out your cigarette and twist around to fully face vi. “and i’m pretty sure you killed my reputation as a pit fighting champion. i was undefeated before you.” 

fresh blood emerges from your split lip as you speak, and you’re quick to swipe it away with your tongue. 

oh. right. 

your tank top is torn at the bottom, just cropped enough that vi can see the imprint of her fist on your lower ribs. she now remembers the feeling of yours on the side of her face, and has a bloody, crusted eyebrow, painfully tender cheekbone, and the outline of your ring seared onto her skin forever to prove it. 

what kind of pitfighter wears pure silver?

vi takes note of her surroundings to get a better sense of who she’s up against: the place is small, dingy, but has a good amount of light. you’ve got a broken mirror, old books stacked in the corner, and an open cupboard filled with clothing and various weapons, mostly daggers and some wooden stakes. an intricate glass cross dangles from the centre of the window, filtering through multicolored light. there are a bunch of dried plants next to a mortar and pestle on the sill below — nightshade, juniper, wolfsbane. on the tiny kitchen counter is a silver vase filled with more wilted flowers. 

even from far away, vi can hear your heartbeat — strong, steady — as you shuffle around and gather some things. she inhales your scent. she remembers that she was slightly taken aback, in the pit when she had you pinned to the mat, that under the musk of sweat and metallic tang of blood, vi sensed something else, something delicate and floral. 

your whole apartment smells overwhelmingly of dried roses and decaying fruit, too, sweet and earthy.

“did you bring me here for round two?”

“no.” you let out a short, breathy laugh. “i brought you here so that some creep wouldn’t take advantage of you. you were pretty out of it.”  

“so you’re — what an enforcer?”

“no fucking way,” you declare, and vi can practically feel rage coursing through you, your heart pumping with reignited vigor. “like an enforcer would care enough to actually help the undercity,” you grumble. 

you shake your head and sit down at the edge of the couch, shooing your dog away so you can drop first aid supplies in her place. she settles on the floor at your feet. 

you offer vi a somewhat bruised apple. when she hesitates, you push it into her hand.

“this isn’t a fairytale,” you say, hands busy soaking a cloth in some alcohol. “i’m not trying to poison you,” you add as if reading her mind.  

“there…there are some good enforcers, though,” vi tries, trained to have such platitudes at the ready.  

you roll your eyes. “if there are, i haven’t met them.” 

vi’s not sure she believes what she had said, either. she feels her side ache, a phantom bruise from when caitlyn slammed her rifle into the very injury she had once helped heal. 

what started as you’re not like the rest of those animals. you’re one of the good ones. became you’re all the same. it’s their blood in your veins. as soon as things went downhill. 

vi bites her lip to prevent herself from wincing, and it isn’t because you’ve pressed an alcohol-soaked cloth to the cut on her nose. her sharp nails break through the skin of the apple, digging into its soft flesh until juice is running down her wrist.

“eat,” you insist, but you’re focused on removing as much dirt and dried blood from her face as you can, brows furrowed in concentration. “you ruined my reputation, so you better keep up your strength if you wanna keep yours.”

“so, you’re helping the enemy,” vi, still wary of you, wonders.

your frown softens. you place a bandage on the bridge of her nose before saying: 

“you’re not my enemy.” 

maybe it was the sincerity of your words, or the unconditional care you’re showing her, or the fact that it’s been so long since someone has touched vi so tenderly, but she decides in that moment to trust you, whoever you are. 

she takes a bite of the apple, the sweetness invading her mouth, as you lean over to search for something else in the first aid kit, mumbling to yourself about how the wound is deeper than you thought. 

“you should really be more careful,” you chide. “are you a topsider?”

vi scoffs through a mouthful of fruit. “i’m from the lanes.” 

“yeah, well this neighborhood is a different level of bad,” you tell her.

“i can hold my own — ouch.”

you start stitching up the cut on her eyebrow, one hand keeping her head steady. her cheek pulses against you as she chews, your skin calming and cool. 

“when you’re sober, maybe.”

“you didn’t have to help me,” vi grunts. “most people would’ve gone about their business.”

“i was going about my business. i was out on patrol; vampires never sleep, you know.” 

you say it so casually, almost too casually, that vi wonders if she misheard you.

“vampires?”

you raise an eyebrow at vi. “there’s a high concentration of them around here, near the hellmouth. a lot of monsters, actually —”

vi hopes you don’t notice how she shudders at the word monsters.

“ — some of whom can and will eat you alive if they get the chance,” you deadpan. “that’s kinda what i’m here for.”

“so….what are you, exactly?”

you don’t say anything for a few seconds, your expression unreadable while you finish vi’s stitches, but your heart thumps so forcefully against your ribcage, vi almost thinks she’s seconds away from hearing the bones there crack. you start gnawing at your bottom lip, let the blood gather until it starts to trickle down towards your chin. vi swipes it away with her thumb, which she then wipes against her bandaged palm. 

you inhale slowly, then exhale. your heart rate eases; still a bit higher than most people’s, but to what seems to be normal for you. 

“the correct term is slayer,” you finally say, watching vi carefully for her reaction. 

vi isn’t quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound good for someone like her. she’s wondering if she should make a run for it when you drop your voice an octave or two and add: 

“the chosen one standing against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness.” you clear your throat. “if you were wondering.” you break out into a cheeky grin, teeth sparkling in the late morning sun.

“you’re joking?”

“most days, i wish i was. that’s the official tagline, actually.” your smile shrinks into a sigh. “i’m the slayer. i won’t bore you with all the details, but me saving you last night? that’s kinda just what i do. my destiny, so to speak.”

“do you normally take the people you save home?”

you blink away, wipe your hands half-heartedly on the white tank top you’re wearing, smearing vi’s mess of crimson and grime.

“no,” you admit. 

vi narrows her eyes at you, shifts her body so there’s at least more space between you before she figures out what the hell to do. it’s possible that you’re lying but —

vi puffs out her chest. “why are you being so nice to me?” 

you already have her blood on your body, and vice versa, and not just because you’d been fighting each other. it’s not quite trust, but it feels like something close. something you’re willing to share without even knowing much about the other. 

an unspoken question: do you know what i really am? 

because if you did, vi’s sure you wouldn’t be so….friendly towards her. so gentle.

“honestly?” you gesture towards the dog who’s busy nuzzling into vi’s leg. “fangs kinda hates everyone but she seems to like you.”

her jaw drops. “you decided to be my guardian angel because your dog likes me?”

“i already had a good feeling about you before.” you shrug. “i took it as a good omen, i guess.” 

“i’m not sure you should,” vi advises. 

you’re looking out for her, so she should look out for you. it’s better, for everyone, that vi be left alone. 

she’s been good, had to learn how to be, in order to survive; that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. 

on the bad days, she can’t control her anger. on the worst days, she can’t contain her hunger.

“okay, well, maybe i’ve got a thing for strays,” you reach your hand down, run it through fangs’ thick black fur. your lips curl upwards as you look at vi, all bright-eyed and beautiful, sunlight itself emanating from your smile. 

something sparks in her chest that she thought would never light again. something that, like her, could be dangerous if it’s not controlled. 

vi decides it’s probably about time that she left, though it's difficult to tear herself from your warmth.

“so, will i see you in the pit again?” she still can’t help but ask as you accompany her to the door.

“probably, yeah.” you lean against the doorframe, and vi is about to turn the knob when you add: “but, that pub you passed outside of? the bronze? maybe we can, uh, get a drink there, afterwards sometime.”

your heart skips a beat or two as you anxiously wait for vi to say something. her entire body heats up when she realizes what’s going on.

you were….asking her out. 

the good thing is that then there’s no way you actually know what vi is because, well, would this even be allowed in your line of work?

“you promise you’re not just playing the long game? gaining my trust and then stabbing me in the back?”

you give her a playful but sincere smile and make a small ‘x’ on the left side of your upper chest. “cross my heart.”

“guess i’ll will call you my guardian angel,” she muses, her chest glowing. “i’m vi, by the way.” 

you grin, then formally introduce yourself. you reach out your hand. vi holds it, delicately, even though your grip is firm.

“one more thing, though — keep the whole me being the slayer thing under wraps? it’s supposed to be a secret.”

“why’d you tell me, then?” vi wonders, raising an eyebrow. 

you tilt your head, examining her. “like i said — i had a good feeling about you. slayers are meant to have good instincts, so i decided to trust mine.” 

vi takes a deep breath, removes her hand from yours, and glances at you once more with a small smile. she promises not to tell a soul. 

(she, of all people, knows that there are far worse secrets to keep.)  

“thank you,” vi adds. “for saving me.”

she hears fangs scratching at the door from inside the apartment after she’s gone, along with the deep rumble of your voice telling fangs not to worry, our new friend will visit again soon, like you’re so sure vi will be back. 

with the way you already have her sharp edges softening, her heart fluttering in her chest, vi probably will be. 

except —

vi’s not quite human, hasn’t been since she started bleeding between her legs at 13, since her mother told her that this was a blessing passed down to eldest daughters in their family, no matter how many people will try to convince her it’s a curse. 

it would be a few months later that her mother would be killed because of said blessing. 

really, it’s more nightmare. 

because vi knows what it’s like to pick ripped flesh from between her teeth, to have the metallic sweetness of blood linger on her tongue and throat-tearing screams ringing in her ears. 

meanwhile, you — with your good instincts, strong fists and stronger heart  —

it’s your destiny to end those nightmares. 

you’re the thing that monsters like her are supposed to have nightmares about.

ii. you’re an angel / i’m a dog

there’s an intimacy to knowing how someone fights. 

vi fights with bared teeth and burning rage, knuckles cracking against bone, elbows bruising skin without any remorse. her own wounds are half-hazardly hidden behind layers of gauze, her chest wrapped tightly to keep her heart from bleeding out. she doesn’t bother to clean the dirt underneath her nails, to wipe the blood from her upper lip after an opponent breaks her nose, to wash her face clean before smearing on more dark paint until all she sees in the mirror is a shadow of her former self. 

you, on the other hand: you’re precise and quick in how you defeat your opponents, maybe even a bit bored. vi figures that when you fight monsters for a living, it must be fairly dull, knocking out some guy with a single, well placed uppercut, even if he is twice your size. your bandages are always fresh, and you always make vi a little dizzy when she catches a whiff of rose. you walk past her with a playful grin, easily replaced by the glint of your razor-sharp canines as you defeat another opponent in the arena. she listens as your heartbeat barely increases a beat, despite the inevitable adrenaline of battle. 

you might not be as feral as her, but vi thinks you’re just as dangerous. she likes it, admires that your violence is always calculated rather than all-consuming. 

she does wonder if you’d ever let anything consume you, curious to know what’s hiding under your armor.

so, a few days after she first woke up in your apartment, vi builds up the courage to suggest: 

"whoever wins the most fights tonight picks up the tab for the bar." 

your face brightens the dim, dirty sidelines of the pit as you’re both waiting for your turn, when you answer:

"you're on, killer." 

later that night, both of your bodies are aching as vi tries to examine your injuries once you’re both done for the day, away from the roar of the crowd. 

"guess i'll be picking up the tab," you smile, your lip splitting open even more, just like the morning after her knuckles first kissed your skin. 

(she wants to kiss this wound closed, too, press her lips to your bloody ones, if you’d be willing to give her a taste.)

"i'll still take care of it, angel,” vi soothes. she rummages around the tiny locker room, a single light bulb flickering above you. finally, she finds a small first aid kit — poorly stocked, but good enough for now. “lemme take care of you first."

you must understand what vi’s implying, because your heart starts racing faster. 

it’s a routine that becomes vi’s guiding light — the two of you patching each other up after a rough day (and, regardless of the fact that you’re both strong, it’s always a rough day). you share a drink at the bronze, and then you’re off slaying vampires or whatever other nightmares will keep you awake and fighting every night. 

then, it’s another full moon, and the routine changes. 

she’s able to prevent herself from turning even in the worst of circumstances, but she doesn’t want to risk any accidents, knowing that you’re out there on the prowl. vi is confident that you’d never hurt, let alone kill her, but that’s counting on you being able to recognize her. 

vi locks herself in the basement of the bronze. spike, the bartender, let her crash in a storage closet, temporarily, no questions asked and a promise to keep it a secret.

she emerges from her isolation after three days, eyes stinging from the harsh morning sun. her first instinct is to head underground, search for you. she makes one stop beforehand, drops something off in the locker room before she’s ushered into the arena without any more preamble. 

the show must go on, and you’re already center stage. 

the lanky woman you must’ve just knocked unconscious is being dragged away. you spit out what looks like a combination of blood and saliva, and crack your neck before resuming a fighting stance, feet squared, bruised knuckles at the ready. 

you falter when you see that it’s vi who’s your next opponent. vi picks up the increased pace of your heart, the muscle worrying against your chest.  

you’ve had this conversation, though — about what would happen if you were ever up against each other again in the ring — and you both agreed: once the bell rings, the fight starts, because you both need the money to survive. 

nothing personal. winner buys two rounds of drinks at the bronze. three, if there were some nasty hits involved.

you hadn’t needed to worry about any of that until now.

the bell rings, and vi waits for you to make the first move, like you tend to do.

but, you don’t.

the first time you were up against each other, vi dodged your attack and delivered a jab hard enough to make you bleed. you had looked at her with wide eyes, fingers touching your bottom lip and becoming stained with red as the crowd roared. you adjusted your posture with a newfound interest, and a glimmer of what vi can only describe as hunger.

this time, you drop your stance like you’ve already lost the fight. you ignore the shouts and groans from the crowd as you walk away.

….

vi finds you in the locker room — and you’re not alone. 

“there a problem here?” vi asks, glaring at the guy you seem to be arguing with. 

“it’s fine,” you answer coolly. still, vi sits on the bench nearest to the door, waits for you like a patient dog. 

“fine?” the guy barks a laugh. he’s wearing topside clothes. an enforcer, no less. “you made me look like a fool.”

you scoff. “i doubt that’s hard to do.”

the guy suddenly reaches forward and snatches your arm. vi feels rage surge through her when his nails indent your skin. you must sense it, because your eyes lock with hers in a silent command not to do anything, not just yet.

“i don’t think you understand, bitch,” he seethes, face a pissed off shade of red. “i’m out more money than you’ll ever see in your entire pathetic life.” 

“i’m sure you’ll manage.”

vi follows your gaze as it drops to his belt. he’s got his badge, a standard issue pistol, and a pouch full of gold coins. 

“clearly i bet on the wrong fucking dog.” 

you force a smile. “better luck next time, officer.” 

you finally rip your arm out of his grip, push him away abruptly, effectively manoeuvring him to stumble between where you’re standing, and vi’s waiting. you gesture towards vi with a smirk, a taunting dare for this enforcer to challenge two of the undercity’s best fighters. 

vi gets up just as he’s walking out, grumbling an incoherent string of swears. she not-so-subtly knocks into his shoulder and hip, her nimble fingers still quick.

“guess we can get dinner with our drinks, now,” she quips with a toothy grin. vi tosses you the pouch, but you don’t seem too thrilled, even as you catch it effortlessly. 

“you can’t just disappear like that, vi.” your voice sharp, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“i didn’t mean to,” vi lies, walking over to open your shared locker. she pulls out a bouquet of roses, the same deep red as dried blood. 

vi pouts, gives you her best puppy dog eyes. “i’m sorry, angel.” 

the only reaction she gages from you is a quickening heartbeat at the nickname, your face still hard to crack marble. 

“this is serious, vi.” 

“i know! but —”

“do you know what’s out there? i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful,” you rush, walking over to her and talking with your hands. “i looked everywhere for you, and….and you just left without saying anything. i thought…i thought you’d been killed —”

your blood roars in vi’s ears, your pulse close to out of control, and vi doesn’t know what else to do except bring you into her arms in an attempt to calm you down.

“i’m okay, angel. i’m here. i’m right here,” vi mumbles against your shoulder, inhaling sweat and roses.

your heart starts beating steady against her own as you exhale.

“i was safe, i promise. i was in the supply close at the bronze.”

“are you kidding?” you guffaw, unravelling yourself from vi’s body. “that basement is a hellhole.”

vi shrugs. “it does the trick.”

you chuckle dryly, shaking your head.

“well, i guess now that i lost one of my best sponsors, fangs and i might have to move in there with you,” you deadpan.

you reach around vi to pull a jacket from the locker, slipping on worn leather that vi realizes is hers. you take the flowers from her with a small thank you, and vi adjusts the collar of her jacket on you, her warm fingers subtly grazing your pulsepoint. vi can’t help the possessiveness that sparks in her abdomen: you, wearing her clothes; you, heart beating rapidly for her. 

“well…what if….i moved in with you?” deep down, she knows it’s not an ideal situation, but vi reasons: “we can pool our money together for rent. besides, what’s another stray in your home?” 

you bite your bottom lip as you mull over the offer.

“well, you did buy me flowers, ask me out to dinner….seems like the logical next step.”

“so….” 

vi wiggles her eyebrows at you, and you finally crack a smile. 

it was only been three days apart and vi already felt deprived of the sunlight of your smile. 

“okay, killer. as long as you don’t make a habit of disappearing on me.”

….

on paper, there might be reasons why you and vi, together, shouldn’t work, but the simple truth is that you do.

you still spend your afternoons engulfed in the darkness of the underground arena, patch each other up at the end of the day, share drinks at the bronze before parting ways.

now, in the mornings, you spend a few hours training together, moving furniture around so there’s enough space to spar. you try not to get distracted by how hot her skin is every time it brushes against yours, how solid her thigh is between your legs when she’s adjusting your stance, how a shattered moan emerges from her lips as you pin her to the floor after showing her a new technique to catch an opponent off-guard.

the nights are your favourite, though. like fangs, vi is able to fall asleep anywhere in the apartment, and is usually passed out by the time you’re off the clock from slayer duty. after the first few nights, you insist that vi sleep on the bed, and she begrudgingly agrees. now, you get home just before dawn, bone-tired, to find her belly up, drooling and snoring on top of the dilapidated mattress. the moonlight illuminates all the curves and shadows of her sculpted body, her skin shimmering with sweat because her body runs warm, even on the coldest nights. you can see the trail of pink hair disappear beneath her black underwear, while her dyed-black hair is a tangled mess you’re tempted to tug at, curious to see if she’d moan again for you. vi sleeps shirtless, nipples winking at you like two fallen stars with those titanium rods pierced through. 

gods, you try not to drool when you slip under the covers and fall asleep dreaming of her, all the places you would sink your teeth into, all the places you wish she would do the same. 

(meanwhile, vi tries to ignore the sound of your whimpers, the quick tempo of your heartbeat, and the overwhelming musk of desire between your legs as you sleep next to her, because she’s so sure that you would never dream of her.)

these fantasies of vi, all her warmth, all her chaos, gnaw at you from the inside out. it’s an overwhelming sense of hunger, but with vi, you also feel something else, something gentler and more fragile building between you.

it’s really the little things. 

like, vi brings you fresh roses every week, and even though you keep telling her to save her winnings for better things, she tells you that pretty girls like you are worth it, angel. they should teach you that in slayer school. 

she winks, makes you flustered, then has the audacity to blush when you leave her the ripest apples because you know that she likes them a bit sweeter. 

sometimes you open the window as you share a cigarette, exhaling smoke into the starlit twilight as you exchange stories about your pasts, about the people you’ve loved and lost. she’s the first person you confide in about how weighed down you feel by the responsibility of being the slayer, a burden that’s cost you many loved ones, and the uncertainty of whether what you’re destined to do is truly what is good for the world. she tells you about her time in prison, the lonely nights lamenting the death of her father and brothers, but keeping her strength because she hoped to one day make it back to a sister she just ended up losing, anyways. 

other times, the two of you play a game. you imagine that you’re elsewhere, that there are no such things as monsters, no reason to have to battle and bruise yourselves just to survive. instead, you have a life and a family and a home together, filled with luxurious parties, decadent dinner tables, and endless sunny days. 

you comfort her and she comforts you through the dark, morbid world you both have been fighting against, alone, for so long.

it works. it works really well. 

except — you’ve been the slayer long enough to know that nothing this good will last. it's nauseating — dangerous, even — this desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut, twisting and taunting you with what can never be.

you’re just waiting for the next nightmare to reveal itself.

….

vi’s hair has started to fade back to pink, so she asks you to re-dye it.

it’s easy to forget that she sits in a rickety chair in your decrepit but well-loved apartment because all she can think about is your body behind hers, solid and steady. your cool fingers work the dye through her hair, your nails scrape against her scalp, and you’re humming as fangs snores peacefully at her feet. she’s died and gone to heaven, pure bliss glowing in her chest and releasing through her throat as a deep rumble. 

she closes her eyes and indulges in a little daydreaming:

just you and your sunburst smile and your soft, rose-petal skin.

there’s a firm knock that rustles vi out of her reverie, and you tell her to go rinse out her hair while you answer it.

she can hear you talking with someone through the rush of hot water. she tries not to eavesdrop, but…it’s difficult, especially once she hears:

“it’ll be fine. silver bullets usually do the trick,” you say, without much enthusiasm. vi bites back her hurt, keeps rinsing her hair, waiting for the water to run clear instead of sludge gray. 

you’re not talking about her. 

“i’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation,” a voice with a thick british accent replies. “i’ve been on the council for fifty years — five times longer than you’ve been the slayer — and i’ve never seen something quite this vicious.”

“my guess is you don’t get out in the field much,” you quip. 

whoever you’re talking to clearly is not amused, ignoring your backhanded comment and instead offering the details of what has been witnessed in the past few days. it’s so gruesome and gory that vi herself is shivering as she turns off the shower, towels off, and gets dressed. 

when vi opens the door, she almost trips over fangs, who’d fallen asleep just outside. she gets up immediately as vi steps out, her tail wagging. the owner of the stern voice — a man wearing a very pristine looking tweed suit — is handing you a crossbow, a bunch of silver-tipped arrows already splayed on the table. you notice vi first as your grip on the weapon tightens, and the man’s gaze follows.

“you know there’s a rule about slayers keeping….pets,” the man says, turning his nose up at vi and fangs from where they’re still standing at the doorway of the bathroom. 

you glance back at the pair, jaw clenched, and then focus back on your unwanted guest. 

“mr. travers, thank you for the heads up, but i believe it’s time for you to leave,” you clip, dropping the crossbow on the table. 

“actually, i believe that we have much more to discuss, namely how you’ve allowed this mutt into your home —”

“get the fuck out of our apartment,” you practically growl. you walk towards him menacingly until his back is millimeters away from the door. “you of all people know what i can do.”

“you will be punished for this…this transgression,” travers warns, but there’s an unmistakable tremble in his voice. 

you laugh in a way vi can barely recognize, sharp and bitter. 

“fine. i’m no stranger to dealing with the council’s bullshit.” you open the door, flash an exaggerated, sickly sweet smile. “have a nice day.”

“i hope this animal is worth it,” travers huffs. 

“she’s worth it,” you reply without hesitation before you slam the door on his ass, so hard that the walls shake, the vase in the kitchen toppling over and cracking on the counter. 

vi’s seen you fight in the pit — hell, she’s been on the receiving end of some of your wicked moves — but she doesn’t think she’s ever seen you this angry. 

your chest is heaving as you pace back and forth. 

“so that sounds….bad,” vi remarks, heading over to the kitchen counter to gather the broken shards of pottery.

you freeze. “how much did you hear?” 

vi just shrugs. “just that there’s something bad out there —”

“don’t worry about it,” you say with a forced smile. you walk over and push some damp hair away from vi’s eyes. “let’s take fangs for a walk before we leave, yeah? while it’s still light out.” 

there are whispers throughout the next few days leading up to the full moon. the crowd at the arena starts to thin, most topsiders too scared to journey underground with rumors of a bloodthirsty monster on the loose. 

you’re not sleeping anymore, still fighting during the day to a half-empty arena, out on patrol at night, your rosy scent fading from the bedsheets with each passing night. even if you get home before dawn, you spend your time scouring through books and scribbling into your notebook, mumbling to yourself theories about where and how you can stop this thing. vi tries to get you to take a break, or at least eat instead of burning through shimmer-laced cigarettes to keep yourself awake.

the best vi can do is convince you to sit down on the couch with her and share a snack. you settle for doing some research, flip through yellowed pages as you take a bite of an apple, juice dripping down your chin. 

vi reaches her finger out, puts it in her mouth to suck off the juice, moaning around the salty-sweet taste of your skin. you let out a pleased hum, turning your attention back to your research, but angling your body to invite her closer. vi nuzzles into your side, puts her head on your lap, twitches in pleasure as you reach down to scratch behind her ear. 

she looks up at you, and you finally give her a real smile — the first ray of sun after a pitch dark night.

a slice of paradise vi was certain she’d never find.

….

the night of the full moon is when all hell breaks loose. 

vi tries — she begs you not to go out there, sensing that tonight, of all nights, it will be at its strongest. but you, too headstrong and too righteous for your own good, just won’t listen. 

“this thing has killed eleven people in less than a week. i don’t care what phase of the moon it is — i’m ending this, tonight.” 

“why does it have to be you? that thing is stronger than anything you’ve ever fought!” 

“which is why i’ve been preparing,” you snap.

“can’t you – can’t you just call the fucking council, or something, tell them to deal with it?” 

fangs is right there with vi, scrambling and whining as you’re meticulously arming yourself with as many weapons you can carry.

you scoff, notching a few silver blades to your belt. “it’s not their responsibility, it’s mine. where the fuck — i can’t go out only in this tank top, it’s fucking freezing — ”

vi swallows the lump in her throat.

“you’re gonna die if you go out there alone.”

“yeah, well, i’ve accepted my fate a long time ago,” you say stoically. 

you’re fairly well supplied at this point; if vi was the monster you were hunting, she’d be running scared from a glance alone. you’re only half paying attention to vi’s pleas, and sigh in relief when you find what you’d been looking for. 

“please, angel, don’t —”

“i was literally born for this, violet. if i don’t go out and stop this thing from killing more people, then my life is worth nothing.” 

“you make me happy!” she shouts desperately, forcing you to pause as you slip on her jacket. “that’s worth something, isn’t it?”

a tense silence follows. 

you freeze for a few moments, avoiding vi’s gaze. then, you walk over to the cabinet, grabbing something so quickly vi can’t pinpoint what it is and stuffing it in your back pocket. you clench and unclench your left fist, a tick of yours that vi recognizes from the arena. 

you’re planning your next move. 

in a daze, you pick up the crossbow, but you hesitate once more —

“fuck,” you exhale before letting the weapon clatter to the ground and rushing over to crash your lips against vi’s. 

you’re kissing and kissing, teeth and tongue and a pleasure so guilty, vi’s sure she’ll be damned for all eternity. vi’s lungs are burning when she pulls away first.

“wait. you should know that i’m —”

“i still have to go,” you interrupt, voice determined and sharp, cutting right through to vi’s heart.

there’s a fear curling up her throat as you watch her, your eyes the darkest she’s ever seen them. 

“then let me – i mean, i can help —”

you kiss her again. you taste so heavenly, better than she ever dreamed of, that vi doesn’t even care that it’s probably just to shut her up. 

she almost doesn’t notice that you’ve cornered her between the kitchen counter and the front door, until she hears a distinct click, feels something heavy and burning against her wrists. 

you pull away first this time, eyes glazed over as you back away to make space between you and what you’ve done:

vi, handcuffed to the exposed heating pipe. the cuffs are stronger than any vi has ever been bound by. must be made of real silver. the metal sears into her skin, down to the bone, as she struggles against them, screaming to the point of howling, watching as you pick up the crossbow and a handful of silver tipped arrows as a final hail mary.

“no!” she cries. the pipe you’d cuffed her to rattles, but it doesn’t give. “please, please don’t —”

“i’m…i’m really sorry,” you mumble, quickly wiping away a tear. vi flinches when you try to touch her cheek; she bares her teeth at you like a rabid beast, but you don’t give her the courtesy of a reaction.  

“why are you doing this?” she growls.

