#it does help to get the thoughts out or they will rot

[bqstqnbruin]

Always the Bridesmaid

I'm interrupting my regularly scheduled programming (again)(please read this series) with a fic that I came up with when I was writing a happy ending for @laurenairay, which, considering that is weird for me, I had to balance out the universe with this fic instead.

This is reader insert and for the most part the reader is gender neutral, but does present societally more feminine (mention of doing their hair and makeup, wearing a dress).

Have fun!

Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, I was mean to Quinn

WC: 5528

______________

You were always told falling in love with someone would take every part of your heart and have you give it to someone else. Falling in love was supposed to be a whirlwind of joy, sadness, anxiety, excitement, fear, happiness, pain, and bliss. Your parents made you believe that loving someone meant your life would change, hopefully for the better, and you would be able to share your life with someone who wasn’t supposed to leave. 

He told you he was taking you out for dinner, to be ready when he got home. You knew you were going to one of the fancier restaurants in town, taking special care to do your hair so not a strand was out of place, do your makeup just the way you liked it, and wearing your favorite outfit that you took the time to steam the wrinkles out of so that you didn’t look like you had spent the entire day rotting on the couch, even though you did.

You knew what he was going to ask.

____________________

“What are you doing right now?” Quinn’s head pokes through your bedroom window, your boyfriend climbing into your room, trying not to laugh as he struggles to bend the right way to make it through without getting hurt.

You turn the page in your book, not bothering to look up. “I’m in the middle of taking over Poland,” you deadpan as he makes his way over to your bed, plopping himself down at your feet. “One day, you’re going to break your leg or something doing that.”

Quinn’s bedroom in your respective family’s lake house’s was opposite yours, allowing the two of you to see what the other was doing whenever the curtains were open. Since you were younger, that was your signal to each other that they could come over. You thought it would involve using the front doors, but Quinn took it as an excuse to truly act like a twelve year old, despite being older than that, and makeshift a ladder from the tree that was right there. 

He grinned at you, leaning against the wall and starting to fiddle with the fringe of the blanket sitting at the foot of your bed. “I want to go do something.”

“We haven’t even been here for seventy two hours and I’m pretty sure you’ve been active for seventy of them.”

“Please,” he whines, leaning over so that his body is parallel with yours. You try to ignore him as you attempt to focus on your book, feeling his eyes practically pierce your shin. “I want to go for a walk.”

“If you can scale the side of this house, I’m sure you can do that just fine.”

“I want company.”

“You have two brothers.”

“They’re asleep.”

“We both know if either of them wanted something from you, they would not hesitate to wake you up.” 

“But I want you to come with me.” You put your bookmark in to save your space, giving him an unimpressed look. “Please? How often do we get to do things where it’s just us?” He takes your hand in his, the calluses on his hands from using his stick in his driveway back home without his gloves surprisingly soothing to you. You roll your eyes, Quinn nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder as you can’t help but smile.

You pull him off the bed, your book all but forgotten, Quinn trailing you like a love-sick puppy.

____________________

You got ready way earlier than you needed to be, anxiously pacing around your apartment you shared with him. You could see him in every corner; it was his apartment first that you had eventually moved into. The furniture was all his, the decorations that were there were chosen by someone he paid rather than the two of you picking it out yourselves like you wanted, even the books in the bookcases weren’t ones you picked; half of them were just for show, those coffee table books on topics you didn’t care about, but looked impressive to those who didn’t know either of you. 

____________________

“This is how you decorate?”

You roll your eyes at him as he flops on your bed. As usual, Quinn was being no help to anything, but it was your first time being with each other since you left for college. “I’m going to be here for a year, why do more?”

“You don’t even have a picture of us in here.” He sits up to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into his lap. He kisses the top of your head, you letting your eyes flutter closed as you exhale against him, curled into his chest.

“My roommate keeps bringing guys back,” you tell him. “Four of them would see a picture of you and ask me to send you their highlights.” Quinn burst out laughing, throwing his head back and sending a shiver through your body. You missed hearing him in person, being with him and being able to touch him. 

You missed him. 

You pull away from him slightly to kiss him, his hands tightening, bunching up your shirt in his fists. Thank god your roommate was away this weekend.

“Leave room for Jesus,” one of your friends barges in, Quinn practically launching you off him. You could feel the heat rush to your face, convinced it was visible from space by the smirk on the intruder's face. “Party tonight at Kappa house.”

You exchange a look with Quinn, trying to get a read on his face before looking back at your friend. “Ok?”

“Are you two coming?”

Quinn shrugs, leaning back on your bed, the hem of his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin that made  your heart race. That stupid smirk on his face told you his answer. “Sure.” 

Your friend squeals, launching into talking about you borrowing clothing, getting ready, making sure all three of you look as fantastic as possible for what was all, apparently, your first college frat party. 

Two hours later, you were in a different room down the hall, pre-gaming, cringing as your friend thrust a shot of rosé wine into your hand, immediately following it up with raspberry vodka. You nearly gagged after downing the combination that never should have existed, looking at the disgusted look on Quinn’s face that mirrored your own. “I wish I never drank that,” he sputters out, sticking his tongue out as if the air around him would get rid of whatever that lingering taste was. 

“I’m never drinking vodka again.”

Quinn shrugs. “You never liked it much anyway.” You look at him for a second, not sure if you were unable to see the connection he was trying to make because you genuinely didn’t know, or if the horrible alcohol was somehow already fogging your brain. “Remember a few summers ago when some of our hockey friends came up to visit? They brought vodka and you hated it.”

“Was that the night I fell asleep in your bed and your parents freaked out when they found us?”

“It was the night you fell asleep in the bathtub with Jack, actually.”

You cringe, biting your bottom lip, wishing that he hadn’t brought that night up. Nothing happened between you and his brother, but it was easy to see why Quinn was annoyed at the sight of the two of you. Actually, you remember telling him nothing happened, because nothing did. So why did he get mad at it? “Why would you bring that up?” 

Quinn shrugs, turning his attention to the group of guys cheering on another as he shotgun a can of beer. “Just made me think of it.” 

____________________

He texted you that he was downstairs, ready to pick you up, just as you agreed he would do that morning. He was late coming back from practice, letting you know that he took the time to get ready at the practice facility so he wouldn’t have to come up and do it. 

You felt yourself exhale, the anxiety in your chest dissipating ever so slightly. Him being downstairs gave you more time before you had to see him.

You didn’t want to see him.

____________________

“I want to see you, though.” 

You roll your eyes, thankful that Quinn called you instead of Facetimed you, knowing he would get upset over your reaction. You were having this conversation for the fifth time now, Quinn begging you to come see him when you told him it wasn’t possible. “I have four exams this week and I have a job interview. I need to be here.” 

“Where’s the job?”

You hesitate for a second, trying to figure out if you should lie or not. “New Jersey.” Quinn doesn’t say anything. “Q?”

“I thought you were applying for jobs here?”

“I am,” you say quickly, “But I need a job after graduation, regardless of where it is. I can’t move to Vancouver if I don’t have a job, too.” 

“I can take care of both of us.” 

You let out a loud sigh, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I don’t want you to have to ‘take care of me,’ Quinn, I can do it myself.” 

“That doesn’t mean you have to.”

“And what happens if we break up?” you snap. “What happens when you and I aren’t together anymore and I have nothing because you controlled everything? I’ll have no job, no experience, nothing to fall back on and I’m screwed.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything for too long, your heartbeat getting faster with every second he was silent. You didn’t know you were afraid of that. “You think we’re going to break up?” he finally asks, his voice barely audible. 

“Quinn,” you start.

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re right. You don’t want to bank on us being together forever.”

“Quinn,” you try again.

“Hey, I have to head to the arena, and you have to study. I’ll talk to you later.” 

The line goes silent before you can say anything else. You check the time, taking into account the time difference. You knew Quinn’s game-day schedule. He still had two more hours before he had to leave. 

____________________

You get downstairs, seeing your boyfriend leaning against his car. He was in a suit, one you hadn’t seen before. He bought a new one for tonight. It fit him well; you could see the curve of every part of his body, every crevice that you knew by heart, everything that was stashed in his pockets outlined. You could see the box in his pant pocket. 

He was looking down at his phone, a lock of his hair falling into his eye without even hearing you coming towards him. That sight of him used to make your heart skip a beat. 

He finally looks up, the grin on his face growing with every step you took towards him. He shoves his phone in his pocket, pulling you in for a kiss. His arms wrapped around you, his lips pressed to yours, you praying he doesn’t notice the slight sweat you felt forming over your entire body. 

He opens the car door for you, running around to get into the driver seat and take you into the city.

“You are gorgeous,” he breathes out, his hand resting on your thigh as he drives.

____________________

You stare at your phone, praying that someone would email you or call you. If you watched your phone enough, you could will them into getting back to you, right?

“You’re next,” your cousin’s hand finds your shoulder, making you jump out of your skin. “God, ok.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, putting your phone down and getting in the makeup chair. The person your cousin hired to do the bridal party makeup was talking to you about what you wanted, you barely paying attention while your mind wandered, trying not to be rude and check your notifications every time your phone screen lit up. 

“What’s with you?”

You look to your left, the makeup artist turning your head back toward them. “I’m supposed to be hearing back from that job,” you tell her.

“So why do you look like you want to throw up?”

You hesitate, a text from Quinn showing up on your screen to let you know that he was almost ready to head to the wedding venue. 

“Because it’s my dream job, but,” your voice trails off. She eyes you, the look on her face burning a hole in the side of your face. “It’s not in Vancouver.”

She nods. “So it’s not near Quinn.” 

“It’s in New Jersey.” 

“Are you going to take it if you get it?”

You exhale. The job was everything you wanted; in the field you studied in college, in a great place where you didn’t have to spend what felt like millions on rent, the people seemed great, the benefits were perfect.

It was just in the wrong country. 

“You know what? You’ve just graduated, we’re getting ready for my wedding, and your boyfriend is out there probably thinking about the day that this is the two of you, instead. Relax.” 

Before you could give an answer, it was time for you to get your hair done, your cousin being whisked away by the photographer to start getting some pictures taken. You didn’t even have an answer. 

Your phone buzzes, another text from Quinn, a new email in your inbox. 

You don’t check it, your thoughts lost in the whirlwind that became getting ready to join your cousin to walk down the aisle to who was supposed to be the love of her life. 

The bridal party ahead of you starts to enter, your cousin behind you pacing while the music continues to play. She calmed you down before when she was the one who was supposed to be anxious. What could you do now? 

You walk forward, the aisle seeming much longer than it did during the rehearsal dinner considering you were now in much higher heels, with makeup that you hoped wasn’t running down your face from the heat you felt. 

You catch Quinn sitting by himself, the smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. 

You felt yourself calm down, all the worries you had melting away as you headed toward the altar. 

You wanted to be walking toward him, to see him waiting for you, ready to tell everyone you cared about that you wanted to be together forever.

The entire wedding went by in a blur, your conscience focused entirely on you picturing yourself with Quinn standing at the altar.

When you finally get the chance to check your phone on the way to the reception, the email notification sits on your screen, unanswered. You open the app, your heart racing. 

‘Good morning, we are pleased to offer you the position…” 

____________________

The two of you fall into mundane conversation once you’re seated. He had asked for a table away from everyone, off to the side where the two of you had privacy, just as the two of you had liked it. You felt awkward being in the middle of any restaurant; he hated having people stare at him because they were sure they knew who he was and spent the entire time gaping at him once they realized who he was.

He asks about your day, about your job. 

You relay to him the events of the day, just as you did every single day the two of you had time to sit down and eat together. It was the same conversation every time, yet he seemed to love to hear about it. 

“I remember when I was excited about this job.”

“Do you still want to quit?” 

____________________

“How do we manage this?” Quinn’s voice comes through your phone, an exasperated plea. 

You hesitate, trying to figure out what to say. “I have no clue,” you admit. “Do we try long distance?”

Quinn sighs, the sound of his car starting up in the background. “We’ve been doing that for the last four years. Do we really want to keep doing it like this?”

Silence comes from you again, this conversation going exactly how you thought it would; neither of you sure what you wanted to do. 

Your dream job made you an offer that you couldn’t refuse. Your boyfriend was on the other side of the continent in another country. You couldn’t do both.

“It’s that or we aren’t together anymore.”

“Are you sure you want to take this job?” Quinn’s voice cuts you off before you can say more.

“Quinn.” 

“Is this job this important to you? Did you try to look for something near here?”

“You know that it is and you know that I did,” you reply, your tone getting defensive. “I’m supposed to be meeting my friends tonight and I still need to get ready,” you lie to him, giving yourself the best out you could. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

You pace around your apartment, pulling up the email chain with the offer letter attached. It was everything you could want. It just wasn’t close enough to the person you wanted. 

You end up falling asleep on your couch, waking up in pain from the angle you somehow thought was comfortable the night before, with someone pounding on the door to be let in. Your phone starts buzzing, your brain barely functioning to register anything other than the time, almost noon.

“I’m coming, calm down,” you rasp, hoping the banging would subside. “Quinn?”

“I can’t have this conversation with you over the phone,” he barges in, pushing past you. 

“How did you get here?” 

“I took the first flight out.” He sits down on the couch you were just asleep on, making no comment of your obviously disheveled state. “We can’t break up. I love you and I don’t want us to break up.” 

You sit down next to him. “I love you, too.”

“Do you want to break up?” he asks, panic in his voice. You study him for a second, knowing that the silence you were giving him wasn’t settling him in any way. He was clearly exhausted; his skin was more pale than normal, his hair poking in every direction possible. The bags under his eyes were darker than you had ever seen him, and you’ve seen him after he pulled an all nighter for a final, running only on energy drinks, french fries, and pure hope that he would pass the exam that morning. 

“I don’t want to,” you start, your voice trailing off. “But, Quinn, this job.”

“Marry me.”

You jolt back. “What?”

“Marry me. Don’t worry about the job. You don’t have to worry about anything. I want to be with you and I know you want to be with me.”

“Quinn,” you scoff, a laugh bubbling into your voice. “We can’t get married.”

____________________

“You could easily find a job somewhere else, though, right? If you wanted to?” he asks.

You nod. “But it was already overwhelming trying to figure everything out when I first started. Do I really want to do that again?”

____________________

“How are you settling in?” Quinn’s question made your heart ache, the first time you’re talking to him since you moved only able to be a few minutes over Facetime. “Has Jack helped you?”

You let out a laugh. “You know he’s only helped eat my food.” Quinn’s laugh matches yours, a tightness in your chest at the sound. “I miss you.”

Quinn lets out a sigh, closing his eyes. “I miss you, too.” Both of you stare at each other in silence for a moment, you looking away to pretend to continue unpacking. You were still trying to find everything in the boxes you hastily packed up, the start date your job provided you only giving you a week to pack and find a new place. Everything was in unlabelled boxes and just thrown together, meaning you were finding multiple pairs of underwear mixed into a box of dishes and books. “I wish we didn’t have to break up.”

You feel a sob creeping up your throat, the same sentiment you had being verbalized by the one person you wished didn’t feel the same. If this were a clean break, everything would be so much easier. If it were a clean break it would be easier to get over and move on. If it were a clean break, then you wouldn’t have what you were sure was a permanent pit in your stomach telling you that this was the wrong choice.

Before you can answer, someone knocks on your door. “Um, I’m gonna go. I think that’s Jack or Luke. They said they were going to come and help today.”

“Tell them to behave.”

You force a smirk through the tears that were brimming in your eyes. “We know they won’t.” You say your goodbyes, the tears finally falling down your cheeks when you open your door. “Oh, Nico,” you sniffle, Jack and Luke’s teammate standing in your doorway without the two boys who were supposed to be there. 

Nico’s brow furrows. “What’s wrong?” he takes a small step towards you, gently resting his hands on your arms. His attempt at comfort sends a shiver through your body, the attempt to hide your physical recoiling at his touch unsuccessful. It wasn’t one of disgust, it was more out of shock. “Sorry.”

“No, no,” you tell him, tugging his sleeve to pull him into your apartment. “I’m just,” you hesitate. Telling an attractive guy that you were crying over your ex seemed like a bad idea. Especially when that ex is the brother of two of this guy's closest friends. “I’m overwhelmed from unpacking.” 

Nico nods, looking around at the mess of boxes that are cluttered in what is supposed to be your living room. “When was the last time you ate?”

You stop and think, checking your phone to see it was closer to dinner than any other normal meal time. “Yesterday?”

  “Come on.” Nico holds out his hand to you, ignoring the uncertain look on your face. “Jack and Luke asked me to come because they’re doing god knows what, and we both know dealing with them when you’re hungry is going to end up with one of them dangling from that window by their sock.”

You can’t help but laugh knowing that you and Quinn have done something like that to Luke when you were younger over the summer. There’s a reason there’s now a small balcony outside Quinn’s window. The thought of you and Quinn makes your heart hurt again, the threat of tears coming back.

“Hey,” Nico’s voice goes soft, pulling you into a hug. You melt into him, the comfort of his cologne making you exhale. “Whatever it is, you’ll be ok.” 

____________________

“Remember that one wedding we went to, one of your college friends?” he reaches across the table to take your hand, his voice shaking as he abruptly changes the subject. He waits for you to nod. “Do you think about what it would be for us to get married?”

As soon as you hear the words starting to form in his mouth, you grab your water with your free hand, gulping it down to give yourself time. “Um, yeah,” you lie.

____________________

“Jack, you fucking idiot,” you scold him, grabbing the napkins and trying to get as much red wine off your white shirt as you could. It’s your fault, really. You’ve known Jack long enough to know how dangerous of a color it is to wear around him. 

“I’ll grab you something to wear,” Nico mumbles, glaring at his teammate. He heads to his room, the base of his neck turning bright red as he walks away. 

Jack looks sorry, giving you a puppy-dog pout that you were all too used to from your childhood. “It was an accident.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter. Nico comes back with a sweatshirt, a Devils logo and the number 13 on the breast for you to throw on while you’re here. He plants a kiss on the side of your head once you pull it on, sitting down next to you. 

The rest of the night passes by, Jack spilling two more drinks all over Nico’s table that made Nico send his teammate home.

You settle in his bed, letting out an exhale as you sink into the soft mattress. Nico comes into his room, your shirt in hand. He tried his best to get the stain out.

“I think it’s a lost cause,” he tells you, tossing the shirt into his hamper. “I’ll see if the cleaners can get it out when I bring my suits in next time.” 

“I know better than to wear white around a Hughes brother,” you joke, Nico climbing in next to you and pulling you close.

You hear him sigh, tucking his arm under his head as he lays down. “Do you still miss him?”

The silence between you two is palpable. You never talk about your past with Quinn, awkwardly dancing around the subject whenever he inevitably gets brought up. You weren’t completely over him, but how could you tell your boyfriend that? You lived here, Quinn was in Vancouver. “I miss my friendship with him.”

It wasn’t totally a lie. Even before you started dating Quinn, he was your best friend. Now, you could barely talk to each other. 

“I get that,” you hear him say, not without you noticing the strangled tone in his voice.

Your phone buzzes, Jack tagging you and Nico in a story from your dinner, captioning it ‘taken moments before disaster (myself) struck.’ You can’t help by laugh, showing Nico the post. He smiles, the two of you taking in the photo. The way Nico looks at you makes your heart flutter. He loves you. You know he does. And you do love him. 

You look at the time, the late hour making you groan. “Ugh, fuck.” 

“What?”

“I’m only going to get, like, three hours of sleep if I want to make it home in time to get ready for work.”

“Why don’t you move in here?” Your head whips to him, feeling a pain in your neck, trying to hide your wince so that Nico doesn’t think you hate his idea. “I mean, you spend more time sleeping here than you do at your actual place.”

“Are you serious?”

Nico smiles, pulling you in for a kiss. “Of course.”

You mirror his smile. “Yeah.”

You eventually fall asleep, an excited feeling about a new chapter in yours and Nico’s relationship keeping you awake. 

When your alarm finally goes off, you let out a groan, Nico stirring beside you as he wakes up with you, despite not needing to. You see a text on your phone, sent not long after you went to bed.

It was from Quinn.

‘Does he at least make you happy?’

____________________

Nico is clearly nervous, his free hand rubbing against his thigh. You can feel the sweat forming on his hand in yours. “We’ve been together for how many years now? Three?” You nod. “I love you.” 

____________________

Every time Vancouver came to play in New Jersey, Ellen and Jim insist on you joining them to watch the game. They think of you like a daughter, despite the hopes of you actually joining their family dwindling down to nothing with every year that passes by with you staying in New Jersey.

Of you staying with Nico rather than Quinn. 

It doesn’t get easier any time you see Quinn. According to a drunken Jack, Quinn still loves you. You know you love Nico, but can you also still have feelings for Quinn? 

The Hughes parents weren’t there yet, you sitting alone as the two teams come out onto the ice for warmups. You see Quinn, the sight of him making your heart skip a beat, even after all these years of falling in love with Nico. He looks like he’s zoning out while skating in a circle around nothing, his stick in both his hands parallel with the ice. You know him well enough to know that this is how way of focusing, reviewing everything he could remember about the game tapes he had spent the last few days studying, as if this weren’t the third time this season he was playing against his brothers.

Against your boyfriend. 

The three brothers meet at center ice, taking a picture as they did before every game, the tradition somehow never losing its magic and never getting skipped over no matter how many meetings the two teams had. You feel your anxiety go up when Nico skates over and joins them, the smile on Nico’s face not being matched in the slightest by Quinn. 

The last time you saw Quinn, it was like you were two strangers who were forced together by accident, rather than being two people who grew up with each other, who knew everything about each other. His sentences and comments to you were short, his eyes never meeting yours.The only thing he said that really mattered to you was him telling you he wasn’t sure he would ever stop loving you.

You didn’t remember how that even came up.You had been talking about the wedding you were in, one of your friends from college getting married a few months before yours and Quinn’s last meeting. Quinn was invited, but, according to Jack, he couldn’t get himself to go once he saw you were in the wedding party. 

Your phone buzzes, a text from your boss. You can’t help but let out a groan, knowing that nothing good could come of him texting you on a Friday night when he knew you were at the game.

You skim the message, hoping that it was something that you could ignore for a few hours until you and Nico got home that night. One word catches your eye, causing you to choke on the sharp breath you took in. 

‘Vancouver’ is right there, your boss telling you that there was an opening in your company’s office there, that you would be perfect for it, that you would get a higher salary, a relocation fee, the company would take care of everything you needed to have you move to Canada.

You would be near Quinn. 

You let your boss know that you would think about it, reminding him that you were out with your friends at the game, just as you told him that morning. He sends back a simple thumbs up, as if that was a good enough reaction to letting you know that your dream job just got better. 

The Hughes finally join you right as the anthems begin, pulling you in for hugs. The game begins, your attention anywhere by the actual game. You were facing the ice, but your mind was back to your phone. During the intermissions, you’re completely anti-social, looking at the application your boss sent you that you would need to fill out. He was right, you were perfect for the job.

The game ends, you heading down with the parents to see the guys, Quinn the first one out. He talks to his parents, you awkwardly standing off to the side. 

He finally acknowledges you when his brothers come out of their locker room.

“So, how are you?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the ground. 

“Good. You?”

“Good. How’s the job?”

“Good,” you let out. “There’s an opening in our Vancouver office,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Quinn’s eyes light up, the smile on his face one that you hadn’t seen from him in a while. It made you smile. “Really? Are you going to take it?”

You sigh, the smile melting from your face. “I’m not sure yet. I would have to move. I would have to figure out Visa’s and everything. I would have to figure out things with,” your voice trails off, both of you knowing what you meant without you saying it. “Nico.”

Your boyfriend appears behind Quinn, a sudden panic coursing through you. You remember the idea of being away from Quinn tearing you apart inside, the thought making you sick. The idea of being away from Nico didn’t have that same effect. 

____________________

“Will you marry me?” He asks, the look on his face hopeful and nervous while he waits for your answer. 

You hesitate, knowing that he was panicking, hating that you made him feel that way. Your phone buzzes with a text from your boss before you can answer, your eyes flicking down to the screen. ‘Still interested in Vancouver?’ You hadn’t told Nico you applied for the job. You told yourself you didn’t want it that much but that it wouldn’t hurt to apply. Seeing Quinn keping coming up in your mind each time you lied to yourself, how you would be back in the same city as him. 

You still love Quinn.

“No.” 

[melankkholy]

ugly little secret(s)

✎ Your cheeks are burning with rose-rotted chagrin. February 2nd, 1998. Leon. 21. Multiply, add, divide, and subtract. Do all the math. The upshot is all the same. Your boyfriend’s terrifying older brother is a fucking porn star. Or... was a porn star. God, does that even matter? 

cw: fem!reader and has she/her pronouns, boyfriend’s brother ouchchch, shameless smut, drinking, cheating, humiliation, he rlly is an asshole therefore a tad ooc, semi-public sex, hair pulling, fingering, biting, ex-porn star (actually camboy but nevermind) leon omg, biting, degradation and praising, facials, oral (male receives) world count: 8k (uhm) tiny note: the second request during a perilous ovulation week, and im quite excited/scared with this one, i did imagine og re4 leon but with remake’s face while writing this cuz og leon’s eyes r scary + i despise making banners and suck big time euugh

Wielding the spare key in your hand, you click a few times on the door, and it slithers automatically open. You make barely a sound since the minute hand and the hour hand have long crossed the midnight horizon. Dragging your bulging overnight bag inside, you step through the door of your boyfriend’s apartment building. A gloomy curtain of secrecy reigns inside. But what’s this? Your boyfriend knew you were on your way. What’s with sending his girlfriend to Coventry now?

Pity, looks like your dreams of getting those welcome hugs and kisses are dashed. Alas, you can’t stop the clock. Unpack your clothes, and you can always give him a call later, let him know you’re home.  

To get things rolling, you hang the key on the coat rack in the foyer and mosey onto the kitchen for a glass of water. When you pull the handle of the fridge open, an abstruse smell filters into your nostrils. It’s not your fragrance and certainly not that of your boyfriend. A shade of a strange skin and other colors ride on the current.  

Oh, he better not be cheating on you.  

Out of dark, dark blues, the lightest nudge on your shoulder from the hands that have been sneaking up on you from behind spooks you. The hairs on your arms stand on end, and thorns effloresce on your skin—the kind of thorns that would cut open your flesh should you skim your fingers over them.  

Your instinct, the one that will perchance drive you to your death, blindly dashes the glass of water in your hand in the face of the man behind you.  

You get an offended and curt grunt of a veto.  

That face bathed in water is actually quite recognizable, albeit a face you don’t see around you very often. The furrow of his brow is sunken, absolutely splotched with indignation—quite irascible.  

Oh?  

Oh.  

Leon.  

Your boyfriend’s big brother.  

What a lovely first impression you made on him. Unfuckingbelievable.  

