#it takes a bit longer to like. settle in your lungs also. so if you inhale too hard it takes a solid several seconds to start coughing

[buck-star]

Put your hands in mine

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: He can't breathe. His lungs burn and the water above his head gets darker and darker. Theres no more light. Until there is again.

Warnings: Anxiety, hurt/comfort, crowds, established relationship, fluff

Wordcount: 2.263 Words

Authors Note: Beta’d, aesthetics by @thevillainswhore. Divider made by me. @felicitylemon this is for you, because you’re not alone and your reblog made my day.

“Put your hands in mine.

And I will pull you out of the darkest waters."

Loud noises. Crowded places.

Bucky hates it, and yet, he still tries to live his life as best as he can. He keeps trying to get out of your shared apartment more often, to be around people for longer periods of time. But somehow, it only makes him want to curl in on himself, with you wrapped in his arms in the safety of your apartment.

He’s not ready for the world just yet. He’s not ready for the business, the noises of the actions. He had them long enough — for years and years. And now, finally settled down with the woman he loves, he wants to keep the peace a while longer before he’s ready to face the loud world outside.

But somehow, sometimes he still manages to interact with the outside — as long as you’re by his side he knows he can do more than he believes.

Bucky’s fingers cling to the shopping cart he’s currently pushing through the aisle of the grocery store. His ocean blue eyes dart from one side of the aisle to the other and back to the cart as he takes in the different products.

Lots of jam, way more than he used to know back in the days. Bread — delicious and softer than he knows, and so many variants — you always buy different ones. One better than the other. But his favorite one is still the brown bread with the star on top. It reminds him of his childhood, and it tastes almost the same as remembers.

Maybe if he just keeps his mind busy enough he can try and mute the noises around him. If he just —

“Buck?” You ask softly, your warm fingers circling the back of his hand and his white knuckles. Your voice is soft and soothing, just like the smile that’s spreading on your lips.

You’re smaller than Bucky, but you’re standing perfectly in front of him to bring his attention to you. You’re blocking the people around you from running into your boyfriend, making it easier for him to focus on you — and only you.

“Do you want to get out of here already?” You offer but your boyfriend shakes his head and turns his head to interlace your fingers with his thicker ones.

You’re always so soft with him, sweet and loving. Bucky could melt with you around. The understanding and support you offer him causes his heart to clench every now and then, the insecurities growing stronger. How does someone dark like him, deserve someone so sweet like you?

Never pushing him, never judging him. Bucky wonders what he did to make you fall in love with him. But no matter what it was, he’s glad he was able to get your interest, to get the love you show him.

Bucky takes a shaky breath. You offered him to go shopping by yourself, but he didn’t want you to do it alone — he wanted to come with you. And even though he regrets his decision slightly, he’s grateful to have you around.

“N-no,” he says, forcing a smile on his plump lips. You sigh but nod, knowing that Bucky’s feeling overwhelmed already. But you also don’t want to act like he’s a kid who doesn’t know his own limits well enough to decide himself.

Bucky can decide when his limits are reached. And as much as he tries to push them every now and then, you know he would never lie, would it really be too much for him.

His eyes are slightly narrowed and he tightens his grip around your hand. “I-it’s fine, babydoll. A bit loud and crowded but not too much.”

You hum softly, followed by a soft giggle. You lean closer to him, standing in your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips before you wrap one of your arms around his waist. The other still interlaced with his thick fingers to sooth him and keep him calm.

“You’re doing good, Buck. I’m proud of you and I’m glad you decided to come here with me,” you mumble while you push him with you through the aisle. Bucky sighs softly, relaxing with your arm around him. He knows you will catch him when he feels like he’s going to fall and drown in his fear again.

When you finally reach the section with fruits and vegetables, you look for a quiet corner, pushing the cart and Bucky there to keep him away from all the noises and business of the other people.

A soft, warm smile spreads on your lips as he leans down to kiss you softly. Bucky’s blue orbs light up slightly when he can focus on you and the music of the store but nothing else.

It’s quiet. He can watch everyone and it’s less crowded. Perfect for him to wait for you to get a few fruits and vegetables.

You move through the aisles to take some apples and bananas before you move further to the vegetables. It’s a bit crowded but when you look up to Bucky you see him still softly smiling at you. There’s not many people around him, only an elderly lady and a mother with her kid.

So you look back to the vegetables and get some peppers and cucumbers too. You can still feel his intense gaze on you, taking in every detail.

Bucky’s tapping his fingers against the cart, keeping his focus on the music and on you so he won’t be too overwhelmed, until —

“Ow! I’m sorry, sir,” a lady apologizes as she pushes her cart with force into Bucky’s side. The kid on her arm is crying loudly, and the moment they notice their mother's attention on someone else — and not on the gummy bears they want — they start screaming.

The pain in Bucky’s hips is nothing compared to the noises that crash down on him like a heavy weight. The music from the loudspeakers is suddenly way louder. The mother talking to her child. The child that’s still crying and screaming. And suddenly he’s aware of every noise around him.

Bucky can hear every little noise in the whole shop. The people around him. The people on the other side of the shop. Even the registers and the cooling systems of the fridges.

His breath hitches, his chest tightens as he wraps his fingers tightly around the cart. His blue eyes are widened as the noises become even louder. Bucky can hear his heartbeat so loud and clear like every other noise in the shop. And there is no way for him to mute all these noises.

“B-ba…by-do—“ Bucky chokes, his hands shooting to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. He tries to pull on it, to rip it off his body but it doesn’t budge. It only tightens and becomes heavier until he feels like he can’t breathe anymore. “P-ple—“

And there it is again — the feeling of the dark water around him. Only a small amount of sun is shining through the darkness but it’s fading slowly. And he’s sinking, further and further while he feels like he’s drowning.

Bucky never thought it would be possible for him — or for anyone — to feel like they could drown without physically being in a body of water. And yet, he feels as if he's sinking into the depth of the ocean, the water surrounding him everywhere and there’s no place he could grab a hold on.

The water is hugging him like an old friend, but it isn’t an old friend. It never was and it never is — it never will be. It’s only his darkest enemy, his fear of losing control, of losing himself.

He gasps loudly, his eyes scanning the people around him to find you but everything is blurred. Everyone looks so similar, the voices mix with the others. He just can’t make out where you are, he can’t hear your voice, he can’t see your face, your worried expression or maybe your soft smile — he can’t tell because everyone looks just like the others in the shop.

“B-babydo-ol-l…” he whispers, tugging harshly at the collar of his shirt. A soft whimper leaves his plump lips as he feels his lungs burning. The darkness of his thoughts became worse. Even the corners of his view turn a few shades darker, supporting the feeling to sink further in the ocean.

The sun — actually the light of the shop — disappears with every second. The weight that’s pulling him down becomes heavier and heavier, his breathing unsteady and frantic as he tries to grab for anything so he won’t drown.

“Buck,” your soft voice is audible. It’s so close and yet so far. He can’t reach for you, but he wants to — he needs to. “Bucky, hey, baby. You’re safe, try to take a deep breath for me, please.”

He can feel your warm hand reaching for his. Your fingers curl around Bucky’s thicker ones as you pull his clenched fingers off his shirt. He doesn’t want to let go of his only grounding source but he also doesn’t stop you — deep down he knows you’re his real grounding, his anchor.

“Loud noises are overwhelming, aren’t they? But it’s okay. I’m here, I've got you. Just try and focus on my voice, I know it’s hard but you need to listen to me otherwise we can’t get out of here,” you say. Your voice is still so soft and soothing, warming his chest as he feels his eyes moving toward yours.

Bucky’s mouth opens before he closes it again. He remains silent but you can see his eyes flickering from yours to your fingers before they settle back on yours.

He takes in the soft smile that’s tugging at your lips as you stand in front of him — causing his heart to flutter slightly. Your fingers interlace with his as you rub soothing circles over the back of his hands. Bucky notices your lips moving, trying to calm him down and even though the noises are still louder than your voice, he can make out some of the words you’re saying.

“I know you listen to me, Buck. Maybe not completely but I know you try. And I’m proud of you, you’re doing so good, baby,” you assure him, hoping it will help him to calm down.

While dating Bucky you learned how to handle his anxiety and his panic attacks. Not just because of therapy but also because of all the talks you have after such a situation — allowing Bucky to look back and help you both to understand what you can do to either help or avoid these situations.

From finding out what overwhelmed him to what he felt until he can tell you what he might have needed, you talk about every detail Bucky wants to share with you. So, with his help of what he could have needed in such a moment you can try different things out until you both are happy with the result.

“You have to stay calm. I’m not gonna hurt you, but I need to cover your ears. It might be a bit of pressure but then the noises will be quieter,” you explain before you bring his hands to your hips, placing them there for him to ground himself before you reach up to cover his ears softly.

Bucky flinches, his fingers digging almost painfully into your hips as he stares at you with widened, fear filled eyes. Your thumbs stroke softly along his cheeks, still covering his ears as you feel him relaxing softly into your embrace.

Bucky’s breath slows down, the noises are quieter. Once again — like so many times before — your hand reached out for him when he was drowning. It’s your hands that take a tight hold on him, making sure he can’t drown in the darkness.

You move your hands down his cheeks, wiping away a few streaks of tears before you settle your hands around his neck.

“I-I’m sorry…” he mumbles, leaning his head against yours. Bucky takes a shaky breath, way more steady than before but still on edge with his emotions. “I shouldn’t have gone shopping with you… it’s only… I’m only in your way.”

“You will never be in my way. I’m glad you came to the shop with me,” you mutter, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. “I don’t like you suffering like that, Buck. But you went out with me, you should be proud.”

“Are you proud?”

“Of you?”

Bucky nods softly. His blue eyes flickering to yours, uncertainty written all over his face. How can he possibly be proud of himself when he just had a panic attack where he needed your help to calm down?

“More than anything,” you say with such a softness and honesty that Bucky feels like he’s melting in your arms. He nods, sighing softly. “I’m really proud of you, Buck. You’re so much stronger than you think. You went to hell and back, and yet, you’re still so lovely and caring about the people you love.”

Bucky smiles softly, a soft pink creeping onto his cheeks as he tries to hide his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t say that…”

“Because you know it’s true?”

“No… because it makes me blush,” he whines playfully. Bucky leans back a bit, his ocean blue orbs flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes. Within another second his warm, plump lips press against yours, pouring all his love and adoration into the kiss.

@armystay89 @rogersbarber @firelilyfox

[mariasont]

dangerous currents

sharing a wall with hotch means resorting to a midnight swim, you weren't expecting him to join you

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: fem!reader, midnight swim, reader alluding to some naughty thoughts, hotch accidentally grabs readers ass prompt: here wc: 1.2k

Honestly, you don’t recall consciously deciding to go swimming. One minute you’re wrestling with sheets that somehow manage to be both itchy and disappointingly thin, trapped in the endless loop of your overly chatty brain, and the next you’re thigh-deep in moonlit waves, saltwater lapping around you like a peace offering for your misery.

If you’re being brutally honest (and lately, brutal honesty seems to be your new best friend), your insomnia might have something, just a smidge, to do with Hotch lying just inches away, separated by drywall and what might as well be actual paper for insulation.

Your hearing has leveled up overnight, picking up every breath, every toss and turn from his side. 

It feels wrong, intrusive even, but also exhilaratingly intimate.

Which explains why, at two in the morning, you’re out here, counting on saltwater to settle your overactive mind and extinguish the stubborn heat flooding your face.

You’re mid-float when your instincts snap you upright, adrenaline spiking so fast you almost inhale a lungful of ocean.

There’s a shadow on the shoreline.

But then it steps forward, moonlight carving out the unmistakable angles of a handsome face that sends your stomach tumbling into your feet for a different but no less stressful reason.

Hotch.

You could laugh or cry, but instead, you quietly make your way towards the shore, waves breaking around your ankles.

“You scared me half to death,” you mumble, hugging your arms around your chilled body and feeling every bit like a reckless kid who’s just disappointed the one person she desperately wanted to impress.

“Do you know how unsafe it is to swim alone at night?” His lips press into a straight line. “Anything could’ve happened, and none of us would have any idea.”

“Sorry,” you exhale, sincerity tangled up with humiliation as your gaze flickers upward through wet lashes. 

You mean it. Of course you do — he looks worried, and that worry always seems worse when it’s aimed directly at you.

Hotch studies you for a second, then asks, “Do you plan on coming inside anytime soon?”

Going inside would be simpler. Easier. You could neatly sidestep this entire messy situation.

But the moment you close the door behind you, it’s back to square one — too quiet, too dark, thoughts screaming at you in surround sound.

A single creak of his bed, and suddenly you’re in dangerous territory. What if he sleeps shirtless? Or in boxers? What if that sound he just made is the result of an indecent dream?

And then, somehow, you are the indecent one, palms tingling with a restless need that used to feel rare but lately shows up with frustrating frequency.

All because of him.

“I think I’ll stay out for a little longer,” you say, tossing a forced shrug. “The ocean hasn’t tried to kill me yet, so I figure we’re on decent terms.” 

Hotch arches a brow at that, clearly unamused. He glances at the ocean, then back to you, a silent calculation taking place behind dark eyes.

Then, without warning, he grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, folding it once before tossing it onto the sand.

“What are you doing?”

He gives you a faint, reckless half-smile. “Making a bad decision.”

You laugh, more out of shock than anything else.

He steps toward the water, shirtless, and suddenly every thought you’ve ever had vacates your head.

Sure, yesterday you’d seen him on the beach, but that was distant and crowded, shielded by sunglasses and casual team conversation. 

Here, now, it’s just you, him, and the unsparing glow of moonlight revealing every agonizing thing you absolutely shouldn't notice. Like the dark dusting of chest hair, the disciplined sculpt of muscle across his torso, the line of hair drawing your gaze lower, lower —

You swallow roughly, stepping deeper into the water to physically pull yourself out of danger, but your gaze betrays you once more, darting sideways in helpless fascination.

“How did you know I was out here?”

“You’re not exactly quiet.”

Your blood turns to ice, then instantly flares hot. How did it never occur to you that if you could practically track his breathing patterns, he could easily have heard your shifting, your whispered curses, or worse, that one barely suppressed sigh when your imagination got carried away earlier.

“I guess not,” you mutter, “I didn’t realize you were listening.”

His laugh is quiet but genuine, and you’re surprised to find yourself smiling in return. How bizarre yet wonderful it is to witness the softer version of Hotch, miles away from the person he has to be at Quantico. You suddenly want very much to keep him like this.

“Funny,” he murmurs, “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

Your face instantly burns, and you’re suddenly extremely grateful for the darkness, although knowing your luck, that probably isn’t really doing you any favors. You force a shaky laugh, pretending you didn’t just hear the tease in his voice, or at least pretending it didn’t affect you.

“You really didn’t have to come out here,” you say, eyes fixed stubbornly on the horizon past his shoulders. “I would’ve been fine, you know.”

The water rises around your collarbones, licking under your chin with every small movement. Hotch stands barely submerged past his chest. Even nature is unreasonably biased toward him.

You dig your toes deeper into the sand, resisting the tide and the impulse that keeps nudging you closer to him.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t drown.” 

You open your mouth — to protest, maybe flirt (wishful thinking, obviously), or perhaps just awkwardly deflect — but before you can embarrass yourself further, a sudden wave crashes forward, knocking you straight into him.

Hotch barely budges, absorbing most of your momentum, but your hands land catastrophically. One lands safely on his chest, but the other falls disproportionately lower, fingers splayed over the enticing line of hair disappearing beneath his waistband. 

Simultaneously, his own hand catches your hip, then slides, firm and unintentional, on your ass.

Both of you freeze. 

“Sorry — I — um, the wave.” As if that clarifies anything at all.

Beneath your hand, his stomach tenses, his chest lifting with increasingly rapid breaths.

Still, Hotch doesn’t move, doesn't shift away. His palm stays exactly where it landed, warm, and surely, he has to know exactly what he’s doing. He has to.

“You’re freezing.”

“I —,” you start but whatever you meant to say disappears before it finishes forming. 

He slowly, almost reluctantly lifts his hand from you. Your skin sparks at the loss, hypersensitive where he just was.

When you meet his eyes again, something new flickers there — something you’re certain wasn’t present before tonight. 

Want.

It’s a look he’s taught you to recognize — eyes darkening, pupils dilating, respiration just a bit quicker. Except this isn’t an interrogation room, and the person in front of you is not a suspect, he’s Hotch.

And this want feels very, very personal.

But he only nods once, then glances toward the beach house.

“We should get out of the water.” 

You don’t want to get out. Every part of you rebels at the idea of leaving this bubble. This fragile space that’s somehow made everything else feel distant, unreal.

But you can’t deny the truth in what he doesn't say. If this boundary were broken tonight, there’s no going back, no returning to the careful neutrality you’ve both perfected.

So, you nod slowly, forcing acceptance as your heart protests.

He moves first, and you fall into step beside him, close enough that your shadows merge.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

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[inkykeiji]

you can always take more than nothing

character: bonten!mikey x fem!reader

genre: smut

notes: here’s my halloween piece, only half a month late! still, i hope you can enjoy it! as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title cred: alice in wonderland

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, public sex/exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, size difference, biting/marking, blood, minimal prep, rough sex, teasing, begging, dacryphilia, humiliation, a lil bit of degradation, drugs, toxic relationship

words: 8.6k

synopsis:

Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try. He’s the motherfucking Boss. And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always. 

The music is loud, so loud the walls seem to be breathing with it, bleeding with it, flashes of neon pouring over the frosted mosaics of glass and marble. 

A party, thinly veiled as a corporate event. 

There are people everywhere, scattered across every surface, crystal glasses filled with expensive liqour and cocktail concoctions glittering in their palms. You barely know any of them. 

They’re all supposed business partners, allies and associates, ‘friends’ of your Daddy. Not that it matters all that much to you; they aren’t allowed to say a word to you anyway. 

Your eyes scan the expanse of the club, on the hunt for a familiar face. Takeomi is in the corner, obnoxiously blowing smoke into some of the higher end girls’ faces. He’s really taking his role of The Caterpillar earnestly. 

Good. You told him it suited him.

At your request (AKA at Mikey’s demand), the top members of Bonten have dressed up as Alice in Wonderland characters, donning an impressive group costume. You’ve been taking the whole thing pretty seriously—beginning your extensive planning in August, drafting up designs and taking everyone’s precise measurements to have each outfit custom made to their exact frames—which means the rest of Bonten has been taking the whole thing pretty seriously, too. 

Not that any of them mind. 

What Mikey’s little angel wants, Mikey’s little angel gets. It’s standard protocol, really; you’re merely an extension of the Boss and thus must be treated as an extension of the Boss, and Mikey’s best men have no issues complying. 

Sighing, you rest your chin in your palms, sombreness souring your features. An ache, dull and dense, settles in the pit of your chest. It’s a desolate sort of longing, a gentle but constant gnawing that cannot be sated by anyone or anything other than it’s creator, something that weights your lungs and heavies your heart and stalls your breath, a vital part missing.

You miss Mikey.

You miss Mikey, but you know this ‘event’ really does have some sort of business significance; that, while it’s mostly an excuse to get drunk and high on Halloween night, it also serves as the grounds for some sort of meeting or negotiation or proposition—you can never be sure which, with Bonten. 

You aren’t allowed to know. You’re lucky to be here at all.

But you miss Mikey.

You shouldn’t be selfish. You know you shouldn’t be selfish; he’s already stretched so thin between so many obligations and obituaries, and you shouldn’t add to that strain. You won’t add to that strain. You’ll sit here, pretty and perfect like his precious little princess should be, and you’ll wait, patiently, until Daddy has a moment to spare you. 

He always finds a moment to spare, no matter how many duties and commitments he has. He always finds a space for you in his day, even if he has to carve it out with his bare hands.

So you mustn’t be greedy. You will be good. For him, you’ll do anything, no matter how difficult. 

“No frowning, miss Alice,” Sanzu chastises through a stretched grin, wide and carved into his cheeks—a smile so sharp, so sinister it puts the true Cheshire Cat to disgrace. 

He swims into your vision, teeth glinting with teals and fuchsias, an intricately wrapped box in his palms. Tugging on the ribbon a little, he unboxes it to reveal a wealth of small confections, individually wrapped in colourful foils.  

“Look, your favourite kitty brought you some chocolate.”

That brightens your mood a little—a sugar fiend, just like your Daddy is—and your mouth drops open expectantly, cute tongue unfurling in invitation. 

Sanzu rolls his eyes but places a truffle on your tongue anyway, pressing it down on the slick muscle and forcing your lips to close around his first knuckle to suck the treat free from him, laughing at the way your face twists.

Pervert. 

His nails taste like blood—not that you’ve come to expect any less—but the rusty copper is quickly eradicated by sugar, a content little hum vibrating around the melting chocolate.

“Good, huh?” Sanzu asks around his own chocolate, shuffling a gold box of expensive Italian truffles in his palm as he picks through them, confections jumping perilously with the motion, shimmering wrappers catching in the flashing neon strobes. “They’re imported.”

“Where’d you get those?” you ask through strings of caramel and cocoa, welding to your molars. 

“A little Halloween treat courtesy of Mikey,” he says dutifully, jostling the box in emphasis. “And an apology, for taking longer than expected.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest, swelling with your heart and stretching your ribs. The last few remnants of displeasure fade from your face, giving way to a small smile.

How very Mikey of him, to send his second in command armed with artisan chocolates and a short, sweet explanation; something he knew would make you smile, something he knew would alleviate some of your impatience, a reassurance that he misses you too, that he’ll be back soon, that he’s thinking of you. 

“There’s our pretty girl,” Sanzu teases, but his own grin has softened a little, the glint in his eyes dulled to a twinkle. “No more pouting, ‘kay? Your trusty Cheshire Cat will be by your side until your Hatter returns.”

Ah. A polite way of saying that you’re stuck with him until Mikey’s finished his work, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

That takes longer than either of you expect, though, Sanzu’s plan of entertaining you by leading you, hand-in-hand, around the club to assess each Bonten member’s costume not nearly as lengthy as he had anticipated. 

Because it only takes a mere twenty minutes or so to examine all of them, with you near instantaneously deciding that the Haitanis have won the make-believe costume contest you and Sanzu had been holding between yourselves. 

Sanzu had agreed—everyone looks impeccable in their custom-made costumes, tailored specifically to them at your behest, but no one had any hope of eclipsing the Haitanis in their form-fitted pinstriped suits, each stitch and thread molded flawlessly to their frames, perfectly pressed collars embroidered with Dee and Dum in shimmery purple thread, powder blue bowties immaculately symmetrical around their tattooed necks. 

Now you’re back at the bar, Sanzu’s shaky fingers sifting through the box of truffles as he searches for something, anything, to distract him from the way the blood in his veins is beginning to dry up, the way his capillaries are withering, brittle and thirsty, the way his skin is beginning to itch.

Because he can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Not yet, anyway.

No narcotics when he’s chaperoning you; that’s a hard rule. That’s a rule that’s been sewn into the tissues of his brain so tightly it’s interwoven with his synapses. That’s an execution rule; a one time only rule—breaking that rule will get him fucking killed. 

But you’re both starting to become a little bit restless. 

“Come on,” you’re begging, word dragged across your tongue in a petulant whine. “Just one more chocolate?”

“I said no,” Sanzu snaps, eyes hard. “Mikey said three. Mikey’s the Boss. Whatever Mikey says goes; Mikey’s girl, Mikey’s rules!” 