“because….you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” 

you take a deep breath. you look at fangs, affectionately pat her head as she bows her head and whines, tail between her legs. “bring her the key once it’s morning,” you instruct. your eyes slide over to vi’s, for what she fears might be the last time. “take care of each other.”

with that, you’re out the door.

vi isn’t sure how much time passes. her wrists sting, her muscles ache, but still, she keeps going. she doesn’t care how, but she’s not letting you die tonight. 

a sliver of moonlight shines through the window. something claws at her ribcage. 

you’re not dying tonight. 

and vi’s been hungry for too long.

iii. all my devotion turns violent

the streets are empty, deserted due to fear and damp from the cold evening rain.

you search through the shadows, around every corner, play with one of your daggers just to pass the time, the blade weaving between your expert fingers.

all you can really think about, though, is vi, and how scared she was to lose you, and how terribly you must have hurt her — 

fuck. 

you accidentally sliced through your palm, your blood emerging as thick, black tar in the darkness. you sigh and kneel down in the alleyway, dropping your heaviest weapon so you can use your uninjured hand to wrap the other. 

something pounces on you before you can stop the bleeding. the crossbow — the weapon that was supposed to deliver a fatal blow — is now out of reach. 

you jab one of your silver blades into the creature’s side; he howls, but you manage to kick him away long enough to get to your feet, get a better sense of what you’re fighting. you’ve never seen anything like it before: a hulking mass roughly five times your size, wolf-like features, and chemical machinery woven throughout his body, a neon green liquid pumping through glass tubes. 

the beast growls at you, lunges forward once again; you jump out of his path, roll away so run, fast, and grab the crossbow. you quickly notch a silver tipped arrow, aim at his heart; you hold your breath and fire without hesitation. then another, and another, just to be safe.  

your stomach turns as you watch the creature remove the arrows as if they were nothing but splinters. he lets out a roar that shakes the earth. you’ve made him angrier.

you drop the crossbow, deciding instead to propel yourself off the wall, leap onto the beast’s shoulders and stab the glass tubes with all the force you can muster. green liquid gushes out, and the beast howls in pain, but doesn’t give up. with sharp claws, he throws you to the ground, and you shriek as he tears through the skin of your ribs. 

you’re very suddenly dizzy, bleeding out on the cobblestones, yet continue to struggle with whatever strength still courses through your veins. the beast looms over you, foaming at the mouth, and your vision is getting fuzzier by the second.

that’s when you see a flash of dark fur, almost fuschia in the moonlight, jump in front of you, knock the beast out of the way, tumble to the side. you glance at the creature that saved you — a wolf with a fierce set of teeth and beautiful powder blue eyes — before you fall unconscious. 

iv. stitch me up (touch me inside and out)

vi barely registers that the temperature in the apartment is dropping.

she doesn’t regret how she had to rip the heating pipe from the wall — there are nasty burns, still untreated, stinging her wrists where the silver cuffs had restrained her. 

she doesn’t regret transforming from human to something wild, unrestrained, in order to save you from something much worse. 

she’s still burning off adrenaline, her nervous system on high alert. it’s been a while, and she’d forgotten how exhilarating it can be.

it all happened so fast. there was something oddly familiar about the beast; he seemed to recognize vi, too. that’s the only explanation — for all the ruthless, bloody stories she’d heard, why else would he have let vi take you away and just disappear into the night without so much as a growl? 

vi doesn’t have the energy to answer such questions. all she cares about is you. she can’t get over the overwhelming scent of your blood, already spilling out onto the street when she showed up. she almost lost control, blinded by rage and a desire to kill the beast — but you were there, on the brink of death, and she just wanted you to be safe, wanted to bring you home.

she just hopes she wasn’t too late. 

vi hyper-focuses on your labored, disjointed breaths from where she tucked you in. she tried her best to stop the bleeding and dress your wounds with combinations of herbs and flowers she frantically read about in one of your books, desperate to keep you alive. 

you’ve lost blood. a lot of blood. 

vi wants nothing more than to curl up on the bed next to you, but after you saw her last night, once you realize that she’s no different than the savage beast you were so determined to kill, she’s not sure you’d want her near you. 

she’ll just stay long enough to know that you’ll wake up, and then she’ll be out of your life forever. 

dawn breaks. the sun shines through cracked, frost covered windows, and your eyes remain shut.

your heart’s still pumping blood, which is a good sign, but otherwise….

day bleeds into night, and you’re still out cold. vi manages to drip some water between your parted lips, and watches with relief as your throat reacts accordingly. you let out a gentle sigh, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly. 

“please wake up,” vi whispers. 

fangs jumps onto the bed and whimpers, nudging her nose against your arm so that she’s snuggled underneath. vi drapes a blanket over the pair of you.

another sleepless night passes.

at first light, vi changes your bandages. she struggles a bit, given her injured wrists, but she’s pleased to find you healing from what might have been a fatal injury to most humans. she tries to feed fangs, but the dog refuses. 

fair enough — vi can’t bring herself to eat, either. 

instead, to pass the time, vi glues together shards from the broken vase and places it back on the kitchen counter. there are no more fresh roses; vi decides she’ll bring you some as a parting gift once you’ve woken up. 

you’re shivering by the time darkness starts to creep in. vi piles as many blankets as she can on you and fangs, but it’s not enough. vi accepts what she had been reluctant to do: she slips into bed next to you, uses her body to keep you warm, arms wrapped around you protectively.

vi doesn’t remember falling asleep, but she wakes up late the next afternoon, to cold rumpled sheets and an even colder empty apartment. 

you must have a knack for perfect timing, because just as vi’s about to start spiralling, the front door swings open and it’s you — cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, holding a brown paper bag with one arm while your other hand grasps the key. fangs rushes through the door, too, tail wagging as she zooms around the apartment, bounces on the furniture and lets out excited little yaps.

“morning, killer.” you smile like you hadn’t been knocking on death’s door since a few nights before. “i would have waited, but you were pretty knocked out and fangs had a ton of energy to burn. clearly she still does,” you chuckle, sending a warm, fuzzy feeling through vi’s body. “i got us some food, too, and i’ll contact the landlord to fix our — whoa!”

the bag drops to your feet as vi pounces on you, engulfing your body in her arms and squeezing tightly. your heartbeat is as strong as ever, steadies her own frantic pulse. 

“s-sorry.” she pulls away and takes a step back. “i shouldn’t have —”

you just shake your head and press a finger to her lips to quiet her.

“i’m sorry,” you say. “i shouldn’t have — i shouldn’t have treated you like that; shouldn’t have used who you are as a weapon against you. you saved me, vi.” you take a shuddery breath. you place a gentle hand on her cheek. “thank you.”

it takes vi a minute to process what you’ve said. 

you thanked her for saving you. 

you apologized for using who she is as a weapon. 

what did you mean by that? 

unless —

i’m not the only monster hunter around here. you need to be careful.

she’s worth it. 

you deserve a happy ending, violet. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. 

“you….knew,” vi realizes, and even as she says it, she can’t quite believe it. “how….how long?”

“from the first time i landed a punch on your handsome face.” smiling softly, you run your thumb over the faded burn on her cheek, the one mirroring her tattoo, the one left by your silver ring. 

“are you serious?”

“well, fine, i didn’t know what you were, not exactly, until later. i just had a pretty good feeling that you weren’t human; you had a pulse, so you couldn’t be a vampire, which meant —” 

“you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you?”

you shrug. “you knew what i was this whole time and it didn’t bother you.” while vi continues to stare at you in disbelief, you bend down to pick up the fallen items. vi crouches down with you.

“that’s different,” she reasons, handing you a soft red apple, your cold fingers brushing over her warm skin momentarily. 

“i don’t think so. not all monsters are evil and not all humans are good. i saved you from a human that night, remember?” 

“b-but you’re you and i-i’m me.” vi scrambles to find the right words. she’s still shocked at how calm you are. is it really as simple as you make it seem? “you weren’t….scared that i’d hurt you, because that’s who i am?”

you get up and place the bag of groceries in the kitchen, lean against the counter as you stare back at vi. instead of answering, you challenge her once again:

“were you scared that i’d hurt you?”

vi blinks at you. “never.”

“there’s your answer,” you declare, giving her that razor-sharp grin you flash whenever you win a fight.

fangs has calmed down, and she’s asleep on the living room couch, her snores the only sound between you as vi processes everything that’s been said. 

she feels like her entire world has flipped upside down.

this whole time…..

it went terribly when she last told someone the truth, at least anyone outside her family, and even they would sometimes walk on eggshells around her, like they were worried she might snap. 

but you….you’ve sparred and you’ve bickered and you never even flinched once. 

you welcomed her into your home, into your life. 

you kissed her. 

this whole time.

“i was scared you wouldn’t love me, if you knew,” vi admits, a whisper so soft that she’s almost sure that you didn’t hear. 

except you falter then, your confident posture melting at her confession. your lips part in a soft exhale. 

“well, it’s like you said; i knew this whole time, and i still….” you swallow the rest of your sentence, but you’re looking at vi with so much adoration that it’s overwhelming. “i still want you.”

her brain short circuits, and all vi can think to do is kiss you.

it starts sweet, your lips rose-petal soft. her lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure. you run your fingers through vi’s hair, swallow her moans. she’s dizzy with anticipation, imagining how you might do the same when she’s between your legs later. you kiss the scar on her upper lip, gently like you’re hoping to heal the permanent wound. then, your tongue laves over the cut on vi’s bottom lip, soothes her, pushes into her mouth again so you’re both tasting copper. 

but then, you bite down, and a desire buried deep within vi is unleashed: the desire to cut herself open for you so you can love each and every part of her. even deeper down, vi hopes that you’d want the same.

vi brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into her mouth even more. she lodges her thigh between your legs and shoves her tongue into your mouth when you gasp. one of your hands slips underneath her shirt to trace the contours of her abdomen, meticulously outlining each one.

“it’s been days since you’ve eaten, hasn’t it?” you mumble against her lips, pulling away slightly. your brows pinch together in worry, because you already know her body too well, can tell that each muscle is more defined, each edge a bit sharper. “you must be starving, baby. let’s eat something before —”

vi whines when you start to pull away even more.

“we can do that after.” she offers you her best puppy dog eyes as she pleads: “i’m hungry for something else now. i want you.”

to prove her point, vi guides your hand to her belt. your fingers dance along the metal and she eagerly awaits your response.

“fine,” you decide. “but whoever has the most orgasms makes dinner.” 

“you’re on, angel.”

her breath hitches when your hand moves down the waistband of her pants; you play with her tangle of curls, tease the tip of your fingers into her wetness. she purrs against you. 

“wait —” you pause your actions. vi whimpers when you remove your glistening fingers; you take off the silver ring on your pointer finger, grinning guiltily as you toss it on the counter behind you. “that would have been bad,” is all you say before inserting two fingers into her already slick pussy.

“ugh, ah — fuck, just like that, angel,” she moans, twitching as you ram your fingers into her. 

you hum, stuff another finger into her heat, stretching her so deliciously that her legs start to tremble. 

“such a good girl for me. aren’t you, violet?” you coo and start sucking the skin behind her ear. “you gonna make a mess, right here in our kitchen?” 

and that does it — vi’s walls tighten around you, her wetness soaks through her clothes; she’s almost sure that it drips down onto the floor. vi whines as you remove your fingers, feeling empty. you shove your syrupy fingers into her mouth instead, her tongue greedily lapping up her own cum. a string of spit follows as you rip away your fingers and press your mouth against vi’s kiss-swollen, cum-covered lips. you feel something smouldering in the pit of your stomach at her whimpers; you’re nowhere near satisfied, but her eyes, all wide and dark and desperate, are pleading at you to let her indulge in her hunger, as well.  

“what else do you want?”

vi paws at your breasts from above your shirt.

“i want to fuck you,” she declares, and you nod eagerly, your body bursting into flames. 

she gestures at you to wrap your legs around her hips, and she carries you to the bed as you kiss more fiercely, teeth clacking and tongues fighting to explore every crevice of her mouth. you tear each other’s clothes off; but the cold air doesn’t faze you in the slightess, because you have vi, hot and passionate, above you, keeping you going.

your teeth gnaw on her bottom lip as vi messily thrusts against you, your cunts sliding against each other; sticky, languid bliss. 

vi takes her time. she wants to savor every part of this, of you — the sting of your nails scratching down her tattooed back, no doubt leaving red marks in their wake; the familiar scent of your skin, sickly sweet roses, combined with the thick musk of your desire, dripping against hers so deliciously; the hoarseness of your voice, encouraging her to go faster, harder. 

she nudges her nose against the crook of your neck, salivates at how your vein pulses for her like a tantalizing butterfly. her teeth graze your pulsepoint, but she’s trembling with the amount of self control it takes not to add any more pressure.

“v-vi,” you breathe her name like a prayer. “baby.”

a guttural moan bubbles from the back of her throat in response.

you gently run your fingers through her hair, coax her to look you in the eye, the gesture a sharp contrast to the harsh squelching of your cunts against each other, melding together with each determined thrust. 

“you – ah,” you gasp as vi rolls her hips into yours with even more vigor. “you can bite me, if you want.” 

vi licks her lips, swallows the hunger burning in her throat because you must be too fucked out if you’re willing to let vi fully indulge in this craving. 

“but then you would —”

“lycanthropy is only transmitted when you’re in wolf form,” you explain through labored breaths. “so if you bite me now….and gods, i’m begging you to…..nothing’s gonna change.” 

“i have never been more thankful for your slayer training,” she growls. “you really want that, huh? for me to mark you up really good, show everyone that you’re mine?”

“o-only if i can do the same,” you manage a smirk. “or are you all bark and no bite?” you tease, buck your hips upwards. vi is willing to die for your knife-like smile alone, so of course. she’d let you eat her whole, if that’s what you really wanted. 

vi finally sinks her teeth into you, rolling her eyes back at how absolutely luscious you taste. like a good girl — your good girl — she follows your orders and bites. she bites down your neck, across your shoulders and collarbones, relishing in the imprints left in her wake.

vi knows now that she calls you angel for a reason. it’s a religious experience, watching you throw your head back against the pillow as your orgasm crashes through you. vi follows a few seconds later until you’re covered in her — she drenched the curls of your bush, her cum dripping down on your own wet pussy as she watches from above. vi can’t help it; she bends down, and you jolt slightly when her cold nipple piercing brushes against your clit. she does it again a few more times just to appreciate how you whine, rut your pussy against her perky breast, begging for more. 

but, vi’s on the hunt for something else — she splits your folds with her sharp tongue, sucks any and all of your shared essence. she lets it slosh around in her mouth before hovering over you once more, silently ordering you to part your wet lips; when you comply, so obedient, vi spits into your wanton mouth, thick and velvety. 

“swallow,” she orders, voice rough with lust. you do so quite eagerly.

and just like that, you’re back to grinding on each other, leaving a delectable mess along the skin of each other’s thighs. the tension in vi’s abdomen snaps when you wrap your lips around her nipple, suckling at your own wetness until drool dribbles from the corner of your mouth. 

after feeling her gush against you, a feral impulse rips through you. you release her nipple with a distinct pop, the cold metal still burning on your tongue as you yank vi’s hair, exposing her tender skin, glittering with sweat in the dark golden light as the sun starts to set. you pull her close, bite around the tattoo on the side of her neck, hard. vi howls in pleasure as you taste salt and iron and her, reaching your peak. 

vi waits patiently as you come down from your high, chest heaving, your neck still engraved with the outline of her teeth while yours are stained red. you crash your lips onto hers, chaotic and insatiable, kissing her like she’s your last meal. in turn, she licks into your mouth, tongue tracing your canines to savor what you’ve consumed of hers. 

“you sure you’re not a vampire? that would be quite the scandal,” vi jokes later when you’re sitting in her lap, taking time to clean each other up. vi’s only wearing a shirt, but you’ve doubled up on clothes, the apartment growing colder as night approaches. 

you already tended to the burns on her wrists (and apologized profusely for causing them; you also scolded her a bit for not tending to herself sooner). now you use disinfectant to wipe down her neck, where you broke skin; you quickly place a bandage that soothes the sting and vi presses a grateful kiss to your sternum.

you hum around the unlit cigarette in your mouth, which you had rolled beforehand with dried rose petals. with your hands unoccupied, you reach for your lighter. vi tilts her chin to gaze up at you; you’re backlit by the evening twilight, a silver halo around you as flowery smoke billows from your mouth.

“i’m sure they won’t be thrilled to know that a slayer’s fallen in love with a werewolf, either,” you muse, beaming at her. 

vi clicks her tongue. “sounds like we’re breaking some bylaws.”

“oh, she’s worth it; i’d do anything for my charming, sexy, handsome werewolf.”

you lean forward and exhale smoke into vi’s parted mouth, lips brushing against each other as you share the same breath. you sit back once your lungs are burning and admire the view. 

vi — normally all rough edges and dark shadows — blushing a delicate pink as you praise her.

“she’s got a killer right hook, too,” you continue. you offer vi the cigarette and she nods; you hold it, place it between her lips as she takes a drag. “a body so hot that it’s honestly unfair. she’s a fighter, which i love, and some people might think she’s just a scary dog, but i think she’s beautiful and brave and a total softie —”

“okay, okay,” vi coughs, the tips of her ears red. she takes the cigarette from you and stubs it out on the makeshift ashtray by the windowsill. vi rolls over so she’s on top of you, cupping your face in her hands. she pecks across your cheeks until you’re giggling; you try to turn the tables, and the two of you just end up wrestling in a tangle of sheets and laughter and tender kisses.

eventually, you both calm down. 

“you hungry?”

“not really. you?”

vi shakes her head. “we’ll make breakfast together in the morning?” 

“sounds heavenly.”

it’s dark outside, but the stars are out and the waning moon shines bright. vi positions herself behind you, her body curving into yours, chin notched over your shoulder and arm secure on your waist.

fangs must feel left out, because she shuffles under the covers for warmth before immediately falling back asleep, her fur tickling at your feet.

your thumb rubs against the gauze on vi’s wrist. you can’t help but feel regret, heavy like lead in your stomach.

“baby, i’m fine,” vi assures, already knowing what you’re thinking.

“i….i just hate that i did this to you,” you mumble, bringing her wrist up so you can kiss it. 

“you were trying to protect me. it’s what we do, yeah? protect each other?”

when you hum in agreement, vi guides you to turn around so you’re facing each other. on instinct, she parts your legs with her thigh. your sweatshirt has ridden up, so vi starts to rub circles onto your exposed hip bone, her touch soft as velvet.

“next time you go out there, i’m coming with you.”

your breath hitches as you trace the tattoos licking up her arm. “vi….”

“this isn’t up for debate,” vi declares. she reaches her hand up to caress your cheek, thumb delicately rubbing the shadows under your eye. “you almost died. whatever almost killed you is still out there. you’re strong — gods, you’re the strongest person i’ve ever met — but you don’t have to face any of this alone. not anymore.”

you let out a surprised laugh. 

“what?” she murmurs shyly, her eyes the soft, pale blue of moonlight, star-like freckles dazzling her sculpted cheeks. 

“no, it’s just….anyone who’s known that i’m the slayer either calls me delusional, runs scared, or expects me to do it all by myself. hell — that’s how it was written, how it was destined to be."

vi nudges her nose against yours. her breath tickles your lips, heats up your entire being with a warmth so divine, you wonder if you actually have died and gone to heaven. 

you’re both alive, though, a bit bruised and wounded. the world is dark and cold, but here’s this beautiful, strong girl with a beautiful, strong heart who holds you close, parts her full lips — like two rose petals, kiss-bitten and crimson — and vows:

“fuck destiny. it’s you and me now, angel.”

v. my heart is black and beats for you

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

it’s a quiet night. you spent most of it lamenting how you got your ass kicked earlier and fantasizing about the woman who did it, when you see a shadow of a person passed out at the corner of the street, and another trying to steal from them. 

someone has to stand against the forces of darkness and evil, and the universe somehow determined that would be you — a fate you’ve had to accept through bruised ribs and broken hearts and bloody prophecies, but one you’ve had to accept nonetheless. 

if that goes beyond vampires and demons, so be it. 

after you’ve managed to send the creep on the run, you recognize the person you saved:

it’s her. 

she looked more intimidating in the pit, honestly — all harsh and dark, furrowed brows and vicious snarls. 

it takes you kneeling in front of her to be able to really see it through the black face paint. you take a little pride in the bruise that blossoms on her cheek and the cut through her eyebrow, thinking that at least you got a few shots in before she took you out with a killer right hook. 

your jaw still aches and you still taste copper thanks to her, but without the roars from the crowd or the pressure of hefty prize money that you need to survive, you can see her more clearly. she’s bleeding through her bandages; she’s shivering because, gods, it’s freezing this time of year and all she’s wearing underneath a flimsy leather jacket is scrap fabric that would not be counted as a shirt; and she looks like she hasn’t eaten in days despite reeking of alcohol. 

that’s when you see a burn on her cheekbone, too, just about where your silver ring would have collided with her skin. you hold your breath, lean in closer to her chest and listen closely to check — the thumping of a strong, steady heartbeat; the gentle rush of blood flowing through her veins. 

so, not a vampire. maybe a human with a silver allergy, but what’s more likely is that she’s….something else. 

“hey.” you whisper. when she doesn’t respond, you cup her face in one hand and tap her bruised cheek with your thumb. her skin is warm; if she were a human, you’d think she had a fever. “wake up.”

you resist the urge to jerk away when she softly takes your hand in hers, the gesture a sharp contrast to her knuckles bloodied from earlier.

“five more minutes, cupcake,” she whines, her voice echoing down the empty alley.

“look, it’s late and freezing. we should really go before —”

“please. just stay with me. i promise i’ll be good.”

your chest aches at her sincere tone. did you sound the same, when you made a similar promise before to the people you’ve loved after they found out who — what — you are? did you also look so broken, so bruised when they left? 

you know the council wouldn’t approve of what you’re about to do. 

but you also know well enough from years of studying and training and fighting as the slayer that their judgement should not be taken as scripture.

in other words: fuck the council. 

(plus — you need a friend, or just….someone. it’s lonely, being the chosen one. and this girl, in front of you — when you fought, her body reacting to yours so fluidly, you had somehow never felt more understood.)

you manage to get her to her feet. 

she mumbles something incomprehensible into your neck, her breath hot against your skin. you let her lean into your body after a weak attempt at holding herself up. it’s not much trouble for you, though. it’s a cold night, anyways; her body, solid and warm, is almost comforting against yours.

you trust your instincts and carry her home. 

[gingernut1314]

How Can I Be Of Service?

Summary: You can't sleep and after Sanji comes and finds you, you think of a way he can help you spend the time.

Content: gender-neutral reader, Sanji getting flustered, nervous Sanji, pet names, french pet names, cigarette sharing, skinny dipping, slight gas lighting (in the past), Luffy being Luffy and getting Franky to join in

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: I've had this one in the drafts for a little bit and felt that spark to finish it because Ooooh do I love myself a nervous and flustered Sanji. My favorite 🤤 I hope you all enjoy!

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The crew’s snoring melded and mixed with the sounds of the crackling fire and the waves crashing upon the sandy shore you all had decided to sleep on that night. Your captain had insisted you all to drink and party in celebration of finding this unoccupied island--said drink having knocked out several of your crew mates out cold. 

You, on the other hand, were wide awake. 

Even though the alcohol you had drunk made your eyes sting in sleep and the warm bodies of your crewmates pressed together in a huddled pile made your body relax, you couldn’t quite fall asleep. 

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be unable to sleep upon land. It had been that way for you since childhood. You needed the rock of the sea, the creaking and moaning of the ship's wood, the lapping of waves against the hull. None of which you got on land. 

So you lay awake, sleep rattling at your bones but never managing to pull you under fully. 

You continued to try for hours. 

You shut your eyes, counted sheep, and even turned so that your captain would stretch his arms around you, his warm and safe hold keeping you close. But still nothing and it had begun to frustrate you. 

Slipping from your captain’s hold and carefully stepping over your snoring crewmates, you walked along the beach shore, hoping maybe a small walk would help tire you out. 

You came to a stop before the Thousand Sunny floating a little ways in the sea, smiling proudly back at you.

Oh, how you longed to be back on the ship, to have your muscles instantly shift and sway with the ship’s rocking. To feel the salty sea breeze against your skin as you sailed through the endless expanse of the Grand Line. 

You could suffer one sleepless night and in the morning, after Sanji cooked up a mouth-watery breakfast and coffee, you would be back aboard the Sunny and able to catch up on all the sleep you missed out on. 

As you dug your toes into the sand, the chilled seawater kissing at your skin, the sound of sand crunching underfoot floated through your ears. You turned to find the chef himself making his way over to you, a lit cigarette between his lips. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked in way of greeting, coming to a stop next to you. 

“How did you guess?” Sanji chuckled, passing his cigarette to you. You took it gratefully, raising the white roll to your lips to inhaled the warm, nicotine-riddled smoke. You passed the cigarette back to Sanji on your exhale, feeling your muscles begin to loosen and mind rush in a pleasant buzz. 

“I heard you tossing and turning.” He spoke before fitting the cigarette between his full, heart-shaped lips. “Thought I would see if there was anything I could do to help.”

You watched him for a long moment. A moment you took to look over his thin yet muscled body which his blue and white striped, button-up shirt could hardly contain. Look over his arms, half exposed to the night air, which led to those skilled hands of his, one of which hid away in his pocket. You looked over his breathtaking features and those eyes of his, which were just as clear and blue as the afternoon sky. Took in that sandy blond hair, which your fingers itched to tuck away that longer bit behind his ear and expose his whole face to you.

You could. 

You knew you could. 

It would be so easy to reach your hand out and do what you wished. So easy to let your fingers feel over his smooth skin. So easy to pull him into you--to hold him in just the way you wanted. 

You had done it before. Had shared drunken kisses and touches that left both of you panting and needing more. Touches and kisses you pretended never happened. Sanji would try but you were always so quick to shut him down. You shut him down even when it made you feel like a horrid person, seeing his big, blue puppy eyes look so wounded.

It was your overthinking brain. 

It wouldn’t allow you to get close to him. Wouldn’t let your feelings free from the cage it had put around your heart. 

You were scared of what acknowledging your feelings for him would mean. Scared that he might hurt you and you might hurt him. 

You were tired of hurting him. Of letting your anxieties and worries get the better of you. 

You wanted to let him be as close as he wished to be with you, but there was always that unknown--that but what if?

Sanji extended the cigarette out to you once more and you took it, breathing in the heavy air and begging it to relax your tensing body.

“I’m okay. Just--not used to sleeping on land.” Sanji nodded as you exhaled, his fingers brushing over yours as he took it from you. Your skin sparked and burned at the simple, unintentional touch. 

“I’ve told you of Baratie?” Sanji questioned, taking another hit.

“The floating restaurant in the East Blue you grew up on? A little, yes.” Sanji smiled nostalgically as he thought of his home. A smile that stole your breath and made that itch to touch him grow near painfully. 

“Yes. When I lived there, I hardly made the journey inland. Only long enough to gather supplies and be on my way. After joining Luffy, it took me a while to get used to sleeping so--still, when we stopped to rest on land.” He said in that smoothly accented way of his, handing you the cigarette once more. “So I understand.” 

“Do you have any tips to help?” You asked on an exhale. Sanji shrugged, taking the slowly shrinking cigarette from you.

“I find I am a much lighter sleeper on land so I have yet to overcome it fully, but I could make you a cup of lavender tea? Maybe find you something more comfortable to sleep on than the sand?” You waved him off, turning your gaze back onto the dark waters of the sea, which the moon reflected and shone off of like a thousand diamonds had been scattered within its waters. 

“I’m okay. Really. I’m not going to bother you any more than I already am.” 

“You could never bother me, love.” Sanji quickly responded. You turned your gaze back upon him to find his cheeks flushing in a light dusting of pink. His eyes snapped towards the sea as soon as they met your own, something like panic flashing within their pretty depths. 

Love. 

The simple nickname always had your stomach freefalling upon hearing it. Always had your body tensing and that chaos within your chest rattling against its cage. 

You’d snapped at him before for calling you that. Had snapped maybe one too many times at the man who was too kind to you. Who had never once snapped back even though he should have a million times over. 

Sanji lifted the cigarette to his full lips again, the soft light from its smoldering end illuminating the soft curve of his nose and clean-shaven chin. The light disappeared behind that soft curtain of sandy blond hair that blocked the rest of his face from view. 

And you wanted to tuck it behind his ear again. Wanted to run your fingers over his cheeks and lips and let his softness take away all your hardness. 

Instead of giving in, you forced your fingers to grab hold of the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. 

“What--what are you doing?” Sanji sounded all so flustered, voice wavering in its typical smoothness. You smirked up at him as you tossed your shirt to the sand below.

“I’ve thought of a way you can help.” That dusting of pink deepened into a glowing red. You could all but see Sanji fighting his eyes to keep a hold of yours. To not dip lower to gaze upon all the skin you had just exposed. 

“A-and how might I be of service?” 

“Have you ever skinny-dipped before?” Sanji blinked down at you, his lips parting wide enough that the last half of his cigarette fell from his mouth. 

“Skinny--skinny-dipping?” You nodded, going for the buttons of your pants. 

“You had to have--living on that floating restaurant in the middle of one of the calmest seas there is.” You continued, yanking your pants and undergarments down and over your legs. Sanji was quick to avert his eyes toward the starry sky, shoving his fists into his pants pockets.

It was cute how much he wanted to respect your privacy. 

“I--no.” You gasped loud and quick enough it startled the poor man. “What?” Seriousness had filtered into his voice, eyes scanning for any sort of danger that warranted your reaction. When nothing but you was found, that blush of his glowed just as bright as the stars he had been watching seconds ago. “It’s--I was busy.” He huffed at you. 

“Busy.” You repeated, letting your playful smirk grow devious. “Or just chicken?” His brows furrowed and your nose was invaded by that silky cologne of his as he leaned down closer to you. 

“I am hardly chicken.” 

“I think you are.” You continued, moving closer into his orbit. 

“Am not.” You quirked your brow, giving pause before you tucked your fists under your arms to create the illusion of wings.

“Bok bok bok bok.” Sanji huffed in astonished amusement at your flutter of movement and sound. Those blue eyes scanned over your face, full of too much joy in teasing him. His heart-shaped lips tugged at their sides.