You think he wouldn’t mind (he would, and he does). Credit where it’s due, the guy is barely in the menage picture; you do see him for a heck of a long time. He’s always off somewhere on a “job,” but you can’t get a sliver of a clue what the hell he’s pulling off as a “job.”. The gist of it is that Leon Kennedy leads a life that would surely inspire a private sleuth—and Leon never holds anyone personally accountable for it.  

Rarely do you catch him cracking a mordant smile, which adds mingy zeros to the myriad percentages of his almost impossible odds. You have to cut him some slack, though, ‘cause he did help you once when you couldn’t get the lid off the pasta sauce.  

“Fuck! Leon, I’m sorry. You’re—I mean—holy shit! You’re so stealthy, I thought you were a burglar.” You excuse yourself with a nebulous mewl.  

A softer flicker of sympathy flits across his face, just duskily.  

“’s fine.”  

You know it’s not fine. You know it perfectly well.  

His words may assure you that it’s okay, but his eyes are definitely looking at you like, “Were you really planning to confront a would-be thief by splashing water in his face?”  

You can’t help but descry how Leon harnesses the same blue as his brother in the circles of his irises—a tint of sapphire that bucks the blues of the rivulets. They are dark too. No adequate translation of this chromatic parallelism.  

For no discernible rhyme or reason, you look around wary to atone for your self-pity, and your eyes wander to the roll of tissue folded atop the kitchen table.  

With a tear of a leaf, you pat the toweling paper into the droplets that trickle down his chin, a bead, or even two.  

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Leon inveighs.  

He’s the kind of person capable of morphing into a scary person when he wants to. Makes you so wired, but he does it so well.  

“What are you, my mother?”  

The damp and tattered lump of paper in your hand falls to the floor, and you raise your hands in midair as if in groveling surrender. No need for much falsification.  

“Of course not!”  

The last time you felt this dejected in your life was in elementary school when your teacher dragged you out to recite a sonnet from fucking Marlow. And you fucked up so bad. Surely now, these nanoseconds are going straight into the collection of your second most cringe-worthy memoirs.  

“So, what’re you doing here?” You clear your throat.  

“Just visiting. Temporarily. Got a flight by tomorrow.”  

There’s your answer.  

But you want to know more. You always do. 

“Uhm. Where’s your brother again?”  

“I dunno. Said he had to deal with some stuff in the office before he left.” Leon brushes at the wetness on the collar of his t-shirt with a napkin petal he rips off afresh.  

“Oh, that makes total sense. He didn’t say anything to me before I got here, y’know. So I thought the house would be empty since I didn’t see him—but you came out of nowhere, and I got all antsy!” You run off at the mouth, rocking on the balls of your feet awkwardly. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Leon hacks your words to pieces all over with a shiv. A tasteless night for you and your speech clumps in your throat, burning your airway so bitterly.  

“Whatever. I’m going out. Gotta change first, all thanks to “someone” pouring water over my fucking head.”  

Allusions and epithets shape his voice into thumbnail knives, and they stab steadily and directly at you. You bleed trickles of mortification.  

He won’t even spare a backward glance at your face.  

He wanders out of the kitchen, and you just sulk after him.  

Eighteen messages you send to your boyfriend, and every time you dial his number, the line rings dead air. Sprawled out on his bed, you try to decompress, but it’s all for naught. Time is repentant to elapse while you’re all alone. Can’t sleep either since you didn’t shy away from drinking a whole cup of coffee. All that has happened to you now is indeed no one else’s but your own fault.

It’s your feet that carry you out of the room again. Inside, it’s colder—there’s one less person and one less blood circulation. Leon must have left, and it’s fairly late.  

What a laugh; it boggles your mind as to why this man is like this and why he would go out at this hour, but perhaps your theorem of him being a crook holds some meed of credence.  

Who cares? To hell with all the Kennedys.  

They’re all rude and... handsome and pretty. Candies for the eyes, so to speak.

On the TV unit, a picture framed with teak wood catches your eyes. A mother, a father, and their two sons. Leon looks younger here. He looks more... puerile and similar to his mommy. Ah, there’s your boyfriend. As for him, he’s a minor character—non sequitur—even through your eyes.  

Just blame it on human nature to curry favor for the better and more pleasant ones. It’s simpler that way.

Quite on the fly, the Kennedy brothers’ cat skitters towards you, a gust of wind coming from your left, from your boyfriend’s bedroom.  

“Oh, gosh! What the hell?”  

Surviving an attack by a cat without a single scratch wasn’t an entry in your mental dossier for this particular evening. What a creepy cat. He reminds you of Leon, to be honest: a grumpy, feral, black cat and quite conniving. A cunt, literally.

You’re fixing your hair properly, but things turn up a notch when you notice that your earring is missing—the one that usually grazes your hair when you push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyebrows spontaneously knit into a rictus frown.  

“Stupid kitty.” You mutter to yourself, and your eyes sweep over the surroundings, looking for anything and everything. And voila! You hit the jackpot. A pair of hoop earrings glint in the corner of the bookcase. You waddle on your knees and reach for your precious bijou. Eyes on the floor, your head tilts a fraction from your preoccupation with the insertion of the clamp into the tiny hole in your earlobe. Then you see a small box. It’s one thing for it to be hidden out of sight, quite another for it to be so incredibly grotesque. A jejune beige-colored corrugated box tucked under the bookcase. On it is a stamped label that reads “1998.” That’s like 6 years ago.  

Curiosity claws at your guts, and the incisal edges of your teeth zing your bottom lip.

But you’ve already opened the grimy, dust- and paper-covered lid of that box.

A box full of some movie cassettes. About ten, possibly more. What the deuce is this?  

It’s hard to pick one out, but somehow you pluck the one that has fallen to the very bottom of the line.  

You insert the deck into the tape recorder’s lizard-like tongue.  

The television comes to fruition with horizontal and vertical lines that weave in and out of the harmony of blues and greens. Butterflies of distress swirl inside you—something is about to rock the boat. You clutch the remote control tightly to your heart.  

February 2, 1998.  

A LITTLE PRE-LAUNCH AND WARM-UP.  

The screen confronts you with a dark display that momentarily startles you with the reflection of your own agitated features. Whoever this director is, he should never direct a battle in the middle of darkness and winter for the next years!  

The screen jerks and shakes some more, lumberingly, and you can see the... thighs of a figure, a man (?).  

Fuck. This is the shot.  

This is the fucking Leon, his face chubbier on the tape; tender, and with the baby fat now minus his chiseled, washed-out cheeks.  

Leon, that very adorable Leon, as in the family portrait, is now sitting there with his considerably big dick in the palm of his hand... pumping the hell out of himself. His hair is darker, brown maybe. And there’s a woman you’ve never seen before, on all fours, sucking on testicles that were probably heavy enough to make mincemeat of the camera if they were to hit against the screen.  

“So—suck—big. Gosh, I love them so much, naughty boy. Just like how I love my men younger but with huge cocks. You gonna fuck me after I suck this pretty dick, pretty boy?”  

She’s talking dirty and smearing Leon’s balls with bright red rouge, sucking and guzzling on his sacks like there’s no tomorrow. God, how’s this even possible? Can she even breathe?  

“Y-yes, ma’am. I’ll give you anything you want,” Leon, in return, stammers amateurishly.  

Everything and everyone is looking at you, with all their obscenity and prurience. Everything on the screen. And you’re staring back at them.  

“Fuck this!”  

A crude tap on the red button of the remote and the screen is the dimness of the night welkin again.  

Your cheeks are burning with rose-rotted chagrin.  

February 2nd, 1998.  

Leon. 21.  

Multiply, add, divide, and subtract. Do all the math.  

The upshot is all the same.  

Your boyfriend’s terrifying older brother is a fucking porn star. Or... was a porn star. God, does that even matter?  

You’re giving yourself a wake-up pinch on the arm. You need to know if this is a dream or if your mind is playing some sick trick on you.  

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.  

Your eyes HAVE witnessed everything. What else can you do but believe them?  

Leon was there; he was in that bed, and between his knees was a woman giving him the head of his dreams. That Leon, proud and awed, whimpering in his gruff voice.  

What the fuck?  

It all makes so much sense if you give yourself a chance to ponder it. It’s psychedelic. So, Leon is obviously someone living his own life on his own, but everything he’s done in the past is just a sliver of time littered with wrongdoings.  

Either that or it isn’t. It may or may not be a flaw to be a porn star. Correction: an ex-porn star. You really don’t know. You’re all over the place, but there’s a voice inside you questioning why this should even concern you in the first place.

Really? What do you care? How is that any of your business? 

Leon’s nothing to you, and you’re nothing to him. He sure as hell despises you, and after your gaffe tonight, it’s a very real likelihood that you’re one of the top three names he’s written in his personal journal of people he holds in contempt.

Your gaze falls on the cat, licking his paws. He stares blankly at you, and you at him. Subsequently, the rattle of keys and the sound of the front door unlocking—you know perfectly well what kind of timbre it grates—jar you out of your haze of apathy. Immediately, you stash the remote in your hand under the cushion on the couch. You never know.  

You sink into the armchair, push the ‘Pandora’s’ box (it sure had some scandalous stuff in it, alright) under the bookcase, and snatch the first book that randomly comes to your hand from the bureau.  

The patter of footsteps coming in matches Leon’s boots. You watch him walk in like a soldier on standby, but sitting down. You are, indeed, the greatest example of how this can even physicalize.  

“You haven’t gone to bed yet?”  

You shake your head no. Won’t breathe a word after everything has happened. He’s very much on the same page.  

The suspense between you is so thick you could hear a pin drop.  

“Felt like reading a book at this hour?” Leon sounds painfully austere. As usual and as he should be.  

“Yeah.” You wave the book in your hand at him. It spells “Twilight.” A pop-culture pulp book that cryptically no one can keep out of their hands, in a macabre sort of way.  

“You’re reading a vampire romance for teenagers? At 4:00 a.m.?”  

“Yes...”  

You keep repeating the same words like a double robot or like a refrain of a nursery rhyme.  

Leon pitches in by keeping schtum. Inwardly, he feels sick ‘cause he has frightened you more or less. He isn’t a complete asshat, sure, but he certainly hasn’t had a very good sense of how he would behave with people he isn’t exactly in rapport with. Until then, and even now, he feels up in the air, especially next to you.  

“Well... I’ll just watch some TV.”  

Oh.  

Oh, hell fuck.  

He said “television,” and you heard it very lucidly.

The television still tuned to the tape recorder, and the very television still screening the tape in its monochrome black frame.  

“Ah! No, Leon. I think it’s totally overkill. It’s so late, right?”  

Here come your eccentricities.  

“Nah, you’re the overkill. I’m bored. I’ll just channel surf and go to bed anyway.”  

“I think you should just go straight to bed, Leon. Look under your eyes. I don’t think purple eye circles flatter you.”  

“Hey, it’s not my fault that the pills ain’t helping.” His razor-sharp eyes are roving to pinpoint the remote. “The pharmacist said Zolpidem does wonders; he raved and gushed about it. Fuck that guy and the other guys beside him.”  

“You do take pills to fall asleep?”  

“I do.”  

“Haven’t you tried taking some... melatonin gummies?” 

Anything to keep the conversation away from the hidden remote.

To your surprise, Leon vacillates in the span of a heartbeat’s whisper. Melatonin hadn’t even dawned on him then, but instead of letting you find out, he’d rather jump off the veranda, thank you very much.  

He prods you a little and digs out the remote control that you placed under the cushion, as if he himself had planted it there.

Oh, boy.

You really need to stop what’s happening and what’s most likely to happen. One way or another, you have to do it, or you’ll be the guilty one here and —  

The damned TV switches on as soon as Leon hits that second button.  

— and you’re the voyeur watching your boyfriend’s brother’s porn videos. It’s now official.  

That’s what you are. Officially, a pervert.  

A blanket of quiescence suffuses the room unless you count the gagging and Leon’s tinny whimpers filtering through the telly.  

Oh, how you need a new epithet right now, one to define infamy and beyond.  

You can’t see what kind of spectrum is delineated on his face. How dare you look at him anyway? How dare he look at your cherry-cheeked face when a twenty-one-year-old Leon’s fucking a milf’s mouth on the display?  

The karmic equation of the situation is so complex that his eyes finally apprehend yours. You can tell how far-fetched it all is without even meeting his perusal.

“I didn’t mean to! I swear I found them under the bookcase.”  

You meander, glaring at the vinyl flooring, a handful of stray words only barely pinging out of your mouth.

“I mean, it’s your fault. Who leaves personal belongings out in the open?” You try again.

Leon is nowhere with you.  

In the room, in all, everything is dead silent. The porn video has fallen dead silent too; there is no other noise punctuating the room than the sound of a clock’s rivets pursuing each other. This must be what dying feels like. Cold, pitch-black darkness and nary a sound. Like a mausoleum, but a mausoleum at 4 o’clock or so.

“And yet you had to butt in.”  

Looks like he’s about to rip you a new one right here and there. Hard not to be flummoxed; all glassy-eyed and mouth agape. Even his glare is chopping the remaining of your exiguous logic.  

“That’s not what it looks like!”  

“Oh, is that so?”  

Written on his face is the projectile vomit of aversion to you. It’s the kind of vitriol that will drive you fifty feet under the ground, and the blues of his eyes aren’t malleable—no azure pinpricks. Asperity in the green, bloodshot eyes.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you didn’t paw at everything you happen to see, huh?”  

It would be really nice. If you had the decency to recognize your boundaries, this would never have had to happen. You’d have remained two virtual strangers, and perhaps you could have dimmed the tingles between your legs for him. That much exposure to porn makes anyone wet; fair play to you. The problem is that you’re soaking wet for your boyfriend’s blood and kin.  

That’s what makes you a wench: your anatomical reaction—if you want to gloss over the obvious.

What the hell is wrong with you?  

“The fuck are you still doing here? You deaf or something?”

His question—equivalent to him banishing you from this place—rocks your whole world to the ground. You may agree with Leon, but you still can’t come up with the flimsiest excuse to stop yourself from hating him. How he refuses to believe you precisely because it’s cheap to write you off as the wanton one.  

You need to do something about it.  

Guts suddenly coursing through your body, you retort, “It’s not like I’m looking forward to being here anyway. What a fucking weird family you have. Christ! Your moron brother cheats on me; I try to ignore it, and when I try to do something to clear my head, I see a porn video of the man who will be my brother-in-law.” 

Oh. Ouch. Now you have done it.  

That felt so good. The ultimate and only panacea: spewing out the poison that had clogged inside you.  

So much so that even Leon finds himself reeling. The feeling of being enough to sway him— however, fleetingly—gives you a strange sense of vindication.  

“You give him the ring. I’m done with any of this.”  

You fling the ring aside and it thuds down on the floor.  

Indubitably, you slam the door stormily before you leave. Just like a movie scene. It’s overly melodramatic, but it must be executed. (Note: you’ll probably throw up in the toilet when you remember the antics you’ve just carried out).  

After that night of odium; you now avoid any place in your daily life where you ever read the acronym “Kennedy.” Conversely, you cast withering glares at people’s mouths before the birth of anything that begins with the L-word. The stakes are alpine.

Over and over, your now ex-boyfriend texted and paged you, and you didn’t return a single one of them. As if you didn’t walk in on him with the girl in the office—time and again—on the desk, his ugly hand and zaftig fingers under the girl’s pencil skirt. You weren’t born yesterday, and while your ex was snoring his ass off to sleep, you were engrossed in reading his texts to other blonde girls with small tits and waists.  

All those nights when you went into the living room and read Fur Coat Madonna under the dim lamp as if nothing had actually changed.

You had only one simple answer for why you put up with it: sublimity. You lusted after money; you had a yen for power and glory.  

A grounded family—the Kennedys were what you were looking for. Young and adolescent girls, young Americans, loved the handsome, blond men and their pretty eyes. To be one of their girlfriends—they’d murder someone or start a cult even, really.  

Luckily, your father’s pedigree and the blood that runs through your veins qualified you as a golden plum. Although you’ve always gotten your eye on Leon, unfortunately, the better Kennedy wasn’t up for grabs.  

Not only is (or was) he a porn star, but the fact that no one has ever heard of him only serves to raise huge fishy questions about what kind of a cover story is playing out behind the screen.  

Whatever.  

You’re off to Italy and ready to drink the stress away. Drama-free and only the blue sea of the alluring Mediterranean.  

Who doesn’t like a warm Sicilian starry night?  

After a lap in the pool, you climb up the pool ladder and dry the excess water from the tufts of your hair with a towel while unintentionally eavesdropping on the chatter of the two girls working at the minibar. They’re right behind you.  

Excitement and bustle are at their peak; one of them is showing the other something on her phone. Slowly, you make your way towards them.  

“Girl, it looks sooo fine—he’s, like, sooo fine.”  

The staff speak Italian amongst themselves, and you struggle to translate their words by hearsay against your moribund Italian language background.

“Are you kidding? You can’t even sit on it. It’s so big.”  

“I’d happily sit on it,” the other girl says (presumably). “Look at the tip... just tie a ribbon on it. Awwh.”  

This is so... hocus-pocus. They say, “Nastro something something something.”  

Doesn’t that equate to a ribbon?

It’ll set your head on fire if you mull it over any longer. You could do well with a cold drink and mayhaps find a hot Italian tutor.  

The girls won’t even hear you approaching. What’s the deal with all this? Because this is getting overly gelastic.  

“Ahem.” You bitch up. You’re good at that.  

One of your girls nearly drops her phone, and the other one smiles sweetly at you as an amends for her friend’s indignities.

“Signora! Good evening to you. The usual again?” Her Italian accent makes it even funnier.  

“Yep. Gimlet, please.”

“Coming right up!”  

Strapping the thin sarong around your hips, you settle on the stool and wait for your order.  

“White Russian,” a voice next to you pipes up. You know that voice all too well. Oh, and the puff of his whispery perfume—something sandalwood or cedar.  

“Buona notte, sweetheart.”  

That autocratic sass and gruff. Your stomach lurches.

Fuckfuckfuck.  

“What the hell are you doing here, Leon?”  

“Surprise, surprise.”  

Sarcasticity and irreverence read like the trappings of the only emotion in his bones, and that makes you feel ill at ease. The degree of clownishness of the look you get when you glance over your shoulder at him is simply gobsmacking.  

“What are those glasses?”  

In the darkness at the ninth of the night, his Wayfarer sunglasses portray a very unhinged vignette.

“My new style. Y’like it?”  

“No.” You huff out, “your head looks bigger, and your forehead is awfully wide with them.”  

That’s beyond cruel, but you do what you do; you tell him the truth. Leon, in regards, opens his mouth to make you eat the humble pie, but the bartender chimes in and plops your freshly poured cocktails in front of the two of you. No sooner is she out of the way than Leon skulks over, and his whisper, drifting closer to your ear, forebodes fiasco.  

“I know what you’re doing. Don’t you dare divert the subject.”  

Now what the fuck is this? Why is he rambling on like a riddle and serving no purpose other than to vex you?  

In one swift guzzle, Leon swallows all the velvety liquid in the old-fashioned glass, the movement of his Adam’s apple a downward slide as the liquor coils up his parched throat; it all goes down smooth and fulminates his insides.  

Show off.

You’re not into that.  

“Look. I told you I’m done with you and your stupid sibling after that night,” you clarify in a more affable tone, but Leon shows no interest in humoring you.  

“Believe me, I thought so too.”  

“So then why are you here?”  

Leon first downplays his eyes at this question, and then you can trace an aweless grin on his face again—ablaze with the glow of the clinquant candles stacked on the counter.  

“This is my hometown, y’know.”  

A strange turmoil to explore, to espy how much his facial expressions play for the first time since you’ve come to know him. Turns out he can be pretty silly when he wants to be an Italian. 

But maybe you’ve pissed him off too much, so he grabs you by the arm uncouthly and steers you nearer to a not-so-appropriate vantage point. Nose to nose and lips to lips.  

Up close, he’s much comelier, indescribably so. Freckles dotting along the bridge of his nose and his kissable, aflush lips. He looks like a breeze in the summer, and you adore the aestival fire flowers.

Be sure to ask him about his skincare routine after this carousel still.

“You uploaded my videos on this fucking website, didn’t you, you little backstabbing bitch?”

Stop, stop, stop, stop. Stop the tape, the recording, and everything.

What.was.that?

Your face is veiled in an acidic visage. Now the cat’s out of the bag, and it’s clear why he’s walking around like a super spy with these goofy shades on.  

“I didn’t release your videos or shit. You see, I’m in my own business, and having the best vacay in the world,” you pull your arm free, and his hand falls idle, “only for you to come and fuck it all up. So, congratulations, you’ve ruined my whole vacation.”  

“Do you take me for an oaf?”  

Actually, yes. In your judgment, he’s the flesh-and-blood manifestation of the idiocy.  

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Do not say it aloud.  

“Think this is a wiiild coincidence how my fucking clips have been all over the internet since that night?” Leon demands again. He wants some answers.  

“I told you I didn’t do it.”  

Leon certainly isn’t taking your word for it. He scoffs and pilfers your margarita glass. Fucker is drinking your cocktail while he’s looking you in the eyes. This only drives you to a point of an afflictive angst, and you once again seek to justify the circumstances. Just one last time.  

“I mean it!”  

That’s a very... plausible interpretation.  

The abyss of blue in his eyes behind his sunglasses knocks you sideways. You can’t do anything about it.  

“Remind me again why I should believe you?”  

Finally, he says something, and something cold, something roseate, drizzles into your heart.  

“Uhh,” you falter and make a pseudo moue, “listen to your gut and your heart. I think... yes. Trust me when I’m telling the truth, my good friend. All hail to the power of friendship!”  

For every second you waste sitting with Leon, you unconsciously lose your conversational and persuasive faculties. Not a good rapport; you feel like a psychopath with a double personality and so forth.  

What you look like to Leon is a guileful suck-up at best.  

He pities you, but perhaps his heart melts too. You leave a strangeness on Leon’s tongue like the mysteries and absurdities of the Bermuda Triangle when you two come together. Funny how he knows what you taste like without tasting you.

Does that make sense?  

Cute, he thinks; you don’t even attempt to slut-shame him for his past. He wants to believe you’re in the clear, but he can’t resist giving you a little piece of his mind. For now. At least until Hunnigan figures out whose name put that spectacular viral video of Leon’s dick on the Internet.  

“So? Are we still friends?” You rhetorically ask, just to be sure for once.  

“No,” he says tersely, forthrightly even. Shithead. “Just gotta make sure you really didn’t do it.”  

Call it a hunch or the sixth sense, Leon knows you didn’t upload that one particular video. Hunnigan was quick to take care of the matter to expunge the videotape from the entire history of the internet. A few people may have seen what they could see, but America has more substantive matters to settle. All Leon needs here is a little dalliance with you.

In antagonism to his ambitions, you barely have time for an inauguration, much less a speck of free time for him.  

Hence you stand up, all the more assertively. Not that he hates it; he likes the little attitude and mannerisms you’re giving.  

“Sounds like it’s your problem.”  

You want to show off, but your aptitude in this field does not know the right vernacular. You suck at flirting, and you really want to leave.  

“I’m still mad at you. You need to make it up for me,” he echoes your words without spoiling his deportment.  

“Like I said, your problem,” you give him a goodbye wave, “Good night and have sweet dreams.”  

You part ways if only for a season. As far as Leon is concerned, you’re still on the list of suspects, and it’s something that he definitely needs to tackle, but for the time being, he has to recede from the spotlight for his very reputation.  

Let the sting of that scandalous video subside so that people can find something else to talk about and forget it for the next episode of something more debauched.  

Not always do people associate a former porn star with a government agent. It’s a very tongue-in-cheek deal, but Leon never knew how to stay on the good side with his father, and he grew up as an incorrigible kid, so his father cut him off from his money.  

Since his college tuition wouldn’t pay for itself unless someone like the fairy who helped Cinderella came alive, Leon ended up working for a crummy company as a last-ditch effort. He hit his twenty-one, and he found himself sucking a pussy in front of the cameras like his life depended on it.  

A five-month-long process and a timetable that would greatly tarnish his morality. That stuff was too damn much for his little heart. Better to do it as a “camboy” for the sake of monetization later on—the die was cast.  

Then Raccoon City kicked in, and things spiraled out of control for him. For a while, Leon went into a period of estrangement from everything he’d ever known.  

Until then, you showed up—out of the blue—and gave him another flashback of his odious past on that stupid TV screen.  

Doesn’t that give him the right to blame you? It’s more than enough.

Keeping a “close” eye on you is just another one of his foibles. Not something he had planned, and it’s certainly not healthy. On Leon’s behalf, touching base with Hunnigan and asking about your whereabouts doesn’t sit well with him. Something inside him kept reheating and reheating like a leftover meal from last night that what he was doing felt wrong but also that it was necessary.

He scarcely had a week off work, but to spend it with following you around gives him a perverse pleasure.

Now, he’s simply addicted to his own suffering.  

In such wise, he follows you, deep sea and cross-ocean, dark doom and curious. Italy to America, America to Canada, and America again.  

The crossing of your paths is just as “serendipitous”.

One night, as you are about to ask the bartender to do a refill on your hideously strong scotch, you coincidentally make eye contact with the guy sitting one seat away from you.

The classic sets of blue eyes. He’s in the distance and observes you from afar—it’s like a summons to his company. Can’t really blame his eyes—they’re the only interesting thing to look at around.  

It’s Leon.  

You’d say a “hi” or “hey”. It’s no big deal, and you like your friends.  

Only you’re chickening out, and he’s not your friend; besides, peeping at your boyfriend’s brother (well, ex-boyfriend) and letting him do the same to you might not be your proudest moment. 

Since you’re absolutely determined not to join him, Leon himself stands up and puts his glass on the bar. He slides onto the stool next to you—under his breath that smells of minty chewing gum—and gives what appears to be a frazzled sigh.

“Does it ever grace you, ignoring me like that?” He tuts you.  

“Maybe I just wanted to be alone.” You smile back, biting back the acute inclination to roll your eyes, feeling the liquor sizzle in your throat as you take a big throatful.  

“Hm. Copy that.” Leon leans back a little, studying—no—appraising you. Hard not to flounder under the rapt fixation of his glance, as it lingers on your eyes for half a second too long, and it’s almost as if you’re the only thing he pays any mind to in the room.  

Shit. Is it working?  

It’s working.  

For every second that washes away between you, he looks even better in your eyes. You could swear there’s a spell cast on his eyes, inveigling you in. It’s abysmal; he’s abysmal.  

“I don’t believe you.”  

“When the hell have you ever believed me anyway?” You tip back the rest of your pint.  

Oh, he hears you loud and clear. Leon knows more or less what it is that you’re being so uptight about. In the back of his mind, he recognizes how bitter he’s been with you and that you do deserve a quick mea culpa.

“I’ve always been a supporter of you. You just got me mixed up, beautiful.”  

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Your own choice of wording doesn’t even speak for itself. It’s equally fatuous to expect that you did manage to convince him.  