“You’re no fun,” you huff, forehead scrunching with a pout. 

“Yeah, and that’s why he sticks me with you,” Sanzu says, though he sounds almost proud, as if it’s an honour to babysit you, a title of high esteem. “Because I can resist your tricks.”

“My charms,” you correct.

“Whatever,” he waves a hand. “It’s all semantics. Point is, I know how to say no to you, unlike a few certain someones.” 

Unimpressed ice blue eyes sweep across the venue, hovering pointedly on the faces of his colleagues—Kakucho, the Dormouse; Kokonoi, the White Rabbit; Rindou, Tweedle-Dum.

Your eyes follow his, and you smirk to yourself. Kakucho is the easiest out of those three; Kokonoi sometimes deceives you, allowing you to do as you please only to tattle to Mikey later, and Rindou always demands some sort of payment, claiming it’s only fair that you give him something he wants in return. 

Turning back, you’re about to respond, something bratty and bitter simmering on your tongue, when a pair of hands and a smooth voice cuts you off. 

You’d know that touch, that tone, anywhere.

“Pray, tell me, Miss Alice,” Mikey murmurs in your ear as he slinks up behind you, palms curling around your hips and pulling you back toward his chest. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Because it can produce a few notes,” you answer dutifully, head tipping back against his shoulder to glance at him through the corner of your eye. “Though they are very flat.”

“Correct,” he responds. “My, what a smart little girl you are.”

It’s soaked in condescension, compliment drawled out through a supercilious smirk, breath wafting across your face sweltering and saccharine. 

“Do I get a reward, Mister Hatter?” you ask, sweeter than sugarcane, batting eyelashes framing hopeful, dewy eyes. 

A hum vibrates on his tongue, onyx gaze apathetic and appraising as it glides across your features slowly, thoroughly, pulling each of your thoughts apart and putting them back together again. 

Your head rolls to the side, over his protruding collarbone, to stare at him more resolutely. And God, it’s the way you’re looking up at him, eyes glazed with dedication, with devoutness, like you want to fucking devour him. 

Like you want him to devour you. 

Hips pushing back, you rub your ass into his cock in inconspicuous little motions, lashes fluttering a little, back arched in a perfect curve and tits on full display. 

From this angle, there’s no way he can’t see right down your dress; there’s no way he can’t see the red lace of your bra straining against supple skin as your chest rises and falls with gentle breaths, no way he doesn’t notice the very tips of your nipples, cheekily peeking out from beneath the delicate material with each swell of your breasts. 

Bony fingers flex on your waist, and he huffs out a smirk.

His ebony pupils are enormous, blown wide and gaping, gnawing away at the whites of his eyes. 

He’s high. 

It’s evident in the milky film of artificial ecstasy lacquering his gaze, doped up and hazy, but it does nothing to dilute the potent love he has for you, melting his stare to something soft and sticky, pouring past his lashes.

He’s feeling good tonight.

“I think I know what my little girl wants,” one hand flattens against your stomach, holding you flush to his body as the other slides up your ribs to cup your breast, filling his palm with it and kneading, slow and deliberate, simply enjoying the feeling of you. “And it is very naughty of her.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm,” he hums, head drooping to nose along the curve of your neck. “Really.”

His lips brush along your skin as he speaks, his voice barely more than a gentle vibration along the column of your throat, and you whimper a little, fingers curling around his wrist and pressing him closer.

“A-And what’s that?”

“Aw, can’t you guess?” he tuts his tongue. “And I thought you were smart. Must’ve been mistaken. Where’s my smart little girl gone now?”

Grip firm on your waist, his hips rut forward, hard cock prodding at you through the layers of tulle. A discontented little sound vibrates in your throat as you squirm a little—and oh, he knows what you’re whining about, greedy girl, knows that you can barely feel his cock through the thick petticoat, knows you want more—and he presses his hips further forward, grinding harder into your ass.

“Daddy—Da-Daddy, it’s—” 

“What?” he shoves again, stronger this time, teeth nipping at the skin below your ear. “Hm?”

“Your cock is hard,” you nearly whine, pushing back against him in a pitiful little wiggle, desperate for more friction. 

“And who’s fault is that, huh?” 

The hand massaging your breast gives a final squeeze before his fingers find your nipple, pinching it through the material of your dress and bra, then rubbing the heel of his thumb over it in hard, rhythmic motions. 

“Is your pussy wet?” he huffs the question into your ear, his hot breath procuring shivers. “I bet it is, naughty girl. Daddy wants to feel it.”

“Please, please,” your hips buck a little, punctuating your pleads, chest pressing into his touch.

“Please? Please what?”

“Touch me, Daddy, touch me, touch me.”

Slender hands slip beneath the puffy layers of lace, calloused fingertips rough as they skim up your smooth thighs, outlining the silk ruffles of the bloomers he bought you specifically for this costume. 

Your hips twitch slightly, legs spreading instinctively as his fingers trail along the scrunched hem to the apex of your thighs, pressing two into the rapidly dampening material. Pensively, they caress your slit through the material, prodding your hole just a little before rubbing two slow, hard circles into your clit.

“Christ,” he breathes out, curse splintering at the end. “You’re so fucking wet baby, and I’ve barely done anything yet.”

His palm flattens against you, all four fingers dipping into your core nearly to the first knuckle and then curling, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit, and your pelvis cants reflexively, almost as if you’re attempting to draw his fingertips further in. 

“How are you this wet already, huh?” he keens, voice straining beneath his own desire. “Been thinking naughty thoughts?”

“Jus’want your cock,” you slur out honestly, hips gyrating in pathetic little circles, an embarrassing attempt to follow his touch. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s all it takes, eh?” he rolls your clit between his thumb and his forefinger, nonchalantly toying with it as he mulls. “Just my cock?” 

“Uh-huh,” you nod blearily. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

“Cute,” Mikey spits, the compliment sheathed in venom, “how utterly stupid just the thought of my cock makes you.” 

His fingers clamp down on the swollen nub and tug, your whole body jolting with the pain, a yelp hitching in your chest. 

The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in response, holding you close, holding you still as he humps away at you, sloppy and uneven.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, fingers tweaking your clit in rhythmic motions, sparks of pleasure chased by shocks of pain. “You’re so fucking easy for your Daddy, aren’t you? So quick to get soaked for him, so quick to get ready for him, such a good little slut for him, yeah?” 

His voice is gravelly, letters wispy around the edges despite fact that he’s nearly shouting over music. Another rush of heat surges between your thighs, and he laughs, dark and dangerous. 

Your clit throbs in his touch, the silk of your panties drenched all the way through, aiding his fingers in their slippery motions—several small, fast S gestures, followed by a few firm strokes of your slit, fingertips gliding over your folds with ease. You’re so soaked, whole cunt now outlined by the shimmery material, molding to your folds and enabling him to feel every dip, every bump, every crevice, another chuckle dripping from his lips as your little hole clenches around nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, thighs squeezing together tightly as you attempt to fuck his fingers. “Daddy, I—I can’t—I need—” 

“Shh,” he hushes you, lips caressing the curve of your ear. “I know, baby. Daddy knows what you need.” 

A palm wraps around your wrist as Mikey mutters something about going somewhere a little more private, pulling you along behind him and leading you toward those purple velvet VIP couches, empty and roped off in a darkened corner. 

“What are we—” you begin as Mikey collapses heavily on the couch, knees spread wide open, hips shifting up slightly as he forces his feet even further apart, getting comfortable. 

C’mere, his lips mime, voice drowning in heavy bass, his chin jutting in the general direction of his straining cock, yearning against pin-striped pants. 

Strong hands curl around your hips and yank you backward, the abrupt motion punching a sound of surprise from your chest as you tumble into his lap, spine pressed tight to his sternum. 

The hinges of his jaw hook over your shoulder, a crude way of keeping you from squirming as he manhandles you into straddling his thighs, hard cock pressing into your core. 

“Holy fuck,” he pants out, the curse damp against your skin. “You’re so wet I can feel you leaking through my pants.”

“Daddy,” you say, and although it’s meant to be a warning, it comes out as a whine, stringy and petulant.  

Because it already feels so good, and he’s already so hard, and you just can’t help but rock your hips back, slow and firm, whimpering a bit as the head of his cock glides over your clit, teasing as the slick, swollen little nub jumps beneath the dull pressure. 

He laughs a little, nothing more than a deep, dark rumbling within his ribs, reverberating against your back.

“You’re so fucking nasty, baby,” he chides lowly, though you can hear the self-satisfied smirk sewn into his voice, tinged with sadism, as he rolls his hips up twice, grinding his cock into your drenched core. “You’re so fucking needy, baby, trying to get yourself off in the middle of this crowded club.”

You are, you are, another little sound escaping your lips as you rut back against him, already beginning to speed up, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit in quick little strokes.

“It’s really precious, y’know, how pathetically eager you are for me,” he murmurs, notes of fondness negating the sting the insult should bring, words gone melty and sweet. “But you gotta stop humping Daddy for a moment, so he can get his cock out and give you what you really want.” 

A disgruntled little whine sounds in your throat, motions stuttering a little as you attempt to stop moving. But it all feels so incredible, greedily unable to quell your hips completely as they rotate in messy little circles, tummy starting to ripple with each graze of his blunt head against your clit.

“Hey,” he warns, sharp and stern, a palm colliding with your bare thigh and leaving a burning handprint seared in its wake, the impact of the slap loud enough to draw a few pairs of eyes. “Don’t get bratty with me, or you won’t get anything at all, you understand?”

Your head’s nodding before the words are even finished leaving his lips—yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy, brats don’t deserve to be filled by Daddy’s cock—desperate to be good for him, to be the best for him.

Because you know he isn’t fucking around; Mikey’s threats are never empty threats, each and every word plucked from his brain with superlative care, heavy and infused with meaning.

It’s terrifying and tantilizing, how easily and instantly he can switch from one mode to the other: from playful to imposing, from Daddy to Leader, a pleasant shiver skittering up your spine, your hole clenching and pulsing as your stomach plummets, gut weighted with a tingling pressure.

It’s a bit of a task, freeing his cock and manoeuvring yourself as you try to inconspicuously sink down on it, but you both manage, your fluffy petticoat of crinoline and tulle providing a decent amount of privacy. 

A hiss slips through the gaps of your gritted teeth as it begins to tear you in two, cute little hole stinging as it strains around his cock, struggling to accommodate his girth, delicate skin splitting itself open for him. 

“That’s it, that’s it,” he breathes lowly, voice vibrating against your ear. “There you go, good girl.” 

An airy little moan spills from your lips as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug to your cervix, and you melt back into him, skull knocking against his shoulder, eyes slipped shut. 

“Feel better, princess?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble out dreamily. “S’good, S’right.”

“It feels right, huh?” he chuckles a little, thumbs rubbing fond circles into your hips, his hands all the way up your skirt, slipped beneath the frills and fluff, forearms buried in your dress. “You like it when Daddy fills you up?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Stretches me out real good, makes me feel all stuffed ‘n full.” 

Whole, complete, one. Like everything feels as it’s supposed to again.

And it hurts, because it always hurts, because he’s too thick and you’re never prepped enough, never patient enough, core split open on his cock and little hole aching as it attempts to adjust to him, but it’s so fucking perfect, too. Your cunt spasms around him, hips twitching a little in desperation—like you’re trying to suck him in further, like you’re trying to bury him deeper—and he groans, fingers flexing as he holds you still, nails gorging on your flesh.

“Eager, are we?” 

“S’not my fault,” you mewl, back arching a little as you attempt to push your hips back, squirming a bit in his strong grip. “Need you, Daddy.”

“Is that so?”

Grasp tightening, his hips thrust up, grinding the head of his cock into your cervix in slow, hard motions—back and forth, back and forth, inspiring a dull pang throbbing in your gut. 

Gasping sharply, your hips jerk back in response, automatic and instinctual, pulling a hoarse groan from his chest. 

His clutch turns to near bone crushing, a fractured little cry sticking in your throat, and he forces you to hold still for a moment, muscles in his thighs gone rigid and stiff as his hips press up further and tug you down, frozen, revelling in the way your cunt pulses around him, as if it’s whining for him.

“M-Mikey,” you echo its sentiments, his name a sulky plead on your tongue, brows knit together and lips jutted in a pout. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“You know,” you huff out, wriggling a little in his palms, feebly trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Tell me anyway,” he demands.  

Scalding embarrassment pricks your cheeks and you whimper, fidgeting in his grasp again, head shaking in defiance.

“Come on,” he chides, but there are notes of amusement infusing his tone. “Daddy can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask for it.” 

Sharp teeth sink into your shoulder suddenly, your half-formed response strangled by a gasp, Mikey’s jaw tensing as he burrows his teeth further into your flesh, piercing through tissues and snapping capillaries until copper explodes in his mouth. 

He holds it for a moment, all thirty-two of his teeth latched in your skin, ensuring he leaves a full, detailed outline of his mouth etched into you—a signature of sorts—before his tongue flattens against the wound, dragging over it in a single wide lick and sealing it with blood-tinged saliva. A gentle exhale wafts over the bite, cool against the searing pain, and you shudder, chills erupting across your flesh.

“You’re a big girl,” he coaxes over your whimpering, the encouragement steeped in condescension. “I know you can do it. Use your big girl words and tell Daddy what you want.”

Your eyes squeeze shut against the burn of humiliation, lids crinkling at the corners, the softest hiccup catching in your throat, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. 

“I—I wanna ride your cock, Daddy,” you push the stubborn words from your tongue, trembling and breathy.

“Yeah?” he asks, bloodied tongue tracing along the shell of your ear. “How bad?”

“So bad,” you bleat out, striving to bounce on his cock under the firm restraint of his hands, dewdrops of annoyance clinging to your lashes, glittering in the beams of magenta and teal as you blink rapidly.

“Hm,” he muses to himself, nonchalant as he readjusts his grip, hands constringing, completely halting your pathetic little movements. “It doesn’t seem like you want it all that badly.”

“Daddy,” the word leaves your lips in a whine, scrunched and petulant through your pout, body thrashing beneath his strong grip. “Come on—” 

“Are you sure you wanna be such a naughty little whore in front of all of these people?”

Your body stops its writhing, his words like a slap to the face.

It’s a bit of a shock, to hear it spoken aloud so bluntly, cut and dry and honest, and it sends a torrent of sparks fizzing through your chest to collect dense and tight in your tummy. 

Shame and revulsion sets your skin aflame, the cinders in your gut flaring in response, an intoxicating combination. 

“Yes—”

“Huh? What was that?” he shouts theatrically in your ear. “I couldn’t really hear you over the music.”

“Y-Yes,” you repeat, trying to steady your hiccuping voice, to be stern and resolute, even as tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

“Really?” he breathes, and he sounds astonished, he sounds appalled. “You’re so fucking sleazy, baby. I wonder what all these people would think, if they knew how truly filthy my little girl is...”

“Manjirou,” you weep out his birth name, whole face saturated in frustration.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he chuckles out the word, and it’s vicious. “Graduated to using my full name, now, have you?” he licks at the steadily oozing bite, mopping up more blood with his tongue. “Christ, you do really want it.” 

“I do!” you cry out, struggling against his grasp again, hips bucking in wild, erratic motions. “I do, I do, please, let me ride your cock, please.” 

“What if I made you sit, still and straight like the good little girl I know you want to be, on my hard cock for the rest of the night? Do you think you’d be able to handle it?”

You know he won’t, know he’d never be able to, because he’s just as addicted to you as you are to him, just as desperate, just as eager, just as needy; because even as he holds you motionless, he can’t quite halt the delicate jerk of his hips, rolling up into your core; because you know he wants this just as badly as you do, gets off on the depravity just as much as you do.

Even so, the mere thought of being teased like this, of being forced to hold such a degrading position, is still enough to inspire a rush of agitated tears to flood your eyes, vision gone bleary with despairing desire and rendering the club a bleary haze of glowing neons. 

“No, Daddy, no, I—I just want to ride you, please, Daddy, I c-can’t—” 

You’re nearly wailing now, head thrown back dramatically as your neck twists into an uncomfortable knot, anguished as you try to bury your face in his throat, looking for solace. Your chest stutters as you stammer out half-finished pleads, gone garbled with spit, and Mikey smiles.

You’re starting to cause a scene. 

It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Okay, baby, okay, okay,” he’s pacifying as he feels hot tears soak into his neck, a choked sob catching painfully in your chest. “Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”  

And finally, finally his grasp loosens, stiff fingers gone lax, massaging lopsided circles into the rapidly developing bruises left in the shape of their prints. 

“Go ahead, angel,” he urges, nuzzling into the junction of your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the congealing bite. “Ride Daddy’s cock.” 

Then he’s slumping back, settling into the couch cushions and spreading his thighs a little wider, pressing the soles of his boots into the waxed floor for stability and leverage. 

His hands stay on your waist, a gentle guidance, but he allows you to set the pace—a rare occurrence—patient as your hips work up a steady rhythm of quick, shallow gyrations, each swivel dragging his cock against your favourite spot.

And God, you’re so cute when you use his cock to make yourself feel good. It’s a shame that he can’t see your face in this position, can’t see the way your lashes flutter and frame the rolling whites of your eyes or the way your features scrunch so delicately; a shame he can’t hear your gorgeous noises, all your sweet little gasps and pitiful little whines consumed by the blaring music. 

But he can see how your back is bowing, spine forced into a near perfect arc by your building pleasure, bending just a hint more with each brush of his cock; he can feel your palms clutching his knees, nails digging little crescents into his shins and using them for support as your movements accelerate, as you fuck yourself harder, faster, better.

And he lets you have your fun for a little, lays back all languid and lazy and watches through lidded eyes as you play with yourself and use his cock like it’s your favourite toy—because, well, it is—but eventually it just isn’t enough and you need Daddy’s help. 

Just like he knew it wouldn’t be. Just like you always do.

Not that he minds one bit.

Yes, it isn’t enough, because it never is, because you can never manage anything more than teasing yourself when left entirely to your own devices, spritzing kerosene on the dull smouldering in the pit of your stomach as the head of his cock brushes up against that engorged spot inside of you, not nearly hard enough or fast enough to have you anywhere close to creaming on him, merely enough to have your clit throbbing, swollen and neglected. 

He knows you’re beginning to get restless when your hips turn sloppy, tempo starting to falter as your motions stutter, and then you’re looking over your shoulder at him with a beseeching pout, glazed eyes begging him to do something!

So he does. 

He’s straightening up in a split second, hands around your waist tightening as he yanks you back toward his chest, chin hooking over your clavicle again and grinding the sharp bone into your skin.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, mocking and mean. “Can’t even get herself off without her Daddy’s help.” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you wail over the roar of EDM, head shaking in accentuation. “Need you, need you to do it for me.”

“Of course you do, angel,” he says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s common knowledge. “But that’s okay—Daddy will make it feel good.” 

That’s the only warning you’re given before his hips are ramming up, rapid and rough and downright ruthless, the abrupt motion slamming a high-pitched yelp from your throat, so pure and genuine and full of lust that it rises above the music, breaks through the heavy bass beat, gathering a handful of glances from a few nearby party-goers. 

So much for being inconspicuous. 

You should’ve known that that just isn’t Mikey’s style. 

They lose interest just as quickly as they gained it, though, going back to their drinks and their drugs, unconcerned. What the Boss does at his own club is none of their business, even if it is on display for the whole venue to see. 

Still, it’s enough for Mikey.   

“Everyone can see you, you know,” voracious black eyes scan the balcony space. “Everyone can see you being such a good little whore for your Daddy.” 

The thought of being watched, of being caught, inspires a whole flock of butterflies to flit around in your tummy, another surge of heat gushing between your thighs, and Mikey laughs. Oh, he felt that. 

Because he’s right; if anyone dared to look a little closer, a little longer, cared to paid a smidge of more attention to the two of you, hidden on one of the velvet couches wedged in the corner of the VIP section with your hips rocking and Mikey’s hands buried in the lace and tulle of your skirt, they’d know exactly what the two of you are doing.

But it doesn’t matter; you don’t care. Neither does he. Why should either of you?

“Do you—Do you think they like it?” you question, and Christ, it’s so precious, that pathetic hope ringing high and clear in your voice. “Do you think they like watching me bounce on their Boss’s cock?”

“Fuck,” the curse fragments in his throat, sharp and pitchy, and he coughs on the shards. “I know they do, sweetheart.”

“Do you think they’re g-gonna go home and touch themselves to the thought of me—of us?”

“Aw,” Mikey coos out in a chuckle, breathless and condescending. “It’s cute that you think they aren’t already jerking off to you on a regular basis.”

Of course they are, you silly little stupid thing; how could they not be? With all the sweet, short little dresses he buys you to prance and twirl around in—the ones with the sweetheart necklines that dip just a hint too low, teasing the swell of your breasts with each of your gentle inhales; the ones with the rippling hems that end just a touch too high, swishing and swaying and flashing with each of your movements, riding up and fanning out to gift them with teasing little glimpses of the lace and satin underneath. 

“You think I don’t know what my—ah, Christ—what my men think of you? How my men think of you?” He tongues a little at the bite, using his front teeth to scrape off a few half-formed scabs, blood rushing to pool in their place. “You think I don’t see the way they look at you?” 

A whine stammers in your throat, your back arching a little more as your cunt quivers around his cock, that drove of butterflies sending your stomach swooping, the organ tensing, tying itself into thick knots pulled tight and taut with each plunge of his cock. 

Mikey laughs again, the sound nothing more than a deep, dense vibration rumbling within his ribs, seeping into your back and sending tingles up your spine. 

“Would you like to see the way they look at you?” 

“H-Huh?” 

Oh, how adorably fucked out you already are, mind gone dumb and numb to everything but him, but his voice and his touch and his steadily driving cock; oh, how adorably easy it is to make you this fucking idiotic. 

“Look over there,” he presses his cheek into yours, forcing your head to turn and follow his gaze. 

Across the club, Rindou sits with an elbow resting on the edge of the bar, a glass dangling from his fingertips. His eyes are cavernous, carnivorous, a smirk smearing across his face as your stare meets his, heavy lids framing a leering look. 

Using a shoulder, he nudges his brother’s stomach, jutting his chin toward you and his Boss in indication when Ran looks down in question, redirecting his attention. 

Now they’re both watching you, with doped up violet eyes and identical sleazy smiles, toothless and worming.

It makes you want to scrub and scratch at your skin, their gazes painting you in a thick coat of grime, body soiled by their lust and left feeling dirty, feeling gross, a strong shiver crawling across your flesh.

Your head jerks reflexively, desperate to hide from their lechery, skull knocking against Mikey’s hard enough to send thorns of pain searing through your temple. 

A yelp cracks in your throat, and Mikey snorts, seemingly unfazed. 

“Aw,” Mikey tuts in false admonishment. “Don’t get shy now. Look at them. Look at them while you ride my cock.”

“M-Mikey—” your eyes shut tightly, a pitiful attempt to escape their invasive eyes, head shaking in little judders.

“C’mon,” he goads, forcing you to face their stare. “You want them all to see, right? How good my little girl is? How pretty my little girl is?”

Peeking through your lashes, you squint at the Haitanis, features teetering on the verge of a wince, as if you’re expecting them to physically strike you. 

They’re still looking at you, wide and unblinking, speaking out of the side of their mouths in laughs and murmurs to one another. 