“Oh--you’ve taken it too far now, mon chère.” A squealing laugh tore from your throat as Sanji scooped you up in his arms, nuzzling his nose to yours. You let him, cupping his burning cheek in your palm. 

“Forgive--” But before you could even finish your laughing apology, Sanji was tossing you through the air. 

The sharp yelp you let out was cut out by the warm waters of the sea washing over you, engulfing you in their watery darkness. 

You stood, mouth agape from shock. Wet sand and bits of rock fitting between your toes as you struggled to find your footing. You had just begun to wipe stinging sea water from your eyes when the most beautiful sound called through the air. 

It was Sanji’s laugh. 

A laugh that started out as a whoosh of air from his lungs, before bellowing out the most lovely sound you had ever and would ever hear. 

It was a laugh so powerful it had him folding over, hands on his knees as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling to the sand below.

It hadn’t been particularly funny, but Sanji was finding it hysterical. 

“Haha. You got your payback.” You tried to keep your own laughter at bay, but that laugh of his always found a way to bring yours out. “Join me?” Sanji’s laughter died down at your question. You could almost feel the heat from his blush from where you had been thrown.

His fingers twitched, physically showing his nerves to you as he glanced back down the beach to where the rest of the crew still snoozed away.

“Turn around.” He insisted, turning those eyes back into you. 

“Turn around?” You almost scoffed, but seeing his fingers twitch once more, you held your tongue. As soon as your back was turned, the Sunny’s smiling face greeting you, you threw the flustered chef a thumbs up. 

You listened over the watery sounds of the sea for the rustle of clothes being shed and thrown to the ground. Listened so that as soon as you heard the harsh splashing of his entrance into the ankle-high water turn softer as the sand floor dipped deeper, you were turning to face him.

Sanji's face was nearly as red as one of the tomatoes he had used in the night's dinner. His body was too stiff and his eyes were wider than saucers. 

You tried not to let your eyes linger too long over Sanji’s exposed body. Over his pale skin, which bore faded scars one was bound to receive after numerously dangerous adventures. Over his smooth chest and strong torsor, which slimmed as your eyes danced lower. Couldn’t possibly help but take in the sandy-colored trail of well-groomed hair which the eye happily followed to such imitate parts that had your own face heating. 

The warm water flowed around the skin of your hips as you pulled closer to Sanji. 

His eyes tracked you, his face growing so red you thought he might pop a vein. You stopped with hardly an arm's width of space between you two.

“You’re too cute when you’re all flustered like this.” You teased, leaning in that much closer just to make him squirm.

“I--I am not flust--” But before Sanji could finish, you were sending a small splash of salty water into his face. 

“Payback for the payback.” You gave Sanji a little mischievous shrug, the chef giving a shocked laugh. 

“Payback for--that’s not how that works.” He challenged, running his fingers through his now damp hair to keep it from covering his other eye. 

“Yes, it is. Them’s the rules. Sorry.” You said in mock seriousness. Sanji laughed. A laugh that he tried to stifle as he made himself look just as serious about this matter as you pretended to be. 

“You’re right. Rules are rules.” You only had a millisecond to spot the little smirk that pulled at Sanji’s lips before he sent an even bigger splash your way. You gave a playful yelp before you sent another splash his way. 

Splash after splash after splash was sent back and forth, the space growing smaller and smaller between you two. 

That golden laughter filled your ears just as strong hands grabbed you up into equally as strong arms, holding you close and making your skin burn.

“And I believe this makes,” Sanji laughed, fingers digging just enough into your sides to make you squirm and pull a fit of laughter from you. “Makes me the true winner of the night.” 

“O-o-okay! Okay!” You shouted cheerfully, wiggling against his tickling hold. “You win!” Sanji stopped in his tickle attack, that stunning smile of his bright on his lips. 

You let your laughter die out right alongside Sanjis. Laugher that stung at your cheeks sorely but you wouldn’t have traded it for the world. 

“Thank you,” You started, once the sounds of the sea had overtaken the air once more. “for making sure I was okay. I really appreciate it.” You glanced away from his gaze, feeling like even saying this simple little thank you was stepping into “too serious” territory. 

But…maybe you wanted to. Maybe you should just take that leap. 

“And facing your skinnydipping fears for me.” You’re anxieties added. Sanji only chuckled with a shake of his head. 

“Of course, love. I would overcome anything if it meant you would be alright.” Sanji’s blue eyes glanced away then too. Glanced away like he knew saying that was crossing into that solidily serious territory too. 

And he looked all too beautiful in the moonlight, looking all flustered all over again. 

You cupped his cheeks in your hands then, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest. 

“I’m--I’m going to kiss you,” Sanji’s eyes flew wide and that blush came flushing back to his cheeks. “And I’m--I’m going to mean it…we can see where this goes?” The purest look of joy sparked to Sanji’s face it made your heart ache and flutter all at once. 

“Truly?” He asked hopefully. You gave him a simple nod back, pulling yourself closer to his face. Letting just the very tips of your noses brush. 

Sanji’s breath hitched.

His grip tightened around you. 

“Truly.” And that was all the confirmation Sanji needed before he was crashing his lips to yours. Lips so soft you felt as if you would melt right into them. Lips that tasted faintly of the cigarette you two had shared. A taste that was smokey and sweet and made your heart feel so so full. 

“Awwww!” The high-pitched whine had you and Sanji jumping, teeth clashing against teeth in a not-so-nice way. Sanji gave a low curse, blue eyes shooting toward the beach to find your captain pacing at the edge of the shore restlessly. “Guysss! No fair! I want to join!” He shouted. 

“No--Luffy do not.” Sanji shouted Luffy’s way. 

“Just catch me,” Luffy shouted, already yanking his vest off his back. Mild panic clutched at your heart as you shimmied out of Sanji’s hold. 

“Luffy--” You started to warn. 

“CANNONBALL!” You snapped your head to the side just in time to see Franky’s tall head of blue hair disappear within the large splash of water he had created in his cannonballing. 

“AWWWWW! Guys! Franky too? I’m coming in!” Luffy declared as he struggled to tug his pants off. 

“No--” Sanji tried again, now rushing towards the shore as fast as the waters would allow.

“Gum-Gummmm---ROCKET!” And Luffy rocketed himself straight at Sanji, who took the hit with a loud oof before they disappeared under the dark waters. 

And as you watched Sanji pull a limp-limbed Luffy back to the surface, your captain giggling up a storm, all you could do was laugh. A laugh Sanji took a moment to pause for and admire before he began shouting his displeasure Luffy’s way.

More Like This: Demons and Claws {Zoro x gn!reader} ⋆ Couldn't Sleep? {Robin x gn!reader} ⋆ Just Trying To Sleep {Luffy x gn!reader} ⋆ Feeling Generous {Nami x gn!reader} ⋆ Nightmares {Usopp x gn!reader}

[urfavleo777]

WARNINGS: smoking, closeness, kisses, bad vocabulary, fluff.

you find comfort in colby after breaking up with your boyfriend.

"I don't remember the last time I saw you like this, kiddo."

You flinched, not from the wind, but from the hoarse voice of your friend Colby, who was standing behind you. Standing on the balcony in just a T-shirt and jeans would give you a cold, but at that moment, that was your last concern. Before you turned around, you sniffled, trying to disguise the fact that you had just shed a sea of ​​tears.

He gently placed his free hand around the lighter, trying to shield it from the wind. A faint smile covered your lips as you watched him concentrate on it.

"When will you finally quit smoking, Colby?" you whispered, choking on your tears.

"I don't know, you tell me" he sighed out the smoke from his mouth as well and looked at you, arching his eyebrow.

"I still think you should quit." You said softly, turning your head towards Colby who, standing next to you, was leaning back against the railing. He looked down at the night skyline of the city. Such sights were not uncommon for him since he became so popular. He probably spent the night in places you never even dreamed of. You had been friends for seven years, but you never let him take you with them. Maybe it was because your ex-boyfriend, who just two hours ago was the love of your life, was seething with jealousy whenever you spent time in Colby's presence.

"What will you give me if I do?"

He took another long drag from his cigarette before exhaling into the crisp air. You watched the smoke disintegrate into the air as he placed his cigarette back between his finger. Not hearing your answer, his lips curled up into a smirk before he spoke.

"You want to try, don't you?" he asked making you nod slowly.

You've always been against any kind of stimulants, but that day you had to relieve yourself somehow. Cigarettes turned out to be the perfect solution.

He turned his body towards you before wrapping his arm around your waist. Your breath hitched and his cold bare chest rested against yours. His cigarette was held in his left hand and your body in his right. He looked down at you before explaining what to do.

"Just inhale, hold it for a second then let it go" he said making you nod again.

Your fingers lifted up and reached for the cigarette before you realized that he was bringing it to his mouth instead of yours. Okay, maybe he was showing you what to do. He took a smaller drag from the cigarette than his past before lowering the cigarette down. Before you could even reach to grab it, his lips pressed into yours.

You gasped at his kiss, making him breath all the smoke into your mouth and have it go down to you lungs. He pulled back a little to watch as you kept your mouth closed tightly. The smoke had filled your entire chest and was beginning to make you suffocate.

"Y/n, exhale" he said.

You opened your mouth and let all the smoke escape from your lungs. He smirked and closed his eyes as all the smoke had been hitting his face. You began coughing as the smoke was caught up in your lungs. His hand patted your back before you finally gained control of your breathing.

"Did you like it?" he asked with a smile playing on his lips.

"Never doing this again." You said making him laugh out into the air.

His hands tighten around your back and he brought your forehead to his lips to give you a small peck. You gasped slightly making him pull back and realize what he was doing. His hand un-wrapped itself around your waist as his cheeks were tinted red.

"Glad you two broke up. I've always had an urge to punch him in his fucking face."

It seemed he decided not to mince his words.

You rubbed your eyes with your hands, realizing that your makeup was probably smudged. You shuddered once again as you felt the wind on your skin. Colby noticed this, pulling you closer to him. He lowered his voice, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"I'm sorry, baby. He clearly wasn't good for you."

You thought you were about to fall asleep standing up. His touch soothed you, making all your worries go away. You wanted to stay like this forever, in his arms, on the balcony, with the accompaniment of passing cars and the full moon in the sky.

You've been blind all this time. You were looking for happiness and entertainment in pathetic men, not knowing that you didn't have to look at all, because the perfect one was literally at your fingertips.

And his name was Colby Brock.

[bluekidchaos]

Silco x Reader

i have nothing coherent to say but i've been rotating this man inside my mind like a microwave dish for a week straight and need it out of my system, so here is huh, sucking silco off while he smokes

Pairing: Silco x Reader

Warnings: 18+, blowjobs (turns into face fucking??), pet names (pet, love, dear), hinted dacryphilia, dirty talking (mix of praise and degradation), boot humping (huh ?? what ? who said that, guys i think there's a ghost here), no use of pronouns but female parts mentioned

Words: 1.5k

Can also be read on AO3!

Back to masterlist.

silco coming back to the last drop after a meeting with the other chem-barons notably frustrated, huffing and muttering under his breath about "imbeciles and morons"

as he sits himself down in the big leather chair behind the desk trying to light a cigar but the lighter won't work in his angry grasp, getting him on edge even more until he throws it across the room in a fit of rage

you sigh as you get up from your position on the couch, so far seemingly unnoticed by the man, and pick up the lighter

making your way over to the desk silco finally looks up at you, his eyes softening a little when they land on you, you perch at the edge of it and hold the lighter up to him

he puts the cigar up to the flickering light and takes a long drag before exhaling, already feeling more relaxed as he inhales the tobacco. silco leans back into his chair and takes another slow drag while looking you up and down closely

"bad meeting?" your foot coming up to rest in between his spread thighs on the chair, the question of what he needed from you unspoken but understood

he grunts in response, "bad week overall.." the hand not occupied with holding the cigar lands on your foot, stroking up and down the expanse of your calf giving you your answer

almost like it was instinct you slide down from the desk and down on your knees in front of him, now trapped between him and the desk

his hand comes down to stroke a stray strand of hair back behind your ear and you nuzzle your cheek into his warm palm

silco leans down in the chair to your level, nose almost touching yours, "how about you make me forget what a bad week it was, pet?" the heavy smoke envelopes your senses for a second before you jump into action

you start by slowly dragging your hands up his thighs, letting one hand graze over the bulge in his tight pants while the other comes up to unbutton them

silco raises his hips slightly off the chair to help you lower his pants and underpants for easier access while you grab his cock out of its confinement, giving it an experimental stroke you hear silco gasp above you

the hand left on your cheek moves around your head and tangles in your hair, his eyes never leaving yours as you finally lean forward and lick his entire length

when you reach his tip you stay there giving soft kitten licks, you make sure to keep eye contact with silco while doing it, you loved seeing his reaction while you pleased him

his grasp on your hair tightens a bit and he sucks in a sharp breath as your tongue flicks at his tip, you can tell he's about to chastise you for teasing him so before he can get a word out you take his full length into your mouth, well as much as you can at least

silco finally breaks the eye contact, throwing his head back with a grunt as you take him down your tight throat, "fuck, good pet"

the pet name makes your pussy throb and you can't help but to clench your thighs to try and create some friction

he lets you set the pace at first, bobbing your head at a comfortable pace while letting one hand stroke what doesn't fit in your mouth, you trace your tongue along the veins decorating his dick and give his tip a couple of flicks whenever you come up for air

the hand not occupied with helping your efforts travel up his shirt, letting it rest against his stomach, using your nails to scratch at him from time to time to aid the sensations and you can feel him shiver under your touch

silco is now completely relaxed in the chair, head leaned back and cigar in his unoccupied hand, inhaling and exhaling thick smoke, the almost indifference he shows you makes you even more turned on somehow

to anyone else, it would look like he's ignoring your efforts but you know him better, the hand clenched in your hair, the heavy breathing, and the few noises that escape him give away how this is really affecting him

you decide to tease him more, not going down fully this time, just keeping the tip in your mouth to suck on while your hand jerks him off lazily while looking up at him

silcos head snaps down to look at you, his eyes burning with desire and frustration, "now, now, pet.." he growls out at you, "let us not get lazy when you were doing such a good job before" he adjusts the grip on your hair to a makeshift ponytail before searching your eyes for consent

you give him a small nod and try to smile up at him but he presses your head down on him fully now, nose pressed into his pubes, and holds you there

he leans his head back again and lets out a low moan at the feeling of your throat constricting around him, he revels a bit in your small struggle, the feeling of one hand scratching his stomach and the other desperately clinging to his thigh before letting you up for air

when he finally pulls your head up you take a deep breath and cough, you try to blink the tears clouding your eyes away so you can meet his gaze

silco groans at the way you look up at him, lips red and swollen, tears running down your cheeks, but it's the way you smile up at him that has him throbbing for you

he pulls your head down again, this time setting a brutal pace that has you barely catching your breath and you can't stand it anymore, the ache between your thighs is getting too much and you need something, anything

you whimper around his cock, the vibrations send a jolt of electricity up his spine, you look up at him and try to make a pouty face, which considering your mouth is stuffed full of his cock is pretty hard

silco knows your every expression however and you get your point across either way, he chuckles at the desperation in your eyes, "hm, poor you, need something to soothe you? is my cock in your mouth not enough for you?" he mocks you

but he moves one of his legs between your legs and you feel yourself get wetter at the display, "there, there, pet, make yourself feel good while i use your throat as i please"

you can feel your cheeks heat up at his words, you can't believe this is happening but you're honestly too turned on to think about it for too long before you roll your hips against his boot

the feeling of finally getting some friction against your clit makes you moan around his cock and you roll your hips again and again and again before you've set a pace likewise to the one silco is guiding your head at

silco was already close but the vision of you brings him to the edge, eyes closed and tear-stained cheeks while you were humping his boot, your noises muffled around his dick but the vibrations are making him go crazy

you feel yourself getting closer to ecstasy with every roll of your hips, you're sure you've made a mess on his boot by now but you couldn't care less, all you could think about was dragging your tongue around silcos cock while his hips meet your face and humping his leg like an animal in heat

both of you could tell the other is close now, you hollow your cheeks around him and that's enough to bring him over the edge with a shout, emptying himself into your mouth and you try to swallow every drop of him but there's too much and it spills out and around his cock

the feeling of your mouth tightening even more as if that was possible makes silco tense and he pushes his leg into you more, putting unexpected pressure on your clit just as you made contact with him again and you feel yourself being pushed over the same edge, warmth spreading through your whole body as you ride out your orgasm

silco carefully lifts your head off of him after a little while and you take a deep breath again, you start coughing as some of his cum slides down to wrong pipe

he rubs and pats your back until you've calmed down and brings you up into his lap, letting you curl up against him as you both catch your breaths, "thank you dear, are you alright?"

you snuggle into him more as he brings his jacket over you as a makeshift blanket, you can feel soreness in your jaw and thighs creeping in but you were too tired to care right now, "hmm, sore, tired"

silco smile agaisnt your head before giving it a quick peck, "rest my love, i'll be here when you wake up to take care of you" and with the sound of his smooth voice whispering in your ear you finally fell asleep

[kingkat12]

Hiii !! I don’t know if you’re still doing Roman Godfrey imagines but if u are can u do Husband!Roman he just have gotten back from work after a hard day & u guys have a smoke session than things take a turn & u two have rough sex?? (U can do your things with the smut I can’t really think of anything 😂🫶🏽 but ty !!)

if i'm still doing Roman Godfrey imagines... IF I'M STILL DOING ROMAN GODFREY IMAGINES??? it's all i ever do, sweetheart🙈💜 i fucking loved writing this and i hope i've done your wish justice!! it took a different turn than expected, but this only means i might have to revisit this tihi... and it's the first bj i've ever written lol so hope it went well! ENJOY!!🌸

silk tie (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, piv sex, bondage, oral sex (female receiving), blowjob, suit-fetish, smoking

summary: your husband has had quite the day... and now he's adamant about making it a little better

word count: 4,347

I hadn't noticed Roman was home before I walked past the balcony.

It was about three in the morning, which was an odd time for him to return from work. Or had he arrived back earlier?-- I had been asleep, so there was no way for me to know. I never waited up for him anymore, as he was usually either grumpy or completely exhausted. He wouldn't exactly take it out on me, but I was still unsure how to deal with his mood swings ever since his upir cravings got worse. 

Maybe our marriage wasn't perfect, but it had its moments. Moments such as these.

I watched as Roman leaned against the balcony railing, clearly deep in thought as he smoked a cigarette. He was still wearing his suit, not having bothered to get out of his work attire. On top of that, it was clear that he had been ripping at his hair because it looked like an absolute mess. With quiet steps, I joined his side, not saying a word. I could only look at him, revel in the upward curve of his nose, the pout of his lips, and the way he lazily balanced the cigarette between his fingers. 

"Hey, gorgeous," I said, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. "How are you?"

Roman hummed, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his nose. It was clear that his mind was elsewhere. "I've been here for fifteen minutes and this is my sixth cigarette. I think I'm slowly going insane,"

It wasn't unusual for Roman to get into these depressive ruts-- it would often happen when work got a little crazy and Pryce wouldn't get off his case. "You're not going insane," I stepped away from the balcony, wrapping my arms around my husband from behind. "You just need to get some sleep... Come to bed." My words were muffled against his broad back, pressing a kiss through his suit. 

Roman sighed, running his free hand over my fingers, feeling how small I was against him. "I already slept an hour in my office," 

Typical. "An hour isn't enough,"

"Well, I'm not sleepy anymore, and that's all that counts," Roman stumped the cigarette against the railing, another sigh escaping him. "But don't let me keep you up."

I nuzzled my face against his back, inhaling the scent of his cologne; I had missed him today. "I don't want to go back to bed without my husband," 

"It wouldn't be the first time,"

I rolled my eyes-- enough was enough. His self-deprecation could be downright annoying sometimes, mostly because he was more stubborn than a donkey. "Talk to me, Rome, what's on your mind?"

Roman gave in, turning to me. Like this, I could see the way the bags under his eyes had darkened since this morning and the way his eyelids were halfway drooped into a look of exhaustion. "It just... hit me today that all my ties are silk,"

"... What?"

"Silk," Roman echoed, and he had a hollow look about him as he wrapped his arms around me. He put his head on top of mine before burying his nose in my hair, inhaling sharply. "The devil wrapped in silk is still the devil."

It didn't take long for me to realize that he was talking about his urges again. "You're not the devil, Roman," I drew small circles on his back, hoping to soothe him. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd had something to drink on top of this. "You're working through it and you're doing well. Do you not realize that?"

He hummed; "It's just not fair to you," Roman's hands went up in my hair, pulling me tighter against his chest. "I want to grow old with you, but sometimes I wonder whether it was a good decision to get married... Whether I shouldn't have been selfish enough to drag you down with me."

I put my hands against his chest, slowly pushing myself away. This was a different speech from his usual sad ones-- this was new. "... What are you saying?"

Exasperated, Roman groaned as he turned away from me, leaning over the railing once more. He dragged his hands through his hair, tugging a little too hard at his roots. "I don't-- I don't know, okay? I just want Pryce's treatments to work, to be rid of whatever the fuck I've become, and just... Fuck! I hear the beating of my heart all the time and it's driving me fucking crazy!" He drove his elbows down against the surface, covering his ears as though it would help. 

My body was begging for me to go back to sleep, but my heart was actively shattering at the sight of Roman so broken. I took slow steps towards him; with wary movements, my fingers dipped into the jacket of his suit, fishing out a pack of cigarettes. My other hand went into the front pocket of his trousers, fishing out his lighter. I wasn't the biggest endorser of smoking, but I knew exactly why Roman did it-- it slowed down his heart, making it easier to bear the constant sound of his blood pulsing through his veins. 

I put the cigarette between my lips, now feeling Roman's glossy eyes on me. Lighting it, taking a rather long drag myself, I made my way between his arms. I balanced the cigarette between my fingers, holding it up in front of his mouth, and it didn't take long before he accepted it, wrapping his plush lips around it with a satisfied sigh. 

Something about the look of relief on Roman's face gave my heart the ease it had needed all day. Knowing I could be the one to soothe him, to bring him down from his panic, assured me that we were good for each other after all. 

I reached out for his tie, feeling the silk between the pads of my fingers. "When you're not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives," My hands left his tie, now resting against his chest, feeling the beating of his heart against my palm. "You've cut your tongue so many times that when life hands you a flower, you can't quite make out what it is. It takes time, Roman. Marriage takes time."

The smoke from the cigarette wrapped around us like a warm duvet, the warm summer breeze blowing it away with soft strokes. A kind, subtle smile spread across Roman's lips, finding solace in my words. His free hand traveled down to rest against the small of my back, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against my forehead. "Sometimes at work, I have thoughts of simply dissolving into you," he murmured, pulling away to take another drag before continuing. "It's unexplainable, but the thought is always there... and there's nothing I want more than that."

I let out the breath I had been holding, glad to see him calm again. "Are we talking sex?"

The laugh that followed made my heart sing; "You'd think so, but that's not how I meant it," Roman took a final drag, putting out the cigarette and tossing it away somewhere. "Although... I could mean it like that."

"Of course you could," I got up on my toes to give his neck a sweet kiss, knowing I couldn't reach up to his face. "But I think our first priority would be to get some sleep, and then we'll see what we can do in the morning if we have time." 

Roman bit his lower lip, suppressing a cheeky grin. His green eyes sparkled with the familiar look of want, and I immediately knew he was up to no good. "I have to disagree... I think the first priority would be to get you out of my shirt,"

My eyes widened-- I had forgotten that I was wearing it. In my defense, it was easier to fall asleep when he was away if I wore it. "What, you want it back or something?"

"No," Roman's voice dropped as his hands went down to grab at my waist. "Just want it off."

"It's three in the morning!--"

"And since when did we care about that?" He didn't even try to suppress his growing smirk anymore, and I watched his pupils dilate in real time as ideas soared through his dirty, dirty mind. It didn't take much time before Roman took my hand into his, bringing it up to his mouth to press a wet kiss against my knuckles. My breath hitched, having missed the sensation of his lips against my body. But suddenly, he lowered my hand and pressed it up against himself, leaving me breathless and in shock. 

Roman gave in to a laugh at the expression on my face, leaning down to press a kiss against the underside of my jaw. "Are you really going to deny me when I'm in a suit? That always works like a killer on you,"

And he was definitely right about that-- everything about him right now made me want to jump him. "Who said anything about denying you?" I mumbled, rubbing him through his trousers, my fingers feeling along each divot and ridge of his length. Swallowing hard, I realized I could feel him grow harder beneath my palm. "I just don't think we should be doing this on the balcony..."

Roman hummed, a low moan vibrating in his chest; "Yeah, good idea," I barely had time to register what was happening before his big arms wrapped around me, hoisting me over his shoulder as I yelped. It always surprised me that he could lift me as though I weighed nothing, and I laughed against his back as he made his way back into the house with a strong grip around me. 

"Rome, for fuck's sake!" I couldn't stop the trail of giggles escaping me, happy to see this side of my husband again. "You can't be serious-- Hey!" The squeak that escaped me was unlike anything I had heard coming from my mouth before, but how else was I to react as Roman struck his hand against my ass? Something about the sting was both painful and weirdly arousing-- I couldn't put my finger on it. Was this my lack of sleep talking?

Roman proceeded to chuckle, leading us into the bedroom. "Of course I'm serious," It didn't take long before he laid me down on the bed, crawling over to me like a predator. "I'm a serious man, you know me." 

"Yeah, right," 

As Roman made space for himself between my legs, I couldn't help but fling my arms around his neck to pull him close. I had waited for him to come home all evening to do just this-- the bliss that filled my body as our lips finally met was unmatched by any other heavenly feeling on earth. "I've wanted you all day," I purred against him, feeling the hardness of his cock twitching against me. 

"Don't say that shit," he whispered back, letting out a shaky breath as he raised himself up. "Makes me feel like I'm going to burst."

I bit down a giggle, my hands reaching for him once more. "Oh, come on, it hasn't been that long since last time!"

"... Three days?"

"Three days?!" I could barely believe it-- this was outrageous. Blinking rapidly, I watched as Roman's smirk reappeared, now leaning back down to capture my lips in a soft, passionate kiss. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him and the fabric of his suit. "Well, I've been busy... and you've been out a lot," he murmured against my lips, his hot breath against my mouth making me shiver. "It's almost as though I need to make sure you're always here waiting for me... Because there's no way in hell I'll let another three days pass before I fuck you again."

I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at, but I liked the sound of it. I liked everything about this actually-- his tongue against mine, my hands in his hair, the feeling of our hearts beating at each other through our chests. But suddenly, the weight of him disappeared off me, and before I knew it, Roman's green eyes practically pierced me as he knelt before me, my legs creasing at his thighs. 

I knew this look. This look of lust, love, and mischief; I couldn't take my eyes off of him. The way his chest heaved, the way he stared down at me through his brows, and the way the corners of his mouth turned upwards into a smirk made my stomach flutter. 

It only dawned on me what Roman actually meant when his hands went up to his tie. Silk. My eyes widened; "Oh God, Rome--"

"Let's strike a deal," he purred, drawing the black tie through his fingers as he licked his lips. "Deal with the devil, if you like. Your little wish for mine."

I nearly shuddered, feeling my pulse quicken. "And what is it that I wish?"

Roman's chuckle was darker than expected. Something told me he had wanted to do this for a while. "I know you have an affinity for my suits, so I'll keep it on. And you... will stay still," 

Stay still? I could only squeal as Roman grabbed my hips, moving me further up the bed with ease. My breaths came out in short, ragged motions as he took my wrists into his big hand, tying them to the headboard with the other. The mix of the situation and my lack of sleep made me light-headed; "Rome," I mewled out against his chest, looking up to try to meet his eyes. I let out a quiet hiss as he tightened the tie around my wrists, watching as he made sure there wasn't much wiggle room.

This was something new. 

"Perfect," Roman said, mostly to himself, before taking my face into his hands to press a wet kiss against my lips. "Fuck, this is perfect... Let's just stay like this forever, hm?"

My heart fluttered, and I had to swallow rather hard as he made his way down my neck, leaving a trail of kisses along my body. It was hard to say no to a man towering well over six feet dressed in a ridiculously expensive suit. I squirmed against my restraints, my lashes fluttering as I remembered how sleepy I actually was-- but the tie was tied tightly around my wrists, and there was nowhere for me to go. "Since when do you have the energy to do this at three am?" I tried, hoping to stop my breath from hitching as his hands neared the hem of my shirt.

Roman took his time with giving me a response, his fingers now grazing my bare skin, leaving me shivering with anticipation. "You know you're talking about your husband, right?" he said, pushing my shirt further up as he spoke. "Were three days enough to make you forget that I always have energy for this?"

Before I had the opportunity to answer, Roman leaned down to lick a wet stripe up my stomach. I let out a broken moan, tugging at my restraints once more, squirming beneath him. "Rome, shit--" As he paired his licks up with kisses, I quickly felt my arousal pooling between my legs; there was no going back now.

We had never actually talked about tying me up like this, and I wasn't sure whether this was torturous or pleasurable. All I wanted was to reach down and run my fingers through his hair, tug him closer, feel him-- everything about the denial made me further desperate. 