“Wrong again. You didn’t get up and walk away. You would have gladly done it if you wanted to. Hell, you’d be bitching about me sitting next to you in the first place.”  

In spite of your inner voice begging you to abscond and save yourself, your body is pertinaciously attached to that stool, and you loathe to tell him he’s absolutely justified. This is why you fall quiet, and Leon loves it, not in secret but overtly and nakedly.  

“I’m going back to the States tomorrow.” You launch your escape plan. He was interested in you before, but seeing how well you adhere to the dignity you are trying to manifest, he itches to get close to you, to touch you, and feel you. To take away that “good girl” pretense. Stripping you naked like rose petals is just a prelude to the ritual.  

“Can’t you stay with me a little longer?”  

“You don’t understand, Leon. The flight’s so early. I need some sleep.”  

Excuses, excuses.  

“Aww, shame,” he wittingly leaves a white and an electrically charged void between his question and his amative suggestion, “I can think of a few more things I’d like to do with you, you see.”  

“Oh, can you?”  

Pretend you’re not impressed, cold, cold, rude.  

“Yeah,” he sings, smiling affably down at you, “all I’m asking if you wanna fuck. With me.”  

“With... you?  

Something about this guy makes you almost feel like a chaste virgin. Almost. Certainly, he would coax you and actually say that, judging from the type of background material (his... given career) you’ve amassed, he doesn’t exactly give you the overall illusion that he’s the type to play on the matters. That’s the picture you’re reading. Must be an old habit of his: talking dirty and saying what he wants so bluntly without a backward second thought. Even so, you gape at him—allegorically and disconcertingly attuned to the proximity between your very bodies.  

He idly swishes the dregs of the liquor and ice cubes left in his glass. Under the bar, you two are perilously close, his knee cradling your thigh, drawing a mucronate intake of gasp from you.  

“With me.”  

Leon dips his head, drinking in the authentic scent of the perfume you’ve painstakingly sprung on the right side of your neck. Against him, you recline slightly, your head inclining upwards to make space for his teeth to bruise your neck. Leon, against your better judgment, recoils to the side. You let out a soft oh? under your breath. Motherfucker. It’s a suit of an absolute assholery not to deliver what you want the most when you need it the most—the very thing Leon would do.  

“I’m still waiting for an answer here. Say the word and I’m all yours.”  

He’s already dead set on you, all along, from the moment he had you in his sights, but what he really wants to see on your pretty face is the certain voracity that he’s felt for you. For Leon, it’s the most sublime mirage he’ll ever have, to see his girl like that and in that shape.  

“Do I want to... what?”  

“Me. Do you want me?” Leon elaborates on your words for you. He can be generous like that.  

Just as generous when he kisses you in the bathroom of a dive bar. Kisses you filthy, tongue-fucking your mouth in perfect rhythm with the pumping of his two fingers inside your weeping pussy. You bleed on his fingers, and Leon scissors them inside you while he mouths indecorous things in your mouth and grinds the heel of his palm against your little clit.  

Shame he doesn’t take the time to pledge to make you cum on his digits, plus there’s no subtlety in his gesture as he pushes you against the cold, cold tiles. Not that you’d expect this kind of affection from him. By now you’ve undoubtedly deciphered the sort of man he is, but the way he shows off as he licks your arousal, glistening on his fingertips, is just as inexplicable. It’s the thing you can’t figure out, and it has the effect of numbing you with a groan through gritted teeth.

Tugging at your skirt and ruching it up until it’s a waistband—and that’s the crudest of the crudities. Leaves you homesick for his caresses and kisses.  

“Look at you.”  

Out of the question, just like how your panties are out of the picture now. You can’t think respectively and look at yourself at the same time.  

Ass out, pussy bare, you let his finger paw at the nylon fabric of your tights, leaving a gaping hole. In other words, he’s ruining you, and you’re acting like you need it.  You need him, indeed.

Leon shudders in the pent-up tightness of the pucker that squeezes around his cock as he slides inside you, shaping your insides along the way as he does so. A string of self-conscious words, of dirty promises praising you, trammel at the base of his sore throat.  

He lurches clumsily to your ass with a hand and leans a little lower to your ear as he takes a lump of puffy flesh, eliciting another fluctuant whimper from your lips, “Arch back for me, beautiful. Jus’ a little so I can fill you all up.”  

Oh, God. You want that. You want it so badly, so you arch back so beautifully. The sugariness of your exhale and his sigh mingle as he slowly melts into you, disappearing inch by inch. Your thighs tremble when you close in at your limits, and you hear him rasping, “That’s it. You’re doing amazing, pretty.”  

Right then and there, you might crash, but the hand ghosting around your waist from behind intones that all is well. Your whimpers and clenching of your pussy, every ounce of praise that ricochets in your ears; he can feel you scorching inside. First and one-night stands are hardly ever this romantic, especially for Leon, for whom this is very much a debut. Despite the arrogance of his conduct as a rule, Leon doesn’t hold any disrespect for the women he fucks, and he doesn’t abate his ministrations to you while you’re so nicely grasping him inside you. He hits slower when he catches you slamming your fist into the ceramic wall with a thump, and he pounds harder when your lovely hands reach for him again; he relishes in how you push your hips into him and drill him raw, trying to fuck yourself on him. Sequentially, he fucks the fleeting kisses on your cervix, lingering and volatile, fingers curled tightly in yours; you’re both tense but reckless.

“Fuck,” is the foul-mouthed note under his breath, and you eagerly savor every second of him filling you until your sublimate wails ring out and bounce off the walls of the private restroom. How embarrassing it is to be so out of it in a lavatory, and how utterly crushing it is that the person fucking you from behind is none other than your ex-boyfriend’s brother. The memories are gnawing at you, but Leon fucks you just well enough to kill the charade once and for all.  

“P—ah—please!” You cry out depravedly.  

It’s just as vertiginous to see those pearly crooked teeth so close, and the bruise biting into your neck is just as narcotizing. A competition, too, and the more moans he pulls out of you, the closer he is to laurels.  

Repel the drive to cram your legs together a little while he grasps your thigh with one hand, holding it up and apart enough to malleate in all the way. His thumb promptly abrades your clit, and with measured rolls of his hips, the tip of his cock tickles lightly over that spongy spot inside you.  

“Leon, m—more. Please.” Your plea transpires in an aquaking objection. You can’t even breathe; it all feels like you’re trapped in a nightmare, and your voice is never enough for crying help. The difference is this is very much of the real life, and he hears you faultlessly. Leon knows what you need from him.  

Moments before you can find yourself coming, as that all-consuming, sweltering heat envelops your body, Leon retracts the hand he has been playing with your greedy clit.  

“Leon, f—fuck you!” Diluting and blinking open your closed eyes, you’re cussing out, and there he is with his hand on your neck, his thumb threading your vein, which is pulsing in a hot red from his previous bite. Soothing? You really don’t think so. He just likes to feel you up.  

“See what a fucking sight you have become,” he coos, bent on shaming you into decorum. Angling your head with a thumb under your chin, he entombs you below his jaw, his bicep enfolding your face securely. In the mirror, it’s you and Leon—winded, debauched. Curse yourself a thousand times inside for not wiping your lipstick. You look like a shitty cosplayer of the Joker; mascara flakes off your eyelashes, and your clothes are beyond reproach. Beside Leon, you look like a girl he fucked in one of those cheesy old porn videos you’ve been snooping around with, and next to you he looks perfectly fine. You, indeed, recreate the ones titled “college slut bends over her classmate and her grades skyrocket, blah blah.” Very aroused and thoroughly fucked.  

“You won’t take any cock that doesn’t carry the Kennedy label, huh, baby?”  

“Leon, God, I need—” You bleat, maybe a notch squeakier, and he automatically tugs you by the back of your neck, braiding your hair in his fingers. You hate it when your eyes mist up, but it’s not hard enough to make you break down in tears, yet it’s hard enough to sever strands of your hair. Ruleful he is, panting puffs of revilement.  

“Hush now,” his voice drifts into your ear with a dash of amusement in it, “You want them to come and find us, pretty? Hmm, that what you want?”  

“Sorry, but please?” You, too, whisper back, and your teeth clatter, blood thin on your tongue.  

“There you go.” Only then does he give you what you want. He reaches out and finds the delicate spot between your thighs, thumbing the pearl of your clit much vigorously.  

A heartfelt pledge of alms from him grants you the right to rest on his shoulder. You cling to his every thrust, and he circles your frayed nerve bundles. How everything can be too much and yet so damned meager is beyond your fathomable comprehension. Your eyes almost roll back to your skull, and Leon is bucking from the sheer pleasure of the bliss of the heat covering his cock, your pussy gushing around him. Blankets him just flawlessly.  

There is no stopping; he pushes you against the wall for another round before you can even get your head in a regular whirl. Who could leave a beautiful girl who takes him so nicely? He certainly won’t let you go, least not until he gets what he wants.  

“On your knees, now.” His teeth bite into his lower lip.  

You can’t make sense of his blunt demands and the words that tumble out of his mouth before you come to your senses.  

“Huh? Now?” You hiss out the melting brain molecules from your brain as you speak.  

“If you want a facial, then turn around and kneel down. Will you?” He asks once more, demanding, choking on his air.  

Hard to believe how you get down on your feeble, wobbly knees, but you come to terms with the fact that you can do anything when you want to. Leon tap-taps the head of his cock against your cheek despite his terrible pull-out klutziness. Glissades in nicely against the pucker of your lips, blurring the color of your flesh into hot whites. Can you imagine how appealing it looks, mouth open and letting him pleasure himself over your knees on the filthy mosaic floor? The dignity you’ve been trying to maintain since you met him is in shambles, making your knees bleed as if they were splintered from a cracked mirror. It should be fine as long as he doesn’t make hash of your hair.  

You do the rest, your hands on your knees, and swipe the tip of your tongue over the flushing head of his half-erect dick. Not too deep since your poor throat is all patchy from moaning like a pornstar, and definitely not too sluggish. Just enough to taste and spruce up the situation.  

“That’s it, good girl, swallow it.”  

Even his minutest words enhearten you more than you already are.  

In the next split second, you pop his cock out of your mouth in the worst kind of graphic sound, and Leon groans only unhesitatingly. He mumbles out something rather nebulous. His moony gaze lands on your moue, and he swears his heart makes a leap in his chest.  

Bloodless blues imbed on your irises, but it’s not for persistent minutes—only for a spell. 

The magic eventually gives up the ghost.  

He simply flicks a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping the salad of chaos off your face. Warmth drips from the corner of your mouth, and Leon dabs it away with his own finger, your fingertips tingling and glued to the corner of the sink so you don’t fall down. Still busy rebounding yourself together, Leon refastens his belt and zips up his fly. He throws the discarded handkerchief in the trash, reaches for your hands, and hoists you to your feet as if you were made of feathers.  

“You okay?” He gives you his casual, day-to-day inquiry, as if what happened seconds ago was nothing extraordinary.  

“Yeah,” you auto-answer, reeling in a groggy daze. Meditatively, you are still recovering. You feel so full that semen is leaking out of your nostril, but it’s only a psychological manifesto, and you look still lovely in this mess written by him.  

“Good.” Leon stows a lock of hair that has fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear. Such a random ploy; hell, even he wasn’t expecting it. No traces of rapt Leon in the flicker of those awkward seconds that pass between you.  

On the contrary, he’s almost unbelievably sweet, kind, and thoughtful.  

Although you went your separate ways after that night, your text messaging phrase (bottom note: sexting) didn’t terminate. He makes you feel like a doltish teenager in high school, and you have to be quite honest: you like it.

So does he.  

Only time will tell—and surprises often have a way of tugging at the heartstrings. You don’t have any idyllic dreams of having a boyfriend, but perhaps you want to shoot new videos with him—the hottest ones—to be his partner in that aspect of the relationship.  

The first thing, and the rule of thumb, is you have to secure his assent. Hopefully, he’ll give you that “yes,” and you’ll be the next rising star because he always says you fuck so prettily. 

[richeeduvie]

✭ UNDOING ✭

PART ONE? // The Sickness That is a Daughter

AN ARCANE FIC: JINX AND SILCO (featuring a Sevika who's actually soft for a hot minute??)

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WORD COUNT: 6.8K

Powder gets very sick, but not sick enough to believe she can't help with every little thing. In his frustrated attempts to convince his ward otherwise, he scares her. Sometimes, the idea that Silco only wants Zaun's respect feels like a fantasy, a lie so tasteful that he almost forgets he likes to be feared.

But not in that moment. Never with her.

(Based on the headcanon that Silco only started to wear makeup to not scare Jinx when she was little Powder. Sorry blog regulars had to pop this one out...probably not gonna write more Arcane stuff but I HAD this idea and I needed to GET IT OUT I'M SORRY LALO AND ROMAN LOVERS…tell me what y’all think tho)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Silco never put much thought into how little Powder would feel about his face. At this point in life, people either ignore it or fear him because of it. Sometimes it's a neutral, sometimes an advantage. He makes do with what Vander gave him. The girl only questioned it once, a couple days after he took her in all those months ago. It'll be...

A year and some already. And how he's weakened so readily. There is no guilt in the way Silco came to accept his feelings for her. His child that has so much fire, sometimes he's so desperate to nurture it, but other times, he just wants to watch it burn. It's alright. He'll never go anywhere.

"...What's with the eye?"

He took it as a moment to be cheeky. It wasn't his first day on earth, he remembers what children become comfortable with. It was just...he didn't know why it came easy, the desire to see her, Powder Blue, almost-daughter of brother betrayal, comfortable with him. But it's how he ended up where he is now. An almost father.

He's not going to deny it for the sake of ego. Like his deepening care for Powder, it's not beneficial for him.

If you are to not consider the blooming of his flamed heart and angry, coiling bones beneficial.

"I fell on my cigar."

Silco played it seriously. Powder stared before she giggled. Her knobby arms splayed out on the table as she rested her chin there.

"Come on, I'm not stupid. No WAY you fell on your cigar. Your eye would stink like shit!"

His lips flattened into the first smile he ever gave her.

"Language."

Silco was already natural in his discipline (although with every downward tilt of Powder's head, he finds every consequence for her actions slipping away), even when the corners of himself flashed Vander over him - through the water, holding him down and down and down. And he didn't feel the need to tell Powder the truth about what happened to him, to hurt Vander's blue-haired...scrawny extension. Looking at her toothy smile meant not even a thought of hurting her like that.

Is this what being a parent is? Having someone you never want hurt in a world of fatal things? Why would he do this to himself? Why doesn't he end up claiming it's so he can hone in on her growing, literally explosive talents? Why is it so obvious that it's growing into a braided bond that's noosed around his neck. He'll accept the hanging.

But now...now she's hurt. Sick, at least. In this moment, with the way he's feeling watching Powder tiny in the bed, sweating -- confused, he almost regrets taking her in at all.

How could he choose to feel like he's going to rot and burn all at once at the first, first sight of her in pain? It feels like his own sickness. Who'd choose to feel like death with your body still upright?

Fathers. Even if Silco doesn't think the word yet.

"Powder, where does it hurt the most?"

Silco doesn't blink as Powder turns her body on her side, somehow curled and stretched all at once. Her little, round and bug-eyed - a face he's become familiar with, twists. The familiarity makes a difference with how he wants this over now. He thinks, at least.

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere. All alright. I suppose we'll work with that. When did you start feeling like this, how long was it before you came into my room and told me you weren't feeling well?"

Powder blinks hard, but up at the ceiling instead of Silco. "I was...my throat was sore in the morning, I thought it was gonna go away. It always used to go away when they could find things to make soup. But then I started to get sweaty...even though its cold. Why is it cold? I wanna pull my hair out."

"Your hair is fine where it is. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Why did you wait until you were at your absolute worst to crawl into my bed and make me feel like death is coming onto me instead?

Silco noticed that this morning, or yesterday's morning, the way there was no natural cheekiness or child-like intensity, a searing fire that is Powder. What a terrible thing that is. The years will come to pass and the man wonders if she can twist all the things that she is, all the things that will happen to her into something of normalcy. He doesn't think that ideal, they're - she, they're fine as is.

"I told you, I thought it was gonna go bye-bye, like how everything goes away."

Powder sniffles. Silco does not move for a dragging moment, just until he reaches out his thin, cold palm to press to her forehead.

She's burning from the inside.

"Not everything, little girl."

Powder mms. Is it a whine of pain, or a whine of annoyance at the idea she's being corrected? Silco wouldn't know at this point. Maybe one day, when the whole of her grows into something fiery, invasive, jerking, something so insanely nerved, and something he'll always want to take care of to the point where Sevika will see it pointless to mention how much of a problem the girl is.

Silco sighs, eyes closed, ears pierced at the sound of Powder's pained whimpers.

"We'll find you a doctor."

"...A what?"

Silco opens his eyes, head tilting. What? "A doctor, Powder. Because you cannot go five minutes without throwing up, and I'm afraid you'll sweat off a pound you can't afford to lose."

"I don't know what that is. I don't want one."

That's when the man runs his thumb over the sweat of her forehead, wading in the thought that...this - is this really the world the children of Zaun grow up in? He knows it's a hell he's trying to maintain, trying to change for the better, for all of them - so he very much knows that its people aren't going to have the best access to easy, decent health, but he wouldn't have thought it so far that Powder and others wouldn't know what a doctor is.

Unfortunately, he hopes it's her sickly delirium, making her believe she doesn't know what a doctor is. But if not, this is why he's doing what he does, so Zaun can thrive.

Powder coughs. It's nearly manic, all in her throat. Silco kisses her forehead. He doesn't know what else to do because he's not a doctor and might as well have taken his injector and placed it over his heart with the way he's feeling at the sight of her right now.

"We'll make you soup."

It'll be nothing, he won't put Powder in a life where she has to hope that her guardians are able to find things to heal her. That's not a life this wild thing deserves.

Powder coughs again, it's heavy.

"And you'll see a doctor. Or, a doctor will see you. They can only make you feel better. Unless you try to bite them like you did Sevika when she came to check on you, then they'll put you down."

A false meanness that can only bring her smile, or at the very least, a whine without pain.

Powder jolts upright.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???"

Silco shushes, it feels like a smile on his tongue.

"I'm fooling you, little girl. But I'm not going to beg you to behave nicely once they come."

"I'll pull their hair out if I can't pull out mine. And don't ever lie again."

Powder's not teasing, it's an order for Silco. And he understands, being lied to is the worst feeling - next to what his heart wears now.

He wouldn't underestimate the child as if she couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"Alright, I'll remind them and myself to be on our best behavior."

Powder, limbs mangled and sickly face hardened, simply ploofs right back into the bed, coughing again. She nuzzles her head into Silco's pillows. It's only him observing how she's coating his bed with her sickness. He's not angry or frustrated, he accepts it like he accepts the noose.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

Silco can't place the exact moment when his ward stopped asking for things and started to take them. He's just aware he's never put much effort into stopping her.

"Am I allowed to say no?"

"No."

He already knew that. Powder didn't ask to sleep in his bed when she crawled into it a few hours ago, he had to realize there was a tiny body tossing and turning in his bed at the sound of terrible coughs and snotty sniffles. Silco wasn't dreaming, so it wasn't as if she was a bother anyway, but since she's grow into his home and life, Powder has found the habit of sleeping at his side when she feels like it.

It crosses a boundary he didn't know was there, but with her nightmares, the bug-eyed little face that walks in against the Zaun's night light...Silco can't deny her.

"You already know how to wear an aura of impose, hm?"

"Of course I do. You should know that already, silly. Don't be silly."

Powder's voice goes high, still child-like in its scratchiness. Silco wears a genuine smile that, although small, is one he can't afford.

"I'll be whatever I want to be and you'll be just fine by tomorrow, or the next day."

If Janna wants peace in this world, Powder will be healthy very soon. Silco will come to hurt the things in front of him, against logic, against morals if it means he can release the pit of what he feels looking at his sick child. But he's not in the wrong.

That's only if she doesn't get better. And she will.

"Don't be silly, silly, silly-"

Powder hacks, Silco smile drops. The way she's spilling her words, there's nothing intentional about it. There isn't the intensity that grows with her in weight and height, it's just...sickness. Sickness growing with every droplet of sweat and clammy glance at him.

"Silly. I'm not silly either-"

"One of our people has been feeding our information to enforcers."

He would've known Sevika was coming down the hall a mile away if it were any other night. He only turns his head, hand resting on Powder's ankle.

"What?"

"Everything went as planned...except for the fact there were about two dozens of those fuckers swarming where the trade was supposed to take place. Your paying customer was trapped, it was hell trying to get to him and fuck, I think he was holding his breath the entire time."

Silco looks to the wall. He feels a tiny but harsh squeeze to his hand on his knee. Sevika stands straight, hand ready to point and fist in her incoming ramble.

"You said Piltover's goons would be one less thing to deal with in terms of trading and building all of this now that we have Marcus's dick choked. I believe it, but there is no possible way that what I had to deal with today was a result of the topside's peachy genius investigation techniques. They had to have gotten a tip, I don't think Marcus has the balls to go against you for the sake of his morals yet."

Silco doesn't make a movement, something natural in an attempt to not reveal what he's thinking.

But he squeezes the tiny, clammy hand over his.

"You sound right. So be right. You'll find out who it is and bring them to me, and you'll get your due for today."

There is a sudden boiling of rage at the idea someone is betraying him. Again, only this time, it'll be so much easier to bring whoever the rat is to justice. So, he won't put so much of his feeling, said rat doesn't deserve his anger. He won't rage in front of Powder.

"We need your...recognizable personality. Some locals took advantage of the situation and stole twenty cases of Shimmer."

"Are you-" Silco stifles his own words. Still, the ability to control his anger in situations like this for Powder hasn't come naturally just yet. "Twenty? The enforcers were the problem. The rat is the problem, but also the fact you can't stop addict gutter trash from thieving our supply?"

"Not gutter trash, Silco. A mid-level gang, you could almost call them an organization."

"Who are you calling gutter trash-"

"Powder, rest."

Sevika shrugs harshly, she might as well act like a child herself and roll her eyes.

"...I'm not calling them gutter trash, that's the whole damn point, kid-"

"She's sick, Sevika."

"Yeah, no shit. She's sicker than before. Her immune system has made her even more of a problem for you, who knew-"

Silco stands. His movement is a as quick as an impulse and his fist is as tight as the way Powder held him the day he found her.

"Sevika, do you forget yourself? When did it become so easy for you to allow yourself excuses. An organization? Oh my. What are we to do but...oh, b-but shiver and crawl into our favorite hiding spaces?" He rolls his shoulders. "Will you continue to lessen your failures by blowing up the egos of our competitors? Or will you do your job and burn them in flame and duty to get back what our networking customers have paid us?"

Sevika stares. Her silence means Silco's harsh, teething words were successful. Productive. As the way of a boss. Her hand drops.

"That's why I need you. You don't think bloodshed was my first thought? It's easy, it gets the job done, but yeah...they're an organization. We get the Shimmer back with blood on our hands and we have the issue of their surviving crew coming after us."

The woman, brown-skinned and harsh-eyed, takes a step or two closer. Silco does not miss the way her sights flicker behind him at Powder's coughing.

No, not coughing.

Rasping. Rattling.

Silco turns to Powder in the bed, sitting back down as quickly as he stood up. His palm engulfs the skin of her cheek.

"Powder, breathe. Cough and breathe. What is wrong?"

"...My throat," The little blue one blinks hard, as if her vision isn't quite there when she doesn't. "My lungs are being silly."

She giggles herself into more rasping. Silco's mouth parts, worry flared at the nose and in the way his usually slicked-back hair falls over. Of course, he doesn't have it gelled in bed. Powder likes to pull on it sometimes when she has sleepy questions concerning dreams or memories. Things that frustrate him in the night, things that are answered with "Why don't you go to bed and figure it out yourself?"

But Silco wants to strangle the feeling at the pit of his chest, the feeling -- the need to make sure she doesn't fall asleep. Why would he not want to her to rest when she's like this?

That's only if something this sickly would make sure she doesn't wake up again, and the thought eats away at me, as if she isn't just a girl I took in only a year ago, my life would go back to what it was before.

"Powder. How about you look at me, hm? What's wrong? Will you tell Silco what's wrong? Powder."

No. No, it wouldn't.

"...We don't have the image or the name right now. You know that, you know we can't just kill whoever we want and expect Zaun to fear to the point of submission. We need time for that. We need to play the waiting game. You go into their spot, make a deal of long-term trading for the twenty cases. They'll see that's a better investment than twenty cases now. We play the submissive for now, and then...we burn them. We burn them when your name grows with whatever empire you fantasize about."

Whatever Sevika's saying, suggesting - Silco knows she's right. It's why she's his number one in his mission, his dream for Zaun. But her plan isn't colored right in his head, it's washed out by the little one. He feels no guilt or frustration over it.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Fine. But not tonight."

He can feel Sevika's eyes widen and body shrug up in her own frustration.

"Not tonight? They could scab all the supply by tomorrow!"

"It doesn't matter how many cases we get back, does it?" It's venom on the man's tongue. He won't regret it later. "We'll be selling it back to them in your plan of long-term tradings and dealings. So yes. Not tonight. Sniff out the rat and go. Before I change my mind just to punish your failings of today."

Silco press the back of his palm to Powder's cheek and forehead. If she was a fire just ten minutes ago, there's a hell inside her now.

She whimpers. He shushes.

"When I tell you she's becoming a problem, half of the time, I don't mean that as an insult to her. And you know that."

Silco does, but he won't admit it to the one-armed woman who does mean it as an insult to Powder the other half of the time.

"If her fever's so high to the point where she can't understand what's being said around her, then we should've gotten a doctor hours ago. But you can let her rest. She's not going to die within the three hours you're gone-"

"Sevika. Do not assume what I'm thinking. It isn't smart. Nor needed."

"I can help."

Somehow - and suddenly, Powder's sitting up. She almost falls over, she would've if Silco didn't hold her by the shoulders. He squeezes them, head coming lower.

She can barely hold her own head up, let alone her whole body.

"We can all go. We don't have to wait for a millionnnn years, Sevika. That's stupid. And I do know what's being talked around me. I know because I can tell you that we can just make em' go.....boom."

He didn't think he'd have to deal with Powder's need to be needed tonight. The vomit, the rotting fear, and the coil of seeing her sick, something going wrong with the deal? Yes, he could handle and assume all those things would be things to deal with, but the little girl's so sick that Silco didn't possibly think she'd manage to bring up her extreme desire to be useful, to have anything to do if it means her guardian trusts her.

He doesn't know when he noticed Powder's need to be needed, but it's trickled into the business end of his life. Always the little girl asking for him to bring her bombs along just in case they're needed, and she's always hoping things get dire enough that they will be.

Maybe his feelings will change later on, but there's nothing much he feels comfortable with having her do. To pick her satisfaction over her safety is something Silco has done on more one occasion, but not tonight.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Powder, you have to rest for when the doctor comes. And what has happened tonight...one day,"

It feels natural, need to lower his head more and press his forehead against hers. Blue against black.