Dressed in matching pin-striped suits and thick suspenders, Rindou has discarded his jacket, shirtsleeves rolled haphazardly up his forearms to his elbows, first few buttons of his shirt popped undone, revealing a defined collarbone. 

Predictably, Ran is still the perfect picture of poise and elegance, not a single hair out of place, suit jacket square on his shoulders and flawlessly tailored to his body, each stitch outlining his edges.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee respectively, and just as treacherous.

Whatever it is they’re saying to each other, they’re clearly enjoying themselves, amusement playing in glassy irises as Ran rests a hand around Rindou’s neck, slim fingers pressing into plush muscle. His younger brother instantly relaxes into his touch, mollifying back against his stomach and hooking an arm around his thigh, hugging it to his ribs. 

And it’s the way they’re looking at you, as if they’re peeling the clothes from your body and the skin from your bones and peering into the depths of your soul to dance with your demons and devour your secrets; as if they’re singeing your expression into their minds, the sight of your features saturated in perturbation and pleasure branded into the tissues of their brains, carved into the walls of their skulls, ensuring they’ll never forget.

Everything feels overexposed as they pry you apart bit by bit, heady mix of hedonism and humiliation hazing over your brain.

Mikey’s hips slow to a drag, thighs tensing and soles of his boots skidding across marble as he expertly angles his hips and presses up, rubbing the head of his cock over your g-spot in slow, controlled motions—back and forth, back and forth, over and over and over again. 

And the moan that claws at your throat is almost obnoxious, is definitely embarrassing, which means Mikey needs to fuck at least three more from your chest, grunting a little with the effort as his cockhead jabs against that plush spot, hard and precise.

A whine that sounds suspiciously like his title, tangled in spit and weighted with shame, spills from your lips, and you nestle your face against his own even as your hips jolt, desperate for comfort, desperate for cover.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he nuzzles your damp cheek. “I know you do. I can feel it.”

It’s true, he can—you’re sure he can, with the way your straining little hole keeps pulsing around his length, another stream of heat cascading down his shaft, viscous and wet and so, so much, to pool in the folds of his balls, to stain the waistband of his pants and the velvet of the couch.

But you know he likes it just as much as you do. 

Because you’re both so fucking naughty, so fucking nasty, but the depravity just works to heighten it all, makes it that much better, amplifying every touch and brush and tease and fondle and making it all feel so fucking good, even as Mikey’s pace eases into something unhurried, his thrusts turned languid but powerful.

So you join in, you rise to his challenge, a sick little game the two of you play, a sick little game you force others to participate in—because you’re fucking untouchable.

“Do you think their cocks are hard, Daddy?” you ask, the question dripping with syrup as you roll your hips backwards, slow and purposeful, returning the Haitanis’ smouldering stare through fanned lashes, unblinking and tenacious. 

“Ah, f-fuck,” Mikey’s cock jolts, rhythm stammering for a moment before he regains his composure. “Yeah, baby, I bet they’re wishing they were me right now.”

You bet they are, too, mouths stopped moving and gazes gleaming with want, lips parted with uneven exhales pushed from their heaving chests, entirely enchanted by your movements.

It’s the most affected and authentic you’ve ever seen them before, and it sends a thrill of power shooting through your body, blood left fizzing in its wake. 

One of them reaches into their pocket, groping around blindly for their phone, not daring to spare a second of their attention away from you, and Mikey snarls, nose scrunched in disgust and lip curled in a sneer, baring gritted teeth.

Because that’s too much, that’s crossing a line, and Mikey swiftly redirects your face, effectively hiding your expression from the Haitanis’ hungry eyes. 

Mikey’s always liked to show off. Mikey’s never liked to share.

He swaps shoulders quickly, the defined hinges of his jaw clasped firmly over your collarbone, and smushes his face flush to yours again, skin clammy with sweat. 

“And look over there,” he steers your gaze toward the other side of the club, where Kokonoi sits with a smattering of men surrounding a tall cocktail table, littered with crystal glasses and white lines. 

The men around the table are laughing about something, sloshing liquor and cutting powder into thick, fat stripes, but Kokonoi isn’t paying attention to any of it. 

No. Kokonoi is looking at you. 

His eyes snap away when they meet your own, head whipping forward with such speed and such force it’s a marvel he doesn’t instantly give himself whiplash. A deep laugh rumbles in Mikey’s throat in response, something dark, something decadent. 

“He’s gonna go home and touch himself to you, too,” he says. “He might not even make it before he goes home; might end up jerking his cock in a bathroom stall or the front seat of his car.” 

“How can you tell?” 

“Well, look at him,” Mikey snorts. “He’s so hard he’s about to burst outta his pants.”

Following the line of Kokonoi’s body, your gaze travels downward, to the straining lump in his white pants. His hips shift a little uncomfortably as his thighs tense, hands curled into fists on his knees as he steadily trains his stare forward at the wall opposite of him, throat bobbing with a thick swallow.

Mikey’s right—Koko’s about to burst.

The thought of Koko rushing to his car to collapse in the driver’s seat, head tipped back against the headrest and hand shoved down his pants as his palm rubs frantically at his hard cock, or hastening to the washroom to lock himself in a stall, forehead pressed tightly to the rickety door and panting out stuttered, half-stifled whimpers hotly against his upper lip as he hurriedly relieves the problem you’ve created, is almost too much to bear, stomach clenching in time with the throbbing of your cunt, a torrid pressure building and burning in your gut. 

The sudden acceleration of Mikey’s thrusts snaps you out of that tangle of thoughts, effectively drawing every ounce of your attention back to him.

A mewl pries past your lips, sharp and high and cracking at the end, whole spine arching as Mikey resumes his assault on your favourite spot, cockhead driving hard and fast against plush flesh. 

“They can look all they want, but you’re mine.” His fingers tighten, his grasp rigid and unbreakable, the words nothing more than a snarl spit in your ear, wet and harsh. “I won’t fuckin’ share.” 

“Never, never, never,” you babble in time with the bouncing on his lap, head nodding in sloppy motions with each repetition of the word. 

“Never,” he growls, teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder sloppily, excess spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he breaks the skin for the second time tonight and sucks hard, drawing blood from the string of tiny wounds.

It has another cry escaping your throat, whole face crinkling in a sordid mixture of pleasure and pain, head instinctually thrown back against your Daddy, automatically giving him more room to work. Drops of watered down blood drool down your back and Mikey takes a moment to admire them, mesmerised by the way they shimmer in the strobing lights of the club, before he licks at them with the tip of his tongue, leaving crude strokes of fresh spit in their wake.

Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try.

He’s the motherfucking Boss.

And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always. 

He’s really fucking you now, vicious and vigorous, your entire body juddering in his lap as his hips piston up, cockhead pounding against that sensitive mound of tissue buried deep within you. 

Each thrust shoves another shattered sound from your tongue, splintered moans of his name and his title pouring past your lips in a jagged stream. 

The knot your stomach has twisted itself into strains under the building pressure, growing heavier and heavier with each jackhammer into you, stretched taut and stiff and ready to snap. 

It’s all so much, the ogling eyes and the ramming of his cock and the tightening in your belly, every muscle in your body coiled and aching for the ecstasy that comes with release. Your breath mangles with the mewls shoved from your lips with every slam up, sticking to your throat and you cough, wheezing past the splinters.  It’s all too much, and—!

“M’gonna, m’gonna cum, Daddy!” you gasp, tears dotting the corners of your eyes, sparkling in spidery lashes.  

“Yeah, baby?” he breathes, voice dropping to a ragged rasp. “You gonna cream all over Daddy’s cock? Huh? Make a mess on my cock surrounded by all of Daddy’s closest and most esteemed colleagues?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you nearly sob out, palms curling over his wrists, nails clawing at the delicate skin, desperate for an anchor. 

“My dirty fucking girl,” he hisses out, sharp breath stinging your cheek. “Such a good—Ah—good little slut for me, aren’t you?” 

You can no longer respond, rendered stupid from the ardor, potent pleasure corroding your brain and gnawing through your synapses. It’s downright intoxicating, it’s fucking insatiable, it’s simultaneously immense and insufficient, way too much yet not nearly enough, because you need more, you need more, unintelligible pleads shattering on your tongue.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, baby, gush all over Daddy, make a pretty mess on his lap for him. Show everyone in this Goddamn club how gorgeous you look cumming for me.” 

And so you do, ever your Daddy’s best girl, body eager to obey its owner as your cunt convulses around him, copious amounts of slick cascading down his shaft to drench his thighs, sticky and sharp and so fucking sick as he continues to bounce you in his lap. 

The spasming of your cute little hole draws the sweetest whine from the back of his throat, panted out against the curve of your ear, and another bout of warmth rushes to the apex of your thighs, earning you a shuddered little curse, the exhale sweltering against your sweaty skin.

You sound so pretty right before you cum, Daddy. 

Three more pumps of his hips and he’s following, thrusts stuttering as he fucks up messily into you, cock throbbing almost violently and stuffing you to the brim with thick, hot cum. Strong hands hold you firmly in place, cockhead pressed flush to your cervix as he spills himself into you, as he forces you to take every fucking ounce of what he’s giving you. 

And you love it, you love it, you love it, you’re telling him, sentiments pouring from your mouth in a jumbled stream, singular and continuous until your lungs run out of air, voice cutting off with a squeak. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Mikey’s murmuring into your skin in response, lips leaving smears of sugary saliva just below your earlobe. 

He allows you to sit on him for a moment, chest heaving against your back with ragged breaths, sweaty forehead pressed tightly to your shoulder. Tilting your head, your rest your cheek on the back of his skull, eyes slipping shut as your own heart begins to calm, cunt still pulsating irregularly around his shaft, almost as if it’s attempting to squeeze a few more drops out of him, his cock acting as a crude plug, keeping most of his cum buried inside of you.

Finally, his head lifts, pressing a tender kiss to the blood-encrusted bite glittering on your shoulder. 

“Go get cleaned up in the washroom,” he mutters gently, pressing another string of kisses along your jaw. “Don’t wipe away any of Daddy’s cum; let it soak into your panties real nice and good, let them get really wet, and then snap a few pictures and send them to me. Can you do that for me, angel?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” you slur out, nodding in loose, liquid movements. 

“Good,” he pats your thigh twice. “Now, go.” 

A small noise of affirmation sounds in your throat, head still nodding as Mikey helps you stand between his spread thighs, hands on your waist keeping you upright while you wobble on unsteady legs. 

And the noise that you make as his cum and your slick surges out of you—something caught somewhere between a mewl and a whine, turned on and disappointed simultaneously—is the cutest thing he’s ever heard, a muted coo slipping from his own lips as your hands wrap around his, using them to further stable yourself. 

He holds you for a moment or two longer, making sure you’re sturdy and your knees won’t suddenly give out, before giving you one final squeeze and releasing you, smirking a little as he watches you teeter away on rickety feet. 

Initially, his plan was to have you capture a few naughty photos for him—pretty little things to stash away in his phone for later use, during the nights he’s forced to spend away from you, sitting in expensive cars or laying in lush hotel beds—and force you to wear the gluey, cum-drenched undies for the remainder of the party. 

But then his phone is buzzing, and he’s unlocking it to find your cunt perfectly outlined by thin silk as it sticks to your folds, little clit and hole contoured and accentuated by the slick, shining fabric, soiled by a large, irregular patch of wetness, and oh, there’s no way he’ll be able to wait until you arrive home to fuck you again. 

No, he needs to fuck you now, a sudden burst of adrenaline buzzing through his veins, little sparks and minuscule explosions that have him up and moving in under a second, cock already beginning to fill with life again.

Sheer, potent power permeates the atmosphere around him, trembling off his body in sharp bolts; dense, heavy, cracking with electricity. 

The way the crowd instantly parts for him is awe-inspiring, their gleaming eyes full of terror and worship, hastily tripping over their own toes and ankles to move from his path as he strides toward the washroom, desperate to not be stung by his brilliance, desperate to get as close to the currents as possible without being scathed. 

You’re just exiting the restroom by the time he reaches you, breath punched from your lungs as he backs you into a tiled corner, trapped between the cold wall and his scorching form, his hands splayed wide on either side of your shoulders.

“We gotta go,” he’s nearly panting out as he shoves his forehead against yours, eyes closed and noses nudging, straining cock grinding unceremoniously into your hip. “We gotta go, now.”  

And, well, Daddy always gets what Daddy wants. 

[withleeknow]

the playbook.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship; fluff; unedited - i'm awful, a little suggestive if you squint and close your eyes completely or if you think neck kisses are smexy, kitty cameo, erhm that's probably it word count: 0.7k note: hello pls have this silly drabble as an apology for being MIA with writing lately. i think my writing style is changing so this MIGHT read a little different compared to what i used to post lol. also, if you think the title is hella random, that's because it is. i legit didn't know what to call it lmao

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

The last thing that you’d expect on a random Sunday morning in May, is a cloud of hair tickling your neck and a weight on your chest, heavy yet welcoming.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

See, this doesn’t happen very often. Usually, it’s you who has to drape yourself over your lover’s body like a weighted blanket. It’s you who has to hold onto him like a koala, pouring into the grip as much strength as one can at the ass crack of dawn. It’s you who has to whine and nag — “Pleaseee,” “Don’t gooo,” “Ten more minutes,” or sometimes simply a chorus of unintelligible, disgruntled noises like an angry cat — just for him to stay in bed for a while longer. It doesn’t always work, but it’s the only tactic you’ve got.

On weekdays, when he gets up for work before you. On weekends, when he insists on going to the gym because in his words, he “can’t miss chest days.” Most of the time, it’s his side of the bed that gets cold first.

But on mornings like this, when the air is crisp and the world is calm and Minho is holding onto you like a lifeline, you relish in the feeling. Bask in the warmth of his arms around you, a gentle reminder that as much as you need him, he needs you too.

When you wiggle in his grip, trying to settle into a more comfortable position, he makes a noise, low in his throat, a little grumpy.

“Morning,” you say. A kiss lands on his forehead, a silent apology for disturbing his sleep.

He grumbles again; it sounds like a garbled version of “Good morning.”

It takes a minute, as though his system needs a moment to boot up in the morning. When he’s a little bit more awake, Minho tightens his arms around you, his face nuzzling against your neck.

Soft lips seeking refuge, an even softer kiss finding its rightful place on your neck, that one spot that you like, near the junction where it meets your shoulder. Immeasurable delight tingling in your chest, three words echoing like a mantra in your mind.

“Clingy today,” you comment with mirth, and a coy smile that he can’t see.

He stays quiet, only burrowing himself further into your side, like even this is too much distance. Like he can’t get close enough. Like all he wants to do is melt into you, fuse together and never be separated. That should be enough for a response, an agreement to your words, driving your point home.

“Don’t you have to go to the gym?”

That gets you a grunt, completely uninterested.

“You’re gonna lose your boobs if you miss chest day.”

A mix of a chuckle and an offended scoff this time.

One hand grips your hips, like Minho can’t decide how he wants to retaliate. Next thing you know, he’s taken a page out of your playbook, pinning you under his body weight where you can’t escape, laying flat on top of you like a human-sized cat.

You gasp in surprise, having the air effectively knocked out of your lungs.

No space to run, but lucky for him, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

He shuffles a little though, partially resting on the mattress so you don’t get crushed.

He kisses your neck again, still that spot that never fails to pull a moan from you. But right now, it’s more comforting than it is sexual. More intimate than lewd, only his lips and your skin. Chilly spring against the backdrop of him — all sincere devotion, like stars in galaxy eyes and playful fondness hidden in bunny smiles.

He murmurs lazily against you. “Fuck chest day.”

You laugh. “So aggressive.”

He hums and bites down, only to instantly soothe the sting with fresh kisses. It doesn’t take long for sleep to find you again, not when a certain someone seems adamant on not letting you leave this bed anytime soon.

Edges of your vision blur into a halfhearted dream, dizzying in the best way possible.

Then you fall, startled from that dream when the weight of him presses down on you all of a sudden.

Your eyes flutter open to find an orange furball already loafing on top of Minho’s back, having hopped on the bed and landed squarely there like it’s marked with a giant red X. Bear in mind, this isn’t exactly typical Soonie behavior either.

Despite the complaint that he exhales — “Jeez, you’re so heavy,” — Minho makes no move to shoo his son away.

Seems like both of your boys had the same idea this morning.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 27.05.2025]

[doitforbangchan]

All Bark and No Bite 06

The moment so many have been waiting for...

Also! I will no longer be accepting new ppl for the taglist for this series! If you wish to be alerted when i drop a new chapter you may choose to be notified when i post! Thank you :)

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

ABO!Nonidol!SKZ Alternate Universe

Previous - Next

Series Warnings: Fem reader, Smut, verryyyy nsfw, chan x reader, OT8 x reader, A/B/O, m/m/f smut, possessive! SKZ, possessive! Reader, anxiety and depression, reader is a CRYBABY, fluff, angst, virgin!reader,  cursing, violence, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, Sub reader x mostly dom SKZ, misogyny and sexism, Ateez are depicted as terrible people (sorry Atiny!) 

Chapter Warnings: Crying, nsfw content, Smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, fingering, mating, biting, begging, blood play(?), blood in mouths, reader is in heat, super possesive! Chan, knotting, angst, anxiety, cursing, tension in the pack, yelling, drama, Lee know being a dick

WC: 4.1k

MDNI 18+

Disclaimer: The names and faces used here are just that, names and faces, and in no way reflect the real people the characters were designed after. The views and actions of these characters do not reflect the real Stray Kids in any way shape or form. This is all for fun let’s keep it that way please. 

You were dying. You were sure of it. The fire you felt in your body was killing you. You didn’t even register it when Chan gently placed you on his bed, suddenly overcome with the pure scent of him. 

“Alpha…It hurts.” your words coming out slurred.

He was by your side, one hand running through your hair, the other keeping a steady grip on the mattress- to keep himself grounded so as to not to do anything rash. 

“M’ here Omega. It’s gonna be ok.” His pupils were dilated the biggest they have ever been. 

“Hurts so much Alpha. Please please make it stop.” You were pleading -begging- him to make it better. There was one thing in particular you wanted. One word playing in your head on a loop. 

Knot

Knot 

Knot 

Over and over again, it was making you delirious. 

Your whole body was on fire. Boiling  through your bloodstream and radiating out of your skin. So hot you couldn’t breathe, the flames engulfing your lungs. I guess that's why they call it a heat. 

Chan had been excited to work you through your first heat together, he just thought he would have more time beforehand. No time like the present, though. 

“I’ll help you, omega. Your alpha will always help his sweet omega.” He cooed at you, his body slowly moving over yours, caging you under his built frame. 

The second he was settled over you, your arms shot up and forcefully pulled the back of his head down, capturing his lips against your own. Chan let out a grunt of surprise, not expecting this shy girl to be the one to take the lead. It’s not his style, but he would let you have it this one time. He would have plenty of time to train you later. 

You lifted your hips, looking for that bit of friction- any bit you could get. At the brush of your hips against his own Chan let out an almost inhuman growl. If anyone else had heard him let out that sound they would have pissed their pants, it was so deep coming from a place inside of him he didn’t even know existed . 

He let you grind into him while he savored the taste of your mouth. Your whimpers like music to his ears. When he had his fill of your mouth (tho really he never will) he sat up and hastily removed his shirt from his body then literally tearing into your tee shirt ripping the garment in half. He was more than eager to see all of his pretty omega. Your pants were next to go, seeing the same fate as your shirt and joining it on the ground. 

“Alpha.” There was that begging tone again, “Knot. Need it.” 

“Fuck baby. Ok ok Alphas gotcha” He shimmied out of his own bottoms, throwing his pants and boxers to the floor beneath. 

To say Chan was good looking was an understatement. He was the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. His whole body toned from his years of discipline, his muscles rippling as you rake your nails across his abs. His cocky smirk gave his face a boyish charm but his sharp teeth reminded you he was a predator. 

And you were his prey. 

“Oh pretty girl. You have no idea of the naughty things I want to do to you.” He licked his teeth. 

“W-wan’ it Alpha. Wan’ it all from you.” Your words still slurring together in your plight. You would give him anything he wants. Your mind, body and soul - all of you, just MAKE IT STOP. 

Chan couldn’t hold back any longer, your words causing his self control to snap. His hands gripped your body, fully allowing himself to grind against your sex drawing helpless moans from you. 

Yes 

Yes 

YES

It felt so good, but it was not enough. You needed more. 

The alpha gripped you by the face then placed his finger against your bottom lip before slowly inserting the digit into your open mouth. He pressed down on your tongue as he collected the saliva that was accumulating, then pulled it out of your mouth and brought it down to your pussy. 

Chan used the finger to swipe through your wetness, the immediate sounds of your slick filling the air. 

“Fuck Baby you’re so fucking wet. Who made you like this, Omega?” He asked rhetorically. 

More tears escaped you, “A-alpha. Always you, my alpha.” 

Chan inserted his long finger into you, a wet gasp escaping you at the intrusion. Now it was his turn to moan. You were just so tight. Fuck, how was his cock going to fit? He would make it fit. 

“So good. Need more, Alpha. Need your knot.” Your eyes were pleading. Chans mouth left stray kisses down your chest, coming to your breasts where he took one of your nipples between his teeth, giving it a sharp tug. You felt a strike of pain at his actions, but it also felt so good- to be touched by him. 

“Mmm are you sure Omega?” He teased between bites, alternating between the two mounds. 

‘Perfect for feeding our children’ Chan could see it now, you with your breasts full of milk, leaking all over the place while you waddle around the house, his baby growing inside of you. The thought alone could make a grown man cry. 

“Yes!” You humped into his harder in response. 

“Ok baby. Alpha will give you what you want.” 

Chan grabbed his cock in his hand and rubbed the tip through your slick, collecting some of the drippage, before slowly pushing into you. 

The moan you let out was one of pure ecstasy.  Never in your life had you had something so big inside of you before. If you thought you were seeing stars before, it was nothing compared to now. Your nails found purchase in his shoulder blades, the indents turning red at how hard you pressed into him. 

“Nnnngggg '' Chan isn't faring any better. Since the moment he smelled you he had wanted to take you this way. 

“N-n-need you, alpha.” You choked out through sobs of pleasure. 

Chan buried his face into your neck, breathing heavy in your ear.

“Tell me you’ve never done this before, Omega. Tell me no other man has ever touched you like this. That no one else has taken you this way.” Chan needed you to say it, to feed his ego. 

“Tell me I’m the only one. Then I will give you all of me.” He nipped at the skin on your neck, so close to your mating gland. 

You answered without hesitation, “Only you, Alpha. Never anyone else. Only you.”

At your confession Chan growled, something absolutely primal escaping his body. The need to mark you as his feeding into his frenzy. He brought his hips back as far as he could, letting his tip just barely leave your hole, before thrusting into you harshly, his hips snapping into yours with vigor. 

“Fuccckkkk, Alpha. Please, please, please” You didn’t know what you were begging for, just that you couldn’t stop. The sound of your slick filled the room, as well as the smell of your combined scents. The liquid was literally dripping out of you, coating both your thighs and Chans balls. There was no room to care, though. Not with the way he was fucking you so nicely. His cock fit perfectly inside, filling every inch as if he was made for you. He was. 

His movements didn't slow at your whines, in fact they only increased. He was pounding into you like a rabid animal, letting you draw your pleasure from his body and in return feeding his primal urges. 

“ Gonna claim you Omega. Gonna let everyone know who you belong too.” He looked into your eyes for any hint of an objection but found none. You were too far gone to respond but somehow managed to nod your head, baring your neck in submission, waiting for him to claim his prize. 