Seeing as I was dressed for bed, I wasn't wearing a bra; something told me that my husband approved. It didn't take long before my shirt was at my arms, Roman's lips wrapped around an aching bud as he sucked at me. I could only write and moan, feeling completely breathless. "I can't-- Fuck, Roman," 

It felt as though the smell of cigarettes swallowed me whole, dragging me deep into the depths of my arousal. My hips bucked up against him, desperate for more, but all my attempts were shut down when Roman grabbed my hips and pinned me down to the bed. "Behave," he said, a low grunt following as his grip on me tightened. 

Hearing that word, I knew I was screwed. It suddenly became very, very apparent that Roman was in one of those moods-- this was usually the side of him that would come out when he felt like everything around him was spinning out of control, meaning he had to control the only thing he felt he could; me. 

And with me being tied up and all, I couldn't help but comply. 

"Sweetheart?" Roman shifted, making sure he had my attention before he sat up. Slowly, his hand inched down to his zipper, a cheeky smirk spreading across his lips. "I've had such a tough day, and seeing you like this is really making it all feel better... But I wanna see how pretty you look with your lips around my cock."

The teasing tone in his low voice was enough to drive me crazy. Along with that, the proper look about him had me struggling to breathe. There was something tantalizing about the fact that America's youngest CEO was right here, married to me, wanting and needing me. So when Roman unzipped his trousers, leading his hard cock to my mouth, I gladly accepted it.

I slid just the tip of my tongue up the underside, so light he could barely feel it-- it was mostly just the sensation of my breath. Judging by the sound of Roman's breath hitching and the slight twitch of his cock, I knew I was on the right track. I gave the tip a gentle kiss before giggling to myself, not having to look up to know he was blushing. "For fuck's sake," he breathed, reaching down to grab a full fist of my hair, pulling me closer. 

This was his way of politely saying please.

So I gave in, wrapping my lips around the head of his cock, sucking him in, and tasting the drop of pre-cum that immediately landed on my tongue. It was followed by a downright lewd moan from Roman, who loosened the grip on my hair before throwing his head back just a little. I couldn't help but glance up at him, so prim and proper in his suit, yet completely unraveled by the slightest touch. 

And since my hands were tied and I couldn't touch him, I reveled in the fact that I could taste him. Which is why, when Roman pulled out of my mouth with a rather wet pop, I pouted up at him as he made his way back down. But my pout quickly faded as my lips parted, my breath escaping me as he rubbed the tip of his cock over my chest. "You're too damn pretty," Roman said as he stroked himself at the sight of me. "Do you want my mouth on you before we go?"

"Yes, please," The ache between my legs almost burned-- there was nothing I wanted more in the world.

It didn't take long before Roman tucked himself back into his pants and moved down my body with eager kisses, and the anticipation nearly had me panting so hard that I was sure I might pass out. But the tension in my body quickly dissolved as Roman pulled my pyjama shorts aside, licking a wet stripe up my sex, which made my back arch off the bed. My hands strained against the tie, letting out a weak groan-- I was dying to bury my hands in his hair. 

"You're already so wet," Roman purred, leaning down to press a soft kiss against my clit. "Could've fucked you already." His fingers dug into my hips to hold me down, sucking me in as his lips covered my mound. It felt so intense, that I could barely hear my own thoughts; I heaved in sharp breaths of air, squeezing my eyes shut as I struggled against my restraints. It only got worse when Roman's tongue slid over my sopping entrance, entering me, fucking me-- I was sure I was dreaming.

It was too much. Especially when he cupped my breasts, pinching my nipples between his thumb and pointer finger. I could only cry out, my fingers gripping harshly around the tie. My overstimulation washed over me like a wave, and I was sure it was due to my lack of sleep. "Roman, please, I can't... I want you in me-- A-Aah," I couldn't stop the way my hips bucked against him, nor the way my gaze darted down to watch his eyes falling shut as he savoured me, his thick, long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

Thankfully, my husband wasn't in the mood to keep me on the edge tonight. Roman got up, a knowing smirk spreading across his slicked lips. "I might have to tie you up like this more often," he said, palming himself through his suit. "This is quite the sight."

From his perspective, I could understand this-- it wasn't every day that he saw his wife splayed out like this, t-shirt draped just above her bare chest, and completely at his mercy. On the other hand, I was sure I had gotten just as good of a bargain. I had been begging Roman to fuck me in one of his suits, and here he was, finally complying. If this wasn't love, then I couldn't be sure. 

"Oh, you should see yourself," I purred, biting back a grin. "Mr. CEO... All mine."

Roman let out a soft chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss against my lower abdomen as he pulled off my pyjama bottoms. "Always been yours,"

I could only sigh, feeling a surge of warmth coursing through my veins. At the end of the day, it was true-- Roman was mine, and I was his. Bonded together through our testimony, before the law, and before all things celestial. Everything about this would've been perfect if I wasn't bonded to the bed as well. My wrists were starting to ache, but I didn't have much time to think about that as I felt Roman entering me, a low grunt escaping him. I couldn't help but shudder, feeling the familiar stretch and fullness I had been craving for so long, and I struggled against my restraints as I cried out in pleasure.

Roman kept one hand planted on my hip, the other one gripping hard at my thigh. Seeing the expression on his face was nearly enough to make me moan-- Fuck, how I had missed this. The feeling of his cock inside me, the feeling of his hands on me, and being completely at his mercy. He had thankfully learned to be a little gentle with me at the start, and I felt his green eyes on me as I closed mine, lips parting at the sensation of feeling him thrust into me with slow strokes. Heaven, heaven-- it was impossible that such pleasure could be dealt by the hands of a devil. 

"Shit," Roman's hands gripped my waist, a need growing with each pump of his cock. He was so damn gorgeous, his sharp jawline twitching as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. It didn't take long before he grew impatient-- he shifted, the next snap of his hips digging his cock completely to the hilt in my warmth, a soft moan escaping him as my walls fluttered around his length.

My breath hitched, letting out a string of curse words. "Rome, please," The tie around my wrists was starting to drive me mad; "I want-- A-Ah, wanna touch you..."

I wasn't sure whether Roman was hearing me or not, his lips parting in pleasure. Eventually, he leaned forward, his mouth crashing onto mine, holding me close as I moaned against him between kisses. Now that he was even closer, I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and feel the fabric of his suit against my body, fulfilling my deepest fantasy. "Please," I breathed, my back arching as his cock brushed past my sweet spot. "Rome, please..."

I could feel him smirk against my mouth, and Roman pulled back to watch the absolute desperation swimming in my eyes. "What was that?" As he waited for my response, he pulled out until only the tip of him remained in me.

For fuck's sake-- "Please!" I cried, struggling against my restraints. "I can't... I can't--"

A sense of victory flashed through Roman's green eyes, traces of a darker satisfaction spreading across his lips as he thrust all the way back into me, watching me writhe and moan beneath him, fighting the urge to rip the tie to shreds to embrace him. "Fine," he said, leaning forward to clasp my wrists, smirking as his breath landed hot against my lips.

A moan mixed in with the sigh I let out, my hands immediately flying up into his hair as the tie was tossed away somewhere on the floor. Roman laughed against the kiss I dragged him into, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his lap, his cock still in me. "That was so much fun," he purred against my lips, grabbing my ass to drive me up and down along his slicked length. "We're doing that again."

"Fuck you," I pulled Roman tightly against my chest, feeling his arms snake themselves around me with the same intensity. It hit me how much I loved the feeling of him against me, how warm he was today, and how insanely hot he looked in that damn suit. Our lips came together in open, soft kisses, breathing against each other as our eyes locked, intense pleasure coursing through our bodies.

Roman was most certainly not the devil, and I could confidently conclude with that. However, I couldn't deny that he liked to play the most devilish games at the most inappropriate times-- but I had never loved my husband more than I did at this moment, right now. 

[ylangelegy]

like a python 🧊 jihoon x reader.

jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him.

★ rockstar!jihoon x reader. ★ word count: 2.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol. jihoon-centric, childhood friends, yearning... so much yearning, young k makes a cameo, jihoon is a bit lame (affectionately), cussing/swearing. mentions of alcohol, food. ★ footnotes: got7 dropped winter heptagon and it's all i can think about. wrote this in one sitting as a show of gratitude to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for introducing me to these boys. haven't done a song fic in a hot minute, but for lee jihoon and got7? anything. shoutout to igot7_MarKP on twitter for the english translation of the lyrics.

🎧 now playing: python by got7 — i know i'm an icon, watch me with the lights on; but she got a hold on me like a python.

▸ MUSIC IS HOW I'VE BEEN VENTING NOW... OVERSEAS, I'M SELLING OUT.

It’s pretty surreal to Jihoon, being in a room with some of the biggest names in rock.

In the past hour alone, he’s met Alex Turner, Dave Grohl, and— holy shit, is that Hayley Williams? Jihoon is getting dizzy, and it’s not only because of all the secondhand smoke he’s inhaled since he got to the Rolling Stones afterparty. 

The best of the best. That’s what the invitation had boasted. It was the scene’s most coveted event, and Jihoon somehow made it to the guest list. 

Unbidden, your voice nags from somewhere in the back of his mind. You’re the best, Jihoon-ah. 

He shakes his head, like he’s physically trying to get away from the thought of you. This had been happening a lot more as of late. Fleeting moments wherein he’d imagine how you would react, what you’d say. 

But Jihoon always catches himself. He snaps himself out of it and goes back to recording, goes back to performing. 

God, he needs to get it together. He’s starting to regret saying ‘no’ to the cigarette Ely Buendia was offering him earlier. 

(In Jihoon’s defense, he didn’t smoke often. He didn’t want to fuck up his vocal chords. He had a one-cigarette-a-year rule, and he wasn’t about to use it now. It was only January; who knew what else the year would throw him?) 

Jihoon is contemplating some other vice— maybe he can go grab another beer— when he feels a tap on his shoulder. At the sight of who came up to him, Jihoon immediately folds into a bow. 

“There’s no need for that,” Younghyun says, equal parts amused and embarrassed. “We’re all the same here, yeah?” 

Jihoon pulls himself to his full height. “Not… really,” he says lamely, and then he immediately launches into mumbled apologies when he realizes how he might have sounded. 

It wasn’t that Jihoon thought he was better than his peers. Hell, he knew that he was the least important person in the room. That’s what he meant; they were not all the same, because Jihoon still had a long ways to go. 

Especially when compared to rock icon Young K, who is— gracefully— taking Jihoon’s awkwardness in stride. 

“You’re holding up a lot better than me,” Younghyun muses. “At my first afterparty, I threw up on Rupam Islam.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, unfortunately. He was very nice about it, though.” 

Jihoon lets out a stutter of a laugh. He’s never been a fan of small talk, but he clings to it now like a lifeline. “Does it get easier?” he asks. 

Younghyun’s eyebrows raise. “Throwing up on rockstars?” 

“No, no–”

“I was kidding,” Younghyun says in between chuckles. His expression is a little more pensive when he goes on, “I can’t say for sure that it gets easier, but you learn to deal with it.” 

You learn to deal with it. Jihoon can almost laugh at just how accurate that is. It seems applicable to every aspect of his life— including missing you. 

Jihoon winces. Younghyun notices. 

The older man doesn’t comment on it, probably thinks it’s something else entirely. Younghyun doesn’t flinch away, either, when Jihoon nervously says, “Can I ask you another question?” 

“Ask away,” says Younghyun. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

What is Jihoon doing? He doesn’t know either, but it’s either this or fight off the urge to run through a pack of Marlboros. “How do you cope,” he starts slowly, “with… feelings?” 

A beat. Crap. Jihoon realizes he definitely could have phrased that better, because Younghyun is now looking at him with an expression of mild confusion. 

Jihoon backtracks. “You— we— go through a lot in this field of work. Like, a lot. And you— fuck, fine, I’m— grateful for it, really, I swear. But there’s just… so much other things, too, aside from the gratitude. How do you cope with those?”

Jihoon knows he probably looks and sounds like a trainwreck in his bid to be deliberately vague. By some miracle, Younghyun at least seems to understand what Jihoon is trying to say.

Younghyun’s lip quirks to one side as he thinks of his response. The silence stretches uncomfortably long, but then he gives an answer that’s the last thing Jihoon could have expected. 

“I write,” Younghyun says. 

Jihoon blinks once. Then twice. 

“You write,” he repeats, and the former nods. 

“It’s all in my discography. The anger, the heartbreak, the love.” Younghyun raises his shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve written nearly 200 songs, and all of them are just— that. Questions. Answers to questions. Feelings and stories.” 

It’s so simple, so obvious. It’s like a glaring traffic sign, like something that every musician should know and do.

Put it in a song. Perform it for thousands and leave the muse none the wiser. Profit. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

Jihoon had done it a fair amount of times, but never had he considered putting you to pen and paper. The prospect of it makes something in his chest thrum. 

“I—” He clears his throat. “I think I have to go, sunbaenim. It was nice seeing you.” 

A hint of humor glints in Younghyun’s eye, like he’s somewhat aware of the fact he’s witnessing something unravel. “‘Younghyun’ is fine,” he chirps. “And it was nice seeing you, too, Jihoon. Take care of yourself.” 

The words— take care of yourself— are supposed to be a platitude. To Jihoon, it feels like a tall ask. 

▸ I'M TOURING THE WORLD BUT I'M MISSING THE ONE WHO HELD IT DOWN.

Jihoon is exhausted. 

As much as he wants to say that he’s never been this tired in his life, it’d probably be a lie. He’d make the claim, hit the road, then end up crashing out saying the same damn thing. He’s seen this film before; he knows how it ends. 

He falls back on his hotel bed after his shower. A low groan escapes him, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the higher powers there are. Thank you for sheets with a 300-500 thread count. Thank you for air-conditioning. Thank you for warm showers and Listerine. 

Despite his fatigue, Jihoon can’t just go to sleep. Post-show adrenaline always took a couple of hours to wear off.

He briefly contemplates his options. Write a lyric or two? Watch a shitty Netflix movie? Stare out the hotel window until his eyes can’t stay open anymore? 

None of the above, it seems, as he reaches for his phone. 

Jihoon has never been active on SNS; he just couldn’t bring himself to care about things like TikTok trends or Twitter ‘beef’. It’s a constant thorn in his PR team’s side. There is one thing that he bothers to check, though, and God forbid he deny himself the simple pleasure of some good ol’ fashioned pining. 

He’s been on your Instagram page enough times that it’s the first thing that shows when he goes to the search bar. It’s the only thing that shows, really, which gives some pretty good sense of where his head is at. 

Your profile loads. There’s no new post, no recent story. Jihoon is both disappointed and relieved.

No news is good news, he thinks to himself as he leisurely scrolls through the photos he’s already seen a dozen times before. You, feeding sidewalk cats. You, sipping tea at a cafe. You, in all the places that were once Jihoon’s, too. The beaches, the hiking trails, the restaurant in your shared neighborhood. 

Jihoon opens that particular post. Even though he’s watched your life in squares for the better half of the past three years, this is the one photo that always has him feeling a pang of… something. 

Because Jihoon can imagine it— being at that restaurant with you. The two of you had discovered it together, had pooled your measly school allowances to afford the bokguk and ganjang gejang. 

He imagines being there with this older version of you, being the one snapping the picture that’d find a spot on your feed. He can see it so clearly in his mind’s eye that if he really, really tries, it begins to look more like a memory than a daydream.

But he’s not in Busan, not even in Korea. He’s in the United States instead, where he has ten stops before heading to Canada and Europe. 

Sold-out stadiums. Thousands upon thousands of adoring fans. 

All the food that he could possibly want, and yet it’s pufferfish soup and soy sauce crabs that he’s looking for. 

Every person that he could possibly have, and yet. And yet. 

Jihoon huffs out a frustrated exhale. He’s tired, which he swears makes him delusional. 

He casts his phone aside, blissfully ignorant to the way his finger double taps his screen as he does. 

Halfway across the world, your phone pings

woozi_universefactory ✓ liked your post. 

▸ I'VE BEEN RUNNING BACKWARDS, RUNNING BACKWARDS LIKE A MARATHON.

The push notification glaring up at Jihoon looks a lot like a bomb that’s about to explode.

Jihoon feels like it’s a bomb, because he refuses to believe that after over a year of absolutely nothing, you’ve messaged first. You’ve messaged first. 

He double, triple checks his calendar. It’s neither of your birthdays. It’s not a holiday, either. Is it Chuseok? No— that doesn’t make sense. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he chides himself under his breath. It’s a text. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jihoon opens the notification. 

And then his heart just. 

Stops. 

You’d sent two messages— the first, being the post that had him spiraling last night. It’s the proceeding message that has Jihoon hoping the ground will swallow him whole. 

Stalking me, Jihoon-ah? 

Holy shit.

Jihoon types out at least three different messages, from Are you a fly on my wall to Is there a new Instagram feature I don’t know about to What happened to “hello, how are you”? 

In the end, he only sends back a single question mark. When he opens the offending post, he immediately sees his transgression. 

Jihoon hadn’t liked the photo before last night. He didn’t like much posts to begin with. How— When— 

His phone pings. He’s never been so thankful that he mostly opts to get room service for breakfast, because the squeak that he lets out is definitely not very rockstar-like. Jihoon fumbles, and he ends up opening your DM before he can psych himself up for it. 

LOL. Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, you say. 

Damn you and your ability to render him speechless. Jihoon wonders if he can get away with not responding, with getting back to you a couple of days later and blaming his work. 

Except. 

Jihoon’s fingers slowly move across his screen. 

It was a good post, he says. 

It was a post from a year ago, you answer. 

So? He throws in an emoji of a man shrugging for good measure. Jihoon never uses emojis, but he can make some exceptions. 

Your respond, So, stalking. You were stalking me. 

Jihoon knows he’s digging a hole for himself, knows he’s going to stay up several nights thinking of just how stupid he is. If he were a stronger man, he’d pull the plug on this conversation and that’d be it. You wouldn’t bug him. He would maybe write a song about this moment. The world would go on. 

But he can hear you. 

In the messages, in the words on his screen. He can hear your voice, the way you’d smile or laugh or tease. How you’d say his name in that sing-song tone he once pretended to hate. 

He hears you in your messages, and he’ll live with the secondhand shame if it means that he gets to keep on listening. 

Not stalking, he shoots back. Just checking in. 

Ah, you say. Because you missed me?~

Despite himself, he scoffs. You’ve always been so shameless. It didn’t matter to you that he was WOOZI the rockstar; to you, he would always be Jihoon who lived three houses down. 

As if, he says to your teasing.

You don’t respond anymore. You don’t even read the message, because Jihoon doesn’t see the little ‘Seen’ under his last message.

He waits for it for a minute. Then five minutes. Then seven minutes. He stops checking at the thirteen-minute mark, because he likes to believe he’s no longer a high schooler with a raging crush on the girl next door. 

He’s a grown man. He’s WOOZI, for Christ’s sake. 

He can’t keep coming back to you.

▸ I GAVE YOU MY TIME WHEN I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH; ALL OF MY FEELINGS, SWEPT UNDER THE RUG.

Except he does. 

WOOZI may not want to. WOOZI may be the bassist writing songs about the past in hopes of leaving things in the past, but Jihoon is a different story. 

Jihoon texts you the moment he lands in Gimhae International Airport. Jihoon stands outside your front door— definitely jetlagged, probably in need of a shower— with his luggage in one hand and his phone in the other. 

Jihoon acts like it’s the world’s biggest inconvenience when he tells you, “Come on, then.” 

The two of you get the crabs and soup. He refuses to talk about his time away; he contents himself with listening, like he always does, and you fill the silence with babble. Your desk job, your parents’ nagging, your hobbies and side hustles. 

“Probably not as interesting as your life,” you joke after a particularly long-winded anecdote about a delivery rider who got your address wrong. 

Jihoon neither confirms nor denies the statement. He only raises one eyebrow and gives you a wordless gesture with his hand. Go on anyway, he’s saying, and you take the cue. 

The meal ends. Jihoon invites you for coffee. Then ice cream. Then a walk. 

“This is very suspicious.” 

Jihoon can’t help it; a snort of laughter escapes him at your words. “Can’t a guy take a friend out to lunch?” he asks humorlessly. 

“And dinner,” you note. 

“And dinner, yes.” 

“And dessert.” 

“And dessert.” 

The two of you are taking the long way home. There’s something to be said about how Jihoon drags his feet, about how you walk like you’re not on borrowed time. Even your conversation moves like you’re beating around the bush.

There is an elephant in the room and Jihoon is done pretending that it’s not there. That it hasn’t been there since the day you two met in primary school, since the first time he held your hand as a teenager, since he became a musician and every song he performed became about you.

Jihoon doesn’t know how many years of pining he has left in him. 

“Are you dying?” 

Your blasé question draws a bark of laughter from him. “Jesus, no,” he says. “Do I have to be dying to want to see you?” 

You don’t answer right away. Jihoon once again has that feeling that he’s said something wrong, something loaded, but you save him from overthinking when you respond with, “You wanted to see me?” 

There it is. That teasing tone, that hint of a smile. 

You bump your shoulder against his. “You missed me, Jihoon-ah. Admit it.” 

And Jihoon is done, Jihoon is tired, Jihoon is still yours after all this time.

“Yeah,” he finally, finally says. “I missed you.” 

[sturnioloszn]

CAUGHT (1) - C.S

summary; after hooking up with chris at a party, you realise he has a twin brother, and you decide to have some fun with that new piece of information.

warnings; smut, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), oral, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs.

a/n; i am genuinely so sorry it's taken me this long to get around to writing this, but the first part is finally here. also, this is my first time writing chratt, so if it's shit we all know why. btw this was inspired by @sturnobessed.

P2, P3

The house was alive with energy, lights flashing loud, vibrant colours as erratic music pulsed through the air. Laughter and chatter filled the space, combining with the raw smell of cheap liquor and weed. I took a sip of the weird concoction in my cup before spotting a sexy stranger on the couch across the room.

His dark hair covered the top half of his face, but his prominent jaw and cheekbones stood out regardless. His legs were spread apart, with one of his veiny hands sitting on his lap, holding a lit joint.

The music continued to thump in the background as I took another sip of my drink, letting the warmth of the alcohol course through my veins, giving me the courage I need to make my way towards him.

As I approach him, I occupy the vacant seat next to him on the couch. He finally turns his head to look at me, slowly raking his eyes over my long legs and skimpy dress; I take this as the opportunity to get a closer look at his features, coming to the realization that dark blue eyes are hidden beneath his long hair. I stare a little longer, allowing my gaze to linger on his full, pink lips.

"What's your name?" I ask, breaking the silence between us. He looks away, bringing the burning joint to his lips before replying.

"Chris," he murmurs, looking over to me again, indicating that he wants to know my name. I return the favour, to which he just gives a small nod.

After a few moments of silence, the tension is palpable; remembering I have a drink in my hand, I chug down the rest in hopes of easing my nerves. He then nudges his joint towards me, encouraging me to take a hit.

"Oh- I don't um... smoke," I gulp, looking into his now bloodshot eyes. I watch his eyebrows furrow slightly as he continues to push the joint to me. I've never been easily influenced by peer pressure, but something about him made me succumb instantly.

Instead of taking it from his hand, I leaned down and placed my lips on the end of it while it still rested between his fingers. I looked up at him through my eyelashes and inhaled the smoke.

Sitting back up, I released the smoke, coughing. My inexperience makes him chuckle before pulling the joint back to his own lips and inhaling. I don't even have time to recover fully before a random girl comes over and places herself on his lap, completely disregarding my presence.

"Hey Chrissss," she slurrs, tracing small circles on his chest with her finger. This girl was obviously drunk as shit, even I could see that, and I was tipsy myself.

I watch intently as she leans into him, placing her lips to his ear, whispering something, and giggling obnoxiously. My gaze lands to his hand, resting comfortably on her waist. I decided to save myself the embarrassment and just remove myself from the situation.

I move to the kitchen and grab myself some more liquid courage before moving back to the dance floor.

A couple of songs and drinks later, I find myself slowly grinding on a hot stranger. I rhythmically sway my hips against him, one of my arms reaching behind myself to pull him closer. I feel his hard dick pressed against my ass, which motivates me to keep going.

As the song is coming to an end, I feel a hand wrap around the top of my arm and roughly pull me away. My eyes struggle to focus, but when they do, I discover that it's Chris dragging me away from the crowds and towards the bathroom.

"What're you doing?" I question, trying to shrug him off, but instead, he tightens his hold on me even more.

"Shut the fuck up, you've already pissed me off," He spits, opening the bathroom door and shoving me inside. He wastes no time entering the bathroom himself, locking the door, and turning back to look at me.

I'm not sure how I ended up bent over the sink with my panties at my ankles, but I wasn't complaining. I looked up at him through the mirror, admiring his fucked out face. His hands were bruising my hips while his cock bruised my cervix.

"You're so fuckin' tight, ma," He whines, his hard cock drilling into me harder. The feeling of him stretching my sloppy cunt out so good had me on the edge. My moans grew louder as he plunged himself deeper, but just as I was about to finish, he pulled himself out completely.

"Turn around, lemme see your pretty face when y'come on my cock," He mutters, aggressively turning me around and lifting me onto the counter.

I lean back onto my elbows as he slips himself back into my slippery pussy, resuming his earlier pace. He has one hand firmly on my waist, making sure I don't inch away with each harsh thrust. His other hand reached to the top of my dress, pulling it down, revealing my pierced nipples; the pink diamonds decorating my breasts.

Seeing my tits like that was his final straw, he quickly pulled out and jerked his cock for his orgasm; ropes of cum shot from his slit, dropping onto the tiled floor.

"Shitttttt, you're so perfect," he groans, milking himself for the last of his cum. As soon as he comes down from his high, he focuses solely on my pleasure, leaning down and spitting on my already soaked cunt.

He traced the outline of my pussy with his tongue, before attaching his lips to my clit, sucking gently. I then felt one of his fingers toy with my entrance. I shoved my hand into his hair, pushing him further into me. His mouth disconnects from my clit and licks over my entire heat while fucking his finger into me.

"Fuck Chris... please, feels... so good," I screw my eyes shut, and thrusts my hips into his face. His red eyes look up into mine as he kitty licks at my sensitive nub, and it pushed me over the edge. He hums in approval as he soaks up my liquids, licking me clean.

"You taste so good," he compliments, standing up straight and wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. I feel my already flushed face become redder as he helps me down from the counter. I fix my dress and hair while he cleans up the mess he made on the floor.

We're pulled away from our tasks when there's a knock at the door, "I need to peeee," a girl whines from the other side.

"Give me your phone," Chris says, extending his hand. I give him a confused look but nevertheless reach into my small bag and place my phone into his hand.

I stare as he pulls up the keypad and punches in a number I can only assume is his. He saves the contact and hands the phone back to me. I look at the screen where a number was stored with the contact name as 'best dick of your life 🍆'.

I look over to him, shaking my head in disbelief while allowing a smile to crawl onto my face. He gave me a small grin before unlocking the door and leaving. Nobody was outside, so I guess the girl didn't need to pee that bad.

I finished sorting myself out and headed back to the party. I checked the time and realised that it had gotten quite late without even noticing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the brunette boy in the kitchen on his phone, and wondered if he could take me home.

"Hey, do you mind dropping me home?" I ask, giving a small smile. Chris looks up from his phone and gives me a confused look.

"Um... sure?" He says, tucking his phone into his pocket. I'm not sure why he was confused. Maybe he just thought I wouldn't leave already, but I'm tired and definitely ready to go sleep.

Getting into his car, I thank him for going out of his way to take me home and give him the address to my house. It's not long before I feel someone slowly shaking me awake.

"Wake up, we're here," He whispers, unbuckling my seatbelt. I didn't even realise I fell asleep. I wrap my arms around his neck, motioning that I'd like to be carried. I could walk, but my feet were incredibly sore from being in heels all night, and walking up three flights of stairs right now sounded like torture.

He laughs lowly and scoops me up into his arms, closing the car door with his foot. As we're walking up the stairs, or should I say as he's walking up the stairs, the smell of his cologne infiltrated my nostrils, and I could've sworn it was different earlier. I blame my confusion on my tiredness and drunkeness.

We eventually reach my apartment, and he scavenges my bag for my keys. He somehow manages to unlock the door, carry me to my bedroom, and tuck me in all without disturbing me.

The second my body sank into the mattress, I knew I was gone for the night.

-

I woke up to the feeling of my head pounding, I turned over in bed and strained my eyes open. On my nightstand sat a bottle of water, two advils, and a note. I swallowed down the pills and chugged some of the water before moving to the note.

I picked up the folded piece of paper to reveal a phone number with the name 'matt :)' scribbled beneath it. Matt? Who's that?

I thought about it for a moment, completely baffled at my lack of remembrance for 'Matt' until it dawned on me.

It wasn't Chris who took me home last night; it must've been his brother. That explains the confusion on his face when I asked him to take me home. He had no idea who I was, even when I caught a whiff of his cologne, which was definitely different from Chris'. How did I not notice they were two different people? They were even wearing different clothes and I didn't realise.