"One day, you'll set every fire that is needed. But not tonight. That doesn't mean your work is put to waste...but you need to rest."

"...No. I can go. I can bring the bombs I showed you, I can-"

"No. You can't. I think you're aware of that, child-"

Even though she's a sickly sixty-pounder, Silco finds it difficult to hold her down by the shoulders when she fights against him.

"No! I can help, I promise! Do you think I'm gonna-I'm gonna ruin everything?!"

"No, Powder. I don't doubt that you can be of use, but you're sick, and we're not going tonight anyhow."

His convincing feels genuine, it feels like a second talent, but Powder doesn't take. She squirms - Silco's nearly thankful Sevika doesn't take this moment to mutter or sigh, his frustration boils with every weak fist his child throws at him.

"You're lying! You think I'm gonna ruin everything!"

"I never said that, who's the liar now? Is it still me? You-"

He exhales low when trying to put her down into the bed. "You need rest. You know everything hurts, you know you can barely get out of my bed. You're not stupid, Powder, so stop pretending you are."

"You're only not going tonight because of me! I'm already ruining it! I don't want to! I promise I don't! I can stop being sick-"

She's right about why Silco has no thought of leaving tonight. Sevika might agree with the child for the first time since she's taken home here.

"Powder. Enough."

Her head jolts suddenly, off to side...as if something on the bed has interrupted her breaking tantrum. It happens sometimes, she'll be talking to him, it's a conversation that's not turning to be an enjoyable one, and then...she'll be looking past him, or behind herself - like someone's shouting her name, as if she can see ghosts.

Who doesn't? But if Silco were to turn back to see whatever Powder's looking at, he always thinks he'll see a monster of hell himself. That's how real Powder's tension comes to when she's like this.

"Shut up! Shut up! I know I am! I'm trying not to! That's why I want to go! Aren't you listening to me?!"

She breaks free from Silco's grasp, pushing her body back into the headboard. It sounds harsh. All so harsh and pained for a girl who shouldn't even be sitting upright.

What she's never done when she's like this is talk. Silco doesn't think she's screaming at him.

"Go away! Get away from us!"

This girl is so much more than he could imagine. It's the worst thing. The best thing. He'll see. It doesn't matter anyhow.

But here, it's the worst. It's Powder terrified and rageful at whatever's colored the room, whatever she can only see. He can admit it. He doesn't have the faintest idea of what to do. But he needs to see her stop screaming, stop acting like she's in pain.

His heart can't handle it.

"You know what? I'll call a doctor."

Sevika's off in quick, heavy footsteps. Silco runs his hand through his hair, standing up and over Powder.

"Powder. That's enough. Whatever you're hearing, ignore it. You need rest, it's no use..." He couldn't know now. He'll have to learn, and still, he won't regret this. This girl, even if her insecurities kill him with a heartbreak he would have never had in his lifetime. "Arguing with them. It's pointless."

"Just take me with you! Please." Powder puts her hand over hear ears. "Or at least my bombs? Please!"

"No. I told you. I'm not going. That is final. And do not make this about you and your false ideas of destruction. I choose to stay. You are my responsibility. That is not a fault. It is a fact. I get to decide what I prioritize. Not Sevika. Not you. Do you understand?"

Tears fall from her grey bug eyes. It's only his frustration that allows Silco to not turn into a pond at the sight. He stands tall.

The order gets the girl to look at him, it feels like a stand-off. Not just between him and her.

And she's lost when she flinches, eyes squeezing shut with all the frustration her little body can hold.

"SHUT UP! THEY'RE SAYING YOU'RE LYING! THAT YOU'RE A LIA-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Silco, in the piercing silence, doesn't realize how close he's gotten to Powder's face in his shout. Their noses nearly touch.

Her eyes are open, only to flinch again when she stare back into his. It's not the air she's yelled into. It's him, it's all him.

He's sure of it when Powder attempts to look him in the eyes - the eye again, only to whimper and turn away, like something horrible will happen if she's to stare at it for too long.

It's a fatal whimper, a fatal avoidance of him and the eye, the monstrosity he's come to embrace at his iris, at his soul...it's fatal. It kills whatever strength he had to distance himself from her.

It's fatal to his strength in general. He's hurt. Janna forbid, Janna who hates his soul so, he's hurt at her fear.

"Powder. Look at me."

There was a point after Vander's betrayal, after his recovery that Silco couldn't dare to look at a mirror. He despised what his brother in arms turned his face into, but no...in a way, he can thank the false friend for what he did. The breaking and poisoning of his eye only revealed what Silco was underneath.

A body to be imposing. Feared. Respected. All for the man who wanted to see Zaun freed from Piltover. But for the first time since, Silco can't handle the thought of being seen a monster.

Not with his little one.

It's grating, the growing panic at the way she won't look at him.

"Will you look at the man who wants to give you everything?"

It's the first time he's admitted it by word and not just by thought. He gets down on one knee, inhaling sharp when Powder flinches under his hand touching her shoulder.

She lies flat on the bed, turning over. They sit in the heavy silence for a bit. Silco, smooth in word as he is, can't do much but curse his panic and hurt.

"I want to give you everything. Will you let me, Powder? Will you let the old man give you everything you want?"

She wants to be needed. Trusted. He'll find a way, not knowing that he's never had the same desire - except with her.

"...A doc's coming. One of the...medicinal kind, if you understand what I'm saying."

Silco closes his eyes when he hears the rasping grow from Powder again.

"Did you hear Sevika? Someone's coming to make sure you feel better. You'll feel better, and you'll stop scaring me so, hm? We'll stop scaring each other."

He sighs when the only response is more rasping, his forehead falls against her back. Her shirt is cold with sweat.

The three of them fail to move until Silco half-heartedly decides it's time to fall away from the girl after a waiting minute or so, give her some time alone before the doctor comes. But it's possible she won't be alone, he doesn't know how to fix that. Except to be the real thing in the room with her.

"Those types of healers, they're vials are expensive."

Silco stands and turns to Sevika, already at the doorway with his arms very, very slightly bend at his sides. "That concerns me how?"

"Kids get sick. It's not the end of the world, she might be better by tomorrow if you knock her out right now."

Silco will not accept the word might when it comes to Powder. Never.

"You can go, if you want."

He puts his hands behind his back. Sevika's brow furrows.

"What?"

"You don't need me, only my word. If you want to be fun with it, play it as if you're going behind my back. I'm sure growing drug empires that happen to be made of gutter trash don't appreciate loyalty as much as I do."

Silco leaves her there, no care the woman's in his personal chambers. He needs to be sure the girl will never come to fear him again, because what happened tonight can never happen again.

There's not enough people in his path to bury the rage in if it does.

For now, it's a wall when he turns the corner. He can't know Sevika keeps herself watching Powder's rattling body curled on his bed.

She sighs, walking over. She could know how the tiny, blue-haired soul of sickness and pale-born tragedy blinks in confusion. She knows the weight creaking on the bed isn't Silco's.

"I know what it's like to be a daughter, kid. Most women do. Sometimes...sometimes daughters are problems. You can't beat it. And it doesn't mean anything to the people who love you most of the time. You'll see." Sevika leans forward, elbows on her knees. "What I'll have to deal with that man in the years to come if he doesn't make the right decision of booting you out of our lives is what you'll see so clearly. You'll be so fucking happy. Peached. Watch."

Sevika looks down. Because fathers never make the right decision. They never care about the problem that is a child that latches onto you and pulls down into the water until your lungs drown. They don't even think to regret it when it becomes their end.

It'd be beautiful if it wasn't so stupid.

"I hope when you get better, you make it so you're less of a problem for me. Hopefully, all this sickness is making you feel for a more grateful approach to what you have."

Sevika gets up, bed creaking under her again.

"You better not tell Silco I sat on his bed."

She leaves in silence, both in lack of word and thought. Powder curls.

"I will."

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Silco sits in his chair, holding up the compact. He can't remember the last time he cared to use this. He stares into the orange flame of his eye, blinking at the mirror.

There's no embarrassment when powdering on the foundation. He simply covers the rot of his eyelid and cheek. If this is what it takes for Powder to not be afraid of him, then so be it. It doesn't even matter if it was only because the situation was a cocktail of anger and already well-born fear. He won't take the chance.

Silco can't waste his time remembering when he'd be so strong to have never cared in the first place. He can't trust little Powder to stay strong at the sight of his scar, but he can let her know he is to be trusted. Always.

He patters it along the skin until it almost looks like...the face of an approachable man. Huh.

"Ta-da."

There's no tone but a lack there of in his voice. He stands up, taking his injector out of his pocket and into the hall.

The doctor, the healer said Powder was infected with a quick-acting virus, nothing too dangerous as long as the needed medicine is regularly given over the course of a few days. Silco didn't take it with smiles and praise. No, not when the little one was out of it for the entire check-up. He trusted the doctor to be right, but it didn't change the fact that seeing her so ill meant a loss of logic on his head and heart.

Silco, on his way to his room, stops at the doorway of Powder's. It's a moment that sits with him.

He opens the door, looking at the colored, messy space that is hers. It's decorated with drawings (the walls and papers all over the floor). There's no chance Vander ever thought to teach her to make a bed. Silco's not sure he could get her to learn now.

But the bombs strewn about the floor are what truly belongs to the girl's mind. With every passing day and chance he takes on her, Silco can see the fire of her brain, what destruction she's able to take on with every creation.

"You, you, you, little girl."

It's a prize. Her mind is prize. There is even no even when it comes to Powder and her mind, there is not fault he can accept with a "despite". No, it's just her that he'll watch grow into something bigger than what he could know now.

He picks up one of her bombs, studies it in the light of Zaun. The room's getting cramped, he'll have to find her a space for her toys.

The one he's picked up is pink, butterflies and monkeys doodled all over what could kill an entire building of people with a pull of its string. What's under his shoe is a drawing.

Of him. Or he thinks. It's obvious her true talent lies in her explosives. But it's a man suited in red and black, one eye bright with orange and hair pushed back.

Silco does not smile, he just picks the drawing up. He folds it into his pocket. He leaves Powder's room, her bomb in one hand and the injector in the other.

"Janna! Silco, sorry."

Sevika's always in a hurry, she's nearly slammed into him on his way out into the hall.

"Gonna get rid of the kid with her own stuff? I never mentioned to be that cruel-"

"I tell you. Do not forget yourself." The woman stills, licking her lips. It's defeat on her face. "You are going?"

"Yeah. I'm going. And I thought about your jab. It works. If I pretend this is me going behind your back, they might feel inclined to not pull this shit again when their dealings gotta be dealt under your nose."

Silco smirks, although half of his face can't give into his knowing amusement. "That is a benefit. Yes. But there's been a change of plans." He hands Sevika the bomb. "You'll play for a moment or two, let them think they're on top. Everyone deserves something like that before they're blown into mist."

Sevika's head jolts in a tilt.

"Wait. No. That's not what we agreed. That goes against everything about what we planned-"

"What you came up with. And it was the best idea of the hour. But I thought on it...you want the name, Sevika? You'd like our image seared into the minds of our enemies, present and eventual?"

Silco closes her palm over Powder's creation.

"You give them a show."

The woman can't bear to look at him. Silco can't bear to care. "We don't need to play waiting games when we have ticking time bombs. Any Zaunite organization with half a brain won't think to do us misjustice after it's shown we’ll blow any wrongdoers to pieces. And if they do end up at the door with all those misjustices...see the previous statement."

Silco's off to his room, there's no argument to be lost on him there. His hand tightens over his injector when he reaches the door.

He does understand wanted to be needed to certain extents. Zaun did not ask for him specifically in their quest for freedom, he put himself in the role of a revolutionary because he had to.

His understanding, his need to see Powder happy is why he turns the injection device over in his hand as he pushes the door open.

He creeps into his own bed, careful not to wake the girl with a bounce and tumble out of it. He leans up against the headboard, hands on his lap with his legs straightened out in his sitting up.

He looks to the sleeping child beside him.

"Powder. I have something for you to do for me."

Silco's aware he's stated that she should be asleep. But assuming a restless little girl is awake instead of off in a dream is the smart thing.

"M' not Powder."

"No? Who are you then?"

Powder, or apparently not-Powder, rolls her head. Maybe she's sleeptalking through her dreams, actually.

"M' a...Jinx. M' Jinx. No Powder."

Silco's head leans back, eyes still on her. "Ah, I see. Or...we'll see about that. Jinx or Powder, I have something for you." He watches her turns over, eyes close, palms rested into a gentle fist.

"Sevika sat on your bed."

Most definitely sleeptalking a dream. He taps her nose. Her eyes blink open. For the sake of his heart, he'll ignore the drying tears.

"Would you like to help me with my eye?"

Powder blinks again, this time in confusion. "Your eye? It looks..."

The man lets head tilt down at her. "It looks what?"

Cleaner.

Powder sits up. "Nothing. I don' know. What about your eye?"

"You've seen me with this before, yes?" Silco gestures to his injector. She nods. "This is what I use to put medicine into my eye. I need it to lessen the pain. I can do it, but lately I've been struggling. These types of device require steady hands, accurate hands. Would you like to do it for me? For tonight?"

He nearly regrets this whole ordeal when Powder jumps up as if her lungs weren't rattling away a hour ago.

"Powder! Calm yourself, this is not what you do to get you better. Do you remember what the doctor said-"

Powder snatches the injector from Silco, studying it over above her head. "Duh! I can help-" She begins to hack.

Maybe this should've been saved for the morning, just like how he won't tell her about the use of her bomb until then. When she can fully take in the praise and pride of the moment.

"Powder. Breathe. This can wait til tomorro-"

"NO!"

Powder sniffles after her short but powered cry, like even she understand that was an intensity she shouldn't have allowed herself.

"I can do it now and then we can go to bed."

We. Silco's lips thin like he'll smile.

"Alright. Come closer, follow my instructions."

She does, her knees press into his thigh. When he's guiding her tiny, still clammy hand over his eye socket, Silco realizes it isn't the brightest idea to give a small child a needle to inject into his literal eyeball.

But it'll be her satisfaction over his safety now, he supposes.

"You place it right here, just let it rest for a bit. And then you'll push this." The man puts Powder's other hand over the end of the injector. "It works as a syringe, if you've ever seen one."

"I used to find them on the street all the time! Vander almost knocked out when I stepped on one and started to feel funky. Turned out it was just something called a coincidence. It was just dinner from the night before."

Huh. Her mentions of Vander have lessened, but not died not. Silco doesn't know how to feel about that.

"You have a habit of making your guardians take care of your terrible illnessness?"

But he will not deny her the mention at this time.

Powder shrugs.

"I guess. Now. Do I push in?"

Silco prepares himself, breathing in. "When you're ready-"

And maybe the girl's never not ready, because she just needled his eye with no hesitation, but it was precise. Silco grips the sheets as the shimmer bleeds into him. He won't scare Powder in his rage or in his pain. He does not grunt or groan.

After the pain subsides, Silco looks to Powder staring up at him. Waiting. Nervous. Sitting on her calves.

"...Did I do good?"

"You did very well. You're a natural."

He goes to grab his injector from the girl, but she pulls it to her chest. She ploofs on the bed, eyes already closing.

"Goodnight, Silco."

Silco blinks. He didn't think to make it a patterned thing for her, just tonight - to make her feel better after his slew of mistakes and whatever her head put her through.

"I'll need that back at some point."

"No."

Powder doesn't even shift. Silco sighs.

If Sevika wants to go on about problems with Powder, this is the only one, cause he will need it back at some point and the idea to deny her this isn't a strong one.

"There will be days where you won't be able to do it. Nothing wrong with that, but I don't expect you to do it everyday."

"I don't think so. Goodnight."

Her hand tighten around the injector. As tiny as they are, Silco doesn't think he'd be able to take them from her if he tried.

He sighs, putting the deep-red blanket over her.

He kisses the blue of her hair.

"Goodnight, Powder."

Silco goes to lie beside her, a sleep falling on him so quickly and he won't know that's the exhaust of being a father.

He won't know the closed-eyed smile his little one gives besides him, as smirked as his few can be.

[smalltimidbean]

I'm putting this under cut for my own comfort, but be aware that I will be discussing certain types of art and how it is fetishised, to put it in the most blunt way jkgsdfl

Here's an unrelated thought I have no conclusion to, but it's been rattling around in my head for a sec

So in this post, Fiend was actually going to eat that anon - I had three drafts before the final one (One being Fiend spits up sunglasses, with the implication they ate the anon. Two being they had the anon in their mouth before Bean finds them like 'what do you have???' and Fiend swallows like a naughty dog eating plastic, and three being Fiend had the anon partly in their mouth (as punishment I guess??) and they got startled by Bean, making them swallow involuntarily) (should also probably be noted that the anon would have been fine in all variants, they respawn kdfgkga), and two of them were partly drawn before I decided against it

Mainly bc I didn't know what to cw tag that as (it's not cannibalism since Fiend is not an anon creature, and vice versa) - or rather, there was a tag I could have used (starts with v ends with ore), but that specific type of art is rather... Notorious, and I did not want to imply anything sexual, even if it would have never been my intention to do so

Although that being said, I am aware there is a SFW community where it is non-sexual, and no judgement either way, but there is kind of a reputation, y'know? And regardless of artist intentions, it can still be misconstrued - intentionally or not

And I suppose the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable with the idea I was - not with the idea that Fiend can/has/probably will eat people, but the actual depiction of it on screen, and I am unsure as to why

Maybe it is the fear of my intention being lost, and it does end up being seen as something fetishistic. Maybe I am frightened to (unintentionally) push people away by drawing something 'weird' (negative), or the opposite, and I draw people in with an expectation or assumption, or they try to push my boundaries with seemingly 'innocent' questions, but when I feel uncomfortable, I'm the bad guy bc 'it was just a question'

If you cannot tell, I have had issues with fetishmining - or people pushing their kinks onto me, simply bc I draw fat people or some other thing that is commonly fetishised - before, and I am worried it will happen again (there are spaces to get your rocks off, here is not one of them kjdfkl)

That all also being said, again no judgement, and I don't mind people who are into that stuff following me (and I know there is, I have checked on blogs/in likes and found it jkdfslk), and no one (recently) has been like super uncomfortably weird about the things I draw

So I don't know! Like I said, there is no conclusion to this ramble - besides, maybe I will leave Fiend's taste in people (pun intended) implied and off-screen for now

[daz4i]

did y'all know that apparently i'm a good dancer. who'd have thought

[finalhaunts]

Siigghh

[hyperions-light]

Someone was being a fucking hater on my explicitly positive DATV post AGAIN (u all know I can see your tags right. They get delivered to me express mail style) so here’s an essay about how I thought the Grey Warden plotline was great:

First, it was extremely lore-consistent. I don’t know how to tell people this, but the Grey Wardens simply are sort of shady— it’s part of their charm. In DAO alone we found out they:

- kill anyone who refuses the joining

- are definitely using a blood magic ritual to induct people

- tried to usurp the throne of Fereldan

In DA2 they:

-Forced Malcolm Hawke to perform a blood magic ritual against his will to contain Corypheus, by threatening to kill his family

- Built a giant prison in the mountains they didn’t tell anyone about and that someone could wander into and not be able to escape

- the entire Corypheus thing. They didn’t even tell the other Wardens like what he was or how dangerous he was.

DAI:

- the demon army thing was pretty bad

And that’s not even mentioning any stuff from the books or comics or shows! That’s just stuff in the games!

So they’re shady. It’s okay! They’re my little woobie guys, idc if they’re sort of shady!

But the plot in DATV is about all of those previously established issues coming back to bite them in the fucking ass, as they should! Knock knock, it’s the consequences of your actions, baby! The chickens are home to roost

(Which is just good storytelling. Like if you set up a bunch of issues and then never pay them off or anything that’s bad.)

Destroying Weisshaupt was inspired! Firstly bc Davrin is Weisshaupt, metaphorically (bulwark against the darkness, etc, I already made a post) so it serves his character arc. But also because it strips away the pageantry and the grandeur from them; no more castle for you! No more myth!

Davrin explicitly tells you that the First Warden is a traditionalist; he represents the historical attitudes of the Wardens. They do not accept help, they do not give up their secrets, they are standing alone against the dark. And it doesn’t work! He’s fucking wrong (and very punch-able). Being secretive and isolationist is a mistake that costs them nearly everything.

But also, and I’m not sure how many people experienced this on the first go-around, the game does ultimately come down on the side of the Wardens always trying to do the right thing. You CAN talk the First Warden down, because in the end he’s a Warden, and he might be stubborn and curmudgeonly and miserable but he CARES about the world. He came to do good. He admits he was wrong and he helps you. Because the heart of the Wardens is about selfless service to other people. In Death, Sacrifice.

Stripping away Weisshaupt and the glory and pageantry leaves the Wardens at their most vulnerable and forces them to return to their fundamental principles: helping people. That’s what Lavendel is about. Helping individual people and preserving every life possible even if it doesn’t feel that glamorous or heroic. Lavendel isn’t a significant place; it doesn’t matter, but it matters so much.

And then, the Cauldron.

First off, do not at me about Last Flight. I don’t think people should have to read external materials to play this game and understand it. If the information is vital it should be presented to the player in the text.

The Cauldron is the repository of the Wardens’ secrets; it’s where the keep the bones of the Archdemons, the secret to the Joining, ancient and dangerous weapons, as well as the bodies of the griffons, which represents their most shameful errors. Isseya is the avatar of the Wardens’ mistakes; she’s been hurt by what they made her do, and her pain was never acknowledged by them. They buried her story and her suffering like they bury everything they don’t want to deal with and are ashamed of. They left the bones of the griffons, whose deaths they directly caused, to rot because they were too sad to acknowledge them.

But it was wrong to walk away, it was wrong to bury it. Isseya makes sure that they can never do that again, that they have to own what they did and take responsibility. By discovering who she is and by restoring her personhood to her, by reminding her of her love which drove her to her anguish in the first place, Davrin saves her and he saves the griffons. He doesn’t do it using violence, because another sin of the Wardens is just assuming that they can kill their way out of their problems, which the game disproves by revealing the origin of the Blight. You can kill as many darkspawn as you want, you will never fix it! The Titans’ dreams do not need to be slain, they need to be healed.

Isseya is in so much pain because of her incredible love for both the griffons and the Wardens, and because of her guilt. Look what she builds! An alternate Weisshaupt, a distorted reflection of her home. She entreats both Davrin and Assan to join her, because she doesn’t think she’s trying to destroy anything. She’s trying to save them! She wants them to come home. “I am their mother,” she says, and she’s right. She saved them, then, and she ends up saving them now! Because she made Davrin and the other Wardens look, unflinchingly, at what they had done, it will never happen again. She was going about it wrong during the game, but she was ALWAYS trying to save them.

Davrin, Antoine and Evka represent the Wardens’ commitment to being different. They let Flynn undergo the Joining without becoming a Warden, they reveal secrets to non-Warden Rook, they offer to help the Viper without asking for anything in return. They ask for help and offer it freely. If the Wardens are going to persist into a world without Archdemons, they HAVE to change. They can’t be what they were anymore. The game is asking what a Warden is when they have to be more than their oath, when they have to live. It’s a great exploration of and expansion on previously established lore.

Anyway, my advice if you hated the plot and the game and the characters is to a) make your own post b) don’t bother me about it, because I have the time and I will be loudly positive in response!

[specialgradefckr]

Beat Your Heart to Death

tw: explicit content, extremely toxic dynamics. gojo/geto, gojo/reader, geto/reader, and yes, stsg/reader. female!reader. mutual pining, requited unrequited feelings, the yearning, good god, the YEARNING. relatively unwilling voyeurism. EXTREMELY manipulative dynamics – boundary pushing, gaslighting, etc.

satoru and suguru are completely fucking deranged. their brains are operating on a level where human consciousness and emotion just hits different. they say INSANE shit at the end of this fic. you have been warned.

This must be what dying feels like.

You watch them, together. Leaning against one another, sleeping, vulnerable. Curled up in each other's embrace.

This must be what dying feels like. Seeing the man you love and the man you lust for, so painfully, peacefully, blissfully in love with each other.

If this is dying, you're surely going to hell for thinking something so awful about a feeling so beautiful.

It’s the sort of thing you think to yourself, bury deep – deep – inside the recesses of your mind. Dredging it out in the late hours of the night when you can’t sleep. Wallowing in your unrequited love, feeling sorry for yourself, while also comforting yourself with the thought that at least now you didn’t have to do anything.

You would never have to approach your longtime crush, Suguru Geto, and potentially ruin your friendship with him. It was something you’d struggled with for years, and after Gojo showed up – you didn’t have to struggle anymore. It was already lost.

And the insane twists your fantasies would play out for you, in those lonely nights in bed – you could be free of those, too. You could completely dismiss the insane idea of propositioning the man-whore menace of a human being who made your heart race, Satoru Gojo.

Satoru and Suguru loved each other, and it would be wrong to get in the way of that. At this point, even saying anything to either of them would be a trespass on your friendship, with both of them.

That was all there was to it. Nothing more to be done. You were mourning your feelings. Strangling your dreamy sighs at Suguru’s kind gestures, stomping the flutter in your chest when you caught Satoru smiling. Killing your heart and leaving it to rot, stepping around it like it’s not there.  

Unfortunately, you couldn’t escape the fact that all three of you lived together.

It doesn’t help that Satoru is just as prone to PDA with Suguru as he was with all his numerous hookups. More, even, because he doesn’t keep it to just his bedroom, doesn’t make the token efforts to stay quiet at night and shoo them out in the morning.

You do your best. Look away. Try to ignore how your heart jumps, twists, does all sorts of funny things at the sight of them kissing.

Satoru’s pretty white lashes flutter closed, Suguru’s warm gaze softens, cheeks flushed as Satoru’s hands jump up to cling to him. He cups Satoru’s face like it’s a treasure, tilting his head and leaning into the kiss like he can’t get enough of it –

You’re staring, fuck. You’re looking too closely. The scene burns itself into your eyes and you want to rip them out, never see it again. But you struggle to avert your gaze, greedy mind committing every detail to memory with a racing heart, dry mouth.

Thirsty, you’re so thirsty, in every sense of the word. They lean into each other, so in sync and so affectionate in a way that tugs on your every heart string. Fuck!

You start to just leave the room when it happens. You’d rather die than get caught staring, you’d rather go without water than thirst for droplets.

And you’d really, really, rather cut your fucking eyes out than face the feelings the sight awakens in you. Longing, yearning, how you want to tear them both off each other at once, how you want to see more, more, more, you want to touch, you want to taste –

God, fuck. You’re like one of those shitty girls who fetishizes male relationships. Aren’t you? You feel like this might be that. But you’re attracted to both of them individually, so it can’t be that, right? You’re not a creep, you’re just greedy. You leave the room when they kiss! You’re respecting their privacy!