At your submission Chans’ eyes glazed over and he opened his mouth to reveal those sharp canines. No more warning was given as he dove right for your neck, his teeth slotting over your mating gland and biting down. Hard. 

The sensation was otherworldly. You thought it would hurt, preparing for the pain that never came. Instead all you felt was intoxicating love. You felt loved, and wanted, and cared for. Like everything Chan felt for you was pouring out of him and into you. Without warning you came around his length, fluids spraying out of you and coating Chan's abdomen. 

The alpha released his hold on your neck after a few seconds, his tongue smoothing over the bloody mark left behind. His thrusts never faltered still, his driving into you gaining intensity as he neared his own release. Once your neck stopped dripping he pulled back from your neck, his lips covered in your blood. He pushed himself back on his haunches and hoisted your hips up further, his grip bruising your hips. 

Chan was panting as he spoke “ I am never letting you go. I have ruined you for anyone else. This pack is all you need, all you’ll ever need. Soon you won’t be able to breathe without us, Omega.” 

You had completely succumbed into a subspace, floating through nothing and everything all at once. You’re only thoughts consisting of him. 

“Wanna bite…” You mumbled out. “Wanna claim my Alpha.” The words were escaping you without you even registering you said them. 

Chans felt his knot start to inflate and he leaned down once more, “Do it. Claim me, Omega.”

In your daze your teeth found his neck and you bit down, his blood now filling your mouth. 

As your teeth sunk into him, Chan came inside of you. His knot inflated fully now, keeping him from thrusting any further, holding him against you. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck! Perfect little omega, love you so much.” 

His cum filled every crevice inside of you, coating you completely and spilling out around his cock. It was pure warmth. You were sure you would never tire of this feeling. 

When Chan had given you every last drop he tried to catch his breath, his lungs feeling like he ran 10 miles at full speed. 

You were slowly coming out of that mind space, now needing the comfort only your alpha could offer. You brought your hands up to rest on his cheeks, and inched your face closer to his until your mouths met again. The blood both of you had on your mouths mixing together on your lips, the taste of iron taking over completely. It wasn’t an unwelcome taste, but something about it felt dirty. Dirtier than the act the both of you had partaken in mere seconds before. 

Chan was the first one to pull back, you whining trying to keep his lips locked on yours. 

“Enough of that, Omega. Gotta’ make sure you're ok.” He gently rolled your head to the side to take a peep at the bite left behind. He let out a low whistle, “fuck, got you pretty good. M’ sorry baby.” He peppered kisses all over your face as an apology. 

“It’s ok alpha. Wanted you too.” Your clarity was returning to you slowly, your heat having been satiated for the time being. His thick knot kept you close to him. Suddenly all of your past actions were flooding your brain, the humility creeping on to you and you hid your face in his chest, a quiet sob emanating. 

Chan gave a noise of shock and the sudden appearance of your tears. Though he shouldn’t be surprised. His sweet girl seemed like she was always crying. Still, he had to make sure you were ok. 

“Aww baby, why the tears, huh?”

“M’ so so sorry, Alpha.” You sniffled, words muffled by his skin. 

“Sorry for what my love?” He was genuinely confused. 

You sniffed a few more times , trying to catch your breath before responding. “I’m sorry I acted that way… before with the other boys. I had no control over my own body, it just came on so suddenly. I know that’s no excuse but I really am so so sorry Chan. I would understand if you didn’t want me anymore. No one would want a sloppy Omega.” 

Your words filled him with a fury, harshly gripping your cheeks and turning your eyes to meet his own. 

“Did I say I didn’t want you, Omega?” You shook your head the best you could in his grip. “Then why would you think such a thing? I don’t blame you for what went down. I know you’re a sweet, shy little baby. And sweet girls would never behave that way on their own volition” Not yet anyways. 

The alpha gave you a quick peck. “No one will blame you or be mad. Especially not me. So stop saying shit like that. Like I already said - I am never letting you go. You are my true mate, were made for me. You belong to me now. Right omega?” He used your head to nod up and down. 

It was a possessive statement, and would have made any sane person want to run for the hills, but for some reason it just made you wet again. 

“Yes Alpha.” You whispered in lust, the intensity starting to return,  “I belong to you.”

--------------------------------------

The pack members took shelter at what they called the ‘safehouse’. It was a small apartment sized home at the very edge of the property. They used it when one of the alphas went into a rut or if one of the members just needed some space for some reason. The space wasn’t really suited for more than one, maybe two, people at most. But it was this or camping and at least this place had a small kitchen and bathroom. 

There was tension amongst the guys. A lot of them replayed the events of the day in their own minds. It had been a few hours since the incident. In his shame, Jeongin locked himself in the bathroom refusing to come out no matter how much Hyunjin had begged. Hyunjin, Felix and Seungmin had been filled in by a teary eyed Jisung. 

Jisung was in a daze. He had been sitting on the porch since they arrived, just gazing out into the trees that surrounded the estate. The crystal tears every once in a while cascading down his rounded cheeks. He felt like it was all his fault. You were with him when you went into heat. You were with him when Jeongin went for you. Fuck, it was him that took you straight for the young alpha. ‘I should have warned Jeongin. I should have called him and told him to get the fuck out of the house.’ 

The first thing Jeongin did when he got to the safehouse was lock himself in the bathroom and take the hottest shower possible, he needed to rid himself of your scent. Needed to scrub you off his skin, if he didn’t he was sure it would cause an early rut. That is the last thing he needed right now. The boy was filled with deep shame. ‘I can’t believe I acted like that’ he rested his head against the shower tile. ‘How will I ever face Chan again?’ He truly didn’t know what to do, so he will do the only thing he can do right now. Stand here under the cooling water, and wallow in his mortification. 

Minho, on the other hand, was fuming. To him all of this ordeal was avoidable. Aren’t omegas supposed to be able to sense their heats coming? And how convenient it was that you happened to have said heat almost as soon as you got there. To their home. A home full of unmated men. 

Chan had also filled him in the night prior, about Hongjoong and you being promised to him. Something about all these circumstances didn’t sit right with the beta. He didn't hate you, he knew deep inside that you had no ill will, he's pretty good at sensing that kind of thing in people. Minho just can’t help but be defensive over his pack. And is wary of things disrupting the peace within his pack. He isn’t an alpha, but Minho can be protective like one. He had tried to comfort Jeongin but the alpha had made it clear he didn’t want to be bothered at all. It was breaking Minho's heart. 

Changbin was outside trying to exercise the stress away. He felt the best option for him was to sweat your smell off of him. Really, working out was his answer for everything. He was fairing well enough, though there was a little part of his brain itching with the knowledge there was a pretty omega in heat not too far away. Best to ignore that little bit of information. 

The three remaining betas were at a loss for what to do. It seemed like everyone else was in their own little worlds, replaying what had happened over and over. Felix was trying to cook something up for the pack. His motto is food fixes everything so that's what he will do!

 Hyunjin had eventually given up on his mission to comfort Jeongin, his pleading being in vain, so his next target was Jisung. Hyunjin skittered outside and crawled into Jisungs lap, bear hugging the younger man. The moment Jisung registered the warmth he broke into a sob- burying his face into Hyunjin. “Its ok Sungie. That must have been a lot for you to handle by yourself.” Jisung nodded, the hiccups beginning. “You did such a good job, you got her home safe. You know that means the world to Chan.” At the mention of their leader Jisung cried harder. 

“It’s my fault, Hyun.” Hyunjin shook his head to disagree but Jisung continued “ I should have warned Innie. I could have called him or something.” 

“Nobody blames you Sung. Not a single person in this pack would dare put you at fault for anything. You did right by your pack. Chan trusted you with her and you did what you had too. When we eventually go back home I know he will tell you the same thing.” 

That seemed to perk up the younger beta, the tears coming to a slow stop. “Y-you think so, hyung?” 

Hyunjin nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. It will be alright.” Jisung nodded along, hugging the older boy tighter. 

Seungmin was sitting on the small sofa in the living room, observing Minho who sat a few feet away scrolling on his phone with a scowl upon his face. Seungmin wondered if now was a good time to ask just what Minhos' problem had been. It was obvious something had crawled up the elders ass but Seungmin wanted to know what. Yeah the events of today are mildly inconvenient, of course he would rather have his own bed versus an air mattress but it's really not a big deal. And Jeongin would get over it soon enough. So what was Minho's problem? 

“So what’s your deal?” 

“Huh?” Minho looked up from his phone with a confused expression. 

“I mean, I know this kinda sucks and was a shitty situation but something has been up with you since yesterday sooooooo…” Seungmin gestured with his hands for Minho to explain himself. 

The elder beta rolled his eyes, “Nothing is wrong Seungmin. It’s been a stressful day, is all.” 

“Yeah fucking right. What about yesterday? When you called Y/n a ‘situation’?” He used air quotes around ‘situation’ for emphasis. 

‘Dammit, I should have worded it better then to avoid this shit.’ Minho thought bitterly. 

“Well if you can’t fucking tell Seungmin, she has become quite the situation now, hasn’t she? Look at what happened to poor Jeongin! Not to mention Han and Changbin.” Minho had been trying to keep his voice down but couldn’t help the slight raise. 

Seungmin scoffed, “They will all be fine. Those guys are more resilient than you think they are. It was a learning experience for everyone - next time will be different.” 

“Maybe next time she can give us a fucking warning.” Minho mumbled, not intending for seungmin to hear. He did anyway. 

“So you’re gonna blame her? She just met her true mate, not to mention all the stress she’s been in ya know , having to flee her fucking entire life. So yeah I imagine her hormones are all over the place.” 

The elder beta stood in fury, “How are you just so ok with all of this?! How has none of what’s occurring bothered you?!” 

“Why would our leader -our alpha-finding his mate bother me? Why would it bother me to know we now have the missing piece of our pack? I have no issues with her. Hell, I even like her. And I can say pretty confidently that the other guys like her too. So it seems the stick is only up your ass, Minho.” Seungmin stood too, he started this argument and he won’t back down. 

It seems both guys forgot Felix was a few feet away, listening to the entire conversation with baited breath. 

He had a bad feeling this would escalate if he didn’t get involved. The small beta appeared between the two with his hands up to diffuse the tension. 

“That’s enough from you two!” Felix was trying not to tremble at his own assertiveness. 

“Felix this doesn’t concern you.” Minho tried to shoo him away. 

“My pack mates are fighting, of course it concerns me.” Felix turned to Seungmin now “Why don’t you take a walk, please. Go clear your head.” Felix gave him pleading eyes. 

Seungmin looked like he wanted to refuse but only gave a sigh and a nod before calmly walking out the door, but making a show of letting it slam behind him. 

Minho let out a breath when the younger boy had exited. Felix now had turned his attention to only Minho. “ Can we have a calm discussion about what exactly made you feel like this, min?” 

Minho sighed, plopping back into his chair and putting his head in his hands. 

“It’s not that easy, Lix. There’s so much going on in here I don’t even know where to begin.” 

Felix being the sweet boy he is, came to sit on the armrest beside the older boy, and began to rub his back in comforting circles. “ You can tell me anything. I could tell since yesterday you haven’t been yourself. I just wanna help you Min.” 

At his words Minho unloaded all his thoughts and feelings onto Felix. Every doubt, every concern, all of it. Felix listened intently, letting Min get out everything that he has been holding on too. 

“I see where you’re coming from. It’s a big sudden change for our pack. And it definitely comes with some challenges. But it’s nothing we can’t handle.” Felix was trying to help as much as he could. “I really think once we get past this hurdle, our pack will be more unified than ever!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way Felix, but I feel like you're only saying that because you want a turn with her next.” Minho griped. 

Felix looked hurt for a second but didn’t let it faze him much. “Hyung, if you got to know her I think you’d change your tune. I got to spend some real time with her yesterday and from what I've seen she is actually really great. I’m not going to sit here and lie and say there’s not an urge for me to sleep with her because there is, but if she wasn’t an omega I know I would feel the same way about her.” Felix leaned into Minho. “All I’m asking is that you give her a chance. Don’t let this one slip up ruin your relationship with her. If not for me then at least try for Chan. He’s a good leader to us and he deserves your effort.” 

Minho knew Felix was right. He didn’t want to admit it but the younger beta spoke some sense into him. There was one thing still bothering him, though. 

“What about if the Ateez pack comes for her?” 

Felix didn’t seem worried, “If they come for our omega, they will see just how strong our pack is. They won’t lay a finger on our girl.” 

“Chan would kill them first.” They spoke in unison, then looked at each other and burst into laughter. 

A/N: Finallyyyyy getting into the dirty stuff!! Also I sincerely apologize for the angst :'), it gets better!! at some point.. Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

©doitforbangchan

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[mapengen-com]

Accidents Happen

Mapi woke up to an unusual rustling sound. At first, she thought it was just Bagheera moving around. She tried to nestle herself back into Ingrid’s body, but then she eventually cracked an eye open, and realized light was coming from the hallway.

Mapi woke up to an unusual rustling sound. At first, she thought it was just Bagheera moving around. She tried to nestle herself back into Ingrid’s body, but then she eventually cracked an eye open, and realized light was coming from the hallway.

That was odd – Elisa rarely left her bed without calling for Mapi first.

Curious and a little concerned, Mapi slipped out of bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, making sure to be quiet so Ingrid wouldn’t wake up too. 

As she walked down the hall, she spotted Elisa in her room, struggling with something on the floor.

“Elisa?” Mapi called softly.

Elisa startled like a caught thief, quickly turning her back to Mapi as she clutched a wad of tissues in her small hands. Mapi frowned.

“What are you doing, peque?”

“N-Nada,” Elisa mumbled, her voice unusually small.

That was all the confirmation Mapi needed that something was definitely up. She stepped closer, and that’s when she saw it – the damp sheets, the small puddle on the mattress, and Elisa’s desperate attempt to scrub it away with nothing but tissues. That was when she also noticed Elisa was in just her sleep shirt and underwear.

“Bebé…"

Elisa flinched at the softness in Mapi’s voice, but she didn’t turn around. Her little shoulders were tense, and when Mapi crouched beside her, she noticed the way Elisa’s tiny hands were trembling.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Elisa whispered, still refusing to look at her. Mapi’s heart clenched immediately. 

“Cariño , why are you cleaning it by yourself?”

“I didn’t wanna make trouble,” she sniffled. 

Mapi exhaled softly, reaching out to gently touch Elisa’s back. 

“It’s not trouble, baby. It was just an accident. It happens.”

Elisa finally turned her head, her wide, teary eyes searching Mapi’s. 

“But I… I made a mess. Again.”

“And we’ll clean it up together,” Mapi tucked a stray curl behind Elisa’s ear. “You don’t have to do it alone, mi niña .”

Elisa hesitated, her lip wobbling, then suddenly lunged into Mapi’s arms, pressing her face into her shoulder. 

“I didn’t mean to,” she whimpered. “I was… I was getting better at the potty thing.”

“I know, mi amor. ” Mapi kissed the top of her head. “I know. And it’s completely okay.”

For a moment, they just sat there, Elisa curled into Mapi’s arms like the little koala she was. When her sniffles subsided, Mapi pulled back slightly.

“How about you take a warm shower while I fix your bed, huh?”

“But I should…” Elisa hesitated. 

“Ah, none of that,” Mapi poked her tummy gently. “You’re my baby, and my baby gets to relax while I take care of things. Deal?”

“Deal,” her lips quirked up just a little. “But you not mad?” Elisa asked, still uncertain.

“Not even a little bit,” Mapi chuckled, stroking her hair. “This stuff happens, peque . You don’t have to feel bad about it. You can just wake me up and I’ll help you settle down again.”

Elisa let out a relieved sigh, curling into Mapi’s side for a few seconds before the defender was suddenly lifting her and walking to the bathroom to turn the shower on for her. 

As the girl took a very quick shower, the older Spaniard changed all the sheets and got new blankets, thanking her own old version for still keeping the mattress protector for a bit longer. 

Before she could finish cleaning everything, Elisa called for Mapi. She was still learning how to take care of herself, and while that happened, both Ingrid and Mapi kept helping her with her post-shower routine, like drying and clothing herself. 

It took them just a few minutes to get Elisa completely fresh and send the girl off to the big bed.

“You go. I’ll finish this and go back to bed too. Get yourself comfortable with Ingi, okay?” Mapi murmured as she got her up on the counter to put on her socks. 

“Ingi’s here?” She asked in a tiny pout. 

“She is. She wanted to be the one to wake you up tomorrow,” the Spaniard said, smoothing the few messy strands of the girl’s hair down after pushing tiny yellow socks over her small feet.

“I… I sorry for the bed,” she said again, her voice small. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Bebé,” Mapi tried with her voice firmer this time, bending down a little to look her in the eye. “No need to keep apologizing. Everyone has accidents. It’s okay. Now, go get cozy with Ingi, okay? I’ll be with you in a second.”

After being put down, Elisa didn’t hesitate before climbing into Mapi and Ingrid’s bed as soon as she stepped into the room. She was warm, sleepy, and still feeling a little guilty, so curling up against Ingrid felt safe.

The Norwegian, still half-asleep, instinctively wrapped an arm around her as soon as the weight on the mattress shifted.

“Hmm, what’s up, søtnos?” She murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.

Elisa didn’t answer right away. She just tucked herself deeper into Ingrid’s side, her small fingers clutching at the fabric of Ingrid’s shirt. That’s when the Norwegian noticed the way Elisa’s breathing hitched, the way her tiny body trembled ever so slightly.

“Elisa?” Ingrid’s voice was more awake now, concerned. Only then she realized Mapi was not in bed.

“I… I really didn’t mean to,” she sniffed.

“Didn’t mean to what, søtnos?” Ingrid frowned, confused. 

“I didn’t mean to wet,” Elisa whispered, voice shaking. “I… I was scared…”

That made Ingrid’s stomach drop. She gently shifted to look at Elisa’s face, only to find watery hazel eyes staring up at her, full of something deeper than just guilt.

“What scared you, baby?” Ingrid asked softly.

Elisa hesitated, then whispered so quietly Ingrid almost missed it.

“Papá.”

Ingrid’s whole body tensed. She kept her expression soft, but her mind raced. Elisa never talked about her father. Neither did Mapi. The only time his name was mentioned was when she mumbled it in her sleep, when she clung to Mapi in quiet moments of sadness.

“Did you dream about him?” Ingrid asked carefully.

Elisa nodded, her fingers still clenching Ingrid’s shirt. 

“He… He was yelling,” her voice cracked, and suddenly she was crying, her tiny body curling in on itself as though trying to disappear. “He was so mad, and I… I tried to be quiet, but I…”

“Okay, okay, baby,” Ingrid hushed her gently, wrapping her arms tighter around the little girl. “You’re safe. He’s not here. He can’t hurt you.”

Elisa sobbed into Ingrid’s chest, her breath hitching between gasps. Ingrid stroked her back soothingly, whispering reassurances in Norwegian and Spanish, her heart aching for the small girl clinging to her.

That was how Mapi found them when she walked in – Elisa curled up against Ingrid, crying softly, while Ingrid held her like she was trying to shield her from the whole world.

Mapi immediately frowned. 

“Qué pasa?”

Elisa flinched at Mapi’s voice, which made her freeze in place. She didn’t like that reaction. Elisa never flinched at her. Not since she had gotten better. 

“It was a nightmare,” she said softly, but she met Mapi’s eyes, her expression serious. “About Javi.”

Mapi’s heart stopped for a second.

She crossed the room quickly, sitting on the bed beside them. 

“Pequeña…” She murmured, her voice softer than before.

Elisa didn’t answer, just sank her tear-streaked face into Ingrid’s chest.

Mapi felt something tighten in her throat. She had always tried to protect Elisa from that man’s memory, from the weight of what he had done to their family. She had hoped that, with time, Elisa would forget the fear. But the past still found ways to haunt her. Even if Mapi spent days and days hoping and praying that Elisa would have no memory of whatever happened in those 5 weeks she spent with him after her mom’s death.

“Mi amor,” Mapi tried again, brushing gentle fingers through Elisa’s damp curls. “Estoy aquí.”

“I… I thought… I thought he was back,” Elisa sniffled. 

“No, mi vida,” the Spaniard whispered. “He’s never coming back. Never.”

Elisa let out a tiny, shaky breath, like she wanted to believe it but wasn't sure if she could, and Ingrid kept rubbing slow circles on her back. 

“You’re safe, baby” she murmured. "Mapi and I will always keep you safe."

Mapi nodded, her own hand settling on Elisa’s back, joining Ingrid’s. 

“Siempre,” she promised.

For a long while, they just held her, letting Elisa calm down in the safety of their arms. Eventually, her little sniffles slowed, her grip loosening as exhaustion took over.

By the time her breathing calmed, Mapi and Ingrid exchanged a quiet look over her head. They didn’t need to speak to know what the other was thinking.

They would do whatever it took to make sure Elisa never felt unsafe again.

After a few more moments, Elisa finally fell asleep, her small body still curled up between Mapi and Ingrid. Her breathing was steady now, little hiccups still escaping every now and then from all the crying. Ingrid had kept rubbing her back until she completely relaxed, and now, her tiny fingers were still gripping the fabric of Ingrid’s shirt even in sleep.

Mapi hadn’t moved in a while. She sat against the headboard, staring at Elisa with something heavy in her chest.

She hated this. Hated that Elisa had to carry memories that made her feel like this – small, scared, guilty for something that wasn’t her fault.

She was still a toddler. She had the right to wet the bed. She wasn’t supposed to feel that guilty about it.

“She must’ve been terrified,” Mapi murmured after a long silence.

Ingrid looked over at her, reading the tension in her face immediately. 

“She’s okay now,” she reassured her softly. “She just needed to be reminded that she’s safe.”

Mapi exhaled through her nose, running a hand over her face. 

“I wish I could erase it,” she admitted. “Erase everything he did. Everything she remembers about him.”

“I know,” Ingrid reached over, gently taking Mapi’s free hand and squeezing it. “But she has you. And both of you have me. That’s what matters.”

Mapi looked down at their joined hands before shifting her gaze back to Elisa, who was now tucked under the blanket between them. She looked peaceful in sleep, which made Mapi’s chest ache even more.

“She was trying to clean everything by herself,” Mapi whispered. “Like she thought I’d be mad. Again.”

Ingrid’s grip on her hand tightened slightly.

“She didn’t want to make trouble,” Ingrid murmured, repeating Elisa’s earlier words.

Mapi closed her eyes for a second, inhaling sharply through her nose. 

“She’s not even four yet,” she muttered, her voice thick. “She shouldn’t feel like she has to fix things alone.”

“She doesn’t,” Ingrid said firmly. “She has us.”

Mapi let out a slow breath and nodded.

For a while, they just sat there, watching Elisa sleep.

Then, finally, Mapi shifted, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Elisa’s forehead. 

“Te quiero, mi amor,” she murmured.

Elisa stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her tiny fingers twitching against Ingrid’s shirt before settling again.

Ingrid smiled faintly, reaching over to brush a curl out of Elisa’s face. 

“We should let her sleep,” she whispered.

Mapi hummed in agreement. Carefully, she slid under the blanket, pulling it up to cover all three of them. Ingrid adjusted slightly, making sure Elisa was still comfortable, then relaxed as Mapi settled in beside them, her forehead just an inch away from Ingrid’s temple.