I smile at my stupidity but also at the fact that I had bagged twin brothers on the same night without either of them knowing.

a/n; this is part 1 of the 3 done! this is also a reminder that my requests are open so feel free to leave suggestions for future fics. anyway, hope you enjoyed this, love you <33

Taglist; @idrk2292 @starclinexo @clairesrose @045696 @forgottxen @mattsturniolover @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @chrissturniolodailysluts @sturnobsessedwh0re

[mooooonnnzz]

hi!!! I fell in love with your content and I wanted to make a little request, since it was on my mind for a while...

It's kinda cringe but I saw your hc's/fic about Stan's and Ford's reaction to their daughter having a partner, but what would they say about the break-up??? how would they react?? 💔💔

I'm Glad There Is You

Stan + Ford HC's of you getting broken up with!

ʚ♡ɞ 4,2k words

ʚ♡ɞ we're so back

ʚ♡ɞ i've been cooking this up for the past few days mwehehe

ʚ♡ɞ i won't be publishing fics as frequently! but its better cuz i wont be pushing out poopy fics. i can actually take my time with them and make em better :3

ʚ♡ɞ that's all enjoy! request are still open too :p

🎱 Stan

𝄞 Stan hadn’t suspected a thing when he saw you rush into your room after being out all day. You occasionally do that when you were exhausted and had no more battery left in you to uphold another conversation. But, when he saw you all disheveled in appearance. Not bothering to glance at him, let alone tell him about your day, he knew something was up. Springing your wellbeing in the conversation was tricky. He knows that if he straight up asked if you’re okay, you’d burst out into tears and cry out incoherent words that sounded like mushed up sobs into his ear. So how could he ease you into talking about yourself without having you break down? For the remainder of the day, he was tackling himself with ways he could ask about how you’re doing, stemming from slapping a sticky note on your forehead to passing a note under your door. But none of them seemed effective. His brain was splitting into two. He couldn’t decide and the day was coming to a close. The orange overhang of the sun shone into the shack and Stan was contemplating on asking your partner why you were sad because if he didn’t know what was going on, your partner had an idea or the full picture. He decided against it though. Maybe this was something you’d rather keep to yourself? 

𝄞 The stress was so bad he had to go outside for a quick smoke. Seeing you in an emotional state of disarray sends him into one as well. He plucked a cigarette from his pack and pinched it in between his lips. Craning his head up a bit to light up the cigarette, he shielded the orange flame sparkling to life from the wind with his cupped hand. He blew a stream of smoke into the evening air, his electrifying nerves nulling into a soft calming buzz. He knew smoking was bad for him, but he couldn’t stray away from it in times like these. The door to the front porch painfully creaked open. Looking over his shoulder, he softly smiled upon seeing you. “Pumpkin,” He pats the side right next to him. You take the seat and inhale the crisp air—well, from what you can get with all the cigarette smoke littering the air. “Second hand smoking is way worse than first hand.” You mention, delicate amusement trailing in your words as you take a seat beside him. 

𝄞 “You’re the one who walked out here knowing I was smoking.” He replied with a flick of his hand. Another trail of smoke escapes his mouth as he exhales, his body visibly relaxing into the familiar routine. “I should get a cigarette too.” You stretched out your arms, cracking a small smile. “Heh,” Stan flicked the cigarette, small shreds of ashes trickling down from the burning end of the stick. “You think you’re funny.” You nod intensely. “I think I’m very funny.” You look off into the horizon, eyes carrying such a thick somber look to them Stan had to finally ask the question he had been beating around the bush for who knows how long. “You okay, kiddo?” 

𝄞 Your eyes glisten over with tears, bottom lip trembling as you hold back the words you’ve been dreading to say to your dad the minute news broke out to you. “Oh, [Name].” Stan burnt out his cigarette, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you closer to him. The pure affection coming from Stan made you pour out more tears, trembling sobs wracking your body as you mournfully cried onto his shoulder. “Let it out, sweetpea.” His hand comfortingly patted your back. This wasn’t how he wanted this to go, but maybe you needed a quick cry to comfortably tell him what happened. His stomach churned as the suspicion of the reason why you were crying into his shoulder rose. He had a feeling on why you were acting like that, but he had hoped he was wrong.

𝄞 He wasn’t wrong. He was right, unfortunately for him. After recollecting yourself to the best of your ability, Stan had discovered that your partner had broken up with you earlier today for reasons that they had not specified. Frustration bubbled up inside Stan and it took every bone in his body to not slam his fists on your ex’s door, gun in hand to shoot them down for breaking your heart. Instead, he opted to swallow down his anger and tend to you. You needed him to be right by your side and he wasn’t going to suddenly up and leave to shoot down a person. He’d wind up in jail and then you would have to deal with the loss of your partner and your dad. The thought sent chills down his spine. You peeled yourself off his shoulder, leaving a slobbering teary eyed stain on suit. “I’m sorry.” You mutter, eyes red and burning from the force of squeezing them closed. “It’s okay, sweetpea. You don’t need to apologize for things like this, you know that right?” His thumb swipes a stray tear off your cheek. “I know,” You hiccup. Stan seeing you like this infront of him shredded his heart into tiny little pieces. Who could hurt you like this? How could someone protect his child’s heart and break it the next day? Your partner even promised that they’d never pull a stunt like this, and yet here you are, bleary eyed and sniffily.

𝄞 Your face pinched with a forever sorrowful look and for a second he thinks that he’s never going to have you back, he’s never going to see your smile ever again and that alone terrifies him. There has to be something that can cheer you up, right? You’re not forever stuck in this pool of sadness? This is something someone can get over right? All prior knowledge to his personal relationship flies off his head and out the window. He removes himself from his thoughts and grounds him in the moment. What is something that’ll cheer you up? An idea sprouted in his mind. “Want to watch a movie with your old man?” He doesn’t know how you’d respond to his offer and it slightly scares him. He’s never been able to fully predict your every move, but he has made some sense of them later on, but he’s never seen you in this state before and he doesn’t know what to expect. “I’d like that.” You meekly nod your head and Stan has to contain himself from lurching up into the air and cheering out in happiness. Rather, he clears his throat and broadly smiles at you. “I’m gonna take a real quick shower. Pick out a movie you wanna watch and I’ll be back in no time.” 

𝄞 The rest of the night was spent snuggled up in the sofa, a blanket of yours of when you were a kid was draped over you and Stan. It barely gave you any coverage but you claimed that it did when Stan would mention it. Stan didn’t want to disagree with you and besides, the blanket reminded him of when you were a little kid, carefree and giddy with little to no knowledge of idiotic people who’d carelessly shatter your heart and leave you without any consolation. The movie that was playing was and still is an all time favorite of yours. You and Stan had memorized the lines that have been forever sewn into your brain from how many times you forced Stan to watch it when you were little. Guess some things don’t change. The days following are full of extensive care and love, enough that would be overbearing to anyone that wasn’t you–at least sometimes. 

𝄞 Fishing outings were a must. Stan would rapidly knock on your door, standing on the other side decked head to toe in his fishing outfit. Your fishing hat in hand. You couldn’t say no to him when he’s looking at you with such a sad look in his eyes and dressed up, putting on your worn fishing hat that has seen better days. Stan proudly smiled at you, wiping off a tear from the corner of his eye. “Why are you crying, Dad?” You chuffed nervously. “My eyes are sweating!” He covered his eyes with his forearm, violently sobbing as he walked away to get the fishing gear. In his defense, he hasn’t gone fishing with you in a good long while and seeing you wearing your fishing outfit really triggered the water works in his eye. The past week has been an emotional wreck for you and him, who could blame him? You had forgotten how much fun fishing was. A laugh rattles through your throat as you reel back your fishing rod. This must be your third attempt in catching a fish, and Stan’s enthusiastic commentary struck a funny cord within you. With a few more tugs and reeling back, you caught the fish. “Awesome catch!” He patted your back with so much force, you jolted forward, making the boat lean to the side, causing you to lose your footing and drop the fish in the water. When you were about to revel in your loss, you heard a large splash and large droplets of water sprinkling over you. You turned your attention over to where the splash was heard and to your luck, Stan bobbed his head out of the water, gasping dramatically as his arms flailed around. “Dad!” You laugh.

𝄞 “The water isn’t even that deep.” Talking was a task to do with how hard you were laughing. “Oh.” He stopped thrashing around and allowed him to sink to the bottom of the lake floor. And to his surprise, the water barely even passed his upper chest. That realization made you hunch over in laughter. “Oh, stop laughing!” He grabbed onto the edge of the boat and tried pulling himself up, but the sudden shift in weight made the boat tip over, sending you and all the other belongings in the boat into the freezing water. “[Name]!” He looked to where you were under the water, ready to dive in and grab you from below when you sprung out of the water. You stared at him, cheeks puffed as you struggled to hold back your laughter. “Oh, whatever.” His initial panic was washed off with playful annoyance. “Go ahead, laugh at your old man.” He rolls his eyes upon hearing your boisterous laughter echo in the air. “That was insane!” You wrap your arms around Stan’s neck, hoisting yourself up so you don’t drown while laughing. “Yeah, go ahead. Laugh at this poor old man who’s clearly struggling.” 

𝄞 Singing your favorite songs in your karaoke machine was his favorite way to catch you off guard. He’d notice you reminiscing on the past and he’d make a beeline to your machine, slamming the buttons that would turn it on and play a song that you like. His gruff scratchy singing voice always pulled you out of your mind and into the present moment. Walking into the living room where he relocated your karaoke machine for times like these, you couldn’t help but laugh as he passionately sang into the microphone. “Disco girl, coming through! That girl is you!” He points the microphone at you, motioning you over to join him. It takes some convincing but when you do, you and him are blissfully singing your hearts out into the microphone. 

𝄞 Seeing your partner around town was an immediate mood kill for Stan. Unaware and in a chipper mood, he found himself in the grocery store. Stacking up on food and snacks to fill your stomach and his. When strolling into the available cash register, his smile curls into a grimace when he sees who was behind the counter. “You,” he spat out. “Ah, Mr. Pines!” They nervously chuckled. “Good to see you. How’s it been?” They can’t make eye contact. The lazer like glare Stan was giving them was enough to know that things haven’t been good. Grabbing an item from the shopping cart, he hovered it over the conveyor belt, mulling over his thoughts. He could not pay for this and run out of the store or he could unscrew the carton of milk and squirt it all over your ex. Or maybe, he could do both? With speed no one could comprehend, he undid the lid and spilled the milk all over them, chucking the empty carton right on their head for extra measure. He then grabbed the cart and bolted out of the grocery store, leaving everyone in the store stunned. “Is anyone going to arrest him or?” A random passerby asked, watching how your ex just stood there, completely befuddled with milk dripping down their body. 

𝄞 “Dad? Why is the news saying that you assaulted a worker in the grocery store with milk?” Stan scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you see on the news, sweetie.” He takes a good sip of his pitt cola. “But it shows camera footage of you doing it.” You gesture to the video that was playing. “Fake news. You know how technology is advancing. They can make anything these days.” He grabs the remote and switches channels. “There! Now, we don’t have to see that.” You smile, elbowing him. “It was cool that you did that.” You mutter. He chuckles. “The kid deserved that.” 

𝄞 Drives around the town and wreaking havoc in rival attraction traps were a good stress reliever and anger outlet. You were swinging with all your might, your axe that was in hand was splintering through the large wooden statue. “Keep going!” Stan was serving as a lookout, his eyes switching through the front door and to you. Sweat rolled down your temples as you delivered one last final blow to the statue. The statue slowly tipped forward. “Let’s go.” Stan urgently whispered, running back to the family van with you in tow. Stan started the van and sped out of the parking lot and into the driveway. “God dammit, Stanley Pines!” The person emerged from his house, shaking his fist in the air. You clapped your hands together, laughing. “That was a fun one.” You noted, swiping the sweat off your forehead with your shirt. “Who’s next?” You ask eagerly. “Check on the map. You decided where we will go next.” This was the first time you fully smiled at him with your signature laugh following after. No remnants of sadness stuck to you. He knew right then and there that he got you back. 

📖 Ford

𝄞 Ford was peacefully slumbering on the couch when the front door was slammed shut, scaring him awake. He jolted forward, the book that was covering his face fell flat on his lap, startling him. “[Name]?” He closes the book in his lap and pushes it aside. You didn’t respond and he was quickly resorting to the idea that it wasn’t you. Creeping towards your room, his knuckles knock on the door. “Sweetie?” He puts his hand on the knob and very slowly turns it. “I’m coming in.” He announces. Opening the door, his eyes land on your back. Quiet sniffles and hiccups could be heard coming from you and Ford’s heart clenched in his chest. He never liked hearing you cry. “[Name]?” He settles himself down on your bed. He couldn’t get to see your face properly since you were curled inwards with your blanket slightly obstructing your face, but he could see your body quiver as you suppressed your sobs. Ford sucked his bottom lip into his teeth. Equally as clueless as his brother, he doesn’t know how to approach this. He hadn’t had the slightest idea of why you’re crying and that truly bugs him. 

𝄞 His hand rests on your hip, fingers tapping in a soothing rhythm. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” He’s chewing on his lip, anxiety running its full race through his body, relentless and awfully energetic. He’s sure by the end of this, he wasn’t going to have a bottom lip from how much he was nibbling on it. You shuffle further into your blanket in response. “You don’t wanna talk about it?” He croaks out. He never liked when you pushed him away in your most vulnerable moments. He knows you mean well but he detests being in the unknown. You let out a small hum. He had learned over the years that two hums were yes and one was no. It was a very asbured way to communicate but it did come in handy when you weren’t in the mood to talk. This was a way of telling him that you weren’t in the mood prevented Ford from asking an assault wave of questions.

𝄞  “Do you want me to stay here with you?” Two hums. Patting your waist, he shuffles to the other side of your bed and plops down right next to you, mindlessly staring off into the ceiling. His anxiety was still pounding through his body, his clammy hands and beating heart proved that but it quelled a little of it knowing that you wanted him beside you. That you found comfort in his presence. He’d hope you did, he didn’t raise you all these years just for you to hate him. Wait, you don’t hate him, right? You could never hate him. He’s your dad! Can kids hate their own parents? He hated his dad so that can be a generational—

𝄞 “I think hear your overthinking from here, Dad.” Your voice comes out muffled from speaking through the blanket covering your face. He blinks, swallowing his doubt and looking over to your blanket covered face. “Sorry,” he lets out a dry laugh, scratching his cheek. “It wasn’t my intention to annoy you.” You pull the blanket down to the bridge of your nose, allowing Ford to see your irritated swollen eyes. “You’re not annoying me, Dad. You being anxious makes me anxious.” Ford cracked a smile. “Like father, like child.” That managed to pull a smile from you. “Unfortunately, I grow to be more like you everyday.” You say with a roll of your eyes. An overdramatic offended gasp leaves Ford. “And that’s a bad thing, how?”

𝄞 Playful banter was tossed between the two of you, each quick remark and quip allowed you to pick yourself up from the hole you were cowering in. After a while, you mustered up everything you had and told him about the break-up. Ford really couldn’t believe it at first. You had to repeat it to him twice much to your dismay but once he caught what you said, his face fell. “They were a waste of time anyways.” He said with a flick of his wrist. “Dad!” You weren’t expecting him to come off so strongly over hearing the news. “It’s true. They couldn’t even take my work seriously! How could someone laugh at my face when I tell them that aliens are real? Someone is clearly stuck in the stone ages.” 

𝄞 He was riding on the mindset of you need to forget this person and move on. Wallowing over losing them wasn’t ideal and you need to distract yourself with other things to prevent yourself from dwelling back on the thought of them. He was done with your ex, so should you. But he was real quick to find out that you weren't exactly like him in that aspect. He’d find you resting on the couch, eyes mindlessly staring at the TV as you’re cuddled up with blankets upon blankets. Tear marks were stained on your cheeks. Maybe you couldn’t distract yourself? Maybe he should be the one that distracts you? He’d scribble drawings of you and him on a piece of paper and fold it up into a cute little airplane and toss it over to you. You would unwrap the little gift with a smile, tears clouding your eyes. “Aw, Dad...” You held the piece of paper to your chest.

𝄞 Your favorite dinner would be cooked almost everyday, and if you have more than one, you bet he’d be coking it up in the kitchen, offering different favorite meals every night. Anything that would bring the smile on your face back. Adventures out into the woods, just like old times, was a thing he’d bring you along with. Even when you did protest and groan, whining how you would rather cry into your pillow, Ford stood his ground and made sure that you got ready for the adventure he had meticulously planned. The minute you step into the familiar lush woods, a sense of calmness falls over you and suddenly you’re a kid skipping around in the woods, in search of anything to show Ford so he could write about the new discovery in his book. Finding old discoveries lightened a smile on your face and unknowingly to you, Ford would draw you in his book like how he did when you were younger. Old habits die hard. 

𝄞 A lot of nights were spent you talking your feelings out to Ford. He was a good listener and had a few quips of advice to lend over, since he’s been in a similar but not so similar predicament. But he was more intent on listening to your concerns and anxieties. “I can’t believe I let them do that!” You plop your back down on your bed, anger spilling out of you in sharp words. He shook his head, a very sassy “mhm,” leaves him. “They didn’t deserve you anyways.” He moved his finger side to side. “Why are you acting like that?” You laugh, gingerly pushing him. “Don’t your friends act like that when something happens?” You beam from ear to ear, a loud laugh escaping you. “No! Where did you even get that from?” Ford shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought they did?” He pretended to act clueless and with a big smile of his own, he watched you curl up in laughter over his ridiculous act. He could only think of how much he missed your smile and beautiful laugh. 

𝄞 Seeing your ex at the mall was a surprise both for him and them. Ford was scanning the shelves in search of something to get you when they approached them. “Sir, do you need any he…” Their words die in their throat when they register who they’re talking to. Ford hasn’t made the correlation yet, his attention so wrapped up in finding you the perfect gift. “Do you need any help?” They repeat, their voice cracking. Ford lazily looks over to them, dismissing them before looking back. Then, a look of recognition washes over him and he whips his head over to them. “You!” He loudly yelled. Customers in the store glance over to them. “Mr. Pines, keep it down.” They stressed out, teeth gritted together. “I will–.” An idea came to mind. “I’m sorry.” He rolled his shoulders back, untensing them. They look to the side, uncomfortable with the sudden change. “You’re sorry?” They repeat in disbelief. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be on my way.” A strained smile pulled to his face as he bid goodbye. Stepping out of the store, he sees you happily munching on a blueberry muffin you bought from the bakery. “Hi, Dad! You got anything?” He looks around you. “Do you have any food?” You place your muffin down on the table and grab the bag full of treats. “Yeah. I got some–” Ford dipped his hand in the bag and pulled out a cookie. His other hand digs into the inner pockets of his coat and pulls out a vial of pink sprinkles. “I knew I was going to use this at some point.” He mutters to himself, popping off the cork. “What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he sprinkled it onto the cookie.

𝄞 “You’ll see.” He winks at you before scooping it off the table and walking back into the store. Minutes later, he comes out with a big sinister smile on your face. “What did you do, Dad?” He pointed at the entrance of the store and it didn’t take long to see what he did. A flamingo human-like creature erupted into the store, squawking crazily as their head desperately swiped from side to side, looking for someone. Their black beady eyes landed on you and Ford. An angry squawk was heard from them, their chicken like legs slapping on the floor as they charged at you and Ford. “Run!’ Ford grabbed your wrist and darted away. In a quick swiping motion, you grabbed your bag full of treats before being whisked away. Loud bird noises were heard behind you and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Who is that chasing us?” Ford took a quick turn into another store, shuffling past people and hiding in a discreet corner with you. “That may be your ex angrily chirping at us.” You clapped your palm onto your mouth, an effort to muffle the laughter that left you. “Of course you’d do something like that!” The rest of the day was stealthily trying to escape the mall without being pecked to death by a very angry flamingo. When you did, you were laughing all the way to the car. “Do you always have that around for times like this?” Ford nods. “You’ll never know when you need to make someone a flamingo.” The automatic slide door pulls apart. “Pines!” The now fully turned flamingo human hybrid squawked out. “Get in the car, hurry!” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz, @katharine3000

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[osamucide]

FLAVOR PROFILE—afab+gn!reader, angst and comfort??? smoking, alcohol, established friendship, feelings, f!masturbation, loss of virginity, body worship, biting, scratching, tiniest hint of corruption (there should've been more I’m sorry) and possessive aku, praise, fingering, penetration, creampie

ABV—6.1k

BAR OSAMUCIDE IS STRICTLY AN 18+ ESTABLISHMENT. FAILURE TO PROVIDE VALID ID/AGE IN BIO UPON INTERACTING WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL FROM THE PREMISES. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

"Really?"

He can't believe you're laughing at him. You swear you're not—you've sworn twice now. He just sighs and snatches your cigarette from you.

"I just kind of can't believe it, Ryuu," you rationalize, pressing your shoulder against his. "I'm not, I promise. I'm not laughing because it's funny. Just surprised, that's all."

Surprised, sure, alright. Look at me, he wants to spit at you, but he's hacking from holding the smoke in his lungs just a moment too long and so you work the dart from his fingers and tuck it back between your lips as he rights himself.

Akutagawa crosses his arms, not unlike a pouting child, and fixes his eyes on the brick wall across from you both and the one you lean back on as you're sat atop some wooden crate, one long discarded after a weapons shipment or whatever else. He can't help but feel a little small beneath your reaction, but you resume issuing soft kicks to the gravel beneath your feet like it was nothing—like you hadn't just drawn probably one of the most humiliating confessions out of him. He never really gave a second thought to all that before you came around, but now that he's beside you, elbows crossed over his knees as he draws them closer to himself, he suddenly feels like he should've before.

You finish your cigarette in silence, pointedly not moving away from him.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, sincerely as you chuck the butt to the ground in front of you. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable." But he still doesn't look at you. Akutagawa's dealing with more than one predicament at the present moment and he needs to sort them before he can turn his attention back to you.

One—he doesn't know if it would've been more or less attractive, or maybe repulsive, if he could've said, yeah, I've fucked plenty of people before, or at least I've fucked someone, and Akutagawa's aware he's a lot of filthy things, but apparently he's neither a liar nor a whore, and it leads him right to his second predicament, which is this: why does he care whether you find him attractive or repulsive?

How long has he care what you think of him at all? And last: what does it mean, that he does?

It's that last one that his thoughts get snagged on.

You tap your foot beneath you. This alleyway is where you always drag him off to when you feel like getting away from work. He can hardly remember the last time he said no to you when it came to escaping Mori's iron rule for an hour or so. But he wishes he would've today, kind of like he wishes he would've skipped the only other time he can recall wishing to have skipped—the day you let him smoke one of your cigarettes.

It's funny how your conversation from that day parallels the exchange from minutes ago. It sticks in his mind right now. You, at least two years younger and having known him on a much more superficial level than you do now, had laughed a little; it makes him feel only marginally better about you laughing now. Even then you were reassuring him, not because it's funny, but just because—I don't know, that's what I do when I’m surprised, I guess. He's always envied your ability to find joy in small things like that, after all.

You didn't make him feel small just now. He finds ways to do that all on his own; he knows that. He must've been weak back then because he'd inhaled less tar than you, and he hated that, so he did it when you offered. But now, here he was. You know he's never even kissed anyone, let alone fucked. The sensical pattern, thinking back to that day when you tapped a cigarette out of your pack for him, lit it off your own, good-naturedly patted his back as the coughs raged out of him because he inhaled it all down way too fast for someone with clean lungs—

Where exactly would that lead now, logically?

It's not like he's never thought about it. But you don't need to know that.

Akutagawa turns his his head away from you, chin on his arms. He can feel his face burn. He won't let you see.

But he knows you now, and you know him. And he knows you'll offer anyway.

You sit in silence, maybe ten minutes more, kicking the ground and letting your eyes flutter open and shut, before you pull another smoke out of your pack and stick it in your mouth.

“Well,” you mumble as your lighter flicks, “If you wanna change that…”

He doesn’t move. He can still feel the crate trembling from how you tap your foot, which is good, because he’s a little restless himself. You draw off your cigarette; he sees the smoke dissipate in his peripheral as your head falls back to rest on the brick. What he doesn’t see is your little half-smirk, but he knows it’s there.

It’s not that Akutagawa doesn’t like you. Anyone that knows him well can probably see he likes you, or at least tolerates you—he lets you drag him here week after week, shift after shift, after all. He gives you grace, even if it’s small, when you fuck up on jobs—something he never gives to anyone else, hardly even Chuuya. He doesn’t flinch or swat you away when you absentmindedly pull him in some direction by his elbow or his wrist; he doesn’t scoff at you when you lean up against him, like you are right now, and shift away from you or push you off like he might even with Gin. To someone who doesn’t know him, he probably looks indifferent to you at worst, and indifference and tolerance, and maybe even liking, tend to go hand-in-hand when it comes to the wielder of Rashoumon. He’s not outright evil to you, and that’s enough—if for no one else, for you. But you know him by now.

And because you know him, you know what he’ll say next.

“No.”

And it’s not because he doesn’t like you, which is why you’ll do what you do next, and he knows you will because he knows you, too, by now—enough to maybe like you—you’ll press him.

“Aw, why not?” It drawls out of you lightheartedly, almost jokingly.

It might have something to do with the fact that you’ve never looked at him with fear, disgust, or hatred in your eyes—not even before you knew one another so well and he would regularly, in response to your antics, threaten to beat you to a pulp with his black beast. It might have something to do with how you seem to look right through him like that, and then inadvertently boost his ego by telling him you think he totally has the capacity to be cool, or even normal, doing things like fucking and smoking cigarettes. He wants to laugh at how silly it all sounds to him. Akutagawa’s never been good at letting himself understand why you make him feel the way you do. Why he deserves your kindness or companionship. Why you can’t see him for what he is: a war machine, configured from birth, far beyond—or maybe beneath—any sort of semblance of a normal destiny that includes indulgence. Love. It would make him respect you less, hate you, maybe, if it wasn’t so secretly pleasant, the fact that you don’t look at him like that. The fact that you seem to think he does deserve something more than misery.

I have a feeling this is gonna be a long partnership, so it’d be a lot more fun if you smoked! You said that the day you were assigned to each other, before you knew about his lung condition, and he knew he shouldn’t have ever accepted your offer that day in this very alleyway because he ended up liking the head high cigarettes gave him, even if it was horrible for him.

The same way he likes you, and it makes him unbearably soft. The same way he’d probably like kissing you. Fucking you. Another thing that’ll kill him one day, one way or another. He knows if he gets any closer than he is, and then for some reason you leave—die, run away, decide your relationship is awkward now and he’s horrible and you hate him, whatever—it’d kill him, undoubtedly. Better not to smoke the cigarette. Better not to fuck the only real friend he thinks he’s had since he was watching his back every moment he lived in the slums. Anything that felt good was almost certainly a trap laid to hurt him.

“Because,” he huffs.

If for sole annoyance or disgust, he would’ve bitched you out. But he doesn’t. You note this. So, you let it go. Because you know him.

“Alright,” you sigh. Not disappointed, not dismissive. Just affirming and understanding. It blows his mind all over again. He doesn't move, doesn't look at you. "Well, I suppose we should get back." Your eyes flick to your wristwatch. "Kouyou wanted us for something in about a half hour."

Some silly meeting in some bar. Chuuya's not there to keep her from getting off topic, so Akutagawa sits beneath the low light (on the edge of the booth, thank god), you next to him, while your superior's ordering another round of whisky sodas for the table.

When Kouyou distributes the drinks, Akutagawa slides his toward you, which you then slide to the man on your other side. His name's Shota—one of Chuuya's subordinates—and he takes it off your hands happily. You nestle your own between your hands on the tabletop.

"But as I was saying," the scarlet-haired woman continues, "it's going to have to happen over the weekend. I don't think it's wise to do anything until Nakahara's back from Tokyo, which will be Friday at the earliest, and the tracking number for the Makarov shipment on its way in got thrown in the trash so Hirotsu's going to have to..."

Akutagawa's gaze trains steadily on your hands; his own are busy, one propping his chin up, the other circling rings over the rim of his first and only glass, now empty. It's not out of the ordinary for him to tune out of Kouyou's tipsy ramblings, especially when Chuuya will be back in a few days to explain the game plan concisely and soberly. What is out of the ordinary is that he's still stiff, thinking about your conversation from the alleyway and the tone in which you so nonchalantly cooed aw, why not? Almost as if you'd been a little disappointed when he said no, he wouldn't take you up on your offer. Were you? He has to doubt it. You've always been a little too eager to get him fucked up on Chuuya's wine, drag him out of work, pull him out of his comfort zone—he'd seen the unmistakable excitement on your face the first time you'd jammed a cigarette between his lips. But that is way too far out of his wheelhouse, and he's pretty sure you both know it.

Even if he does keep thinking about it.

You, well—you sip your second whisky and take note of his fidgeting. Although your drink’s only half gone, you tap your foot against his, glancing between him and the door; he looks at you, then back down at his empty glass, clears his throat and nods ever so subtly. Code exhcange for I'm bored, wanna leave? Of course. So when the conversation lulls, you both stand.

"Kazuha has us at eight-thirty," you explain, bidding everyone good evening and seeing yourselves out the door before anyone has the chance to ask what for.

"Kazuha? That was the best lie you could come up with?"