They notice, though, is the thing. Not your staring (god you fucking hope they’ve never noticed the staring) but how you leave the room when they get affectionate with each other. It’s Suguru who pulls you aside to ask.

“…and listen, I know you’re not like that, I totally know, so does Satoru. It just… makes him feel a little weird, you know? He was raised by a traditional family, so they either think this is a phase, or call him disgusting to his face.”

Fuck your life. Actually fuck your ENTIRE life. “Of course not – I never – ”

“No no no, I know, I told you, he does too, it’s just – it’s a little disconcerting for him. But I can talk to him, make him understand. This is your house, too, you have the right not to see that sort of stuff.”

That just makes you feel a bit worse, actually. Satoru and Suguru shouldn’t have to hide away in their room whenever they want to kiss. It’s their own home.

“I’m sorry, Suguru, I – I don’t have any problem with you guys doing it around the house. I just…” You shift uncomfortably. “I’m not super comfortable with… PDA sort of stuff. It has nothing to do with you both being guys.”

Suguru nods, “No, I understand completely. Satoru will be disappointed, but you’re setting boundaries, and I respect that – ”

“It’s not that,” You say, “I – you can do whatever you like, really, I’ll just leave – ”

“No,” Suguru interrupts with a sigh, “That’s what’s bothering him. I think deep down he’s a little worried that you find it… disturbing.”

Your chest tightens with anxiety as you rush to reassure him, “Of course I don’t!”  

“No, I know, I know, we both do,” Suguru says in that warm, comforting voice of his, “It’s just how he feels – you know he can’t control that.”

And then your stupid mouth rushes ahead of you. Writes a check your heart can’t afford to cash.

“It’s fine! You don’t have to stop, I. Just… tell him I felt like I was intruding. I didn’t think he saw it as me being disgusted.”

And your heart will pay willingly, because Suguru gives you that smile. Warm and affectionate. The smile you’d fallen in love with.

“You’re not intruding at all. I’ll tell him you said so, it’ll be a great weight off his mind.”

So now the love of your life makes out with his boyfriend and you can’t even leave the room. Hahah. God. Maybe you should start thinking of a way to move out?

Problem: When Satoru moved in, he’d basically started paying all the bills. He didn’t have to worry about being cut off from the family money – even at his young age, he had his own financial success. Even if it started out with a few trust funds and an appointed position at one of his parent’s companies.

Every rent listing looked expensive when your current rate was “free”. And fuck, rent was expensive. You’d have to deal with other roommates, people you didn’t know (and love) as long as Suguru (and Satoru, at this point, you’d known him for years), and you’d be paying for the privilege.

You try, oh, do you ever try to get over it. Sexuality is fluid, after all, so it’s perfectly possible that Satoru and Suguru just ended up being gay. Being with either of them may never have been an option, except maybe as one of Satoru’s flings.

And wouldn’t that just suck? To have one night with Satoru only to watch him realize he’s gay and mutually in love with your longtime crush? Better to never sleep with him at all. You can’t miss something you’ve never had. And you wouldn’t want to be a fling anyways.

The thought stings more than it should, because deep down –

(You’d take it. You know you’d take it. That’s why you’re still here, really, under all the excuses. You’re fucking pathetic, pining for both of them. You’d take anything you could get.)

It doesn’t help that they get freer with their affections after your talk with Suguru. Looser. So unrestrained. You walk in on them fucking in the living room, having come back early from class, face burning up as you stand there stock still for a moment.

They don’t stop, or freak out, or cover themselves or anything. You see Suguru’s naked chest above the couch, Satoru’s hands pinned over the armrest of it, their bare legs and feet entwined and sticking over the other side of the couch. They’re both so fucking tall.

So beautiful. Satoru moans so pretty, and you hear Suguru purr, low and filthy, “Like that, you little whore?” and you feel yourself clenching all the way to your core.

You make a wild dash across the living room, staying on the other side of the couch so they can’t see you. Closing the door to your bedroom as quickly and quietly as you can, panting to yourself, feeling the heat rising on your face and the warm pulse between your legs.

(Pathetic, fucking pathetic. It’s like you’re actually some horny teenage boy with a crush on a pretty girl out of his league, rubbing one out every time you see her with her equally hot girlfriend.)

You’ve got to get ahold of yourself.

Your routine has changed, with the both of them being together, so openly. There were little things you’d shared, now gone, lost to the unfathomable whirlpool that was their relationship.

Used to be you’d buy sweets on grocery trips to share with Satoru. It was an old habit of yours, and when he’d first moved in, he’d caught you with them. Reaching for some with a grin before you smacked him away.

The look he gave you, a slow smirk before he went all wide-eyed and pleading, staggering to his knees like a proper starving drama queen – god, he had to know how he’d made your heart flutter. He probably pulled that on so many people.

Still, he would eat the candies right out of your hand, lips just teasing on your fingertips, eyes lingering on you while he licked his lips. It made you feel weird, at first, but you eventually realized that Satoru was just a weird guy.

He’d yawn and stretch and if he caught you or Suguru watching he’d flash his whole chest, like a girl flashing her tits. He slept naked and left the bathroom door open when he was using it, and he’d often knock when on your bathroom when you were in there, even if he had his own.

He had about ten different game consoles and games for them, plus a huge collection of movies, which he likes to watch with the room completely dark. He sleeps with a nightlight on, and his social media picture is an ugly picture of him from high school with these weird round sunglasses.

Not at all what you expected from a pretty boy like him. But Satoru’s eccentric charm, and the unstoppable allure of his perfect face and body, it rewired your brain somehow. You feel like you’ve wanted him for as long as you’ve known him.

You try to find other people. But the problem with living with Satoru and Suguru is that no one is up to your standards. You’ll never meet anyone as handsome or beautiful as either of them, so why bother?

In your defense, Suguru is hard to fall out of love with.

It’s not uncommon to wake up to the sound of your favorite breakfast being cooked while Suguru hums away in the kitchen, his pretty hair all tied back. If you sneak in quietly enough you can catch a tender smile on his face, the smell of freshly ground and brewed coffee he makes for Satoru in some expensive machine.

If you are unlucky, he’ll catch you, and that smile will grow as soon as his eyes are on you and you’ll fall in love all over again. If you’re lucky, you can sneak back away, but Suguru will eventually come and wake you up with a knock so gentle you suspect he already knows you’re up.

He shares his hair care routine, and it leaves your hair shiny and lovely. But your hair isn’t exactly like his, so he must have adjusted it.

He offers to help you brush or style it, himself, and asks you if you wouldn’t mind repaying the favor. Like you wouldn’t kill or die for the honor of running your hands through his silken locks.

Suguru is the type of guy who remembers when you get your period and asks if you need anything for it. You magically find your favorite fruits in the fridge, cut up, dipped in chocolate or caramel or yoghurt, however you like them best.

He does your laundry without being asked because he says it’s easier, and cleans dishes before you can get to them.

Every birthday he throws you a party, bakes a cake and he’ll spend hours to perfect a meal from scratch to go along with it. He’s perfect at finding a thoughtful present – Satoru just gives you cash, or some expensive luxury purchase you find fashionable but would never buy for yourself (Suguru definitely went shopping with him).

You get why Satoru likes him. Satoru’s sort of a slob, always leaving clothes on the floor – walking around shirtless like he knows exactly what it does to anyone watching “Just providing a public service, babe~” – and Suguru is so perfectly domestic.

Almost motherly. Whenever you misplace something, the fastest way to find it is invariably to ask Suguru, if he doesn’t approach you first with a concerned smile after watching you look.

After enough times catching Suguru sternly chide him for not putting away his clothes, leaving wrappers on the table, forgetting to put his shoes away; you’re relatively sure Satoru’s called him mom or mommy at some point. Possibly during sex.

And god, you get it. Those gentle tones of “Is everything all right?”, and “I tweaked the recipe, how do you like it?” and “I’m just really happy you enjoyed it.”, it’s enough to make your heart ache.

How, exactly, are you supposed to fall out of love with Suguru Geto?

How are you supposed to leave, how are you supposed to want to, especially when you swear you hear him call himself Daddy, and you find your face getting hotter than it should be.

Whispering to Satoru how “I’ve got you, baby,” and “Let Daddy take care of you, mhhm?”

And god, the high-pitched whimpers Satoru makes in response. He’s a tall guy, mewling, melting beneath Suguru’s hands, his words, his cock – and you could so easily imagine yourself in his place –

How are you supposed to be platonic about this?

 How are you supposed to stop touching yourself when they’re practically putting on personalized porn shows for you?

It's after the third time that you start to think they're doing this on purpose.

Whatever’s between them is something you just couldn’t understand. You get that, you do.

The way they look into each other’s eyes – there’s no way Suguru has ever looked at you like that, no way Satoru would ever want you that badly.

It’s something magnetic that makes them slot together at all times, draws their gazes to one another, leaves no room for anyone else –

But you stumble on them… a lot.

Never mind making out on the couch. You turn into the laundry room to see Satoru backed against the washer machine, his cock so far Suguru’s throat you can see it bulge.

His face is flushed, eyes teary, one hand loosely in Suguru’s hair while he whimpers. Dark eyes gazing up at him, fierce, Adam’s apple bobbing and another noise escaping him.

Or Satoru’s sitting rather innocently in Suguru’s lap, at a certain angle, but the sounds he’s making are less than innocent. Vile, even. Suguru’s broad hand wrapped around Satoru’s cock, pumping up and down, Satoru’s body shifting as you can tell he’s grinding down against something below.

And sometimes it’s really just the noises. You’ve heard them so often now it feels like you can put expressions to every moan and grunt and whimper and whine. Satoru makes a certain sort of gasp and your imagination jumps to think of how deep Suguru must be inside him, how his face must

They come back sometimes, from parties, drunk together. Leaning on one another like they could never lean on you – you’re not tall, not built like either of them are. Cheeks flushed as they whisper words into one another’s ears, Satoru giggling, kissing his cheek, Suguru laughing and squeezing his waist as they stumble into their room.

Like they’re in their own little world that you could never intrude on. You just catch glimpses every now and then. They don’t even look at you, it’s like you’re not even there – their eyes are locked on one another.

But that isn’t the worst of it.

Satoru and Suguru start bringing other people in.

No - they start bringing other girls into it. Like it's a punishment for catching them, only, you're fairly certain they wanted to be caught.

Satoru’s never been shy when he had a girl over, about walking around shirtless – maybe it’s an exhibitionism thing. And you’re someone they know well, someone tolerant (pathetic) enough to not say anything.

Either that or they’re both just that good at pretending you aren’t there. But they talk to you, all the time. You eat meals together, have movie nights (if you ignore how Satoru will not-so-discreetly put his hand on the inside of Suguru’s thigh while you’re all sitting together), grocery shop together, smile and laugh and share things about your day.

It’s just that they’re also dating each other. And in love, so in love, it’s painfully obvious that there’s no room for anyone else between them. Which makes the girls they bring over turn your stomach even more.

Sure, they’re one night stands. But they don’t even try to keep it quiet. You hear unfamiliar, high-pitched moans and whimpers, a wet smacking sound that has to be Satoru overdramatically eating pussy.

You wonder what his face looks like. What his eyes look like. Is he staring up at her when she does it? Does she have a hand in the feather-down softness of his hair? Or maybe Suguru’s hand, shoving him forward, that sly smirk that creeps over his lips when you’ve seen his eyes grow dark with want.

Is she whimpering because she’s close? Do they tease her, edging her, enjoying the expressions on her face, the way her body trembles? When she begs, is it for them to stop, or keep going? Whose dick is it inside her? Satoru’s, Suguru’s? What does it feel like? Satoru’s stupid enough to do it without a condom but Suguru isn’t.

What are they doing when she cums? You hear Suguru groan (you know how his groans sound, you know how both of them sound), so he must be cumming too. What’s Satoru doing? He’s too needy to be left alone for long.

Is he watching while he jerks himself? Has Suguru forced him to sit back? Or maybe he’s down where the action is, right where Suguru’s cock is buried inside her, laving over her clit and his cock like the slut he is until they both cum all over his face.

Why can’t that be you? Why don’t they want you?

Your fists clench harder than they should be One night you stumble onto them in the middle of the living room, all at it in plain view.

Satoru is in Suguru’s lap, tall enough to tower over him. Suguru’s hand wrapped around his throat, choking him, head tilted back in bliss as his lashes flutter. There’s a woman on her knees, between their spread legs, sucking Satoru off.

And you can tell, by the way Satoru shudders, how he’s loose like putty in Suguru’s arms, that Suguru’s dick is buried deep inside him.

Satoru and Suguru don’t even try to pretend it was an accident. Some fucking roommates they are.

Suguru will smile and blush when you ask him about it, apologizing in soothing, kind tones, offering to never bring another girl home again if it bothered you – you’ve been through the goddamn song and dance so many times already.

He has this way of just. Making you feel guilty for even asking in the first place. Like you were presumptuous to say anything at all, unless it was something he wanted to hear.

It’s turned you into this. So eager to please but desperate to keep them at arm’s length. Wanting, longing, and starving for it. Watching because you quite literally can’t do anything else, sights burned into your eyes. Unable to look away. Unable to keep watching.

You don't know what they want from you.

You don’t think you want to, anymore.

Satoru and Suguru are getting impatient.

No, Suguru is getting impatient. Satoru is getting desperate. It was his idea to start going out and finding girls to bring back and fuck.

It wasn’t particularly difficult between the two of them. And promising, at first – after all, what was more likely to get you to snap than watching – hearing – the two of them give some other girl everything you’ve ever wanted on a silver platter?

But you just keep going. Gritting your teeth and bearing with it. Suguru spent a whole week dislodging your vibrator slightly from its charging port, slowly squeezing your lube bottle empty, doing everything he could to drive you to the brink.

Satoru’s starting to remark how much it’s a waste of time. He gets snippy when he’s needy, and lately, Suguru’s cock just isn’t enough for him. He has to go through your laundry, plant a camera in your bedroom on one of those few nights they stay out late enough to give you some private time.

Satoru makes him wear your clothes when Suguru fucks him, lets Suguru gag him with your panties when it’s the other way around.

They play dress-up together and watch you touch yourself at awkward angles with muddied sound quality. It’s not enough, not nearly enough.

Privately, Suguru is a little worried. Satoru’s getting weird – not that he hasn’t always been. But weirder.

He goes right into the bathroom after every time you use it. He’s always quick to reach your drinks for a “taste test” after you’ve had a sip. And Suguru knows for a fact Satoru isn’t using his own toothbrush at night.

He keeps talking about you. Looking at you. Whispering dirty suggestions in his ears, asking impatiently if you look like you’re going to snap.

Satoru is needy like that, demanding, and you’d always balanced him out while helping Suguru relax.

But there’s a distance now that wasn’t there before. The tension builds and builds, needs unmet for so long that desperation is clawing at both of them.

And that’s to say nothing of his own desires. Satoru, for all his faults, still has self-control.

Suguru passes your door every night and stops for a moment. He serves you dinner with a smile, domestic as he is, and thinks how easy it would be to slip something in there. To make sure you’d sleep through the night.

Would it even matter if you didn’t? You let him get away with so much. You love him, you must love him, don’t you? There’s no other reason you would put up with all of this. If he did slip, you’d forgive him, wouldn’t you? You’d drink up all his honeyed words with the same smile you always gave him.

But if he gave you such a convenient excuse, then he would always doubt. Whether you really loved him or if he just made it convenient to love him.

More importantly, you’re looking at them different. It was good, at first; your pretty eyes darting in a different direction, the way you try to hide your face, keep your words especially cool.

 They want you to TAKE what you want. Want you yelling and screaming and scratching them up like the hellcat they know you are, deep down.

“How long,” He whines between groans as Geto works between his legs, fingering him as he sucks his cock, “Is she gonna make us wait – fuck!”

Suguru pulls away with a pop. Saliva and precum dripping from his lips. Satoru pulls him in for a kiss, by the hair.

“You know she’s liked me a while,” Suguru murmurs, swallowing a moan or two as he works another finger into his hole. “She’s scared of pushing me away. And now that you’re my boyfriend, she probably wouldn’t want to break us up.”

“Fuck, but imagine if she did.” Satoru bucks into him, “She wants us, I know she does.”

He’s always so needy, like a puppy. Suguru likes it, but he can admit that he wants you, too. Misses the energy you’d provide. You’re not demanding like Satoru is. Too prideful. Satoru’s shameless. But you want, oh, do you ever want, and they both do know it.

Once he’s stretched Satoru out enough, he wastes no time shoving him onto his belly, burying himself in his hole from behind – “Fuck! Suguru!”

“On it right now,” He purrs, close to Satoru’s back, reaching lazily for his cock.

Satoru doesn’t like to cum too soon anyways. He likes to cum from getting fucked, to be edged into oblivion – or he likes going hard and fast and overstimulated to no end. Not much in between, unless he was the one in charge.

“Imagine it,” He pants like a dog beneath him. He’s pretty, so pretty, and the only thing Suguru could imagine that would be better is to see your face looking up at him from underneath Satoru, “Suguru!”

He grunts, thrusting his hips harder, “Imagining. What am I imagining?” God, Satoru’s a slut and a nuisance, but it’s always been worth it to indulge him.

“Her,” Satoru breathes after a particularly hard thrust, “Trying to break us up.”

Suguru grabs his hips for better leverage. Satoru dirty talks best when he’s getting fucked hard, after all.

“Fuck, imagine if she got me drunk or something, hngh, finally followed through on those fuck-me eyes she’s always giving me, ghhgh, fuck yes like that, and. Just fucked me in our room, waiting for you to walk in on us together.”

And he can see it, picture it so well.

A drunk night with the most beautiful man alive, because that’s what Satoru is; pretty even now, beneath him, all sweat and lean body trembling as he gets utterly railed.

You’ve always had the attraction, and Satoru couldn’t handle his liquor, and all the sudden, you’d slept together.

“Would you – ah, ahHhh, would you get mad, Suguru?” His voice is teasing now, even through the groans and utterances, “Would you cry~?”

“Ha!” He half-chokes out the laugh, because Satoru clenches around him and it’s hard not to cum right away. He’s going to leave bruises from how hard he’s holding those narrow, lovely hips.

“No," Suguru grinds out, "But I’m sure you both would. She’s the type, and you’re so fucking – gah, so fucking needy. What would you want me to do? Forgive you?”

His pace slows down, and he reaches to squeeze his cock in return, just for a taste.

“Nah – fuck! Yes, keep doing that, fuck.” Satoru bucks into his touch, always, always chasing after him, “She’s too fucking nice all the time. If she did it, it would be – hnng – like. A revenge thing. She should be fucking mad already, pissed off. She should make me cum inside her, say she’s pregnant. Make me dump you and marry her, so if she can’t have you, nobody can.”

Suguru barks out a laugh at the concept, and then a moan, choked off as he feels the heat shooting through him at the idea.

You’re too nice, like Satoru says, it’s a laughable concept, you acting like this –

But what had he seen in your eyes that day after you caught them both with that girl?

“Fuck, I swear I feel you twitching inside me – ”

“What would you do, then?” Suguru purrs hotly into his ear, “You want to win her heart while you’re married?”

“Well, we’d fuck all the time,” Satoru wheezes out a giggle, trembling as Suguru’s hand slides along his cock, “Fuck you – haaaahhh. But I’d be making nice with her, being a good husband, and then you could come and have an affair – ”

Fuck, fuck, that’s too much, “Close,” He grunts, driving himself deep and hard, chasing the edge, “Fuck, I could tell her I love her, blackmail her, even – threaten to tell you.”

A groan as Satoru gets closer, and Suguru continues, “I could fuck her, leave her coming home to you full of my cum – ”

“I’d eat it out of her,” Satoru laughs, near deranged as he jerks between fucking back into Suguru and rutting into his hand, “Jerk me off already – ah, fuck, what if you got her pregnant – ”

White-hot, like the idea of your face beneath him, both of them, accepting them with an open heart full of rage and bitterness and lust, Suguru cums.

He’s just aware enough to fist Satoru’s cock, sliding harshly along it until he hears the lovely whore beneath him gasping, twitching, spilling in his hand.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck,” Satoru whimpers. “Hnghh… god, just the idea of her coming home from the hospital with a black-haired baby.”

“Fuck you,” Suguru barks, because now he wants to cum inside you. He wants, so, so fucking bad to cum inside you.

But god, do you even want them?

You sit there, all day, looking away, running away. That’s not love, is it?

And he’s a romantic, at heart. Satoru is, too. They don’t want anything less than your whole heart. Your entire life, your mind, body, and soul, dedicated to them the way they are to each other. Mad with jealousy and rage and possession.

Satoru had left him with bruises, the day he found out Suguru was crushing on you. When Suguru told him, in no uncertain terms, that he’s been wanted you for over a decade now and he wasn’t leaving before he got you. Blue fury in his eyes, heart twisting in his chest.

He’d looked him in the eye, grin wild and wide. Staring down as he has him pinned. Suguru had raised his knee up between his legs to find his cock desperately hard and throbbing.

“I want to fuck her first,” had been his wicked demand. Pain and pleasure traded like currency in return for love, each of them furious at the other for wanting you. They reaped the cost of their love on each other, settled their scores deep in their souls.

Because even if Suguru had seen you first, could he really say he’d wanted you first? Did he really want to fuck you before Satoru moved in, before he saw you flustered from your attraction and playfully trading banter with Satoru?

Had he wanted Satoru because you wanted Satoru? Had Satoru wanted him because he could see that you did?

Lines cross and uncross between you and the two of them, too tangled to ever unravel.

Time to tighten the knot.

[wwooyology]

Just Trust Me | J.WY

「pairing」 : wooyoung x fem!reader 「word count」 : 12.8k

「synopsis」 : you were in the woods one day when you came across an injured wooyoung who was being chased by hunters. he had expected you to turn him in, but to his surprise, you didn't; you led them away before offering to help him. however, this was only going to be the beginning for you and him.

「genre」 : hybrid!au, fox hybrid!wooyoung, human!reader, angst, fluff, smut

「warning」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, blood, mentions of guns, cussing, wooyoung has severe trust issues with humans, reader stitches his wound, mentions of abuse, familial issues, violence, petnames (sweetheart, baby, babydoll, love, my love...), kissing, rough makeout, unprotected sex, breast play, bulge kink, breeding, creampie, knotting, biting/marking, fingering, cum eating, clit play, overstimulation, cockwarming, mentions of war, wooyoung is unsure in the beginning, mentions of a rut, teasing, big dick!wooyoung, reader has trouble sleeping, lmk if I missed anything!

「notes」 : I wrote this in the span of 12 hrs so I apologize if it seems rushed or kind of all over the place 🫠 but this was a sudden brain rot so I just started writing...

The air was crisp as you sat against the rough trunk of a tree, the bark digging into your skin through your thin jacket. You didn’t seem to mind, though; your attention was far too sucked into the book that was in your hands. You hummed softly as you turned the page, not realizing that you were almost already finished with the book.

A loud gunshot rang through the air, causing you to jump, the book falling from your hands as you scrambled to your feet. There weren’t supposed to be hunters in this area of the woods. The birds squawk loudly overhead, and you start to panic.

Completely forgetting about your book, you rushed in the direction in which the gunshot had come from. You smacked a few branches out of your way until you came to a clearing, yet what you found shocked you.

A man hunched against a tree, his hand clutching his side. Yet that wasn’t what caught your attention; no, it was the ears that sat on top of his black hair. The fox hybrid ears that you had only seen a few times, seeing as the species tends to keep to themselves.

Sensing your presence, he looked up, meeting your shocked gaze with wide eyes. He hadn’t expected there to be another person in the woods. Were you with the hunters who were after him? 

“Are yo–” You started to ask, taking a step closer to him when you noticed the crimson liquid that coated his hand, but he quickly shushed you. Confused, you opened your mouth once more but quickly closed it when you heard rushed footsteps.

“Hey!” A voice shouted, causing your head to snap over to a group of hunters, all of them holding rifles, aiming directly at you. Your heart leaped into your throat, and your hands shot up in surrender. You could tell by their appearance that they weren’t just any regular hunters. No, the insignia they wore on their coats was from a very prominent hybrid hunter organization. 

You could see the fox hybrid from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t dare glance over, not wanting to give them any hints as to where he was because you were sure that he was who they were after.

Swallowing thickly, you opened your mouth, “can I help you?”

“Did you see a fox hybrid run by here?” One of the men in the front asked, his rifle still aimed at you, and your nerves spiked seeing how close his finger was to the trigger. These people were ruthless and would kill just about any and everything that got in their way.

Wooyoung, in turn, watched you, his heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought of you throwing him under the bus for your own safety. It's what every human does, after all. So he started to rack his brain for any possible ways to get out of this alive. That was until he heard you speak, his ears twitching slightly in shock.

“N-No, it’s just been me out here.” You spoke as your heart hammered against your ribs the longer he held you at gunpoint. The hunter looked at you skeptically as he took a step in your direction, and you quickly spoke again to keep him from coming any closer and finding the dark-haired male. “But I did hear scuffling in that direction on my way over!” You spoke quickly, pointing in a different direction, and the hunter raised an eyebrow, staring you down for a moment, waiting for you to show any signs of lying, but he thought you would have to be some kind of idiot to lie while you had multiple guns pointed directly at you.

“Thank you.” He nodded curtly before lowering the rifle, which in turn resulted in the others lowering theirs as well. You offered a meek smile, your hands still in the air as you watched him motion the others in the direction you pointed them in.

The air around you was silent as you watched their retreating figures, your heart beating so loud you could hear it through your own ears. Then, when they were far enough away, Wooyoung let out a groan, which pulled you out of your daze.

Without much thought to it, you rushed over to make sure he was okay, but as soon as you reached out to him, he growled, bearing his teeth at you, “Don’t touch me.”

He looked at you, a mixture of pain and fear pooling in his dark eyes, and you felt your heart drop. Swallowing thickly, you shrugged off your jacket, not caring that the cold air nipped at your bare arms, and held it out to him.

“I just want to help; I promise I’m not here to hurt you.” You spoke softly, meeting his eyes once more, and he looked between you and the jacket you were holding out. Reluctantly, he took the clothing, his fingers brushing the palm of your hand, sending a flurry of sparks along your skin. “My cabin isn’t too far from here, I can tend to your wound, and you can go after that. I just want to help.” You reassured him, keeping a comfortable distance between the two of you.

Wooyoung looked at you skeptically for a few long moments, weighing the pros and cons. He could either send you away and risk bleeding out in these very woods before he could get home, or worse, the hunters find him again. Or he could swallow his pride for a bit and allow you, a human, to help him and then he’d be free to go on his own way.

“Fine.” His tone was cold as he pushed himself off of the tree, and you stepped forward but stopped short when he let out a low growl. 

“You need to add more pressure to it.” You stated as you took a step towards him despite the warning in his eyes and his ears flattened against his head. All signs that you should back off, but you pushed the fear to the side and walked towards him until you were just inches away.