They lay there in silence for a while, their warmth surrounding Elisa. Eventually, Mapi felt her own eyes grow heavy, the exhaustion of the night finally catching up with her.

Just before she drifted off, she felt Elisa shift in sleep, pressing her small face against Ingrid’s sternum with a tiny sigh. Then, barely above a whisper, she mumbled a tiny, almost null “Mama.”

Mapi’s eyes snapped open. She felt Ingrid stiffen slightly beside her.

They exchanged a look over Elisa’s head, but neither of them said a word.

There was no need.

Instead, Mapi just reached out, resting a gentle hand on Elisa’s back.

“Duerme, mi amor,” she whispered. “We’re right here.”

~

Morning came softly, sunlight peeking through the curtains in warm golden streaks. Ingrid woke first, her body still pressed against Elisa’s small frame. At some point during the night, Mapi had slung an arm over both of them, her face buried in Ingrid’s pillow.

Elisa was still asleep, her tiny fingers curled around Ingrid’s shirt, her breaths slow and even.

Ingrid didn’t move. She didn’t want to.

Last night lingered in her mind – Elisa’s tears, her little voice whispering Papá with so much fear, the way she had clung to them like she was terrified she’d wake up alone.

And then, the softest, sleepiest Mama.

Ingrid exhaled slowly, her chest tightening.

She didn’t know if Elisa had meant it, if it was just a sleepy mumble or something more. But the weight of it sat deep in Ingrid’s heart – even if wasn’t exactly the first time. 

Sara was Mami. Mapi was Ma.

Ingrid was Mama. She had already been Mama on some occasions. 

Elisa stirred slightly, her face scrunching before she buried herself deeper into Ingrid’s side. She sighed in her sleep, content.

Ingrid smiled softly.

Then, Mapi groaned, shifting beside them.

“What time is it?” She muttered, her voice hoarse with sleep.

“Still early,” Ingrid whispered back.

Mapi cracked one eye open, taking in their position. She blinked slowly, then smirked. 

“So, you’ve been trapped all night.”

“You too,” Ingrid rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. 

Mapi hummed, stretching slightly before letting her gaze settle on Elisa. 

“She okay?” She asked quietly.

“She’s been sleeping fine,” the Norwegian assured her. “Hasn’t let go of me, though.”

“Sounds familiar,” Mapi’s lips twitched. 

“Yeah, she’s your kid, alright,” Ingrid snorted. 

The older Spaniard smirked, but it softened almost immediately. She reached out, brushing a loose curl from Elisa’s forehead. 

“I hate that she even remembers him,” she murmured.

“I know,” Ingrid covered Mapi’s hand with her own. “But she remembers you more.”

Mapi sighed, squeezing Ingrid’s fingers. Then, she leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to Elisa’s head. The kid stirred at the touch, blinking sleepily. She yawned, stretching slightly, then frowned when she realized where she was.

“Morning, baby,” Ingrid murmured, smoothing a hand over her back.

Elisa looked up at her, then turned to Mapi, who gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“I stayed here all night?” She asked hesitantly. 

“Yep,” Mapi chuckled. Elisa’s little nose scrunched. 

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Do you hear us complaining?” Mapi teased, tickling her lightly.

Elisa giggled sleepily, wiggling away. But then, her expression turned a little more serious. She glanced between them before shifting to get even more comfortable against Ingrid. 

“I… Feel better now.”

The couple exchanged a look.

“Yeah?” Ingrid asked gently.

“You said he can’t come back. And you were here all night, so…” She trailed off, looking down at her hands. Then, after a moment, she whispered again. “I wasn’t alone.”

Mapi’s heart clenched.

She sat up slightly, wrapping an arm around Elisa and pulling both Ingrid and Elisa into her lap.

“You never have to be alone, mi amor,” she said softly. “Not ever.”

Elisa nestled closer, nodding.

For a moment, they just held her like that, wrapped up in the quiet warmth of the morning.

Then, Mapi cleared her throat, smirking. 

“Now, what do you say we make breakfast?”

“Can I have the muffins Jana gave me?” Elisa perked up instantly. 

“Obviously.”

Elisa gasped, immediately scrambling off the bed. 

“I get the plates!” She announced, running toward the kitchen with renewed energy.

Mapi chuckled as she watched her go, then turned to Ingrid with a raised eyebrow. 

“So… Mama, huh?”

Ingrid felt her face flush as she shoved Mapi lightly, getting up too. 

“Shut up.”

“Admit it. You liked it,” Mapi laughed, stretching out with a cocky grin. 

“Maybe,” she murmured. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the soft smile tugging at her lips.

Mapi’s smirk softened, her eyes shining. She reached for Ingrid’s hand again, squeezing it before pulling Ingrid closer again.

“Yeah,” Mapi murmured, voice full of warmth as she pressed her lips to Ingrid’s temple. “Me too.”

[angelgraphica]

sesh time?; c.yeonjun

synopsis: your bsf asks you to come over to share a blunt with him, but once you both settled down, you start getting a little flustered. and you aren’t sure if it’s the blunt you just smoked, or if it’s hidden feelings coming out…

warnings!: smoking, a little nsfw(?), best friends but like a little spark idk…

authors note: this has been sitting in my notes app for a while and it’s lowkey dookie.. idk the wc either but it is a little longer!

yeonjun has always indulged in a bit of weed, but only every now and then. definitely not a stoner, he’s more social with it than anything. and of course as his best friend, most of the seshes he has is with you.

you don’t turn down the opportunity, especially when college is constantly giving you that nagging of ‘there’s things you have to do’, being able to clear your mind felt like a life saver. so when you got that message from yeonjun, you were basically grinning ear to ear.

yj: come share a blunt w me?

you: is that even a question

doesn’t take long for you to arrive. your overnight bag over your shoulder holding all necessities to spend the night: considering you won’t be sober for a while. you walk through his apartment door, friends for long enough to not even ask him to open the door for you. as you take off your shoes, yeonjun comes around the corner and meets your eyes with a smile.

it’s obvious that you both are excited, basically jumping up and down as you both make the walk to his balcony. you plop down onto one of the two chairs he has, making yourself comfortable while you eye yeonjun getting his set-up ready. the sun has been long gone, the only thing giving you two light are the lights on the street next to his house. you snuggle into your thick hoodie, suddenly cursing the fact that you decided to wear some spandex shorts. you didn’t care how you presented yourself in front of yeonjun—and he also didn’t either, considering his hair is a bit ruffled and he’s wearing some oversized pants and shirt.

“do you ever wonder if a victorian-aged person were to ever smoke weed, do you think they would drop dead or what..” you ask curiously, lips pursing as you think about it.

yeonjun stops mid-grinding to laugh at your stupid question. “probably.” he just says, a response that gets a chuckle out of you. he begins rolling, something you could never get down. you watch his long and slim fingers carefully roll the blunt into something near perfection— you always messed that part up, so that’s why he usually is the one doing it.

once he’s done though, he holds it between the two of you like it’s some prized possession. doesn’t waste a second to grab a lighter and start the session. he starts it off, ghosting his first inhale and finishing the second one normally. he passes it to you in-between his two fingers, and you take it from him. while you have your own turn, you hear him coughing his lungs out. you know it’ll hit you soon too, so you point him to the screen door inside to insinuate get water now.

and he obliges, coughing dying down as he walks inside. you take your last long drag and blow it into the cold, night air. you think about taking another one before yeonjun comes back, drinking the cup of water he brought for the both of you. you hand the joint to him, as you feel the coughing beginning to bubble up in your throat. he laughs at you, taking one more hit before waiting for you to finish your coughing fit and the desperate attempt to soothe it with the water he brought.

you take it from him, the cup of water in your opposite hand, and take your final drag. you hand it back to yeonjun for him to take care of it, as you keep it in your lungs to get even more high. you heard it’s just a myth though, but you swear it works. maybe it’s the placebo effect.

the coughing doesn’t hit you as hard this time, but you’re still clutching onto the water cup. every sip you take, you physically feel every molecule of water going down your throat— and that’s when you know it’s hitting you. you sigh, body sinking into the outdoor-chair as you set the cup down on the table between you and him.

“are you feeling it too?” yeonjun asks, his voice startling you a bit as you began to get into your own head. you look over at him, vision beginning to slow down in frames, only to be met with him looking at you first— eyes swollen already and a permanent grin on his face. you bust out a laugh, airy and definitely not in your right mind. “yes, yes i do. feels so fuckin’ nice.”

you haven’t smoked in a while, so you’re getting to the point where you’re twitching. the both of you go silent, just looking at the stars in the sky. you count every star, as best as you can, before forgetting what number your at and laughing at yourself. anyone who would be watching you right now would think your schizophrenic, but you tuned out the surroundings near you. you really didn’t care, about anything at the moment.

“bro, i’m so high.” you suddenly blurt out, and you’re met with a laughter. “me too.” he responds. you breath out a laugh, pulling up the hood of your jacket.

you shiver, now aware of how cold it is outside. you yearn for the heat inside his home. “can we go inside?” you ask softly, while he forgets to respond and just stands up. you hear the rustling of him getting up, and you get up too. he opens the door back inside, and the both of you walk in.

you’re met with the comforting warmth of the house, and you almost moan. you walk to his couch and slam yourself into the soft cushions. “oh my god.” you say, closing your eyes as you feel yourself sinking into the couch. yeonjun is right behind you, tapping your legs to make room for himself to sit down. you move your legs up to your chest, allowing him access, and you feel the dip in the couch from his presence.

he sighs loudly, obviously getting comfortable himself. a silence hangs over you both for a bit as you both sink back into your own thoughts, before you realize again that it’s happening. “can we watch something?” you spread your legs out onto his lap, and his hands envelope your shin. you giggle from that as he massages the skin, obviously using you as his stress toy. enjoying the feeling too much, he throws his head back on the couch, before it rolls over to you. “what do you wanna watch?”

you shrug, and he makes a funny face. and in your hazed mind, you think of something genius. you gasp, before speaking. “white chicks?” you ask, and his jaw drops. “you’re so fuckin’ smart. absolutely.” he says, grabbing his tv remote to turn on the movie. you smile at yourself from your brilliant idea, watching the tv screen change in-between apps as he keeps clicking the wrong button, cursing at himself as you laugh at him.

well, everything was funny to you right now. throughout the movie all that echos throughout his house is the combined laughter of you both. he occasionally uses your leg to lightly-slap when he thinks something is funny, the feeling rushing throughout your already vibrating body. sometimes you can’t stop laughing, left in a loop of your stomach muscles hurting and face sore from smiling so much.

towards the end of the movie, yeonjun taps your ankle, ripping the locked-in attention you had on the tv away. you look over at him with a raised eyebrow, his red eyes glistening from the light of the tv. the only thing that was lighting his living room right now.

“do you mind if i lay with you?” he asks, casually but with a hint of please-dont-mind-me. you scrunch your face at him, before nodding, teasing him a little. wouldn’t be the first time you laid with him. you expected him to come be next to you for some reason, the couch not that big in width but you pressed up against the couch cushions to give him room. but he crawls in-betweens your legs, his hands gently spreading them, but not a lot, and your breath hitches in your throat.

you watched him with curious eyes as his stayed on the tv’s screen. once he scooted up far enough, he lays between your legs, cheek squished against your upper-crotch and his hand around the front part of your thigh— finger tips slightly digging into the flesh of it. you can feel his breath against your upper thigh, legs instinctively close a little, trapping him a bit tightly and he giggles. “you trying to choke me out?” he says, his hand beginning to massage the mound of flesh.

it had to be the fact that you shared a blunt with him a little bit ago, but this left you in a blushing mess. he’s being extra touchy cause he’s not in the right state of mind. you couldn’t bring yourself to respond, so you didn’t. you try relaxing, you even release the hold that your hazy mind made you do around him; suddenly hyperconscious of the way you breathe.

never have you ever felt this way about your best friend, out of all people. you guys instantly clicked the beginning of college, sharing a class and oftenly studied together. you guys took care of each other after parties, despite being drunk and stumbling around. you’ve even spent the night multiple times here, and nothing inherently sexual has happened. you hear him out on everything, to relationships to.. anything. nothing has caused you to feel like this.

your gaze falls back to the tv and off of the top of his head that’s pressed against you right now. the high-feeling still there, although not as intense as before. you try and brush it off. your hand even travels down to meet his scalp, your long fingernails beginning to gently scratch away. you feel him groan, as he leans more into you. your sight turns back onto him, and you can’t even see his face.

you continue to scratch his head, your other hand even joining. he makes noise when you reach a spot that really feels good, and you try focusing on that spot. “your nails feel amazing.” he mumbles against you, and you breathe out a laugh. “oh yeah?” you say back, and he only responds with a nod of his head. the movement sends sparks up your body, your nails dig into his scalp.

he winces, and you mumble out a quick ‘sorry’ before gently continuing scratching his head. you let out a big sigh absentmindedly as you tried to get your high-mind out of the gutter. your body temperature always rises whenever you are high, but it’s usually a good-type of warm. it’s now seeming to feel a bit overbearing.

you have to force yourself to look back at the tv. his hands travel around your leg, obviously liking the feel of your smooth and freshly-shaved legs. and as time goes on, you find yourself enjoying it rather than being all nerves that he’s being so unapologetically affectionate with you— not like he isn’t usually. his touch felt like a lull, your body still in that vibrating stage and it felt nice.

the feeling of wanting to sleep comes, but the second you stop scratching his head he whines for ‘more’. so you get back to it, until you get carried away from the want of unconsciousness. only to get waken up from his needs.

you scoff once it happens a third time. “yeonjunnie” you now whining, “i’m tired.. your hair is soft but i can’t.” you say to him, for him to only glance up at you. “but it feels nice!” he says back. he pouts at you while you scowl. still getting used to the position you guys are in, you can’t help but ask “then can we switch positions?”

he flickers back to the tv, “i’m comfy here though.” he simply says, making no move to your request. you can’t help but roll your eyes, a warmth settling on your cheeks.

the rest of the night was left with an intimate, pure feeling. silence enveloped the both of you once he began to fall asleep on you as well, which led you following soon after. still high minded, you didn’t even really think about the awkwardness of the next morning where you’d wake up with him still in between your legs, sleeping soundly, and unfortunately you’re now stuck in a dilemma:

what does this mean?

[lrithill]

Unzipping You (pt. 2)

Hello everyone, this is the second part of my Terrifier fanfic, "Unzipping You."

I want to thank everyone who voted "like" on the first part and comented—I couldn’t leave you without the second one (wink wink).

For those who haven’t read the first part, I’d love for you to do so!

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/775317132986744832/unraveling-you?source=share (Part 1)

Finally, I did an epilogue too

https://www.tumblr.com/lrithill/776114225232887808/unzipping-you-epilogue?source=share (Epilogue)

It’ll be much more satisfying, as you’ll get a better understanding of the characters’ dynamics and how I’ve interpreted them (I did my best!).

Hope you enjoy it! And stay tuned for my upcoming posts—there’s more to come!

I will also take request, so leave a comment and I will happily make your desires come true (everything is allowed).

With all that said, here you can enjoy 2,300 words of smut.

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The air in the room had grown thick, intoxicated by the heat radiating from your bodies—an infernal fire consuming you, reducing you to ashes… You needed to put an end to this torture.

And there you were, half-naked, and though trapped beneath Art’s body, you had never felt so free.

You found yourself smiling at the thought of being his captive forever—you truly wanted this creature from the underworld to take your soul and swallow the key that would keep it locked away. Right now.

You felt Art’s movements become more inquisitive, insistent, almost possessive. His body moving instinctively, tending to his primal needs—a remnant of lost humanity flickering in his obsidian eyes.

And then, his fingers dug into the small of your waist, gripping your flesh as if clinging to the last shred of self-control he had left.

"Is this lust?"—Art wondered—"I wouldn’t mind burning in the second circle of hell with you."

His blood burned, he was dying of hemophilia—and of desire.

Silence.

Neither of you needed to say it—the heat between you spoke for itself.

– Art…—your voice was more of a plea than a call— Make me yours…—you prayed— Please...

Art was intoxicated with passion—seeing you so devoted to him, a true slave… You set his forgotten ashen heart on fire again.

– Please, Art…—you begged— I can’t take it anymore… I need you inside me.

At this, Art completely lost control. He lunged at you, brushed your hair away from your nape, and began devouring you with kisses as if he were starving.

He buried himself in the crook of your neck and bit you passionately—you bled; but his teeth were followed by his warm, thick tongue, savoring you—you were melting.

His arms were no longer on your waist; they were traveling to your belly, claiming you completely, pressing your body against his as if he wanted to fuse with you—as if he wanted you to become a part of him.

You felt his chest against your back—you fit together like a puzzle.

And that’s when you felt it… his hard, demanding erection—beneath his suit—settling against the curve of your ass.

God.

He’s huge, and he’s so close to your entrance… You can feel his swollen tip pressing against your lips.

You arch your back to welcome him, to increase the friction between your desperate bodies. And, God, does it intensify.

At this, Art lets out a muffled moan—his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His eyes are half-closed, his breathing ragged—he’s never felt anything like this before.

He’s trembling. He doesn’t know what to do.

–It’s okay, Art…—you soothe him— Just feel. Feel me.

And then everything changes. Art pulls away from you, and with one swift motion, he rids you of your panties—the last piece of clothing you had left—before stripping off the bottom half of his suit.

Now, you are both completely naked. Completely real. Completely surrendered.

Curiosity is killing you—you can’t help but glance over your shoulder at the man you’re about to give yourself to. You thought your eyes would go straight to his cock, but instead, they lock onto his gaze, trapping you.

He’s looking at you, and for a moment, you don’t see the psychopath the world fears. You see a man—a lost soul, desperate to understand something that has been stolen from him since the moment he became conscious.

He winks at you—an attempt to ease the tension with his charm—but it’s obvious he’s extremely nervous, insecure.

You take his hands, guiding them to your thighs, encouraging him to claim what is his.

He positions you on your stomach once more and lowers himself over you. You suppose this makes him feel safer—less exposed if you can’t see him directly. Less judged. Hiding behind you.

His cock—hard and slick with precum—throbs as it presses against your entrance, dripping, ready for him.

–I’m yours, Art,—you whisper into his ear—Enjoy my body.

And that’s when he penetrates you. Pushing himself inside you, inch by inch.

You feel his cock stretching your pussy slowly—both of you have stopped breathing—until finally, he’s fully inside.

Art remains still, savoring the sensation of having a tight—too tight—and warm cunt wrapped around his length.

He had to grit his teeth just to make it all the way in.

–Hold on, Art—you say urgently—Don't move yet, I need to adjust to you,—you breathe—You're deliciously big...

You turn your head, your lips meeting his, and you kiss him—you kiss him as if he were the last man on earth.

Art's kisses are timid, but desperate—kissing you was what he needed to completely fall apart. Or to let go.

As your mouths indulge in each other, Art pushes even deeper inside you. You can feel his balls pressed tightly against your clit. His tip kissing your cervix intimately, nestled in the warmth of your belly.

You're so happy to have him inside you—you want him to live in you.

Art can't help but ignore his body's natural urges screaming at him to move—that delicious rocking motion, that primal need.

He starts fucking you—at a pace neither too fast nor too slow—and you feel small sighs escaping his mouth, music to your ears. His hot breath caresses your bare neck. Kisses and touches here and there.

The whole time he's fucking you, his eyes remain shut—you can feel him melting, surrendering to the pleasure you are giving him. His arms have you trapped in a prison of desire, and you wouldn’t mind rotting there for eternity.

His cock is so big that you swear if you touched your stomach, you’d feel a bulge protruding obscenely. You slide your hands down your abdomen, searching for your womb with your fingers, and you feel it—the bulge. You massage his cock from the outside—you truly want him to feel at home.

Art is in ecstasy. "This is the closest I'll ever be to heaven," he thinks.

"I'm flipping off Saint Paul right now,"—he laughs at the thought—"That heaven of yours has nothing on this tight pussy I’m fucking so well."

Art kisses you again, and you can feel him growing more confident with each passing minute.

In this position, his cock can hit your G-spot directly. As Art picks up the pace, his movements become sharper, more precise, striking that sensitive spot over and over again.

Your sighs turn into loud, unrestrained moans—a prayer to Art. Who is lost in the sound of your voice

You moan erotically, your high-pitch, feminine voice ringing in his ears. "So submissive, just for me," Art thinks. "Perfect for me."

He gestures for you to "turn up the volume." He doesn’t need to give you orders—if there’s anyone else in this godforsaken motel, you want them to hear the name of the Miles County Clown being screamed from your lips at the top of your lungs.

He thrusts into you brutally.

—ART.

Again—his teeth sink into your neck.

—AAAAAART!

Another thrust, nearly breaching your womb. He’s an animal.

—OH MY GOD, ART, KEEP GOING! --Jesus has abandoned you at this point. —DON’T STOP, YES, YES, YES, YES…

Your prayer turns into a cacophonic mess as Art fucks you mercilessly. You feel like your language has been reduced to a single word—Art—it’s all you can articulate. He’s fucking your brain out, and you don’t want him to stop. You want him inside you in every possible way.

Art can feel you getting close—so is he—your moans are doing things to him. But he doesn’t want to come without seeing your tits first. That means facing you, looking you in the eyes. It overwhelms him a little… but fuck it, right now, another part of him is doing the thinking.

Art pulls away from you.

Confusion washes over you. Your abused hole clenches at the abrupt emptiness, desperately trying to suck in something that’s no longer there—uselessly.

Art meant to be quick—he's just as eager to continue—but he decides to take his time… He knows it won’t take long for you to beg for his cock, and he wants to see you squirm for him, a bit.

"Art…?"—your voice is a whisper—"Come back, my king… don't leave me now…"

Art watches you—his usual grin spread across his face. He wants to mock you, to imitate sobbing sounds just to tease, but no… he actually wants to take this seriously.

He makes a circular motion with his finger—the same one he used earlier during the massage—telling you to turn over and lie on your back.

Your eyes shine with excitement at the gesture. You obey without a second thought.

You roll onto your back, your legs spread shamelessly—just for him. Art adjusts himself, letting your legs wrap around his waist. He grips his hard cock with one hand, searching for your entrance.

He finds it and thrusts into you again, filling you completely. A wave of pleasure rushes through both of you—a different kind of pleasure in this position, a fresh new sensation.

Art moves back and forth, but he can't stop himself from collapsing over you as the new feeling overwhelms him.

His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving violently.

You hold him with your arms and legs, your hands roaming his back, your thighs squeezing around his waist—locking him into an erotic embrace.

Art looks into your eyes, then at your tits, then back into your eyes… then back to your tits. And that’s when he realizes his mistake: he can't hold on any longer.

He rushed into this position without thinking about the consequences.

He doesn’t want to come before you do.

His gaze drops, staring at your belly. His eyes are wide, almost in shock—paralyzed, submissive… Cold sweat drips down onto your skin like falling icicles.

And then, you realize what he needs.

You grab his head and pull his face close to yours, capturing his mouth between your lips as you kiss him passionately. You part your lips, letting your tongue slip out in search of his, and he responds by welcoming you, accepting your kiss.

The kiss is electrifying, full of raw energy.

You feel the hairs on Art’s skin stand on end as he melts into the moment, drinking you in, as if you were breathing new life into him.

Art pulls away, staring at you with admiration—his expression softened, almost tender, almost loving.

He fucks you at a fast rhythm, your bodies colliding with obscene, wet, sinful sounds.