"Are we still sitting in there or not?" you refute, cigarette dangling from your mouth as you walk with your hands behind your head in the direction of headquarters. "Can't wait to get home."

"Yeah, after your hard day," Akutagawa mutters.

"Hey, watch it," you poke. "I moved shit all morning. Need a shower bad."

Which is exactly what you do after you depart from your partner and scamper up to your apartment. But first you take the liberty of lighting a few candles, cracking your bathroom window for a breeze, dancing around to a little music as a bath full of lavender salts warms, and rubbing out your sore knees with that pain relief oil Higuchi recommended to you. It's true, you did spend all morning getting shipments from the port; the less luxurious side of the life and work of a mafioso moving their way up the ladder isn't something you're unfamiliar with, although you do it less now.

You settle in, sighing. Maybe it's wrong to still be thinking about it, but you had sort of hoped Akutagawa would take to your little quip earlier with at least a hint of curiosity, or bring it up on your walk home even if just to tell you how absurd it was that you'd even think such a thing; perhaps you should've been more deliberate, you think. Or maybe it's a good thing that you weren't. He's one of the last people you'd want to make things weird with—outside of being the (rather oblivious) object of your affection, he's still your coworker and, as of recent years, very best friend. Somewhat of a literal partner in crime. You snicker at that as your shoulders dip below the water. You momentarily debate trying to dismiss your little feelings for the night, and you will, for the most part—but while you're relieving physical tension under the soft flicker of your candles and the hum of the city below you, you figure you might as well dispel your disappointment, too, and you trace your fingers down the curve of your hip to find yourself wet in a way that has nothing to do with the water.

Meanwhile, Akutagawa is pacing his living quarters. He's already taken a cold shower to stave off what has only become more difficult not to think about now that you're gone—he doesn't have to hold it together for you or anyone, and he finds himself trying to sit still on the edge of his bed as his phone sits a few feet away on the nightstand. Should he text you about it? Call you? Fuck that—you do a fine job of flustering him when you're barely trying, but if he let you know—god, if he let you know, he'd never hear the end of it. Text or call you to talk about anything else, even if just to hear your voice and have your presence? No, he has a feeling that would drive him even further up the tree he's chased himself up; he's sitting, tapping his foot like you were earlier when he should've been able to answer you normally, his apartment is dead silent, his dick's half-hard in his sweatpants and he doesn't know what to do.

You probably weren't even serious. If he was smart, he would've jacked off in the shower and called it a night.

But he likes you. More than you realize—more than you can realize, because he's always stone-faced, no-bullshit, hard-ass Akutagawa and he doesn't know how to be anything else, even when you're around and ecouraging him to loosen up. You can't possibly realize how much you've done for him in terms of easing his anxiety over always being good enough, in terms of helping him understand his humanity, in terms of making him feel like a real person.

He suddenly feels like he's on a tightrope of keeping you close and messing it all up, and whichever way he decides to fall will inevitably bring unending frustration that he could've done something different, something better.

And maybe this is an opening. Or a pinnacle that his relationship with you was doomed to come to. Either way, he can't sit in his apartment. Marching forward, like he always does—no matter how hesitantly—he slips his jacket on and shoves his keys in his pocket before he's heading for the elevator.

It's not until he's staring at the interface of buttons that he decides between launching himself to the ground for a long walk along the port or punching in your floor.

And you're so close—your back's arching, your jaw hangs slack, you're spilling water down the side of the tub that pools on the floor, but you'll worry about it later—when you hear manic pounding coming from your hallway. Maybe it's not yours, you think, screwing your eyes shut and working your fingers back and forth in tight circles around your clit because you want it, damn it, but your apartment's so damn big that it's almost impossible to conceive of it being for anyone else.

"One minute!" you shout, rising out of the water with grumbling breath to wrap yourself in a towel and blow all your candles out in one swipe. But whoever it is doesn't hear you, or doesn't care—the harsh knocking pattern booms again, and you almost trip over your pile of discarded work clothes as you fumble out of the bathroom wondering what could possibly be so important, and on account of who, that they had to interrupt your first hour of alone time all day, not to mention when you were so deliciously close to an orgasm you'd been working yourself up to with painstaking care. You'd even edged yourself a little, just because you figured you had time; you would've gotten it over with if you'd have known you were on call, but here you are, unsatisfied and stomping to your door, about to crack it open and take whatever orders were about to be unloaded onto you with a smile and can-do attitude.

You fling the door open.

“What?”

Akutagawa’s fist is still raised to knock. You watch his eyes behind his sunglasses as they flit down to you—you in nothing but a towel—and his face breaks out in a blush you’ve never seen on him before.

If you were any less annoyed, you would’ve smirked.

“Ryuu, what?” you snap again as his hand falls to his side. Whatever it is, if someone needs backup, if it’s urgent, you wish he’d tell you already—it’s so unlike him to stand speechless that you almost want to ask if something else is going on. “Can you spit it out so I know if I should get dressed, please?”

No, he wants to croak out, but you’ll just keep barraging him with questions—all he does is fumble his way inside your apartment with please don’t get dressed on the back of his tongue and that really strange, dazed look behind his glasses. He can't even blame the alcohol from earlier—he only had one, and it's had ample time to wear off.

“Ryuunosuke—”

He freezes where he is, steely eyes locking onto yours, and his voice leaves him, hoarse. “Say that again, please.”

You look at him incredulously, scrunching your towel up beneath your fist that holds it up. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Akutagawa feels small again. This was the wrong decision. He should’ve gone for that walk. He should’ve jerked off in the shower and then went to bed and tossed and turned until he finally fell into an erratic sleep and he should not be here, he should wake up tomorrow morning, sleep-deprived and full of regret but knowing he’s safe because he didn’t go to your apartment to find you in nothing but a towel and he spared your relationship, he didn’t make it weird, and he’d look at you longingly for the rest of however long, only when you weren’t looking just so you’d never know how much agony your stupid little joke from earlier today put him in.

But you’re expecting an answer, and out of all the filthy things Akutagawa is convinced he is, he is not a liar.

His eyes fly to the ground. Your legs, knocking together from the chill of the water droplets that still cling to them.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about earlier,” he forces out. “What you said.”

You hesitate. “What I said…?” Had you said something wrong?

Great, he thinks, mouth falling open. So you weren’t serious.

“You know what, nevermind.” He shouldn’t be here. He goes to push past you, toward your still-open door, but you stop him, shutting the door and pushing a palm against his chest.

“Tell me,” you mean to say, but it sounds more like a question; his pale face flushes again, and you search him with your gaze. He seems to shrink a little more before he sighs and looks to you once more.

“If I wanted to change that I’ve never…”

You wait.

“Kissed.”

You blink, cock your head.

“Or fucked anyone.”

Your hand lets up on his chest, and you find yourself taking a step back—little, but it sends your partner reeling into self-doubt all over again.

“You want…” You speak, quietly, with less urgency than you have thus far. “You wanna fuck me?”

And Akutagawa’s nodding, more frantically than his pride would prefer. But he’s nodding. Not looking at you. Waiting for you to laugh and clap him on the shoulder with a yeah, as if and tell him to go home.

But your fingers slide up to curl along the side of his neck. When his eyes are still downcast, you cup his jaw in your palm.

“Ryuu, look at me.”

Here it comes. The big rejection. He’s ready. He’ll go home and punch a hole in his wall, but he’s ready to hold it together right now.

His eyes drift to yours again, still cold and nervous, like a dog’s when it’s about to bite.

But you smile, trace your thumb along his bottom lip, and whisper.

He has no idea how much you mean what you're saying next.

“I wish you would’ve just led with that.”

It’s like bombs are about to detonate in his brain. He knows what he should do next—he should kiss you, he should throw himself at you and let your tongue between his lips, but part of the reason why he’s here is because he never has, and he trusts you to show him—just what kind of weak has he become, trusting someone with their teeth so close to his throat? It doesn’t matter because he wants it, he just wants you to—

“Show me, please.”

To his displeasure, you don't latch onto him like a hungry animal. Instead, your fingers drift down to his and wind between them; you lead him past the couch to your bedroom, sit him down, and pull your towel a little tighter around you. He wants it off, he wants to see you—even if the thought of sitting naked himself, in front of you, makes his stomach flip, he wants nothing more than to tear the towel away, get to exploring the ways you like to be touched, hear sounds from you he's never heard before.

"Ryuu," you say, one hand on his shoulder. "Be sure you want this."

"I do," he squeaks out, hardly ever having heard his own voice so meek.

"Tell me. Say it."

"I want it," his words follow yours seamlessly, without another thought. He's already established in his mind that he trusts you. But he's still sort of waiting for you to start chuckling and tell him this is a big joke; his hands tremble as you stare, digging for uncertainty, but you don't find any. So as you hold your towel against you, you crawl carefully onto his lap, astride his waist.

And now, he has you. Between his fingers. They find the curve of your waist as you curl an arm around the back of his neck after you work the jacket off from around his shoulders, tear his glasses off, push his soft bangs from his face. Akutagawa looks at you with so much wonder, so much need; you set your weight on him, and you feel him, and his nails grip your ass through the towel.

"Please, don't be gentle," he whispers when your lips hover immediately over his. He can feel your breath, warm and inviting, as the tip of your nose brushes past his.

You smile into his mouth and wrap your other arm around him.

You let the towel fall as you kiss him.

Hot, slow.

And the bombs go off all at once. Before the towel can pool over his hands he's batting it to the floor, scooting back onto your mattress to accomodate you; he wants to shut his eyes but you grind down against him through his pants as your lips mold against his and he’s probably never felt so alert in his life. Akutagawa gasps in a certain way, another sound he's never heard himself make; when your fingers tangle into the hair at the back of his head, he groans, grips your waist, and his eyes melt shut, finally.

You kiss him until he's putty, and he follows your lead; you grab his wrists and guide his hands to your chest, which has his eyes flying open all over again as he feels his fingerpads twitch over your nipples. You work him onto his back, easing him down with your tongue against his, so warm, so wet; your teeth, harsh in his bottom lip, where your thumb stroked so tenderly before, force his hips in a circle, and, oh, god, you have him losing it already, completely helpless, completely breathless.

You pull back, grinning, before grabbing for the buttons on his shirt.

"This okay?"

It's not okay, it's insane. His pants are too tight. He's never needed someone like this. And you look so angelic above him waiting for him to nod, give you a small yes, before you work him out of his shirt next, taking care to trace every ridge and valley of his ribs and abdomen as you do. He shivers when it's gone, discarded with his jacket and glasses; his arms come to cover himself but you trace those, too, the dips in his lean muscle and severities of his shoulders, collarbones, elbows, wrists. Just as he thinks he might feel too vulnerable, you start mapping him out with a softness he's never felt before; he wants to sink into it, keep it forever. If he wasn't so painfully hard, he might not even need to fuck you; just laying, relaxing into the sheets beneath him as you look at him like he's beautiful, is a heaven of its own.

"You're so pretty, Ryuu," you mutter. You hunch to bite the juncture of his throat and shoulder, then soothe it with a kiss. "So, so fucking pretty. You know that?"

Akutagawa shudders again. "I told you not to be gentle."

You bite him once more, grinding your bare cunt along his clothed cock, and a groan throttles from his chest. After doing the same to the opposite side of his neck, your lips meet his again, and he forgets about shielding himself in favor of letting his hands rock you back and forth against him.

You feel him twitch below you as you work him into nothing but impatient breath and swollen lips; your irritation from not reaching your climax earlier doubles back on you in a wave of arousal, and you’re guiding him out of his pants and boxers at the same time, and thank god that’s all that’s left and that you’re so turned on already because when the tip of his pale cock hits his abs, all you can think about is sinking down onto it, feeling it fill you up and pulse inside you.

But you wait, looking at him low-lidded and asking him, “You want me on top, or you?”

“For fuck’s sake,” he curses, twisting a leg into the bend of your knee at his side; you’re not weak by any means, but in one smooth movement he’s got you on your back, pinned down by your wrists. “If you’re going to be gentle, then I won’t.”

Wasting no time. You almost giggle but you’re gasping, his eagerness streamlining into a searing kiss to your mouth and one of his rough hands snaking down to collect the wetness pooling between your thighs.

He knows he should touch you. He knows that much. He wants to know—

“Where? Tell me where,” he growls into your mouth, and you guide him by his wrist and fingers once again to draw tight circles over your clit—ones that make you arch, and after feeling how you do it he burns it into his brain, the movement you’re guiding him through that sends your head lolling onto the pillow. Akutagawa’s eyes widen. He could watch your expression replay for hours.

“That’s it,” you encourage him, breathy, letting him go as he memorizes your rhythm. “Feels so good.”

You bring your two wet fingers up to his mouth, which he accepts without hesitance; his tongue swirls around them and you realize how serious he is—he doesn’t want it slow and you’re losing your resolve against him and you think you need him in you, right now.

He stills when you reach for his cock, dark hair swaying as his gaze trails your hand; he sits back, heaving, as he rubs you, as you stroke him and smear a pathetically large bead of precum across his tip and down his length. Trying desperately not to stop, to keep making you feel good, he throws his head back when you squeeze just beneath the head of his cock and pull him back toward you by his shoulder.

“Wan’ you to fuck me, Ryuu,” you whine, lining him up with your weeping hole. He’s pushing in with hardly a second thought, and, oh—he’s groaning in yet another way he’s never heard before, watching himself disappear into you, bracing himself on your forearms until he fills you up to hilt. So wet, so warm. He hardly realizes how ragged his breath is until he hears your own.

You squirm, and after he presses another series of messy kisses to your lips to stifle the noises of pleasure leaving him that would be so humiliating if he wasn’t so drunk on you, you hold him by his chin and look so deeply into his eyes that he’s afraid for a second you’re doing that thing where you look right through him into his very soul, but your mouth is forming around words that he must hear, he must hang onto, you have to tell him what to do, and you do—

“Don’t be gentle.”

So he isn’t. He moves, on nothing but your words and intuition and the way you clench around him; there’s virtually no resistance when he pulls out, slams back in, pulls out, slams back in—and he loses himself in it so quickly, so noisily.

“Unh—fuck—” Your name leaves his lips like a song that has you linking your ankles behind his back as he writhes, pounds into you—and you understand all over again, he wasn’t kidding. He doesn’t want it slow. And neither do you, you realize, now that he’s dragging his perfect cock along your insides so deliciously.

He realizes something too, as he falls to his elbows and buries his open mouth into your neck; that he never wants anyone else to hear the sounds either of you are making ever again. He doesn't care that you're more experienced than him, or that your relationship is irrevocably changed now that this is happening; you're going to be the first and last person that ever hears him moaning like this, that ever has him blushing from face to chest at the lewd sounds that your bodies emit where they meet and then part each time he pistons in and out of you. You’re clawing at him, raking tracks down his back and biceps that spur him to a pace he didn’t know he was capable of—he can’t wait to see them in the mirror tomorrow when the rawness has left and they’re angry red, a testament to how quickly he’s learning you, how quickly you’re both falling apart, how much he thinks he loves you.

Yeah, he thinks he loves you—it’s muffled by your skin, but he’s saying it, he can’t help it, he can’t keep it in his lungs if he’s going to keep this pace up.

“Love you, Ryuu,” you echo, and he echoes you right back like he didn’t start it.

“Love you.” Thrust. “Love you.” Thrust. “Love you—mmh!”

"My good boy," you croon when he reaches down to touch you, to feel you squeezing him down on him. Your good boy. You could turn him into a whore if you kept saying that.

"My name, please," he breathes, high-pitched, almost wheezing; you hold him as close to your body as you can, shortening his unstoppable thrusts against the spot inside you that makes your toes curl, pushes rhythmic moans from your throat, and his hands are all over you, begging for it in his rough grips that undulate into soft caresses back to harsh nails back to gentle strokes.

"Ryuunosuke—" you choke out, "Don't—" Gasp. "—fucking—" Gasp. "—stop!"

The most gorgeous strand of strained moans, gasps, and growls leave him as his head batters insatiably against your cervix; he’s falling off that tightrope, and you’re catching him, all his shaking fingers and trembling thighs that still momentarily before he can warn you, before he can tell you—

"Cum in me," you sigh as you feel him, feel yourself breaking, coming undone as he forces his sounds down your throat; you swallow them all, crying out against his lips as he bites you, furrows his brow, pulls back to bore into your clouded gaze—he's sure he looks the same if not worse, more unraveled, mouth open, lips wet, when you arch back and pull him flush against you and he's cumming, taking you for every last bit you'll give him until you're hypersensitive, fluttering around him, helping him make a sticky mess beneath the both of you as his head falls forward again, into your shoulder, restless, groaning with aftershock, until his lips meet yours and he kisses you, kisses you, kisses you, neither of you ready to come down yet.

But soon enough you're reduced to exhausted writhing, slow bites, fingers through his hair and he's spent—pleasantly so. Weak, not in the way he feels after he's been brought to his knees by a formidable foe but in a way he will not be content to part with; a comfortable resignation that he could make a home in.

Akutagawa wraps himself around you, and you kick the blanket at your feet up until you can pull it over his shoulders and tuck your nose into his forehead.

"Still kind of don't believe you've never done that before," you think out loud, voice a little absent from how you’ve been sobbing for him.

And Akutagawa finds himself smiling into your skin. He sounds just as much of a wreck. "Never. Not until now."

It was good. Not only was it good, but you can feel him softening inside you, and you want him to stay.

"Meant it, by the way."

Then he looks up at you, quizzically. That strange, dazed look is in his eyes again.

But you just look back at him. Push his bangs back, mirror his tired smile. Wipe the drying sheen of sweat from across his brow.

When it clicks, he's buried in your neck again. Grumbling. "I meant it, too."

You hug yourself impossibly tighter around him, muttering his name, rolling you both to your sides where you cup his face once more, pressing smooches all over him, less heated and more playful, and Akutagawa scrunches his nose as you pepper him and start mumbling in between—

"Love you. Love you. Love you."

He catches you in your tirade and kisses you like you first kissed him—slow, deep. His own love you whispered, almost imperceptible. He'll stay. "Thank you. Love you."

Like he never knew he was capable of loving. He’s not uncomfortable. For once. For real. You caught him when he was falling. He hopes you’ll keep doing it.

But right now, he only has one more question.

"Do you have any cigarettes?"

You reach across him, over to your nightstand. “Who do you think I am?”

My angel, he thinks in response as you nudge the filter between his lips to light it. You, in control, let him puff before you steal it for yourself.

And he’s yours. The Port Mafia’s ferocious Hellhound is your good boy, your angel.

You’ll love him until he believes it.

[olenvasynyt]

Random Eris Vanserra headcanons!

Has insomnia. He thinks it runs in the family because Lucien also has the same problem.

Gets chronic migraines. Gets bad after smoking, drinking (but he still drinks) inhaling too much smoke (so bad for being the Autumn Court), and winnowing.

Snores, but only after he drinks a lot. His brothers used to put noise-canceling wards around his room after parties.

Was a virgin for a long time (maybe until he was in his 30s? but I also still don't know how the High Fae age). Claimed he was "focusing on his studies" but he was actually just anxious and suppressing gay thoughts.

Loves music: he learned to play the piano and the harp. He rarely plays either now due to being too busy

Has been taking dance lessons since he was little as another way to train his body for melee and sword training. Good for balance, foot work, strengthing muscles, and posture. Also another way for him to enjoy music and to enjoy the political intrigue of the court

Has a very high spice tolerance (I feel like you have to as a fire-wielder in Autumn lmao)

Keeps a diary and uses it for everything: jotting down notes, memories, etc. Writes it in the ancient High fae language

Grew up with a friend who had daemati powers, and the friend trained him how to shut his mind and resist daemati intruders

Loves to wear jewelry. Has a huge collection of rings, and he usually wears at least three rings on each hand.

Eris makes premium rabbit jerky for his dogs by hunting and drying the rabbit himself, and always keeps a bag of it on hand. Makes use of the entire rabbit by giving the scraps to his dogs and gives the pelt to the Forest House seamstress. He commissioned a rabbit fur coat for his mother, along with a matching hat and gloves.

He carries his sword around with him at all times. At night, he keeps it above his bed.

Has a secret cabin to get away from the Forest House (I swear every Eris stan I've talked to has this headcanon)

Beron berates anyone who lets dogs into Forest House bed chambers because "dogs aren't allowed to sleep in beds", so Eris keeps all of his hounds in the kennels but lets all of them go wild and cuddle pile in the bed at the secret cabin

[thecapricunt1616]

Coriander (c.b. one-shot)

Snippet (more BTC): “I thought you'd never ask. I’m gonna go to the back office and wait. If you think you know what I need, then come on back. If you don’t want to, we can just pretend this never happened mm?” you got up, making sure to sway your hips a tad more as you went to the back office. You pushed the door shut behind you and dropped your tote under the desk, sitting down on it and leaning back against the wall. He came in 2 minutes later, cheeks red, biting his lip as he opened the door and saw you sitting on the desk.”

♡ Chapter Inspo: Love, health, immortality, and protection. Tie fresh coriander with a ribbon and hang in the home to bring peace & protection. Add to love charms and spells to bring romance or use in ritual work to ease the pain of a broken love affair. Promotes peace among those who are unable to get along. Use the seeds in love sachets and spells. ♡ Summary: You are in a FWB situation with Richie, Mikey dies - Carmy comes home to run The Beef, and suddenly...you find yourself in a FWB situation with Carmy as well, what happens when Carmy makes you two official in secret so he can have you all to himself? ♡ W/C: 5.3K+ ♡ Posted Date: 05/29/2024 ♡ A/N: Hellooooo! Happy day 4/7 of the Capri 200 Follower Celebration Extravaganza!!! You can find said extravaganza ♡Here♡ this celebration will be going until next Sunday (06/02/24) so get your requests in! Here's another celebration ask on the books! This ask is from a sweet anon, ask can be found right ♡Here♡ - Thank you so much for your request! As you can tell by the word count I got very inspired! I hope you enjoy :D This could easily have a part 2 so if you want one, just let me know in the comments This is kind of a Richie/Carmy thing i've never written Richie before and I had a whole lot of fun doing so! ♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, FWB Relationships, Smoking, Usual TB trigger warnings, Asshole!Carmy (kinda), Angst, No real comfort to be found in the end, Age gap relationships, Rough sex, smutsmutsmut, No uses of Y/N, Reader not described (pics are for vibes only)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You had been working at The Bear since it was The Beef. 3 months before Mikey died, you were hired as a food runner. You’d met Mike maybe twice? Both times, the guy was high out of his mind- so you couldn’t say much about his character. 

Richie on the other hand, was flirty. He was handsome, he was funny, he had a huge cock. You were in your third year of college, Richie was smitten with your girlish charm, and you’d fucked those 3 months pretty consistently - until Carmy came back to Chicago. 

You’d been warned his ‘cousin’ was a big shot NYC chef, ‘Michelin Starred’ Richie said one night while fucking your brains out after a stressful shift as he smoked a cigarette in his shitty, dimly lit apartment. Puffs of smoke left his lips as your ass bounced against his hips and he rambled on about what had pissed him off today, 

“Ye’ sweetheart- fuck-“ he took a long inhale before continuing -  “mm’y’fuckin tight baby- shit-“ he stuttered as your pussy clenched around his cock firmly as your second orgasm washed over you, thighs shivering. “Thaaas it- huh? Gooood girl. Knew y’could do it babygirl” he kissed the dimple on your spine as you shivered, tendrils of smoke trailing up your back and over your hips. 

He then sat up, casually taking another drag, tightening his non-dominant hand around your hip so there would be little fingertip bruises once more over the yellowing hearing ones, and continued, his bruising pace getting rougher and quicker as he continued chasing his own orgasm. 

The meat of your ass and the skin of his hips made smacking sounds as they came together. Pathetic little whines drag from your lips with each rough kiss the tip of his cock gave your cervix as he just continued talking like he wasn’t using you like a fuck doll. 

“he uh, has a Michelin star- whatever that means? He’s a little prick. Guess that’s ahh-fuck- that’s why Mike left it t’him- he knows how t’make fancy shit- little fuckin’ Eleven Madison Park dickhead”  he grunted as he filled you up, spanking you roughly for good measure. 

“Good girl. Always take it like a little whore mm?” He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray. He pats your hip gently as he pulls out, collapsing next to you with an old man grunt that you always teased him for. “Ey’ sweet girl, Y’wanna rub my back since I fucked y’so good mm? So I won’t be sore at work tomorrow?” He pulled you close, kissing your neck, his stubble making you shiver as cum leaked down your beard-burned thighs. 

That was how you spent one to three nights a week since you’d started working at The Beef. 

Then, Carmy came. For the first 6 or so months, it was business as usual for you and Richie. Quiet spanks on the ass as you walked by him during rush as you brought food out to a customer, sometimes letting him fuck your face in the back alley as he went on about what an asshole Carmen was being that day. 

You just took it, the fighting, the bickering, the sexual tension. You were the go-between for the both of them, when they weren’t talking Richie would bug you to go tell Carmy what he needed to say. “Immature asshole” you’d call him at the end of the day as he knelt between your thighs in that same shitty apartment, sucking on your clit while his beard scratched up your thighs. He’d just chuckle into you, squeezing your thighs amusedly with his large hands. 

Then one day, you were in the dry storage, grabbing something for Marcus that was on the bottom shelf and heavy. You were bent over, trying to tug it out and the door shut behind you.  “Hey- sorry just gonna reach over you-“ Carmy. When you felt him press against your ass like that, his tattooed hand resting on your hip. You felt heat rushing straight for your core, your stomach flipping and fluttering.

Then, you started making moves. A brush of the hand here, a smile there, a giggle at one of his dorky jokes no one else bothered to pay attention to, of course, he noticed. The young piece of ass that used to spend all day giggling and shooting the shit with his older cousin was into him now. The first night it happened, you made sure to pick up a double on a day you usually didn’t go home with Richie, and while everyone except Carmy did their best to rush out the door as soon as they possibly could, you stuck behind. 

You went to the bathroom, fixed up your hair, and your makeup not enough to be noticeable to a guy that you’d changed, but enough to look fresh. You put on some more lipgloss, freshening up your body spray and hiking your tote bag onto your shoulder before heading out of the ladies' room into the back-of-house. You heard the swish swish of a scrub brush, and the plopping of water - and knew Carmy was still in there scrubbing something. When you turned the corner to see him on his hands and knees, muscular arms flexing as he really scrubbed that floor. You could tell there was something….about Carmen Berzatto. 

It wasn’t just the fact his brother died, it wasn’t this strange stoic seriousness he had at not even 35, it was something else. Dedication, maybe? But you weren't sure to what because not a day went by without referring to the restaurant as ‘a shithole with decent sandwiches’ - you knew he was just keeping it running because it’s what Cicero wanted and no one denied that man. But you wanted to see if that dedication or learning ability translated into the bedroom. “Damn- You could eat off that grout” you teased. His head popped up, blue eyes twinkling under the iridescent lights.

This damn family and their pretty eyes

“The hell you still doin’ here? Y’shift ended what-” he looked at the clock, “An hour and six minutes ago” he continued scrubbing at the tile with the tiny little brush. 

“Oh you memorized my shift schedule?” you teased, a small smile on your lips. You were towering over him, being sure to block his light so he would give you his attention once more.

“I make the schedule, yeah I know when my employees work” he looked up at you again “n’y’re in my light” he pushed his greasy curls out of his way with his dry hand. 

“Mmm- last I checked Chef Syd did the scheduling- unless…that changed?” you asked and he looked back at the floor, scrubbing over the same spot he had been since you came over here. 

He made a little ‘mm’ noise and was quiet for a few moments as he continued to scrub. “So why are you still here if y’not gettin’ paid?” he asked again. You crouched next to him, hugging your knees and he stopped, looking over at you. He could smell your perfume perfectly, your lipgloss glitter was shimmering in the light. He could very well near smell the mint coming off of your breath from the gum you had chewed an hour earlier. He swallowed thickly, blinking a few times how he did when he was confused he noticed and his eyes fan to your lips before back up to your eyes. “Uh-”

You cut him off “Cause I haven’t met you, Carmy. We haven’t talked, Why’s that?” you question with a small, innocent smile. It was true, he all but ignored you while he’d been here. The only time he spoke to you was when he absolutely had to tell you something or when he was assigning you your morning tasks when you first got in. 

“W-What d’you wanna know?” he asked, tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips. He was nervous. 

“Why do you ignore me for starts” you jet your bottom lip slightly out into a little barely there pout for added effect, “Tina asked me a few days ago what I did, so what did I do Carmy?” you ask gently. You knew it was because you caught him staring at you so often he thought you thought he was a creep, but you thought it was adorable how flustered he got when he’d been caught and quickly tried to make it look like he’d been focused on something else. 

“Nothin- nothin’ y-you didn’t do anything m’sorry I made you feel- what’re you-” he trailed off as you gently fixed his Saint Anthony chain so it was facing front, carefully slipping your finger under the loop and pinching it between your forefinger and thumb, adjusting the clasp to be at the back of his neck. 

“Sorry, small things like that bug me, I think little things bug you too, Carm” you said softly. His cheeks were getting pink, his pupils were widening. Your plan was working. “Is this ok?” you gently fixed the sleeve of his t-shirt over his bicep, the fabric deliciously stretching over his buff arm 

“Mhmm” he muttered, breath catching as your hand trailed up his shoulder and resting there. “Did you um- did you need something…” he asked, voice that delicious kind of soft you adored. 

