#it just touches a far part of my heart and itches a part of my brain so deliciously I can’t put it into words only feelings

[angie-baebii]

You truly had to be there at the time to understand just how amazing this song is, Jae Han’s vocals mixed with the rappers like it was just a feeling in your soul I can’t express it in words or details just listen to it 😭

[redcherrykook]

──── ๋࣭ ⭑ one time for the present ! ( a & s )

‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

↳ part of 𝓦𝓗𝓘𝓢𝓚𝓔𝓨 ꩜ .ᐟ

❝ [ husband!Jungkoook universe] ¡! ❞

✎ summary: angry sex with your possessive husband. spanking, lil degradation (slut, cockslut, whore) , possessive!Jungkook, dacryphilia, marking, rough sex, THIS IS TOXIC YES OK. hand restraints with belt, aftercare

note from cherry: #needthat again ughhhh. i managed to write again, i hate not being able to live out my passion, burnout is real

‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

Jealousy is an ugly emotion.

It seeps through the cracks of your secure attachment, stains it the rotten red color of anger- makes your blood run cold, your warm fingers itch for destruction. Become weapons that scratch upon the surface of your moisturized skin, open a space for your veins to release their contents.

But jealousy does not last forever.

Catching the reflection of your golden wedding ring- the bond you swore to take to your grave on the happiest day you have ever- will ever have, just its small glimmer, proceeded by the streaks of leaving gentle kisses of reassurance on it, that is sufficient to wash away the sin. Regain control of your mind- exhale, if you will.

Sometimes you wish jungkook would be jealous,

"You´re not moving until i say so" you yelp quietly at his growl, knowing the bruises on your knees are here to say once they push into the hardwood below, your chest presses straight into the side of the bed. Morals fade into the same hues of purple that surface your skin in agonizing slowness. Ruthlessly, your husband hikes up your black mini skirt, exposing the back of your thighs to his narrowed gaze,

"Fucking slut, you´re pussy´s drippin´ love pissing me off? Gets you nice and wet for cock?" he presses four of his finger flat against your cunt, roughly sliding them against the soaked cotton.

While it may seem like he is, the thing that surges his anger, makes him tick like a flicker held up to gasoline- that, it reached far too deep to be jealousy. Grabbed his heart in a caged hold no one has seen the key of, digging its daggers into every blood vessel, seeking control.

You belong to jungkook. The seams that neatly attach your every fiber to his soul, they´re tight. Unbreakable, nonetheless, he could feel them burst whenever someone else- someone without his approval, took it to themselves to linger a hand on you, friendly or not, it wasn´t theirs to touch. No one should know what your skin feels like under their fingertips, how the smooth feel compliments the gentle vanilla scent radiating from it.

"aah- please i´m sorry baby" you whine, biting an imprint of your teeth into your swollen lower lip as he spanks your sensitive skin, hooks his fingers into the lace to reveal your seashell to him, before spanking the glistening delicate vulnerability between your thighs again, twice more. The slap vibrates on your clit, thrums you with joys of poisonous excitement, the same vile wrongness that strains jungkook´s cock against his black jeans, makes his pulse quicken.

"You´re gonna be sorry baby, this body´s mine, pussy´s all mine" he gropes at you reddened cheeks with his calloused palms. Stretches and kneads the flesh as if to ground himself in your body, cement himself into every exposed patch of you- you hear him scoff, the droplet of slick tumbling between your thighs must´ve caught his attention. Jungkook´s grunts, the rough sound of leather being messed with fills up your ears- he´s taking his belt off.

"Gonna make sure you can do nothing but take how i´m gonna fuck every last drop into you, make you remember who the fuck you belong to, understand?" his words slip through gritted teeth, you become so small under his dominating presence, nod meekly at his request because the idea is simply so arousing that the attempt of talking back dies down in your throat- squeezed tightly by the utter obedience you need to give him.

Your husband tugs both your arms behind your back, holding your smaller wrists into his hand, the tension in your shoulders makes you whimper quietly "Words, need to know you´re still with me" he says, momentairly sobering up from his drunken focus, "understand" you say in that weak, submissive voice of yours - and it´s all he needs to slip back in.

Your femininely manicured hands fling into the tight enclosure of his black leather belt, wrapped tightly around the skin, far, far beyond the last punched hole. He knotted it twice, making sure it sits without a chance to budge. Twisted pleasure of your masochistic tendencies and the guilt of his actions mix with the way you seem to moan at the sensation of the smooth material restarining you. He pulls once, testing to see your shoulder blades flex, how the curve of your back gets dragged into him erotically while your hardened nipples rub against the bed.

A sight for him, him only, he thinks to himself. Truth- nasty, unrelenting truth be told, the absolute power he felt over your- his wifes- vulnerable, bruised body, knowing it was laid out in his palm to make you shiver, make you cum over and over again, sprinkle your dew of love to your promised lover- it was what he needed. Physically, mentally, Jungkook craved to possess you. Set reminders over and over again that it was soley him, the sound of his growly honey voice, the shape of his heavy cock, moulding your walls to take every thick inch- him, that could make you feel like this.

"Jungkook, s´too tight" you mumble, snapping him out of his thoughts. He reciprocates with a cocky laugh, rubbing his digits along your exposed cunt, zeroing to your wet panties clinging around your unstable knees, "Too bad, you´re little slut though, I´m sure you can take it can´t you?" he awaits your answer, pumping his stiff and leaking cock right behind your dripping entrance, the lewd noise makes you whimper, wishing you could see how good he looks with his length in his hand. "Can take it for you, only you"

Just as the last syllable leaves your mouth, he shoves his entire girth into you, wastes no time by pulling you back into him by the belt, forces you to meet the loud slaps of his pelvis connecting to you. Your husband isn´t oblivious to your manipulative undertone, giving in to what he desired to hear- you´re his. He had to show it to you again, plunge it into your system with the present of an overwhelming orgasm but- what use would it be if you knew you belonged to him? He knew, cat and mouse- you test his limits to run away, have him chase you, find punishment in the corners of mind that he´d rather lock away- keep hidden to contain the urges to a minimum. He knew you push him: just to get pushed back twice as hard.

His thrust start deep, harshly burying himself into your tightness- the warmth engulfs his senses recklessly. His narrowed eyes roll back in an instant- the pornographically beautiful sight of your arch, plump red flesh of your ass meeting his hips is alluring as much as it infuriates him- he wishes to drink in every glimpse of your body- watch his soaked cock disappear into your stretched hole- but his eyes are occupied with your spine- your bound wrists scraping the leather, your waist- he´s obsessed with the every fraction of your revealed body- with you. It belongs to him, he chants in his head- mine,mine,mine.

"Feels so good- you´re so big kook- so good to me" you stumble out, sinfully engaging in his controlling ego that longs for your praise- "Yeah? Am fucking my tight- shiit- tiny pussy so well"

It evoked something raw in him earlier that night- when your coworker Jaehyun rested a friendly arm on your lower back as you passed a group of people, your eyes instantly found your husbands. He send you a knowing glare- the line has been crossed, there was no need for a yellow card, a warning anymore. Deciding if it already came this far- you should push his buttons further. Dive deeper into the punishment you´d have to face under the tangle of your marridal sheets. The dice has been rolled. Turn to Jaehyun, smile- thank him. Almost innocently, but Jungkook knew better. Turn back to meet your husbands gaze again, find him clenching his jaw, just what you wanted. Just what had led you here- back hurting, covered in sweat that represents his utter force, driven by the very thing he tries to lock away- tries to stop from coloring his heart deep red.

"Oh fuck kook- s´too deep" you cry out desperately, a tingling burn spreads over your exhausted shoulders, dripping down the pebbled buds that furiously rub against the bed, travels down your ribs, reaches the throb of your untouched clit. Jungkook´s cock dips into you, bottoming his fat tip out before pushing all the way back in- meeting your spongey g-spot with vigour, pushes and pushes- your throat burns with the restless moans that pool out alongside your spit, decorating the corner of your mouth.

"You´re such a whore, look at you whining over your husbands cock- fuck baby, let another man touch you- he could never make you feel like this- ´could never fill your cunt like I can" The current of his anger releases into you as he leans his torso forward- connects the hard lines of his abdomen to your breakable bound arms, it crashes over you like a wave so all consuming you can´t help but want to drown in it- lose your breath to the sting of his teeth digging into your shoulder, "belong to me, tell me, you´re mine. fucking mine every inch" he commands, groans loudly as he sucks another array of purple hues into your body, his wedding ring adorned hand clasps around your strained throat, tilting your parted mouth up to be able to listen to the words sloppily roll off your tongue- "You- belong to you Jungkook- haa-ah, fuckin´ yours baby" The hint of desperation in your helpless devotion makes him bite down into your soft skin once more- he reverts back to his original position, pumps himself into your abused cunt, hands flinging to your hips, delivers another harsh slap to your cheek- ounces of his frustration flow to his head, overtake his ability to remain in control of how he fucks you, feeds every drop of his feelings for you to swallow "thaat´s right, my fuckin´ cockslut, mine- he could never fuck you like this- shiit look at those bruises baby"

Although your vision doesn´t reach the depths of your marked skin, it is impossible to dismiss the burn, the shake of your thighs giving out underneath you- the sting of his overflowing love rooted into your shoulder with his finalization of a bite imprint- you´re bounded- behind your back by your hands, by his suffocating personality that you willingly indulge in because there is no reassurance much like the awareness of being owned- held captive by a beautifully fucked up, deep red heart, one that compliments your longing to be kept treaure forever.

"Hold it f´m you hear me? you´re not coming yet" you drop your head against the bed, unable to hold up the tension any longer but it still runs down your spine- not for long, Jungkook´s hand grasps a fistful of your messy hair into his hand, yanks you back to curve into him deeper- "shiiit baby, yeah- you´re so fuckin´ good for your husband" he growls, spiraling at the softest sniffles that he barely manages to notice between loud whines of his name- but he does, somehow increases the pace of his hips pistoning into you from behind, slaps his tight balls against your swollen clit- more, deeper- he throbs and throbs, feels your walls sucking him in so fucking well because you´re clinging at the scraps of being good for him- "Jungkook fuck- please, please" you beg and the slight crack in your tearful sweetness makes him snap, he´s weak at the bottom of his knees- realizing that you have him wrapped around your finger, dignity tied to your tears, your voice, your body and fuck; every plea. "Come with me baby, so good, my fuckin´ wife, my good little slut"

There´s not much that fades into your now purified wishes, compareable to your vision spotting at the intensity of your own tantalizing orgasm, synced with your husband pulsating length that paints your walls white- hips stuttering with a prolonged groan- the remainders of your foolish plan wash away, carried by the previous roaring of his pleasure, returned to the peaceful tide- disguised as Jungkook´s hands untying the belt, his strong arms sneaking around your stiff torso.

"Ssh baby, m´here" he whispers, drawing soothing circles on the gentle softness of your stomach, his swollen lips kiss apologies into your neck, painting over the colored bruises he left in his hunger.

"I love you baby, i love you so much" the words set you down in his loving, graceful hold, he flips you around, kisses your tear stained cheeks- lifts you to bed and cradles your head to his chest- fingers massaging into the spot where he pulled you closer with rage and lust. His pure white heart aches at the scraped, red skin that lines your wrists- the leather had cut into it a bit. "Oh god sugar, i- i shouldn´t have done it so fastened, does it hurt a lot? do you wanna slap me?" he asks- seriously so with those doe eyes that swell in affection- you smile lazily, kiss his cheek as a silent acceptance of his equally silent apology. "Don´t be silly, it´s okay baby" you say, nuzzling into the wet skin of his tired neck, "I love you"

"I love you more sugar. Can i see your butt? wanna make sure it´s okay" you giggle, turn around obediently and he lets out a miniature sigh of relief.

"looks good" he says, softly grazing the aroused skin with his knuckles,

"thank you" you chuckle, rubbing your nose to the flattened tip of his own, he smiles, leans in to kiss you- sealing once again, you belong together.

[madamechrissy]

Baby You're No Good

Pairings - Cult leader/clan Leader Geto x F! reader

Summary - You have been promised to marry the psychotic, human hating leader of the Geto Clan, Suguru. Your heart sinks at the wedding when you realize you're likely to be ended once you've fulfilled your duty, giving him an heir. He detests you on sight, as do you, but something happens the first time you lay together, Suguru swears you're some witch, because he can't get enough of you. He becomes consumed with fucking you, with the excuse of 'having an heir' but you begin to wonder just where the lines are blurring. Would you survive this- and will Suguru survive being with you?

CW- Arranged marriage trope, ENEMIES TO LOVERS, psychotic Geto lol- lots of hate sex, Suguru calling you a stupid monkey, angsty, FULL of smut. Reader is a virgin bc she's sheltered due to been promised to him. Reader is FEISTY asf and mean right back. Explicit sex and Geto being whipped/insane/obsessed and psycho. This part- light angst, explicit sex, oral ( f receiving) breed kink (it's me so lol) mating press, multi rounds, honestly cute, sweet and fucking emotional!!! WC - 10k

A/N- THE HAPPY END IS HERE! Sooo the beginning 4k words or so are VERY similar to the angst end, but don't skip them because I put a lot of little nuances and deviations! I hope you enjoy the happy ending and the complete end of this fic <3 I'd love to hear thoughts!!

<<<Part five (Sad end) - Playlist - Masterlist

Happy Ending (Sugu/Reader end!)

Suguru lifts you up into his arms, as tired students and sorcerers retreat tentatively, Suguru’s curses dissolve as if they weren’t there while all he can focus on is you, the guilt eating at his heart. Your unconscious body lolls in his arms as Suguru is speaking to his cult quickly, ordering them to stop and retreat for now, all while holding you so tightly against his chest.

Satoru waits for Suguru, staring at your face now, looking so oddly peaceful for what happened, he wanted to pick you up and bring you to Shoko, but Suguru had snatched you up so quickly he had no chance to. Suguru is carrying you around and murmuring his soft orders, not letting you leave his grip.

Satoru had a feeling this would happen, and he hates himself for knowing it and bringing you anyway, but you were okay with it - willing even - to save everyone, he admires it about a girl he hardly knows. To put yourself and a baby in danger to reach out to Suguru, it shows just who you are, it’s easy to see how much Suguru has fallen, when Satoru never thought Suguru never would feel that way again.

Suguru finally walks up, glaring at Satoru when he brushes back a lock of hair from your brow, itching to smack his hand off. “Don’t touch my wife.” Suguru’s words are husky, through his teeth, as Satoru’s blue eyes dart back to his, raising a white brow.

“You’ve really done such a great job taking care of her so far. Why don’t I carry her, I don’t trust you not to disappear, and Shoko is the only one I trust helping her.”

“Tch, you think I don’t even want to help her!?”

“Why? You left her.” Suguru snatches you up closer against his chest, violet eyes glaring now at Satoru, and you hang so limply he feels sick, like you’re just nothing in his arms, barely any signs of life aside from soft breaths.

“You won’t hold my wife in your fucking arms.” 

“Fine, then follow, now.”

Suguru never thought he’d listen to Satoru, but he does, following him now into Shoko’s medical set up, her brows raise as she sees Suguru for the first time in almost nine years, he notices how exhausted she is, all of the fun energy he remembers sapped away. He falters a moment, before carrying you inside, Satoru shuts the heavy door with an echoing bang.

“What’s happened?” Suguru delicately lays your unconscious frame, as Shoko sets to feeling your pulse.

“Energy blast from… one of my men.” Suguru gulps down it all, the fact that it’s even worse, that you were hurt by one of his by mistake.

He wants to kill that man right now.

But Satoru is fucking right - it’s all him.

“She’s pregnant.” Satoru mentions, as if it were so casual, and Suguru glares over at him. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes she is but it’s not your place to fucking say.” Satoru smiles just a bit, something about seeing his friend actually fucking caring about something for once, even if his ire is directed at him right now. Suguru looks at Shoko now, swallowing nervously as he speaks. “She is pregnant.”

Shoko sighs now, nodding and assessing you carefully. “Can’t be far along, she’s not showing.”

“Five weeks.” Suguru answers, quietly, as Shoko raises her hands now, and shuts her eyes, dark hair falling a bit over her shoulders.

“I can’t guarantee the baby will be okay, but I can save her.” Suguru’s heart shatters at her words, looking as the reverse curse technique starts working over you with the incandescent light.

“It’s all your fault. Why’d you fucking bring her here!?” Suguru walks up to Satoru now, smacking a hand as he brushes your hair a bit off your sleeping face, earning a glare behind white bandages.

“She asked to come.”

Suguru pauses. Are you that reckless?

“I told her no at first, but I thought she’d be the only thing to bring you to any of your fucking senses, have you stop killing my students, our friends.”

“I don’t have any fucking friends.”

Shoko scoffs, eyeing him with tired eyes now. “You did.”

“It’s not you all I wanted to eliminate, you simply chose to defend them, the weak,  pathetic…” He can’t say it anymore, what he called them, what he called you.

“Weren’t you the one who said it’s our job to protect the weak?” Satoru’s voice is quiet now, reminding him of just that, the time he felt that way, naive and young.

“You continue to lose all your comrades and friends, Satoru you may be the strongest but it’s not worth it - without them, there are no more curses.”

“It’s not your choice to change how the world is. You’ve gone so far, the only person I’ve ever seen you love since you… changed… is here.” Satoru’s words nearly make him fall over with the pain, the grief, looking at your still unconscious body, as Shoko focuses harder with her technique, the glow soft around you, hovering right over your tummy where a baby exists.

“Please just save her.” Suguru whispers now, and Satoru slips off his blindfold completely, blue eyes seeing right through him.

“You did this. If she doesn’t make it, it’s because of you.”

“I fucking know that!” Suguru shoves Satoru now, which merely earns a tired, sad little smile, while he grips his wrist before he lets Suguru strike him. “I know it, okay? I don’t even… fucking deserve her. I know it.” He’s close to tears as he shoves off Satoru, covering his face before he looks back at you.

It’s gone too far, god it’s all gone too far, hasn’t it?

How can he live with himself after what he’s done to you. He places a hand on yours, you don’t grip it how could you, limp and weak fingers, exhausted face growing just a little brighter. You’re exhausted from him, from the stress - god he left you in his bed, alone, naked and gleaming from your lovemaking.

Lovemaking, it was lovemaking.

You were his everything, and not once did he let you get treated or shown that way, what was just one time of worshipping your body when he didn’t worship or appreciate your soul? Your mind, your wishes, he barely knew you truly - he never gave you a chance to listen. Why couldn’t he just give you a chance, why couldn’t he be there for you!?

He hates himself.

He was going to kill them all, every single human for a better world, but to lose the only important thing to him, you, in a room with two people who loved him once, who cared for him once, and he never deserved any of it. Of your body, of your heart, didn’t deserve any kindness that you - rarely - bestowed upon him, your sweet pleas nor your desperate cries for more of him.

Now that he sees you, and it’s been a good twenty minutes, he’s pacing, his stomach sick and turning, his mind a tumultuous storm of moments where it all changed. Of moments where everything shifted, the life and family he thought he built all lost to a girl, who slapped him, who cursed him, who overtook his heart.

You.

“It’s not working.” He says after more time passes with no sign of anything from you in the quiet room, worried as Shoko sighs, shaking her head.

“I need more time with her, okay? Her body is already in a rough state.”

“What rough state!?”

“She has a weak will, and she needs to have some will to make it through this.” Suguru can’t stand to look then, turning away, his robes still dripping the blood of others, as the woman he loves is unconscious.

A weak will, because of him, he fucking knows it too- it’s all him that did this, that caused it, he wants to blame Satoru for putting you in danger, but it’s ultimately his fault. You begged him to stay despite having been forced into this, despite the horrible things he said and did to you, despite it all you still asked him. You still tried to break through, almost meeting your end.

You awaken suddenly as he contemplates it, with a startled gasp, sitting up, staring at an unfamiliar but pretty face of a woman in scrubs, a stethoscope around her neck. She smiles gently, you feel two men’s hands on you, Satoru’s holding one hand, Suguru the other, both staring up at you now.

“I’m sorry I put you in harm.” Satoru’s words are full of remorse, one of his blue eyes revealed is staring up at you, glimmering. “It was the only way but…”

“It’s okay. I chose to, it was the right thing.” He exhales in relief, as you look at Suguru now, torn between anger, relief and fear… and more, so much more brimming to the surface. “Suguru…”

“I ended the battle.” It’s all relief now, as you clutch him tightly, and all the love in your eyes makes him even more sick, how could you love him?

“It worked.” Your whisper makes him squeeze you so tightly you can’t breathe, before pulling back, glaring down at you.

“It was foolish, reckless-”

“You are not about to lecture her right now on being reckless.” Suguru scowls at Satoru’s words.

“Let’s talk while Shoko checks her out.” Suguru’s words are surprisingly soft, a way you’ve only heard a couple times, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Suguru…”

“Just a minute.” You nod, but something is tugging at your heart.

Satoru and Suguru walk to the other end of the enormous room, footsteps echoing while Shoko murmurs softly. “I’m Ieri.”

“Thank you for… saving me, Ieri.” Your own quiet name makes her smile a bit, as she looks at Satoru and Suguru. “They were your friends, weren’t they?”

“Hmm, I guess they were. Let me check this heart rate, okay?” You nod, eyeing the two quiet men, as your disoriented mind and sore body process what exactly had happened.

“I know you owe me no favors, Satoru… but can I ask for one?” Satoru frowns now, leaning against the wall, as you sit up with Shoko’s help and speak quietly.

“You stopped the attack, if you’re willing to give this up, I’ll do you any favor.” He says, making Suguru sigh.

He doesn’t deserve you.

He doesn’t deserve Satoru.

He deserves no happiness for what he’s done, the horror in your eyes, the fear of the unknown, the baby just barely growing that surely would not survive with him near you. You look at him across the room, with those sad, broken eyes - he’d never made you happy, not once - yet you truly tried. You begged him to fucking stay and what did he do, what did he cause?

“I am taking Mimiko and Nanako far away.” Satoru’s blue eyes widen now.

“And your wife, yes?

Suguru feels sick as he shakes his head. “No.”

“Suguru, are you fucking serious, what more does the girl have to do to be with you!? She almost died to save you, not just everyone.” Satoru’s voice is a hushed whisper, eyes narrowed.

“That’s just it, I’m no good for her, or the baby if it… makes it. Chances are with me and how devastated I make her, it won't.”

“Suguru, she will forgive you.” Satoru puts a hand on his former best friend’s shoulder, coated in blood, and Suguru doesn’t shove it off, he takes a breath instead, shaking his head.

“She will, and so will you, but I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her and I never did.”

“So become the man she needs, you’re not too-”

Suguru laughs harshly, taking Satoru’s hand off now, holding it for a moment, a million memories of their friendship falling as his hand falls. “Both of you make excuses, but I see what I did to her.”

“She’ll be okay, Shoko-”

“She’ll never be okay. Satoru, I have to ask you…” Satoru shakes his head again, and eyes you now.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking run, seriously!?” Suguru yanks him out of the room, out of your earshot now, Satoru crosses his arms, as the door echoes in the cold empty halls of the abandoned building they’d shielded Shoko in.

“Take care of her.” At Suguru’s broken words, tears feeling once cold eyes, Satoru falters, lips parting. “Take care of the baby if it… makes it.”

He glares, shoving at his old friend, who’s too down to not let him budge with the movement, forlorn look on his face. “You take care of them, become better.”

Suguru shakes his head. “I can’t face her. I can’t face what I’ve done, I need to go. Far, far away.”

“For how long!?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever come back. I know it’s a lot to ask - but I also know I can trust you to take care of her.” Satoru’s furious, not at the thought of taking care of you, but the fact that Suguru is running, that he still even now can’t accept love. “You will take care of her better than I could.”

“You think you’re doing the right thing, but you’re not. She chose to come here, can’t you give her a chance?” Suguru peers through the door window, the thick pane of glass, sighing and touching it longingly, while Shoko checks your vitals. “Your family is in that fucking room.”

“I know, fuck… but she has a chance to be happy, to have that baby - the way it’s going? She won’t even get to with me. Please, for the friendship we had, take care of her. The girl I love.” Satoru’s own emotions make his throat close, while Suguru realizes just how deeply he loves you, more than he even could admit. But he didn’t choose you, no matter how deeply you begged him to, no he left you alone in that bed.

He can’t forgive himself for it.

He is not sure he cares about any other casualties, he wishes he did care more for that - he still sees humans as pests, he does not share Satoru’s view and maybe never will. But you so clearly need him to, and he realizes he’s too far in his own hatred still, you were that exception, that bright spot. You were the one regret he now holds, and he knows he loves you enough to let you go.

“Please look after her for me, Satoru.”

“Jesus christ, Suguru.” He swipes a hand through his long white hair, looking at you in that room, sighing. “Of course I will take care of her and the baby. But it should not be me.”

“Thank you.” Suguru puts his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, and for a moment Satoru sees him - the best friend he ever had, making what he thinks is the best decision for a girl he loves. He loves and feels, still deep down, and something breaks Satoru down then. “I went too far.”

He scoffs at that, sighing. “Understatement of the century. I will not tell her goodbye for you, though. You need to at least explain your stupid decision.”

Satoru walks back into the room, looking down at you now, you’re weak but alive, and he still senses two energies with his powerful six eyes. He gently holds out his hands, and you take them, using his help to stand, shaky now. “Are you feeling okay, sweets?”

“I’m okay.” You nod a smile just a bit, turning to Shoko. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course. We’ll… give you two a moment.” She reads the room clearly, Satoru and Shoko have known each other so long it really just takes a look.

You watch curiously as they walk out, and Suguru has tears in his violet eyes, something you never thought you’d see, they glimmer and illuminate, his face so serious and sullen it makes you panic. “Did they say the baby-”

“No, no, for now it all looks fine. Shh.” He pulls you against his strong chest, and you fall apart, sobbing now, shaking your head and shoving at him, hating the mix of comfort and sorrow this man brings. “I know,” he whispers, as if to soothe you, only for you to be infuriated, feeling anger hot coursing through your veins.

You pull back, furious, chest heaving with the quickness of your breaths, your own cheeks covered in your tears now. “You know!? You know? You left me. You chose this over me.”

“I did. And that’s why I’m no good for you.” His broken voice and tired gaze stall you, not after all of this would he not fucking choose you again!? Not after carving his place in your heart entirely does he get to leave!?

You pause now, gasping at his audacity, feeling him tense, emotionally pulling away from you again. “What the fuck are you on about right now?”

Instead of the usual arguments, the back and forth, Suguru is just contemplative, listening to you before he speaks. “It was selfish, so selfish not to let you run when you wanted to.” You’re shaking as he cups your face, thumb tracing your cheek, brushing aside the onslaught of tears, exhaling and leaning low.

“So you’re selfish, what’s new?” Your angry whisper just makes him ache for you, god is there one moment he doesn’t? Is there one second in any universe he thinks he will live without you - he wants to do the right thing now, to let you go, but how can he, when you’re so deeply ingrained inside his fucking soul?

The one bright spot that he almost took out completely clings to him, and why should you?

 “I almost killed you.” He whispers hoarsely, you shake your head now, scowl firm on your tired, beautiful features.

“You didn’t just almost kill me, you almost killed everyone in the fucking city! Suguru, I’m fine, this is not even what you should be worried about.”

“Tch, are you!?” His grip on your waist draws you closer, while your head falls back, and you stare into a monster’s eyes - a monster you love. “Are you fine? You almost died.”

“I chose to come here, you can’t blame Satoru when I begged him to bring me. I had to try to save them, those innocent people!”

“It worked.”

You sigh, shaking further, burying your face against his chest, he’s covered in sweat and grime and blood from the battle, but you don’t care. “Are you done with this foolish effort?”

“I’m done.” You look up in shock, cupping his face now, and he leans so low, until your breaths mingle, hand shaking as it holds you.

“Thank God. Oh Suguru, thank God.” You pull him down for a kiss, full of all the relief in your heart. You’ve saved him, everyone is okay - glimpses of hope and something beautiful fill you with a light you’ve never had. He kisses you back so deeply, exhaling against your lips, deepening it and pulling you so tightly, his hard body enveloping yours.

“I should have told you.” He whispers, pulling back, lips almost against yours, nose brushing against yours.

You gulp, throat dry, in so much fear of what he’s going to say, what he’s going to do, his voice terrifying you in its intensity. “Told me what?”

Suguru cups your face with one hand, heart pounding as he feels it, so deep in his soul, finally ready to spill those words. “I love you,” you gasp then, and his heart hammers nearly out of his chest as the declaration spills from his lips. “Fuck I love you, love when you hit me, love when you called me out, love the fire inside you.”

His declaration makes your heart shatter, you want to be happy, but you feel it - his apprehension, his fear, his love.

Loves you.

He loves you.

“Suguru…”

“I love you and don't deserve you.” His broken voice and tears infuriate you as much as they deeply touch you.

You glare now, trying to hold it together, when you feel like shattering. “Don’t you dare do this, don’t you run!”

“Baby, this is how I can show how much I love you.” He cups your face with two big hands and long fingers, you’re glaring through your tears, gripping his wrists.

“Don’t you dare.” You whisper, teeth clenched, you feel it then, you feel him pushing you away, when he’s just close enough. “I won’t forgive you ever.”