He watched you with a keen gaze as you moved around him to wrap your jacket around his torso and then tie it. You jumped when a pained hiss left his lips, and his hand grabbed your wrist tightly, mumbling an apology as you finished tying off the knot after he released your wrist. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do until you got back to your cabin.

You wanted to offer to help him walk, but judging by the way his ears still haven’t relaxed and his tail is tucked down, he wasn’t going to let you do more than just lead him. Stepping away once more, you noticed that he relaxed a little bit when you weren’t so close, so you took the chance to point in the direction of your cabin.

“It’s just this way, if you need help let me kn–”

“I can walk on my own," he growled. You quickly nodded, backing off and allowing him to follow you.

–

It took a little bit longer to get to your cabin than you originally thought because Wooyoung had twisted his ankle while running, so he lagged behind. You wanted so badly to help him, but you knew not to overstep any boundaries for your own safety. But the two of you made it inside without too much of a problem, and as soon as you shut the door, you pointed towards the couch.

“You can sit there; I have to grab my first aid kit," you told him before turning and walking down the hall, leaving Wooyoung standing there.

He looked around the living room, expecting to find any sign that you might be with those hunters. Yet all he found were paintings of various nature elements and a few photographs of you and two other girls, one he knew was a cat hybrid the moment he saw her ears.

Surprised wasn’t even the word that he would use. After the war that broke out between humans and hybrids, he was sure that no other humans treated hybrids with any semblance of respect. Moving further into the house, he was met with a strong smell of vanilla and cashmere, but your scent overpowered everything else. It was sweet like cherries, but with a hint of vanilla and sage as well—a scent he had never smelled before.

Unbeknownst to him, Wooyoung’s tail started to wave softly behind him, and his ears relaxed a bit more as he picked up on the sound of you in the other room. Even when the place felt safe, he couldn’t help but keep his guard up, knowing he’d fallen into the same trick before, which cost him severely.

After finding the first aid kit, you walked back into the living room, finding the fox limping around the room as he looked at the decorations on your walls. Letting out a small cough, you caught his attention, and he looked over at you. He then walked over to the couch that you had pointed out earlier and sat down, a groan falling from his lips as he did so.

You walked over and sat the first aid kit next to him, and he suddenly froze at how close you had gotten, a low growl reverberating from his throat. You looked over at him, finding his upper lip twitching slightly, and you took a small step back, a huff leaving your lips.

“If you want me to help, you need to let me near you.” You stated, and Wooyoung glared at you but stopped growling, and you took that as a sign. Retaking your spot in front of him, you started to reach for the knot of the jacket but stopped short; he started growling in warning once more. Titling your head to look at him, your breath hitched in your throat when you realized just how close you were to him. Your eyes trailed along his features, the sharp eyes, the beauty mark that was right under his eye, then to the few scrapes he had on his cheek and jaw. His dark eyes bore into you, captivating you, and something about his closed-off nature pulled you in.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you ignored his growling and undid the knot of the jacket sleeves before carefully pulling the blood-soaked cloth away. Once it was off, you threw it to the ground to deal with later. Then, without another thought, you dropped down to your knees in front of him, causing Wooyoung to look at you in surprise, the growling suddenly stopping.

“Now you can either lift your shirt or take it off; either way, I need to see the wound, "you told him as you looked up at him, missing the red that dusted his cheekbones.

He looked down at you, his hands hesitantly reaching for his shirt before pulling it up just enough to reveal his lower torso. You had to stop yourself from gawking at his toned abdomen, but that didn’t stop your heart from accelerating.

Shaking your head softly, you rose up to your knees to look at the wound, and you could tell instantly that it was a gunshot wound, which didn’t surprise you. However, you hoped that it was all the way through because you didn’t have the means to remove bullets. Without a word, you peeked around his torso to look at his back, and a sigh left your lips.

“So good and bad news,” You started, moving to sit on your heels once more to look up at him, “good news, I’m pretty sure it missed anything vital, and it went completely through, so there’s no bullet for me to take out.” You told him, and he just looked down at you, not uttering a word, “Bad news, I’ll need to stitch both the entry and exit wounds, which are going to hurt because I have nothing to numb the pain.”

“If you’re worried about me passing out, don’t. I’ll be fine, so just get on with it.” His voice was gruff as he glared down at you, and you nodded before reaching for your first aid kit.

Not a word was spoken between the two of you as you started to clean the area around the wound. When you started to clean the wound itself, Wooyoung let out a pained hiss, and you apologized before blowing on it to try and alleviate some of the pain.

Wooyoung watched you in curiosity; he had never been treated this kindly by humans. Most of the ones he’s met were assholes, to put it lightly, only wanting him to show off to their human friends like he was some kind of prize. Then, the one human he thought he could actually trust turned out to be just as bad, if not worse, than the others, and some of the wounds from then were still healing.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized that he had been staring or that you had even said anything until you waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked a few times before focusing on you once more, the same hard gaze returning to his eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

“I need to clean the other side.” You told him as you stood and sat on the couch next to him, but he didn’t move.

Unease settled into his bones at the thought of turning his back to you, knowing that he would be defenseless if you were to attack him. As if you sensed his unease, you offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“I promise I’m just going to clean and stitch it.” You told him, your hands sitting in your lap as you held his eyes.

He stared at you for a few moments more, contemplating, but there was something in the back of his mind telling him that he could trust you. So, with slight hesitancy, he shifted on the couch with a pained groan until his back was to you.

You covered your mouth to muffle the shocked gasp that fell from your lips at the sight of his scarred skin. Most of them were healed and scarred over, but there were a few that were still fresh, meaning they had just happened recently. You reached out, your fingers brushing over the skin, but you were quick to pull away when the dark-haired male growled, his narrow eyes glaring at you from over his shoulder. Muttering an apology, you focused on the task at hand and started to clean the exit wound, repeating the same process from the other side.

You had heard from your friend that some hybrid owners would whip them, and at first, you couldn’t believe it because there had been laws in place before the war. Yet, looking at these wounds, you were sure that they had come from a whip. You then started to wonder if the person who had done this called the hunters to go after him. It pained you to know that humans could be so cruel, and you wanted nothing more than to wash away his pain, but for now, you could just help him with this one.

Goosebumps littered the male's skin when your warm breath met his skin as you blew on the wound once more. His tail twitched before laying itself across your lap, causing your eyes to widen, but you didn’t say a word, scared that it would scare him off again. Once the wound was clean, you grabbed your suture kit before sitting back to look at him.

“I’m going to stitch the exit wound first, but if you need me to stop at any time, just tell me.” You explained this to Wooyoung, and he turned his head to look at you, a dark gleam pooling in his brown iris.

You let out a sigh when he didn’t say a word before moving to sit at a better angle to stitch up the wound. As soon as you started, his hand that wasn’t holding his shirt up gripped the back of the couch, his knuckles turning white. Pain struck your heart seeing him in pain, but you knew you needed to get this done, so you focused unless he told you to stop, but he never did. After you finished off the last suture, you grabbed some bandages and covered the wound before moving away completely.

“Okay, one side done.” You told him, and he turned his body back around, watching as you knelt down on the ground in front of him once more. His eyes were on you the entire time that you started to wipe some of the fresh blood off. As you brushed over the wound again, his body jerked, causing you to lose your balance, and your hands flew out to steady yourself. However, your breath caught in your throat when you realized that it was his leg that you had used, your other hand on the couch next to his hip. Embarrassed, you fumbled over an apology as you moved away, and Wooyoung just shook his head, eyes averting your gaze as heat flushed over his face.

He would never admit it openly, but the feeling of your hands on him was nice, your skin was soft, and your scent was intoxicating, more so the closer you got. Swallowing thickly, he turned his head as you got to work stitching him up.

Once you were finished, you moved back, packing up your first aid kit before turning to look at the fox, his head still turned. “I’m all done. You’re free to leave, but you’re also more than welcome to stay here.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything before you scurried out of the room and towards the kitchen. Wooyoung just watched as your figure disappeared into the other room, his mind fighting with him.

He knew that he was going to leave, but why was he so hesitant about doing so? Shaking his head, he stood to his feet, a pained groan falling from his lips as he did so. He then walked around the couch and towards the door, yet when he reached for the door handle, he felt a tug at his being.

‘Don’t go.’

The voice in the back of his head became clearer than ever, the tugging growing by the second. He retracted his hand to look down at his palm. There was no way he was going to trust another human in his life, but why did he feel such a pull towards you?

Looking out the window, he saw that the sun had already set, and he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to be able to make it back home safely at this time. So he let out a huff, deciding that it would be best to just stay here for the night and leave first thing in the morning.

You stood in front of the stove, waiting for the kettle to finish warming up, your mind going back to the whip marks on the male’s back. Wondering who would be so cruel to do that to another person, but in this day and age, you knew that that answer would be hard to get because almost ninety percent of the human population saw hybrids as mere toys or prey for their sick games.

Wooyoung followed where you had gone, finding you standing before the stove. His ears could pick up the steady beat of your heart, and your scent once again invaded his senses. Scrunching up his nose to try and alleviate the overpowering smell, he walked towards you, the question that had been on the tip of his tongue finally falling from his lips.

“Why do you care so much?” His voice broke the silence causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, having not heard him walk in. You turned to look at him, thinking about his question for a moment.

“No one deserves to be treated like that.” You spoke softly as you looked at him, and you could clearly see the suspicion in his eyes, which you didn’t blame him; your kind wasn’t exactly the best to his, “after the war broke out, I vowed to help as many hybrids that I could which in turn got me into trouble, but I didn’t care as long as they were safe.” You explained to him before turning around to pull the screaming kettle off of the stove, pouring some of the boiling liquid into a mug with a tea bag.

Wooyoung just looked at you in confusion. He could tell by your steady heart that you weren’t lying, but he was still perplexed at the thought of you genuinely caring about hybrids. No human did, especially if it meant they would have to leave their normal lives.

“My parents ended up kicking me out after they could get me to change my mind.” You told him, answering the question that was biting at the back of his mind. You let out a sigh before opening a cabinet and pulling out another mug and tea bag, not sparing him a glance as you recalled your parents' methods to ‘persuade’ you. “My best friend is also a hybrid, but she only comes around when it's safe.” You tried to change the subject a little bit as you set the kettle back on the stove after turning it off.

The room then fell silent as you finished up the tea before you turned with both mugs, offering one to the taller male. Wooyoung looked at it skeptically but took it from your hand nonetheless, his fingers brushing against yours, and he could have sworn he felt a shock of some kind.

“I never caught your name.” You spoke as you took a small sip from your own mug, your eyes never leaving his. He mulled over whether or not to give you his name, but in the end, he didn’t see any harm in it.

“Wooyoung.” He told you curtly, and you smiled; it fit him, really.

“I’m y/n.” You introduced yourself before the room fell into a semi-comfortable silence.

You watched as Wooyoung took a sip of the tea, and you laughed softly at the disgust that twisted on his face as soon as the liquid touched his tongue. He looked down at the mug as if it had offended him, his ears twitching slightly, and you couldn’t help but find it cute.

“What is this?” He asked as he sat the mug down on the counter and looked over at you as you took another drink from your own mug.

“It’s chamomile tea," you told him with a small laugh before grabbing his mug and setting it next to the sink. It helps calm the nerves.”

“Well, it’s gross as hell," he quipped as his nose scrunched, causing you to smile endearingly. At the sight, Wooyoung felt his heart speed up under his ribs. Clearing his throat, he ran his fingers through his hair, but the pain that shot through his abdomen caused him to hiss, and you quickly looked back at him.

“Are you okay?” You asked, taking a step towards him, but that same warning gleam in his eyes from before stopped you.

“I’m fine. Is the couch free?” he asked, and you looked at him with scrunched eyebrows. Had he not expected you to let him use the bed? Seeing your expression, he let out a huff. He knew you were too good to be true. " Forget it. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He then turned and started to walk out.

Panicking a little, you sat your mug down, not caring that some spilled before you rushed forward to grab his arm, stopping him. He looked back at you, and he half expected you to tell him to sleep outside, but your words caught him completely off guard.

“I have a guest room; you don’t have to sleep on the couch or the floor.” You told him as you released his arm, taking a tentative step back as he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Interlocking your fingers, you looked up at him. “I can show you the room. I think I have some of my brother's old clothes in there that might fit you if you want to change them.” You told him hesitantly because you had heard about how male hybrids could be about other males' clothing; it didn’t matter if they were human or not.

He stared at you for a moment, trying to figure you out. Running his tongue over his teeth, you felt your heart leap at the sight of his elongated canines, your fingers tightening around each other. Once he agreed, you led him to the spare room, opened the door, and let him walk in.

“Make yourself at home, be wary of your stitches, and don’t get them wet until the twenty-four-hour mark passes.” You told him as you watched him walk into the room, and you noticed that he wasn’t limping anymore, which wasn’t too much of a surprise, seeing as hybrids have heightened healing. “Um, I’ll leave you to it. The clothes are in the wardrobe, and if you need anything, I’m just across the hall.” You pointed over your shoulder, and the dark-haired male nodded as he looked over at you. You offered a small smile before turning and leaving, closing the door behind you.

Wooyoung stood in the middle of the room for a few more moments before his gaze traveled over to the wardrobe, his lip curling in disgust. He would much rather sleep in his dirty clothes than wear anything that’s been near another male. So he walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. He started to bend down to pull his boots off, but the pain stopped him.

Growling in annoyance, he pulled his leg up to unzip them, kicked them off, and lay down in the bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was met with your scent once more. It seemed like no matter where he went, you followed, but this was your home after all, so he shouldn’t be too surprised. Rolling onto his uninjured side, he tried to sleep, which wasn’t too hard after the long and exhausting day he had. 

The loud rumbling of thunder woke Wooyoung dead out of his sleep, his body jolting upwards. His face twisted in pain as his hand covered his wound, pain erupting from the area. Looking around the room he noticed a digital clock sitting on the dresser that sat on the other side of the room.

‘3:47am’

Throwing the blankets off his legs, he stood from the bed and made his way towards the door. Opening it, his ears twitched as he heard movement from somewhere else in the house. Peeking out, he noticed the lights on at the end of the hall, where the living room was. Listening closer, he tried to see if he could hear anything, but the padding of the rain outside made it hard.

Carefully, he walked out of the room and down the hall with light on his feet in case it was an intruder. However, when he turned the corner all he found was you sitting on the couch, a book sitting in your lap. The dim glow of the lap that sat on the side table next to you cast a faint glow upon your skin. He couldn’t tell if it was just his sleep-fogged brain or not, but you looked breathtaking to him, and he hated that he saw you in that kind of light.

Swallowing thick, he turned to leave, not wanting to bother you or be close to you and your intoxicating scent just in case it got to his head. Yet when another clash of thunder vibrated the house, he grimaced, his hands reaching up to pull at his ears.

Hearing the floorboards creak, you looked over and found Wooyoung standing there, messing with his ears. You knew that they had sensitive ears, so you were sure that the thunder was hurting them. Putting the bookmark back into your book, you closed it before setting it down on the coffee table.

Noticing movement from the corner of his eye, Wooyoung looked over to see you standing and walking towards him. He wanted to back away and tell you to not touch him, but he could force the words off of his tongue. You stopped just a few feet in front of him, looking him over. His hair and the scruff on his ears were all messy from his sleeping, and you took note that he was still wearing his clothes. Looking back up to meet his eyes you could see the borderline fear and pain swirling in his chocolate orbs.

“Why don’t you sit down? We can watch a movie until the storm passes.” You told him as you motioned to the couch. As much as he would like to tell you to screw off, he found himself nodding and following you to the couch, taking the empty space next to you but leaving a good amount of space between the both of you.

After you both got comfortable on the couch, you found a movie and pressed play before turning the volume up just enough to drown out the sound of the rolling thunder outside. You handed him the throw blanket after noticing that he was starting to shake slightly, but otherwise, you left him alone, not wanting to push any limits.

The room was quiet, except for the sound of the movie playing through the speakers. You sat with your legs curled underneath you as you played with the loose threads on the couch arm.

“Why are you awake?” His voice caused your heart to jump into your throat, startled by the sudden noise before you glanced over at him.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You told him before turning your gaze back to the TV, your racing heart starting to calm, but Wooyoung’s eyes never left your form.

“Because of the storm?”

You took a moment to respond, mulling over what you should tell him. "Yeah… " It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to burden him with your problems.

Wooyoung could tell that you hadn’t told the full truth, but he wasn’t going to push for answers, so he just left it at that and went back to watching the movie.

About an hour and a half later, the storm finally calmed, and Wooyoung had fallen back asleep on the couch. You couldn’t bring yourself to wake him up, so you just left him after making sure that he was completely covered. 

Grabbing your phone from the coffee table, you looked at the time and saw that it was a little bit after six. So you stood and made your way back to your room to change, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You were going to run to the store to grab a few groceries as well as a change of clothes for Wooyoung, something that you knew he would wear and that wasn’t already worn by someone else.

–

Wooyoung woke up with a groan, his arm covering his face from the harsh rays of sunlight. After a few moments, he lifted himself up and looked around the living room. Had he fallen asleep in here last night? His eyes then fell on a pile of folded clothes that sat on the table, a piece of paper sitting on top of them. 

Reaching over, he grabbed the note, thinking that you had just laid out more of your brother's clothes for him to change into. However, as he read the note, his eyebrow raised.

‘I went to the store this morning and got you something to change into; I wasn’t too sure about your size, so I hope they fit. There’s food in the fridge, and if you need anything, I’ll be in the backyard.’ - y/n

He found it hard to believe that you actually bought him something, but as he grabbed the T-shirt, he found that the tags were still attached, and the only scent he could smell was the faint aroma of the store. His eyes then shifted to the backdoor that he could see through the doorway of the dining room back to the shirt in his hands. He was surprised but grateful nonetheless, so he gathered the clothes before heading back to the guest room to change.

When he was done changing, he went to hunt for you, which wasn’t too hard, seeing as he could hear you humming to yourself through the open window in the kitchen. So he opened the back door and found you sitting on a swinging bench with yet another book in your hands.

At the sound of the door opening, you moved your gaze away from the page you had been reading. A small smile tugged on your lips at the sight of him wearing the clothes you had bought. Closing the book, you sat it to the side and gave him your full attention.

“Do they fit alright?” you asked, and he nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment as he noticed the dark bags that had formed under your eyes. You then remembered his bandages and stood to your feet, “Have you changed your bandages yet?”

“No, I was gonna ask you where they were.” He told you that the hairs on the back of his neck stood tall when a gust of wind blew past him, and he shivered. “Why are you out here when it’s this cold?” He wasn’t even sure where the question had come from, but he wanted to know the more the chill settled into his bones, and he started to shiver.

“It’s not that bad as long as the wind isn’t blowing," you explained before grabbing your book. "Now, let's go change your bandages.” You walked back to the door and opened it before walking in, Wooyoung close behind you, ready to get out of the cold.

As you were bandaging his stitches, you started to wonder why he hadn’t left when he looked like he was ready to run out that door any moment yesterday. Unknowingly, Wooyoung was wondering the same thing to himself. He was sure that he would just leave after waking up. Yet he once again found himself being tugged back to you, wanting to stay in your presence. It was annoying as hell.

When you were done, you threw out the old bandages and left everything he needed to change them sitting on the dresser.

“I’ll leave these here for you if you leave, so you have something,” you told him as you made your way to the door. But he quickly caught your wrist in his hand, the skin tingling at the contact. Shocked, you looked back at him with wide eyes, but he kept his gaze averted, his ears folded back.

“Could I stay here?” He hated to ask because the last thing he wanted was to be stuck with a human, but his ‘home’ was merely just an abandoned factory that was on the outskirts of the city that he had made himself comfortable in after escaping the last human he was with.

As if his reaching out to grab you wasn’t shocking enough, his asking to stay here after making it seem like he wanted nothing to do with you shocked you even more. You blinked at him a few times, trying to find the words, but Wooyoung took that as a sign that you didn’t want him there, so he started to let go. At the loss of contact, the shock instantly wore off, and you grabbed his hand, catching him off guard.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that, but yes, you’re more than welcome to stay here.” Your words came out rushed, worried that he would try to stop you if you didn’t speak fast enough. Wooyoung looked at you in shock for a moment before his eyes fell to where you were still holding onto his hand, noticing his gaze you quickly let go with an apology, sticking your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. “Uh… I’ll be out back again if you need anything!”

Wooyoung couldn’t help the small smile of amusement that spread on his lips as you tucked tail and rushed out of the room, and he definitely didn’t miss the faint blush on your cheeks. He let out a breath of air before turning and going back to the bed.

Something about you kept pulling him to you, and he wanted to figure out what it was. However, he was also worried that if he opened up too much, it would just be a repeat of last time. So, he decided to keep a good distance between the two of you so he wouldn’t run the chance of trusting another human.

It couldn’t be that hard, right?

The first week that he was there, it was easy to avoid being around you too much unless you were helping him change the bandages on his back. However, the longer he stayed with you, the more that he found himself drawn to you, and it became hard to avoid you.

Even now, as the both of you sat on the couch watching TV, the empty dinner plates were sitting on the coffee table. He sat close to you, wanting to soak in the warmth that you give off, yet he was hesitant about it, but even in the short amount of time you’ve known him you knew what he was wanting. So carefully, you reached over and grabbed his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers together. His breath hitched in his throat as his eyes landed on where your hand sat in his, but you didn’t say a word nor look at him.

As much as he hated it he could feel the walls he had built up around him start to crumble the longer he stayed near you. He didn’t really hate it. He just wasn’t sure if he could trust you.

“We can take your stitches out tomorrow morning.” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked over at you, offering him a small smile. That’s when he noticed that the dark bags under your eyes had gotten worse, and his eyebrows scrunched up, causing you to laugh softly. "What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face?”

“Have you been sleeping?” His question caught your off guard and you looked at him with wide eyes.

Was it really that evident that you haven’t been sleeping well? You were sure that you had managed to cover the eyebags, just maybe not good enough. Letting out a short laugh, you reached up and rubbed the back of your neck as you turned your gaze away from him.

“Is it really that obvious? I’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it's been worse here lately.” You explained to him, releasing his hand, and he watched as you laid it on your lap. He started to worry that it had something to do with him, but you were quick to catch on, looking back over at him with a small smile. “It’s not because of you, it’s just…” A part of you wanted to spill everything to him; something about him just drawing you in like a string that was attached to your soul, but you didn’t want to overstep any lines that would make him uncomfortable.

Against his better judgment, Wooyoung reached over and took your hand back into his, interlocking your fingers together once more. Surprised, you looked down at your intertwined hands before looking up to meet his gaze. Then, despite all of the warning bells that were ringing in his head, he opened his mouth and spoke softly.

“You can tell me.” He reassured you, and you felt your heart leap at the sincerity in his eyes.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to trauma dump.” You tried to laugh it off, but he squeezed your hand, pulling your attention back to him. His gaze alone told you that he wasn’t going to let you go until you talked about it, so you just slunk back into the couch with a sigh. “My parents used to um… hit me to put it lightly back when everything was happening with the hybrids. They would wait until I was asleep in bed to come in and drag me out.” Your voice shook softly as you started to explain, averting your gaze to your and Wooyoung’s interlocked hands, watching his thumb brush the back of your hand. “Even after they finally kicked me out, I would wake up from night terrors. They got better after a while, but sometimes they get bad again, and I just can’t bring myself to sleep. I’m still petrified at the thought of them barging into my room again, so I just stay awake. Better safe than sorry.”

After you finished explaining, Wooyoung just looked at you. Even back then, you would rather take those beatings from your parents than turn against his kind. He started to see you in a new light, and he found himself even more drawn to you.

He squeezed your hand once again, catching your attention. As your eyes met his, you could feel the tears pooling in your eyes. You quickly apologized as they started to fall, turning your head to wipe them away, but he caught your chin and turned you to look back at him. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, wiping away the tears before he spoke again.

“As long as I’m here, you don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you like that again.” His eyes scanned your face, and he could tell that you were on the verge of breaking down. He wiped a few more tears away before pulling his hand away and you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “You need to sleep; you look exhausted.”

You let out a small sigh, but you knew he was right. It was only a matter of time before something went wrong if you kept yourself awake any longer. So you made yourself comfortable on the couch, propping your arm up to rest your head on the couch, eyes watching the TV.

Wooyoung watched you for a few more moments before turning to look back at whatever movie was playing on the TV. Before too long, he looked over to find that you were fast asleep. Your lips parted slightly, and he couldn’t help but stare. Until he noticed your eyebrows scrunching together, and you started to mumble something.

Releasing your hand, he did the first thing that came to mind: He wrapped his arm around your body and pulled you into his. As soon as your head met his chest, the soft thumping of his heart was heard under your ear. He watched for a moment as your features relaxed and his body went rigid, his ears standing tall when your arms wrapped around his torso. After a few moments, he relaxed, his arm snug around you as he continued to watch TV.

–

When you woke up, you weren’t sure what time it was. Lifting your head, you wiped the sleep out of your eyes but became acutely aware of the body under yours. Moving slowly so as not to wake the male, you reached for your phone and turned the screen to see the time pop up on the screen.

‘2:19am’

Your eyes widened as you realized just how long you had been asleep and without any nightmares at that. Looking back at Wooyoung, you grimaced at the way his head was cranked backwards. Curling your lips inward, you reached out and shook him softly.

“Wooyoung… hey, wake up, Wooyou–” You gasped when he jolted awake, his hand wrapping around your wrist, his eyes alert, and his ears folded back. However, once he realized it was just you, his ear relaxed, and his grip loosed.

“Sorry,” He apologized before releasing your wrist to rub his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after two, you should go to bed; you looked uncomfortable.” You told him, guilt creeping up your spine when you realized that he was like that because you were laying on him.

He looked at you for a moment, then said, “If I’m going to bed, then you should, too.”

You wanted to protest, but the stern gleam in his eyes told you that you weren’t going to win this fight even if you tried. So you nodded before standing and turning the TV off, Wooyoung not too far from you.

When you got to your door, you paused for a second, unsure if you would even be able to sleep again. Noticing your hesitance, Wooyoung stopped turning the door handle to his room to look over at you.

“Are you okay?” You jumped at his voice before looking over your shoulder at him.

“I’ll be fine; I’m just not sure if I’ll be able to sleep again.” You told him honestly, but you waved him off quickly, not wanting to bug him further. "Don’t worry about it. Good night, Wooyoung.”

Before he could utter a word, you disappeared into your room, the door shutting softly behind you. He let out a huff, his tail waving behind him, matching his annoyed state. Walking into his room, he decided that it wasn’t really his place to push you, so he just left it be.

You crawled into your bed after changing into a pair of pajamas, but as soon as you lay down and closed your eyes, flashes of those nights came back, and you quickly opened your eyes. Turning onto your back, you stared at your ceiling for a few moments before trying to sleep once again. However, you kept tossing and turning, either too uncomfortable, or fear etched itself in your head as soon as you were about to fall asleep, waking you right back up. With a huff, you started to give up on the idea of sleeping when you heard a knock at your door, nearly scaring the life out of you.