“I thought you'd never ask. I’m gonna go to the back office and wait. If you think you know what I need, then come on back. If you don’t want to, we can just pretend this never happened mm?” you got up, making sure to sway your hips a tad more as you went to the back office. You pushed the door shut behind you and dropped your tote under the desk, sitting down on it and leaning back against the wall. He came in 2 minutes later, cheeks red, biting his lip as he opened the door and saw you sitting on the desk.

He blinked rapidly, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing “Jesus Christ” he muttered to himself, shutting the door behind him. “Y-y’re sure. Like- wait you mean- you mean you want me t-” 

“Do whatever you want with me, chef,” you told him in a sultry tone, watching him closely as he walked over. You’d assumed he’d be just like Richie, rough, unforgiving, and sometimes even a little mean, but the way he cupped your cheek was…gentle. 

“Are you sure you want this? M’y’r boss..I don’ want you t’feel like i’m…making you, ‘er somethin’” he ran his thumb over your cheekbone. He was so close that you could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath as well as the musky scent of the long workday mixed with his cologne. You were nearly put in a trance by it. In response, you gently rest your palm on the back of his neck, pulling him closer and giving him a gentle kiss. 

He leaned forward, resting his hand on the side of your thigh and kissing you back, his lips hesitant on yours at first but when he felt your tongue swipe his bottom lip, his hand moved to your shoulder and gently squeezed as he opened his mouth, tongue darting out to find yours. He moaned softly at your taste, his breath coming out in small hot puffs that fanned your upper lip as you explored his mouth with your tongue. His hand that was on the desk gently moved to your hip, giving a tentative squeeze. You grabbed it, bringing it to your breast and with your hand over his, guiding him to squeeze and massage it. 

He let out a little hum of realization and did as you asked, only able to do so much with a t-shirt bra and work shirt, he with trembling hands tugged at the bottom of your navy blue The Beef t-shirt, asking for permission to take it off. You pulled away, swiftly taking off the shirt and reconnecting your lips with his. Your hands made your way behind your back, unhooking your bra and pulling it off, bringing both of his hands to your breasts. You whine softly as he pinches and rolls your nipples between his fingers, the action making them even harder and perkier. He kissed down your jaw, nipping gently and sucking on the sensitive skin. 

Richie can’t know this happened 

“N-no marks babe- kay?” you said a bit breathlessly, hand trailing up to gently tug at his hair. He hummed in response, kissing down and mouthing over the hickeys Richie had left earlier in the week. You bit your lip as he continued to roll and tug your nipples kissing down your neck and when he finally got to your breasts you heard him mutter

“So fuckin perfect” before he took one of your perky abused nipples into his mouth, lightly sucking as you combed through his curls, taking out all the knots with your nimble fingers. With his other hand, he continued to massage your other breast, causing a moan to fall from your lips. 

“You wanna fuck me? Mm? Right here over the desk? You can go as hard as you want yea?” you told him, it was nice that he was spending so much time dedicated to making you feel good, but were confused why he hadn’t just…bent you over and gotten it over with by now like Richie usually did when you fucked at work. 

He pulled off with a pop, looking up at you with those wide eyes that had been darkened with lust. “Uh- Can I taste you..instead?” he asked shyly, resting his chin on your sternum gently, his hot breath puffing from his nose and tickling your chest. You raised your brows, looking at the clock - wasn’t he exhausted?! If he ate you out, that would be what - another 15 minutes on top of him getting off, would probably be another 20, so you both wouldn’t be getting out of there until 1:30 or so. 

Well, if it's what he wants.

“Sure honey” You got up, slipping out of the sweats you took the train home in usually, setting them on the desk to sit on and pushing your panties down as well after kicking off your Ugg slipper shoe-type things and sitting back on the desk, spreading your thighs for him and resting one of your heels on the edge. His mouth parted slightly, nearly dropping to his knees, his curls falling in front of his eyes but he didn’t seem to care as he kissed your inner thighs, almost enjoying his time getting you worked up. He gently sucked on your nether lip, groaning lightly at your flavor. Your mouth drops as you watch him, fully blissed out as he laps at your wet folds.

“Holy shit Carmy” you breathe, gently pushing his bangs back so you could see his pretty blue eyes once again. He looks up at you, sandy brown long lashes nearly touching his bushy brows as he connects his mouth with your clit, flicking his tongue over it and running his jaw back and forth messily, a mix of drool and your arousal running over his chin. “Wow feels so good - doin’ so good Carmy” you breathe, head falling back in pleasure and breathing picking up. He was really good at this. When Richie was in the mood (AKA his back wasn't hurting, or his knees, or his shoulder) he would give you the pleasure of eating you out, and he did it well, he always made sure you came when he did it, and you never had to fake it with him.

You weren’t going to have to fake it with Carmy, either, because holy shit - he was amazing at this. You felt that familiar tightening within’ your stomach within minutes. He took one of your thighs, throwing it over his shoulder to give himself a better angle, and ran his tongue down, slipping it inside of your pussy and moaning as you gush over his tongue when his nose runs back and forth over your clit, stimulating it most deliciously. Your thigh twitched, toes curling, and a sharp moan comes from your throat, biting down roughly on your lip. “God- god Carmy, I’m cumming” you warn, Gripping his curls rougher which seemed to edge him on, rubbing you rougher with his nose and curling his tongue up against your gummy walls, wet lewd noises coming from between your thighs. 

Within moments there was a fire of pleasure shooting beneath your skin as you cried out in ecstasy. Your eyes rolled beneath your lids, letting go of his hair and gripping the desk instead with a crushing grip as he worked you through the intense waves of overstimulating delight that ripped through you relentlessly. He finished with a chaste kiss on your thigh before grabbing your bra and helping you put it on as well as your panties, even finding the shirt you’d thrown and shaking off the dust from the floor before handing it over. “That was uh…really good, thank you” he wiped his chin and lips with the back of his hand, rubbing it on the back of his jeans. You shamelessly stared at his crotch and noticed the hard bulge in his jeans before looking back up at him.

“You don’t want to get rid of that? I can suck you off if you want I have a hair tie” you said, holding up your wrist to show him. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“No- no you don’t owe me anything, I got what I needed don’worry. See y’tomorrow- make sure you leave through the back I already locked up the front” he said, leaving the office and closing the door behind him to give you some privacy. You sat in shock for a moment, blinking a few times. All he wanted from you was to eat you out? You’d never met another guy who simply ate you out and that was it - they’d always…expected something from you after, and of course, you gave it because you felt like they’d paid you a favor just by eating you out first even if you didn’t finish. You slip your work shirt back on, get up, and put on your sweats with shaky legs before slipping your shoes back on. 

It continued like this, the days you weren't fucking Richie, you were in the back office getting eaten until you nearly passed out. Until The Beef started getting renovated, then the days you weren’t getting your brains fucked out in Richie's bed, your thighs spread wide at odd hours of the morning on Carmens’ couch, some random cooking show playing in the background as he lapped at your pussy like a man starved on his knees in front of you after kissing down your body like you were a goddess to be worshipped. If you were quite honest, you liked this routine. It felt perfect for you, you knew where your feelings lay for both of the men, and it was a stable comfortable routine on both sides. 

For Richie, it was fun and flirtatious. Sneaky spanks when you came to visit and help him renovate the restaurant with Neil, rough makeout sessions in the back alley when he went out for a smoke, rough near bruising quickies in the soon-to-be walk-in freezer that hadn’t been set up yet, so it was a nice little private area you two could go. He’d even started stealing a kiss or two when you weren’t being sexual. He was protective of you, Carmy started noticing this. That was why a few weeks before the big opening, he had started being a bit more handsy with you. 

The two of you started spending a lot more time together, and you realized he was even opening up to you a bit more. He began asking to see you more often, taking you out with him when he had to run errands for the opening. When he took you with him to the restaurant supply store, he had his hand rested on your lower back, gently rubbing circles as he explained to you the difference between the bunch of different kinds of cutlery. You had been baffled that there were 11 different kinds of butter knives there and he explained to you the difference between them, as well as showed you which sets went together.

It was strange you were clenching your thighs together while a man chatted you up over silverware, but the way he guided your hand to hold them so you were doing it ‘properly’ when you picked one up to get a closer look, had your heart jumping to your throat. That specific encounter was the first time you’d been able to really fuck him, and also draw some dominance out of him as well. It wasn't even his day with you, he knew it - he very well knew this, but little did you know that was the reason why he did it. You rode him hard and fast in the back of his van in the parking lot, he’d made sure to move to a spot in the way back where no one else had been parked so the two of you didn’t get caught and thrown on a registry, of course.

So, that night when you had met up with Richie after he had made you dinner and bent you over the couch for your usual Wednesday night activities - by the first yank of your hips you squeaked, “Gentle - please, daddy, not too rough..” you were glad he was taking you from behind, because you couldn’t bare the confused sweet sorry look on his face. You never asked him to be gentle with you, of course he obliged- because it was all an act. Richie was a big softie, a teddy bear. He just liked to fool around and put on the big mean daddy act in the bedroom because it was fun for the both of you.t in the bedroom because it was fun for the both of you. But he would never really want to hurt you. 

“Wha’s wrong baby, mm? Why you hurtin’?” He held you up by your ribs, sweetly kissing your hairline as he thrusted slower and softer in and out of you, gently resting his lips against your forehead “was I too hard Monday? M’sorry my sweet girl” he rubbed over your breast gently as he continued his gentler strokes. His sweet girl. That caused your heart to sting a bit. You didn’t know that he liked you too, the same way you liked him. Unless it was just an act? You hope it was an act. 

“Yeah” you said, knees going weaker when he reached around your front and toyed with your clit, your hips bucking at the soreness Carmen had left you with earlier. 

“Yeah? Y’never been like this before sweetheart” he kissed over your neck, beard scratching at your skin. 

“Mm- s’okay- feels good- like it when it hurts like this” you rest your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling a pit of guilt setting in your stomach. Would it hurt him if he found out you had started fooling around with Carmy? You hoped not, but couldn’t help but wonder. They were family. Most of all you would hope it wouldn’t make him insecure due to the much closer proximity Carmy and your ages were. You were so lost in your own head that you didn’t even realize he was finishing inside of you like normal moaning into your hair. 

“So good- such a good girl” he kissed your head. “go get cleaned up kid, gotta get outta here early t’day cus’ I needa go to Eva’s school play thing” he pats your ass gently and pulled out, leaving you draped over the arm of the couch naked from the waist down and cum leaking down your thighs. You shut your eyes for a moment, rubbing over your face before standing up and doing as he said. 

A little over a week later, Carmy asked you to go straight with him. Well. Not really, he asked you if you were fucking other people to which you gave a simple yes and he just said ‘oh…wish I could be the only one’ you teased him and asked if that meant you wanted to be together, just the two of you and he said yes. So, you stopped fucking Richie. You stopped letting him kiss you in dry storage - you stopped having your ass be available for slapping as he walked by. 

And man, was it hard. He looked like a sad puppy, a small pout coming to his lips when you turned your cheek causing him to kiss that instead of your lips. “ ‘ey-“ he turned your face towards him “where’s my kiss?” You just looked down at the floor, before turning and grabbing the bag of onions you’d been sent in there to get and saying 

“I don’t think we should keep doing this. We should…just work together.” As much as you hated to say it, you did. Then you left the dry storage, and Richie felt his heart crack slightly. Things with him felt way more real then with Carmy, but Carmy was the one who asked you to be his, so you just…went with who asked. You had thought that was the best choice. Even though you stomped on his heart that day, he still cracked jokes with you, and was the same sweet dork you worked with before you started hooking up, the sweet dork that made you want to hook up with him in the first place. 

2 days before the friends and family opening, Carmy invited you over to his so he could cook for you. You’d been able to have his cooking once before, when he’d had you come over right in front of Richie at The Beef, and held a spoon to your lips, a hand under your chin for you to try something he’d come up with. Tonight he was making his familys pasta, and when you’d got there you nearly jumped his bones when he was wearing a work shirt from The Beef. You’d never seen him in it before, he’d never worn it to work even though everyone else had to be wearing theirs.

 You had a joke with yourself that he knew how yummy and slutty he looked in those stupid plain white t’s so thats why he kept wearing them.

“Hey sexy” You’d said when he opened the door, standing on your toes to kiss him deeply. He hummed, pulling you inside quickly and shutting the door behind you both so no neighbors would see. He grabbed your ass with his palms, squeezing it and spanking you lightly.

“Hey pretty girl” he said, kissing your top lip messily “y’hungry, right? Dinners almost done” he carefully brushed your hair from your face, looking down into your eyes with one of his sweet smiles.

“Mm always hungry for the best chef in the worlds food” you mused, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and playing with his curls “Why’d you never wear this at work, mm? Y’look sexy babe” you kissed his neck. He hummed, hands trailing up your back and palming over your ribs.

“Cause they’re itchy, and it’s laundry day” he said as you rubbed over his chest, grabbing at his pecks and squeezing at the flesh. He chuckled, brushing your hands “jesus someones handsy eh? He cupped your cheeks, angling your eyes towards him “food’ll burn, go wash up yeah? I’ll get y’plate ready” he pecked your lips and ran his hands down your front, grabbing your hand nd pressing it to his lips before heading back to the kitchen.

You followed as he said, going to the restroom and washing your hands as well as your makeup off with the makeup wipes that lived in his bathroom for you now, before going to his bedroom. You stepped out of your stupid waitress uniform, slipping on his white shirt that kissed just below your bum. You padded out to the kitchen, seeing him wiping the edge of your plates off with a paper towel, a kitchen rag over his shoulder. God, he looked so amazing in his element. “Hey” you said gently, going to hug him from behind 

“Hey sweet girl, just about done” he sprinkled some fresh parsley over the dish masterfully, before gently rubbing over the back of your hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing it. “How was the train?” he asked and you pulled away, walking over to his couch and sitting since he’d never bothered to get a kitchen table. 

“Okay, weirdo was playing a ukelele again” you plopped down, crossing your legs and looking over at the random dutch cooking program he had been watching from his station in the kitchen, “You speak dutch?” you asked, he chuckled and you weren’t sure at which statement. 

“No, I don’t, I just watch, and I know what they’re doin’ by the look usually.” he came over, setting a beautiful plate of pasta in your lap and sitting down with the small pot he used for sauce, that he’d mixed the noodles in half hazardly and twirled some of the noodles on the fork, taking a bite. 

Classic Carmy, serving you a Michelin Starred dish, and eating the leftover scraps. 

That was the night you really fell for him. Especially after he did the same thing that he did the first time the two of you hooked up, put you first. Even if he didn’t want you to touch him, even if he was too shy to cuddle you before you fell asleep. You really felt your heart crack open for him.

The night of friends and family, though, you may as well have been a stranger. No matter what you did that night to get his attention, he fully ignored you and snapped at you, and everyone, to ‘pick up your fucking pace’. You had never had him snap at you like this. All you wanted to do was go joke around with Richie, maybe pull him into the dry storage for a quick makeout - but you couldn’t, not anymore. You missed him. You missed your old man, as much as he despised you calling him that, you adored the way he frowned and spanked you in response to the name, telling you ‘it’s already unfair when we go out they think y’my daughter’ 

When you had find out that Carmy had been locked in the freezer - your first instict was to rush to the back of house, comfort him- tell him it would all be fine, but you knew you couldn’t do that, and it would piss him off if you did so. You were his well kept secret, and he wanted you to stay that way. You had found out from Syd, who was really the only one to know about your short-lived relationship - since Carmy seemed to be more open with her then he did with you - his supposed girlfriend. 

“He’s ok, he’s fine- look, just keep pace, ok, me and Richie will handle this - bring the plates from tinas station to table 11, ok?” she told you calmly, giving you a quick reassuring hug before whisking you off to do your job. You did as she said, putting on a smile and bringing the food out to the table, setting it down the way you’d been trained and telling them what was what before telling them to enjoy and heading back to the kitchen to pick up another round of food to bring out to an awaiting hungry group of patrons.

Three hours later, when the night was finally coming to a close- you decided it was a good time to go check on Carmy. All the guests had left, and it was just the staff at this point. You knew that the fire department was on the way since Richie had let everyone know they’d been called, and Syd was back there trying to calm him down. What you didn’t know, was Syd had told Carmy to hold on for a moment because she was gonna go tell her father goodbye and thank him for coming, so he had been left all alone in the back of house, in the freezer.

You walked in, hearing him rambling as you walk up, listening closely to what he was saying.

“Like- Like right? Right?” he chuckled a bit “W-what the fuck was I thinkin’? Huh? The fuck was I thinkin’, Syd? Like - Like I was gonna be in- “ he laughed a bit “In- i-in a relationship- er- er some shit? I-I’m a fuckin- a fuckin psycho- thats thats why, thats why I’m good at what I do, thats how I operate, Syd, you wanna be the best? I am the fucking best, because I didn’t have- any- any of this - this fuckin…bullshit! Right? I-I- I could focus, and I could concentrate, and I- I had a fuckin’ routine, an- and I had fuckin cell reception! An-” he paused. You felt your heart crack, tears filling your eyes,

You were bullshit to him.

He continued, “I dont need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I dont need to- to receive, any amusement- or - or enjoyment. Y’know? And I’m…I’m completely fine, with that. Because absolutely no amount of good, is worth how fuckin’ shitty this feels. S’just…a complete waste of my fucking time.” 

You let out the sob you were holding back, gasping a breath, shaking your head and with a trembling voice, you say, “I’m really sorry you feel this way, Carmy…” before rushing out of the kitchen, hot tears running down your cheeks. You grab your bag from behind the counter, slamming into richie on the way out of the restaurant and he stopped you, grabbing your arm. 

“Hey- hey kid” he said, and the soothing sound of his voice made you break down fully, starting to sob so hard you couldnt see straight, collapsing into his chest. 

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry for being so shitty- I- I dont deserve you” you cried, hugging him tightly, “I have-” you took a gasping breath and look up at him “I- i’m done- tell Carmy that I’m done here….” you let go of him and rush out, quickly walking towards the train station the wind whipping your wet cheeks. You pulled out your phone, calling Carmy to leave him a voicemail. 

“Hey, uh…I don’t know why you fuckin’ asked me out- but uh- fuck you, carmy. Youre right- you deserve nothing- youre a coward, and an asshole. I hate you for making me love you” you hung up, shoving your phone in your pocket, not even caring the admission that slipped past your lips as you stomped up the stairs to the L platform.

Back at the restaurant, Richie storms into the kitchen, slamming his palm on the freezer door. “Yo- the fuck did you just do?” he asked, voice laced with anger.

“I-I don’know. I-I don’ know what the fuck she heard. Dunno” Carmy said, voice indifferent to the entire thing, which just made anger bubble in his chest at his lack of caring. Richie slams his hand into the door harder, making Carmy jump a bit.

“No- asshole, I said - the fuck did you just say, to that fuckin’ girl?” Richie repeated, getting louder now.

“Richie” Carmy said, sighing to himself.

“Richie? Richie What- Tell me! Tell me, What the fuck. What the fuck did you just say to that fuckin girl, Carmen” 

“Will you just shut the FUCK UP AND GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE PLEASE!” Carmy shouts, not having any part of being scolded when his fingertips felt like ice. 

“Oh- oh yeah, I’ll get y’the fuck outta there, Donna” Richie mocked, so angry he didnt care how deeply he cut in the moment.

“The fuck you just say t’me?” Carmy challanged

“I-” Richie sighed, knowing he just took things too far and dropped his head back in annoyance.

“N-no- Richie- What the fuck did you just say?” Carmy asks, louder this time, Pounding on the door when he didnt get a response. 

“Yo- cousin, cousin look - I don’t know why you gotta fuck up everything good in your life. That girl is nice, shes a good fuckin friend t’you” Richie explained, completely oblivious to everything that had really been going on. 

“Are you -” Carmen laughs “Are you fucking kidding me right now?!” he spits, the comparison to his mother causing fire to race through his veins.

“No- No i’m not, cousin, someones gotta tell you this shit, ‘eh? First fuckin friend after comin’ home you go ahead and make her cry?!” Richie scolded.

“FUCK YOU! Fuck you Richie!” Carmy yells, running his hands through his hair,

“Ohhh yea, here we go, fuck me, yeeeaaa Carm” he mocked him.

“Yeah! Yeah fuck you fuckin loser. You wouldn’t have shit without me. So fuck you!” carmy shouted at him, his breath coming out in large frosty puffs in front of him.

“Oh-” Richie chuckled, a twinge in his chest that Carmy was willing to cut so deep so quickly “Yeah- yeah tough guy” he mocked, voice getting meeker

“Yeah! Yeah! You- Or y’fuckin kid- fuckin loser - only reason you have anything is me!” Carmy roars, slamming on the door “so ye’ cousin, fuck you!” 

“My KID? Y’gonna talk about my KID? Well at least I have a fuckin kid! What d’you have other then a restaurant, jackass!” he yelled back.

“YEAH? I HAVE THE GIRL YOU BEEN FUCKIN’ FOR THE PAST YEAR, MORON. Why you think she dropped you so fast? Huh? You fucking idiot! She chose me- so ye’. I am the reason you have what you have AND I’LL TAKE WHATEVER I FUCKING WANT. FUCK YOU” He yelled through the door, kicking it with his chefs clog.

Richies mouth dropped, stepping back and feeling as if he’d just been stabbed in the heart. “What?” he said, believing his ears were playing tricks on him, how could Carmy do such a thing to him?

“Yeah- yeah. She chose me, and guess what, I fucked her because i wanted to show you I could. Y’fuckin prick” he sat down on one of the boxes of frozen steaks, rubbing over his face roughly. Richie raced out of the kitchen, telling Syd he was ‘done’ and quickly taking out his phone to call you. 

Back in the freezer, Carmens phone buzzed. He looked at it, seeing a voicemail from you that finally pushed through. When he heard your sad, broken voice, admit that he’d caused you to hate him by his behaviour made him chuck his phone against the freezer wall so hard that the screen shattered.

Never so badly had he ever fucked up, and by doing so he lost the best thing to ever happen to him.

[smok3ygoth]

SANCTUARY

Summary: After a chaotic day, you head to the pub and bump into Louis, which blossoms into something beautiful. [1.3k]

—

Tonight, you find yourself at the local pub, seeking solace in your usual escape. As you sip your vodka and Coke, the familiar rhythm of the low music surrounds you, creating a comforting haze that drowns out your racing thoughts.

You swayed gently, letting the world outside fade away, if only for a little while. You'd been inside for hours, drinking and giggling to yourself, realising just how ridiculous your life had become.

"Can't fucking believe this."

After an exhausting eight-hour shift, you were so ready to unwind and enjoy some TV time with your lovely boyfriend, but then everything changed.

Once you got home, you heard squeaking from upstairs, like someone was bouncing on the bed. You didn't bother changing; you stormed up the stairs and burst into your bedroom.

"What the actual fuck?"

There, right in front of you, was one of your best friends getting bent over by your boyfriend—the guy you'd been with for five years, and someone you’d known forever.

"Wait—"

"I don't want to fucking hear it. You better be gone by the time I get back or you'll regret it." You'd said rather calmly, which is undoubtedly scarier than screaming at them.

And now, here you are at the bar, alone.

"Fuck, I need some fresh air." You grabbed your drink and went to sit outside on one of the empty benches. You reached into your back and you swore you had a pack of fags in there.

"For fucksake, could this day get any worse?" You said this right before someone accidentally spilled some of their beer on you.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!" The woman apologised, but you could tell she was very pissed, so you just waved it off with a smile.

"Guess I'll just sit here and sip my drink," you said to yourself, hoping the night would turn around. You pulled out your phone, thinking about what series of movies you could dive into later to forget all this.

Then, a hand reached out in front of you, offering a cigarette. You looked up, surprised at the man standing before you. You took the cigarette and placed it between your lips as his hand came up to light it for you.

Inhaling deeply, you asked, "How did you know I needed a smoke?"

"I've seen you here a few times, crying, and I've always offered you a smoke." You blushed at his words.

Well, that's embarrassing.

Taking another long, deep inhale of the cigarette, you asked, "Aren't you that singer? What's your name?"

"Louis Tomlinson, and what may your name be, darling?" The pet name sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Why did it suddenly feel so warm?

"It's Y/N, but you can call me whatever you like. Isn't it a bit risky just hanging out at the pub with no security?"

"A bit. My fans are respectful, though, so I love seeing them when I'm out. I'm guessing you're not a fan?" he joked, a playful glint in his eye.

"I could be a fan, but I might just be hiding it. You'll never know," you replied with a laugh, feeling the chemistry spark between the two of you.

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to find out then," he chuckled, leaning in a little closer. The warmth between you felt electric, and for a moment, the earlier chaos faded away.

"So, what brings you out here tonight? Besides, you know, the vodka?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by why you would be here all by yourself.

You took another drag from the cigarette, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "Honestly, I just needed a break from everything. It's been one of those days, you know?" You smiled, hoping to keep the conversation flowing.

"But now it seems like I've stumbled onto something a bit more interesting."

"Oh? And what might that be?"

"You."

"You're quite bold, you know?"

"I am aware, yes." You giggle as he lights his own cigarette, offering you another since you'd finished yours.

You both sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the comforting silence that you both needed.

"Hey, Lou?"

"Yes, love?" He turned to you, a spark of intrigue in his eyes at the nickname you had given him.

"Would you like to—I don't know—be friends? We could go to my place and watch some TV since it's getting quite chilly out here, and I don't really want to drink anymore."

"Course we can, yeah. Don't want you walking home by yourself either." A smile spread across your face, gratitude shining in your eyes.

"Let's go then." You both finish your cigarettes, and you take his hand, leading the way to your place. It’s closer than Louis expected, but he’s not complaining.

Once inside, you kick off your shoes and drop your bag by the door. You quickly turn on the heating, eager to warm up from the chilly air outside.

"Would you like a drink or something?" you ask as he settles onto the comfortable sofa in the living room.

"Tea, please, love."

"On it." You smile at him as he gets comfortable on the sofa, making himself at home while scrolling through a bunch of different movies.

As you focus on making tea for both of you, your mind drifts, and you momentarily forget about your boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend.

"Y/N?" You spin around, shocked to see him still lingering in your house.

"I told you to get the fuck out."

"Wait—please let me explain!"

"What is there to explain? It was pretty obvious what was happening. I'm just curious about how long this has been going on." He avoids your gaze, mumbling.

"Hmm, what was that?"

"Two years."

"Wow. This all happened under my roof? You're fucking disgusting. Get out. Now."

"You heard her, get the fuck out." Louis spoke.

"Who the fuck are you?" Louis steps closer, wrapping his arm around your waist—a protective gesture that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Your replacement. I'm better than you, and you know it, so fuck off." Louis grinned, a mix of amusement and defiance in his eyes as he watched your ex-boyfriend storm out, slamming the door behind him.

You couldn't help but chuckle at Louis' boldness and the way he handled the situation. "Thanks for that. He really needed to go."

Louis shrugged casually. "No worries, love. No one messes with my friends like that."

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, grateful for Louis' unexpected presence and unwavering support. "I owe you one, Lou."

He flashed you a warm smile. "Nah, we're friends now. That's what friends are for, right?"

Right, friends. But did you want to be just friends? Of course not. You didn't know how it happened so quickly, but you knew you had developed some romantic feelings for Louis.

"Lou?" Your voice wavered as you spoke, looking up at him with shy eyes.

"Hm?"

"I think I like you. I know we've only just gotten to know each other, but I like you, and I know you probably don't feel—" He cut off your rambling with a soft kiss on the lips, a smile spreading warmth across your face.

"What were you saying, hmm, love?" You gazed into his eyes, feeling a rush of courage. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, this time slower and deeper, savouring the moment as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

"I like you too," he whispered against your lips, making you grin and kiss him harder. The world around you faded as you lost yourself in the moment, feeling the warmth of his body and the electric connection between you.

As you pulled away slightly, breathless and smiling, you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"So, what now?" you asked, a playful glint in your gaze. Louis chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Now, we take it one day at a time, together." With that, he leaned in for another kiss, and in that moment, you realised this was just the start of something truly beautiful. He had become your safe haven, your sanctuary amidst the chaos.

—

This is my first fic on this app because I have no idea how to use it, and it needs more Louis fics. I'm trying to figure out how to make a masterlist and all that, but for now, I'm just going to leave this little thing here. :) P.S. This is my first fic ever, so please don't hate. Thanks! xD

Please send requests! <3

[comingdownwithme]

CW: Mentions and discussions of intrusive thoughts, details of said intrusive thoughts

also not beta read and it's 6 am at the time of posting so–

"Tobes," Jeff said as he exhaled smoke, blue eyes averted to the cigarette fixed between his fingers, "D'ya think I'm a, uh, bad person..?"

"Huh?"

Toby blinked and stopped chewing his nail.

"Uhm, wh- what?"

"D'ya think I'm a bad person," Jeff repeats, louder, clearer this time, as he fidgets with his cigarette.