“Satoru will take care of you both, better than I could, he’ll be good to you-” The shock of his words hits you like a wave, like what knocked you to the fucking floor earlier, the dread in your stomach.

“What!? You’re shoving me off on your fucking friend?” You shove at his chest now, but he doesn’t budge, even as you smack at it, he doesn’t move, doesn’t let go of his grip. “If you love me you’ll run away with me, we can start over.”

The desperation in your voice tempts him to no end, god he’d love it, but he knows how much you’d suffer, always. “I am leaving, starting over.”

“Not with me?” Your hurt pours through every word, and Suguru wants to bring you, god he does, but he knows it so clearly - he could never make you happy, but he sees it - how Satoru looks at you. Maybe he could give you what you deserve, as much as he selfishly wants you, as badly as this hurts to do or say.

“You’ll be better off this way. You and the baby.”

“Bullshit, it’s such bullshit Suguru!”

“It’s the truth, I love you enough to finally do this.” He brushes your hair back tenderly, you smack his hand scowling up at him.

“You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to abandon me after not choosing me - just to not choose me again!”

“It’s not that,” your sobs wrack your body, as he steps back, brushing back his tangled dark locks in frustration, the thick strands falling across his face as he watches the girl he loves shatter because of him, all over again. “I am choosing your happiness.”

“Why can’t it be with you?” Your broken whisper makes his heart break.

“How can I look you in those beautiful eyes and know what pain I caused, I can’t have you looking at the monster I am.”

“You’re my fucking monster, okay? Mine!” You shove him again, he just sighs, defeated. “I love you Suguru Geto. I do, despite it all, despite how completely fucked in the brain you were, I love you dammit. You can’t just leave me now, like I’m some damn pet you can’t take care of. I love-”

He’s slammed his lips again, desperate and hungry, and you fall into him, as his kisses grow more and more ardent, pulling back just to take a breath, hand slipping up your spine. The contact alone makes you shiver, tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, so much emotion in this one kiss you wish it would last forever, fingers clinging to the silk of his robes.

“Suguru,” you pull back, tears falling against his fingers, breaths making your chest rise and fall, as you cling to his robes, the blood soaking against your skin, enveloping it in red. “You’re mine, you don’t get to leave me.”

He whispers your name then, his own tears falling, against your lips salty as he hovers over you, exhaling shakily. “I don’t deserve you though, you or this baby, not after what I did to you.”

“Then you’ll earn it, you’ll earn the right of me standing by your side. You’ll become better, I know it, fuck I do. There’s more to you.” Your foreheads touch, while he finally breaks down then, picking you up in his arms now, your lips are angry, hungry, tugging with your teeth as he nips you with his. Your tongues messy and desperate while you drink each others’ cries in, echoing in the quiet room.

“I don’t deserve you, I don’t…” His whispers break you, a broken man declaring them hot against your throat, as he breaks down for you, and you bury your face against his neck, letting him hold you up like it’s nothing, clinging to him then. Feeling every bit of your soul drawn to him, despite it all.

“I need you goddammit, you don’t get to leave me. Us. I’ll beat the fuck out of you if you try, it’s not even funny you psycho.” He exhales, easing you down then, you’re dizzy with desire, with need, thrumming through every inch of your skin, as he leans back, eyeing you under lashes dripping with tears.

“How can you love somebody like me?” His broken whisper destroys any resolve you have left, you know all he has done to you, you can only imagine what he has done to others, but deep down you know one thing to be true-

You do love him.

“I just do, there’s no reason for it, there’s no reason for any human emotion, Suguru Geto. We just feel.” Your tremulous smile, amidst everything he’s done breaks him down, bit by bit, as his heart pounds for you, as his body aches for you, thoughts of ‘what ifs’ flowing through his mind.

What if he did let Satoru care for you?

What if he just left you now?

What if you fell in love, what if you moved on, and were so happy, and got everything he ‘thinks’ you deserved, leaving him alone forever - because he knows damn well he will never want or be with anyone else ever again. What if he had let you go, and had not gotten to see you again, hold you again, kiss your lips? Have you under him, on him, have you?

He almost just did that, one choice and he was going to push you away, when all you wanted was to be let in. He takes a deep breath, an arm wrapped tight around you, bringing you firm against his chest. “I don’t know if I can learn to live with humans, aside from you. I don’t know if I can lose all this hatred.”

“Then we’ll go, we’ll go away. And we’ll try, every day. Okay?” He nods then, you exhale and kiss him once more, the kiss is so different than any before, deeper than either of you have had, while he drinks it in, the girl he doesn’t deserve, the life he’s not sure he should get to have, because you love him.

Does he deserve that love, finally?

“You deserve love.” Your words speak to the questions stirring in his soul, and for the first time in so long, Suguru is crying, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tries to pull it together, holding you in a bruising grip as he just cries then.

Suguru crying.

He has not felt emotions since long ago in Jujutsu high, when he watched his loved ones die, when he lost faith in everything he knew, something he thought died that day glimmers and breaks free. The girl in his arms that he treated horribly who for some odd reason loves him, then he knows - he can’t keep going like this, he has to give everything for you.

“I’ll try, Princess.” His soft tone breaks you down further, so upset in your wracking sobs he pulls back a bit, swiping them off your cheeks with one hand, the other bringing you against his chest. “Calm down, please… take a breath.”

“You really stress a girl the fuck out.” He chuckles a bit, earning a punch from your little balled up fist while you sniffle. “You don’t get to laugh about it.”

“I know, I know.” He brushes your hair back gently, studying a face of a girl that’s been hurt too much, too deeply, but the joy of hearing you say it all overwhelms his senses. He sighs again, tilting your chin up, studying your swollen lips carefully, a thumb brushing across the thin and bitten flesh. “You really want to be with me? I’m giving you an out.”

“I don’t want your ‘out’. I want you, the real you too, not this bullshit cult leader crap. I want the boy who Satoru has fought so hard to get back, I want the boy I met, he’s in there, okay?” He looks away then, shaking his head.

“I don’t know if he is in there.”

“He is, and you know it.”

He wants to believe you, but he finds he’s selfish for not leaving you in that moment, for instead picking you up gently in his arms, bridal style - remembering that first night with you. The first time he touched you, and he knew how deeply he felt, that he assumed you must have powers, but you did in fact have them, they were just different than anything he’d ever seen.

He speaks it then, softly. “You’re not just human.”

“Suguru you-”

“You’ve got a power.” You roll your eyes now, infuriated at the annoying man you chose to fall for.

Well you never chose to. You just did.

“You will not even act like you don’t love a human-”

“Power to bring me to my knees,” he continues, in a husky voice, and when he presses you more tightly to him, lips an inch from yours, the world fades, everything fades but this singular moment. “The power to make me give up anything, do anything for you. Kill anyone who hurts you, even if it’s myself.”

“Suguru-” He cuts you off again, kissing you as he cradles you so tightly, you feel his strength even as his body shakes with his emotions, with his regret, with his need.

“I’ll never hurt you again. I swear it. If I do, you get to twist that knife in my fucking chest.” You shake your head, but he just reiterates it, softly.

“I wouldn’t be able to.”

“You have all the power over me. You’re my everything.” You take the hand wrapped around you, placing it on your tummy, heating up as his violet gaze drifts down to it.

“We are your everything, Suguru. Of course, Mimiko and Nanako too. We can be… a family. If you’re willing.” He nods then, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead now. “Then let’s get them, and find… a home. A new home.”

He exhales against your skin, nodding as he carries you out, and Satoru Gojo is leaning against the wall, blindfold off for once, arms crossed casually when he smiles over at you. You tap Suguru’s shoulder and he glares at you. “You’re awfully friendly with him.”

“You’re acting jealous like you weren’t gonna pawn me off on him. Let me down.” You glare up at him and he sighs, easing you down, Satoru’s lips quirk up at the corners, easing off the wall and walking over to you now, tilting your chin up. His eyes bore into you, gleaming with his own emotions.

“Are you alright? You okay to walk?” He asks softly, you nod then, reaching over to wrap your arms around his waist. He falters for a moment, as you feel Suguru’s death glare, holding you back then, hand resting at the small of your back, warm over your silk kimono. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but cry against his chest, and Suguru looks away then, stepping back for a moment. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“No, it was shitty okay? I knew the risk and-”

“No. Thank you, Satoru.” You look up, and his heart hurts when he sees your tears, as his friend avoids even looking at the two of you. “It was the right thing to do, and don’t you dare feel bad.”

He sighs in relief, hugging you again, lips pressed against your ear as he bends down. “You brought my friend back, I should be thanking you.”

You cry more, body shaking and so small in the strong sorcerers hold, as Suguru clears his throat. “You all are a little too close.”

“I can still take care of her if-”

“No!? I mean, no.” Suguru rubs the back of his neck, frowning as he wants to rip his best friend’s arms off. “I was… being…”

“Stupid?” Satoru and you finish, and Suguru crosses his arms now, glaring at the two of you.

“It wouldn’t have been the right decision, especially how you’re pawing at her. Let her go.” Suguru yanks you away, and you can’t stop the laugh that escapes, a sound Suguru never really heard from you, breathless, your soft smile lighting up a tragically beautiful face, one he’s kept upset.

“You’re jealous?” You ask, and he scoffs, glaring, while Satoru does not remove his hand, smirking over at him.

“You two are just too close is all. Conspiring this whole time?”

“Maybe so.” You look back to Satoru, smiling again. “We’re going away for a while, but… we’ll be back one day. Won’t we, Suguru?” You hold out a hand now, and he nods stiffly, Satoru sees it then, the love he so clearly has right on his face for you, and the love you have for him, as your hands entwine.

“We will be.” He gruffly repeats, and the three of you stand there for a moment, each hand is held by the two men as they glance at each other, wondering if it’s still there - the deep friendship, and fuck you truly hope it is. Suguru didn’t just need you, he needed him too, and you hope one day your psycho husband can work on his very shitty communication and open up.

“We would’ve had fun together, sweets.” Gojo teases one more time, before Suguru has you yanked up against him, scowling deeper at Satoru, while you giggle, against Suguru’s hard chest, resting your head for a moment.

“You think it would’ve been fun, him pawning me off huh?” You tease back, and are landed right back in Suguru’s arms, while he and Satoru walk out side by side, and sleep starts to tug at your body, still drained from the hit.

“Of course we would have, you wouldn’t have even missed him.” Gojo winks and you giggle, and you’re pretty sure Suguru is about to lose his mind, walking out then to see the wreckage, it takes your breath for a moment, Suguru’s shoulders slump as he takes in the chaos and destruction.

“Hey, we’ll do better than this.” You say softly, caressing his face, a thumb brushing over a sharp cheekbone. He nods then, sighing and shutting his eyes, as if he can’t take it all in.

“Satoru, thank you for… helping save her.” Satoru blinks in surprise - a thank you is nothing he thought he’d get. “I guess we may cross paths again.”

“I guess we might.” Satoru smiles at you both a little sadly, as if he’d gotten his friend back and he’s going away again, but also it’s a peaceful look, for the moment things are safe for Satoru’s students and friends. For a moment there is peace in his heart as he looks at the two of you. “You’ll have a baby by then.”

“Yes we will.” Suguru murmurs, nodding to him a bit.

“Name it Satoru-”

“No.”

Satoru pouts then, shaking his head. “You know, so ungrateful. I’m out of here, bye sweets.” He winks at you again and throws two fingers up with a grin, disappearing without a trace. You giggle at it, and Suguru keeps glaring daggers.

“You like him far too much.” You sigh, shaking your head.

“We just connect because we both love an emo bitch.”

“An emo… when you’re better, I’m beating the fucking attitude out of you.” Your tummy flips, and you bury your face again in his neck.

“You can’t even do instant transmission like Gojo, huh?”

“Instant… that’s an anime!? I have a dragon, that’s much fucking cooler than Gojo’s shit, hmm?” You just smile against his neck, knowing then, this is him. This is Suguru Geto, the man you lived to see glimpses of. As he’s summoning these giant curses, his rainbow dragon, sitting you right on there and smiling, eyes crinkling and making you melt.

You gasp as you all take off - it’s as if you are some Princess, with a psycho cult leader who loves you, as he pulls you against him, head against his chest while he tenderly brushes your hair back. The exhaustion starts hitting, the fact that you almost lost him, lost everything that you suddenly realize is so important to you, while he inhales the scent of your hair and you fly up.

“Dragons are pretty cool.” You concede softly, earning his chuckle, lips tenderly brushing against your temple.

“I’m sorry I left you last night, I’m so sorry.” You look up sleepily, fuck you’re exhausted, trying to focus on him now.

“I forgive you, Suguru.”

“Should you?” His whisper is soft when you lay back against him again, arms wrapped around his waist.

“Probably not, but I do. I just… want you to never leave me. Promise, please.” You whisper against where his chest is bare, the wind gently rushing across your faces, while he holds you nestled in his arms.

“I promise, Princess. I will never leave you again.”

*****

One year later

You hold your sweet baby Noa against your chest as Suguru puts Mimiko and Nanako to bed, they’re giggling and kissing all over her as they always love to do, but Suguru gently chides them. “Girls, you know it’s well past bedtime.”

“We can help mom with Noa though!” Mimiko crosses her arms, and you smile at her, brushing her hair back.

“I appreciate all your help, but Noa is going to sleep too.” You peek at her precious face, she looks a lot like you but has Suguru’s silky black locks already, too much hair for a little baby to have. And her eyes have the darkest lashes, just like her father, who ruffles both of the girls’ hair now, chuckling.

“Boba tomorrow from your favorite place if you don’t argue.” His sing-song voice works.

“Fine dad.” They say simultaneously, and then the girls kiss you all before finally bouncing off to their rooms, leaving you and Suguru to head toward the nursery, his arm around your waist as your bare feet pad across the floor.

“You always bribe those girls, you know.” He chuckles once more, a sound that’s much more frequent these days, opening up the door for you now, the moonlight filtering through the blinds, illuminating the pretty room, all decorated in pretty pinks and purple by the girls before Noa came.

“I mean, are you arguing the efficiency of these tactics?” Suguru teases, having gone from war tactics to bribery for time alone with you was something quite new to him, but it fit well. Everything felt…

Perfect with you.

With the girls.

With his sweet baby girl, who is already fast asleep against your chest, her pretty face serene as you brush a thumb against a chubby cheek, smiling tenderly, the moon casting shadows across your beautiful face. It fills him with so much tenderness it’s hard to even explain, the way you fit so perfectly, knowing you were the missing piece, filling the void he let grow too long.

Your love for Noa was beautiful to see, of course Suguru adores his little girl, but you were so devoted and constant, also in your love to his girls. Since you met them you were kind, but once you all left and moved out of the country and spent more time, you were fiercely protective and loving of them like they were your own, and the girls had even started calling you mom.

Everything felt too good, and sometimes Suguru wonders if he deserves any of it, any of this happiness, love or joy that you brought him. You look up at him then, a sweet smile on your face, and he walks up to the pretty little white bassinet, brushing Noa’s downy hair back and smiling.

“She looks milk drunk again.” He teases, you shush him, a finger to the lips, a smile on your face.

“She might be, but you know…” your fingertips drift down his chest, over the silk of his robes, making his stomach clench hot with desire. He's been dying to have you, but you two were waiting until you healed up after a bit of a rough labor. The look you give him now makes him ache for you. “I’m feeling very good tonight. I think I pumped enough to have a glass of wine?”

“Fuck…” You cover your giggle and he sighs, hands clenching against your waist too tightly, before releasing you with an exhale. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He exhales and takes your hand, gently tugging you so that you both shut the door quietly of Noa’s room, pressing you against the wall now, arms on either side of your head.

“You’re so excited for wine, Suguru.” You whisper, and you know you fuck with him, he knows you’re aware of the affect you have on him, when you look at him like that under your lidded gaze. “You haven’t gone without drinking, why are you so excited?”

“I’ve gone without drinking alright…” His insinuation makes your cheeks heat up, a blush in the dark, quiet hallway. Although Suguru did have a maids, a cook and a nanny to help you, the home was far quieter than it was with a whole fucking cult living in it. It was much more intimate, private, even though it was hard for you both to get time together alone.

A lot of times, you were exhausted, but you’re wide awake now. All you can do is think about how badly you want him, the most you all have done is months was him toying your clit till you came, and you sucking him down your throat last week when you two had woken up.

He’d been ready to ‘drink you’ last night when the baby started crying, and he’d waited for you to come back only to find you crashed in the rocking chair with Noa. He’d almost had that damn taste on his tongue, but he knows how devoted you are, and fuck he was too, but if he didn’t get to fuck her soon, he was going to lose his fucking mind. 

He tilts your chin up with two fingers, his hair falling softly against your skin as he leans down, eyeing your lips. “What wine do you want, Princess?” He asks, at your command, fuck Suguru is practically ready to kiss your feet if you just let him sink inside you again.

The entire pregnancy until right about the end he’d not left you alone, you were too beautiful, your tits leaking milk, your hips widening to have his baby, the roundness of your tummy, every single mark the baby left. He couldn’t stop devouring you the entirety of it, couldn’t control how sexy you were pregnant, and you’re so beautiful now.

“Some red wine, Sugu. Please.” The nickname always destroys him, he almost falters and just fucks you right in this hallway, instead trying to hold himself together and nodding, gesturing for you to follow.

You both walk slowly to the kitchens, where he opens up one of the wine fridges, and pulls out a bottle of your favorite, one you have had one sip on right after the baby as a little treat. Your cute little squeal of excitement makes him laugh in amusement, pouring you a glass as you watch the dark red liquid swirl.

“Don’t drink too much, you’re gonna be so wasted from like two sips.”

“Will not be! Gimme.” You snatch it up, fingers brushing against his, igniting sparks through the both of you, your eyes meeting his, dark violet in the dimly lit kitchens, he doesn’t let go until you pull back, taking a shaky breath. “Mmm!”

“Yummy?” He pours his own glass, eyeing you over it, the look filling your tummy with more heat than the wine pouring down your throat could, warming you all over.

“So yummy.” You step closer, sipping the sweet liquid, some of it slipping across your lips, and he groans.

“Fuck this.” He sets your glass down and you gasp.

“Excuse me, rude! I can’t have a glass after having your baby?”

“You can have a whole fucking bottle later.” You’re lifted right on the counter, making you so dizzy at how quickly he’s got you lifted, letting out a shaky breath when he slides up the silk of your yukata, watching goosebumps rise against your skin with every inch revealed. “I think I need a drink first.”

“Sugu- ah!” He’s bent down as you’re spread wide on the kitchen counter, kissing a hot messy trail up your thighs, cock throbbing under his robes, already leaking precum just inhaling the scent of your cunt. Your head falls back, revealing your pretty throat as you cry out, arching your hips. “F-fuck…”

“Gonna cum from my breath, huh? Pathetic.” You scowl now, kicking at him with your foot, but he just catches it, smirking up at you as he leans up, his lips a breath against yours, fingers brushing over your bare cunt, and groaning. “No panties, were you wanting this?”

“Of course I w-was, you think I wanted wine?” He moans, slamming his lips against yours, fingers running up and down your slit, your clit twitches when he focuses there, running in circles and making you close just from that. You cling to his silk robes, soft and thick under your fingers, while his tongue starts trailing across your neck, tickling and making you wetter.

“I can’t wait to fuck this perfect cunt again, make you remember that she’s fucking mine.” He’s back down between your thighs as your head rests against the cabinets, uncomfortable as the marble counter is cold under your ass, but all you can think is more.

“Show me then.” He moans softly, on his knees now, so fucking tall he’s counter height to your cunt, and your hands enwrap in his soft raven locks when he presses a hot kiss right against your cunt, watching as you jerk, breathing against you.

“Keep it quiet, slutty little princess, huh?” You nod weakly, fuck it’s been so long since he’s spoken to you like that, since he’s worshipped you like this, and you don’t think you can ever got this long again, not when his tongue laps at your honeyed arousal, making you scream out against your palm. “Fuck… taste your cunt, god she’s so wet f’me, huh?”

“Yes…” You weakly whisper, pulling your hand back just to slam it on your mouth again, the manor you live in is huge but you still don’t want to be that noisy, though it’s damn near impossible as his long tongue slides inside your gummy walls, curling up and making you almost cum from that. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Mnh…” He’s lost then, lost in your taste, in the way your cunt drools down his face, hot and sweet as he drinks it all in, slurping you up while you shatter for him, falling apart with every flick and swirl of his tongue. Your legs start to tremble and he grabs them, spreading them wider, and you can feel your orgasm building up, his teeth nibbling on your clit as you try to keep quiet.

“G-going to cum!” You whisper, but it’s too late, your cunt clenched around his tongue, walls quivering while he curls it up, his nose now hitting your clit, and you let out a muffled scream, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum. “Suguru!”

“That’s it,” he’s sliding his tongue out, sticking two fingers instead, you gasp at the thick, long digits in your cunt, untouched for months, the stretch making you hiss. Your hips are bucking against the counter while he looks up under dark lashes, licking your cunt off his lips. “Another, you can, can’t you princess?”

You nod weakly, and he’s curling those fingertips up against your spongy spot, making you blinded, back down there lapping at your clit and feeling you tighten all around him, that pressure a telltale sign that you’re gonna cum so much for him. “Ah!” You cry out again, biting your lower lip so hard while your head slams the cabinet and you gush down him, orgasm rocking you in waves. “Sugu, too much!”

“You can take more, won’t you be a perfect slut for me? You know you wanna cum again and again. Wanna drown me with all that cum, huh?” His words and their tone fuck you up almost as much as his breath on your clit, while he holds you there, his tongue flicking until your legs finally stop shaking and you collapse, breathing weakly, hands tugging at his hair, burning his scalp.

“Please, fuck me Sugu. God, I need it in me.” Your plea is not going to be denied, not when Suguru almost came from just licking you. He kisses you again, letting you taste your sweetness off his mouth, burying his hands in your hair before picking you up, and you cling to his neck, legs wrapped around him.

“You want it in you, huh?” You just nod weakly, letting him carry you to the room you two share, in moments he has the yukata untied.

“Want it, want it in me so bad- ngh!” Suguru has bared your skin to his gaze, your body swathed in moonlight, for a moment you cover up just a bit, your tummy isn’t the same, and he’s not seen you too much since, earning his glare, as he grips your wrists and eases your arms down.

“You’re as beautiful as the first moment I saw you, so beautiful you made me question if you had some fucking power over me.” He says softly then, easing your worry, a hand brushing over a glimmery mark from Noa, slipping over to your hip and gripping it firmly, watching you tremble in pleasure. “The most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, got it?”

You nod weakly, swallowing emotions as you quickly untie his robes, revealing his toned, perfect body, your hands shake as they touch his chest, feeling his strong muscles under your fingers. “You’re beautiful, too.”

“Shh.” He picks you up now, cock hard and heavy, already leaking precum when he picks you up, lifting your thigh as you sink into the bed, over the dark purple and gold silk covers, the black canopy enveloping the two of you in darkness. The incense lit earlier still linger in the air, mixing with the scent of Suguru, which makes you need him even more.

“Please, please…” You never beg, he wants to smirk down at you and gloat his victory, but he can't. All he can do is slide his tip right on your slit, groaning as he presses in, feeling your heat wrapping his cock.

“Fucking feel you, so tight, god. Slutty cunt is soaked, all for me?” You nod weakly, and then he thrusts his cock all the way inside to the fucking hilt, and you can’t bite back your scream, thankful the room is so far from the girls now, as he watches you and moans, sliding out and back in. “That’s it, she wants it so much, she’s so fucking greedy huh?”

“Shut up and f-fuck me- ah!” Suguru glares as he does just that, and you would smile at getting him all mad if you weren’t close to cumming from being so full, so stretched by his thick veiny cock.

“Talking shit? You’re still such a brat, tsk.” He’s raised your thighs then, bending you in a way you don’t think you can anymore, pausing when you whine out. “Here okay?” He asks softly, for a moment, then when you nod his sweetness is over, and Suguru Geto is fucking you hard, sure strokes that fuck your brain up until it can’t even function.

He knows it too, as he fucks into you, watching you shatter for him, balls slapping against your ass so heavy, so full of his seed ready to pump inside your eager hole, and you’re begging to be filled by him as he moves. Harder and harder, pressing your thighs further against you until he’s got you in a mating press, and you’re clinging to his biceps, nails digging in.

“That’s it, cum again, let me fucking feel you milk me, huh?” He’s nasty like this, filthy words flowing from his lips like poetry, and all you can do is nod - a girl who once said ‘fuck you’ is now saying-

“Fuck me, fuck me, please, yes!”

And Suguru delights in it, making his pretty wife a mess under him, feeling the hips that are wider from having his babies, seeing your breasts squish, a little milk leaking from them, and then he loses it. “Perfect cunt, she’s ready for all this cum, isn’t she?”

“Mnnnhh - ah! Suguru!” You’re unable to answer when he’s holding your thighs up and slamming his cock until you’re drooling, incoherent.

“Asked you - hah - a question, princess,” he has the audacity to say, in between heavy breaths, all you can do is cry out, as he holds back then, just when you’re about to cum, making you whine out. “Answer.”

“You’re such a - ah! - dick I swear, just lemme cum!” You’re digging your nails in his back so hard you leave marks, and he hisses, but you just turn him on more, making him fuck into you brutally now, pinning you under him so you can’t even squirm.

“Answer me.”

“No!”

“Now.”

“Fuck- ngh! Yes, yes, lemme cum, fuck!” He slams his cock deep and rolls his hips now, letting you finally cum all around him, milking his cock with your greedy cunt, he leans down and kisses you, swallowing your every sweet cry.

“That’s it, she wants all that cum, huh?” You nod weakly, tears of pleasure sneaking from the corners of your eyes, and then he pumps you full, moaning and entwining his hands with yours as the cum pulses so deep, and the two of you struggle to catch your breath. “Fuck, princess, taking me so good, huh? Made for me…”

“Mmhmm…” You’re breathless and exhausted when Suguru pulls back, kissing down and across your chest. The two of you lay there for a while each recovering, laughing, and tickling each other’s skin with gentle touches, grinning.

It’s so perfect here with him in this moment. All of the pain feels like a lifetime ago, not forgotten, but long, long forgiven.

“I’m never going this long without your perfect cunt again.” He touches your clit, making you jerk, laughing as he sucks your cum and his off his finger, moaning and kissing you again.

“I don’t wanna go that long either.” You sigh, kissing up his cheek now. “You know, I was thinking…” you trail off, slipping kisses across Suguru’s sweat slicked chest, he moans, his cock so sticky with cum pulsing again just at that, while his hand runs up and down your back.

“Should I fuck you again, so you can’t think?” He raises an arrogant dark brow, and you narrow your eyes, making him chuckle. “What?

“Well… I was thinking we should visit him.”

“VIsit who? Fuck…” You kiss at the base of his neck, making him tug you onto him, straddling his waist, cunt still coated and dripping his white milky liquid pouring down his dark happy trail, pooling in his flat belly button. He rubs your clit again, watching your eyes dilate, your hips shift. “God, look at the mess you’re making.”

“Mmhmm, but I mean visit Satoru.” Suguru’s scowl makes you giggle, he’s unreasonably jealous that you and Satoru stayed friends. It’s occasional calls, but he’s always mad as fuck afterward.

“Why are we bringing up Satoru when you’re dripping cum on me?” He slips you down, grabbing your hips now, thumbs pressing against the lines that Noa left, eyes feasting on your pretty body. “Look at you, fuck you’re perfect.”

“Am not even.”

“You are so perfect. C’mere.” He yanks you down now, your hair falling across his chest, as he cups your face with one hand, the other making you grind on him. You cry out at the contact, earning his smirk. “Shut you up.”

“N-no! I think it would be good f-for you- you’re distracting me!?”

“Sure am.” You pull up and scowl, so adorable he melts like he always does, sighing as he stares up at you in the dark night. “Fine, we can visit him.”

“Yay! It’ll be good for you, your friend seeing you again. I know it.”

“Yeah yeah, we’ll talk about that after I put another baby inside you.” You gasp then, when he’s lifted you, dragging you right back down his length, filling you in one quick stroke, making you scream out, shaking as the burn hits, feeling so fucking good when he bottoms out in your cunt, loud, wet and messy. He bites that lower lip, lashes lowering, while you struggle to breathe.

“You use your cock to distract me, huh?” He answers with a smirk, slamming his cock up inside you then, you cling to his chest, while his hands drift you your hips, and your cunt is spasming. “No more babies yet.”

“Sure, Princess, whatever you say.” You both glare at each other, before they turn into faces of pleasure, before joking little teases morph into cries and moans, before he’s filled you up again, and again, until you’re collapsed against him, so weak and worn out.

You don’t believe him one bit when he’s waking you up and fucking into you, cumming inside you so much your tummy is full of him, not when he grips your chin with that feral look in his fucking eyes - no, Suguru Geto does want more babies, and you can’t say you mind. Not when having his baby was the best thing that happened, and not when you aren’t dying to give him more.

“I love you, Princess.” He murmurs, stroking you from behind, you gasp and arch your back, whining into his kisses.

“I love you, Suguru.” And you fall again, into the arms of a man that once was a monster, but now was simply…

Your Suguru.