You slowly climbed out of bed and walked over to the door, opening it just enough to look out. Your eyes widened when you found Wooyoung standing there.

“What are you–”

“I can hear you moving around in the other room; I can’t sleep.” He cut you off, and your face dropped. You hadn’t meant to keep him awake. You started to apologize, but he just shook his head, his ear twitching slightly. “You seemed to sleep better when I was with you on the couch, so…” He really didn’t want to spell it out for you, and thankfully, you caught on to what he was saying.

“You don’t have to, I don’t want to trou–” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pushed past you into your room, kicking the door closed behind him and pulling you towards the bed.

“Just be quiet and lay down.” His snarky tone was something that you had grown used to over the past two weeks that he’s been here, so it didn’t bother you. No, what was getting to you was the thought of sleeping in the same bed as him. Hearing the sound of your heart rate pick up, he flicked your forehead, causing you to yelp, “We’re just sleeping. Get your head out of the gutter.”

“I– you–” You stumbled over your words in embarrassment, causing the fox to smirk. Your face was a bright shade of pink, and you thanked the heavens that it was dark so he couldn’t see it; at least, you hoped he didn’t. With a pout, you turned, walked over to the other side of the bed, and laid down, your back facing him.

Laughing softly, he took the empty space next to you, pulling the blankets over his body. The room then fell silent as you both laid there, you could already start to feel yourself drift off. Then before too long you had fallen asleep just as Wooyoung thought you would, he then laid his head back down and started to drift off. However, he was jolted from his slumber when you suddenly turned and moved closer to him, your hand brushed against his side as you moved. He stayed still for a moment until you practically curled yourself against his side before he let out a sigh and went to sleep.

–

The next morning you woke up before Wooyoung, a yawn escaping your lips as you went to sit up only to find Wooyoung’s arm draped over your body. Heat crept up your neck as you realized just how close the two of you were, his soft snores filling your ears.

Carefully untangling your body from his, you climbed out of the bed and grabbed a change of clothes before heading to the bathroom attached to your bedroom. Shutting the door behind you, you walked over to the sink and looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Snap out of it, y/n; he’s just trying to help because you’re bothering him. Don’t let it go to your head.” You sighed, turning on the tap to splash cool water over your face.

“You’re not bothering me.” You jumped at the sound of his voice, a small yelp falling from your lips as you looked up, seeing him in the reflection of the mirror.

“When did you…?” You turned to look at him with wide eyes; you hadn’t even heard the door open.

Wooyoung didn’t say a word as he stalked closer to you and you tried to back away only to be met with the counter. He then trapped your body between his and the countertop, leaning down until his warm breath washed over your face.

Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips that were merely inches away from your own and you swallowed thickly. Wooyoung wasn’t sure what had washed over him or if it was just that his rut was coming up, but that pull he felt towards you was stronger than ever this morning.

His hand then found your waist, pulling you against him, causing a soft gasp to fall from your lips. His head then dipped down, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, “I can hear your heart hammering in your chest, sweetheart.”

“Wooyoung…” You breathed out, your hand pressing against his chest, and you could feel his own heartbeat against your palm. 

The fox hummed as he moved away from your ear to look at you, his tail brushing against your bare thigh. His gaze was intense as he stared down at you, his grip on your hip tightening. You wanted to push him away, but you couldn’t, and neither could Wooyoung as he finally captured your lips with his. Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling of his plush lips against yours.

Any hesitance you felt moments before flew out the window as you melted against him, returning his eager kiss. Your arms snaked around his neck as he deepened the kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You didn’t give him much of a fight as you parted your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. A soft moan fell from your lips when he gently bit down on your bottom lip, and Wooyoung could feel his pants grow tighter.

His kisses grew hungrier as his hands started to roam your body, fingers slipping underneath your shirt. Your brain started to go foggy as his lips trailed from yours down your jaw before finding purchase on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“W-Wooyoung.” You choked out as he started to leave hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, nipping every now and then, causing your body to shiver. His eager hands found the back of your thigh, hoisting you onto the counter, eliciting a small yelp from you.

“You smell so good.” He groaned against your skin before his hands slipped under your shirt, squeezing at the skin. “Fuck I need you, baby, so bad.”

You moaned softly at his words, your hands gripping his shoulders, “We can’t… your stitches.” You told him, trying your best not to lose yourself in the feeling of his hands on your skin and his teeth grazing your neck.

“It’s fine, they’re coming out today. You said so yourself.” He told you, pulling away from your neck to look at you. The dark lust that pooled in his eyes made your arousal grow tenfold, and you could feel your panties growing wetter.

His fingertips then brushed the underside of your breast, and his eye flickered down to your shirt at the realization that you hadn’t been wearing a bra. With quick movements, he pulled the shirt over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor. His eyes then fell on your bare breast, drinking in the sight with his eyes.

You felt so exposed under his intense gaze, goosebumps littering your skin before you started to cover yourself. However, he was quicker, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into another bruising kiss. A muffled mewl left your mouth when he cupped your breast in his hand, squeezing the soft fat.

“Don’t hide from me. You’re too pretty to hide.” His voice was hoarse as he pulled away from you; his head then dipped down. His lips latched onto the skin right above your breast, and you could feel your sanity slowly slipping away from you.

Your nails dug into his shoulder as he pressed his hips against yours, allowing you to feel how hard he was against your clothed cunt. A gasp fell from your swollen lips when he latched onto one of your nipples, teeth nipping at the sensitive bud.

“B-Bed.” You gasped out when his hand traveled down your stomach to your clothed heat.

Wooyoung let out a low growl, not wanting to waste time, but he detached himself from your breast nonetheless before picking you up. A small yelp fell from your lips as your arms wrapped your arms around his neck.

Walking back into the bedroom, he dropped you onto the bed, a small huff leaving your lips as you fell. Wooyoung didn’t leave you alone for too long, though, quickly discarding his shirt before crawling over you, his lips finding yours once more.

His hands then found the hem of your sleep shorts, fingers wrapping around the waistband, but he stopped and pulled away from your lips.

“Can I?” He asked despite the overpowering need to have you fully, not wanting to push any boundaries there may be. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at him, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him back down to you.

“Please,” You spoke softly, pressing a kiss on the corner of his lips, and that was all he needed before he hastily pulled off both your shorts and underwear. The way his eyes were devouring you had you pooling even more, your thighs rubbing together to try and alleviate some of the pressure.

Wooyoung’s head dipped down to your neck once more, nipping at the skin softly as his hand traveled down your body. He pulled your thighs apart before his fingers met with your soaping core, and he groaned against you.

“Fuck I could smell how wet you were, but I wasn’t expecting you to be this wet babydoll.” He groaned against your skin as the pad of his middle finger found your throbbing clit. The sinful sound that left your lips nearly made him lose all sense of control, and he tried his best not to bite down on your collarbone. 

“W-Woo–” You were cut off by a moan when he slipped a finger into your tight walls.

“Shit baby, you’re so tight,” He chuckled darkly as your eyes rolled slightly when he curled his fingers after adding a second finger. There was no way he was going to be able to hold off for much longer before he lost it, so he sped up his pace, his thumb pressing harsh circles on your clit.

“F-fuck!” You cried out, back arching off of the bed and against him. Your mind was starting to shortcircuit when he brushed over your sweet spot, and a broken whine fell from your lips. 

Wooyoung leaned up latching his lips on yours once more, stealing the air right out of your lungs. Your hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him close to you as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you. He bit at your lower lip, enough to draw blood before he started to suck on it; the mixture of pain and pleasure sent you toppling over the edge.

“Wooyoung!” You cried out as he continued to fuck his fingers into you, prolonging your orgasm for a few moments before finally pulling them out of your twitching cunt.

You watched with hooded eyes as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, licking your essence off of his digits. The sight was enough to make your need grow all over again, especially with the way his eyes bore into you. Once he was sure he had licked every last drop of your sweet nectar off of his fingers, he leaned back down over you, pressing his lips against yours again. You mewled at the taste of yourself on his tongue mixed with the tangy, metallic taste of your blood from your lip.

“Next time, I’ll have you cumming on my tongue.” He growled against your lips, and you were sure your brain was turning to putty at the thought of him between your thighs, lapping at your cunt like it was his favorite meal in the world. “But for right now… I need to be in you.”

He moved back far enough to pull the string of his sweats loose and pushed them down his legs. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of his cock, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He was big, way bigger than anyone you had ever been with before, but for granted, you’ve never slept with a hybrid. You then started to wonder whether or not it would fit, swallowing nervously.

Sensing your unease, Wooyoung crawled back over your body, drawing your attention back to his face. He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead before whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you, baby, I promise.”

You gazed into his eyes for a moment before nodding softly, licking your lips, “o-okay, I trust you.” 

Wooyoung smiled softly before pulling you into another kiss as he grabbed himself at the base, teasing your folds with his tip. You let out soft gasps every time he bumped against your clit that slowly turned into needy whines the more he continued to tease you. Tears from the overwhelming need started to brim in your eyes, and the dark-haired male could have sworn he’d bust right then and there.

“P-please, Woo… I need you, please.” You whined as your fingers tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently.

“Alright, my needy baby.” He cooed before lining his tip with your entrance and slowly pushed into you.

The stretch was like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fill you. “Ah, focus on me, love,” Wooyoung whispered softly, coaxing your eyes open, and you looked at him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes. “Good girl.” 

You moan at the praise, his length still pushing you until he finally buried himself to the hilt. Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape from the feeling of being stuffed full. Wooyoung groaned as his face fell to the crook of your neck; you were squeezing him so tightly that if he were to move right now, he’d cum.

“W-Woo…” You gasped as he unintentionally rolled his hips against yours. He quickly apologized before stilling his hips, his hand finding yours to interlock his fingers with yours.

Your shallow breaths fanned against his ear as he pressed kisses along your chest, and he groaned at the feeling. Even through your foggy haze, you could notice the effect it had on him. Your free hand moved to the top of his head, your fingers brushing against his ear, and his whole body jolted.

“Fuck baby, don’t do that.” He groaned, moving his head up to look at you and you just looked at him with doe eyes, a small smile tugging on the corner of your lips. You reached up to touch his ear once more but he caught your wrist, a small growl reverberating from his chest. The sound went right to your pussy causing you to clench around him. “I’m trying so hard to not lose control babydoll, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

A choked moan tore from your lips when he rolled his hips into yours, pleasure washing over you in waves as he hit all the right spots in one single stroke. Wooyoung released your wrist and hand to grab your hips when you gave him the green light to move.

Stars danced across your vision as he pulled out before snapping his hips right back into yours. Your fingers dug into the sheets from the overwhelming pleasure. 

“Fuck look at you.” He groaned as he continued his rough pace; it was almost animalistic if you will. His eyes then fell down to where his cock disappeared into your soaping cunt, and he felt himself grow harder at the sight of the small bulge that formed in your lower tummy every time he pushed into you.

“Shit, Woo– fuck!” You cried out as he pushed down on your stomach, making you feel him even more as he fucked into you. Tears spilled from your eyes now as your whole body felt as if it were on fire, your legs trembling around Wooyoung’s waist.

“Are you gonna cum baby?” He cooed down at you as he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, stealing the air from your lungs once more as his tip kissed your cervix at this angle. A loud pornographic moan tore from your lips when one of his hands slid between your bodies, pressing against your clit. “Cum for me, babydoll, please.” He pleaded like he was the one more desperate for your orgasm, but with a few more strokes, you felt that coil in the pit of your stomach snap, and your release gushed out all over his length.

A mixture of his name and broken moans fell from your lips as he continued his fast pace, never slowing down and throwing your body into overstimulation. Your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling, pushing more tears out, but Wooyoung was quick to kiss them away.

“Just a little bit more; you can do that for me, can’t you, sweetheart?” He whispered into your ear before leaving a flurry of kisses along your skin. His tail brushed along your leg, the feeling of the soft fur sending a shiver down your spine. “‘M gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna get you pregnant with my kits; you would like that, wouldn’t you, my love?” 

You mewled at his words, your mind too far gone to truly understand what he was saying to you. Your fingers then found their way back into his hair, your fingertip brushing against his ear, and his whole body shuddered.

“Please Woo– I can’t–” You whined as your hips rolled to meet with his thrusts. Every nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire.

“Shit.” He groaned as he felt his high nearing, and his hips snapped wildly into yours, making your vision turn white, nails digging into his neck. A mixture of a groan and a whimper fell from his lips as he completely buried himself to the hit once more as he came.

“W-Woo!” You cried out when you felt something stretching you even more, and it sent your third orgasm washing over you. Wooyoung buried his face in your neck as you milked his cock for all it was worth.

Once your orgasm subsided, you opened your eyes, blinking away some of the tears before looking over at Wooyoung as he pulled his head out of your neck.

“What is that?” Your voice shook slightly and the fox male just smirked down at you before pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“It’s a knot, sweetheart. It’ll go down in a bit, but for now, try not to move too much.” He explained to you, and you let out a huff, and your head fell back, but you were sitting there for too long until Wooyoung flipped the both of you and pulled you on top of his chest. “You’ll probably be more comfortable like this.”

You let out a soft laugh before tilting your head to look up at him. "You better hope your stitches didn’t bust.” You huffed before laying your head back down on his chest as he chuckled. He ran his fingers through your hair before gently squeezing the back of your neck. Before too long, both of you had fallen asleep once more.

–

A few hours later, you were in the kitchen with Wooyoung, sitting on the barstool as you took out his stitches. He hadn’t even bothered to put a shirt on after the both of you woke up, seeing that it would be pointless.

“See, I told you they’d be fine.” He teased you as you removed the last stitch from his abdomen, and you glared up at him before raising back up.

“Yeah, and it's probably thanks to your enhanced healing.” You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged on the corner of your lips when he wrapped his hands around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. “Woo, I need to get the stitches in your back.” You went to pull away, not missing the pout that formed on his lips or how his ears drooped.

The room then fell silent. The only sound was your soft humming as you worked on removing the stitch from his back. Once they were out, you couldn’t help but brush over the scars, and this time, Wooyoung didn’t growl or even move away; he just let you do as you please.

“They’re from the last human I was with.” His voice startled you, and you looked up, but he didn’t turn his head to look at you. You laid your palm flat against his back as you listened to what he was telling you. “She was the first human that I thought I could actually trust. She treated me with so much kindness and lured me in with false promises. Then, when she had me in her grasp, that nice facade faded, and her true colors showed through.” You could hear the slight tremble in his voice as he explained, your heart aching at the thought of the betrayal he must have felt. “She was… evil, and that’s putting it lightly. Even an inch out of line, and she’d have that damn whip in her hand.” He growled lowly as he recalled all of the painful nights he had to endure in the cold cage that she would keep him in.

You stepped closer to him, your arm wrapping around his chest, and he leaned back into you. He let out a content sigh when you ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing the scruff on his ears.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, but I promise that you will never have to go through that again, "you promised as you leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on his temple. He hummed softly, soaking in your warmth because, for once, he actually believed your words.

You both stood there in silence, enjoying each other’s company. That was until the sounds of loud engines interrupted you. Both of you froze, unsure what that sound was. Quickly pulling yourself away from him, you walked with a light step towards the front of the house, peeking out of the front window. What you saw made your heart jump in your throat.

“Shit!” You cursed lowly as you turned back to the dark-haired male who had just walked into the living room.

“What is–”

“Wooyoung, listen to me; in the closet in the guest room, there’s a crawl space. I need you to go and hide in there, NOW!” You rushed, pushing him in the direction of the room, but he fought against you. “Dammit, Woo, go! It’s the hunters, so please go and hide, and for the love of god, do NOT come out no matter what you hear.” You pushed him towards the room once more, and Wooyoung’s heart dropped at the thought of the hunters being here again.

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, rushing into the guest room and shutting the door behind him. Opening the closet door and looking up, he found the crawl space you were talking about. Looking around, he found a bucket and quickly turned it over so he could use it as a step stool. 

With a few pushes, the piece of the ceiling gave way, and he quickly pulled himself up, kicking the bucket away in the process. Once he was inside, he replaced the panel before sitting there, trying to calm his racing heart.

His ears twitched as he picked up on the sound of voices from the other room, and he prayed to god that you would be okay and the hunters would just leave when they couldn’t find what they were looking for.

The hunters had practically busted their way into the cabin and you prayed the Wooyoung made it to the crawl space in time. You jumped when the door collided with the wall roughly, and the group of three men, all wearing the same insignia, walked in.

“You can’t just barge in here.” You stood your ground, glaring at them, but they just looked at you, and the front guy smirked.

“Well, if it isn't the pretty lady from the woods.” He stepped towards you, but you quickly took a step back, keeping a good space between you. “We got word that the fox hybrid was seen in this area.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about; there hasn’t been anyone but me out here.” You stated, heart hammering against your ribs as he signaled for his men to start searching, “hey you can’t just–”

In the next second, your body hit the ground, pain burning on your cheek, and tears stung in your eyes. Looking up, you glared at the man, holding your face.

“See, we would believe that if our sources hadn’t said they saw him right here with you.” He then crouched down in front of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back, causing a pained cry to leave your lips. “So if you wanna live to see the light of another day, you better start telling the truth.”

Your hands balled into fists as you spit at him, “There is no one but me here, douchebag.”

Another cry of pain fell from your lips when he backhanded you, the metal of his ring busting your lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall as you met the man’s gaze once more. Your eyes narrowed into slits as he leaned towards you.

“You’re quite feisty; I wouldn’t mind keeping you.” He reached toward you, but you quickly knocked his hand away in disgust.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You growled, heart beating frantically the longer the other two men were out of sight. You prayed that they were dumb enough to just look in the obvious places and not give the crawl space a second thought.

Wooyoung could hear the commotion in the living room, but as soon as he heard the pained cry fall from your lips, he wanted to give up his spot so he could make sure you were okay. However, he knew that he would only end up hurting you more, so he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the shuffling from underneath him.

Eventually, it stopped, and the footsteps retreated back towards the living room.

“We couldn’t find anything, boss.” Both men walked back into the room, and you had to fight the urge to let out a relieved sigh.

“Fucking hell.” The man in front of you growled before standing to his feet and looking down at you with a faux smile, “Sorry about the commotion, ma’am.”

You couldn’t help but scoff as they walked out of the house, slamming the door shut in the process. You didn’t dare move until you heard the sound of their engines fade off into the distance.

“Y/n!” Wooyoung called out as he got out of the crawl space, saw the mess the hunters had left, and quickly made a beeline to the living room.

You were just getting back onto your feet when he rounded the corner, and he felt his shoulders relax when he saw that you were okay. That was until you turned to face him, and he saw the blood dripping down your chin from the cut on your lip. And his vision turned red.

“Wooyoung, wait!” you called out to him as he made a beeline for the door, quickly grabbing his arm. “Wooyoung, stop; you can’t go after them!" you exclaimed as you tugged him back until he turned to look at you.

“Look at what they did to you; they need to pay.” He growled as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently swiping over the cut, causing you to hiss.

“I’m fine, but you can’t go after them. You alone are no match for all of them.” You explained, and he let out a defeated sigh, knowing that you were right.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling away and grabbing your hand. "Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He then dragged you to the kitchen, sitting you on the same stool that he had been in just a while ago, the first aid kit in his hands.

You watched him endearingly as he cleaned up the blood from your busted lip before putting a plaster over the cut. After he was done, he wrapped his arms around your smaller frame, pulled you into his chest, and you instantly wrapped your arms around his torso.

“They shouldn’t bother us again, at least not for a long time, if they don’t want to get in trouble for harassing a human.” You told him as you rested your chin on his chest, staring up at him. He looked down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“That's good because I can’t promise I’ll just sit idly by if they show up again.” He growled, and you knew he wasn’t joking, so you hoped they wouldn’t show their faces again.

You sat in his hold for a few more moments before pulling away and offering him a small smile "Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and I’ll make lunch?”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but smile, but he also wasn’t quick to leave your side just yet, so he refused, staying with you in the kitchen while you cooked. His playful remarks and teasing nature almost made everything feel normal once again.

But nothing fully dissipated until you were curled up on the couch with Wooyoung, watching some random movie while the both of you ate, enjoying each other’s company.

In the weeks after, there were no signs of those hunters, and you couldn’t be happier. You and Wooyoung were more than content with each other's company, even if his cockiness and teasing drove you to your wit's end.

The both of you were happy, and that was more than enough for you.

@wwooyology | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[k-hotchoisan]

missing piece

<seonghwa x fem!Reader>

Building legos is important business and Seonghwa knows that very well when he realises he’s missing a piece.

So who would’ve thought two people attempting to search for one Lego piece would lead to other things?

genres/warnings: smut, pwp, softdom!seonghwa, missing Lego piece (don’t worry it’ll get found later), dirty talk, it’s legit teeth rotting fluff and smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, established relationship, mild choking, clit stimulation

a/n: another fic exchange with @bro-atz 😎👊🏻 it’s a competition of who can kill each other faster and we both LOSING. love u bro <3 and also finally serving you all the softdom! Seonghwa you all deserve 😛 enjoy my loves 🩷

read bro’s one here 💘

wc: 1.9K

‘A couple activity idea’—apparently the amount of countless generic couple websites would list this idea. 

Yeah, this would qualify for a couple activity idea casually, not when it seemed like a big business deal when it came to Park Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa had the ambiance set, his station ready—the Animal Crossing Soundtrack Playlist with Rain playing through the speakers, his desk clean and white—only stacked with the Animal Crossing Lego sets prepared to to be unboxed, in his favourite oversized shirt, and not forgetting you, who he dragged into his room to watch him build his little building block empire—comfortably seated across him on his bed. 

You didn’t mind watching your partner build the latest Animal Crossing Lego set he just easily blew a couple of hundred on hours before. You watched his inner child take form when he made you sit down with him to watch him unbox the first set he was gonna build, his eyes large and twinkling, just like his Animal Crossing character in-game.

Seonghwa hums softly, and it’s definitely his favourite soundtrack from the game. From time to time, Seonghwa would make the little critter noises his animal villagers would make while he fixes the animal villagers and you can’t help but giggle whenever he does the impressions. He’s finished a cherry tree, making sure he flailed his wrists to get your attention. Your lips pull to a smile when your eyes land on the pretty cherry tree he built, reflecting his satisfaction with his plump lips too. 

Then he’s back to his workstation, and you’re absorbed back into playing your switch. 

“This set is pretty easy”, you hear him comment. 

“Is it?” You reply, your attention focused on trying to slay the beast. 

“Yeah. I think I could finish this in another half an hour.” He sounds confident. 

“Good luck with that sweetheart”, you respond, your eyes trailing back to your game. 

Then midway through, Seonghwa demands your attention again, and this time you watch the way his eyes light up the whole damn room when he shows you the way the little Lego letter fits into its little Lego mailbox. Not gonna lie, it was a very adorable detail. He yaps about it for a good seven minutes before he sinks back into his building block world. 

“Now here’s the million dollar question—pink or brown for the door?” He asks, loosely fitting both coloured doors after one another 

“Pink, obviously”, you pick. Seonghwa seems satisfied with your answer, and you swear you see the little musical notes float out of him when he fixes the door onto the house. 

A couple more minutes later, you glance over at the messy pieces of Lego strewn all over Seonghwa’s table, below his half-completed Animal Crossing cottage. 

He has his cheeks puffed out, and his eyebrows knitted together while he’s carefully scanning over the table. 

“Are you missing a piece?” You ask, setting your console on the bed. 

“Yeah, I think I am”, Seonghwa mutters, his index finger pointing over each piece on the table, in hopes of finding it. 

You take the instruction booklet from his hands, skimming through the pictures before you settle it down onto the desk, your eyes laser-focused onto the mess too. 

“Do you wanna come over to my side instead? Maybe you can spot it better from this view”, you suggest, which Seonghwa takes, so he shuffles over to the bed, and moves to sit right where you are—and now you’re on his lap, with his chest pressing right against your back as he towers over you, arms hugging you from behind. He continues to search for the missing Lego piece. 

You take part in the search too, the game completely forgotten by then. You realise it’s nice just having Seonghwa sitting close to you like this. Maybe this was what they meant by building Lego as “a couple activity”.

“Did you drop it or something?” You ask, shifting slightly to have a better view of the floor. You hear Seonghwa grunt behind you, but you pay no attention, focusing on finding the piece. 

Seonghwa swears he’s focused on looking for the missing piece too—he really wants to complete the set, but at the same time, he’s watching and feeling you move against him on top of the way he’s able to wrap his arms around you easily, smelling his scent on you—it’s not helping his case. He bites his bottom lip, trying to manage himself. 

Obviously, it does nothing, considering he’s having you in such close proximity, and every movement you’re brushing against him is starting to make him grow sensitive. 

His hand snakes down to your thighs, drawing circles, his other hand sifting through the endless pieces of Lego. 

He forces himself to concentrate, and it works for a split second, that is, until you absentmindedly shift his free arm on under your loose shirt, and he snaps. 

“If this is your way of breaking my concentration, you’re doing a good job”, you hear his deep voice ringing in your ears. He’s letting his hands roam all over your body hidden underneath your shirt, his fingers grazing against your nipples teasingly, and it draws gasps out of you. 

“Focus on finding the block, Park Seonghwa”, you tease, readjusting yourself, making sure you press against his growing erection underneath his loose shorts. 

It’s Seonghwa’s turn to draw a shaky breath every time your clothed ass comes into contact with his erection.

You pretend to ignore him, but you can’t ignore the way he’s massaging your tits, and you find yourself sighing and growing hotter through each passing moment. 

You think he’s finally giving you a break, but you’re proven wrong when his hands are sliding down the waistband of your shorts. 

“You’re not finding the block, Angel”, Seonghwa points out, and you pout at his words. Your hand slips under the large opening of his shorts and fuck—his erection is only growing thicker. 

You hear him groan behind you when you let your hands wander to stroke his cock through his underwear. So he retaliates with his finger sliding past your panties, cursing when he realises your pussy is growing wetter by the second.  

“We’re supposed to be looking for the Lego piece, Hwa”, you mutter, mind growing hazy as his fingers get drenched from your slick, circling your clit gently. 

“Mmhm. We are, baby. You’re just not focusing”, Seonghwa replies, his index and middle finger spreading your folds open letting his index finger find your clit more easily, and it’s driving you fucking crazy. 

Your legs push open automatically, your hands pausing stroking him off, well, not that Seonghwa minded. 

“That feels so good”, you sigh. Seonghwa’s other hand cups your jaw, and you turn to face him, feeling the way his hands slide down your throat while Seonghwa has your lips on his, eating up your whines and moans before letting you catch your breath.

“So fuckin wet for me, Angel. You like it that much?” He teases. 