His forehead rests against your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that you know it’ll leave bruises.

You can’t hold on anymore—your walls start clenching uncontrollably around his cock, begging him not to stop—that electric sensation coursing through your entire body.

You scream.

You can’t help it. Your body arches and writhes against his, surrendering completely to the orgasm taking hold of you.

You keep screaming.

—I’m yours, Art—you moan.

Your orgasm feels endless, stretching on indefinitely as long as Art keeps pounding into you.

Your lips part into a silent "O," your head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut—yet the image of Art is seared into the darkness behind your eyelids.

Art’s gaze drops to your neck, his eyes locked onto the pulse of your jugular—throbbing just beneath your delicate skin.

The bloodthirst rises in him, his instincts clawing their way to the surface. He kisses the spot, tracing it with his tongue, feeling the rush of life beneath his lips.

So delicate… and you, offering yourself so freely. It would be so easy.

So easy…

The thought crashes into him: sinking his teeth into you, tearing you open, devouring you whole. Cumming while your blood spills, while the life drains from your body, while he has your flesh in his mouth, drunk on you.

To have you inside him.

The thought alone—combined with the way your tight cunt is milking him, breeding him, pulling him deeper—is all he needs.

His body tenses.

A deep, primal moan escapes his lips. Spilling himself completely inside you—like an overflowing cup.

Art comes in shots. 

First shot—The thickest one. He squeezes his eyes shut, his body trembling, muffled moans and ragged breaths escaping him. Overcome. He never thought he would experience this in his life.

Second shot—His teeth sink into your neck, into that precious, vital place. His treasure.

Third shot—His lips crash into yours. Both of you moaning into each other's mouths, a kiss that, if it were up to you, could last forever.

Art paints your walls with his seed, and you accept it like the precious liquid it is. All of it, deep inside you—where it belongs.

Art pulls away, exhausted but content.

You see a satisfied smile on his face. It’s obvious—he needed you just as much as you needed him, after all.

You pull the blankets over yourselves. Words aren’t needed—you understand each other without them.

Beneath the intimacy of the sheets, you pull him into an embrace.

He nestles against you, needing your skin.

The image pulls you back to the shooting—to that moment when, after escaping the grip of that wretched abuser, you had instinctively sought out Art’s warmth. You remember how vulnerable you felt, how desperately you needed the safety of his presence.

And now, you wonder… “Is Art feeling just as vulnerable in this moment? Clinging to me? Needing me?”

You kiss the top of his head and gently caress him.

And then, Art does the last thing you expect.

He lifts his head, looks at you, and makes a gesture—his hands clasped together, pulsing lightly over his chest, imitating a pulsating heart.

You stare at him, trying to decipher its meaning.

"Does this mean he loves me?" you wonder. "Or maybe… maybe it means he feels alive?"

You don’t get much time to think about it.

Sleep overtakes both of you as morning comes. The sun peeks over the horizon.

It’s a new day for both of you.

In every sense of the word.

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Thanks for reading this far, I really appreciate it ;)

I will also take request, so leave a comment and I will happily make your desires come true (everything is allowed).

[roseghoul26]

Part 1

Javier Escuella x femVirgin!Reader

Synopsis: You and Javier are to attend a party in Saint Denis, hoping to rob the owner of the establishment. Your role is to distract the man while Javier sneaks up to his room, stealing bonds rumored to be worth a good bit. The only problem is, the two of you are pretending to be husband and wife, which would be fine if you weren’t completely in love with the man. Will you be able to muster up the courage to finally confess to him, or will your personal anxieties hold you back from getting what you want?

Tags: fluff, smut, friends to lovers, fem!Reader, reader is described to have longer hair but that’s about it, reader is afraid of intimacy, but like still wants it, unwanted touch (not from javier), unwanted sexual advances (not from javier), non consensual touching (not from javier), basically any noncon stuff is not done by javier, degrading language towards women, first kiss, love confessions, virgin reader, not beta read, angst, unsafe sex

Author’s Note: i know english and german, not spanish. sorry. also i totally wasn’t projecting while writing this ahaha :D

also this was supposed to not have multiple parts but i broke it down into two just for reader digestibility

part 1 ❉ part 2

You were certain that Miss Grimshaw was trying to kill you.

If she pulled any harder at the corset currently strangling you, you’re sure your lungs would collapse. A startled cry left your lips when she tugged again, causing you to nearly topple into her. Miss Grimshaw rescinded with a disapproving nose, roughly adjusting you back upright. 

The two of you were in someone's tent, Miss Grimshaw practically pulling you in a few minutes ago with a garment in her hands. You had been on guard duty, and you had seen Charles give you an almost apologetic look as she took over for you. 

“You’re actin’ like this is your first time wearin’ a corset,” She reprimanded, pulling yet again at the strings.

You were no stranger to corsets, that was true, but you’ve never had to wear one this tight. Usually they were tight enough to accentuate your figure, but it still was breathable enough that you could move with ease, which was necessary in this lifestyle. This time it was pressed so snug against your body that you feared a sudden movement would pop a rib.

“Not like this!” You snapped, your discomfort causing your fuse to become short. 

“Don’t take it out on me, girl. You can thank Dutch for this.”

You scoffed. “Of course. How does he expect me to move like this?”

“That’s the point. You’re not supposed to.” She emphasized her point with another tug, restricting your airflow even further.

“What?” 

“He wants you to be the distraction, and the only way you’re doin’ that is if we get this corset on.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know that ain’t true. You know damn well I can distract someone without having to kill my lungs.”

“Not this time. You’re goin’ to a party, accompanying one of the men as their newlywed wife. Your story is that you used to be a working girl, but you’ve now settled down with your rich ‘husband’. You’re gonna distract the man of the house with your assets, and by implying that your new husband ain’t takin’ good care of you, if you know what I mean. Rumor has it that he’s a frequent customer of the local brothels, so it’ll be easy to get his attention.” Miss Grimshaw chuckled lightly. “While he’s taken in by you, your ‘husband’ is gonna sneak up to his rooms, looking for bonds or somethin’. You’re gonna have to ask Dutch or someone for the details. He just told me to make you look… irresistible, which is what I’m tryin’ to do, but you keep complainin’!”

“Sorry…” you grumbled. You weren’t too fond of the plan that was just presented to you. As a master conwoman, you were no stranger to using your body as a tool, using your assets to get what you wanted. But if this corset was telling you anything, it was that you were going to be quite out on display, your breasts barely contained in the garment. You knew you would probably be safe with whoever your “husband” was, but you didn’t trust the other men at the party. You were already mentally preparing yourself for the words you were going to be hearing tonight, and for the possible gropes and touches of disgusting men. 

And because you had such little movement, you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself as well as you could. The thought of being so defenseless had you shuddering, which didn’t go unnoticed by Miss Grimshaw. “You’re gonna be alright. Besides, Arthur’ll be taggin’ along with the two of you as extra muscle. Lord knows he’d never let anythin’ happen to you.”

“Arthur ain’t my ‘husband’?” You were expecting the cowboy to be your other half for the night, as the two of you had played that role several times as Mr. and Mrs. Callahan. The two of you worked well together, a natural comradery making it a very convincing act. So much so that some of the gang members had even questioned yours and Arthur’s friendship, but the two of you quickly shut those thoughts down. The two of you were practically siblings, and besides, you had your eyes on someone else in camp. 

“Not tonight. He said he’ll probably be recognized and wouldn’t be able to be someone else, so he asked for someone else to play the role tonight.”

“Please don’t be Micah,” you groaned.

“Dutch ain’t a fool. He knows the two of you would never be a convincing couple.” You could tell she was imagining you and Micah pretending to be sweet on each other, and she laughed boisterously. “The two of you’d kill each other before you even got to the party! That would be a sight to see, though.”

“So who’s gonna be playing my ‘husband’, then?”

Because your back was turned, you missed the mischievous look that flicked across her face. “That will be Mr. Escuella.”

“Javier?!” The remaining air in your lungs came out in a wheeze, and you started coughing. Trying to suck in as much air back in proved to be a difficult task, and you found yourself growing lightheaded for more reasons than one.

“That’s who I said, right? I recommended him myself; I know it won’t be hard for you to pretend that you’re married.”

“What do you-”

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, girl. I know you’re sweet on him.”

“Sure, say it louder so the whole goddamn camp knows!” You huffed, and you prayed that it wasn’t evident that you were blushing. Were you really that obvious?

“I apologize,” she laughed, not sounding sorry at all. “I think the ‘whole goddamn camp’ already knows, girl. Everyone but Javier, that is.” You felt her tug one final time, before tying the strings into a tight knot. Sucking in a deep breath, you tried to calm your racing heart. You were never nervous like this before jobs, but with the new knowledge of who your “husband” was, along with some more personal worries, it was hard to stay calm. Of course you got paired up with the man you’d had your eye on since the moment you joined the gang.

But it wasn’t just being paired up as Javier’s wife that worried you. You had people you could confide in for that, with or without damage to your pride. No, your other anxiety was something that you wouldn’t admit to another soul. The whole backstory that you were going to have, being a working girl, was something that was going to be hard to fabricate because you didn’t have a lot of knowledge in that area. You knew what you had to say and what to do; you were inexperienced, not innocent. You were just concerned that you weren’t going to be able to pull a convincing act, putting you and Javier into danger. 

And you were partially afraid that you would have to do some things that you’d never done before, but instead of it being with someone you trusted, it would be with random gross men at a random gross party. You’d never touched someone in an intimate manner before, and the thought of doing it tonight worried you deeply. You knew that Dutch wouldn’t make you use your body in that way, but things happen, and you were always determined to get what you wanted.

You just hoped that it wouldn’t go that far.

You felt Miss Grimshaw pause a moment, smoothing down the back of your dress with her hands. “You know, he’s sweet on you too.”

Temporarily forgetting your personal worries, you stiffened under her touch. “Alright, now you’re just tryin’ to make me feel better. And you’re startin’ to sound like Mary-Beth.”

“I’m serious! You don’t see the way he stares after you, or hear the way he’s constantly askin’ me about you. Trust me when I say he’s sweet on you too.”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded.

She muttered something under her breath before she was turning you around, forcing you to face her. “I’m just sayin’, tonight would be a good night to test the waters.”

How were you supposed to tell her that you were scared to get close to him?

“Now you’re really startin’ to sound like Mary-Beth.” You felt her fiddle with the neckline of your dress, pulling it down even lower. You let out an indignant squawk, slapping her hands away. “Any further down and I’m gonna get arrested!”

Holding her hands up, she scoffed and rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “Now, you sit right here and put these on,” she gestured to the stool behind you, and handed you a delicate pair of deep red heels. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Complying, you tried your best to sit down, but found it quite hard to do so. The corset dug even further into your skin, so you ended up having to do a weird crouch on the stool. It was uncomfortable, but it worked, and you were able to slip off your old boots to put on the new shoes. The leather was stiff, practically brand new, and you knew that your feet would be blistering by the end of the night. 

True to her word, she was back momentarily, her arms full of products that she dumped on to the nearby bed. You realized now that you were Arthur’s tent, the canvas pulled down to give you space to change. You’d have to thank him later. 

Miss Grimshaw got to work, dusting your cheeks with pink blush and painting your lips with a deep red rouge, which matched the color of your dress. A thin line of black kohl was applied to your upper eye, and you tried your best to not blink as she worked. When she was satisfied with your makeup, she got to work on your hair, pinning it up into a fashionable yet simple updo. Without having your hair to hide behind, your chest felt even more exposed. 

The whole process took about thirty minutes, the evening sun beginning to set when you stood. Your mind was racing the entire time, and you were grateful that Miss Grimshaw didn’t try to distract you with small talk. You needed time to prepare yourself, and she gave it to you. 

She presented you with a small handheld mirror, and you were finally able to see yourself since the ordeal first began. You had to admit that Miss Grimshaw did a fantastic job at getting you dolled up, a newfound confidence calming your racing heart. The blush was placed in just the right way to emphasize your face shape, and the rouge made your lips look full and plush. Even the updo worked well with your features, drawing attention instead of hiding them. 

Taking a step back until you were able to see more of your body in the mirror, and you had to stifle a gasp. Everything about you screamed lust, from the way the corset hugged your hips, to the way it pushed up your breasts, causing them to nearly spill over. The deep red of the dress, like you saw, matched perfectly with your lips, the velvety material pleasant to the touch. Thin black lace lined the sweetheart neckline, the material surprisingly soft against your skin. The black lace pattern continued down the bodice, continuing in places down the skirt, which halted right at your ankles. There weren’t any sleeves on the dress, and you felt Miss Grimshaw place something into your hands: two elbow length gloves the same color of the dress.

Quickly sliding them on, you felt her clip some ruby earring to your ears. She stepped back, a pleased smile on her face that mirrored your own. “I told Javier that it would fit!” She exclaimed, and you gave her a confused look.

“He picked it out. Although, I don't believe he thought it would be this… revealing.”

“He… He bought this for me?” Your cheeks were as dark as the dress.

“He picked out every part of that dress, had it handcrafted just for you.” 

You pushed down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. All of this had to cost so much! Instead of facing your heart, however, you put on an air of annoyance, placing your hands on your hips. “So he knew ‘bout this job, but I didn’t?”

She didn’t respond, but the smirk on her lips told you everything you needed to know. “You found out in time, didn’t you? Now,” he clapped her hands together, and grabbed the final item off the bed. It was a small black clutch, and you watched her place the rouge in there before handing it to you. Inside, alongside the rouge you saw a small tooth comb, one you recognized to be a knife in disguise, along with a small handkerchief.

You gratefully took it, tucking it under your arm. You went to try and leave the tent, but you felt her stop you with a hand on your wrist. Before you could register what she was doing, she had sprayed a few spurts of perfume on you, the floral scent ticking your nose, nearly causing you to sneeze. She let go of you then, practically shoving you out of Arthur’s tent, your new shoes catching on the mud. 

Blinking away the setting sunlight that blinded you, you were startled when a loud wolf-whistle cut through the camp, causing you to nearly drop your clutch. Sean stood a few feet away, unabashedly staring at you as you walked out of the tent. “Nice fuckin’ tits, lass!” He said it so loud, and if people hadn’t turned their heads at the whistle, they sure were looking now. 

You flipped him off, a scowl crossing your features as you marched away. He didn’t get the hint, and you knew that he was trailing after you. “Hey, don’t be like that now!” He was very clearly drunk, stumbling over his steps, nearly falling face first a few times.

Standing at the center of camp, you crossed your arms, trying your best to cover your chest. “Fuck off, Sean.” You glanced around, and you found a few pairs of eyes on you. Some of the looks were kind, like from Arthur and Hosea, who regarded you without any lecherous intent behind their eyes. You heard Hosea comment on how you cleaned up nice, and Arthur, who sat next to him, nodded in agreement. Smiling warmly at them in response, you felt a tad bit less exposed. 

“Well that ain’t no talk for a lady. Where's your manners?”

Fighting the urge to shove him away from you, you smiled with malice. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” you put on your best posh voice, resting your hand over your heart. “Please fuck off, Sean.” Not giving him time to respond, you stalked over to the other side of camp, where you saw Tilly, Karen, Mary-Beth, and Abigail gathered around one of the fires. Clemens Points had its advantages, the multiple fireplaces away from the men in the center of camp being one of them. You did a quick detour, stopping by your belongings and grabbing a silver ring, tucking it into the clutch, before heading over to the girls.

Wolf-whistles and cheers left the girls' lips, and you put on a little show as you made our way over. Instead of feeling degraded like you did with Sean, you felt confident. You halted in front of them, doing a little spin with an almost proud smile on your face. 

“Goddamn, girl! Where’ve you been hidin’ all that?” Karen teased, and you waved her away. “You look incredible!”

“I feel incredible,” you beamed. 

“Where did you get that dress? It looks so expensive!” Tilly commented, and you moved close enough so they could feel the material, letting out unanimous content noises when they felt how soft it was. 

“Well…” you almost didn’t want to tell them, knowing their reactions were going to be extreme. They knew you had feelings for Javier, and this was just going to add fuel to their conspiracy that he felt the same. “Javier got it for me.”

Stunned silence was all there was, until they all erupted at the same time, questions and comments spilling from them so quickly that you couldn’t even hope to process them. Rolling your eyes, you pulled away from them, your skirts falling back around you.

”Javier bought it?” Mary-Beth was eating this whole situation up. “Does that mean… are you two…?”

“No. He was just being nice.”

The girls gave each other knowing looks, and you watched as Karen rolled her eyes, and Mary-Beth gave you a disbelieving look. “Now, I know you ain’t dumb, but you’re makin’ it really hard to say that,” Karen muttered, and you scoffed. 

“I’m serious! He was just being nice, nothin’ else!”

“Sure,” Tilly laughed. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You glanced over at Abigail, the one person who had yet to say anything yet. “Abi, please, tell them.”

She sighed, setting the embroidery that she was working on in her lap. “Well, it’s not a simple friendly gesture to buy someone a dress like that…”

You groaned. “You were supposed to be on my side.” 

Abigail just shrugged, barely able to hide a laugh. “Did he just buy the dress, or…” she gestured to your earrings. 

Whatever expression that was on your face was a sufficient enough answer for the girls, who in turn began to laugh. “So, not only did he buy you a beautiful dress, but he also bought you earrings? He’s in love.” Mary-Beth said in almost a sing-song manner. 

“He is. Don’t you dare try to argue otherwise,” Karen threatened. 

“I…” you trailed off, defeated. “Even if he is, nothin’ is gonna come from it! Don’t get those ideas in my head!”

“We are doing nothin’ of the sort. We’re just stating the facts.” Tilly’s eyes flicked to something behind you, and you watched her playfully smile. “But if you don’t believe us, why don’t you go ask him?” She pointed behind you, and you turned your head. Javier was indeed there, but luckily his back was turned to your group, in the middle of a conversation with Dutch and Hosea. 

Even from the glimpse you got, you knew he was dressed up well, a black blazer fitting tightly to his form, accentuating his shoulders and tapering down nicely to his waist. His pants matched color wise, and were just as tight as the jacket, doing little to hide the thick swell of his thighs, and his ass-

Someone clearing their throat had you turning your head back around, finding a group of amused girls waiting for you. Karen produced a handkerchief, practically throwing it at you. “For your drool,” she smirked, and you felt your ears burn. You hadn’t meant to be that obvious with your ogling. 

“Shuddup,” you threw the cloth back at her, and she laughed uproariously, the other girls joining in as well. 

“Why don’t you tell him?” Abigail asked, a sincere curiosity in her question. “You’re obviously both taken with each other, and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Rather you get your heart broken and know then spend the rest of your life wonderin’.”

“I-I’m not quite sure. I’ve never had a relationship before, and I guess I’m just scared of them, I guess. I don’t wanna do somethin’ wrong. And besides, he’s a ladies man, suave, a charmer. And I’m just… me. I’m rather boring compared to him, and I don’t wanna make him feel, I dunno, trapped with me.” You weren’t quite sure how to explain to the girls that you feared he might find your lack of experience unappealing, how he would want someone that could keep up with him. Additionally, you felt ashamed to admit your fear of intimacy after hearing your entire life that it was something you should want. And you do want it, but you couldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

“Just do somethin’ before you can’t, alright?”

You watched again as Tilly looked behind you, nudging Mary-Beth who sat beside her, and the two of them shared a look. “What?”

“Oh, nothin’,” they smiled, yet they kept their eyes locked behind you. 

“Please don’t tell me he’s comin’ over here.” Their responding giggles told you that, yes, Javier was indeed making his way toward your group.

“Do not say anythin’. Especially you,” you pointed at Karen, and she held up her hands in defense. 

“Hey, I’m just sick of seein’ the two of you dance around each other.”

“We are not-” you pinched the bridge of your nose, annoyed. “Why does everything keep thinkin’ that?”

“Because we’re not blind. Now,” Karen did a spinning motion with her finger, “go greet your ‘husband’.” 

Looking over your shoulder, you saw that he was only a few feet away, a warm smile gracing his features when you made eye contact. You reciprocated, trying your best to not look as nervous as you felt. 

As you did a quick scan over his body, you felt your heart rate pick up. He looked good, which he always did, but even more so now. Wearing a simple white button up under the black jacket, you saw ruby cufflinks peek out, and you noticed some more details now that he was closer. The inside of the jacket was a deep red, similar to your dress, and was made of a very fine looking silk, and his usual red necktie was around his neck. A gold pocket watch hung from his vest, and you were shocked when you noticed that it looked exactly like the bodice of your own dress. Upon closer examination, you realized that it was indeed made out of the same fabric of your dress.

By this point he had reached your side, standing close enough next to you that could feel his heat, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. You were glad for the dimming light, as it made it harder to see the darkening of your cheeks. If this is what your reaction was to him simply standing next to you, then you had no idea how you were going to react when he was pretending you were his wife.

“Hello, Javier.” Was your voice shaking? You’re certain it was.

“Hello, ‘wife’,” he winked, laughing when you scoffed. Thankfully he didn’t seem to catch the way you blushed even deeper. “Good evening, ladies,” he nodded to the other girls by the campfire. They responded in unison, but you noticed that Javier didn’t pay them much mind, his eyes only on you. “You ready to go?” 

When you nodded, he held a palm up for you, which you grasped gently in your gloved hand. And because of course he had to, you watched as he bowed slightly, kissing the back of your hand with soft reverence. He kept his eyes on yours the entire time, making the act feel more intimate than it was. He’s just playing the part, calm yourself. Forcing down the panic, you watched the edges of his eyes crinkle when you giggled lightly, a smile on his lips when he stood upright. You felt him keep his grip on your hand, tugging you away from the girls, who called on you to have a good night between giggles.

As Javier led you away, your hands interlocked, you felt him lean close to you. “Do you like the dress?”

You secured the clutch under your arm. “I love the dress! Thank you, Javier. For everything,”

He shrugged with an uncharacteristically bashful smile, but it was quickly replaced with his usual confident one as he leaned closer to you again. “You look beautiful, mi amor.”

You’d heard him use that last phrase with you before, its frequency increasing over the last couple of months. You had no idea what it meant, and every time you asked he would change the subject. Even when you asked the others around camp, they refused to tell you, a look on their faces that you couldn’t quite recognize. 

“So do you. I mean, you always do…”

“Do I, now?” You could hear the smugness dripping from his voice.

“Oh, hush,” you shoved him with your shoulder, finding yourself barely able to move the man as you slowly walked, still getting used to your new shoes. You hadn’t meant to say that much.

“No, no, tell me more,” he laughed, and you shook your head, laughing as well. 

“I ain’t inflatin’ your ego any more, Mr. Escuella. I’m sure someone else will do that for you.”

“Sure. But I want to hear it from you.”

“Nope.” You emphasized the p sound with a pop of your lips. “My lips are sealed.”

With his free hand, you watched as he placed it over his heart, feigning hurt. “You wound me. I thought you loved me.”

His comment had you panicking, but you hid it behind a laugh. Did he know? Did someone tell him? Oh God, please don’t let him know. 

He continued, unaware of your current inner turmoil. “My ‘wife’, refusing to compliment me. It’s outrageous!” 

Right. He was just playing into the role again. With an inaudible sigh of relief, you were able to calm your thoughts. “Well, if our backstory is to be believed, then there ain’t much to compliment you on.”

Javier barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s the story we’re running with, aren’t we. Rich husband and dissatisfied wife.” The mirth in his eyes dissolved into something more serious, something more… amorous. “It’ll be a hard role for me to play, because I could never leave you unsatisfied.”