Ahhh so if you read both ends, I hope you enjoyedd, if you only read this I also hope you enjoyed. I initially only planned the bittersweet end, but I enjoyed writing this SO MUCH. Thanks for everyone who stuck around and commented and shared your thoughts on this story. See you in the othersss <3

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[arrenjo]

Part one is here

Summary: Your apartment floods and you do your best to make it on your own, but when Robby finds out he takes matters into his own hands; part two

Back | Next

A/n: the only true part two so far but leaving all the unresolved tension without so much as a kiss seemed kinda rude. I’m an angsty gal at heart so of course it has to be dramatic. Also my first time writing almost-smut, be gentle ;D srry for lack of gif, I know it’s more aesthetically pleasing but I couldn’t find one that scratched the itch, yk?

Content/trigger warning: Panic attack portrayed, plot with a bit of almost-smut sprinkled in. 18+ only, minors DNI!!

The following morning, you woke up with your head on Robby’s chest. Your hair splayed in every direction across the burgundy fabric of his shirt, his chin resting on top of your head. His thumb made small circles on your shoulder blade over the fabric of your oversized t-shirt as he held you. Your legs were entangled with his, your bare legs against his thin sweatpants. You felt safe, secure. You didn’t move for a moment, almost afraid it was a dream. You opted to lie still for a moment to try to assess if he was awake yet.

“Good morning,” He murmured into your hair after a moment, lips brushing the top of your head. Your stomach did a flip as you tried to decide whether to look up at him or not.

“Mm,” You said softly, willing yourself to keep your breathing even, trying not to think about the fact that you were literally in Robby’s bed.

“How long have you been awake?” You asked.

“A while,” He responded simply, still rubbing small circles on top of the fabric of your tshirt. Neither of you felt particularly inclined to move, this was as close as you had ever been to him and it was comforting to know he at least wanted you close like you did him, but his silence unsettled you.

Last night, the silence had been comfortable. There was something different about this morning though, almost as if there was something hanging in the air. Your stomach started to turn at the thought of him regretting letting you be here. You could have easily just fucked up, arguably, the best and most important work relationship you had.

Had he not wanted to sleep in the same bed? Had you asked too much? Did he not feel the same way? The touches and the coffee and him running his fucking thumb over your lips in the supply closet like he was considering fucking you right there sure seemed like there was something between the two of you, but maybe you were wrong.

I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up, your brain said relentlessly on repeat.

Your breathing started to pick up speed and tears welled in your eyes.

I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up,

You were in your own head and you needed to get away. The panic was starting to set in and it was impossible to coordinate your movements, you needed to get away. You started to push him away and he tightened his arm around you.

Away, away, away, your brain said.

Don’t let him see you like this,

You tried to push him away again and choked back a sob.

“Hey, hey,” He said as soon as he realized what was happening. He quickly placed his hands on your waist, under the hem of your shirt and just above the waistband of your shorts, fingers making contact with your bare skin. He lifted you in one smooth motion to partially on top of him and to eye level. You looked away from him, desperately trying to blink the tears back. Your breathing turned ragged, desperate for air. He took your chin in his hand with one hand, the other arm still securely around your waist, and moved your chin so you were looking at him.

“Where is your head at?” He asked, his voice low.

“Michael-“ You choked out with a sob. Robby almost physically winced, hearing you desperately say his name like that was almost too much. Robby moved to completely under you and braced the back of your head with one hand, the other still around your waist tightly. He quickly sat up with you, your legs on either side of his torso. He held you close to him as your body racked with a full-on sob.

“Hey, I’m right here. I’ve got you,” He soothed. The hand attached to the arm around your waist started rubbing circles on the small of your back. He stroked your hair with his other hand and said your name in the same soothing, low tone as you sobbed again.

“I’m sorry,” you tried again, managing to get the words out between sobs.

“No, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. Everything is fine. Everything is perfect,” he soothed you. “I’ve got you, I’m right here.” He repeated. After a moment, he used one hand to gently tilt your chin up to him again, forcing you to make eye contact with him. His brown eyes searched yours for any sign of what might be wrong. He looked at you, pleading, desperate for an explanation.

“I shouldn’t have asked and now you regret it and I’m sorry,” You pushed the words out in one breath before you dropped your head and pressed your palms to your eyes, breath hitching on another sob that you were desperately trying to control. “Fuck, Robby, I’m so sorry,”

It took Robby a solid ten seconds to process what you had said before he reacted. He pulled your hands from your eyes and grabbed your chin again.

“You think I regret this?” He asked in a low, steady voice. “Do you know how long I’ve thought about waking up next to you? Thought about having you in my bed?” You were silent as you took another steadying breath, heat flushing your face and chest. You were suddenly very aware that you were fully in his lap. Your hands found the fabric of his t-shirt on either side of his body and you gripped it tightly.

“Long before Pittfest, long before that first time I acted like a jackass,” He continued.

“That was the best I’ve slept in a long time.” He said, eyes locked on yours. “I think I was still a little disoriented,” He admitted through a half hearted chuckle that vibrated your body. He let his smile fall, “I never want you to think that I regret this, not for even a second,” You nodded, processing what he was saying, breaking eye contact with him for the first time in several minutes.

“Hey,” He said softly after a beat of silence. You looked back at him again and he slowly pressed his forehead to yours, noses touching. You closed your eyes and one hand reached up to stroke his beard. He let out a small ‘hmm’ at the contact.

“I could never regret you,” He whispered. You took in a ragged breath at his words, it was all you could do to maintain what little composure you had regained.

Your mouth was centimeters from his, his breath hot and wet on your lips. His hands moved to under the hem of your shirt, on either side of your hips. He squeezed gently and you moaned softly, feeling his dick almost immediately harden beneath your weight. The sensation sent waves of heat up your neck and down your abdomen, and it lingered between your legs.

You tilted your head up just enough for your lips to ghost over his and that tiny bit of contact seemed to be all the permission he needed, his lips crashed into yours, hot and desperate. One hand found the hair at the base of his neck and you pulled him closer as his lips moved frantically against yours. His tongue darted into your mouth and you moaned against his lips. His hands squeezed your hips again and you shifted your weight into him, creating friction between you and his erection. He let out a low moan against your mouth and started trailing kisses down your jawline and your neck, stopping to lick and suck with each individual kiss.

“Robby,” You moaned, desperate for more. His lips found yours again after a moment and his hands moved upwards under your shirt as he claimed your mouth. Your breathing was ragged and so was his. In one smooth motion, he laid you back and was on top of you, your hands started to glide up his shirt when the shrill alarm on Robby’s phone went off, startling you both.

“Fuuuck,” Robby groaned, dropping his forehead against your collar bone. You both had completely forgotten about work and didn’t have time to finish what you had started. You laughed humorlessly.

“Figures,” You said, stroking his hair.

“We can be late?” He offered with a grin, looking back up at you. The proposition brought a real laugh out of you.

“Uh huh, and we would never ever hear the end of it. Can’t you imagine both of us walking in at the same time, both late? Jack Abbot would be insufferable.”

“It would get the rumor mill started for sure,” He tugged the neckline of your shirt down and pressed a kiss to your collar bone. His beard combined with your heightened senses had you clenching your jaw. You closed your eyes and took a steadying breath.

Maybe being late wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The shrill alarm interrupted your thought process again and you groaned. “No, we have to go,” You said, mostly to yourself. Robby laughed and pressed one more kiss to your lips before getting off of you and walking out of the room. You whined at the sudden loss of contact. You laid there for another minute, trying to compose yourself, when Robby reappeared with a set of folded scrubs in his hand that he offered to you. You immediately sat up, your brow furrowed.

“I did some laundry last night after you went to sleep, thought you might need some clean scrubs.” He explained. It was all you could do to keep your mouth from dropping open.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You started.

“I know, I wanted to.” He said, you took the scrubs out of his hands and smiled up at him.

“Thank you,” You whispered, standing up to press a kiss to his cheek. Robby wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, let’s go. The more I think about it, the more I realize that you’re right and Jack is about to give us hell.”

[aetherraeys]

unspoken words

Remus Lupin x gn!reader ⊹ 4.7k

⟢ cw: best friends to lovers, Remus is emotionally constipated, reader has abandonment issues, hurt/comfort, alcohol, drunk arguments?, mild self-loathing.

a/n:this turned out significantly longer than i had anticipated, this is my first fic so please be kind x

Remus wasn’t sure when he started to look at you differently. He wasn’t sure when he began to daydream of more than just your usual conversations. Perhaps it was in the quieter moments, when your laughter lingered a little too long in the air, and he suddenly found himself feeling in a better mood. Or maybe it was in the way you said his name—soft, familiar, like a refuge he hadn’t realized he needed.

Remus wasn’t sure when he started to look at you differently. He wasn’t sure when he began to daydream of more than just your usual conversations. Perhaps it was in the quieter moments, when your laughter lingered a little too long in the air, and he suddenly found himself feeling in a better mood. Or maybe it was in the way you said his name—soft, familiar, like a refuge he hadn’t realized he needed.

He told himself it was nothing, just familiarity.

The way his pulse would stumbled whenever you touched his arm was just habit. That the way he watched you, the way your voice curled around his name like a melody he never wanted to forget, fondness. Perhaps it was the way you always seemed to see him, truly see him, even on the days when he felt like nothing more than the sum of his worst parts.

It became harder to deny when he started reaching for you in crowded rooms before he even thought about it. When his heart ached at the idea of you walking away. When he caught himself wondering how well your hand would fit into his, how soft your lips would feel on his neck.

The truth settled in slowly, heavy and inescapable, until it carved a burning pit deep in his gut. It was the kind of realization that couldn’t be undone, couldn’t be shoved aside like an inconvenient thought. It lingered, twisting in the quiet spaces of his mind, a relentless whisper of something he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Because admitting it—admitting that he wanted more, that he needed you in a way that went far beyond friendship—meant risking everything. And losing you? That wasn’t a possibility he could bear to consider.

So naturally, slowly he began to retract, putting space between you two for the first time in years. Fighting against every twitch of his fingers to pull you in, to allow himself the comfort he had grown so accustomed to. It was easier this way, he told himself. Easier to smother the ache before it had the chance to grow into something unbearable.

But distance had a weight of its own. It settled between you like an unspoken curse, stretching wider with every conversation he cut short, every touch he shied away from. He saw the confusion flicker in your eyes, the way your laughter came a second slower, as if waiting for him to catch up. And yet, he forced himself to hold the line, to pretend that nothing had changed.

But it had.

And worst of all, you had noticed too.

It was impossible not to, Remus’ lips pressed into a thin line whenever he drew closer to you, how his eyes darted around the room, rarely meeting yours - before, it had always felt like your eyes would find each other, no matter the distance—like an unspoken thread bound you together, pulling you into the same orbit even when miles apart.

The first real sign was when he no longer sought you out before and after his transformations. Where he had gravitated toward you—seeking comfort in your presence, in the quiet understanding you offered—now there was only absence, a space where he used to be.

Of course, you still worried for him, still tossed and turned into the early hours of the morning when the moon hung heavy in the sky. Fingers hovering over his name, itching to press dial—desperate to see if he was alright, if his last transformation made it too hard for him to chew even if he won’t admit it, if he was missing the updates of the brewing romance you suspect between the two baristas at your local coffee shop.

As the distance between you and Remus grew, the initial fear—the endless questioning of what you had done wrong—slowly twisted into something heavier, more severe. Resentment.

Remus opted to sit next to James or reside in the beat-up single armchair in Sirius’ flat, that he’d revealed to you was the most uncomfortable seat in the house; rivaling that of the rickety chair in old caretaker Pringle’s office, just to be as far away from you as possible. The sinking feeling in you stomach, that made every breath feel like the last wasn’t enough, as if overnight shifted into a simmering anger, sharp and unyeilding in nature.

You think back to the late nights you’d spent with Remus, your legs resting across his as he reclined on the sofa bed in his studio, the horror movie you had chosen droning on in the back as you revealed layers of your soul to him, and him to you. Confiding in him in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to before— the vulnerable part of you, you so desperately wanted to bury, surfaced so quickly you hadn’t had a time to hide.

Under the impression that your baggage—your past, your insecurities, your weakness—would be too much for anyone to handle, that it would scare them away. But with him, it felt different. You allowed yourself to lay it bare, hoping that he would understand, hoping that, for once, someone would stay.

And yet, after everything—he was leaving. Before your very eyes, the one person who you thought would stay despite it all, who accepted you and who you accepted was retreating away from you, building back up the wall you had once easily scaled so tall you could couldnt phathom getting over the top—felt like an insurmountable task.

Each brick he placed sent you spiralling into a reckless panic, in a desperate, fruitless attempt to appear unaffected, to appear as though the foundation of your very being that you had delicately rested on Remus wasn’t crumbling away with each second you spent in this unspoken distance between you.

It turned in to a battle of who can build their walls higher but now, you felt lonlier than ever, you were once again trapped in a prison of your own making, and every word left unspoken made it a bit harder to be in his presence. The silence between you stretched like a chasm, thick and suffocating, until even the most casual glance felt loaded with things neither of you were willing to say.

Lily had pulled you into the corridor, trying to be pry subtly, into the strange tension that had settled between you.

"Are you two...?" she asked, her voice gentle, leaving the question hanging in the air, the concern in her eyes was unmistakable.

You forced a smile, but it felt foreign. The corners of your mouth strained with the effort, creating something that looked more like a grimace than anything genuine. Lily's brows furrowed in sympathy when your voice came out with in a freigned bright tone, artificially light yet hollow, completely at odds with the heaviness settling in your chest.

"Oh, um, we're fine. Just stretched a bit thin…with work, I suppose," you said, your words tumbling out a little too quickly.

Lily’s eyes were still searching your face, in hopes you would continue before Sirius came barreling through his too small corridor, clinging to the walls for stability—evidently very tipsy.

A long, drawn-out call of “Where have my girls goooone?” echoed through the hall. He finally reached you both, arms slinging lazily over both your shoulders, his breath warm and slightly slurred.

“Tell me it’s not just the two of you, I need some real drinking buddies,” he grinned, clearly oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.

Lily rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of relief in her smile as she playfully nudged him off. “You’re a mess, Black.”

A surprisingly heavy sigh slipped past your lips as he dragged you both back into his living room, Sirius didn’t seem to notice, too busy swaying on his feet.

The lights dimmed, music blaring too loud in one corner of the room and not loud enough in the next. Though by the time you reached the table piled with drinks, Lily had skillfully escaped Sirius’ grasp and found her way over to Marlene—who sat perched on the window-cill, blowing the air from her cigarette out the small crack, both had their eyes trained on you, the smoke now curling around them both.

You turned to Sirius, who was still swaying slightly, his eyes almost blinking unsynchronized as he tried to focus on you. "Right, what are we drinking then?" you asked.

His gaze lit up immediately, a grin spreading across his face. "Well, seen as you so graciously ask," he drawled, "Jamie made a devious little cocktail that I think might tickle your fancy."

He gestured grandly toward the table, as though unveiling some grand prize. "It's a bit... experimental, but I’m sure you'll love it. If you survive, that is."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the glass in his hand. "Experimental, huh?" you said, a small giggle escaping your lips, you were grateful for the distraction. The last thing you wanted was for Lily to push any further.

Both you and Sirius raised your rather large cups, not breaking eye contact as you brought them to your lips. The moment felt charged, like a silent challenge between the two of you, a kind of unspoken rivalry that had always existed in moments like these. You knew very well what this meant—the tension, the expectations—and before you could second guess it, a small chorus of “CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG!” erupted from the people around you.

You tilted your head back, letting the liquor burn down your throat, the sharpness of it spilling slightly down the sides of your lips as you tried to keep pace with Sirius. His eyes was wide, mischievous, full of vigour, he crushed the cup in victory.

You barely managed to finish your drink, the liquid’s warmth spreading through your chest, leaving a bitter aftertaste. The back of your hand came up to wipe away the alcohol that now dripped down your chin, a small sigh escaping your lips as you set your cup down on the table.

Sirius, not missing a beat, cheered for you with exaggerated enthusiasm, barking a boisterous, “Atta girrrl!” His voice rang through the room, drawing more attention. He clapped you on the back a little too hard, making you stumble forward, the heat in your cheeks wasn’t from the drink.

You shot him a playful glare, trying to hold onto whatever composure you had left. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

He just laughed, clearly enjoying the chaos of it all, before dropping down into one of the chairs beside you, the glint in his eyes still dancing. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Silently, you poured yourself another tall glass full of the cocktail, the liquid sloshing slightly as you filled it to the brim, feeling the weight of eyes on you from every direction. When you lifted the glass, you could almost feel Sirius’ gaze boring into the back of your head.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re having another?”

You hummed back dismissively, your gaze locked on the drink in your hand, as if the peach liquid was more interesting than anything else happening around you. “Why not?” you replied, your voice casual, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

Sirius chuckled, clearly amused, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made you wonder if he was watching you for a different reason than just the challenge of the drink. “As long as you’re sure you can handle it, y/n, I’m game.”

“You sure about that, Black?”, chimed in Marlene stubbing out her cigarette with a casual flick of her wrist. Her eyes narrowed playfully as she raised an eyebrow at him, “Do you even know what James put in there?”

Sirius waved her off with a dismissive hand, “Don’t know, don’t care—drink is drink,” he stuck his tongue out at her in jest. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the exchange, starting with a careful sip from your newly filled glass, but then drinking it too quickly for your own good.

As quickly as one drink turned into two, two turned into three, four, five—and you eventually lost count. The room around you started to blur, the edges softening as the noise from the party grew distant, muffled. Sirius’ teasing voice, Marlene’s laughter, everything became a vague hum that you couldn’t quite focus on.

You didn’t care anymore. The heat in your chest from the alcohol, the pressure that had been weighing on you since you had stepped into the room—it all seemed to fade, if only for a little while.

Sirius once again coming to the rescue, seeming much more sober than despite the excessive consumption you had both partaken in, “How bout we step out for some fresh air, doll?”, you giggle to yourself quietly as he pulls you through the crowded room.

“Someone’s having a fun ni—” Sirius started, his words trailing off when you loudly proclaimed, “Of course, Siri, I loooove drinking with you!” Your voice echoed through the room, drawing a few amused glances from the people still lingering by the table.

Sirius shook his head, a knowing smile on his lips. “I think you’ve had a bit too much, love.” But he didn’t push the issue, instead guiding you towards the door.

The cool night air hit your face as soon as you stepped outside, but it did little to clear the fog in your mind. You let out an exaggerated sigh as you sat on the steps that led up to Sirius’ door, still left ajar.

“Penny for you thoughts?”

You turn to look towards him, head moving faster than you reflexes can keep up with, head almost rolling from the abrupt motion, “A penny for my thoughts?”, you quitely mumble back to yourself, taking the statement far to literally.

“Whats bugging you y/n?”, he shuffled closer to you, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder.

Out of habit, you began to pick at the skin around your nails, looking down at you lap in defeat—the sobering thoughts of Remus crept back up from where you tried to relinquish them. The breeze felt almost liberating against the heat of your cheeks, but it didn’t stop the lump from forming in your throat—quick and unexpected. The sting of shame and disgust prickled your skin as you struggled to swallow.

You really were about to start drunk crying over some boy.

“I’m tired, Siri,” you murmured pitifully, your voice small and fragile as you pressed your forehead lightly against his shoulder. The words felt heavy, like they carried more than just the exhaustion from the night, more than the alcohol clouding your mind.

Sirius didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the silence stretch between you two, but he shifted, making sure you were settled comfortably against him. “I know, y/n,” he said quietly, his voice warm and steady, “I know.”

Your next words came out at barely a whisper, “I don’t know how to fix it.”

He didn’t try to tell you everything would be okay, didn’t offer empty words of reassurance. He simply stayed there, letting you feel the weight of his presence.

It all boils down to the fact that he isn’t just some boy, he was you best friend, your rock, your Remus.

Was.

Remus wasn’t just someone you could walk away from, someone you could forget about.

And you couldn’t just let things go on this way, if he was going to keep avoiding the fight, then you were going to bring the fight to him—he was the problem, and you were going to make him see it.

Without thinking, you pushed yourself up from the steps, a surge of anger filling your chest. You didn’t care if you were drunk, didn’t care if the world was spinning.

“I don’t have to deal with this,” you muttered under your breath as you quickly rose from your seat beside Sirius, pacing back and forth in front of him, whispering something along the lines, your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides. You whispered something along the lines of, “This isn’t fair,” and “He can’t just do this to me,” each phrase slipping out of you like a rushed confession, you weren’t sure if you were speaking to him or to yourself.

You brushed past Sirius, who called out your name in confusion. But you didn’t stop, stumbling slightly as you made your way towards the door.

You weren’t thinking about the consequences, about how out of control this was. Sirius did chase after you, but Merlin were you quick.

If Remus was happy with just letting years of friendship wordlessly slip away, then fine—but you weren’t. You refused to let the way you felt fester inside you like an open wound, refused to let him leave you drowning in uncertainty while he pretended everything was fine.

He was going to know.

If he was going to walk away from you, from your friendship, from everything, then he was damn well going to look you in the eyes while he did it.

By the time you reached Remus, he’s sitting solemnly staring into his glass while James ethuse about the most recent Quiddich game. You just stood in front of him for a moment, as he refused to lift his gaze and James’ words fell heavy on his tongue.

The party had dialled down severely since you were last drinking earlier, not that you noticed, you chest heaved as your sights remained locked on Remus.

“Won’t you look at me?”, the warmth in your voice had vanished, leaving only something sharp—something unfamiliar.

“Remus.” His name, even felt foreign in your mouth, distant—he heart ached to hear it the way you used to say it, laced with tenderness, with love, with something that felt like home. But now, it was just a word—empty, hollow.

It no longer carried the weight of familiarity, the quiet assurance that it always had before.

Remus had never realized how much he depended on the way you said his name—how much he had needed the warmth in it, the way it softened the rough edges of his world. But now, it was just a word. A sound. Stripped of meaning, stripped of you.

And as Sirius finally reached you, there wasn’t much he could do now, you cut all the wires of bomb and everyone was now waiting for the explosion. Your friends attempted to make themselves scarce with haste, as the tension rose in the room faster than they could leave.

Some watched through the window, others took it as the signal that the party was over and took themselves well away from the scene that was about to unfold.

Remus was still yet to even acknowledge you, let alone respond, gazing into his glass as if it quite literally the most interesting thing in the world.

“y/n-”, it came out in a short, breathless whisper.

“You don’t get to do this,” you cut him off. Tired of waiting yet again for him to say something to you. “You don’t get to do this to me and act like everything is okay!”, your voice came out less conviced and more pitifully than you had hoped, sounding alien to you ears.

The liquid courage faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only the weight of the moment. And then—your name, spoken in that voice, his voice. It shattered your resolve in an instant, unraveling you from the inside out, leaving you defenseless against a weakness you hadn’t thought to acknowledge.

“You don’t get to make this decision for both of us.”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening, and finally looked up at you but he didn’t interrupt. He just watched you carefully.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to steady. “I don’t know what I did to you that was so wrong, but if I’m just supposed to let you cut me out of your life—if you don’t want in your life anymore, then say it. Look me in the eyes and say it, because I refuse to let you just disappear without a word.”

Remus inhaled sharply, his lips parting like he wanted to respond, but nothing came out. His hesitation only fueled your frustration.

“Say it, Remus!” Your voice cracked, the weight of it all pressing into your ribs, your eyes filled with tears you desperately prayed wouldn’t fall. You had already spent countless nights soaking your pillow, letting the hurt spill over. You couldn’t let it happen again—not here, not now. You wanted to stay composed, needed to keep the walls up.

“Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep wondering what I did wrong, what changed, why you suddenly act like just being in the same room as me is some unbearable burden—like I’m something you have to endure.”

The look on his face was something you had rarely seen—stricken with such complex pain, a mix of regret, sorrow, and a something you couldn’t quite distinguish.

“It’s not,” he cut in, voice rough. His hands gripped the glass in his hand like it was the only thing keeping them steady. “It’s not a burden, y/n.”

“Then what is it?” you demanded. Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating. You took a step back, shaking you head as spoke, barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t think you’d leave me too.”

His face twisted, eyes flashing with something unreadable. And then, finally—finally—he exhaled shakily, taking his glass with careful precision before setting it aside. When he looked back up at you, there was something raw in his expression, something unsaid that had been sitting between you for far too long.

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “I didn’t mean for it to get like this, I just—”, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his cheeks puffing out as he exhaled sharply, as if the weight of his own words were too heavy to carry.

“I’ve been pushing you away because I’m scared,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet yours. “Scared of how much I need you. How much I’ve always needed you.” His voice cracked slightly, yet he pressed on. “I didn’t want to ruin this—us. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you because I couldn’t control myself. I thought if I stepped back, if I gave you space, maybe... maybe the way I feel, how badly I want more from you, how badly I want us to be more, would... I don’t know. I thought it would make everything easier.”

He paused, his chest tightening with every word as if saying it out loud somehow made it real, that if he didn’t say it, he could still run away from the all-comsuming feeling that bubbled in his in his gut at the very moment. Then, almost too quietly to hear, he spoke again, his voice cracking under the pressure.

"I love you."

"And I think I've been in love with you for a some time now."

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncertain. He looked up at you, almost defeated, like the weight of his confession had crushed him, leaving him exposed in a way he had never allowed himself to be before. His eyes searched yours, as if waiting for the impact of those words to land, praying that somehow, you would understand—

“You love me?” you repeated his words back to him, your voice small, barely a whisper, like you didn’t quite understand, like the words didn’t even belong to your reality. Like they were coming from another planet.

He took a step forwards, his reaching out with such a delicacy, as if he was afraid to shatter whatever fragile space was left between you, his eyes swimming an apology that didn’t reach his lips. He stopped just short of reaching you, his fingers hovering in the space between, as if waiting for you to decide whether you’d let him in, or push him away for good.

“I-I-I don’t get it,” you stammered, your face scrunching as the words spilled out, “you pushed me away for weeks on end... because you’re in love with me?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice thick with regret.

“Rem—”

“I thought if I let myself get too close, it would all fall apart. I couldn’t ask you for more than you already give, if I shut myself off, I could protect you from everything that’s so... complicated inside me—”, his words rushed out, almost panicked, as if he feared he’d finally done the damage he had been so terrified of—ruined everything with his own hesitation, his own need.

“Remus!” you exclaimed, and when he raised his gaze, he braced himself for the worst. But instead of the disgust or contempt he had anticipated, your face wasn’t shrouded in anger. It was relaxed, almost... understanding.

There was no judgment there, only a quiet recognition—like you could see the parts of him he’d been hiding from everyone, especially himself.

The air between you seemed to pulse with the weight of everything unsaid, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel suffocating.

“Do you really think I’d be standing here right now, if through all of this, I wasn’t thinking about you?”

He remained quiet, as you stepped closer, closing the gap until it was virtually nonexistent, taking his hands in yours, fingers interlocking as you watched his eyes darted around you face, searching for any whispers of uncertainty.

Instead, you reached up to his face, your thumbs gently caressing the tops of his cheekbones. The heat radiating off of him warmed you, there were no more walls between you, no more doubts or hesitations—

His gaze dropped to your lips, your nose brushing against his, and before either of you could say another word, you closed the gap, his lips crashing softly against yours.

It was slow at first, tentative, as if testing the waters of something both of you had wanted for so long but had been too afraid to admit. Your lips moved together, soft and eager, tension melting away as his arms snaked around you waist pulling you in impossibly closer—making up for lost time, as if every second apart had built up to this very moment.

When you disconnected, your breath hitched, the tips of his ears reddening, a soft flush creeping across his cheeks. Heat rose from your chest to your neck, hair stood on end, the sensation of his touch lingering, the warmth of his body an anchor in the midst of everything that had once felt lost.

Your arms wrapped around him, head resting on his chest, feeling the quickened pace of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. He held you tight, like he was afraid you’d slip away, as if you could turn into smoke at any given moment.

“I’d never leave you,” he mumbled into the crook of you neck.

A declaration you didn’t know you needed, but was grateful to hear, in the quiet space between you, it filled you with the sense of peace—certainty, you had longed for for weeks.

please feel free to leave requests, i really enjoyed writing this and want to improve so i would appreciate any advice xo

[revelboo]

The dynamic between Reader and Megatron in Everything Is Alright is so delicious

Help Reader either way when they do finally meet carnally

I can see Megatron either being firm and dominant but not mean when he finally gets his chance

Or him melting at the touch of you and making love so sweetly and intimately

Either way he folds immediately when Reader advances their relationship 😜

He’s already lost this war, he just doesn’t realize it yet

Everything Is Alright Pt 142

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Letting himself into his habsuite, he hesitates before securing the door and heading for your tiny habitat. Kneeling he lets you slide out of his hand onto the second floor of the structure near the food prep area Swindle had acquired for him. And you glance up at him, expression unreadable before wandering deeper inside and he loses sight of you. Swindle had assured him that he’d found everything a human home should have. Everything you need. Venting softly, he glances at his closed door then at where you’d disappeared from sight.