Toby let his words sink in, processing them, before he turned just slightly to watch the other teen from the corner of his eye. Jeff's hand over his shoulder squeezed faintly at the slight movement, an unconscious reaction under Toby's watchful gaze.

"Whu- Why...?" He asked.

"Jus' gimme a yes or no, Tob–"

"No. N- now t- t- tell me why."

Jeff pressed his lips close.

Neither boy said anything for a long moment. There was only the faint cacophony of the street life below them, melding together with the distant chirp of birds that flew over their small, suburban town.

Twenty minutes. That's all they've got left until the bell signaling the end of their lunch period rang. Then it'll be three or so hours until the two would see each other again with Liu in tow for their commute home.

So, as he brought the cigarette to his lips, Jeff decided it'd be best to just rip the bandaid off now than to let it worsen and fester later.

This isn't the first time he's been this vulnerable to Toby anyways, having felt as if he had pulled his ribcage apart to expose his damned soul under his careful eyes, nor did he think this would be the last.

This is just the first time the thought had actually scared him enough to think that maybe– maybe this was the last straw, the line he'd cross that would lead to the loss of his very lifeline.

Jeff inhaled, warmth filled his lungs.

He held that breath.

Then, he exhaled.

And he smelled smoke.

"I..." Jeff glanced up, meeting his best friend's dark eyes, before his gaze flickered down to his feet. "I've been thinkin'..."

"Damn, di- didn't know you–" Toby cracked his neck, "you c- could."

He couldn't help it, and Jeff let slip a snort. "Shuddup,"

Toby rolled his eyes before he elbowed him.

"Yeah, yeah, gettin' on with it," He huffed. "I've just... Sometimes these... thoughts come up."

"Th- thoughts?" Toby raised a brow.

"Bad ones, yeah..." Jeff explained.

Toby hummed, contemplative. "Like...?"

Jeff stared down at his cigarette, watching as smoke slowly rose from the burning end.

"I- I won't make fu- fun of y- y- you, if that's what you're think- thinking."

"Nah," Jeff blew a heavy breath, the scent of nicotine lingering on his tongue. "That's not what I've thought 'bout..."

"What i- is it then?"

"I've thought about hurtin' you."

Jeff let the confession settle between them, and he occupied his free hand by rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

He doesn't meet Toby's eyes when he continues.

"Hurtin' Liu too," He says, "An' mama, daddy... myself...

"I- I uh,"

Jeff's mouth hung open briefly as he tried to organise his thoughts, formulate his words in a way that won't cause his best friend- his only friend- to run off. He knew it was an uphill battle, but before he knew it, words spilled free from his tongue, desperate to pull the suffocating weight of guilt that's been festering, rotting inside him, off of his chest.

"When daddy took me huntin'– you weren't 'round here then, I was eight– I helped him hunt squirrels, had to hold 'em.

"He gave me one, a- an' I held it's limp lil' body in my lil' hands..."

The long, pale fingers that rested over Toby's shoulder flexed involuntary, squeezing the other boy's shoulder.

"I- It was..." Jeff paused, and he pulled in a shuddering breath. "I... I wanted ta crush it's head, hear it's skull crack open in my palms, feel the shards poke outta it's skin, and–"

"B- But did you do it?"

Jeff blinked.

Slowly, he turned to face the shorter teen, and after what felt like an entire lifetime, blue eyes finally met brown.

"Wha–"

"D- did you do it," He asked again, firmer this time.

"Fuck no! I wouldn't–"

"And w- would you hurt m- m- me? How about Liu? Your mo- mom? Dad?"

Jeff pressed his lips into a thin line.

An eye twitched before Toby simply raised a brow in response.

"I..." Jeff sighed. "N... No,"

"Then there's noth- nothing t- t- to worry abou- about."

"Tobes, I just told you I've thought about hurtin' you."

"And I knew you si- since I was– what? T- t- ten?" Toby broke his gaze and huffed out a laugh. "Jeff, you're not gonna hu- hurt me."

Jeff studied his best friend's face with furrowed brows as Toby's words settled between them. Despite the weight of Jeff's confession and the uneasiness even he felt at the mere thought alone, as the gentle brush of an afternoon wind ruffled brunette locks over his freckled cheeks, Toby met Jeff's gaze from the corner of his eyes and smiled.

"You're..." Jeff's mouth hung open briefly, eyes flickering to the floor. "Toby, you're so fuckin' weird."

"Yeah, yeah, sh- shut up, you've alr– already t- t- told me before." He huffed, leaning back against Jeff's arms over his shoulder, "Now q- quit the sad sh- shit. You're not a– a bad per- person, alright?"

"I'm..." Jeff sucked in a shuddering breath and held it. "I'm not... a bad person."

"See?" Toby's smile split into a full grin this time, revealing bucked teeth. "N- Now c'mon, I've guh- gotta keep telling you about how much o- of a piece of- piece of shit R- Richardson was e- earlier."

Jeff rolled his eyes, and as his own lips curved upwards into a small, unconscious smile, he held the shorter teen just a bit closer to his side, his cigarette forgotten between his own two fingers.

"Alright, what'd he do now?"

It was as if nothing happened. Toby still talked as if Jeff hadn't just admitted to thinking about hurting him. Hell, he shut it down quick and made him admit- accept that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as bad of a person as he had first thought.

He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Toby's words were only a bandage over an infected wound, that those thoughts aren't going to come up any less or get any better, any less disturbing. But with how he had talked- how he had believed in what he said so easily and with such nonchalance, even Jeff was swayed, willing to forgive even himself for even daring to think about hurting someone good, hurting someone like Toby.

It was just the two of them on that roof that one, cool afternoon, chattering away as the sounds of the surrounding town blurred around them. Jeff had never felt this light, not for as long as he could remember, and as he revelled in the easy flow of their conversation, unburdened by the guilt that would usually taint these small moments, he wanted to hold this one close.

A time where he bore his damned and accursed soul, and how a weird, freckled teen accepted him, all of him.

It was just the two of them on that roof.

Jeff, Toby,

And smoke.

He could still smell it.

It wrapped around his throat, clogging his lungs.

Jeff watched the burning visage of his own home, transfixed from it's front walkway. It illuminated the surrounding streets in a warm glow amidst the dark backdrop of night, and his skin burned with an unrepentant itch, nerves still alight as raw muscle and reddened skin were exposed to the cool evening air.

Whatever dragged itself out of the Woods' home- out of hell, wasn't Jeffery Woods. No, he wouldn't consider himself that, not anymore.

Whatever was left of that troubled teen died in the fires of that house alongside his parents, leaving the charred, burned remains of a deep, primal anger in disfigured, human flesh to watch as the place he once called home steadily burned in it's funeral pyre.

He knew who did this.

And as he pulled himself up, the small movement forcing a sharp gasp from his damaged throat, Jeff knew now for a fact that he wasn't a good person as he moved down the street towards three, distinct houses, fueled by an adrenaline and an anger that burned brighter than the flames he's limping away from.

May God save his soul.

And may his best friend- wherever he is- forgive him for what he's about to do

[laurfilijames]

Happy Birthday, Darlin'

Pairing: Jax Teller x female reader

Words: 4,014

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Smoking. Mild descriptions of cuts and blood. Mentions of fighting. Unprotected intercourse. Slight asphyxiation. Some insecurities about Jax and his habits.

Summary: It's your birthday, and while Jax is pressed to make it to you in time to celebrate, he makes sure all your wishes come true.

A/N: Happy Birthday to ME 🥳 yes, I'm that bitch who wrote herself a birthday fic because I can. I've been dying to write for Jax for so long and thought this would be a fun way to get a feel for writing his character. If my writing wasn't self-indulgent before, it definitely is now.

This takes place after Season 2 Ep 12 The Culling where the Sons fight The League/Zobelle's guys because I just found Jax to be wildly sexy in that scene (but also when isn't he?)

---

The night air was cool on his face as he ripped as quickly as he could down the quiet, country roads back into town, easily shifting into fourth gear knowing every cop in Charming would be responding to where he just fled from and not having to worry about being pulled over for his excessive speed.

Jax knew he was pushing it for time - your birthday over in just less than two hours - so with a reminder of his bruised and bloodied knuckles, he twisted the throttle and opened up his Harley even more in order to get to you faster.

With a smile on his face at knowing your neighbours already complained about his presence on your street, he let open again on the straight section of road about half a mile from your house, hoping you and everyone else would now be fully aware of his arrival.

The fight with Zobelle’s gang already had him fired up, but not nearly as much as getting to see you did, and as he pulled into your driveway, his buzzing fury changed into a different kind of energy entirely.

Taking one last haul on the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he blew out the smoke and tossed it onto the asphalt, stepping on it with a twist of his dusty shoe as he unbuckled his helmet.

Jax glanced up to see the dim, warm light of a lamp in your living room, smiling to himself again that you were still awake and no doubt waiting for him as he took his backpack off his shoulders and unzipped the main compartment.

Relieved the box didn't get smushed, he pulled out the still perfectly preserved cupcake and dug in his pocket for the single candle he stuck in there earlier, bringing his lighter out with it along with another cigarette.

He placed the fresh smoke between his lips, not paying any attention to the cut stinging on his lip where it rested, focusing on sticking the candle in the center of the cupcake and lighting it. With the pink candle set ablaze, he brought his lighter to the end of the cigarette and inhaled as it burned the paper, shoving the Zippo back in the inside pocket of his cut before carefully making his way up the steps to your front door with his free hand blocking any wind made by walking from blowing out the tiny flame.

He grunted quietly to himself when he knocked on the door, his hand more sore than he thought it was after punching Weston's face in so many times, muttering to himself when he realized he was getting blood on the side of the cupcake from a split on his other hand.

"Ahh, shit," he sighed, knowing he didn't have enough time to try to clean anything up when he heard your footsteps coming to answer. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and quickly forced the smoke out with a deep blow, waving his hand so it wouldn't be in your face when you opened the door.

An automatic smile formed on his lips as soon as he laid eyes on you, leaning against the doorway in nothing but your panties and his white reaper crew t-shirt that he left the last time he was over, his voice hoarse as he started singing.

"Happy birthday to you," he began, taking a step through the entrance. "Happy birthday to you," he continued, getting right close to you until your faces were inches from each other, his eyes flickering over your shy, but happy features as his gesture made you flush all over.

"Happy birthday, darlin'. Make a wish."

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, looking from his intensely blue eyes down to the candle in front of you, and blew it out.

"What'd you wish for?"

"I'm not supposed to tell, Jax."

He smirked, leaning even closer to you so his lips were hovering over yours, "Then I'll have to guess."

His kiss tasted like smoke, but you didn't care, craving the nicotine that transferred from his mouth to yours like you were addicted to the habit itself, deepening the kiss by arching into him as if you were never able to get enough.

Jax walked forward, guiding you further into your house, the sound of the door closing lost on both of you as he kicked it shut behind him and eventually broke your kiss.

"I didn't think I was going to get to see you today," you whispered, your lids heavy with lust when you looked up at him.

"Yeah, well, I skipped out early to come give my girl her gift." He held up the cupcake and let you take it from his hand, watching your expression change to confusion as you noticed the blood stained on the side of it.

"Is that your blood?"

"50/50 chance," he laughed, swiping his finger through the icing before licking it clean.

“Should I even ask?”

“Probably not.”

You began taking in the deepening colours of purple and red on his cheek, the cut on his lip and the ones that flawed his hands, the concern you felt taking away from the joy in having him there.

“Is this why you're late?” you questioned, your fingertips ghosting over his cheek and down to his lip.

“So you were expecting me, then," he winked, his smugness always managing to outshine anything else, forcing you to roll your eyes at him.

He kissed you again, plucking the cupcake out of your hand and placing it blindly over on the hall table where you kept your keys and purse, his hands reaching up to cradle your face.

"I should report you for theft, you know," he warned, pausing to take a breath, nodding down at his shirt that hung loosely on your body.

"I think of it more as safe keeping until the owner comes back to claim it," you challenged, your eyebrows raising to show your displeasure in it being too many days that had turned into weeks since he was last here.

"Hey, at least I didn't miss your birthday," he objected, trying his best to defend himself, his head tilted while his eyebrows rose to crease his forehead.

You backed away from him, turning to walk through to the kitchen, looking back over your shoulder.

"And how many other birthday's did you celebrate in the meantime?"

"Oh, come on," he laughed frustratedly, your accusation making him look up at the ceiling. "You know it isn't like that."

You nodded slowly in silent agreement, trying not to let your insecurities and jealousies get the better of you.

He sighed loudly, waiting for a moment before following you, his voice raising slightly to make sure you heard from down the hallway.

"You're the only one I always come back to. The one I want to be inside every night."

Hearing his footsteps coming toward you, you closed your eyes and breathed out, terrified of the hurt he could cause but realizing you were being hurt every time regardless.

His voice was near and softer now that he was in the kitchen with you, making your heart pound faster in your chest even though he seemed so calm.

"You gotta stop pushing me away."

It was safer that way; always keeping him at an arm's length, never wanting to get your heart involved when you knew what he was like and how many beds he ended up in. Jax Teller could have any woman he wanted; more charm in him than all of Charming, a simple crooked grin or nod as he strutted past enough to seal the deal, and not one person could say he wasn't successful in his endeavors.

Despite it all, you wanted him, but kept it casual enough to get a taste of what you needed, having said to both yourself and him on more than one occasion over the years that nothing more would ever happen as long as his habits remained the same, and you weren't about to ask a man like him to change.

He came up to you, his hands holding your waist, his lips peppering across your shoulder and dangerously close to your neck. You closed your eyes again and sighed, relishing in the sensation while praying he didn't do the one thing you always told him not to.

But Jax always did whatever the fuck he wanted.

He kissed up along your neck, making you moan and breathe deeper, trying to keep some sort of resolve.

"Jax, you know my rule," you pleaded, feeling your entire body ignite to his lawlessness.

"Remind me what that is again?" he lied, continuing to kiss and suck your neck, knowing damn well what it was.

You shivered, feeling yourself slipping away and quickly becoming willing to do anything he asked or all the things you really wanted to do; the way he kissed your neck was your kryptonite and weakness and the one thing you always prevented in order to save yourself, fearing you would reveal exactly how you felt about him anytime he lingered there.

"Jax…"

He stopped, grabbing your chin to force you to look at him, his eyes dancing back and forth with yours as he looked at you seriously.

“I'm done playing. I want this," he said pointedly, speaking with surety.

You let go of the breath you were holding, still questioning whether to trust him regardless of how convincing he was right now.

Taking hold of your cheeks again, he smoothed his thumbs back and forth across them, an honesty and pleading present in those clear blues that made you lose yourself every time.

Before you could argue or plead your case, he crashed against you, inhaling deeply like he was trying to suck all the air out of your lungs, his tongue probing deep into your mouth to tangle with yours.

There was no sense in trying to hold back now, done with pretending for as many years as you had, the whine that passed from your mouth to his signaling your surrender.

The metallic taste of blood mixed with tobacco teased your tastebuds with each kiss, increasing your hunger to taste more of him while your body displayed those needs and your hands roamed frantically under his hoodie and the waist of his low-sitting jeans.

The leather of his cut was soft on your fingertips as you ran them along the open panels, feeling Jax’s eagerness increase in his kiss when you peeled it down his arms and placed it carefully on the kitchen chair beside you without looking. He shrugged off his hoodie and white t-shirt while you busied yourself with unfastening his belt and jeans, letting the weight of his knife pull them to the floor without assistance, leaving him standing in his boxers with a cheeky grin on his face.

“You seem pretty happy unwrapping your present.”

“Is this all I get?” you teased, matching his smile and giggling when he picked you up and put you over his shoulder, giving your bum a harsh smack as he started making his way down to your bedroom.

"Come on, birthday girl, let's go make those wishes come true."

A seriousness took over again once you were in your room, what remained of the playfulness exchanged just a minute ago in the kitchen leaving the moment your feet touched the hardwood floor, Jax peering down at you with a look you hadn't seen before.

You'd be lying if you told yourself you weren't absolutely terrified, scared of letting yourself fall even further for him, but the way his expression had softened and his eyes held what you knew had to be love for you in them, you were ready to give in.

“I mean it,” he muttered, one of his hands reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear where you leaned into his touch.

You crashed against him, kissing him hard, the need to have him more fierce than ever and only fueled more by him meeting your enthusiasm equally.

Jax tore his shirt from your body, only pausing in kissing you for long enough to get your head through it, stepping closer to you so your bodies were pressed together, feeling his hard cock nudging against your thighs and then between your legs through his boxers.

More desperate for him now than you thought you had ever been, you tugged his loose-fitting shorts down roughly, your mouth watering as his dick sprung free and bounced temptingly before you took hold of it and began rubbing the silky, veiny skin, his approval of your touch sounding as a low growl from deep in his chest.

"Fuck," he hissed, his mouth close to your ear as he leaned in against you, his hips moving into your strokes.

Finding his focus, he let his fingers hook in your thong to pull it down over your hips, his head angling to meet your mouth with his again as he slipped his fingers in your folds to spread your slick, both of you pressing your mouths against each other's harder as ecstasy quickly took over.

This was normally the time where one of you would frantically reach for a condom, barely keeping it together in time to get it on him as the temptation to go without almost always won, and today it seemed it would. You had always trusted that he wrapped up whenever he was with anyone, and although you were on birth control you were happy not to take any risks, but today was different. You wanted him, and all of him.

Jax walked forward until the back of your legs met your bed, and forcing you to sit, he crawled in over you, his blond hair hanging in your face as you spread out beneath him and he settled between your open legs.

He gave you a once over before meeting your eyes, admiring your perfect form spread and ready for him to ruin, his cheeks flinching as he clenched his jaw while he waited for you to give him the go-ahead.

Your consent was silent as you lifted your head up to capture his lips with yours, his sun-bleached beard scratching over your chin, lifting your hips at the same time so you rubbed yourself over his leaking head.

Jax wasted no more time, driving into you deeply in one push, pausing when he bottomed out to flex his cock inside you. You moaned into him, your hands clawing over the tattoo covering his back, unable to believe how good it felt to have him bare inside you.

Immediately choosing a rhythm that was both slow and hard at the same time, he thrusted in and out and ground against you with perfect precision, sending you close to the edge faster than ever before.

"You feel so fucking good!" he growled, his mouth parting from yours and leaving a string of wet between them, moving his lubricated lips over to your neck where you whined loudly and rocked more into his movements.

"Fuck, Jax!" you cried, knowing you were leaving ten red trails across his pale skin, but feeling the need to claim him as yours.

He was doing the same, sucking at your neck to leave darkened blemishes behind, his tongue alternating where his teeth came out to nip harshly at the tender skin to soothe each bite, his tempo growing erratic as he lost himself in your dripping cunt.

You seemed to only get wetter the more he kissed your neck and fucked you deeply, hitting that sweet spot with his head with each blow, the way you squeezed his girth tightly as he dragged in and out of you making him want to blow it already.

He forced himself to pause, needing to compose himself so he could keep fucking you for as long as he could, not wanting this to be over any time soon. Your whining increased, making him unsure if it was because he was sitting idly inside you or that he was persistent in continuing to kiss your neck all over to the point you had goosebumps littering your skin and you writhing desperately under him. It made him smile, knowing he had such an effect on you, smug in his ability to have you past the point of control and that you were seconds away from admitting something you tried so hard to deny for so long.

If Jax was anybody but the asshole he was he would've said it long ago, but selfishly he wanted to hear it spill from your gorgeous lips first, and he didn't ever go down without a fight.

"Roll over," he demanded, pulling out of you and forcefully grabbing at your leg to help flip you onto your stomach, hooking your knee up to bend at a high angle.

You took your hair in your hand and draped it over one shoulder, exposing the side of it for him to do with what he wanted, making him smirk more that you clearly wanted him there despite what you always said.

The hand that wasn't supporting him on the mattress gripped your cheek and spread you apart, driving his dick in you again torturously slowly, watching your face contort as he stretched you open. Your hands tore at the sheets as you backed yourself into him to push him in further, meeting his hips in slow, rolling motions, that tingling sensation of your building climax quickly returning.

Sex with Jax was always mind-blowing and the best you ever had, but tonight it felt so much better, so much more powerful, and you knew you could never have it any other way again.

He leaned over you to gently kiss your neck, more carefully than before, his efforts in wrecking you focused in his movements even though the feel of his lips on your sensitive skin had you shivering and threatening to come undone just as much.

The scent of your skin was like a drug to him as he breathed deeply, his nose ghosting at your nape and in your hair, dragging him right along with you to a point he would never recover from.

Wrapping a hand around to wedge between you and the bed, he found your clit, rubbing precise circles with his fingertips in the way he always knew made you scream, the thought of feeling you cum on his bare dick making him feel more feral than he ever had.

"Jax, I'm so close- Fuck!" you cried, your breathing growing ragged, your limbs moving recklessly to try to gain momentum on your climax that sat waiting just on the edge, seeking to keep up with his ruthless pounding.

He slowed his pace, adjusting to a speed he knew would have you at his mercy, his fingers pressing onto your swollen bud harder but in more languid strokes. His nose brushed along your neck, his breath fanning out over your dewy skin before he started kissing you again, the way your body tensed beneath him telling him he had you right where he wanted you.

"God, Jax, I love you," you admitted, feeling freed and unashamed in saying what you had feared to the most, your body relaxing into your words and finding the release it sought.

Jax hammered into you, pounding you through your high, his grunts mixing with your shouts of pleasure as you quaked and strangled him tightly.

Giving you no time to recover, he sat back on his heels and lifted you up with him, his cock momentarily slipping from you as you positioned yourself over his lap, allowing him a glimpse of your milky cum that coated it and sent him into a frenzy.

He speared back into you, your pussy sensitive and still tingling from your orgasm, his hand holding you back against his chest and pinching one of your nipples between his fingers to keep you as stimulated as possible.

Reaching up to turn your face to the side so he could kiss you, he rutted up into you brutally, feeling your pussy stretch out over him with each pump, your wetness dripping out to soak his golden pubes.

His kisses turned sloppy, nearing his end, his hand slipping down to hold your throat where he could easily control the amount of air allowed to pass through your windpipe, the knowledge of knowing you trusted him enough to let him do it lighting him up with an intense buzzing.

Before he could give in to that temptation, he let one hand return to your tits that bounced with his thrusts, the other replacing his lips on yours as he pulled your bottom lip down with his thumb and shoved two of his fingers inside. You sucked on them appreciatively, wetting them with your spit thoroughly as he triggered your gag reflex and pinched one of your peaked nipples at the same time, making you moan and clench hard on his dick. Removing them from the heat of your mouth, he trailed them between your breasts and straight down your stomach, landing on your clit where he spread your spit generously and worked to make you cum again.

You ground on him quickly, the increase in your movements sending you through to another climax, the sound of him grunting and panting in your ear as he began to cum encouraging you, but not as much as knowing he was about to fill you up.

He drove up into you harder, his teeth scraping along your neck and up to your cheek where he growled in your ear roughly, "I love you, too, babe."

You came together, feeling his hot spend coat your insides and start to leak out of you as he didn't let up on fucking you, wrecking you harder than he ever had before.

Your body felt weak and charged all at the same time, like you were melting into him but somehow needing more, and sliding off his dick with a quiet moan at the loss of him, you turned around to face him, sitting in his lap where you wrapped your arms and legs around him and held him close, continuing to kiss him with a necessity that was greater than breathing.

Holding your head in his hands, Jax met you with equal fervor, his chest rising and falling sharply against yours as he worked to catch his breath, and slowly guided you to lay down in the sheets with him.

Your legs tangled together, your arms holding and caressing each other with a surety you had never known before, relishing in the after effects of a level of bliss you were positive up until now you were never going to experience.

Slowing your kisses until they stopped, Jax looked at you warmly and flashed you a lazy smile, and you couldn't help but trace your fingertips over the creases beside his mouth and then up to run through his tousled hair.

You felt a slight pang in your chest in knowing he would probably leave soon, needing to see to some duties for the club, always having to run off shortly after his time with you to go deal with something that his loyalties couldn't ignore.

"I don't want today to end," you whispered, not ready to call it quits on your birthday just yet, and especially not ready to let him out of your bed after confessing something so huge.

Jax shifted onto his back, stretching out with a groan to reach for your alarm clock on your nightstand to check the time; 11:51 pm. Following the cord from the back of it into the wall behind the table, he pulled the plug out, watching the screen turn blank before rolling back over to you, his knee wedging between your legs as he settled his weight on top of you.

“Your birthday isn't over yet, darlin', and I'm not going anywhere.”

---

Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls @littlenosoul @blairsanne @glitterypirateduck @momia2910 @maggotzombie @rmwarn90 @paintlavillered

I went ahead and tagged everyone I have written down for my Charlie/Will Miller taglist so my apologies if you're not interested in being tagged in Jax fics and I will happily add or remove anyone as they wish!

[kykyonthemoon]

Hello! May I request a Caleb fanfic (or for all LnD guys if you would like to), where he accidentally raised his voice towards the reader. The reason might be because he was worried for the reader, or other reason you would like to write.

Maybe for context the reader is a strong person but is sensitive when someone raise their voice at them.

If not it's ok, thank you so much!!

Dear Anon-san,

Thank you so much for requesting. I also apologize that I let you wait for some times.

Here's your request. I hope you have a wonderful day, and that we're getting Caleb as a new ML very soon!

His Special Assistance Force

You went to aid Caleb during an attack on Skyhaven, yet he accidentally raised his voice at you.

ಇ.Caleb x F!Reader/MC

ಇ. Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, kiss and make up, really short fic, established relationship.

ಇ.Word count: 808w

ಇ.Masterlist ♡ Request a fic (closed for the time being)

“Did you just yell at me?”

Your hands were clenched into fists as you glanced up at Caleb.

“You yelled at me just now!”

Caleb’s expression, which had been angry just now, softened a little. You took a step back just as he was ready to speak.

You could not stand it when he raised his voice at you.

Long story short, you rushed to find him after learning that Skyhaven had recently been the scene of a significant attack. You realized, of course, that doing so would put you in danger. You were not even assigned there. But you switched places with Tara in order to be transported to Skyhaven, to be close to him.

Yet when you found Caleb in the ruins of the battlefield, he just pushed you away and shouted:

“LEAVE!”

That brought you such uneasy feelings.

“Why are you here? Linkon confirmed to deploy a support team. You… This isn’t your team’s mission, as I've known."

You could see why Caleb reacted that way the moment he saw you in the middle of the chaos. He did not want you there because he was concerned for you. Even so, he did not have to raise his voice.

“I requested to be transferred here. You have no right to send me back!” You tried to suppress the emotions in your heart. You could handle the Wanderers in a flash without fear, but every time someone raised their voice at you, yet you felt extremely upset each time someone yelled at you. Particularly if it was Caleb. 

Caleb gazed at you for a moment. Helpless. He had a cut from shattered glass on his forehead. Blood was all over his arms and neck. No Wanderer remained in this place, although it was not entirely secure. He drew your hand to conceal both of you behind a recently deserted building, his voice was frantic:

“What were you thinking to request to be here? If it’s because of me… To be honest, I don't feel much safer with you around. Don't let your feelings guide your decisions!"

His voice was low, but furious nonetheless. The hand around your wrist was trembling. Blood from the Wanderers and very likely his own was on Caleb's uniform. The entire city was in chaos. The last thing Caleb wanted was to see you here.

But if you were a coward, you would not have switched missions with Tara and come here. You inhaled deeply. The smoke and the smell of blood rushed straight to your nose. You said to Caleb:

“I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere! You must accept it no matter what! I’m not a child anymore, so you don't have to bear the responsibility of protecting me. I want to fight by your side too!”

With that said, you pushed Caleb aside and walked out.

You then took hold of Caleb's arm.

After that, you grabbed Caleb’s arm.

“It's my duty to take the injured to a safe area. You are included! This time, you have to let me help you!”

Caleb could not stop you. He himself was hurt. All he could do was obey you and allow you to escort him out of the danger area.

By nightfall, things had calmed down in Skyhaven. You were sitting in Caleb's place watching the news after a shower. A moment later, he appeared, dressed neatly and with bandages on his wounds. He collapsed on the sofa beside you.

“Are you going to keep your hair damp? You truly have no idea how to take care of yourself first."

Caleb grumbled, but he began drying your hair after removing the towel from around your neck. You just glared at him without saying anything.

"Are you still upset with me, pip-squeak?" Caleb inquired. He drew you in by sliding his hand behind your neck. "I apologize for shouting at you."

You crossed your arms. “Is that all?”

Caleb gave a quiet smile. “I’m sorry for taking your decision lightly,” he replied. “"All I wanted was for you to be safe, but I overlooked something. My pip-squeak has turned into an outstanding Hunter. You’re my special assistance force. Thank you, for coming to my side.”

You gently touched the wound on Caleb's forehead. He wouldn't have had such a difficult time if you had arrived a bit sooner.You were relieved that everything was alright and that you and Caleb could understand each other more.

"But I won't accept an apology if it's just words." You feigned a gloomy expression. "Your one and only special assistance force is a little hungry now."

Caleb laughed, kissed the tip of your nose lightly, then pulled you into his arms.

"To make up for it, I'm going to prepare a supper that includes all of your favorite dishes. How does that sound, pip-squeak?"

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