“What do… oh.” You were at a loss for words, and the intensity of his gaze had you melting. It wasn’t the first time that Javier had flirted with you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but it was the first time he’d ever teased the idea of the two of you being intimate. It’s not that you were fully opposed to the idea, but it scared you. Actually, it terrified you. Throat suddenly dry, you cleared it, no doubt looking quite taken aback. “Well, I-”

“Oh, so he gets treated kindly, but I get told to ‘fuck off’’,” Seans loud complaining had you snapping your head to the side, the moment between the two of you shattered. You hadn’t even realized you were back in the main camp, too engrossed in your conversation with Javier. 

Glaring at the red haired man, you flipped him off again, and you heard the man beside you chuckle. “And I’ll say it again. Fuck. Off.”

“Y’know what, lass, I’ve tried bein’ nice-” “Complimentin’ a woman’s tits ain’t nice, Sean.”

Anger flashed across his features, and he started making his way toward the two of you, still as drunk as he was moments ago. Stiffening your shoulders, you braced yourself for confrontation, balling your free hand into a fist. Sean’s attention was momentarily taken off you, his eyes going behind you. Whatever he saw must’ve frightened him, his normally pale face going even paler. “I- Well… have a good night then.” He quickly scurried away, leaving you very confused. Glancing back at Javier, you failed to notice him tucking his knife away, hidden under the layers of clothing.

“What was that all about?” You asked him, falling back into a casual stance. He shrugged, and you grinned. “Guess I’m just that scary, then.” 

“Oh, yes. You’re terrifying,” he jested, sarcasm evident in his voice. 

“Hey!” You slapped him on the shoulder, and he snickered. “I’m plenty scary. Have you seen me with a knife?”

“Honestly, I’m more scared of seeing what you’ll do to yourself than anyone else.”

You scoffed, but you were still smiling. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to teach me.” You definitely weren’t coming up with an excuse to be with him more, and you definitely weren’t coming up with an excuse to watch his dexterous fingers work their magic with a blade. 

Javier had a soft look on his face. “I guess I will, then.”

The rest of your short walk to the edge of camp near the entrance was done in easy silence, and you were about to ask how exactly you were getting to the party, but it was answered when you saw a two-horse carriage pull into the camp, with a very discontent looking Bill atop it. He stopped a few feet from the two of you, annoyance evident in his body language.

“What kind of party are we goin’ to that we need a carriage? And how the hell did we get one?”

“An expensive one. And you’re asking a group of thieves how they got their hands on a carriage?”

“Fair point,” you laughed, laughing even harder when you saw how absolutely ridiculous Bill looked. He was dressed in a suit as well, but it was very clearly a size too small, the pants riding up far enough to expose what felt like half of his lower leg. A large top hat sat on his head, with a single, meager looking feather sticking out of it, bent in all the wrong directions. A scowl crossed his face when he saw you laughing, and you tried to hide it behind your hand. 

“Whatcha laughin’ at?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” you gestured to his whole getup.

“Ain’t my fault the old driver was short. And don’t go laughin’ just yet, I’m the one gettin’ you to the damn party.”

“You’re right. My apologies,” you sighed. “How ‘bout this. To make it up to you, I’ll see if I can’t steal some whiskey. The expensive stuff.”

You saw that he pretty much immediately made up his mind, but he still took the time to think, just for the sake of it. “Fine. But I don’t wanna hear another laugh from you.”

You nodded as Javier brought you to the side of the carriage, opening the door for you. Helping you into the carriage with the hand that held yours, you quickly sat down, adjusting the skirt to rest comfortably around you. There wasn’t much you could do for the bodice, the frame of it digging into your skin, but you refrained from grimacing. You expected Javier to follow in after you, but he didn’t, simply stepping back and slowly closing the door. 

“You ain’t gettin’ in?”

He shook his head. “Not just yet. I gotta go talk to Arthur before we set off.”

In all honesty, you had completely forgotten that your friend was accompanying the two of you. “Is he riding in here with us or…?” The carriage was big enough for two, and you’re sure you could squeeze a third person in if you tried hard enough. 

He shook his head again. “He’ll be riding behind us on horseback. He’s security, after all.”

Nodding, you settled back into your seat, at least as best you could. “All right. Well,” you shooed him, “I won’t hold you up any longer.”

Smiling gently, he closed the door, lacking shut with a soft click. It was eerily silent within the carriage, and you were sure that you could scream, and no one outside the carriage would be able to hear you. All the sounds from outside, from the chirping of crickets to the water lapping at the shore were silenced, leaving only your labored breathing and your thudding heart. 

Glancing out the window, you were able to see the receding figure of Javier, most of his form indistinguishable in the dimming light. Like every other time you interacted with Javier, you were going back over the conversation in your head, overanalyzing everything that you said and did, pinpointing moments where you should’ve said something different, or just kept your mouth shut all together. 

But now you found yourself thinking over what he said. You were replaying the moment where he called you beautiful, following it up with that one phrase that, whenever he said it, had a look in his eye that almost seemed like… longing? You weren’t quite sure. 

The sincerity behind his words had you temporarily questioning everything that you knew about your relationship with the man, but you quickly pushed those thoughts away. You were scared, to be honest, to imagine the two of you as anything more than friends. Because what if you were better off as friends, a romantic relationship ruining whatever connection you had. What if he found you boring, or he grew to disdain you? 

Why couldn’t things be simple? Why were you so scared of getting close to him, so scared of him touching you? Why couldn’t you be more confident and straightforward with your advances? Why couldn’t you just tell him how you felt and hope it all works out? 

Groaning, your head rolled back, hitting the wall of the vehicle. You still watched him, a black silhouette that had his back turned to you, deep in conversation with Arthur, who was standing next to his horse. 

The click of the door had you snapping out of your thoughts, straightening up immediately. Javier greeted you with a small smile as he climbed in, stopping mid-way when he heard Arthur shout something at him, which you weren’t able to make out. Javier rolled his eyes, and you thought he was blushing for a moment, but you played it off as a trick of the light. 

“What did Arthur say?” You laughed as Javier settled into his seat across from you. The carriage was large enough to fit two people, sure, but you still felt his knees brush against yours. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, nearly causing you to jump. 

“He was just being a fool. It doesn't matter.” He clearly didn’t want to continue talking about it, so you let it drop, ignoring the curiosity nagging at you. “Are you ready?”

As I’ll ever be. “Yes.”

In response, you heard him knock loudly on the window, signaling for Bill to start moving. The carriage suddenly moving caught you off guard, causing you to fall forward. You caught yourself, your hands on his knees. You didn’t hear the light gasp that came from Javier, smiling sheepishly as you righted yourself, placing your hands back on your lap, securing your clutch there. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was breathless, and you figured that he was nervous as well. 

“So, tell me about this party.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

It was about a twenty minute ride to Saint Denis, where the party was being held. It was one similar to the one Arthur, Dutch, and some of the others went to a few weeks prior, happening in one of the extravagant houses that lay on the edge of the town. The owner of the house, one Lee Edward Reginald III, was known to have bonds that he constantly bragged about to anyone who asked, apparently worth a fortune. 

The two of you formulated your story during the drive. Your names were William and Anna Howard, and the two of you had been married for two years. Hailing from a small town east of New Austin called Fairington, the two of you had stuck it rich when you found a vast supply of oil under your homestead. The two of you had traveled all this way to hopefully establish business partners in the west, and to begin creating a name for yourselves in the more “civilized” Saint Denis. 

You saw a wooden sign that marked you were close to Saint Denis, and you felt your anxiety begin to return. Trying to calm yourself, you repeated in your head that this was no different than any other con job you’ve done, and you weren’t nervous before those. This should be no exception.

“So, how did we meet?” Javier’s question halted your spiraling.

“Hm?” 

“How did we meet? Someone’s bound to ask.”

“I think the story Miss Grimshaw told me is that I used to be a working girl, and we met at the bar when I tried to offer my services.”

“Not too different from how we actually met, no?”

You laughed. “The only similarities between our stories is that we met at a bar. From what I remember, you tried to rob me as I drank alone.”

“I thought you were an easy target. I was mistaken,” he rubbed the side of his face where you had punched him all that time ago. “And I didn’t realize you had robbed me until way after.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever returned that ring back to you. How many months ago was that? Seven? Eight?”

“Something like that,” he smiled, reminiscing over your less than pleasant meeting. You’d joined the gang not long after, Javier having recommended you to Dutch himself. If anyone could rob a member of the Van Der Linde gang and get away with it, they deserved a place with them. 

“That reminds me…” you reached for your clasp, pulling out the ring you grabbed earlier. You almost wanted to slide the ring on his finger yourself, but instead you held it out to him in your palm. “A married man’s gotta have a ring, right?”

Gingerly taking it from your hand, you watched him examine it in the low light, shock causing him to laugh lightly. “You still had it? I would’ve thought you sold it already.”

You shrugged. “I just kept forgettin’ to sell it.” The truth was that you couldn’t bring yourself to sell it, always tucking it away whenever you’d bring your haul to the fence. Eventually, you just kept it with your small pile of belongings in the small lean-to tent you shared with some of the girls, a small token to remember him by. You’re not sure why it meant so much to you, but it brought a smile to your lips every time you saw it. “You can keep it, after we’re done.”

“No, you earned it. I’ll make sure you get it back.”

You held back a sigh of relief, having grown surprisingly sentimental toward the piece of jewelry. “So, how long did it take you to notice it was gone?”

“An embarrassingly long time,” he rescinded. You weren’t satisfied with that answer, and you raised a challenging brow at him. He sighed. “About ten minutes after you left.”

A loud bark of laughter left you. “I took it from you right as we started talking! And we talked for, what, half an hour? It took you that long?”

“In my defense, I was distracted.”

“How? If I remember, you weren’t even drunk.”

“All my attention was on the gorgeous woman in front of me. Someone could’ve held up the place, and I wouldn’t have even noticed.”

“Sure, I looked real pretty,” you rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “With the mud in my hair, and the scraps I was wearin’, I’m sure I was the prize woman of the town.”

“You didn’t have mud in your hair,” he laughed. “It was on your face.”

“Oh, that's much better, then.” 

He laughed, his mustache following the movement of his lips as he smiled. “Even if you were covered in dirt, or if you were dolled up like you are, I’d still think you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” It was now that you wished he was sitting next to you, rather than in front of you, just so you didn’t have to feel his eyes on you.

“Really?” It sounded less confident than you’d like, sounding more like disbelief than anything. You knew you were pretty, but to hear it from him made you believe it with full certainty.

“Would I lie to you?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. When you shook your head, you felt him gently grab your hand, holding it palm-up in his own. Instinctively, you pulled it away, and you immediately regretted it, even more so when you saw the hurt and confused look on his face.

“I…” you swallowed, shame burning your face. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he laughed, but there was no humor behind it. “You confuse me. I can’t tell if you want me too, or if you’re disgusted by me. I honestly cannot tell.”

So he did feel the same. Swallowing, you mustered enough courage to set your hand back in his. “I do want you, Javier. I really do. It’s just… I’m scared.” Your voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet it sounded like you were shouting to your ears.

“What are you scared of?” His question wasn’t judgemental, simply wanting to know.

“It’s real stupid,” you sighed, no longer being able to look him in the eye. 

“Mi amor, look at me. Please.” When you did, he smiled reassuringly at you. “Tell me. I want to help you.”

God, why was he so sweet? And how was he able to crash down the walls you build up in your mind, to never tell another soul about your fears? You turned your hand so that you could grasp his fingers lightly. “I’m scared of this,” you shook his hand. “I’m scared of your touch. And I’m scared of changin’ what we have.” When he started pulling his hand away, you gripped his hand tighter, keeping him there. “But I want it so badly. And I want you, so, so badly. ”

He certainly looked confused now. “I’m trying to understand, I really am, but…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing.

“It’s like, whenever I feel your hands on me, my heart is elated, but my brain freaks out, and not in a good way. And I guess I’m afraid that you ain’t gonna like what you see when you get close to me.” Both physically and personality wise. When you were met with silence, you were mentally berating yourself for practically dumping your issues on the poor man. “Look, if this just changed the way you feel, I understand.”

“I never said that. It doesn’t change anything.” His words were short, but he wasn’t angry. “But I guess I’m just curious as to why?”

“Because I-”

A loud rapping on the glass cut you off, and you jumped slightly. Bill stood on the other side of the window, looking pissed off. It finally occurred to you that you had reached your destination, the carriage long since halted. With a sigh, Javier leaned back, pulling his hand away, giving you a look that says we’ll finish this conversation later.

As he got out, your mind was reeling. He felt the same way towards you, but you didn’t know if you should feel elated or terrified. You didn’t know what was worse, having feelings for someone and them not knowing, or having feelings that were reciprocated and being too afraid to do anything about it.

Sighing, you barely noticed him holding out a hand expectantly to you. You hadn’t budged from the carriage, pretty much forgetting about the party. Sucking in a breath, you took his hand, letting him help you out. 

The heels of your shoes clicked pleasantly against the cobbled street as your feet made contact with the ground. Looking around, you saw that Bill had parked the two of you a block away, giving you plenty of time to prepare yourselves.You could hear the music from the party already, a lively jig mixed with laughter and cheers. Waving goodbye to Bill, he left the two of you alone. Quickly, you took out the rouge, applying it to your lips with practiced movement, not even needing to look in a mirror. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Javier watch you, looking away when you focused your attention on him. 

Tucking the clutch in your hand, you took in a deep breath. “Arthur’s already there. Ready?” You heard the man beside you ask, and you nodded. He began to move, resting a hand on the small of your back to lead you, before almost immediately retracting it.

“Are… Is that alright?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. We’ve got a job to do.” Javier opened his mouth, ready to protest, but you cut him off. “I appreciate it, I really do, but right now we just gotta pretend that the conversation we just had didn’t happen.”

Nodding, you felt his touch return, but not where it was. Instead, you felt him link his arm through yours, and he continued to lead you toward the party. “You’re almost worse than Arthur, refusin’ to touch me anywhere else than my arm.” You joked, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Does he know?”

You shook your head, and the two of you fell into a semi-uneasy silence. You could tell that Javier was overthinking things. “Don’t worry too much, Javier. I knew what was going to happen tonight. Do what you need to do in order to pull a convincing act.” When he didn’t respond, you glanced over at him. He smiled back at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes. You leaned in to him. “You do remember I said I did want your hands on me, right?”

He relaxed a bit. “I do.”

The two of you were growing closer to your destination, the music growing louder and louder. “I think the only reason why I’m scared is because it’s… unknown to me. You know when you’ve never done something, and it seems terrifying, and then you do it and it turns out it ain’t all that bad? That’s what it is.” You took a moment to breathe. “So, basically what I’m tryin’ to say is I’m alright with you touchin’ me tonight. Please.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “I trust you, Javier.”

Deep brown eyes peered into your eyes, looking for any uncertainty. When he found none, he relaxed even further, and you watched as the smile now reached his eyes. “Only tonight?”

There he was. There was the confident, flirtatious man you’d fallen for. 

You laughed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mr. Escuella.”

He tsked, shaking his head. “I don’t know a Mr. Escuella. Are you cheating on me, my dear wife?”

You dramatically gasped in horror. “I would never, Mr. Howard! You insult me by merely suggesting the idea!”

The two of you fell into laughter, and you felt the hand around yours move back to your back, rubbing soothingly there. For the first time, you felt yourself not immediately wanting to jump away, and you instead settled against him. 

As the two of you walked into the party, you ignored the eyes that immediately jumped to you, eyes racking over your body in a less than kind way, from both men and women. All that you could see right now was the soft way Javier regarded you, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Pressing yourself against him so that he was holding you in a side hug, you felt him brush his lips atop your head, so lightly that you would barely call it a kiss. But the gesture had you melting, nearly turning into a puddle on the floor.

You saw Arthur out of the corner of your eye, in the middle of a conversation with some rich looking folk, and you regarded him with a small smile, and it barely even noticed by the other man. The hand on your back tugged slightly, pulling you alongside Javier as he led you toward the group with Arthur in it. Javier introduced himself, and you shook hands as well, introducing yourself with the names you’d come up with. 

As Javier talked, you found yourself zoning out, too distracted by the hand on your back to join in fully on the conversation. You failed to notice the way that the other men, besides Arthur, ogled you unabashedly, and you felt his hand curl around your waist, fingers wrapping around your waist and pulling you tighter to him.

Despite what you thought, you found that you were at ease, not even a hint of feeling uncomfortable. A warm feeling settled in your chest, something that you always felt when you thought of Javier. But it was turning into an inferno, threatening to consume you, taking over every thought and feeling in your body. 

You were so in love with him.

Before you could even register what you were doing, you rested your hand on his back. Javier was clearly not expecting this, based on the way he stiffened, but you felt him relax instantly. You could hear the way his tone changed as he talked, barely able to fight a smile. 

But what shocked you the most is that you found yourself wanting more. And you wanted it now. Every nerve in your body craved his touch, and you were finding it harder and harder to detach yourself from him. And you were supposed to pretend that you didn’t want him?

It was going to be a long party.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Jealousy (Sihtric Kjartansson x reader)

synopsis: An order from Uthred has Sihtric and you in a situation that is less than to both of your liking, for very seperate reasons. However it also brings to light more than what you were sent there to do.

warnings: Sihtric being jealous (obvi), smut but nothing too graphic, p in v, love confessions, afab reader

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon @sihtricfedaraaahvicius

(If you want to be tagged in the `kissing booth AU´, for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you @wildchild2707 for the lovely request! I´m sorry it took a bit to actually get to and finish it. I still hope you like it!<3

Dividers by me

You thought it was a bad idea, but when Uthred had come to you the previous night to talk to you about his plans for you and Sihtric to secretly spy on another clan of Danes that had settled to draw the borders between Daneland and the remaining land ruled by Saxons even further, you couldn't deny him. Still, you spend the whole night awake with all sorts of bad feelings swirling in your stomach. It was one thing not to let the others know where you went, but to stage a fight... It wouldn't have been your first choice. The allegiance of the men surrounding you seemed to waver from day to day as it was already. Of course, Uthred wouldn´t hear any of these concerns. According to your leader the clan was prone to violent behaviour just because they could and made up of many different country men. Your knowledge of languages would come in practical according to Uthred, but the prospect of being able to use your knowledge didn´t make you any happier. Instead of planning a staged fight, he should have been planning the attack that wiped out the clan. A deep sigh left your lungs as you sit with the others, waiting for the operation to start. The sound luckily goes unnoticed by Finan and Osferth, who are too busy with their own banter to pay attention to their surroundings. It was driving you crazy. They had fought against Danes alongside women before. What made you so different from them that you weren’t good enough to do something you were easily capable of. At least in his eyes. He had seen you fight and now when he had the chance to harness your power, he was going so far as to even put someone by your side to, what, secure everything would go to plan? Sihtric breaks your line of thought by 'provoking' Uthred, catching the attention of everyone sitting around in the tavern. It was a mess with the two men 'arguing´ while Finan tried to intervene and conciliate them, of course to no avail. After several fruitless attempts you begrudgingly play your part.

“Sihtric.” You call out to him with a firm voice. Surprisingly having his attention immediately. The brown puppy eyes search yours as you continue to speak in a calming tone. “Let us go.”

The two of you make your way away from the ground. Ignoring the off handed comment from somewhere in the crowd about how whipped Sihtric must be to follow you so easily and how you had him henpecked. It made your blood boil and fists clench tightly to be reduced to this caricature of an angry housewife, but you had to prepare for the coming night.

When everyone finally goes to sleep, you sneak to the stables, take your horses and begin the journey to the new camp. It is tough, but you get accepted by them eventually and trusted enough to collect the information you want to get. Yet the longer you stay there, a change settles over your life, that no one could have foreseen.

Your plan going into the mission was to get in get the information and get out. To get involved with anyone as little as possible. If only plans always worked out the way they are supposed to.

Over time, you grew closer to one of the men. He had to be a few years older, yet you found yourself sparring with him often and even outside of that, something akin to the sentiments of a friendship formed between the two of you. Even if it admittedly made Sihtric quite huffy, you felt like Krystof saw you for all of you, there were no lingering or lusting glances or looks of underestimation and that felt nice, it truly did. It was a welcome change, even if the simple sight of it soured not only Sihtric's mood, but also the friendship you had once shared. If one could have called it that before, it surely wasn't anymore now. Discussions of what information you had gathered and steps to take from then on were laced with sarcastic comments of all kinds. Every single one going ignored or being answered by a roll of your eyes. You told him often enough why you were leaning into the affectionate behaviour of some of the men. It is not until one dinner that you get an explanation ass to where these remarks stemmed from.

Krystof and you sat together, eating and talking with your heads close together as to understand each other over the noise of the others, when you catch Sihtric shooting you another one of those sour looks.

“You are aware he is far beyond wanting to simply hump you, right?” Krystof asks with a conspiratorial grin.

“Do not be silly now.” You scold him, but the smile on your face is firm in its place.

“I am not being silly; this is a man deep in love if I have ever seen one. A very jealous one at that.” He insists.

You look over to Sihtric who looks about ready to murder the entire settlement by himself. Quickly and to not raise suspicion, you turn back away from him, but barely get enough time to open your mouth to say something to your new friend, when someone taps you on the shoulder.

“We need to talk.” Sihtric began. The words not a question, but a statement. “Now.”

“Are you feeling well Sihtric? You are quite red in the face.” You noted the state he was in. Breath heaving his chest, fists clenched and a red tint colouring his face.

“Yes, I have never been better. I need to talk to you.” He insists.

“What is this about? You have been behaving so differently ever since we arrived here.” You question the dark-haired man as the two of you enter the empty stables nearby.

“Do you seriously have to ask why?” His answer is more affected and rawer than you would´ve thought it would be, making your heart skip a beat in surprise.

“Would you please just explain it to me?” You ask this time with more insistence.

For a moment there is silence between the two of you while Sihtric is struggling to find the right words.

However, the moment concludes with not a verbal answer, but his rough hands cupping your face and as your eyes widen and your heartbeat accelerates, he pulls you in to press his lips to yours. Expressing every feeling he harbours for you with the touch. It takes a moment to process what is happening, moving you to pull away from him.

“The depth of the affections I have felt for you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you is too far to ever be accurately put into words. Out of respect of your lack of interest in romantic relationships I swore myself to stay away, but seeing you fully lean into the pretty words those men poured into your ear like honey, drives me wild. Tell me, what changed so suddenly?” Sihtric's words are raw with emotion. So much that it would have stunned you, where you a different person.

“Sihtric, you would not have to ask this if you heard the way any of Uhtred’s men talked about women? Even the women who fought along them? We are nothing more than objects in the end. Here I am recognized for the qualities I have, not the ones that men wish I would have. Besides, it got me a ton of information we otherwise might not have gotten at all.” You doubt your words will make much of a change, yet Sihtric seems to always be good for a surprise.

He pulls you close once more, the hold on your body is gentle enough for you to pull away should you wish to, but still firm enough to show his intention.

“If you allow me, I will prove to you that I am not like them.” He whispers against your lips, waiting for a sign of your consent.

Which follows in the form of a nod and a whispered “Yes.”

In the blink of an eye his lips crash onto yours again in what this time is a reciprocated kiss. Your lips move together in perfect synchronisation. Languid movements speak the depth of your affections for each other into the world. Your hands move to wander over his strong upper arms, feeling the muscles tense underneath. All the while the dark-haired man pushes you backwards to lay against the stack of hay, never once breaking the sweet, yet passionate kiss.