• There’s a kitchen in here. With a fridge and appliances and a discordant bad feeling lifts through you as you reach out to touch what appears to be a kid’s drawing of a horse. Opening the fridge door, you see it’s full of food. And a half empty gallon of milk, a mostly empty bottle of ketchup, and a fast food container. This was someone’s. Heart racing, you shiver. “Did you hurt anyone when you stole this stuff?” Hoping no one was home and that they had really good insurance, because you doubt whoever he’d sent to fetch this stuff had mass shifted to get it. Most likely, they’d just ripped a wall off a house to get to the stuff inside.

• Mass shifting, he steps into the little habitat, heading up the stairs where he’d set you. And you’re standing in front of a rectangular storage device, holding a bit of paper. Doesn’t need to see your face to know you’re upset, it’s too obvious from your tone as he comes up behind you. Hates mass shifting, being so small and vulnerable. Aware that you’re still so much smaller than he is. “Swindle acquired it. I don’t know,” he admits and you spin, hip bumping against the counter. Startled to find him right behind you.

• How the heck can they move so quietly when they want to? Heart racing as he steps closer so your butt is against the counter, neck craning to watch his expression when he catches your wrist and lifts your arm. Studying the drawing in your hand and far too close to you. And you realize his servos overlap wrapped around your wrist, driving home how big he still is. “I don’t want you hurting someone else to get things for me,” you manage and those optics slide from the kid’s drawing to your face. This close, he looks so tired. Fingers itching to reach up and run your thumb under his optic and you shove the urge down. Because even if you’re bound to him, been in his memories, he’s still mostly a stranger to you.

• Those eyes. There are flecks of color in them he’s never noticed before. Close enough he can pick out individual stands of your hair, eyelashes, and he reaches with his free hand, servos tunneling into the softness of your hair. And your lips part. “Don’t mistake me, pet. I’ll do whatever I must to keep you alive,” he says, stepping closer so you’re caged against the counter by him. So he can feel your softness, your warmth against him. Won’t lie to you, won’t pretend to be tame for you. To be good. Because he’s not, isn’t even sure he can be anymore.

• His servos are in your hair, tipping your face up when he cups the back of your head and he’s pressed intimately against you. There’s a challenge in his optics, a hunger there and you know you should back down. Because he’s trying to provoke you. “You won’t hurt someone for my sake,” you counter and he growls, the low, rumbling sound humming through you to leave you breathless. Reminding you that this dangerous mech, the feared warlord, he’s yours. “I’d rather starve.”

• Head lowering, one corner of his mouth twitches at the challenge in your eyes. That defiance running like liquid fire through his lines straight to his spike. Has no idea if Swindle hurt anyone stealing these things for you, but he’d told the mech to be discreet, so must likely the dwelling was empty. But then, those humans are nothing to him. Insignificant insects. You’re the only one that matters. Lips almost brushing against yours, he vents. “You think I’d allow that, pet?”

• Hating yourself as your body heats and responds to him, to his deep voice. Wanting to close the distance and kiss him. Maybe bite his bottom lip for being a jerk. “I’m not yours,” you counter, knowing how big a lie it is. That you’re bonded to him for life, that you’re never escaping him. Taunting him with the fact that he’s not claimed all of you. Trying to provoke him, knowing the consequences. Wanting him. And he slowly smiles, expression almost predatory. Tensing when someone starts banging on the door and his face blanks, settling into that arrogant mask again.

• Almost falling inside when Megatron remotely opens the door, Starscream’s wings flick when he doesn’t see the warlord or you. Shutting the door behind him, he bends to look into the little habitat. And grits his denta to find Megatron glaring at him, pinning you to a counter. Mass shifting, he flits up into the miniature dwelling. Watching Megatron slide his hand down your spine, before tugging you to him and spinning you so your back is to his chassis and you drop a bit of paper you’d been clutching. One hand wrapped around your wrist as Megatron splays his other hand possessively on your lower belly. “Starscream,” Megatron growls. “This better be good. I’m busy.”

• Optics narrowing as he lowers his head to mouth at your throat, Megatron vents as Starscream’s wings flare. The Seeker’s expression sullen as he looks from you to him. Obviously hating his hands on you and wanting to rescue you, but not nearly as brave face to face with him. Making him want to provoke Starscream. To push harder and punish him for his hesitation. “I’m sure you have things to attend to,” the Seeker mutters, voice a low, angry rasp. And he slides his hand lower, servos teasing the waist of your coverings. Threatening to dip underneath and you grab his wrist with your free hand, but don’t try to stop him. “I can take our mate off your hands.”

• Poor Star, watching his wings trembling and flicking, you feel bad. Know he’s still worried Megatron might hurt you even though he’s bonded to you. That he can’t trust the warlord and you’ve been in his memories. Understand the pain and mistrust, don’t blame him for it. “I’m attending to what most needs my attention.” Megatron says, servos now under your pants and sliding lower as he needles Star. And you remember Soundwave pinning you against Starscream. Forcing him to accept that they’d both claimed you. Trapped between them both as they took turns with you. Lips parting as Megatron cups you to make you shiver, you lay your head back against Megatron. Let go of his wrist to reach for Starscream. ‘Star?’ Hear Megatron growl softly, the noise a warning you ignore.

Previous

Next

[gr4cier4cie]

girl that lewis snippet

i think like my brain broke cause

what

HEHHEHEEHEHE HIII MY LOVE 💫 THIS INSPIRED ME TO WRITE ANOTHER ONE HERE IT IS JUST FOR YOU I LOVE YOU SOOO MUCH MWAH: the rain wasn't supposed to happen.

not today. not here. not now, with you standing in the paddock wearing a rather... translucent shade of white. (it was stupid, really. you should've known better. should've checked the forecast this morning on your way out of lewis' bed. should have done anything besides trust the goddamn sky.)

your mascara was running (because of course). your shirt was soaked through (because why not?). and lewis hamilton was standing next to you as your eyes tracked the downpour, his hands intermittently clenching and relaxing near your lower hip. you could hear the slight shuffle of skin against skin, the whisper traveling accusatorily across the space between you. you swallowed thickly.

lewis watched the descent of your forgone mascara with something dark in his eyes. something hungry. (he always seemed to look at you like that. in briefing rooms. across the garage. in those moments when everyone else had gone home and the only sound in the air was rain against metal. hearts against cages of bone.)

"here." his voice was gravel wrapped in silk, the kind of sound that made your fingers itch to touch him. he shrugged off his jacket—the one worth more than your monthly salary, the one that had his name emblazoned across the back like a claim—and draped it over your shoulders. you shouldn't have let him.

but you did.

the scent of him made your skin prickle. made you wonder what it would taste like on your tongue. (wait a minute. you already knew that.) "i'm fine," you lied, the words tasting like copper on your tongue. it felt mysteriously like defeat.

his laugh was soft. the kind of sound that belonged in dark rooms made out of borrowed time. "you always are." his thumb caught a droplet of rain trailing down the side of your temple, and you found yourself unable to breathe. his skin was fever-hot, a stark reminder of jeddah and suzuka and every other bad decision you'd decided was worth making. his eyes had dropped to your mouth like gravity, and your fraying professionalism cracked like carbon fiber under pressure.

"thanks for the jacket," you whispered, swallowing, watching his eyes track the movement of your throat like he tracked racing telemetry—precise, hungry, calculating. he was so close you could count his eyelashes. one, two, three, four—

"you're welcome," he murmured, and only then did you realize he was brushing stray water droplets from your lashes, the tilt of your brow, the apple of your cheek. an excuse to touch you.

"you should—" his hand grazed the spot below your ear, and your words caught on a choked inhale. "we should—"

"careful," lewis huffed, thumb brushing your bottom lip, coming away stained red. (you'd done it on purpose, the lipstick. the mascara. the goddamn outfit. you were sure he knew.) "don't choke."

"someone might see us," you finally got out, palm closing around his wrist. your voice didn't sound like yours. too breathless. too wanting. too much like the sounds you'd made against his pillows last night, and the night before, and the night before. "this morning, when i—"

"left?"

you scoffed, taken aback by his interruption. "that's not—"

"ran away?"

"lewis." your breath ghosted over his lips, and you watched them part. longing you didn't even realize you had bubbled over, spilling into your bloodstream like heroin. your fingers dropped his hand, curled into his shirt without permission. "i didn't run."

his laugh was dark chocolate and champagne spray as he stepped away, leaving your skin burning. "sure you didn't."

(lewis hamilton had you on a leash. no matter how far you ran, you'd always come crawling right back.)

♡

I'M HAVING SO MUCH FUN WRITING FOR THIS WHAT 😵‍💫 love you always baby i've missed you MWAH from gracie always!!!

[matchpointfaist]

Love all your Dilf!art stuff could you maybe write something with him and Tashi? Or do some more stuff on like ceo!art or coach!Art I also saw someone do obsessed!art- if you could please

anon,

omg coach! art makes me 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

he wanted you to do well, of course he did. he only ever wanted the best for you, his star player, his special girl. maybe he was a little hard on you, sure, but you had potential! he had to push you, had to work you later, more often. he just wanted you to be the best version of yourself, that was all, really.

it probably wasn’t a great idea to have you practice at his home court, admittedly. it was so close, too easy to just have you inside for lunch breaks, to have you sitting on his couch, so pretty in his space.

it started out innocent, as most things do. he’d have you inside for lunch, or if you needed a quick shower after practice, or if it was just too hot to stand outside any longer. anyone else, he’d tell them to muscle through, that heat was part of the game. but you always asked so nicely, a sweet little pout on your lips, “coach, i just need a few minutes, please?”

you had been out for hours, running drills, preparing for your upcoming tournament out of state. he knew you were tired, could tell from the way your form got sloppy, your serves not going quite as far. little huffs left your lips with each swing of the racket, your frustration and exhaustion growing.

one missed ball, and you were throwing down your racket, cursing under your breath as you smacked it against the court. “hey, hey,” he said, at your side in an instant, “just relax, take a minute,” he coaxed the racket from your hand, setting it to the side carefully, watching as you sat down with a huff, your cheeks red. “i’m tired,” you mumbled, rubbing your shoulder, “and i’m sore,”

his brows knit in concern - he couldn’t have his special girl sore - and his hands found your shoulder like a second nature, working at the tight muscle with his calloused fingers. “oh,” your eyes fluttered closed, your head tipping back as he worked out a knot, his eyes trained on the blissful expression on your face.

“is that good?” he asked softly, moving over to your other shoulder, watching you intently. you just nodded, your bottom lip pulled between your lip, your chest rising and falling slowly. all the blood rushed between his thighs at the sight, his own face red as he watched your every reaction, gauging how far he could push this. “anywhere else?” he asked, feigning the innocent, doting coach act, “don’t want you to be hurt,” “my quads,”

his heart dropped at that, eyes falling to the sweat sheened skin of your thighs, his hands itching to touch them, to work out any tension, to make you feel so good. he hesitated before letting his hands drop, working up past your knee slowly, watching you cautiously for any reaction. you weren’t looking at him, eyes still closed, but your lips had fallen open, soft pants leaving them as he worked up your legs.

“coach,” it was innocent, he told himself, though he could’ve come right there from the sound of it, half moan, half plea. “i’ve got you,” he murmured, trailing his fingers higher, just below the line of your tennis skirt, “just relax for me, okay?” you nodded, shifting slightly, your thighs parted just enough to make his mouth water. you were so close, he could just reach out and touch, just take you right here and now.

but he was good, he was a professional, he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize your upcoming season. but maybe you’d want it, after all. he was so desperate, watching as you panted beneath him, eyebrows drawn together in pain or pleasure, he couldn’t tell which. he wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

“that feels so good, art,” you said under your breath, and he lost it, grabbing at your thigh entirely too rough for it to be innocent. “sweetheart, you have to stop talkin like that, or i’m gonna lose it,” he nearly groaned, squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t climb over you and kiss you until you cried for him, so he wouldn’t do something irreparable.

you’d gone still, and when he opened his eyes, you were looking looking up at him with wide, confused eyes, “what did you say?” “nothing, i’m sorry- i didn’t mean anything by it-“ but you were already pulling away, standing and adjusting your clothes, your cheeks a dark red, “i should head home, it’s late. i’ll see you tomorrow, coach,” “wait, i-“ “goodnight!” you called over your shoulder, already halfway gone, leaving him pent up and desperate on the court.

he’d moved too fast, he scolded himself, you clearly wanted him but you just weren’t ready for that intensity. he’d be good next time. he’d make you see that he was so much more than just your coach.

[garlicisgodsbestinvention]

perfect dimensions

(Carmy x Designer!Reader)

Summary: The Bear is weeks from opening, and Sugar hires an interior designer to bring the vision to life. Part 1/3.

Warnings: cursing, WILL contain smut later 👀NO use of Y/N because this is the 21st century. Carmy x female!reader, reader is described as having longer hair but that’s it for physical descriptions. NOT EDITED because I’m lazy girl tehe

—————————MINORS DNI——————————

“I hired a designer,” Natalie tells them in passing on Thursday, waving a vague hand when both Syd and Carmy open their mouthes to ask, “She’ll be here in like, twenty minutes.”

“Okay, heard, but we already have a design,” Carmy says, gesturing to the wall covered in layouts.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had a degree in architecture and engineering. Those are fake dimensions, Bear; we don’t know shit about anything, so someone is going to come in and make sure that we’ve got the right fucking shade of white!” Natalie shouts before the office door slams shut, leaving Syd and Camry to stare after her with equal confusion.

“Pregnancy is making her…” Syd starts to say.

“Mean?”

“Yeah, mean. Definitely a little mean,” Sydney sighs, “She’s right though. Vibe doesn’t get us to opening night.”

And that’s how Carmen finds himself stuttering through an introduction from a now much-more-pleasant Natalie when she shows a woman through the front doors.

Carmen extends his hand to you, clearing his throat, nodding like a fucking idiot when you tell him your name.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m uh, I’m Carmen.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, mouth spreading into a smile that makes his heart beat a little faster. “Walk me through?”

Natalie takes the lead while Carmy and Syd hang back. One glance at the look on his partner’s face should have sent Carmy scrambling for something else to do, but he’s not fast enough to remove himself from her presence before a laugh is bubbling from between her closed lips and he’s desperately hoping his face isn’t turning red.

“Im, uh, Carmen,” Syd lowers her voice in a mocking tone.

“Fuck right off,” Carmy shakes his head at her.

“You literally forgot your name!”

“I didn’t forget my fuckin’ name—“

“Like oh my god, a pretty girl with pretty eyes appears and you forget how to talk!”

“Are you done?”

“Absolutely not. I can’t wait for Richie to meet her.”

Carmen wishes the day would never come.

Ten minutes later you appear back in the dining room, Fak following close behind with a shit-eating grin that makes Carmy wish he had never gotten out of bed this morning.

“Carmy! Did you know she likes to bake?”

“No, Fak, we’ve only just met. Would you let her do her job?” Carmen sighs, rubbing his fingers into his eyes to stop an oncoming headache. Syd snorts.

“We’ll chat more later, Neil, I promise,” you say.

“You might have just made yourself a new best friend,” Syd laughs.

Carmy looks away the moment your eyes swivel over to his, trying to disguise that he’s staring as best he can.

“So,” you say, “Natalie said you had drawings. May I see?”

Camry’s fingers itch in a weird way, but he manages a nod before striding over to his backpack to pull out the notebook while you scan the wall of swatches and inspiration photos. You nods your head a little, like you’re concocting an idea.

Carmy wants to twirl a finger through the strand of hair hanging loose out of your updo.

“So, uh, this is what I’ve come up with so far.”

He then spends the next ten minutes walking you through each of the drawings, explaining himself a little too thoroughly, and making random comments about lighting and booth fabric. You look intent the whole time, brow furrowed at the page, occasionally pointing and you don’t even have to say anything—Carmy just starts to over explain immediately following the point of your painted fingernail.

When he’s done, you nod your head slowly, the corner of your mouth twitching up. You’re wearing some sort of lipstick that reminds Carmy of the stain of touching a cherry pit.

“These are amazing,” you say finally, and Carmy feels his face heat. “I like the vibe. I love the vibe, actually. Are you a sensitive person?”

You look up at him and Carmy short-circuits.

Syd says yes, at the exact time he says no.

“Conflicting signals,” you say, “Anyone else to weigh in?”

It takes a second for him to realize that you’re making a joke, and he has to shake himself out of a stupor caused completely by the sight of your smile.

“Uh, no, no I’m good. Gimme feedback,” he says, and you reach out to flip the pages back, landing on the entry.

“Great. I’m going to tell you what we need to fix,” you say, straight to the point. “This entry is too small. Either we need to extend out into the sidewalk, or we need to push the kitchen back by at least five or six feet. The bar is going to create a bottleneck right here, and we need to inset these shelves to give you a little more working room. The lighting here needs to be sconces, and the bathroom doors need to slide to maximize space—this is too small for a swinging door.”

Carmen is fully intent on taking in every word you’re saying, but out of the corner of his eye he can’t help but see Syd’s face transform into something mildly resembling devious.

“Heard,” Carmy says, nodding his head as you looks back up. “Let’s rock.”

——————————————————————————

You become a fixture in Carmy’s life in the same way that Sydney or Richie or Nat are, appearing every time he turns the corner and whispering a hello in passing before you start barking orders to the contractors who listen to your every word. Strangely, he can relate. A week ago you told him, Carmen, please decide which side of the bar you want the ice machine on, and do it quickly so I can tell the water guy when he gets here. He’s never made a decision so fast in his life.

Even Nat had popped an eyebrow when he replied, on it, before you’d even really finished your sentence.

Usually, he’s on autopilot—walking in and straight back to the office or the kitchen and hardly ever stopping to notice what’s going on. He’s the first one in and the last one out by design, so he doesn’t even see everyone else arrive until they’re already there.

This morning, though, Carmy walks into the kitchen to see you already there, writing something out in a notebook as Natalie talks, waving her hands wildly.

“Okay, I got you,” you’re saying only glancing up when Carmy’s shoes shuffle too loudly on the floor. “Oh! Good, you’re here. I need you.“

Carmy raises his eyebrows. “Need me?”

“To look at paint swatches,” you say, ushering him into the main dining area. The words ring in his head like bells as he follows you, the scent of your perfume surrounding him as he walks through the crowd of it. You smells so good, and it reminds him of New York City somehow, the faint scent of rain.

He figures that you must have come in even earlier than he and Natalie both, because you’re dressed more casually than usual, and there’s a charm necklace dangling over your tee shirt that he tries to identify when you turn without you realizing he’s staring. He makes out a paintbrush and nothing else.

“Right, so,” you start, gesturing to the wall. There’s a beat of silence with them both staring at the three swatches on the wall, and then Carmy turns towards you.

Your words overlap.

Carmy says, “I hate them.”

At the same moment, you say, “They’re horrible, right?”

Carmy laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, not it.”

“Okay, so hear me out.” You say, leaving his side to pull something from your folder. “Pink.”

“Pink?”

“Like, oyster shell pink. Neutral enough that in the low light it’ll look pale, almost indiscernible from white. And this wall—“ you point to the back where the booths will be and shake your head. “Has to be a mural. It’ll look unfinished if it’s bare.”

Carmy nods along with everything that you say, trying to envision it. “What kind of mural?”

You tilt your head, chewing at your lip. Carmy completely short-circuits for an embarrassingly long second.

“I might have some ideas,” you say in a soft voice, crossing over to the table where you’ve set your things and pulling out a black sketchbook.

“Two artists in residence, huh?” Carmy jokes, his stomach fluttering when you smile.

“Do you draw anything other than food and restaurant interiors?” You ask.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” you repeat, looking up at him. He knows that you want him to elaborate—he would never admit out loud that he spends the hours he’s not cooking trying to replicate the way your necklace hangs off of your neck and the curve of your wrist.

Occasionally he doesn’t do weird, obsessive, borderline creepy things—sometimes he sketches the buildings outside his window as the sun goes down, or tries to remember what the boat in Copenhagen looked like, or that one place he used to drink coffee at in New York.

Your eyes narrow at him just a little, like you’re trying to read all the things he’s not saying.

He dips his head, half to look at the page you’ve opened the notebook to and half to get out from under the scrutiny of your pretty eyes.

“That’s insane,” Carmy finds himself saying, looking down at the waves of color on the page. “It looks like, almost like wood? Or marble. That’s—fuck, that’s so cool.”

The page is covered in shades of brown and deep green and black, melding together into something that reminds him of tree rings or stained wood panels, muted like an old chinoiserie river painting.

“You could hire someone to change it out seasonally maybe, it’d be cool, but I think something like this would look nice with the color of the wood we picked for the tables—“

“Will you do it?” Carmy asks, fingertips tracing over the edge of the paper and coming away brushed with color—oil pastels. “Could you, I mean, I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it like this.” He tells you, rubbing the tips of his fingers together and watching the color meld together before meeting your eye.

Your mouth is parted, eyes wide as you look at him, and he gets the urge to flick your bottom lip to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

“I,” you start to say, “Yeah. I can do it. If you want me to.”

“I do,” he says, too quickly. “Want you to. Paint it.”

Because what else would he be asking you to do? He wants to throw his entire brain into the blender on high.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll start tomorrow.”

He makes a mental note to make sure he’s there all day to peer through the windows and watch you work.

[yanyandam]

IDYLLE - HANMA Shuji x Rich!Foreign!Fem!Reader

Don't know if I'll really continue this, but I really want to, so consider this as a chapter ONE! Sorry for the inactivity!!

Tokyo, 2005. Kabukicho – the city’s diseased heart.

Hanma lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, not from nerves, but from the anticipation crawling under his skin. The night was slow. Too slow. And when he was bored, he needed to break something. Or someone. He prowled the neon-stained streets like a hyena, looking for some poor bastard dumb enough to cross his path.

That’s when he heard it:  some kind of foreign swearing echoing from a narrow alleyway. His head tilted, a crooked grin already forming. That wasn't Japanese. French? English? Arabic? Who gave a shit. It was different. He wandered over, all casual menace, and peeked into the alley.

There she was. A girl. Young, definitely not from around here. Maybe a tourist. Or maybe just a rich little expat brat pretending to slum it for the thrill. Hanma squinted through the smoke curling from his lips and took her in. Designer clothes. Leather bag that probably cost more than a month's rent in Shibuya. Her whole vibe screamed money. The kind of girl who’d never touched a dirty sidewalk in her life. And then it clicked. He had seen her before. Around the city, whispers in the underground. Some rich kid whose dad dragged her back to Japan for business or some shit. A foreign princess dropped in the worst fucking part of Tokyo? Hanma chuckled, low and cruel. Jackpot!

She was perfect. Out of place, out of her depth, and about to have a real Kabukicho night. No bodyguards, no map, no clue. Just a walking, talking goldmine with wide eyes and soft skin. Finally, something fun. Scaring the shit out of some sheltered little heiress in this cesspool of sin? Then try to get some cash?  Yeah. That’d scratch the itch.

–

The deeper into the district she wandered, the more twisted everything got. Garish lights cast fake warmth over cold concrete. Host club signs blinked above rusted pipes. Shadows stretched longer than they should’ve.  The air reeked of cigarette smoke, piss, and stale beer. Somewhere in the distance, someone screamed, drunk, angry, or both. A trash bag burst open beside her foot with a wet slap. She flinched. “@//!!##@!?” she hissed again, voice sharp, furious. She kicked the bag, wiped her shoe against the curb, and cursed some more. Behind her, a voice dropped into the silence like a blade.  “Hey.”

She froze. Turning slowly, she found herself face to face with a tall guy leaning half in shadow. Cigarette between his teeth. Hands in his pockets, smile nowhere to be seen. He looked at her like she was something that had just crawled into his territory. “What’s a thing like you doing in a place like this?” he asked, monotone.

She stared at him a beat too long before snapping back, her accent thick as a brick wall.  “Beats the hell outta me.”

Hanma tilted his head slightly. That accent? Rich girl trying to sound tough. Funny. He didn’t laugh, though. He just studied her. High-end boots. Clean, expensive jacket. Designer bag clutched tight like it could protect her.  Yeah. Out of place. Easy pickings. She scowled at his silence. “You’re local, right?” she said sharply. “So tell me…how the fuck do I get out of this goddamn shithole?”

He blinked. The tone. The nerve. He took a step closer. Just one. Just enough.  “You’ve got a mouth on you.”  Then, flatly: “I could help. But people don’t just end up in Kabukicho by accident.”

That hit a nerve. She snapped. “Oh, piss off. I took the wrong train, my phone died, and now I’m stuck in this dump surrounded by freaks and perverts. Happy?”

Hanma looked amused now. Not amused like he thought she was funny, amused like a man watching an ant crawl into a trap. “Sounds like a you problem.”

She stepped back. Not far, but enough to show she felt the pressure. “You gonna help or not?”

Hanma didn’t move. “Sure. I’ll walk you outta here. But directions cost money around here.” He smiled, wide now, something unhinged flickering behind his eyes.  “And you look like you’ve got plenty.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What? Are you trying to rob me?”

Hanma shrugged. “Nah. Just helping you understand the situation.” He nodded toward the street behind him, twisting alleys, flickering signs, broken bottles and guys who really didn’t give a damn. “You’re walking around looking like a gold bar in a junkyard. Lucky you found me first.”

She squared her shoulders. “You think I’m scared of you?”

Hanma grinned again, lips pulling too wide. “You should be.”

He took another step. “But hey. Give me what’s in your wallet, and maybe you get home with all your teeth. I’m doing you a favor, really.” She didn’t answer. Her jaw clenched. Her fingers tightened around her bag. And Hanma just stood there, patient, amused, watching her squirm. 

Somewhere above them, a sign buzzed and flickered, half-dead kanji pulsing red against a building covered in grime. A busted AC unit groaned in the window of a love hotel. Down the alley, a drunk hostess stumbled in heels, shrieking with laughter at nothing. A cat hissed near a pile of steaming garbage. And right in the middle of it all:  Her. She exploded. Not at Hanma. Not even at the situation, really. Just at the universe. “FUCK! WHY. ALWAYS. ME?!” Then came the torrent, curses in a language that twisted like spit and razor blades. It sounded like she was casting a spell out of rage.

Hanma just stared.

Expression blank. Hands still in his pockets. This… girl? Thing? Whatever she was, she’d gone nuclear. She was pacing now, stomping, still yelling at absolutely no one. “What kind of god hates me this specifically?! I’m just tryna exist! I didn’t kill anyone! I PAY MY TAXES, OKAY—well, okay, my dad does, but STILL!”

Hanma blinked. Slowly. What the actual fuck? She wasn’t even talking to him anymore. Hadn’t been for a while. Just screaming at the walls, at the alley, at the broken vending machine nearby. From the outside, it looked like a very angry, possibly possessed model had wandered into the slums to reenact a breakdown. He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled now. “...She on drugs?” he mumbled to himself.

And then she stopped. All at once. Like someone hit a switch. She turned her face upward, toward him. Finally looked at him. Calm now, but still pissed. Her frown was solid. Unmoving. For a second, the light hit her just right; one of those sickly streetlamps with a dying orange glow. Hanma blinked again.

Oh.

She was pretty.

No, actually pretty. Not just rich-kid-put-together. Not club makeup or plastic face. Just… sharp-eyed, pissed-off, and raw. Hanma frowned and shook his head once, hard—like the thought offended him. “Tch.”  Nope. Not going there. Still, the chaos she just unleashed lingered in the air like gunpowder. He couldn't decide if she was insane… or the most entertaining thing he'd seen all week.

The girl had finally stopped her meltdown, and for a second Hanma thought she might just pass out on the spot from pure rage fatigue. She was quiet now. Breathing hard. Still frowning at him like he was the idiot here. Hanma clicked his tongue and took a step forward, back into character: sharp shoulders, lazy smile, eyes cold. “Alright, fun’s over. Hand over the cash, princess.” His voice dropped low. That tone that usually made people flinch. “This ain’t negotiable. You either pay the toll, or I get creative.”

He loomed a little, just enough to cast a shadow. But she didn’t even twitch. She just blinked slowly, like he’d asked her to repeat a math problem. Then, she sighed. Long, deep, dramatic. Like she’d just been handed another chore on top of a day full of bullshit. “Ugh. Fine.” She unzipped her bag, dug around, pulled out a crumpled wad of yen, and chucked it at his chest like she was throwing trash into a bin.

“Here, fucker.”

The bills hit his jacket and fluttered to the ground. Hanma stared. First at her, then at the money.  A full second passed. “…The fuck did you just call me?”

He bent down slowly, picked up the bills, eyes never leaving her face. His jaw flexed. She just stood there, unbothered, arms crossed again. “You wanted money. You got money. So shut up and fuck off or guide me out…whichever gets you off faster, psycho.”

Hanma’s hands curled around the bills. His grin came back, but it was thinner now. Meaner. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve got a real death wish, don’t you?” he muttered. He stuffed the cash into his pocket without breaking eye contact.

She raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah? Get in line.” A bottle clinked somewhere behind a dumpster. A rat scurried by. The streetlamp above them flickered again, as if even the electricity was on edge. Hanma was quiet. Tension crackled off him like static.  Because he didn’t know what the hell this girl was. Hanma stared at her like she’d just spit in his face.