“Mmhm, your fingers feel so good Hwa”, you nod, your grip around his arm tightening as the pleasure builds in your stomach every time his finger strokes against your clit. At this point, you can’t even pretend.  

His lips are pressed against your ear, his voice deep yet you sense traces of whining in his tone when he says, “Sit on my dick. I need you on my fucking dick now, Angel.” 

Of course, you comply, despite your legs trembling slightly, letting Seonghwa slip out of his bottoms. His arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him, his lips making a whole garden of bites down your neck before he has both his hands lift your hips. 

Seonghwa lines himself against your fluttering cunt and he pushes himself into your pussy hole, his moans of relief sending you into a spiral on top of his cock sinking into you. 

Fuck, he’s filling you up so fucking good. 

“Fuck. That’s it, babe. You’re so fucking good”, he groans when you squeeze against him. 

“Hwa, oh my fucking god, you’re so full in me”, you sob, trying to adjust to his length. 

“Do you think we can find the piece better like this?” He jokes while peppering kisses down your neck to distract himself so he doesn’t fucking just burst in you just yet. 

Even in your pleasured haze, you still manage to laugh while you try to keep your eyes open. 

“I think we can”, you reply with a giggle, before squealing when you feel him twitch in you. You shift forward slightly, feeling his cock shift in you, dragging along your walls, a small whine escaping past your lips. 

With the last of your sanity remaining, you glance over the desk one more time, biting your lip to stay grounded, obviously to no avail, especially not with Seonghwa and his little movement behind you. 

“I really think it’s-fuck-not here”, Seonghwa mutters behind you, forcing himself not to thrust into you, his fingers slithering down to your wet clit once more. 

“I’m pretty sure it d-dropped. We haven’t checked the floor yet-ngh-right?” you manage to ask.

“Mmmm nope”, Seonghwa responds, mesmerised at the way your slick growing thicker on your clit and on his cock as he continues to rub your clit. “I guess we can do that later ‘cause I really need to fuck your pussy right now, Angel.” 

He doesn’t give you much time to answer because you’re a complete goner when Seonghwa is making you bounce off his cock while he gets you off with his fingers. 

You’re trembling from the sheer pleasure, your vision slowly growing hazy, the knot tightening in your abdomen more quickly than you thought. 

“H-Hwa! Gonna cum-Oh fuckkkk”, you draw out, white clouding your vision. Your cunt flutters around his cock, dopamine shooting up your body while you completely let go on his cock as Seonghwa fucks you through your orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. “That’s it. Be a good girl and cum on my dick like that, Angel”, Seonghwa groans into your ear, his gaze traveling down at the way your thick cream streaks down his cock when he pulls out. He shuts his eyes, sighing into the nape of your neck while he listens to the way your cunt is just so loud and wet for him while he fucks your cream out of you, thrusting his hips upwards. 

“God, your pussy feels so fucking perfect. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good baby”, he pants before his hips thrust and press against yours, filling you up with his warm and thick cum accompanied by his low groans. 

You feel Seonghwa’s hands run down your body, soothing you after emptying his fucking load into you before he slowly pulls out of your cum-filled pussy. 

“I’ll get you a towel, Angel”, Seonghwa tells you, pressing his lips on your temple before leaving the bed. 

He retrieves a spare towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, before releasing you to wash up in the bathroom. 

When you renter his room, Seonghwa is switching gazes between his half-completed set and the instruction manual. 

He looks up at you with a grin that’s making you feel uneasy. 

“Babe, turns out I wasn’t missing a piece—I already had it in all along!”

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @pre1ttyies @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify @miss-fallon @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn @vic0921 @sanhwajoong @bitejoongie @no1likevie @woojirang @jjoongstar @yuyusgirl

[springcatalyst]

What if 6, 10, 15?

SO true. gracias gracias im having so mucn fun lol

-

Julian did not speak as the pair made their way through the dark streets, very aware of the blood that soaked his shirt, on his hands and in his hair.  She eyed him warily in a way that was meant to be inconspicuous, but he was familiar with watching and being watched, and knew what it looked like.  He did not speak, for he was unsure if his illusion would hold when he did.  It may have fractured already. 

She watched him. 

He did not speak.

In a simpler world, on a different night, this blood could feel righteous, like karmic justice, like a deserved consequence.  It wasn’t not those things.  But there lingered something caustic that prevented any satisfaction from being carried through opened veins.  Something still rotted beneath his lungs. 

He did not speak, and tried to blame the cold for his companion’s trembling hands.

Something decayed in both of them.

He tightened his grip on his cane. 

Send me a number and I'll write a micro-story with the word or phrase :)

[beautysamour]

sitting on miguel o’hara’ face ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

— a/n: i’m ovulating. so.

warnings ﾟ𐦍༘⋆: some vulgar language

“Just sit.”

Miguel loudly sighs as he tugs on your thighs for the nth time, his dick painfully straining against his pants as he watches your wet pussy leak right in front of his face. The cum from the last round dripping down the side of your right leg.

“Miguel,” you whine. Your thighs shake as you weakly try not to fall right onto his mouth.

He tugs again, “Cariño, are you trying to edge me?” He whines out.

You moan, the very thought of him cumming inside his pants just from eating you out causing all coherent thoughts in your brain to rot.

“Come on, mi vida.”

He tugs a little harder and it does the job. You let go of all the resistance in your body and fall straight down onto Miguel’ open, watery, mouth—and you swear you almost pass out at the sensation of his wet, thick, tongue immediately plunging itself deep into your pussy, the squelching noise you hear almost makes you want to cry from the embarrassment.

You close your thighs around Miguel’ head and push yourself down into his mouth, your breath hitching in your throat as the nub of your pussy brushes against his nose.

“Miguel—“ you choke, a moan immediately escaping you when he moves his entire head with a long stroke, his nose rubbing against your clit.

He hums and your hands fly up to the headboard of the bed, and you grip on for dear life.

“Miguel,” you say and it come out as a wispy breath, “Miguel—!”

You arch your back as his lips close around your clit. Your mouth hangs open forming an “o” shape and Miguel’ hands go from your thighs to your ass to keep you on his face and to push you down even more.

The twitching of your body only gets worse when he starts to move you, you’re practically grinding his entire face now.

“Mi—Miguel,” you stutter as his hands start to roam up and down your hips and lower back, “C—close—!”

His hums and mumbles something into your pussy—the vibrations send you to the very edge and you’re right there, ready to go over the edge, ready to suffocate him with the intensity of your orgasm if you haven’t already with your pussy—

But then it stops. His hands travel up to your hips stilling you completely and then he lifts.

If you were embarrassed by how wet you were, that is nothing compared to how embarrassed you are now.

Below you was actually the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. Miguel, wet hair clinging on the sides of his face with your wetness spread all over his face, some even trailing down his neck as most of you was on his lips.

You couldn’t help yourself, you were way too close to the edge and he was way too beautiful for you to keep your composure, so all the prior wetness on his face was now mixed with your very new cum.

With half opened eyes, thanks to your cum, he smirks as he licks his lips.

Fuck, had he shown a fang you probably would’ve came again right then and there.

“S—sorry,” you say in between stutters. Having an orgasm while getting eaten out is one thing, but having one from just looking at him? The embarrassment was too much.

He lets out a deep, low chuckle before moving you away from his face. He fights back a moan as your wet pussy hits his chest.

“I’ll go get a towel for you,” Miguel grips your thighs before you can start moving, wetness leaks from your pussy.

“No need, mi amor,” he looks down at your pussy then back up at your eyes, his own still half lidded, “‘m not planning on wasting any of it.”

[triptuckers]

kissing it better - logan howlett

Request: nope Pairing:  logan howlett x reader Summary:  based on this post by @sarahsmi13s Warnings:  nothing but tooth rotting fluff ugh I love logan Word count:  1K A/N: this post… yes.. also logan deserves some soft love <3 enjoy!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

slow, domestic mornings with logan are few and far in between. it’s why you cherish every one you get.

life in the mansion is hectic, to say the least. even if you would take away everyone’s mutant abilities, there’s still a couple of dozen kids with a lot of energy swarming the place.

but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you’d been one of those kids once. unsure of your place in the world, scared, not knowing who you could trust. 

like many young mutants, you caused chaos and pain when your mutation manifested. your own parents were afraid of you. and then the professor showed up at your house and told you about his school. 

you’ve spent many years here now, teaching the children while also being a member of the x-men. you finally have a place where you belong, where you feel safe and at home. where you have friends and family who care about you.

meeting logan was only the cherry on top.

from the moment you met him, you’d been curious about him. one day you were teaching your class as usual, the next moment there was a guy with anger issues and adamantium claws in your classroom. 

at first you were stunned, as were the students, but you introduced yourself and told him to take a seat once he explained the professor thought it was a good idea for him to know what life at the mansion would be like.

ever since, he’s been sitting in on a lot of your classes. you thought it was because he was interested in the topics, but later on he confided in you that your voice and presence soothe him. 

after that conversation, logan was around you often. to learn about the mansion, he said, but you knew better.

the more time you spent with him, it became obvious he came to you when he needed to calm down. he didn’t need you to talk to him, just needed to be near you.

sometimes you would talk. it was mostly you who did the talking, though. you told him about your childhood, how you met the professor, your time at the mansion as a kid, teasing scott about jean when you were a teenager. and then you told him about the missions you went on with your fellow x-men, the classes you taught the children, how they continued to surprise you every day.

and slowly, as logan started to trust you more, he told you about his life. what it was like years ago, what he went through. you wanted logan to open up to you on his own, but you couldn’t deny you were curious about him and his life. sometimes you couldn’t help it. 

you were cradling one of his hands, taking a closer look at his knuckles as you sat on the edge of your desk. the classroom was empty, the students long gone. but logan was still there

you feel logan’s gaze on you, but you continue to study his hand. turning his hand over in yours, examining it.

‘you really can just get them out whenever you want?’ you ask him.

‘yeah.’ says logan.

‘can I see them?’

logan briefly hesitates. no one’s ever asked him that. most people who have seen his claws up close didn’t live to tell the story. but you’re being so gentle with him, he does as you ask.

you drop your hands as he pulls his arm away slightly. then he slowly lets his claws come out. you watch as the skin between his knuckles splits as the adamantium blades slice through. 

you briefly look up to logan and notice how he clenches his jaw slightly. 

‘does it hurt?’ you ask him. ‘when they come out?’

logan looks down at you. at this fellow x-men, a teacher, a lover. no one has ever been this patient and gentle and loving with him.

‘every time.’ he says, looking at the way you’re holding his hand.

it had been a long time since logan had slept in his own room. what few belongings he had, he added to your room. but because the mansion life was a busy life, you rarely get to enjoy each other’s presence like this.

logan is still asleep. his breath tickles the back of your neck. one of his arms is lazily swung over your body, the other beneath your head. you love waking up like this, safe in his embrace.

you reach out and softly run your fingers over his knuckles. it’s remarkable how fast his skin heals. 

your touch wakes logan, who stirs behind you. now that he’s awake, you turn around in his arms so you can bury your face in his neck. logan pulls you closer, wanting to go back to sleep.

he feels how you take a hold of his hand and move it. then he feels something on his knuckles. he opens his eyes and sees you pressing soft kisses to the skin between his knuckles, right where the tips of his claws rest beneath his skin.

logan has never been the romantic type. but he swears he feels his heart burst with the amount of love he feels for you. you’ve kissed him before, obviously. but not like this, not on his knuckles.

‘what are you doing?’ he asks, voice still laced with sleep. 

you briefly look up at him before you move to get a hold of his other hand, bringing it up to your lips.

‘you said it hurts every time they come out.’ you explain. ‘I’m kissing it better.’

logan’s lips part in surprise, before smiling at you. 

‘you’re gonna do this every time they come out?’ he says.

you nod. ‘yes. you said it hurts every time. so I’ll kiss it better every time.’

‘you’ll be busy for the rest of your life, then.’

‘that’s okay. I don’t plan on going anywhere.’ 

logan leans in and presses a soft kiss against your lips. with his forehead against yours, he drifts off to sleep again. feeling the occasional kiss against his knuckles. 

A/N: thanks for reading! everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. please do not copy, translate, plagiarise or repost my work! some of these are requested by other people and I spend a lot of time and effort on my works <3 much love, marit

[darnell-la]

Logan in a rut has me brain rotted. I’d love if you could write something about this. I think he would try and isolate himself not matter what but it gets to the point where he can’t hold back anymore and needs relief. Idk if he would be more possessive and rough or if he would end up whiny and desperate almost subby.

note: this is a younger Logan Howlett who ends up a bit subby. he would 100% beg the reader to help him because he would be too embarrassed and shy to just man up and dominate her (we have different thoughts of Logan almost every day).

we will be worrying more rut!logan once we get caught up with our college work. we wanna make bro nasty…

———

Logan’s time has come. He hoped it wouldn’t show, but every day that passed, it gets worse. The first day, all he had to do was rub one out, but after the second, he knew he was fucked.

He couldn’t help himself. He fucked his pillow. The man was beyond fucked up that night. He had ripped his pillow open with his claws and buried his cock inside, moaning the girl's name like he’s never before.

Y/n and Logan had been friends for years. A little flirting here and there happens. They might even get a bit touchy but never have they sat and talked about what they were. Especially since the man was known for keeping his flirt up with Jean.

Logan wasn’t surprised when the only person he could think of was y/n. She was pretty, her body always sent a shock through his own, her eyes would have him lost in seconds, and she was the only one around here with common sense.

At times, he hated all those good things about her. Like now. He’s sitting across from her in the kitchen, watching her sip on her drink and watch YouTube on her phone.

All the innocent things she does, makes him so damn hard. He can’t help himself. “G-Goodnight,” Logan said as he got up to leave. He needed to rub one out again. Maybe he’d sneak into her room and cum on her sheets. He needed something that was close enough to her.

“Aw, I was gonna ask if you could walk and get some wood with me, but I’ll get it myself. Goodnight, Logan!” She smiled at the man before he turned the corner, needing to get out of there.

He hoped he could get himself to go upstairs without struggling. Without turning back around to beg Y/n, he couldn’t hold it after her thought of her saying she’d be getting wood tonight.

It’s been almost an hour, and Logan is sitting on the stairs, cock pulsing through his thick jeans. He swore his balls were blue already.

He almost got up to get this over with and grab y/n, pulling her somewhere to at least cum on her face, but he heard the lights cut off in the kitchen.

He peaked around the corner, seeing y/n walk down the hallway and out of the mansion to do her night walk for some wood.

“Fuck,” the man groaned, already thinking of how good he’ll be feeling once he gets his hands on her. He needed to touch her. It’s only been a few short days, but he can’t control it anymore.

The man stalked behind y/n, making sure she wouldn’t sense anything behind her as she walked through the woods with a huge bag to carry back a few dry sticks.

Logan shook his head at the sight of her headphones, knowing she couldn’t hear a thing around her. This was a safe place, but now that he was going through this feeling from hell, it wasn’t anymore. At least for her.

Y/n placed her bag down and took her headphones out before picking up thick and dry wood that she could use for the fire tomorrow night. The way she sang, only made the man want her more. He needed her now.

“Hey, y/n?” Logan spoke, making y/n jump from the unexpected presence of someone else. “Oh, god! Hey, Logan,” the girl smiled up at him as he walked towards her, looking down.

“I-I know this is kind of a weird time, but I need to ask you a question,” Logan said, feeling nervous now that she’s right here. “Yes, ask me anything,” she smiled as she shifted her body towards him.

“Fuck, I — Y/n, I’m going rough a rut,” the man blurted out. This was not a part of his plan. He was going to turn y/n around and shove his cock in her mouth before carrying her back to the mansion, but now he’s stuck.

“Oh — I-I don’t really know what that means, but I can still help you,” she said. “Y/n, it hurts,” the man spoke. His voice came off as a beg which made y/n feel sad for him, even though she had no idea what hurt.

“What is it, Lo? Tell me, and I’ll help you,” she went to get up, but Logan stepped towards her and placed a hand on her head, softly pushing her back down. “It hurts,” the man shifted her head just a little, making her realize his print was right in front of her face.

“Logan,” she said, loss of words at the sight of how hard his cock tried fighting through his jeans. “I-I don’t know what to do about that. Maybe take some pills. Cool it down?” She suggested, but he shook his head.

“Need you, y/n. I need you,” the man said low, needing her to touch him. “I-“ the girl cut herself off, taking a deep dive into her thoughts. The man sounded like he was in horrible pain. He was a friend, so this wouldn’t be bad, right?

“Okay, but I don’t know if it’ll help,” she said, not knowing that this would be more than enough. Y/n slowly reached up to unbuckle his belt. She could see his legs shaking a little from how nervous he was.

He had no idea what came over him. At first, he was going to get what he wanted. Use her like an animal, but now — Seeing her like this and willing to help him, made him feel better. She was going to take care of him.

“P-Please hurry,” the man begged as her hands slid down his clothes cock through his boxers after his shorts fell to his knees. “Did you cum?” Y/n asked, confused but the wet patch was only pre cum. A lot of pre cum.

“P-Please, y/n, fuck,” the man balled his fists, trying to keep himself from crumbling right then and there. He needed to leak in her mouth. No place else. Only her mouth.

“Okay, okay,” y/n worried as she finally pulled his cock out, and god, was he hurting. The veins that covered his cock, showed like crazy. His tip was sticky. His balls were stiff and ready to explode.

“Baby, please!” The man begged louder. Y/n quickly wrapped her lips around his cock and sunk down to take him all in. Well, as much as she could. He was very big.

“G-God,” the man breathed out as his head tilted back. “Oh my god, thank you. Thank you so fuckin’ much, baby,” Logan covered his face with his hands as his heart raised, feeling himself close.

“Oh, fuck, baby — yes,” the man moaned as she quickens her paste, slurping and coating his cock with her spit as she sucked a big roughly.

“Baby, please, let me cum. P-Please, I need to cum,” the man begged, wanting her to decide what he could do. Y/n nodded her head, not knowing what else to do, but she wanted him to cum. Have wanted to make him feel better.

“T-Thank you,” Logan moans loudly as his col twitched, spilling down the girl's throat. Y/n continued, sucking the man as his eyes crossed from the feeling of her emptying his sack.

“G-God,” he couldn’t keep himself together. She was so good at this. He wished he could have this every night before he went to bed.

“S-So good, y/n. So fuckin’ good,” the man let the woman know how great she was. Y/n’s glossy eyes looked up at him, feeling herself grow wet, but she knew she could deal with it herself.

“Get up, baby. Needa takes you back to my room,” Logan pulled y/n to her feet. Confused, the young lady allowed him to throw her over his shoulders.

“I can smell you, and I don’t want to leave you leaking for the night,” Logan said as he walked back towards the mansion. “I’ll be fine, Logan. I-I need to head to bed,” y/n spoke, a bit nervous about this all.

She thought that after she did him this small favor, that would be it. He had other plans. He wasn’t letting her go.

“You’ll sleep with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll move your stuff to my room so you can sleep there every night,” the man thought way further than she thought.

“I don’t know if we can do that. We’ll have to tell Charles about our shared room, meaning everyone has to know, and I don’t know-“ she tried saying, but he cut her off.

“Baby, please. I’m fine with everyone knowing about what happened tonight. I can’t ignore how much I need you anymore,” Logan admitted.

“What if this happened again? What if I couldn’t walk to you from how hard I was? You do this to me, baby, so I need your help — I need you,”

Y/n sighed to herself then accepted what he wanted. Logan gave the girl a small peck on her side as he continued walking towards the mansion.

[oreo-creampie]

𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞…

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @bernkastel11 How do you think Toji's dick pics would look like?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sending nudes, asking for nudes, a nsfw link for a visual for the head canons, Satoru fucks his fist, toji is big with a big cock, mention of a toy

oreo: im so sorry that i've been letting this rot for so long. i've been thinking about satoru a lot so i added him onto this one! Since I think these two would send the most nudes, with gojo sending more goofy pictures than nudes but he still sends a shit ton

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

💭 first if you have his phone number you’re locked in, regardless if he had asked you out or not. due to being a hit man he won't give his number out lightly. when it comes to you he couldn't help himself wants to be able to ask for those booty/titty pictures

💭 very generous about sending videos and pictures for you to save when he’s gone. Toji takes pride knowing he’s getting you off with being there, so next to Satoru he sends the most pictures. He does send more lewd pictures than Satoru does.

💭 likes to take those normal stills of his cock hanging, but he always includes something like his hand grabbing onto something. He will get cozy in bed, get his cock wet with lube, make sure he is dripping pre-cum. his cock hanging over his fat balls between his muscular thighs. he knows you’re a wreck he's a big man and he will fuck with your size kink

💭 he’s worked on getting the lighting better, man is calculating down to even the nudes he sends. wants you dripping before you get anywhere close to home. better yet wants you to sneak off to send him some nudes in the bathroom, if you bring a toy prepared for his antics he will cum so fast, rewards you with a shot of cum on his cock, fingers and abs sometimes chest when he shoots high enough

💭 sometimes he gets higher angles of his face, biting into his bottom lip looking so unbelievably horny and cocky. He has his hand around his cock and once again those beautiful abs on display but this time his pecs are in full view too

💭 the angles this man gets, he knows his body well and knows what you like, as the relationship gets better he learns what you like more and changes his style of taking nudes to fit that, occasionally he will get lazy with it and send his cock hanging with a message "Gonna make you cry with this fat cock"

link (he hangs and he bangs)

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

💭 mostly sends you goofy ass pictures explaining his day and giving you various thoughts. randomly sends a dick pic followed by a video of him shirtless blushing, moaning in the bathroom jerking himself off with your underwear. or of one grabbing his cock through his pants asking for some nudes

💭 has he been walking around with it all day? yes he has and will continue to do so especially if he fucked ya before heading to work. He loves calling these nudes artsy in account of “Look how the color brings out the pink of my cock head and how good the lace looks wrapped around underneath. You can not tell me you aren’t thinking about throwing it back on my pretty dick.”

💭 sometimes you get a random audios of satoru moaning, you can hear the slick sounds of him jerking himself off. satoru wants you to ask for pictures so he can tease you about wanting to see him

💭 might have set you a picture of him in some white cat ears, a snagged tooth, oversized shirt with his cock peeking out holding the fabric up because he stands in attention for that pussy. It was an ‘accident’

💭 prefers videos to photos, he loves to talk about how he is thinking about fucking you. sometime he puts the phone under his cock and fucks his fist letting you see his balls occasionally come into frame

💭 all the cum shots with his face always included so you can see the pleasure on his face. especially after glow photos with just his blushing face, will tell you want thoughts of you or what picture(s) or outfit he was picturing you in got him hard

link (will still be fucking his fist waiting for you to text back)

oreo creampie's m.list

[samubytheocean]

your little habits that flusters the Haikyuu boys

you think nothing of it- and he knows it. So why is he about to pass out?

teeth rotting fluff

might make it a series lmk

grabbing their sleeve

he walks you home. no questions asked. anywhere, anytime, no matter what weather. he mutters out “cuz i’m bored” or some other lame excuse and rolls his eyes whenever you tease him about him being your butler or smth

he’ll never admit, that those walks are the highlights of his days. listening to you blabbering any and every thought that comes up, occasionally grabbing your shoulders to stop you from tripping over or gathering up your hair that has fallen down to your face, yeah he loves all of it.

he’ll never admit, that you just look too pretty, yapping away your worries with your hands flying all over the place. so he only adds in quiet “oh yeah?”s and “no way”s to fuel your rants. he’s listening alright. he’ll ask you to follow up on the tea few days later.

so when you suddenly halt, eyes wide with a sweet, sweet gasp falling from your lips, he visibly flinches. is something there? are you in danger? does he have to carry you bridal and run home? he looks down, confused at your unusual quiet quivering lips.

he flinches when you tug his jersey down, towards the bush at the side of the road. yeah. no danger. just some neighborhood kittens lazing about in the sunset warmth.

your hands stay on the fabric, hands so small but the grip tight as you melt at the adorable sight. he stands up a little, gulping as he feels your touch warm against the cool cloth. the weight of your arm rests against his, and his fingertips tingle as they fall against your soft arms.

he tenses slightly, feeling the blush rise from his neck. was it the sunset? why was it suddenly so hot? you had the every option to hold him. his arm, his shoulders, hands, but the hem of his sleeve? why did your hands suddenly look so cute, gripping tightly as you gleamed innocently?

he looks away as he looks for his phone in the other side of the jacket, grumbling quietly about how he should take a photo of the sight. hopefully you can’t see how flustered this thoughtless touch has made him.

you saw. how could you miss the adorable blush all over his ears?

TSUKI, KENMA, SUNA (a little more enthusiastic about the tea bet) and SAKUSA

sticking & biting your tongue out

he hates it. more specifically, he hates the effect it has on him. a bit of him still doesn’t believe that it’s a absentminded habitual thing. seriously i bet he has asked you, politely and very shyly if you did it on purpose. once, and the confused face you gave him made him so red i swear. he started muttering nonsensical words until you nervously laughed. He just quietly rubbed the back of his neck (which was sweating so, so much)

i see a very clear picture. you guys are in the same class, and you’re so deep into the paper that you are writing, typing away something that has to be of equal relevance to the constitution or smth.

he can’t help but steal some glances at you. he has always admired how devoted you were to your assignments. both your passion and quality of the work motivated him to be a better person. not to mention how hopelessly pretty you looked, eyebrows scrunched up as your glossy lips mutter something. maybe you were choosing between your wording? maybe this was the chance to go over and very nonchalantly offer a fresh set of eyes?

that moment he shifts in his seat, his breathing stops. you open your mouth again, probably to mutter something out, but this time the tip of your glistening, pink tongue flicks out. he stops him his seat, awkwardly positioned, as his head furiously moves back to his laptop, heartbeat raging against his suddenly sweaty fingertips.

what the actual fuck? that must have been a mistake right? you must have just been trying to wet your lips or something. sure there’s nothing more of it.. but he can’t get the sight of the moment out of his head, you relaxing your pretty body for a second as you let out a little sigh, and that pink, glistening tongue sticking out from your plush lips. he feels a pang of guilt, so he quietly takes a shakey breath. there’s no more to it. cut it out. just go and talk to her!

yeah that didn’t go as planned, because when he looked back, the lightheadedness made him grip the edge of the table to stop himself from letting out a surprised sigh. the edge your tongue was caught between your teeth, peeking just out from your lips. your eyes squinting at the screen, just so focused on the work. he sank back to his chair, his eyes racing to look anywhere else.

there’s nothing more to it. he knows. you’re his best friend. he swears. but as he hears you mumble about how you can’t focus, he can’t help but think

how the pink fat would feel against his, and how desperate he is to help you relieve some stress

AKAASHI, KUROO (nerdy looser kuroo is the best kuroo), GOSHIKI, YAMAGUCHI, TANAKA (friends to lovers w him omg), AONE

this was so fun to write and i have so many more ideas about it? plz let me know if yall want more cuz i am more than willing to deliver 🫤🙌