She had nerve, sure, but this wasn’t just bratty rich-girl attitude. This was something else. Something off. She swore like a Yakuza boss having a bad trip. She talked to herself like a lunatic. She handed him cash like he was a fucking delivery boy. His fingers twitched. He stepped forward. Slowly. Boots crunching on broken glass. She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He leaned in closer, head tilted, grin gone now. Just teeth. “You know… usually I don’t hit girls.”  He paused. “Too easy. Too boring.”  Another step. “But you…are you even a girl? Or are you just some loud, cracked-out goblin in a skirt?”

She met his gaze, eyes looking like broken mirrors. “Try me, bitch.”

He clenched his jaw. One more step and he was right in her face. Hands still in his pockets, but his whole frame radiated violence now. He wanted to hit something. Not even for the money anymore. Just to shut her the fuck up. Then…

CLANK.

A loud rattle from the trash bin beside them. They both froze. Hanma slowly turned his head. The lid of the dented metal bin was moving. “…You gotta be kidding me.” Another rustle. A soft, throaty sound…mew.

Hanma frowned, then reached out and popped the lid open. A small, filthy grey cat stared up at him from inside. Big eyes, matted fur, twitching tail. It looked pissed off and slightly offended to have been discovered. He blinked.  “…Seriously?”  Then bent down and, without much thought, reached in and grabbed the thing by the scruff.

It meowed again, less angry now.

He held it up like it was a piece of trash he hadn’t expected to feel warm. It wriggled slightly, then gave up. That’s when he heard it. Her voice. Softer. Different. “…Here you are.” He turned back to look at her.

She wasn’t frowning anymore. Or cursing. Or posturing. Just… looking at the cat. Her eyes had lost that razor edge. Her shoulders dropped a little. And for the first time, Hanma wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. He looked between her and the ugly, pissed-off cat in his hand. Then muttered, genuinely confused: “…What the fuck is happening right now?”

Somewhere above them, a fluorescent sign buzzed like a dying fly. The neon red light painted Hanma's cheekbones in devilish hues, flickering every few seconds like a strobe from hell. Broken bottles littered the gutter. Water (or something pretending to be water) dripped from a rusted pipe above, hitting the concrete with a slow, rhythmic tap. And in this glorious, rotting cradle of Tokyo nightlife, Hanma stood there holding a feral trashcat like it was a sacred offering. The girl in front of him stepped forward cautiously, like one wrong move might spook a ghost. Her voice, for once, was hushed.  "Give him here..."

Hanma gave her a sideways glance but didn’t resist. He held the cat out lazily, still gripping it by the scruff, its back legs dangling in the air like wilted noodles. She moved in, arms slightly out, hands open. “Come on, little sh—”

SKRRRAAT!

The cat, apparently still full of hellfire, twisted midair and slashed at her wrist with a crackling hiss. She recoiled fast, nearly tripping over her own foot.  "FUCK—!” The hiss echoed around them like static in a cave.

Hanma raised an eyebrow. The girl clutched her hand, face contorting, not with pain, not really. Something else. Something rawer. She didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at the ground, chest rising and falling. Hanma squinted. “…What the fuck is your deal?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then: “I’ve been trying to approach him for hours…” She rubbed her wrist. Her voice came out brittle, like she'd forgotten how to shout. “…Then I ended up there.”

A pause.

Hanma blinked.

Wait.  That was it? That’s how she got lost in one of the dirtiest, sketchiest back alleys in Tokyo? By following a cat? A full second of silence passed.

Then Hanma broke.

“PFFFT—AHAHAHAHAHA—!”

It started like a cough and escalated into a full-on maniacal laugh. His head tipped back, body convulsing from the force of it.  “YOU FOLLOWED A FUCKIN’ CAT?!” He pointed at her with one hand, still holding the cat in the other like a sock puppet. “INTO KABUKICHO? Are you out of your entire goddamn mind?!” His boots scraped the pavement as he stumbled from laughter. “You serious?! What are you, some Disney crackhead princess?!”

She turned red with rage. Her hands balled into fists. “You lanky worm!”

“Oh, ho! That all you got?!” Hanma was doubling over, tears almost in his eyes

“You look like you live in a dumpster and fuck cardboard boxes—”

That did it, Hanma’s body jolted with another wheeze, arms flailing… And he let go of the cat. “Oh—shit.”

The cat dropped like a heat-seeking missile, hit the pavement with a wet thump, and took off down the alley, vanishing under a fence like a blur of grey fury. They both stood still. The girl stared after it, mouth half-open in quiet devastation. Hanma straightened up, slowly turning to her.  “…Whoops.”

The neon above them buzzed. A breeze kicked up a plastic bag, sending it tumbling like a lost soul. Her silence was worse than her shouting. Hanma scratched the back of his neck. Somehow… it had just gotten a lot weirder.

She stared at the fence where the cat had vanished, face stony. Her fists were clenched at her sides, jaw tight. For a second, Hanma thought she might scream again. Or maybe try to stab him with a nail file. Honestly, both would’ve been entertaining. But instead…

She just closed her eyes. And sighed. Long. Deep. Like she’d just surrendered her soul to the universe and regretted every decision that brought her to this precise goddamn alley.  “…Whatever.”

She turned back toward him. Her expression was unreadable now. Blank, but exhausted. “I’m done. Just—tell me how to get the hell out of here.”

Hanma arched a brow. No sass? No insult? No weird curses in unknown languages? She looked at him like she was done: with the cat, with the night, with Tokyo, with life. He puffed his cigarette, amused.  For a second, he considered sending her in circles just for the hell of it. But then again… he had gotten his money. And a laugh.

Not bad for a night that started with boredom and cigarettes. He took one last drag and flicked the butt into the gutter, watching the ember die.

Then pointed casually toward the far end of the alley, toward a dim-lit street that curved sharply to the left. “That way,” he said, voice smooth. “Couple blocks, then you’ll hit the main road.”

She didn’t even thank him. Just gave him one last sour look and trudged off, mumbling under her breath in that mystery-language of hers, footsteps echoing off the concrete. Hanma watched her go, the corner of his mouth curling.

She turned the corner. Disappeared into the neon glow.

He slipped his hands into his pockets and started walking the other way, whistling low under his breath.

Then, after a moment, muttered to himself with a lazy grin. “…That road leads straight to the red-light maze.”

A breeze carried the stink of the alley behind him. Somewhere, a siren wailed far off.

NOTE: lmao this was an x oc but i always feel so embarassed showing my ocs that I turned it into an x reader!

[djarinova]

written on your upper thigh — rafayel

˗ˏ✎ synopsis: - what is he painting on your leg... and are you going to have the patience to wait him to finish when he's planting kisses on your skin and touching you oh so delicately?

˗ˏcontent - gn (reader wears a skirt), painting, kissing, making out, reader is blindfolded, reader has freckles + small scars on their leg - divider by @/saradika

˗ˏwc - 1860

“C’mon, Raf, it's been like 20 minutes, can I please take this blindfold off now?”

You hear him scoff, “I can't believe that after all this time you still think it's possible to rush me towards completion with a deadline.”

Underneath the blindfold—which is a dark, and suspiciously well looked after, piece of silk material—you roll your eyes. There's a soft clink in the background and you hear water splash against the side of the cup that sits on the table next to you.

“Are you seriously cleaning your brush again?” You huff. “How many colours are you using? Promise me you haven't painted an entire landscape on the side of my leg…”

Rafayel laughs, a soft sound that flows between the two of you and settles somewhere deep in your chest. The fingers of his free hand dance delicately across the bare flesh of your thigh—he had insisted that you needed to be clothes free below the waist for this particular activity, but you'd persuaded him against that choice with a flutter of your eyelashes and the reminder that there are other people (namely Thomas) that may appear in his home without any notice. The short lilac skirt you were wearing also helped your case a little…

“I promise.”

“...Yes?” You urge him to continue.

He suspends his hand palm down in the air, as if making an oath. “I promise I have not painted an entire landscape on the side of your leg.” He repeats, in a solemn voice.

You nod your head, satisfied.

“Will you just tell me what you're doing already! I'm getting anxious.” You whine.

The brush tickles your skin and a small giggle escapes your lips. You try not to shift too much in your seat, lest Rafayel scold you again.

“It's like you don't trust me at all.” He pouts, he exaggerates his point by sticking his bottom lip out, somehow forgetting that you can't see him. “If you missed seeing my face that much then you could just say so out right, there's no need to beat around the bush this much.”

The urge to roll your eyes resurfaces and you're about to speak out in your defense when the brush comes into contact with your skin again. You yelp in surprise, the water droplets from the bristles are cold, and Rafayel chastises you absentmindedly.

“And if you missed kissing me that much then maybe you should hurry up and finish painting me already.” You tease in return, the double meaning of your words not even crossing your mind.

Rafayel says nothing, but you hear him scoff quietly as if he disagrees with your words. His brush strokes tell a different story though, they seem to gain momentum rather suddenly and he begins to work much quicker than he was only a few moments ago.

You feel his breath fan against your leg and your cheeks heat up when he presses a gentle kiss upon your skin. Even knowing that he isn't looking at your face doesn't help to quell the thoughts that churn through your mind. Knowing that he's been working on you for the best part of an hour now, the thrill of being unable to see when or where he's going to be touching you next with the paintbrush… It makes you giddy. He's so meticulous with how he works on his art, you never get bored of the sight, but this secretiveness is far more exciting than you had expected when he suggested it.

He kisses your thigh again, slightly higher than before, and you have to swallow a whine that threatens to escape you. His lips are feather-light on your skin, almost tickling you with how delicate they are. Your brain is foggy with want and you feel your leg bounce minutely, like it's itching to move closer to him.

The noise of your thumping heart is all you can hear, you're so distracted that you fail to notice the shifting of Rafayel’s movements until he's pressed against your side on the sofa.

“Are you ready?” He whispers, his breath is warm on the shell of your ear. It makes your stomach flip.

You gulp, nodding slowly as shivers run down your spine. You think he might not have seen your reply and you're about to speak when you feel his hands fiddling with the knot at the back of your head. One end of the material flutters down over your chest, the other is held securely in Rafayel's hand.

You waste no time trying to adjust to the light that now floods your vision, instead your eyes flit wildly around the scene in front of you, trying to find the lips that you long to feel against your own. You get impatient with yourself before even 2 seconds have passed. The sunlight almost blinds you as you turn your head to the left. Rafayel's hands perched on his lap pass by you in a blur as you spin towards him. You screw your eyes shut and blindly make a move towards where you think his head is, too desperate, too eager, too hungry to bother looking properly. No thoughts cross your mind apart from the need to have his lips on yours. You're so caught up in your actions that you somehow completely forget about–

“Hey! Careful of my work! You almost smudged it off without even looking at it first!” Rafayel cries.

You freeze in your tracks and slowly open your eyes. You're halfway between sitting and straddling Rafayel's lap, your hands are balled into fists and they hold tightly onto his shirt material. The fabric is soft between your fingers.

“I–uh… Well–” You hesitate, before slowly moving away from Rafayel's sturdy thighs and planting yourself back on the sofa. Heat floods your cheeks, pressing a hand towards your face to hide your embarrassment you quickly turn your head away from his prying eyes and look down at the painting that has been keeping you still for so long.

“It's–”

“Beautiful, I know.”

You roll your eyes, but don't disagree. It is beautiful.

On your thigh, no bigger than a finger's length, sits an elegantly painted letter ‘R’. Its ends are curved and, as if following lazy brush strokes, they flick upwards ever so slightly. The circular part of the letter is so precise in how it curves along your skin, the movements of the letter outline seem to line perfectly with the freckles and small scars from hunting that adorn your skin. It's golden in colour, but the longer you look at it the more your eyes are able to pick up all of the hints of the other hues. There's small traces of orange hidden beneath the gold, with blue highlights along the curve and specks of lavender dotted around the edges like stars in the night sky.

You swallow your emotions, tears threaten to fall from your eyes and as you spin in your seat you feel the droplets pooling along your lashes. Before you have a chance to think about what to say Rafayel is pressing his lips against yours. He hums against you and you feel his hands slide around your waist before they sneak under your shirt and settle on the hem of your skirt. There's something different about the way he's kissing you, it's hungry and fast and he's deepening the kiss hurriedly in an effort to keep you close to him. Your hands knot in his hair, the soft strands tickle your skin. Something digs into your upper thigh, and you're about to open your eyes to check what it is when you feel Rafayel’s hands gripping the flesh of your ass. Your eyes fly open as he flips you onto your back and your hands search the air looking for purchase on his shirt. As you hum against his lips once more there is a faint ‘click’ noise in the background and before you have the chance to register the sound the front door is flung open.

“Hello?” Thomas whisper-shouts in the entryway.

Rafayel groans as your hands push against his chest haphazardly.

“C’mon—Rafayel—we have to—seriously—we have to move, quickly! C'mon, baby!” You mumble against his lips.

He sighs, but relents to your pushing. You manage to sit up and straighten your clothes just as Thomas enters the living room. You hope you don't look as thrown about as you feel.

“I was just coming over because I was certain that you'd forget–Oh!” His cheeks flood with warmth, and he stops dead in his tracks once he notices your embarrassed state and the air of Rafayel's oh-so-nonchalant attitude (and if he sees the mismatched buttons of Rafayel's shirt, and the dishevelled mess of your hair, he's polite enough not to draw any attention to it).

“Oh, right. You wanted to–”

“You promised me the week off and I was just coming over to remind you that today is Friday.” Thomas interrupts, “That means for the next seven days I will be unreachable to you, okay?” He directs his next question to you. “Please, please, please can you watch over him this week? You know how his schedule is and the only way for me to get any peace of mind is if I know you won't let him ignore his responsibilities this week.”

You nod confidently, if there's one thing Thomas can rely on you for, it's keeping Rafayel in check.

You smile widely. “Have a lovely and restful time, Thomas. See you next week.”

He waves to the two of you, Rafayel just huffs and crosses his arms in his seat as you promise to make him behave this week.

The door clicks once again and you hear the sound of Thomas's car pulling out of the drive. You sigh, somehow getting interrupted by Thomas has you feeling like a school kid who got caught cheating on a test. Your cheeks are hot and your pulse is quickened—and it's not for the same reason as it was before…

“You're really going to make me go to all those events and meetings that Thomas promised I would attend this week?” Rafayel pouts.

You turn to look at him. “Of course I am! I gave him my word. And don't even think about trying to run away, I know where all your hiding spots are.”

Rafayel huffs, his eyebrows furrowed together as if deep in thought.

“You think you know where all my hiding spots are…” He whispers.

You fake a shocked gasp, and shove his side lightly while laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.” You tease.

Now it's his turn to gasp. He turns his head away from you dramatically and crosses his legs so his entire body is angled away from you, leaving just enough room for you to slide yourself behind him and wrap your legs around his waist.

“Your painting really is beautiful, you know.” You whisper against his ear and you feel him shudder against you.

“Thank you.” He whispers in return. His hands now preoccupied with tracing the outline of the ‘R’ that sits entrancingly on your thigh.

[merbear25]

You know that innocence corruption thing you did for chad and urahara can you do one for gin and jugram or ichigo

I had so much fun writing these... Idk what happened but I especially adored writing Jugram's part 😭 Hope you like it!

Such an innocent thing like you didn't belong here surrounded by the corrupt and death. That being said, they were happy you were. You were the smidge of good in a reality so bleak, and they were just itching to have you all to themselves.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, corruption kink, vaginal fingering, breast play, oral (male and female receiving), vaginal penetration, rough sex, creampie

A rose in a garden of thorns (Gin, Jugram)

Gin

As carefree as they came, he often wondered how you managed to have made it this far without losing that. He caught himself staring at you, observing you, thinking if your soft heart had ever known something past the sunlight you found yourself in.

A beacon of hope that there was good to be found in the darkest moments, he came to admire you for your resilience. Perhaps you were foolish to be acting as innocent as you were, or maybe he was the one who was the fool for thinking that it was all an act. You were genuine in your kindness, which was something he rarely had the privilege of witnessing in others. Although you weren’t blind to what dangers lurked over your garden walls, you simply chose to greet them with warmth.

How were you real? It was a question he’d been mulling over for longer than he cared to admit. He, like so many others, had to rely on the masks they wore just for a chance at survival. Watching you happily carry out your duties, never once looking distressed or discouraged, he couldn’t deny the way you made his heart flutter.

A group of men were loudly making their way over to you. Having caught one of their eyes sent the others to follow his lead. The hoops and hollers at you were less than tasteful. Clear discomfort was written all over your sweet face, which didn’t sit well with your admirer.

Before the men had the chance to get any closer, Gin blocked them off. His presence was both frighteningly intimidating and light-hearted at the same time, leaving the group on edge of what the captain’s sly smile was hiding. With a scoff that was more timid than it was fierce, the lowly men left you alone. The cute girl was suddenly not worth their time because her captain came to her aid.

“Thank you.” Although you looked a bit defeated, your eyes held on his with a tenderness that was unmatched.

His smile softened at the sight of you. You looked so vulnerable, almost tempting enough to pluck you for his own liking. “Don’t mention it, though you should be more cautious.” Despite the slight criticism, his voice was friendly.

“I know… I just don’t like thinking the worst of others.” You sat on that thought for a second, realizing how faulty of an outlook it was.

“Trust is something that is earned, you know. Not everyone deserves it so easily.” The fall in his tone caught your attention. There was a slight ache to it, as if he was trying to warn you against putting your heart on the line.

The gentle gust of springtime air combed through your hair and it took that caution he was referring to with it. “I trust you.” The inflection in your soft voice sent his heart racing. He wanted you to trust him, maybe more than anyone else.

“And I consider that the greatest honor.” As he stepped a little closer, you could feel yourself growing more and more flustered.

A small stutter from your conflictions broke the thickening tension. “We still have quite a lot to finish today. I can get back to that.” There was no denying that small crack your words left on his heart. Yearning to hold you, to touch you, taste you: it was becoming damn near unbearable, but he was a patient man and you were worth waiting for.

Following you, he purposefully stayed behind you to watch the slight sway of your hips. “What kind of captain would I be if I let my subordinates do all the work?” A slight chuckle trailed after you, causing the beating of your heart to pound against your chest.

You had your own feelings towards him, of course you did. WIth the guidance and care he gave you, how could you not wonder what things would be like in a more romantic setting. However, you couldn’t work up the courage to go against what was right. Timidly, you sat down next to him to sort through the documents, biting your bottom lip in an attempt to silence your nerves.

He took notice of each tremble of your fingers, each twitch of your thighs, and each rise and fall of your chest. “You seem nervous.” The comment came between turning pages.

“Why would I be nervous?” The squeak in your voice failed you.

With a sigh he put the papers down and leaned back on the sofa. “I don’t know, why would you?” You twiddled your thumbs, unsure of what to say. When he reached over to twirl a lock of your hair, the shudder you gave amused him. “I don’t make you nervous, do I?” There was a hint of flirtation in those words.

“Sometimes…” You could barely say that one word. Your palms were sweaty and you felt as if your heart was going to leap out of your chest.

“Maybe it’s your body trying to tell you something, hm?” He leaned closer and brushed your hair off your shoulder. He wanted to take you just like all the times he’d imagined, but he didn’t want to risk it, instead giving you the option. “Do you still trust me?”

That question swirled in your mind, hitting every pleasure center that it could possibly hit, while it alluded to what was to come. “Yes.” 

The soft confirmation was all he needed. Pressing his lips against your bare shoulder, he trailed tender kisses up your neck. His hands caressed your thighs, roaming up and down them over your robes until eventually pushing the cloth aside. Your bare legs felt so tantalizing under his touch. As he kissed along your sensitive neck, his tongue danced against your pulse. Your heart was going crazy, he could feel it, and it was making him want more.

“You’re such a good little thing, so sweet and carefree.” His breath bathed the wet kisses he was leaving behind. “I almost envy you, but having you like this is just as good if not better.”

His teeth sank into your skin, making you whimper and squirm against him. Pushing his hand further up between your thighs, he found that sweet spot almost instantly. Wet cloth that was pressed against his fingers, he hummed in satisfaction. Your thighs shook and your moans grew more desperate the more he played with your clit. The friction of your damp panties and the pressure of his fingers were making you crazy.

“W-Wait…” You said breathlessly. He paused, a large part of him hoping you weren’t going to tell him to stop all together. “Can I… suck you?”

“Oh?” He practically purred at your boldness. “I’d love that.” He pressed a firm kiss against your shoulder before sitting back. His cock jutted out for you, already glistening with precum.

His eyes held on you, intently watching your expression. The shyness on your face, the intimidation you were feeling, the uncertainty that you would be able to take him: it only made him want you more. Your tongue lightly licked his tip, swirling around it the more he moaned for you. Pursing your lips against it, the kiss you gave it made his breaths labored. The anticipation was killing him, but he didn’t want to rush you. At last, you took him in your mouth, savoring the taste of him for a moment before bobbing your head up and down.

Gripping your hair, his hand tightened around it the more enthusiasm you showed. His moans were soft and low, almost as if he was in disbelief. He knew he wasn’t going to last long with you like this, and he wanted to enjoy this moment for all that it was worth. Carefully, he brought your flushed face to his. Kissing you with a fiery passion, he pulled you closer to him. His hands eagerly roamed over you, mesmerizing every inch of you.

Laying you down on your back, he deepened the kiss while pinning your legs back. Your shaky breaths and moans between each tangle of your tongues added fuel to the fire between you. Slowly at first, he pushed into you.

“You feel so good,” he grunted as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your neck.

He was lavishing your neck with bites and hot wet kisses. When those were coupled with the slow deliberate thrusts into your sopping wet cunt, you were both losing yourself to the passion faster and faster.

“You mean so much to me.” That soft little voice tangling with the gasps and moans made his heart ache even more for you. He needed you now more than ever.

Picking up the pace, he knew his control was slipping. You were perfect in every sense of the word, so pure hearted and representing so much of what he wanted but couldn’t have. The legs of the sofa dragged against the floorboards as he reached a frenzy. Looking down at you, the sight of you was absolutely breathtaking. He captured your lips just as he reached his climax. Firmly, he kissed down your cheek, neck, and shoulder, while he pushed every last drop into you.

Still holding you tightly against him, he wasn’t ready to let you go. Now that he had that special something to make these days more bearable, he was never letting go of it.

Jugram

One of the few to have caught his eye beyond the typical suspicion he held towards his own kind, you proved time and time again to be different from them. Soft, kind, genuine: you were a ray of light in the shadows they hid in. A breath of fresh air each time he stepped into the room you were in—unbeknownst to the way he looked at you.

Your delicate features mirrored the innocence you somehow managed to maintain in this world, and he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to introduce you to the pools of sinful desire. Leading his little lamb, who doted by his side to aid him, into the waters of indulgence he himself so rarely visited; it gave him a sense of satisfaction. Knowing he had your trust, looking up at him with such a willingness to help whatever it was he requested of you, it left him with thoughts that he himself deemed questionable.

When he entered the room, his eyes immediately found you. Working on the stack of paperwork you’d taken on his behalf only solidified his plan for you. Coming over to the desk, he gently grabbed your attention.

“Come with me, dear. I want to show you something.” He extended his hand to offer you assistance out of the swamp of duties you were buried in. The softness in his tone was consistent while you were working under him, which carefully cultivated a mutual fondness.

You took his hand with a sweet smile upon your face, unknowingly making his heart race at the sight of you. Those soft lips, doe-like eyes, your delicate hand in his: the craving he had was rising to new uncontrollable heights.

The tall walls of the corridors you passed through together allowed your footsteps to echo. A pearly white appearance surrounding you served as a reflection of the purity none of the Quincy truly had, other than you that was. Upon reaching a door you were sure you hadn’t noticed before, his gaze met yours. He opened the door and let you pass through first.

A garden that resembled Eden with its long full vines, flowers, and stone benches, you were awestruck. “Not many come here. Perhaps it’s because they can’t appreciate its beauty.” He lingered behind you, watching each of your movements intently.

“I never knew we had such a place.” Your fingers gently caressed the petals of a rose. You leaned in to smell it and it was just as you thought—sweet and untouched by the surrounding death.

Stepping closer, he couldn’t help drinking in every inch of you. “I thought that if anyone would appreciate this place, it was you.”

Heat bit at your cheeks. “Really? It’s stunning, thank you for showing it to me.” 

You turned to him with a warm glow on your appearance. The sun was shining through the windows above, falling perfectly against the man you so deeply admired. His long blonde hair and angelic features were intensified in the sun’s rays. There was an undeniable attraction between you two, one which you were too shy to pursue but one he was eagerly waiting for the right moment to pounce on.

He stepped closer, his hands hesitantly resting on your upper arms. “Tell me how you’ve managed to stay so sweet in a world like this.” His lips ghosted your ear, this warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

A sweet noise passed your lips, while you struggled to maintain your composure. “I’m not sure…” His thumbs rubbed your soft skin, and he hummed in satisfaction at the way you were already reacting to him.

“I want to have a taste.” He gently nibbled on your ear, causing your body to flood with an intense heat. His hands moved to your waist and then your hips, enjoying finally being able to touch you how he wanted.

Your hands gripped at his chest, tugging on his uniform as his tongue lavished your sensitive neck. He moaned at the way you were trembling, fueling him to push further. His hands grabbed your ass tightly and pushed you against him. The slight grinding against your hips was giving you more than you could handle.

“Jugram…” Hearing you say his name in that little gasp sent his control out the window. 

In needy huffs, he ripped open your top. The sight of your breasts being contained by the delicate fabric of your bra was all too inviting. He dove his face between them, licking and biting your sweet tasting flesh. Tugging the cups down, he lapped his tongue around your nipples. Those sounds you were making, the way your arms cradled his head closer, being smothered by your womanly features: you were even better than he imagined.

He pulled you down to the ground with him and tugged your hair to bare your neck to him. The arch in your back along with your exposed breasts made him groan. Running his free hand up and down your body was making you shake and moan even more.

“You’re so perfect like this,” he panted at the mere display of you. 

Roughly, he forced your skirt up to reveal your white panties being drenched in your own arousal. He couldn’t control himself. Every instance with you prior, of you being too sweet and kind for this world, flooded his mind as he took in the sight of you aching for him. Without a second thought, he ripped the pathetic excuse for underwear off of you. He pushed two fingers in and relished in the warmth of your slick pussy enveloping him. Lewd squelching filled the space between you. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you unraveling on his fingers, of you giving yourself to him completely. Pressing his lips against your clit, his tongue greedily swirled around it while he pumped his fingers into you. The desire to make you cum drove each one of his movements, sending you spiraling into the depths of ecstasy. 

He moaned with so much need as he felt your walls spasming and your body shaking uncontrollably. You called out for him in such a desperate state, wanting to be taken care of in a way that was so new to you. As you came down from your high, you barely registered the sound of him unbuckling his pants. Before you realized, he was on top of you with a frenzied lust playing in his normally cold eyes.

“Forgive me if I lose control…” he murmured before plunging into you. 

You threw your head back and tore at the lush grass beneath you. His movements were ruthless, driven by his insatiable need for you. Watching you unravel under him only encouraged him to delve deeper into you, wanting more and more from you. “So good, so perfect,” he panted in a lovesick tone.

His entire body covered you. Taking fistfuls of grass to steady himself, each thrust was sure to leave a stain on your white clothes. Your wet pussy was coating every inch of him, from his full length to the tops of his thighs. The sweet scent of your tight slit drenching him was making his head spin.

“Such an angel,” he whispered to himself as he drank in the sight of you lost in euphoria. 

He wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly against him. He was reaching the point of no return, and he had no intention of pulling himself away from you. Selfishness was something foreign to him, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of self-indulgence. With a final push, he flooded you with hot loads of cum. Collapsing on top of you, the shared release of pent-up desire had finally reached a fever pitch. Exhausted but satisfied, he brushed your crazed hair out of your face.

“I’ll keep you safe… from everything.” He spoke with honesty, although it was a promise that may not be able to survive.

You leaned up to kiss him, your lips being met with a long awaited passion.

[jackels-in-space]

╔⏤╝MAKE A TRADE: PART 1╚⏤╗

Renata Glasc was a wanna-be Chem Baron and was becoming a pain in the ass for Silco's business. He sent Sevika to negotiate a deal to bring Glasc Industries and bring it to heel. Sevika didn't know what to expect but she didn't think it would lead to this...

Also posted on AO3 W.C: 3.7 Tags under cut off - no smut but still reference sex

Tags: Former Sex Worker!Sevika (it's just mentioned at the end), Shimmer strap, sex as part of business negotiations? Imma be real this is just yapping the smut happens in part 2. flirtation, top!renata, switch!sevika

Renata Glasc and her budding empire were situated in the deepest part of Zaun, spreading across the lowest levels capable of housing life. It meant that the Grey was prominent and anyone wanting to visit Glasc Industries had to have a high-quality respirator.

Sevika didn’t like wearing the masks. It felt too claustrophobic, making her skin itch and her heart rate spike now and then. Add in the thickness of the smog, the fact that she had to cover all of her skin because of the Grey and the tiny laneways of Old Zaun, Sevika was not having a good time.

Shrouded in permanent night, Glasc Industries was a toxic lighthouse in the dark, tubes of neon chems lighting the way to the main office. There were plenty of workers moving about, equally covered, masked and goggled up, and none stopped the Right Hand as she moved towards the heart of Zaun’s lowest industrial complex.

An outsider, like a Piltie, would have thought that the choice to go so low, so deep that you were almost touching bedrock, would be a detriment to business and yet, there it was strong, powerful, a testament to Glasc’s identity.

Sevika sighed, the noise being altered by the respirator as she pushed a door open with her glove covered hand. There must have been some sort of seal because it required a fair amount of effort to open it up and then…there was another door, just as heavy. Renata really was making an effort in deterring people from coming to her office.

The inside of the main building was less derelict than its outside but just as dark. The receptionist area had grey tiles darkened by pollution and age, the walls that were probably a lavish purple wallpaper now black, and any metal now an oxidised copper or tarnished iron. It was probably one of the nicer looking places down this deep, especially with the collection of noxious plants and tubes of circling chemicals.

“I’m here to see Glasc,” Sevika grumbled out, resting her arm on the countertop as she looked down at the receptionist.

The theory that there was a seal on the door must be correct as the receptionist, wearing a far more stylised mask, had her arms bare as she wore a short-sleeved, buttoned up shirt. There was a long coat hung up on a coat rack off to the side.

The little redhead looked up from her bookkeeping, her eyes widening slightly before nodding and putting her pencil down.

“Of course, Ms Sevika.”

She picked up a telephone, holding it with one hand to her ear as she quickly dialled in a number.

“Ma’am, Ms Sevika is here to see you,” the receptionist said efficiently, pausing as she waited for her boss’ answer. “Of course.”

The phone was put down and with the same hand, she indicated to a hallway on Sevika’s left.

“If you could take the elevator to the sixth floor, please. Her office isn’t hard to miss. Sorry I can’t show you, Ms Sevika. Someone’s got to man the desk.”

Her head jerked down to the table and Sevika quickly looked over and down. She huffed out a laugh, the noise rattling because of the respirator. Two guns sat in easy reach.

“Shit, you get a lot of trouble then?”

“Ain’t my place to say but uh…if you wouldn’t mind…could you bring it up with Ms Glasc?” the redhead asked and the twinge of the muscles under her eye implied a shy smile.

Sevika gave a non-commital grunt and nod of her head before walking over to the elevator. 

Renata Glasc wasn’t even a Chem-Baron but the power and technology she was amassing might as well have made her one and that…that was a threat. Glasc Industries was in partnership with Madame Margot and her Vyx’s before shimmer had been brought to market, the range of aerosolized chem’s being a key interest to the Rapture Walk. Why Silco hadn’t extended a hand of business to the woman, Sevika had no idea, because now Finn and Smeech were having a hissy fit of Renata’s exclusivity.

So, of course the best option was to just outsource their tech from Renata.

Sevika was here to make a deal as Ms Glasc had refused to go out to Silco and seeing the guns the receptionist had, the Right Hand could only assume that someone had been attacking her industry (probably the shitheads Finn and Smeech.)

The elevator dinged when she had reached the sixth floor and she slid open the protective grating. 

Renata was waiting for her, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She was as tall as Sevika, if not taller by a small, miniscule amount that Sevika would rather ignore. Her hair was black with two sections starting to become white at the roots already and her eyes had a semi-permanent pink ring around the pupil from shimmer usage (the drug had only been on the streets for a year so how much had this woman consumed?) A blue-black blazer was thrown over her shoulders in such a casual manner that had the Right Hand’s eyes twitching in suspicion; she was hiding something, probably a gun.

“Glasc,” she acknowledged, stepping out of the lift.

“It’s Miss Glasc,” the woman bit back, her mask adding a slight rumble.

“Mhm,” Sevika hummed out, not fazed by the biting correction.

Many people had tried to instate some sort of rank or title upon themselves and the only one that had managed to make it work was Margot but does Sevika call her madame? Fuck no. The only person that has earned her respect was Silco and as such he gets to be called ‘sir’ and ‘boss’.

“Not very polite, are you, dolly? Exactly what I expected from Silco’s little hound.”

Sevika had to momentarily look away and grind her teeth, biting back the urge to punch her. After a moment, she rolled her eyes back to Renata and shrugged, feigning boredom.

“We gon’ do business or not?”

Renata looked Sevika up and down, one of her eyebrows raising in appreciation before nodding and pushing off the wall. Her arms uncrossed themselves, and rested by her sides as she walked. The Right Hand’s eyes were immediately drawn to the industrialist's left arm. 

Talons that were similar to her own glinted in the artificial light. They looked cleaner, a silver metal instead of Sevika’s copper plating, and seemed to faintly glow with pink-purple chemicals.

“You got a good piece there,” pointed out Sevika, trying to suss out who Renata was.

Was she like Margot and Reni, where the odd compliment helped with negotiations?

Or is she like Finn and Sevika’s gonna have to beat her down as violence is the only language she speaks?

Maybe she’s like Chross and Smeech: opportunists?

Sevika followed her as they walked towards Renata’s office.

Renata took her blazer off, folding it over her right arm. It meant that her purple waistcoat and sleeveless shirt were shown off and that she had a complete prosthetic from shoulder to finhertips. There was a hint of burn scars on her shoulder blades peeking from the edges of the waistcoat. Sevika could imagine the now-healed wounds spanning across Renata’s torso. 

The industrialist flexed her bionic arm and the glow of shimmer became more prominent.

“Why, thank you. I’m sure you recognise the design?” 

The Right Hand did. It was very similar to hers. On instinct, Sevika rubbed her prosthetic over the poncho. It was a year and she still didn’t know how she felt about it.

Renata spotted the motion, her head tilted to the side to watch the other woman from the corner of her eye. 

“How’s it treating you, sugar?”

“It’s…fine…” Sevika gritted out, lying. 

It wasn’t fine and it seemed that Renata knew that, somehow. There was a pinch in the eyebrows and the respirator shifted as if she too was grinding her teeth. 

The other woman clicked her tongue as they entered her office, the noise sounding unnatural from the muffling effect of her mask.

“Sit down,” she instructed, indicating a pair of chairs in front of a solid looking desk. 

The trip down to the lower levels had admittedly taken it out of Sevika. The combination of reduced oxygen and excessive clothing having made her hot and bothered and not in a fun way either. She slumped down into the chair, legs splayed out and her head tilted back in exasperation. It was probably overly relaxed for a business deal but within the first few minutes of meeting, it seemed that Renata had some sort of respect for Sevika and honestly, vice versa. Perhaps it was the fact that both had lost their left arm, a tale that neither would explain to the other. 

Renata moved about, the clatter of tools making Sevika’s ears perk up. She was in the process of lifting her head when Renata, with such ballsy confidence, sat on the edge of her desk, one foot on the empty chair, the other between Sevika’s legs, the toe of her boot coming close to Sevika’s core. 

If Sevika was a lesser woman, she’d screech and cower away, demanding to know what game Renata was playing but she wasn’t; she knew what the other woman’s aim was. So, she raised her head and lifted an eyebrow, keeping her breathing and heart rate slow. 

Renata leant forward, her elbows resting on her thighs and Sevika spotted a screwdriver in her right hand. The respirator did make it hard to read Renata’s expression but the relaxed eyebrows and half-lidded eyes implied some sort of attraction. 

“Take your poncho off.” 

“Why?” Sevika replied, putting in an effort to sound indifferent. 

“I made that arm of yours. I want to see how it’s holding up.” 

“You…you made my arm?” 

“Silco didn’t tell you? Hmpf, funny that.”

Sevika didn’t say anything afterwards, reaching to unclasp her poncho and pulling it off. Immediately, the loss of the extra fabric started to cool Sevika down. She sighed in relief as she tossed the red cloak to the side. 

“You can take your respirator off too, doll.” 

The Right-Hand raised an eyebrow, suspicious. 

“I know what business you and Margot have, Glasc. I ain’t trusting you or your air.”

The industrialist merely rolled her eyes and reached up to take off her mask. It hissed slightly as the seal was broken. 

She was an attractive woman with the respirator on and she was stunning with it off. Her lips were full and a soft, dusty pink colour. There were smile lines, but they were more likely formed from smirks than actual smiles; Glasc didn’t seem the type to really smile. Sevika couldn’t help but watch the way her tongue darted out as she lifted the screwdriver to hold in her mouth.

The other woman’s eyes lit up with glee, or was it smugness, when she caught the brawler staring.

Janna, she’s as bad as Margot.

Renata shifted so she was nearly off the edge of the desk and reached for Sevika’s hand, lifting it with ease. Her hands were steady as Sevika relaxed her shoulder muscles, letting the arm be twisted around as much as the joints allowed it to. She was analysing the metal work.

Then, Renata tugged on the prosthetic, her body deceptive about how much strength she had. Sevika was pulled forward, near enough face planting into Renata’s chest if she hadn’t quickly placed her other hand on the desk, between the industrialists’ legs.

Yeah, definitely another Margot.

“What are you doin’?” Sevika demanded, trying to get her arm back when she looked up at Renata, the shimmer glow of her eyes was brighter. “How? There wasn’t enough time for you to knock some back…”

Sevika’s eyes widened when she saw part of Renata’s bionic arm raise up and fill up with sloshing shimmer, the pink-purple chem casting a glow on the sharp angle of the industrialists cheekbones. So, that’s how Renata had been consuming enough shimmer to cause the colour change but then…why wasn’t she sprouting tumours like the rest of the poor fucks that had been chugging the chem the moment it was for sale?

Whatever process that was happening was cancelled, the shimmer draining and the vial that had raised settle back into the main body of the arm.

“It’s a prototype I’ve been testin’, sweet cheeks,” Glasc stated after taking the screwdriver out of her mouth. “I know this arm intimately so there should be space to put in a distribution unit unless you want a whole new arm?”

“How much is that gonna cost me, Glasc, hm?”

“Well, with the tech Silco wants from me…” She paused, having located a screw in the shoulder platting of Sevika’s arm. “And this upgrade as well as the specialised shimmer for it…’bout three percent share in the business and two-hundred units of condensed shimmer a month?”

“Fuck off.” Sevika tried to pull out of Renata’s grasp, but the woman had found a way to disable Sevika’s arm and when the Right-Hand looked down, she saw the chems used to power her prosthetic dripping down her claws and onto the ground. “The fuck did you do?”

“Just unplugged a cable. Don’t worry, doll, when we’re done with making a deal, I’ll put it back together and reinstall the chems. Free of charge.”

“How generous of you,” Sevika gritted out, her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

She was back to grinding her teeth, forced to be in proximity with someone more annoying than Finn and more fucking manipulative (and, admittedly, more attractive) than Margot.

“Mm, very generous,” Glasc purred. “I don’t do acts of charity. Only for pretty girls like you.”

Pretty isn’t the usual descriptor people used when talking about Sevika’s body; brutish, strong, even handsome were the usual words thrown about but never pretty. Not since she was younger, inexperienced about the world and doing a job so far from where was now.

It caught Sevika off guard.

“Fuck you,” she bit back, the only decent response she could come up with.

“You could though, I would prefer fucking you.”

The lecherous grin the industrialist wore felt both predatory and sinful. The tip of the screwdriver that had disabled Sevika’s arm was dragged up her neck, following covered glowing, blue scar tissue to her cheek. The slight sharpness of the tool combined with how sensitive the scar tissue was, it made Sevika shiver.

Her back momentarily arched and her jaw dropped for a moment as she hissed or groaned as the head of the driver pressed down on a sensitive area on the meat of her cheek, sending a spike of something through her body. She had managed to desensitise the brunt of her healed wounds, but her face and neck were the two areas she just…couldn’t bring herself to touch. The rest could be hidden away but those scars…

The other woman was watching, studying. Renata knew all too well the healing process of scar tissue, how impossible it felt to return to normalcy after the loss of a limb. Sevika’s long sleeved top made it hard to judge how much of her torso had been affected by whatever caused the blue spiderweb, but Renata assumed it was a fair amount.

Sevika was vulnerable, obviously touched starved (Renata was the same, spending years in isolation before letting someone touch her after the fire), and it was a vulnerability Glasc was going to take advantage of. Always thinking on her feet, Renata could switch up a plan. She was originally going to strong arm (metaphorically) into the deal she had mentioned but then…well…she didn’t expect the Right Hand of the Eye to be so fucking hot.

When Silco had contracted her to build an arm for his second-in-command, he hadn’t mentioned what or who Sevika was and because Finn decided to be a little bitch and attack her factories, Renata hadn’t had an opportunity to find Sevika and suss her out.

From rumours, Glasc knew the woman to be a loyal dog, willing to take control of situation. Janna’s tits, she did more of Silco’s work than Silco himself so that meant Sevika had a very interesting set of skills. Renata would need those later and thus the long-term benefits outweighed the immediate.

She smirked as she put the screwdriver down. The foot that was between Sevika’s legs (the entire position was just a slight tease of pleasure) moved as Renata used that leg to hook Sevika in. The industrialists mechanical hand dragged up Sevika’s arm, talons scratching through the long sleeve top as Renata made her way to grasp at the longer sections of Sevika’s hair. Her organic hand cupped the other woman’s scarred cheek, her thumb swiping across blue scars.

Sevika gasped again at the overstimulation, Renata’s leg only helping to deepen the arch. They were so close, just what Renata wanted.

“So pretty,” she murmured, angling her face down to brush their noses. “You’ve not let anyone touch you.”

This was about creating a biological connection, binding the two women together in hormones and emotions so that they had something to last them years.

“Glasc, what are you doing?” Sevika asked, justifiably suspicious.

They were so close that every moment of their lips could be felt.

“I want to offer a new deal.”

“Okay?”

Renata tightened her grip.

Sevika wasn’t a fool. This was a similar tactic Margot had used before and always failed.

“I have this prototype for the Rapturewalk that needs testing…help a girl out and I’ll settle for two percent and a hundred-fifty units every four weeks?”

Sevika rolled her eyes.

“You want me to fuck you just to get a better deal?”

“No, I want us to spend a good night together. The better deal is just me showing how generous I can be,” purred Glasc. “Besides, testing the shimmer strap with someone other than Margot will really piss her off.”

The air seemed to have left Sevika’s lungs as she pulled back as much as she could with Glasc’s grip on her.

“I’m sorry. The fucking what?”

-/-/-/-

Having her arm disabled was about as worse as not even having it on. She had to use her long sleeve shirt to tie it close to her torso, so it wasn’t swinging uselessly by her side. Even with her poncho on to cover it, those close to her had noticed it (and the fact she was only wearing her chest bandages and a ripped-up tank top) and tried to question her about it. She only waved them off as she headed up to Silco’s office.

Her boss immediately spotted the issue, turning his attention from reports he was reading to Sevika. His eye was getting worse.

“I take it Glasc Industries will be a problem?” he coldly asked, hands folding neatly on top of his desk.

Sevika slumped down on a couch, her legs splaying open.

“Glasc is a piece of work, but I managed to score a good deal for us.”

She twisted her neck, feeling it crack and release tension.

“And what does she want?”

“I managed to haggle it down to two percent share and seventy-five units of highly concentrated shimmer every three weeks.” Sevika leant forward, unbottling one of the finer quality liquors Silco had in his office and pouring a solid amount into two glasses. “In return, it’s what we agreed upon; Glasc handles most of any necessary technological development, and she gets to keep her business with Margot. I get my arm fixed up too even though the bitch was the one that fucked it up in the first place.”

As she was talking, she had stood up, using her fingers to carry the two glasses over to the desk. Silco accepts his with a nod, watching his Right Hand as she leans against the desk.

“Seems disproportionate…there’s something else, isn’t there, Sevika?”

He was taking a sip of his drink when Sevika spoke:

“I’ll meet her at Babbette’s in two hours and will be assisting her in developing her shimmer line of sex toys for Margot.”

Silco chokes. He tries to cover it up but the sting of small amounts of alcohol going into his airway caused him to cough. Sevika just looked down at him, finding a small amount of humour at seeing her usually stoic boss frazzled.

“You good, sir?”

Silco had put down the glass, rubbing at his throat and waving off her concern.

“I feel like I should be asking you that, Sevika.” Even in a moment of complete embarrassment, he still managed to sound like he always did; in control. “Are you comfortable with such a deal? If you aren't, I'm sure we can come up with something else.”

Sevika sighed and took another sip of her drink.

Admittedly, it had caught her very off guard, experiencing a flashback to the past when her father had died and she had nothing left, nothing to get her by as she rebuilt her life.

Sex was just sex to her, nothing special. Being a sex worker for half a year when she was eighteen wasn’t an issue and Babbette was probably the best person she could have been working for. Probably why, when Sevika and Renata had finished coming to an agreement about what would be happening, she had suggested booking a private room in the brothel.

Besides, since the accident…somehow it felt…nice that Renata wanted her. The industrialist understood the struggle of losing a limb and how much it fucks with everything going on in her head.

“Appreciate your concern, sir, but I’m fine with this.” She meant it. “I know it’s setting up for something down the line. Could’ve helped her with her Finn issue but she chose me instead. That implies she’s planning something and if getting into her bed means getting the drop on her in the future, then I’ll do it.”

“No-one can deny your loyalty to the cause, Sevika. If she causes you any trouble though, deal with it in whatever way you deem necessary; no matter what the clean-up will look like.” Silco raised his glass in a salute. “So, tell me about this Finn issue of hers.”

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: series rewrite, start of season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, eventual pining, eventual NSFW, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, health problems, lightheadedness, fainting

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

Part 1: Her Broken Heart

Part 2: A Lacrosse Boyfriend {You Are Here}

Part 3: Blue Handprints

The summer heat had finally decided to die down to a reasonable temperature. It was the only reason your mother decided a picnic at the park would be nice. It was equal parts safe for you and enough of a distraction that you could pretend you were a normal kid.

At just four years old you were starting to notice how you didn’t live like the children you saw outside your window. You had started to grow bored of your usual antics stuck at home.

You lay on your stomach near the edge of your blanket. Along the blades of green grass you spotted a ladybug climbing towards the sky. You were practicing counting the spots on its back when the beat in your chest became noticeable.

The pressure from laying on your tummy made it easier to feel your heartbeat unevenly.

“Do you want another grape, sweetie?” your mom asked, stretched out and enjoying the shade.

You reached out a smaller, pudgier hand, accepting the grape with a hungry toddler’s mouth. Your eyes looked above the ladybug grass and stared at the playground, complete with twisting slides and a rubber rock wall.

“Mom,” you say in your timid tone. “I want to play.”

“I know, honey,” she says, “But you know how that’s not safe for your heart.”

A pout grew instantly, “I am careful!”

Sensing your coming tantrum, your mother drew your attention away from the other children playing with a lacrosse ball in the nearby field.

“Yes, you are very good at being careful. But remember your heart sometimes has a mind of it’s own. Sometimes being careful isn’t enough. The doctor said not to be too crazy.”

You ball your little fists but hold back the angry words. “I don’t like my heart.”

Your mother cooed, reaching for you, “No, sweetie, you have a wonderful heart. It’s big and warm and full of love for far too many things. It tries its best to take care of you. So we need to try our best to take care of it, okay?”

You snuggle into your mother’s arms, upset feelings turning into tears, “Okay, mommy.” You feel a kiss on your head when the children playing in the field came running past your blanket.

They stopped on the other side of your shaded spot and conversed behind dirt smudged hands. They were both rowdy boys with scabbed knees and grass stained shirts, but they had wide smiles as one approached you.

He had unruly hair and sunburnt cheeks.

“Hello,” he said in a nervous voice, “What’s your name?”

You rub at your eyes, “(Y/N).” You sink further into your mom.

The boy was out of breath and already itching to run again judging by his fidgeting. He said quickly, “Hi my name is Stiles. Do you want to come play with us? We were playing sharks and minnows, but it’s not so fun with only two people.”

You look up at your mother’s chin and ask quietly, “Can I go play?”

Your mother sighs, tickling your sides, “If you don’t run around so much and stay on the playground…”

You were instantly crawling out of her lap, “Okay!”

“And if you start getting out of breath you need to tell me!” your mom continues, “Be careful climbing the ladders and don’t you dare stand on the slide!”

“Bye!” you yell in reply, already jogging away with Stiles to meet with his other friend.

He touched your shoulder, “Do you like chasing bad guys?”

“I’m not supposed to chase,” you say seriously, “But I do like to catch bad guys.”

Stiles nodded his head in deep thought, “Okay. How about we make traps for bad guys under the slides.”

You agree enthusiastically, grateful at your young age for someone who didn’t know about your heart. Grateful that they played with you like any other child.

And you schemed underneath the slides, building traps out of woodchips and leafy twigs. Innocent kids that didn’t know any better. Didn’t know that you wouldn’t remember this first meeting.

~~~

“I’ve started TAing.”

Allison gives you a strange look, “What?”

“I’m a teacher’s assistant now,” you lead the way into the school, “I have a free period since I finished a core class during my homeschooling.”

“Who will you TA for?”

You hold back a grimace, “Coach Finstock.”

Allison snorts, “You know I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what’s going on half the time. He forgets which periods he’s teaching economics and which periods he needs to be in the gym for P.E..”

“All the more reason why he needs a TA to sort things out,” you say, straight-backed. “And it means I can help out at lacrosse games too.”

“What, like a waterboy?”

You bump into Allison’s side, “No… well maybe. Just helping out with supplies and plays and locker room stuff.”

“Locker room stuff,” Allison says with raised eyebrows.

You choke on a laugh, “Don’t start. I reserve the right to ban you from the locker rooms. Especially seeing as that’s become your new make out spot.”

That caught her off guard, ramming right into the person in front of her. With a squeal she drops everything in her arms and put her hands into her hair. It was Scott who turns around after the collision.

“You scared the hell out of me,” Allison laughs, joining you as you help pick up her things.

Scott looks terrifyingly relieved, “You’re okay.”

“Once my heart starts beating again, yeah.” You smile ruefully at that statement. “What?”

“I’m just happy to see you.”

You thought Scott looks more like seeing Allison walking and talking was a miracle. Like he couldn’t believe that she was alive. You hand Allison her pencil case and folders, watching their goodbye with skepticism.

“What was that?” you whisper as Allison walks away to first period.

Scott was still breathing shallow, “She’s okay.”

You snap your fingers in front of his dazed eyes. “Are you okay?”

The speakers suddenly turn on with a crackle of fuzzy interference. “Attention, students, this is your principal. I know you’re all wondering about the incident that occurred last night to one of our buses. While the police work to determine what happened, classes will proceed as scheduled. Thank you.” With another crackle of microphone feedback the principal’s voice was gone.

You return your eyes to Scott and furrow your brow.

He took in your confusion and whispers, “I had a dream last night where Allison and I snuck into the buses behind the school.”

“Oh?” you say, still skeptical but now with a smile on your face.

“And I sort of had… an outburst.” He seems to struggle with finding the right words. “I killed Allison and broke through the back of the bus.”

“Well, shit that sucks Scott,” you fold your arms, “But I don’t think you’re capable of all that.”

He grimaces, “No, when we showed up to school and saw the bus out back – and how it looked just like it did in my dream – I thought maybe I had actually killed Allison somehow.”

You reign in your teasing smiles and bump into his shoulder, “Scott, like I said, I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body. There’s no way you could kill someone and tear up a bus.” He still slumps as he follows you to first period. “I can understand why that would still be scary regardless.”

It was his turn to bump into your shoulder, but with more force, causing you to trip into a row of lockers. “God! I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he pulls you closer by the hand.

You laugh, ignoring the jump of your heart. “It’s okay, let’s just get to chemistry.”

Stiles was already sitting down, bouncing his leg against the table stool. He looks at Scott as if asking if everything was okay. Scott gave him a reassuring nod as he took a seat at the table in front of him.

You smile at them as you took the remaining empty seat at a back table. You immediately start copying the diagram drawn on the blackboard, taking out your science project notes for inspiration.

You could hear the frantic voices of Scott and Stiles near the front, and a needle of hurt stuck in your chest as you remember the secret that Stiles wasn’t ready to tell you. You had to remind yourself that the friendship was still relatively new.

There was still a secret you hadn’t told them either.

“Mr. Stilinski, if that’s your idea of a hushed whisper you might want to pull the headphones out every once in a while,” Mr. Harris says from the blackboard. “I think you and Mr. McCall would benefit from a little distance, yes?”

Stiles begrudgingly moves his stuff to the back but stops when he spots the empty seat next to you.

“Hey, trouble,” you say quietly.

He sat clumsily, “How was the rest of your weekend?”

“It was fine. Just a lot of reading.” You finish copying the blackboard notes.

Stiles leans on his elbow, “Still reading that werewolf book?”

“You mean Harry Potter,” you snicker, “Yeah I’m on the fourth one now.” Turning your head you could see Stiles staring at you, “What?”

He swallows hard, awkwardly straightening himself, “Nothing just… I like that coconutty-strawberry smell.”

Warmth came up your chest, “That would be my shampoo.”

“Then thank god for personal hygiene.” He grimaces and smacks the back of his head.

You ignore it, pulling your notebook closer. You could still feel his eyes on you as a classmate jumps to the window, “Hey, I think they found something!”

Everyone ran for the wall of windows. You stood quickly from your stool too when a fuzzy feeling flickers on in your head. You grip the table, closing your eyes and frowning.

No one notices as you compose yourself, waiting for the fainting feeling to go away. You wander closer to the group of kids terrified at what they were seeing. A tingling was making its way down your legs – the blood rushing to your toes.

You felt uncomfortably warm when a cool hand touches your shoulder, “(Y/N)?”

Stiles was at your side, unsure of what was happening. “You look ashy. Are you lightheaded again?”

The breath leaving your lungs was shallow and rapid, cotton was building pressure in your ears. “I’m going to faint, Stiles.”

“Mr. Harris!” Stiles yells, “(Y/N) needs to get to the nurses office!”

Not that the student body would know, but every teacher at the school knew of your health problems. They knew it was a possibility that you would require medical care. Mr. Harris, as cynical and distrustful as he was, let you leave promptly despite his feelings.

“You may leave, Miss. Westbrook.”

“Sir, I don’t think she should be walking alone to…”

Mr. Harris was using his phone as he looks out the window, “Get out of my classroom, Stilinski!”

Stiles keeps a hand on your back and another on your arm, watching your face the whole way. His voice was frantic and small as he talks you through it.

“It’s like I can see the blood draining from your face. Does that happen a lot? I mean, I know you get head rushes a lot, but the fainting thing? Do you just have bad blood circulation? Was it something I said? Look I know I’ve mentioned how good you smell twice now and while it is true I acknowledge that it’s a little creepy of me to be sniffing your hair so much. I probably shouldn’t have admitted that. Not gonna lie it’s kinda freaking me out that you’re not saying anything.”

You struggle to breathe, “It’s sort of hard when you don’t give me time to answer.”

The shallowness of your breathy words put a strange feeling in Stiles’ chest, “Do you need me to do something else? Does the nurse… what the hell is that?”

Your watch was suddenly beeping with an alarm. Your heart rate was far too high and had stayed that high for more than thirty seconds. A pain enters your chest, and your walking slows.

Stiles starts panicking, “What does that mean? (Y/N), what’s happening?” He yells down the hallway towards the office, “Hey! We need help over here!”

It was hard to keep your eyes open as you start to slump, “Stiles…” you mumble. And you lost consciousness, falling into Stiles and in return he fell to the ground to catch your body.

He held your back and shoulders, using his free hand to brush the hair from your face. Your skin was still gray-tinged. An office lady and the school nurse came rushing down the hallway. Their heavy footfalls matching the hard beating of your heart.

Stiles was finally at a loss for words, holding you like you had just died. “(Y/N)?! Oh my god, I think she just fainted,” he says to the incoming help, “I hope she just fainted.”

The nurse asks Stiles to help drag you to the sickbed. He complies, frantically asking questions until the nurse ordered him to stop.

“Alice, will you call her mother and I’ll get her doctor on the line,” the nurse says to the office lady. She dials a number and holds it to her ear as she elevates your legs and checks that your airway wasn’t obstructed.

“What did she say to you before she fainted?”

Stiles was still flabbergasted, “She turned gray and said she was lightheaded. She told me she was going to faint.” He ran a hand over his shaved head, “And then her watch started freaking out and she had a pain in her chest.”

“It’s been more than 90 seconds now,” she mumbles to herself, checking your watch monitor to measure your heart rate.

“Wh-What does that mean?” Stiles asks, blinking blearily. “Is she going to be okay?”

The nurse starts talking to a doctor on the phone and Stiles was ushered out by the office lady, forced to watch from a different room. He refuses to leave the office until he sees your eyes open just a few seconds later.

~~~

“By the time I checked with the office at lunch she was sent home,” Stiles vents, one hand on the wheel and the other in his short hair. “She hasn’t answered any of my texts or phone calls.”

Scott was stretched thin between worrying about his possible dreamlike wolf attack and the mystery of his newfound friend. In all honesty he was more worried about how worried his best friend was.

“I talked to Allison about it, she doesn’t know anything either.”

“God, I knew there was something wrong,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “That scar she has… whatever I look up says it has something to do with her heart.”

Scott eyes his friend, unsettled by the palpable worry. “She’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We would have heard something if she wasn’t.”

Stiles grips the steering wheel, “We would have heard something if she was.”

They pull up against the fence to the bus drop off, putting the jeep in park. Stiles rubs at his worn face and Scott leans in with an edge to his voice.

“Listen, let’s just get this Derek theory over with and then we can go check on (Y/N). Sound good?”

Stiles grumbles, slipping out of the jeep with his friend.

“Hey, no, just me,” Scott says, “Someone needs to keep watch.”

“How come I’m always the guy keeping watch?”

Scott pulls on his friend’s arm, “Because there’s only two of us and I happen to have wolf-like reflexes and you’re distracted by your sudden love for (Y/N).”

“I am…” Stiles scoffs, caught off guard. “I am not in love with (Y/N).”

“The eight text messages and four phone calls would say otherwise.”

Stiles juts a finger in the air, “Hey, that is totally untrue.” He put his hands on his hips, “I only made three phone calls.”

“Whatever,” Scott whispers, “I’ll just be in and out.”

“Okay, why’s it starting to feel like you’re Batman and I’m Robin? I don’t want to be Robin all the time.”

Scott was bewildered, “Nobody’s Batman and Robin any of the time.”

“Not even some of the time?”

But true his word, Scott was quick upon entering the bus. Stiles surrenders and sits in the jeep ready to drive with the headlights off. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his messages to you, concern eating away at his stomach.

It was bad enough that he witnessed you fall ill so quickly and dragged you to the nurses office. But now he was realizing, through some personal investigation and the unhelpful words of Scott, that he had a crush on you.

He liked you.

With all the strange supernatural problems infiltrating his life, it was almost an unexpected surprise to have something so human as a little crush. His stomach flips. But what if there was something more supernatural about you?

Your heart rate was elevated when you fainted. Scott’s heart rate is a tell of an oncoming werewolf transformation.

Is that why you wanted to keep it a secret?

Stiles was sick of his investigative brain, slamming his forehead against the steering wheel. Couldn’t he have normal high school problems like fretting over the girl he liked instead of deducing if she was a shape shifter or not?

Flashlight beams could be seen from the school’s entrance. Stiles lifts his head to see them shining in his eyes, “Oh, shit…” he starts laying on the horn.

~~~

After dropping Scott off, Stiles sat in his jeep contemplating his next move. Staring at the clock on his dashboard he knew it was far too late for your parents to accept company.

But there was still that garden trellis outside your window.

Making his decision, Stiles drove to the end of your street, hopping out and running for your house. It was easier to climb the garden trellis now that he knew where to put his hands and feet through the vines and ladder.

He creeps over the roof tiles and squats outside your window. The lights were off, and he could just make out the human shape lying in bed… he still couldn’t help himself. He taps on the glass until he saw your figure stir.

Ruffled in white pajamas with little blueberries printed on the fabric, you carefully tip toe to the window to let him in.

“Stiles,” you yawn, the moonlight still bright enough to make your eyes squint. “What are you doing here?”

Stiles made a much more graceful entry, afraid to disturb your parents. “I wanted to check on you. You haven’t been answering my messages.”

You sit on the edge of your bed, clearly exhausted. Stiles remains standing – because he wanted to pace or because he was preparing to catch you should you fall, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” you run your fingers through your bedhead. Stiles thought it was cute. “Between the hospital visit and the bedrest I haven’t even looked at my phone. My mom usually keeps it whenever I have a fainting episode. Gives me time to unplug and unwind.”

“But…” Stiles folds his arms, “But you are okay?”

He didn’t like that it took you longer to respond. “Yes, I’m fine. You know I get lightheaded a lot. Fainting is usually a consequence of that.”

“Your watch went off right before you fell,” he says quietly, his eyes dark and serious. “Like some kind of alarm.”

“Yeah,” you look at your watch that you wear even when sleeping. “It measures my heart rate. Whenever it spikes for too long it warns me that I might faint.”

“That’s why you get lightheaded… your heart?” his eyes linger at the collar of your shirt, hoping to see that scar again.

You fold your arms, protective, “When I get worked up it doesn’t beat enough to get oxygen to my brain. Then I get lightheaded and sometimes faint.”

Stiles nods his head and walks over to your bed, “Can I?”

A soft smile quirks your lips, “You may.”

He sits beside you, the mattress sinking down further. “So when we saw the ambulance and the bus driver all mangled like that…”

“It got my heart rate going,” you say easily. Of course you got lightheaded before even seeing the commotion outside the window. You didn’t feel like getting too deep into your diagnosis. This was a good start.

“It was really scary seeing you get sick like that,” Stiles says honestly, looking down at his hands. “Not knowing what was going on made me feel… like I was helpless to make it stop.”

You turn to him, silhouetted by moonlight. His eyelashes were so long that they were casting shadows onto his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you say gently, placing a hand on his forearm. It made him look up at you. “I should’ve been more honest with you.”

“Is this where I can ask you my one personal question of the day?” his eyes were warm as his voice held slight sarcasm.

You lean into him, “I suppose.”

“If you start feeling faint or if you do faint, what can I do to help? Just so I’m prepared if it happens again.”

You blow air between your lips, “Oh, it’ll happen again. That’s my curse.” You hum as you think, oblivious to how Stiles was unconsciously smiling at your thinking face. “I generally avoid things that would get my heart rate up.”

Stiles scoffs, having an epiphany, “Like a lacrosse game or an after party.”

“Or a crowded lunchroom,” you smile. “But if it goes up regardless, I usually try to ground myself. Like thinking about what my five senses notice. And I hold onto whoever I’m closest to. Doing that and taking deep breaths can control my heart rate.”

“I know a thing or two about that,” Stiles mumbles, “That’s a technique to control anxiety.”

You nod, “You’re right.”

“And if you faint again?”

“First step is to call for help and the second step is to make sure I’m stable.”

You turn to him, and he looks so sincere that goosebumps erupt on your skin. He was taking your words so seriously. Without interrupting your council he grabs the blanket off your bed and drapes it over your bare arms.

“Lay me down and elevate my feet. Make sure I’m not choking on anything. And then if I’m out for more than 90 seconds or I start seizing, then turn me on my side.”

“Why 90 seconds?” he asks.

You pull the blanket closer around you, “Because after 90 seconds then there might be some brain damage or something else seriously wrong.”

He turns his body towards you more, your thighs fully touching. “The nurse today said that you were out for over 90 seconds.”

“That’s why they sent me to the hospital,” you nod, “But they didn’t find any serious damage. I just can’t have any more fainting episodes like that.”

Stiles swallows hard, tracing the outline of your side profile with his eyes. Brow. Nose. Lips. Chin. “Why?”

“Because the more I have the weaker my body will become. The more damage I’ll get. We don’t want that to happen.”

He licks his lips and plays with his fingers, “Thank you for telling me.” He thought back to the scar on your chest and realized that some things still didn’t add up. Craning his neck to look at you, he asks, “That’s still not everything, is it?”

Your eyebrows slant and you look scared for the first time that night. “No.”

Stiles found himself closer to you than he intended, urgency laced into his next words, “(Y/N), I want to know everything. I want to be able to help.”

A sad smile crept onto your face, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

You take a shaky breath, “Because then it’ll become too real. I’m not ready to share that reality yet.” You match his urgency as you express, “This is enough for now.”

Stiles suppresses the instant anger that brought up. He hated not knowing things. “Does anyone else know?”

“The school staff and most parents know,” you say, “Yes, even your dad.”

“My dad!”

You shush him, “It’s a small town and my mom works under him.”

“What about Scott and Allison?”

“Not yet,” you sigh, “But I don’t mind if you tell them now. It was stupid of me to keep it to myself when I could faint at any time around you guys.”

He bites his lip, “When will you be back at school?”

“Maybe Wednesday,” you shrug, “Fainting always puts my family in a tizzy. My parents don’t like me leaving the house until they’re sure I can handle the stress again.”

Stiles was sinking further towards you, your arms now touching along with your thighs. “Is that why you were homeschooled?”

“Yes. I finally decided to not let my problems stop me from living my life to the fullest,” you relish in his warmth beside you, the goosebumps going away. “I decided to go to school, to get a job, to do things my parents and doctors said I shouldn’t do. My heart rate will go up the same way if I get jump scared in my own kitchen. I might as well be out doing something enjoyable.”

Stiles sighs and he was close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek. “I like that.” You smile and cuddle further into your blanket. He felt reluctant to leave, but all the same says, “I should go.”

He stands and walks carefully to your window. “You’re going to miss a wicked history test tomorrow and the ‘hang out’ between Scott and Allison.”

“I thought they were going on a date?” you say, crawling back towards your pillow.

“Nope,” Stiles began to slide out your window, “Lydia and Jackson made it a hang out at the bowling alley.”

“Does Scott even bowl?”

He snorts, “Never.”

“That could only end in hilarity,” you grin, “I’ll text Allison about it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Stiles mutters, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Stiles?”

He slips on the roof tiles, “Yep!”

You smile at his goofy face, “Thank you for helping me today. Not everyone would’ve done what you did.”

“I think anyone would be competent enough to cry for help when…”

“No, you coming to check on me. Asking me for details so you can help more in the future. Not judging me for having a problem. No one else has done that for me.”

Stiles nods awkwardly, gripping your windowsill. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

~~~

Wednesday evening you were on a mission to convince your parents that you were well enough to go to school tomorrow.

You stood in the kitchen, soft blue silk pajamas on and fuzzy socks keeping your toes warm. A home speaker was playing songs from your favorite playlist, coercing your body to nod and sway with the beats.

“Are you sure you feel alright enough to be alone?” your mother frets, putting a coat on as your dad grabs the car keys.

You hold up your wrist with the watch, “My heart has been steady all day.”

“Yes, but you don’t know if…”

“Mom!” you cry, “It’s Wednesday. Wednesday is date night. You should enjoy your Wednesday date night. I can make myself dinner and watch a movie before bed.”

Your dad nudges your mother towards the door, “Let her have some freedom,” he teases.

Angela smacks his arm, but keeps moving nonetheless, “You better believe I’m getting my own cheesecake tonight.”

Your father, Tom, gave you a wink, “Let’s treat ourselves tonight, sweetheart.”

And for the next ten minutes you were blissful in making yourself some chicken and rice, green beans on the side. Clad in your softest sleepwear and dancing around to your favorite tunes, it was hard to shift the mood when you receive a frantic phone call.

“Hey, Stiles. Sorry I wasn’t at scho…”

“(Y/N), I need your help,” he says quickly.

You turn away from the stove, “Cutting to the chase, alright. I’m listening.”

Stiles trips over his words, “Y-You work at the hospital right? You have a wealth of doctor knowledge? Like you could tell me a few facts about first aide?”

You lean against the counter, the marble cold under your arms. “Yes… Stiles what’s going on?”

“I might, sort of… maybe have a friend who is… very hurt.”

“Very hurt?”

“He has a wound that just keeps sprouting blood and he’s not looking so hot.”

You hum a ‘uh huh’ as you ponder who this friend might be, “Not looking so hot meaning what?”

“You know, just the general sweating, pale skin, heavy breathing.”

“He must be in a lot of pain then.” You could hear a slam on something metal in the background. Stiles must’ve jumped by how his voice rose an octave.

“Lots – lots of pain. Listen, what might we do to help said wound?”

You go to stir your sizzling chicken, “How does it look?”

“Red and gross and all around a major health code violation,” he felt his chest tighten at your slight laugh. “There’s also these purple veiny things creeping up his arm.”

The smile falls from your face, “That would mean he has blood poisoning. Whatever wound he has is infected and if it reaches his heart then it’ll kill him.”

Someone was rummaging through drawers; you could hear pill bottles flying around.

“That’s good, great,” Stiles curses, “What do we need to stop that from happening?”

“Well, you need to stop the infection with some pretty heavy antibiotics,” you rub at your forehead. “And you need to clean the wound to stop more infection from getting in. And you could put a tourniquet on to help stop the bleeding.”

Some heavy whispering was happening behind Stiles’ hand. Something recognizable was in the other man’s voice.

“Stiles,” you say warningly, “Who are you with?”

“Just some guy,” Stiles replies, moving around, “We’re putting a belt around his arm as a tourniquet now. Thanks for your help, (Y/N).”

A cry of pain was heard through the phone and you hiss, “Are you with Derek Hale?”

“What?! No way… not a chance,” he laughs weakly before growing silent. “Yes, I’m with Derek Hale.”

“What the hell, Stiles – I thought you hated that guy.”

A growl was heard behind him, “Listen, I gotta go. Talk to you later?”

“I’ll be here, making dinner and watching old Disney movies.” You wait for a goodbye, but the line went dead. “That was weird.” And it continues to be that way as you finish making the dinner and grab a soda from the fridge.

You sat on the couch, pulling a fluffy forest green blanket on you. It was quiet and serene as you pull up one of your favorite movies: Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

You weren’t even ten minutes in when there was a knock on your door. Slipping on your thick socks, you skid across the hard wood to the door.

Suspicious, you say, “Stiles… how is Derek?”

“He’ll live,” Stiles says, out of breath and wrapping his jacket tightly around him. “He’s having a chat with Scott right now about the Hale family or something.”

“About the house fire?” you ask, “So now that he’s innocent of killing his sister you’re suddenly buddies with him?”

Stiles had an exaggerated look on his face, “Well, not exactly. He’s still a big scary guy that we got thrown into jail for a day. And now the town thinks he’s some murdering recluse because of the evidence we put against him.”

You couldn’t fight the smile creeping onto your face, “So it was just a favor you helping him tonight?”

“Yeah, it was a hunting accident,” he says casually, as if it were the whole truth. “And he didn’t have any friends to turn to.” He dances on his toes, looking up at the porch light, “While I love chatting out in the cold, do you think your parents would be alright if I hang out here and check on you?”

Leaving the door open, you walk inside, “My parents aren’t here. It’s date night.”

“Right,” he says, closing the door and kicking off his shoes, “How are you feeling?”

You sigh, “I feel fine. My mom is just determined to keep me couped up for the rest of my life.” Without prompting you prepare a dinner dish for Stiles and meet him in the living room, “I’ve only been in school a few weeks, but I miss it.”

Stiles eyes the plate of food with wide honey eyes, “Oh my god, that smells amazing.”

“Come on, I’m watching Atlantis.”

The boy was only too eager to follow you onto the couch. He flops down, staring at his plate hungrily. You share the green blanket, throwing it over his lap. He looks at you with big eyes.

“You said it was cold outside,” you shrug, picking up your plate. Your legs were touching again as the pair of you ate.

Stiles was eating the chicken and rice like his life depended on it, “This is the best food I’ve had in years.”

“You must be in love with it,” you snicker, “Judging by the sounds you’re making.” You laugh as he chokes on his fork.

“No, it’s just…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I don’t eat a lot of homecooked food anymore. My dad and I survive on takeout mostly.”

You push the rice around your plate, “Did your mom cook a lot?”

There was a shift in the air as Stiles continues to eat, but he responds with as normal a voice as he could manage. “Yeah. My dad used to say that… that she would bribe him with a good dinner to get him home from the station sometimes.”

Your voice was warm as you say, “She must’ve been an excellent chef if that got the Sheriff away from his caseload.”

“She used to make this delicious homemade mac and cheese, like fancy mac and cheese…” he made silly hand motions in the air, “Like with the little chopped up green things on top.”

“Parsley?”

He shrugs, but his eyes grew wide and bright, “And she’d serve it on top of a piece of garlic bread with some Italian sausage on the side.” He makes an overexaggerated chef kiss. “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you lean back into the couch, leaving your plate on the side table. “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

Stiles guffaws, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, fixated on the points where your bodies were touching. “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” Stiles says just as quietly, playing with his food like he had lost interest in it. “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

You lean closer, intrigued, “Sweet?”

“That was her descriptor word for all things she liked.” He puts his plate aside too, resting against the couch and your shoulder that was so near. “We got a coupon for the arcade? Sweet! My dad picked her a flower from the woods? That’s sweet of him. I’m forced into a sailor outfit for family pictures? He looks so sweet!”

You take a deep breath, “That is pretty sweet.”

Stiles turns to you, startled to see you so close to him. His throat grew dry and his chest felt tight, all words trickling from his brain and out his ears. He never talked about his mom. Not to Scott, not to his dad, not to his pillow – not to anyone. But talking about her to you was… easy.

You were having the quick realization that Stiles had not just brown eyes, but the most glassy brown eyes you had ever seen. Like if sunlight were to shine through the liquid of a whisky bottle. Or if a sunset caught a glimpse of a glistening honeycomb. Or if a campfire reflected off a drop of amber tree sap.

“So…” Stiles clears his throat, not wishing to pull away but very conscious of how high his voice sounds. “You like Atlantis?”

The movie had been playing the whole time in the background.

“Yes! Have you seen Milo Thatch? I’d marry him in an instant.”

“I didn’t realize you felt so strongly for an animated man.”

You poke your shoulder into him, “Fictional men.”

“And the appeal is?”

“It’s in the name,” you snicker, “They’re fictional.”

Stiles hums a reply, turning his attention back to the tv screen. “I’ll add that to your case file: only attracted to fictional men and therefore can conclude that she’s never had a real boyfriend.”

“Oh, it feels real though.”

Stiles fought a shiver tickling the top of his spine. He instead readjusted his pants, “I think I’m going to need more research on these fictional men you’re so fascinated with.”

“We’d have a lot of ground to cover,” you sigh, “Seeing as I don’t think you’ll read any of the books I give you, we’ll have to have a lot more movies nights like this.”

“I think I’d be okay with that,” Stiles says with a smirk on his face. His hands were above the blanket you share, lying in his lap and fidgeting with the green fuzzies coming from the fabric he was pulling.

~~~

You sat on the windowsill in the girls bathroom the next day, reapplying your lipstick and combing your fingers through your hair. Allison was readjusting her hairband in the mirror while Lydia fixes her mascara.

“We’re going to have a movie night,” the redhead says, admiring her eyelashes. “All of us.” She turns with a flair and points to the other two. “It’ll be prime time for a little under the blanket action.”

You make a face while Allison coughs awkwardly, “You want to do a double date?”

“Triple if we can get (Y/N) a boytoy,” Lydia smirks.

“I’m not exactly in the market for boytoys,” you say, crossing your arms.

Lydia leans against the sink, “You will when I tell you half the lacrosse team wants to ask you out since you started helping with Coach.”

A nauseous feeling enters your stomach, “I’m not a huge fan of dating, Lydia.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll handpick the perfect one for you.”

Allison was all skepticism as the bell rang, “There goes the last of English.”

“And now we can go straight to lacrosse practice!” Lydia claps her hands, “Let’s go shopping for (Y/N)’s boyfriend.”

The trio make their way to the field, each at a different level of enthusiasm, as you see Scott and Stiles in their uniforms. The boys were quick to pull you to the side.

“Why did you skip the rest of English?” Scott asks, “Is Allison okay?”

“We got an emergency text from Lydia,” you huff, “Turns out it was just the regular scheming and gossip.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, “Like…?”

“Like how Lydia is going to find me a lacrosse boyfriend to match her and Allison’s lacrosse boyfriends…”

Scott and Stiles spoke at the same time:

“I’m Allison’s lacrosse boyfriend?”

“You’re getting a lacrosse boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes, “And with all our lacrosse boyfriends we’re going to have a ‘movie night’ to coverup the sexcapade I think Lydia’s planning.”

Scott was blinking really hard, and Stiles seems to have left on a thought tangent based on the slack jawed look on his face.

You snap your fingers, “I need your help with Lydia.”

“No,” Scott mumbles, “She’s scary.”

Stiles was still lingering on his imagination as he says, dreamily, “You don’t want a lacrosse boyfriend?”

Your hands fall on your hips, “I just don’t want Lydia to conduct a speed dating the lacrosse team weekend.”

“WESTBROOK!”

You close your eyes, “Yes, Coach!?”

Coach Finstock stomps over, clipboard in hand as he struggles to wrap the whistle around his wild haired head. “I need you to register the team for a spring retreat.”

You blink blearily, “A spring retreat, Coach?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s good for bonding and teamwork and… bonding.” He threw his hands up, “We have the funds this year so we’re going out.”

The teenagers share looks as you attempt to get a baseline of knowledge, “What’s our budget? When are the dates? Who do I contact?”

“Everything’s on my desk. Now get to it,” he puts the whistle between his teeth, “The district likes to hear about these things in advance.”

You back away to the locker rooms as you silently plead to Scott and Stiles to handle the Lydia situation. They were frantically whispering back to you, making exaggerated and confused gestures. You could spy Lydia and Allison talking to a lacrosse huddle by the bleachers.

For the next forty-five minutes you handle the paperwork that the principal and district employees emailed Finstock. You create an excel sheet for signups and a budget tracker. You contact a sports summer camp that allows retreats and field trips during the school year. All you need was to pass out permission slips and gather player information.

You were on your way out of the copy room when you spot Lydia on Jackson’s arm, conversing with some players on the sidelines. Scott was playing goalie while Stiles and a few others were doing a play on the field.

“Give me some good news, Westbrook,” Coach grumbles, bending his clipboard to near splintering levels. “Because these dancing monkeys need some incentive to play better than my recently deceased grandmother.”

“I’ve got everything scheduled here,” you say, not even bothering to show all your hard work. The Coach trusts you enough to have it finished. “I just need to get players information.”

“Done. Boys! Get your pansy ballet asses to line up next to Westbrook! Do what she says fellas or you’re going to miss one hell of a weekend retreat.”

A herd of maroon jerseys and shoulder pads stampede towards you on the bleachers. Sweaty, and slightly smelly, boys began to filter past as you write down their names, shirt size, contact information, and give them a permission slip. You could feel Lydia and Allison waiting on the bench behind you.

Lydia’s heel toed boot prods the middle of your back whenever a boy she particularly likes came up.

“Ben Manley,” a blonde-haired, freckled face says. “I like your jacket.”

Seeing as it was a jacket you borrowed from Stiles’ jeep, you smile, “Thanks, Ben Manley. Get this paper signed if you want to come on the retreat.”

He looks a little dejected as he walks past. Another boy comes up, shiny with sweat on his wonderfully dimpled cheeks. His hair was chestnut brown and curly, “Andrew Wickstrom,” he says with a smile, “Thank you for helping Coach. He hasn’t been as manic since you started.”

“I’m glad my hard work is paying off.” You hand him a permission slip as another sharp poke was felt in your back. “Just turn that in within the next week.”

“Thanks, (Y/N). See you in gym.”

Right, gym class that you were a TA in instead of attending. You told the other students that you already got those credits during homeschool, but really you had a doctors note detailing how under no circumstances were you to get your heart rate up.

While others ran laps and did pushups and played volleyball indoors, you graded papers for Finstock from various classes.

Scott and Stiles came next in line. Scott gave a lovestruck wave to the girl sitting behind you while Stiles whispers to you.

“Hanging in there?”

“I think Lydia is making a March Madness chart with eligible lacrosse players,” you hand the boys permission slips. “She’s relentless.”

“You think I’ll make the bracket?” he asks clumsily, his cleats sticking into the grass.

You shrug, a teasing tone to your voice, “She’s very particular about who she adds.”

Stiles hopes he wasn’t hearing sarcasm, or even worse – dislike, in your voice. He was shoved to the side by a much taller boy coming in next.

“Josh Arnett,” he says.

He was broad, darkhaired, light eyed, and currently getting a dirty look from Stiles.

“Hi there,” you say, a little starstruck at the intense eye contact. You immediately recognize him as a narcissistic asshole, one that you’d still gladly kiss and get your heart broken over. He was one that made you think Greek gods still existed. He was one that made dirty look sexy.

And you just said, ‘hi there.’

His smile was killer, “Are you going to be at the retreat?”

You ignore the boot in your back as you fumble over your words, “Probably. Coach has kind of grown dependent on me to function.”

He took a permission slip, “I’ll go if you go,” and he winks. Like full on ‘sent-a-warm-river-of-shivers-down-your-chest-and-to-your-middle’ kind of wink. Your uneven heart patters at the sight of him walking away. Those wide shoulder pads… slim waist… and tight little…

You snap out of it as you realize the boy next to you was doing the exact same thing. Danny Mahealani was gawking as he groans under his breath, “Damn I love being on the lacrosse team.”

You laugh, shoving him away in a playful gesture. Danny was by far one of your favorites on the team. Lydia was right above your shoulder in an instant.

“I think we have our winner.”

“What?” you say a bit breathless, “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Philanderer?”

Allison was choking on laughs as Lydia huffs, “Come on, just a little movie date tonight. You don’t have to see him again if it’s really that bad.”

“You’re just trying to get a hot squad together,” you poke her button nose before you stand. “But you can’t force a healthy relationship on incompatible people.”

“Sure I can,” she scowls, “Jackson and I are still together.”

You share a look with Allison before packing up, “If you two are bringing dates tonight, I might as well bring the one that flirted with me.”

“Oh, please,” Allison crosses her arms, “All of them were being fl…”

“Perfect,” Lydia claps, “I’ll talk with Josh in the locker room.” And she flounces off in her skirts, leaving Allison to walk with Scott.

And Stiles appears at your shoulder, grabbing your leftover papers and the laptop from your hands. “So, has Lydia decided your fate?” He tries not to sound too eager (and/or desperate) to learn about the evenings plans, but he was hovering a bit close as you rub your temples. Your heart rate was a little high since encountering Mr. Philanderer.

“We have a big movie date tonight.”

He holds his breath as he continues, “… slash sexcapade?”

You snort, “I’d rather clean out whatever is festering in Coach’s desk drawers than have a sexcapade this weekend.”

His next breath was deep and tight, “Then who are you watching the movie with?”

“Josh Arnett.” Stiles stuck to the grass while you walk a few steps ahead. “What?”

“You are going to spend the night with Jealous Josh? Judgy Josh? Jockstrap Josh? Forget that last one.”

You giggle, “Yes, I’m going out with Jaw-dropping Josh.” You pull on Stiles’ arm, “It’s just to appease Lydia.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t,” you say, “It’s going to be just a one time thing.”

“But what if he charms you and kisses you and you agree to more dates…” he watches a dreamy look slide onto your face. “Oh my god, you’re thinking about kissing him, aren’t you?”

You open the door to the locker room, full of sounds and smells alike. “It would be a crime not to acknowledge that he’s hot. And I’d have more status by saying I kissed him once.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“Because I’m going on a date or because I’m going on a date with him?” You try to keep your tone civil as you’re surrounded by changing lacrosse players.

“Because he’s a douchebag that will probably do something to hurt your feelings and I don’t want that to happen.”

You take all your supplies from him, speckles of anger popping up your spine, “You trying to control who I go out with is a little douchy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not trying to control…” Stiles threw his gloves on the ground, “I’m trying to look out for you.”

“I’m not going to catch feelings for him,” you say indignantly, “I just want to try it Lydia’s way for once. It’s just one date, how bad could it be?” A sudden rush to your head makes you stumble, ramming your shoulder into a line of lockers.

Stiles jumps to your back, hands on your arms as you screw up your eyes. You take a deep breath and force the black spots from your vision. Slowly the voice of Stiles enters your ears.

“I’m fine,” you say, standing straight, “My heart was just beating a little fast.”  

“Because of our argument?”

You turn to the sound of his voice. The previous anger was gone. In its place were fearful honey eyes and an open, honest expression.

“Among other things,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “I’ll see you later.”

Stiles was screwing up his lips, chewing the inside of his cheek, clearly worried as you retreat. “Call me if something happens!”

 ~~~

You wait at your living room window for over an hour. You wait in your comfy blue sweater that’s cute enough for a date and soft enough for cuddling. You wait with styled hair and a little lipstick.

You could feel your parents spying from the kitchen, disappointed that you were being abandoned like this. A pain creeps into your chest that has nothing to do with your heart. It made your stomach twist and your head hurt.

It did not feel good to be stood up.

You text Lydia to give her an update. Her quick reply was that she and Jackson would pick you up and you could pick out the movie together.

You didn’t wave goodbye as you left the house, embarrassed by the turn of events. “I was such an idiot.”

Lydia turns in her seat, “You’re not an idiot, you look gorgeous.”

“I’m an idiot for getting excited about a night out with that jerk,” you play with your fingers. “And I knew from the beginning that he was an asshole, and I still got all ready trying to impress him.”

“No, you got ready because you wanted to feel hot. Remember you were going to one and done him tonight; Josh should be the one feeling disappointed that he isn’t here with you.”

You crack a faint smile, “Where’s Scott and Allison?”

“Oh, Allison’s hanging out with her aunt and so Scott decided to make other plans.”

“Meaning it’s just us three tonight?”

Jackson sighs begrudgingly, “Yep.”

“Then we might as well make it a chick flick night,” Lydia says, cheery despite her boyfriends obvious disdain for the situation. “Let’s watch The Notebook.”

“Absolutely not,” Jackson says, “We are not doing chick flicks just because your friend was dumped.”

Lydia purses her lips, “You’re not making this any easier, Jackson.”

“Yeah, I don’t really feel like crying, Lyds,” you attempt, the video store just down the road.

Jackson starts to ramble about different action and sports movies, “We never choose a movie that I pick. How about Hoosiers? Not only is it the best basketball movie ever, but it is also the best sports movie ever made.”

Lydia was quick with her reply, “No.”

“It’s got Gene Hackman and Dennis Hopper.”

You grimace at Lydia’s same short reply. “We can go in and browse for a little bit.” The night was shaping up to be one of the worst by far.

“I am not watching The Notebook again!” Jackson raises his voice.

“Come on, Jackson,” you say, opening the door. “Let’s just go look around for a second. I’ll help pick a good one.”

You walk to the first aisle inside, both of you on edge for different reasons. Jackson makes no effort to make conversation as you peruse the romantic comedy shelves. “She means well. She’s just trying to cheer me up.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I don’t want my date ruined by turning it into a girls night.”

You cross your arms, “I’m sorry.”

Jackson scowls at your drawn expression, “Arnett really is an asshole, by the way. I told Lydia as much.”

“Again, she meant well,” you sigh, “But thanks anyway.” A phone starts ringing in the background and kept echoing through the empty store. “Geesh, you would think someone would pick that up by now.”

“Hello?” Jackson calls out, “Is anybody working here?”

“What’s that?” you ask, pointing at a pair of shoes sticking out from an aisle further down. “Did someone fall off that ladder?” The medical assistant in you was already in action, pulling your phone out as you near the shoes.

You both move slowly, tense as the atmosphere gives an eerie flicker of lights. As you round the aisle of movies, there laying on the ground is the store manager – his throat clawed out.

“Oh my god!” you scream, gawking at the blood soaking the front of his shirt. It was fresh and glistening, splattered up onto his face and glasses.

“Holy shit!” Jackson yells, jumping back and onto the ladder. It moves enough that a broken light fixture falls, ripping the exposed wiring and plunging the entire video store into flickering darkness.

One second it’s dull yellow light, and the next an awful red dark, and then light again. It was making your vision blur with spots. You fall to your knees, sickened by the sudden wet warmth that soaks your pants.

Your heart was racing, beating like a war drum as you fought to control your breathing. Jackson was standing in the middle aisle, clearly shocked into silence. You were fumbling with your phone, attempting to dial any number that came up first.

There was a low, deafening growl that ripples through the store. You eye the claw marks on the store manager and immediately think of something big and terrifying. Jackson did too as he falls to hide behind a shelf.

You could hear the growling towards the back, too near for your liking. You shuffle away from the body, aware that Jackson had just left you to fend for yourself. A row of shelves falls behind you as you make your way to the front, crawling on your hands and knees.

You finally manage to dial a number, the first one you could think of. And the sound of Stiles on the other end brought you a sense of relief. He would do something.

“Hello.”

“Stiles…” you whisper, crawling along the front of the store and next to the windows.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

Your breath was shaky and came out in wheezes, “I need help.”

There was a rustling on the other end, “Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.”

A snarling growl came from your left and you dread to turn your head, “Oh god…”

“(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!”

But as you turn your gaze to the hot breath and red gaze of the growling creature, you let out a bloodcurdling scream. The giant monster swipes a paw at you, clawing at your shoulder and sending you spinning into the opposite wall. You slam against the brick with a sickening force, a crash of broken glass above you as the creature jumps through.

Shards of glass collect on your body, stinging some of your exposed skin. Warmth was spreading down your left arm as you fought to breathe. Your vision was blurring, and you were falling in and out of consciousness.

Jackson crawls out from under the fallen video shelves and finds you at the front, noticing Lydia screaming in the car. He kneels beside you and pulls out his phone, dialing 911.

~~~

Stiles sat in the parking lot of a burger joint, eating dinner with his father in the police car. He was reminiscent of the homecooked meal you made him, fondly thinking of his mother too.

“Did they forget my curly fries?”

He chides his father, “You’re not supposed to eat fries, especially the curly ones.”

The Sheriff smirks, “Well, I’m carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries.”

Stiles took his bitten straw out of his mouth, “If you think getting rid of contractions in all your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong.”

His dad gave him a bewildered look, “Somethings off with you tonight. Did you take too much Adderall?”

“No,” Stiles grumbles, picking at his hamburger wrapper, “Just… thinking about school.” He watches his dad’s expression egg him on further, “… and lacrosse… and Scott…” He huffs and throws his dinner back in the brown bag. “And girls.”

The Sheriff scoffs, hiding a laugh, “Just the usual then.”

Stiles felt his phone ring and he was surprised to see your name appear. Thinking you’re going to tell him Josh Arnett is the asshat that they all knew him to be, Stiles says confidently into the phone, “Hello.”

There was a terrified whisper in reply, “Stiles…”

He sat straighter, his dad catching a soda before it fell to the floor. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?” You sound like you were on the verge of a panic attack.

“I need help.” Your breathing was erratic, and he knew your heartbeat was probably the same.

“Where are you? (Y/N), you need to breathe.” God forbid you faint in whatever terrifying situation you’re in.

There was a terrible growl behind your shaky words, and you sound so small when you cry, “Oh god…”

It sent a thrill of terror through Stiles, “(Y/N)! Stay awake – tell me where you are!” A million scenarios were flying through his mind. Was there a werewolf there? The alpha? What had happened to your date?

There was a deafening bloodcurdling scream as the phone must’ve fallen from your hand. It took Stiles a second to realize that it was you that screamed. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” Your cries flew to the side along with a crash of glass as the snarling beast left.

The line went dead and Stiles fell into a panic, “How do I… where… god, dad we have to find her!”

The Sheriff listens with sincerity as he had watched the entire conversation. “What’s going on?”

“That was my friend, (Y/N) Westbrook. She was supposed be out tonight on a date, but something went wrong. She sounded terrified and then there was a scream and a crash and then… nothing.” His arms were flailing as he sat on the edge of the car seat, “We have to find her!”

“Westbrook?” the Sheriff says, throwing his wrapper to the floor, “You don’t mean…”

“Yes! And I know you know about her heart.”

His dads eyes widen ever-so-slightly, “How do you know about…?”

Stiles slams a hand on the dashboard, half tempted to grab the steering wheel, “We have to go – she’s in serious trouble!”

“Now hang on just a damn minute,” was his reply, “We don’t even know where she is. And before you go flying out the window, let’s think about this with some sense. Do you know where she was supposed to be on her date?”

Stiles whacks his head, as if to jog some memories over the panic, “They were going to watch a movie.” He bounces his leg, pleading with his dad, “Please, dad, she’s going to have another fainting episode.”

The police radio turns on with some crackling feedback. The dispatcher on duty was a man judging by the voice. At least that meant Mrs. Westbrook wasn’t on shift that night.

“Unit One, do you copy?”

Stiles leapt for the radio and the Sheriff slaps his hand away. “Unit One, copy.”

“Got a report of a possible 187.”

Stiles jumps in his chair, shaking the whole car, “A murder!?”

“It’s at the local video store. Some teenagers are involved.”

The Sheriff confirms he’ll be there and felt a twang of guilt as he watches the fear bubble in his son. “Do you have confirmation on how many are hurt?”

“Negative, but the boy on the phone was in a frenzy about an animal attack.”

“Thanks, Johnson.” The Sheriff put the radio up, speeding down the street with sirens blaring. “Let’s not fear the worst, Stiles. They said there was just one possible 187.”

Stiles was biting his lips, drumming his knuckles over his mouth, “I should have stopped her from going out. I knew it was a bad idea.”

The drive was tense and painfully slow despite the speed the Sheriff was emitting. When they reach the video store it was swarming with EMTs and an ambulance. The store window was shattered, and Jackson was yelling at whatever emergency personnel he could. Lydia was huddled in a shock blanket on the curb, and sitting on the edge of the ambulance was you.

“Oh, thank god,” Stiles cries, “Thank you god.” He was falling out of the police car before it even made a complete stop. “(Y/N)!” He ran for the Beacon ambulance.

You were leaning against the side of the car, an EMT bandaging your left arm. You had a few butterfly bandages on your face and a rapidly developing bruise to the side of your head. There were dark circles under your eyes and your skin was ashy again.

“What happened?” he asks, quiet compared to the panic he was in moments ago.

You turn your wet eyes to him, gulping, “Stiles. There… there was a monster.”

“She hit her head pretty hard,” the EMT says, finishing your bandage. “She needs to go home and get some rest.”

Stiles gave the man a nod, gently sitting next to you and giving his full attention. “What kind of monster?”

“It was like a bear or a wolf,” you whisper, exhausted. “I was so scared.” The break in your voice put a hitch in his chest. “Josh bailed on me and then Scott and Allison. And I just wanted to go home.” You turn to him, “I want to go home, Stiles.”

He clenches his jaw, his throat bobbing, “Okay. Okay, we can go home…” He stole a shock blanket from the back and wraps you in it, careful around your left shoulder. “Did you faint at all?”

You stare off, disassociating, “In and out.”

The Sheriff calls your parents as you lean into Stiles. Your head nestles into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He couldn’t put his arm around your shoulders for fear of hurting the new wound. Instead he wraps his hand lower on your waist.

With his other hand he reaches for your fingers, worry still eating away at his stomach. “Where are we on the possibility of fainting right now?”

You groan, “60% chance.”

He gives a painful smile, wrapping his hand in yours. With his fingers he felt for the pulse in your wrist. It was a little high and stuttering unevenly.

“What do you hear?”

You hum, “Sirens. People. You.”

Stiles felt a warmth seeping into his chest, it was loud and suffocating and squeezed at his heart. “What do you smell?”

“Rubbing alcohol. And you.”

He plays with your fingers, tracing them with his thumb, “What do I smell like?” A small huff of air escapes your lips, and he likes to believe it was almost a laugh. “Cause you know exactly how I think you smell.”

You try to clear your throat, “Like sandalwood.”

“I’m not even sure what that is.”

“Like the woods,” you whisper. “Like rain, and trees, and honey.”

“How did you know my favorite pastime was bathing in forest rain and honey?” He imagines the twitch in your cheek against his neck was an attempt at a smile. “What do you feel?”

You fidget in his embrace, “Tired. Pain. Fear…”

“Okay, bad question.”

“Your hand,” you continue, “You’re warm. It’s nice.”

The inflation of his chest was reaching a bursting point, and he laid his face against your hair. Holding you there, he checks your pulse again with his long fingers. It had lowered since his arrival.

Your parents came soon after that, fretful and terrified of your condition. They wanted to take you to the hospital for a full checkup and your grip tightened on Stiles’ hand as his dad took him away.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers in your ear, your parents approaching. “I’ll see you later.”

~~~

It was very late into the night when Stiles climbs the garden trellis to your window. He was delighted to see that it was left cracked open. He pushes it open the rest of the way and falls inside, careful not to make too much noise.

You lay in bed with the lamp on, illuminating the room with its peachy color. You were in midnight blue pajamas with little stars printed on them. Your left arm was stiff and heavily bandaged, painkillers adding to your collection of prescription meds on the nightstand.

“Hey,” he whispers, gaining the attention of your wet gaze. You must’ve been crying for a long time judging by the redness of your eyes. “How was the hospital?”

“I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t believe you. He sat on the edge of your bed, itching to grab your hand again but needing a good reason. “When I got your call… it scared me shitless.” A chuckle escapes him, “My dad was ready to clobber me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” Stiles says, “You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You did nothing wrong. This was all just a terrible ordeal.”

You sniff, “I’m tired.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I just wanted to check on you before bed. I should let you sleep.”

“I’m not going to sleep.”

His chest tightens like earlier. He aches to touch you again, seeing you so fragile and tense. “(Y/N)…”

“Every time I close my eyes I see that thing clawing at me.” Another tear escapes your eyeline and runs down your cheek, “I’m too scared to sleep.”

“Well…” Stiles picks at a seam in his pants, “How about you call for your mom? I’m sure she’ll…”

“I don’t want to worry them anymore. I’m tired of making them worry so much.”

Stiles chews on his lip, “Hmm, okay. How about I stay? I’ll just sit at your desk and keep watch.”

You watch him with swollen eyes, “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he shrugs his shoulders, “I’m worried about you too. And I feel better knowing I can keep you calm.” He wasn’t going to tell her that for the last three hours he had been replaying their moment outside the ambulance. The way you leaned into him, and he got to hold your hand and listen to you talk about how nice it was to be next to him.

“I want you to stay,” you say quietly. “But you can’t sit in a desk chair all night.” You pat your uninjured hand on the mattress beside you.

Stiles feels warmth flood his cheeks, “Oh, yeah… well – great.” He sits down and stretches out on top of the covers, “This is a much more comfortable spot to keep watch.”

You pull at your blankets, turning towards him and grounding yourself in his presence. “There’s a squeaky floorboard in the hallway. You’ll hear if my parents are coming.” You place a hand on his forearm, “Thank you for being here.”

His throat bobs at your touch, “Always.” And he lays there well into the night, cursing when your hand falls away in your sleep. He waits for sunrise to leave, occupying himself with watching your breathing patterns and checking your pulse every once in a while. He even brushes the hair from your face and flattens the arm bandages that start to unstick.

He was just memorizing the curve of your nose and the slant of your cheekbone when the sun broke over the horizon.

He sighs, rubbing hard at his face. If this is what having a crush on you was like… it was going to consume him.  

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs

[joshfutturman]

'they'd find us in a week, ( lay here for years or for hours )'

oneshot - mike struggles to let you get close, but when your hands brush against his hair, he realises that he may not be able to keep you at arms length forever (1.7k words) pairing - mike schmidt (five nights at freddy's) & gn!reader tags - ok basically this whole thing was 'mike gets sleepy when you play with his hair because my headcanon is that his mom used to do it when he was younger', pre-established friendship verging on relationship, lingering feelings, pure fluff

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

you knew mike wasn’t really the super affectionate type, or at least. . . not with you, yet. each week you’d come over, he’d inch a little closer towards you on the sofa. every time, you felt your heart rate pick up. he felt so close yet so far.

this night, he was the closest he’d ever been. your eyes drift over to the armchair where he used to sit himself when you first visited, and then to him, inches from you now on the sofa. you often treated the situation like mike was an animal, your hand outstretched waiting patiently for him to sniff, get used to your scent maybe. one wrong move and he’d scamper away. you operated on his time, at his pace.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

his leg touches yours and you feel your face heat up at the innocent touch. you dare not glance towards him, relax, you think to yourself. mike probably thought nothing of it. but when you do glance despite your best efforts, you notice the red on his cheeks too.

you try to suppress a smile.

the room was lit with only small flickers from the television in his living room, some mindless action film playing. it was his suggestion, and you let him, loving the way his face lit up when he tried to explain the plot to you in a sheepish manner. his dad used to watch it with him, he said. it felt special that he wanted to share this with you, even if it wasn’t the best movie in the world, it would turn out to be one of your favourites anyway.

you try to focus, settling back into the sofa as you rest your elbow back onto the base of the sofa behind you, supporting your head as your cheek rests against your palm. your eyes drift to mike, watching him as he eyes the television with deep interest. he’s got that sleepy look he usually has and your eyes begin to study his face a little closer now that you’ve got the opportunity.

the dark bags under his eyes hadn’t gotten any better, in fact, they looked a little worse. but that leads you onto his freckles, one. . . two. . . three. . . four. . . more than you could count, dotted across his nose and cheeks. they were your favourite of his features, little constellations you wanted to connect, his face infinitely more interesting than any of the old stars in the night sky.

his stubble was growing a little long, longer than you’d seen it before - maybe tomorrow was his usual shaving day. you wouldn’t tell him, but you thought he suited it at this length. a part of you wonders what it would feel like against your own cheek, but you quickly swat that thought from your mind.

but god, his eyelashes. they were long, dark and delicate. with each blink, you wonder if mike knew how truly beautiful he actually was. he was handsome sure, but he was also incredibly beautiful. not just in looks either, he was beautiful in the way that he’d save you an extra donut - your favourite kind, he’d swerve in the road to avoid birds, he’d send you pictures of things that reminded him of you with no caption or explanation.

you loosen up, lifting your face from your hand. your fingers twitch, itching to reach out and touch his hair. that would be weird, right? but he’s so close. his head is almost resting on your shoulder. should you?

before you have a chance to stop yourself, your fingers briefly brush through a curl on his head and immediately he flinches back.

fuck. you’ve lost him. he’s scampered away.

mike looks at you with what you think to be an angered expression. his brows knit together, leaning away from you as his eyes glance from your hand to you.

“i’m. . . i’m sorry i-“ you begin to say in defence, feeling embarrassed.

mike continues to eye you cautiously. how could he tell you the kinds of feelings that stirred for him?

suddenly he’s just a boy again. he’s had another nightmare. his mom is beside him in his cramped single bed with patterned dinosaur sheets, her hand on his soft curls at the base of his head. her touch is delicate, like he’s delicate. fingers dancing through curls, mike’s eyelids flutter closed as she hums a familiar, comforting tune.

no one’s touched his hair since then. no one.

well, no one except you. right now.

he’s not sure whether to be angry or to be upset. to snap at you or to apologise for his own reaction. he can feel the sadness bubbling in his stomach, spreading up to his chest. he hadn’t thought about this in so long, convinced he’d never be comforted in that way ever again - or maybe it was that he’d never let himself be comforted like that ever again. yet here he was, craving it.

at this point, you’re convinced it’s over. he’s going to ask you to leave. you crossed a line. there was nothing here between you and him. you wanted to apologise again, but what was the use?

“did you just touch my hair?” he finally spoke up, voice softer than you expected it to be.

you swallow hard, “yeah, sorry, i just- i dunno. . .” your words fall away from you again.

mike visibly relaxes, his shoulders loosening up. “it’s okay,” he glances at your hand once more, then back to you as if he’s trying to decide something, “you can. . . if you want to.”

eyes widening, you simply stare back at him, what? you’re stunned into silence for a few moments. you’ve never heard him so soft, almost vulnerable. his gaze continues to flicker to you then away, settling back on the television and returning to the position he was in before with his head close to your shoulder. there’s a hint of red on his cheeks. you can tell he’s. . . scared.

your hand inches closer again, fingertips grazing across his dark, soft curls. immediately you see him take a deep breath through his nose, you can’t figure out what he’s feeling. secretly, he’s feeling relief.

each touch is ghost-like, hardly making contact as you switch between examining his reaction and then back to his hair. once it’s been a minute and you both relax into the interaction, you sink your hands in a little deeper as his hair glides between your fingers with ease. you flinch a little as your fingers reach scalp, splaying your fingers across his skin.

his eyes flutter closed, head slumping forward a little. you smile, drifting your nails across his head gently until you find a curl between your pointer and index finger. you twist it around, letting your fingers comb through it.

mike feels goosebumps pepper up along the back of his neck, soft tingling raining delicately along his scalp. he focuses on the soft, tender sensation of your fingers. suddenly he realises that for once, his mind is quiet. it’s not running ahead, it’s not jumping over hurdles he’d placed for himself, it’s not reliving anything, he’s. . . simply existing here, in this moment, with you.

and he’s letting you. mike isn’t shying away from the touch, instinctively rejecting any form of care. instead, he’s relishing it. his head rests against your shoulder in a final act of defeat, breathing softening to a slow pace.

if it wasn’t so goddamn relaxing, he’d probably allow himself to feel emotional. it had been so long since anyone had cared for him like this, taken the time, or even tried. his walls had grown so high that he was convinced no one would ever dare try to climb them, and if they did he’d snipe them down with a single, devastating shot.

but you? you kept climbing, taking those shots like a champ and continuing to climb anyway. slowly, but surely. and it was almost as though mike never saw you coming. like you were over that wall in a flash - waiting patiently for him to beckon you down to the other side.

and here he was as you approached.

mike’s hand finds your leg in his sleepy haze and gently, sheepishly, lets his fingertips trail across the fabric there. like he’s trying to return the favour.

this simply makes you smile.

your fingers continue to trace small shapes in his hair, a heart, a circle, a square. . . and then all your fingers at once combing through his thick curls. you can’t help but watch the way his head sinks deeper and deeper against your shoulder as he gives in to sensation.

for the first time in forever, he feels sleep beckoning him without the use of pills or any other sleep aids. just you, your simple touch and your body heat accompanying him. it’s incredibly adorable to you, watching him settle underneath your touch. his touch on your leg falters, slowing down to a halt after a short while.

gingerly, your hand snakes to the front of his scalp, running through the curls covering his forehead and exposing the skin there as if to take a peek at his face. your eyes widen and you smile as you see his eyes gently closed, mouth half open. was he. . . sleeping? he’d fallen asleep against you, your fingers still in his hair. and you wouldn’t dare stop. you’d do this forever if time and the world allowed.

it was the most peaceful you’d ever seen him, evoking deep feelings of protectiveness. mike deserved better than what this life gave him, or rather, took from him. you’d do anything to make him feel at peace, even for a little while. what little you could offer to ease the burden, you’d give.

you rest your cheek down against the top of his head, letting your own eyes close - your hands now on the back of his head, playing with the curls that settle there naturally. trying your best, you keep up the soft touches of your fingertips as long as you’re able to before sleep inevitably comes for you too. it comes in waves, your head growing heavier against mike’s as he breathes out light snores.

before long, slumber sweeps you away. both of you laying contently against the other in a sleepy bundle.

tomorrow, you’d both have to face the world, but for now? this moment was yours. and in sleep, mike would pray you’d be there when he awoke.

little did he know, you’d never want to leave his side ever again.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. ‧₊˚ dedicated tags: @helen-on-earth @fatinhadesiners06 @boonam @laurrrelise @sun-spider13 @sammygirlism @sleepyhutcherson ‧₊˚ ily!! .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

[wintersoldiersoul]

Hold Me

TW: Depression, weight loss, mention of suicidal thoughts

You heard the chatter from the living room when you stepped off the elevator at the tower. A chorus of laughter could be heard, laughter that typically you’d be itching to join in with. But recently, you couldn’t. You just needed to go to your room and curl up in bed. 

The depression hit you out of nowhere. One bad day turned into two which turned into weeks where you couldn’t stop your thoughts from spiraling to dark places. Places that terrified you. It was hard being an Avenger and a college student and battling depression definitely didn’t make it any easier. You didn’t wanna do anything. You didn’t wanna exist anymore. 

You passed by Thor, Steve, Tony, and Bucky all seated with beers in hand. “Hey, baby,” Bucky greeted you cheerfully. “Come join us!”

You gave them all a small smile. “I’m pretty tired,” you answered. “I think I’m gonna go lie down for a bit.” You didn’t want anyone, especially Bucky, to know how dark it was in your head. You were always the “nice” one. The “helpful” one. But it was so exhausting especially when every day you were battling the heaviness inside of your chest. You never got to snap. You always had to just be nice.

“Alright, sweetheart,” your boyfriend said with a smile. 

No, you thought. Come with me. Come hold me. It was like you had two different people in your brain. One terrified of Bucky finding out how miserable you were and one wanting to spill it all to him. For him to hold you and make the pain go away. But somehow that first voice always ended up being a little stronger.

You trudged to the oasis of your bedroom, quickly throwing off the clothes you had on in favor of pajamas. As far as you were concerned, you weren’t getting out of bed for the rest of the day. You never really felt hungry anymore, so you didn’t worry about skipping dinner.

You thought Bucky didn’t notice. You thought he was oblivious to the way your smile never reached your eyes anymore, or the weight you had lost. You thought he didn’t hear when you cried softly at night. But he did. He noticed it all.

“I’m worried about her,” he sighed out in the living room. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked. “She seems fine to me. You heard her, she’s just tired.” 

Bucky shook his head and took a sip of his beer. “It’s more than that. She-she doesn’t smile anymore. Not real smiles. She’s losing weight and she hardly eats anything. I’ve been waiting for her to come to me, I mean I never wanna push her but I don’t know how much longer I can just ignore it.”

“You should talk to her about it. Maybe you’re just overthinking and nothing’s wrong,” Tony suggested.

“No,” Bucky rubbed his face. “I know my girl. This isn’t her.”

Back in the bedroom, silent tears fell from your eyes. You didn’t even know what you were crying about. It was just a part of your daily routine at this point. You cried because you were frustrated that you felt this way. Because you just wanted it to stop.

The door creaked open, shining a streak of light into the dark room. You quickly turned your head and pretended to be asleep, hoping that Bucky wouldn’t catch on. But you were too late to hide it from your boyfriend and his supersoldier senses.

He sat down on the bed next to you and began to rub your back. “Y/N,” he whispered calmly. Seeing you cry broke his heart in pieces. He couldn’t just stand back anymore and watch you in so much pain. “Baby, you gotta talk to me. What’s going on with you, love?”

You didn’t speak at first. You just began to cry harder into the pillow at his words. The way he touched you like you were so fragile, the gentle tone of his voice, it was all too much. You didn’t deserve his sympathy.

“Oh angel…” he whispered, hearing your cries get more intense. “Let it out. It’s okay.” He continued rubbing your back as you cried for a little longer. “Can you sit up for me?” He asked, once you had calmed down. You did as he asked, positioning yourself upright and looking at him. Your eyes were red and puffy and the sight of you broke Bucky’s heart. “What’s going on, honey?” 

“I…” you tried to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words. You didn’t even have a reason to be depressed. Nothing happened that had triggered it. Who were you to complain when Bucky had been through so much? “I’m okay. Just a long day. I’m really tired.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, taking your hand. “You think I haven’t noticed you’ve been off? Baby, all you do whenever you get home from class is lie in bed. You don’t care about grades like you used to. You don’t eat anything and you’ve lost so much weight. I’m really scared.” His eyes held the kind of sincerity you could only imagine. No one had ever looked at you with so much love and care. 

“I can’t explain it,” you whispered so quietly that it was barely audible.

“Can’t explain what?” “I don’t know why I feel this way,” you continued, a few more tears spilling out. “I just feel like everything is hopeless. It’s like I have a bag of rocks sitting on my chest all the time and it hurts so much. And I don’t know why! Nothing changed. Nothing happened. One day it just came and it never left.”

Bucky inched a little closer to you. “Are you feeling depressed, honey?”

You looked down at your hands and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I think I’m really depressed, Buck. And I feel so stupid because I don’t know why! I’m supposed to be the happy one who’s there for everyone. I wanna be there for you! You have actual shit that you’ve been through. What’s my excuse?”

He pulled you tightly into a hug. He had suspected that you were battling depression but hearing you say it outloud terrified him. “Oh baby…” he whispered, stroking your hair. “You know depression doesn’t always have a reason. You don’t have to experience something big or traumatic to feel depressed. Sometimes it just happens. It’s just the chemicals in your brain. And that doesn’t make your experience any less valid or important. The fact that I’ve been through something doesn’t mean that you have to be my glue. It doesn't mean that you can’t fall apart too.” 

His words made you begin sobbing again. How was it possible that he still wanted you when he knew the truth now? He was seeing how much of a mess you were yet he was still here comforting you. “I feel like everything is so out of control,” you cried. “I wanna do my homework but I just can’t find the energy to get out of bed. I don’t have the energy to even care anymore. I just want it all to be over.” Your last sentence made Bucky’s veins go ice cold. “Y/N, I need you to tell me the truth right now, okay? A-are you thinking about hurting yourself? Do you wanna die?” He spoke, voice shaking.

“I don’t know,” you said quietly, avoiding his gaze. “I don’t really think I wanna die but… I just don’t really wanna live. I know that makes no sense.”

“I understand. It’s like you’re not thinking about killing yourself but right now it’s hard to be alive and fight. Is that why you just come home and sleep all day?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s easier to just sleep the pain away. Being conscious in my head has been really tiring. And I’m afraid that if this continues that I might want to hurt myself. I don’t right now but what if it gets to that point?” You looked up at him with big eyes.

Bucky squeezed you tighter like he was terrified you would disappear from his arms. “I’m not gonna let you get there. Never, okay? You’re gonna get help. And you’re gonna feel so much better. Baby you have so much life left to live and enjoy. You and me, we have a whole life together to live. So you can’t let yourself fall into this hole, okay? It’s gonna be hard but I’m gonna help you through it.”

“Y-yeah. Okay,” You sniffled. “You can go back out with the guys. I didn’t mean to ruin your time.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Oh shh. You know I was only with them to distract myself from missing you til you got here,” he laughed. “You’re my favorite person on the entire planet, baby. And I’m really happy you opened up to me because I’ve been worried sick these past few weeks. It’s like I’ve been watching you turn into a ghost of yourself.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I thought you didn’t notice. I thought I was hiding it well.”

He looked into your eyes and touched your cheek. “I notice every single thing about you. I know when your smiles are real or fake, okay? I know when you don’t actually eat anything and you just shove food around your plate to make it look like you are.” he paused. “Speaking of, I’m really worried about that, too. Is that part of the depression?” 

You nodded. “I just never really feel hungry anymore.”

“We’re gonna work on that too. Okay honey girl?”

“Okay.”

“Good. Now can I make you something small to eat, just to start? I’m so scared for you, baby.” His eyes were full of genuine fear at the size you were.

“Something small and simple, okay? I-I’ll try to eat it.” 

“That’s my girl.” Bucky left the room, returning a few minutes later with a bowl of fruit in his hand. “Here, just try to eat even a little bit, okay? Then I tell you what. I’m gonna run you a nice bath and light your favorite candles. Then we can spend the rest of the night cuddled up together watching a movie. Tomorrow we’ll start to put in the hard work but for tonight just let me comfort my girl.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words. “That sounds perfect.” 

So that’s what you did. He ran a bath and lit cinnamon scented candles and you both sat in there for a while enjoying the relaxation of each other’s presence. You spent the rest of the night marathoning halloween movies before falling asleep in his arms. The hard work was about to begin. It was gonna suck, you knew that. But maybe there really was a light to look forward to.