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, warm breath huffing against his face like his does yours.

“I have dreamt of this forever.” Sihtric muttered.

His hands are all over you. Caressing you with the most reverend touches anyone has ever graced you with, making your heart beat out of your chest as the two of you begin to undress each other slowly. Hands moving over ever inch of skin as it gets exposed. Everything about this moment steals the words and thoughts right from your brain. In truth you had been feeling much the same for him, yet you had never seen a chance for the two of you to be together like this.

“You are a goddess.” Sihtric´s quiet voice in your ear pulls you from the attempt at coherent thought.

His surprisingly soft lips ghost over the shell of your ear, but the tingling is soon overshadowed by his hard length running through your folds to tease before positioning himself at your entrance. With slow, deliberate movements he pushes inside of your tight hole, setting a steady pace. Even the dull feeling of fullness only aids in the conveying of the affection the two of you have for each other. This isn't senseless humping. With expert moves Sihtric brings you closer to climax.

A string of desperate “I love you”´s falls from your lips uncontrollably, like a prayer, voice raw from whining and moaning.

Each one is answered by Sihtric calmingly shushing you as one of his hands caressed your forehead, eventually settling to rest against your cheek.

Your eyes move up to meet his and Sihtric bows his head to lean his forehead against yours.

“I have always loved you.” He mutters breathily.

His lips capture yours to muffle the louder growing whines and whimpers and with steady, deliberate, perfect rolls of his hips, you are made to feel the waves of pleasure crash over you. Your legs tighten behind his back to pull him close as your hips shake and walls flutter until he follows off the edge. Shooting his seed into your cunt until he has no more to give.

The two of you remain there until you hear voices filing out of the hall, basking in the afterglow of your love making and each other’s presence now that the tension had been dissolved. You were aware that there were still things to talk about probably, but now was not the time.

[her-power]

So Called Chaos (Part Four: Modern single dad! e.m x fem reader)

❤️‍🩹🚨‼️18+ Minors DO NOT interact ‼️🚨❤️‍🩹

Trigger warnings/content warnings: Talk of Grief, Child loss, Death. Panic/Anxiety Disorder. Swearing. Fluff. Super cute friendship scene with Eddie & Robin.

Summary: Full summary on Part One.

Word Count: 4k

Cold, it was so cold. You don’t know what happened; you remember laughing with Sam and then the next thing you see is the crack windshield and hearing the sirens. You don’t even know how they got Lily out, you remember her crying and then silence. 

“Sam…”

“I’m here baby.”

“I don’t wanna die.” 

“You won’t.”

“Everything hurts.” 

You turn your face to look at him, but when you do, his face is almost unrecognizable, his skin is blue, and the piece of metal in his stomach seemed to be three sizes too big. 

You scream.

Screaming yourself awake wasn’t uncommon for you, but it had been a while since you had a nightmare like that. Your hands shook as you sit up in bed, turning on the bedside light. You felt the sweat drip down your neck, and you take in three deep breaths. It was four o’clock in the morning. Only hours ago, you were the happiest you had been in a while, but that was now overshadowed but the crippling anxiety you felt in this moment. Pushing the covers off yourself, you go into the bathroom, opening the bathroom mirror to take your lorazepam to settle your nerves. You dry swallow it, gripping the porcelain sink in front of you as you try to settle your breathing. 

It was only a dream. 

Please, I can’t hear your voice right now.

I’m sorry.

You tried to think of making love to Eddie, you tried to think of the way his lips felt against yours, the way he made you laugh.

Nothing worked. 

You felt like screaming, you just wanted to feel peace. Not for those few hours like you did with Eddie, but you wanted the peace to be constant. Everything was so fucking chaotic inside your head; you were almost convincing yourself that the last 48 hours weren’t real. And that you were still locked up in the psychiatric unit, getting woken up every fifteen minutes, pretending to take your pills and your plan to end your life as soon as you walked out those doors. 

No.

You are here, in your childhood home. You have air in your lungs, your breathing is starting to slow down, your hands are less clenched. You are here, you are healing, and you are safe. 

Why do I have to be here and heal?

Why do I have to do it without you two?

Why couldn’t she have stayed a little bit longer?

“My beautiful baby girl.” You whisper, clenching your stomach, your throat burns, and you sob. You curl your legs up to your chest and lay down on the cool bathroom floor. It hurt, it hurt so bad. Your mind was playing tricks on you, you think you’re better off dead. 

No mama! Stop that!

Your eyes snap open and you gasp, sitting up quickly. “I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean it.” 

Mama, you don’t need to be sad anymore. I’m with daddy.

“I know.” Your bottom lip trembles. “I know.” 

Go find kitty.

Lily’s lovey. Her all-time favorite stuffed animal that she took everywhere. You get up from your spot in the bathroom and go down into the basement. You sneeze immediately as you approach the back part of the basement, the smell of your parents’ old belongings bringing you back to a spot in your childhood, an overwhelming aroma of dryer sheets permanently stuck to the drywall. You find a box labeled Lilyand open it up, you find her old books, some of her old shoes. You find her coming home outfit and feel the tears immediately fill your eyes. You lift it up, it was a purple onesie, with tiny little mushrooms on it, it also came with a hat. You place it in your lap, and you almost scream in excitement when you find the cat. You pick it up, smiling at the raggedy looking thing. It was an orange and gray tabby looking cat, missing a plastic eye, its whiskers were bent in odd directions, and it’s left ear was practically chewed off from her teething. You take the small newborn outfit, shut the overhead light off and cuddle the cat as you go back upstairs. You go into your bedroom, jump into bed, and immediately fall back to sleep, hugging the cat close to your chest. 

Eddie was in a solemn mood, Robin could tell. He told her that he burnt the letter, he said he just did it on impulse, but he doesn’t regret it. 

“What are you gonna do when Hunter asks about her?” Robin asks gently and Eddie pauses as he’s cutting up Hunter’s strawberries. Hunter was content in his highchair, watching his favorite toddler show. 

“I’ll tell him the truth.” He says, placing the strawberries on the tray. 

“And what’s the truth?” 

Eddie looks at Robin, she had a way of Jedi mind tricking people to get you to think way too hard about things. “You know what the truth is.” 

“I know your truth.” She says, leaning against the counter. “But you need to tell him her truth.”

“I’m not gonna make her out to be a monster if that’s what you’re thinking.” He says, almost snappy. “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.” 

Robin asks Eddie about you, what steps are you planning to take. “You already slept together, so what happens now?” 

“I don’t know.” Eddie grumbles. “I haven’t talked to her in a few days.” 

Robin sighs. “Is that why you’re grumpy?” 

He whips his head towards her. “I’m not grumpy.” 

“Says the grumpy man.” Robin raises her eyebrows and gently pats him on the shoulder. “Just be careful, this is so new for the both of you and…you’re not the same people. I don’t want you two to strictly form a relationship on trauma bonding.” 

“It’s not like that Robin.” Eddie sighs, turning towards the sink and rinsing off a few dishes. 

“You just reconnected a week ago, man. How do you know that?” 

“I just know…I’ve always known. There’s been this tether there between us since that night in the woods.” Eddie groans. “It sounds crazy, I know it does. But, there’s something there.” 

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt. Or her for that matter, but…” Robin takes a fist full of his hair in her hand and turns him to look at her, he mutters an ow and laughs. “You’re my best friend, dude. My brother. I can’t stomach the thought of you getting hurt again.” 

Eddie smiles sweetly at her, gently taking her hand out of his hair and squeezing gently. “I’m gonna be fine.” 

“Famous last words.” Robin smirks and Eddie rolls his eyes. “Just don’t let your guard down. That’s all I’m asking.” 

“Yes, mom.” 

Eddie had put Hunter down for his nap not too long after Robin left. He noticed Hunter was coming down with a little cold, his nose wouldn’t stop running and he was a lot more restless and he could hear his soft snores on the monitor. He had a low grade fever and when Eddie called his pediatrician’s office, the on call nurse said to monitor his temperature and to give Tylenol or Motrin to help with his fever. Eddie hated when Hunter would get sick, it always threw him into an immediate panic because he would convince himself he wasn’t breathing or if he gave him too much medicine. It was moments like this he really missed Olivia, and he hated admitting that to himself. She knew what to do, even if it was so hard for her to exist in that moment, she was always super mom. 

“Vapor baths to help with the congestion.” Her voice reaches his ears and he pauses on the page of the book he was reading. 

“Yup. Got it.” 

“I see you burnt my letter. Surprised it took you this long.” 

He doesn’t answer her, his eyes continue to scan over the same sentence in his book over and over again. His palms were getting sweaty. 

“Eddie, pretty soon I’m just gonna be a memory to you. Can you just look at me?” 

His eyes squeeze shut and he mutters a broken. “No.” 

“I’m not gonna be here much longer.” 

“Lucky me.” He mutters and he feels her presence disappear. He looks over his shoulder from the couch and slams his book shut, not bothering to mark his place. He hears the sound of Hunter coughing through the monitor and his soft whimpers. “Da…Da…Da…” 

“I’m coming, duder.” 

He makes his way up the stairs and into Hunter’s nursery. He was curled under his blanket, sniffling and coughing. Eddie places his lips on Hunter’s forehead and is shocked with how much hotter he felt. Hunter turns on his back and lifts his arms up to Eddie who picks him up gently. Even his back felt hot. Hunter rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder as he fishes the drawer one handed for the forehead thermometer. He places it on his forehead and it beeps twice, Eddie knows that’s not a great sign. The window was lit up red: 102.3. 

“Oh buddy.” He says gently, rocking him back and forth. “Let’s get some medicine into you and get you in for an appointment.” 

Hunter replies by sniffling and burying his face more into Eddie’s chest. Eddie had given Hunter some medicine to lower his fever and had called his pediatrician to get him an appointment. The outcome was the flu, on top of an ear infection. Eddie felt so bad for him, he was so uncomfortable and even with the vapor bath he still clung to Eddie like a lifeline. That night, they laid in the couch together. Hunter laid on Eddie’s chest with his pacifier as Bluey played on the screen. His fever had gone down, and Eddie had set up the pack and play in the living room so he could easily get to him if he needed him in the middle of the night. 

Hunter had fallen fast asleep on Eddie’s chest, Eddie let him lay there for awhile, gently rubbing his back, playing with his hair and just admiring his features. He loved this little boy so much. He would move mountains for him. 

Eddie’s phone buzzes on the kitchen table and he carefully places Hunter in the pack and play with his favorite blanket and stuffed animal and stretches out the muscles in his arm as he walks to the kitchen. 

You: Hey, sorry I’ve been MIA. Been in a weird griefy state but I’m okay now. How are you?

Eddie smiles at your message, his heart doing a back flip, excited to hear from you. Don’t apologize, I’m sorry. Been there, it’s not a fun feeling. I’ve been good, Hunter has the flu and an ear infection so I’ve been dealing with that. He’s okay, his fever went down. 

You: Oh no! Kids being sick is the worse. I hope he feels better soon. Do you need anything? 

Eddie: We’re okay! Got some medicine in him. Let’s get together when he feels better?

You: Absolutely. 

Hunter was almost 100 percent the next day, Eddie, however, felt like he got hit by a truck. He was curled on the couch, a blanket around his shoulders, his hoodie was over his head, and he had cold chills going all over his body. Robin had called him, and stated she was gonna come over when she heard the sound of his voice. Hunter was on the floor of the living room playing with his blocks when Robin walked in. 

“You look like death.” She laughs as Eddie turns to her, just having blown his nose. 

“You don’t want to come near me.” He grumbles. 

“If I get sick, it gives me an excuse to stay here and quarantine with you two.”

“This is awful, Robin.” 

“Go take a nap.” 

“I don’t need a nap; I need to lay down in the middle of traffic.” He chuckles at his own joke, but the chuckle turns into uncontrollable coughing and Robin rolls her eyes. 

“Dude. You have a giant bed upstairs.” 

His eyes flick to hers. “I can’t sleep in there.” 

Robin sighs. “Eddie…” 

“Robin, I really can’t. I’ll sleep here, or on Hunter’s floor.” His lip was almost trembling with how cold he was feeling. 

Robin sits on the floor and takes his hand. “Eddie, you need to start taking steps like this. You know that room looks completely different, you know that if you don’t get rest, you’re not gonna be able to function and we know how you are when you can’t function.” 

“It’s not the room itself…I just…I feel like I see her there. Lying there.” He inhales a shaky breath, his eyes well with tears. He was feeling so sick, and his emotions were all over the place, he felt like he was failing at being a dad because he was sick. “I don’t want to see her.” 

“She’s not there, Eddie.” Robin tells him gently. “Not anymore. That’s your space now. I’m not trying to force you to go in there, but you need your rest. This is already kicking your ass, and I know not being able to do the dad thing to your full potential is killing you.” 

“It’s killing me.” He whispers, tears fall down his cheek and Robin pats his face. 

“As soon as your head hits those pillows, you’re gonna pass out. Please. You’re gonna be okay, I know you are.” 

“You believe in me too much.” He mumbles, taking the tissue out of his pocket and blowing his nose. 

“Look at me.” She tells him and he looks at her, his lip quivering. “You can do this, okay?” 

After a few more minutes of pushing, Eddie made his way at the top of the stairs. He hovers by the bedroom door, tightening the blanket around his shoulders, reaching towards the knob. His hand shakes as he turns it and pushes open the door. He keeps his eyes closed and holds his breath. He flicks the light on, a soft amber light illuminates the room and his eyes open. 

It did look different. 

He gazes at the floor; he doesn’t see her; he still wasn’t sure after all this time if he was seeing her. He looks at the bed, a California king, bigger than the one they had together. The comforter was a dark gray color, the pillows were a navy, there was also a body pillow tucked behind the two pillows. He groans, feeling his fever coming back, places a water bottle on the nightstand and pops two cold and flu medicine capsules in his mouth. He pulls back the covers, lays down and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

Last summer…

He was walking for miles it seemed; the darkness didn’t help, also the warm night was making his skin feel clammy. He couldn’t see straight; he had gone to a bar and had one too many whiskeys. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world; he knew Hunter was safe and was being looked after by Robin – but he still felt guilty. He didn’t want to get this drunk. It was a normal day for him, and suddenly he was struck with the overwhelming feeling of grief. There was nothing happening, no anniversary or song that came up – he immediately felt as if her death had just happened. His sneakers scuff against the pavement and the iron gates approaches his vision. He was at the cemetery. 

He used his flashlight on his phone to light his path, the light made everything look foggy, like it was just him and his ghosts. He hadn’t been here in months – but he knew where she was. 

He stops walking, his light illuminating parts of her name on the marble headstone. His hand begins to shake, and he feels a lump form in his throat. “So, we meet again.” He chuckles a little, the silence was deafening. He bites his bottom lip, staring at her name. “I don’t even know why I’m here, you’re not even in there; it’s just your body. Your soul is somewhere else.” He looks up at the sky, the moon was barely visible, it made the stars bright, beautiful. He looks back down at her name. “I loved you; you know.” 

A tear falls down his cheek and he quickly wipes it away, his hands clenching into fists. “I don’t know if it was a romantic love, or I just loved you because it was us, and our son and we were making it work.”

A pain hits his chest. “We were making it work!” He yells, inhaling a sharp breath, not bothering to wipe his tears that started up again. “We were making it work, being a family and you took that away! You took it away!” He sobs, falling to his knees, the phone drops out of his hand, darkening his entire view. “You robbed him of a mother, and you know exactly what that did to me. You knew exactly how desperately I wanted that bond with a mother and how happy I was that my son would have that…you knew, and you did it anyway. Why? WHY, OLIVIA?!” He rips the grass blades with his fingers, his body shaking as he wailed with sobs. “We were your only family…and we loved you…we loved you…”

He doesn’t remember much after but waking up the next morning, lying next to her grave.

He hasn’t been back since. 

Eddie wakes up coughing, his body felt cold, and he realizes he hasn’t felt this sick in a while. Robin had come up the stairs with some soup, and another round of flu medicine. He kept falling asleep, his dreams all over the place. He dreamt of his mother, not seeing her face but her silhouette. It was like she was being incased a beautiful ball of warm light. He dreamt of you, and he how desperately he wanted to hold you again, to touch you. 

His chest clenches, and he wakes up gasping. His palms felt sweaty, his heart began to race, and he clenches the bed sheets below him. He felt like he was going to get sick. He hasn’t had a panic attack in months, and he knows that this vulnerable state he was in was causing it to happen, and everything that has happened since he ran into you. His gasping must’ve alerted Robin, because she’s barreling through the door, staring as Eddie is hunched over, holding his stomach. She climbs into the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling his head into her chest. “I’m here.” She tells him. “Breathe with me.”

He closes his eyes, and inhales a shaky breath, his hand grips the bottom of her t-shirt. “Where’s…Hunter?”

“Sleeping, it’s almost midnight.” She cups the back of his head, and he glances out the window, seeing darkness and little moonlight. “Slow your breathing down.”

“I’m okay.” He whispers.

“You’re okay.” She says gently, tightening her old on him, entwining their legs together. The pressure from her holding him, the feel of her touch, how safe he felt in that moment, he begins to calm down. He releases his grip on her shirt but keeps his hand there, afraid of fully letting go.

“It’s been a while since you had one of these.” Robin whispers and Eddie nods. “Can I get you anything?” The back of her hand feels his forehead, a motherly gesture that he had grown to love about her. “I think your fever is breaking.”

“I think…I need to stretch my legs.” He says quietly, but he didn’t want to move. He keeps his head on her chest, the sound of her heartbeat was oddly comforting. 

“Take your time.” 

His breathing slows and he carefully sits up away from her. She looks at him with concern and he gives her a silly smile, gently knocking her chin with his knuckles. “I’m okay, Rob.”

“I’ll make you some hot tea, you should probably have another round of medicine.” She tells him, getting off the bed and hovers by the doorway. She looked sleepy, and he couldn’t help the feeling of guilt that overwhelmed him as he looks at her, but he knew she would dismiss it, tell him he was stupid and walk away.

Instead, he says. “Okay, mom.” He chuckles, unzipping his sweatshirt and running his hands over his greasy hair. He had waited for her to go downstairs and carefully gets out of the bed. His body was still sore, but the sleep helped, and he was feeling a lot better. He goes into his hallway closet to get some clean clothes and carefully walks into Hunter’s room. He peeks over the railing and smiles; Hunter was splayed out, his binkie hanging out of his mouth, his favorite blanket was curled at his feet. Eddie gently caresses his head, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently. “I missed you today, little dude.” Hunter stirs a little, and Eddie takes it as a cue to quietly leave the room. 

After showering, he felt more alive and quietly goes down the stairs. Robin was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug in her hand, her long legs were bent under her chin as she swallows back a yawn. Eddie nudges her shoulder. 

“Go home.” He tells her, sitting down across from her. 

She shakes her head. “I will tomorrow, I need to make sure you’re 100%.” Another yawn escapes her.

He sips the tea, the warm liquid soothing his throat. “Robin, you’ve been here almost every day. Vicky must be furious at me.”

Robin smiles. “No, she enjoys her alone time. Plus, she said it gives her time to set up a surprise for me, she knows how nosy I am.” She leans her head back against the chair, closing her eyes.

Eddie smiles at her, and stares at her face. “Thank you…for being here.”

She lifts her head to look at him, her eyes tired, but kind. “Definitely worth the risk of getting sick for getting to hang out with that little boy.”

“No, I mean…for almost two years…since Olivia—” He clears his throat. “You’ve been constant, even when I wasn’t easy to be around.” She looks at his face, hers softening at his kind words. He slides his chair over to her, taking her hand. “You befriended me right off the bat in art class freshman year, and I thought you were so weird, but I realize that you thought I was weird and that’s how we mesh. I had such a crush on you, but I realize now that I think it was because I knew you were totally gay and would never give me a chance.” She laughs and he grins. “I never believed in soulmates, but I think you’re mine. Not in a romantic way obviously, but I don’t think soulmates are based off romance. I think soulmates are two people who just work, can deal with seeing the ugly without running away. You have seen so much of my ugly these last few years, I was certain you’d run away. But I’m glad you stayed. Hunter loves you, and I couldn’t have picked a better person to help me navigate this thing called fatherhood. You’re my person, Robin. And I hope you know how much I appreciate you, and how much I love you.”

“Eddie, COME ON dude.” Robin says, tears springing to her eyes as she gently slaps his face. “You can’t say shit like that to me when I’m on two hours of sleep and I have caffeine coursing through my blood stream.” 

Eddie laughs, pulling her into a tight hug. She hugs him back tightly, and he kisses the top of her head. She lets out a sigh. “You’re my person too.” 

“Always.” 

(Taglist - thank you for all your support my beauties, it means the world) @mysticpeachobject @kellsck @eddiesguitarskills @fearless-wretch-insanity @darknesseddiem @amberolivia666 @amandahobblepot @sxdghxstsbxxkshxlf @sariahs-stuff @trixyvixx @h-ness1944 @munsonzgf @ali-r3n

[luvrodite]

in the garden, would you trust me? [618]

in the garden, you find solace. a moment of quiet after a hard week. cw. gn!reader, reader is referred to as 'pretty' but no physical/gendered descriptions. established relationship. fluff.

The end of a long week finds you in the garden. On the outskirts of it, anyway. You wander out of the house after dinner to catch your breath, feet clad in too large slippers that don't belong to you and crouching down to settle yourself on the front steps.

Twilight in the suburbs are pretty, this time of year, all cool blues and thin mists, air that feels cold in your lungs. Down the street, your neighbors' children squeal in their front yard, running circles around their new puppy, the little thing's barks echoing up your quiet street. You bring your knees to your chest and watch the fading dregs of the sunset, orange glows fading beneath the tops of the roofs to make way for indigo.

Inside your home, you can hear the gentle clink of dishes, the running water. The hum of the TV is low enough that you only hear a vague buzz beneath the clamour from down the street, but it's a comfort to you as you settle against the steps.

The flowers in your yard have been trimmed recently, yellow and orange blooms no longer hidden beneath thick bramble, standing proud amongst their siblings. The grass is soft, dewy from the light rainfall earlier, and you breathe in the smell of petrichor that lingers in the air. Probably, there'll be more of it to come.

You hope it'll wait a little, at least until you can get the laundry in. Maybe when you've slipped beneath the sheets – a soft patter to carry you into your dreams. The thought makes you smile, and this is how Jason finds you when he steps through the front door.

"Room for one more?"

You turn to glance up at him, two glasses of juice in his hand. "Depends on who's asking," you murmur teasingly, accepting the tumbler as he presses it into your hand, cool to the touch and perspiring slightly.

"Your husband, but I can tell him to bugger off if you'd rather spend time with me," he returns the quip and you let out a small giggle.

"You are very handsome," you muse, thoughtfully and he flashes you a smug grin. "But my husband is pretty tough."

"Sure, he's gotta be, to keep a pretty thing like you." His smile is easy, head tilted playfully.

That makes you break. Snorting, you wave him down. "Shut up and sit."

His shoulder presses against yours gently as he joins you, long legs stretching in front of him. Jason sets his glass beside him, leaning back on his palms.

"You alright, bug?" he murmurs, after some time. You hum. "Just checking. Looked a bit out of it at dinner."

You take a sip from your glass, letting the sweetness settle on your tongue. The sky continues to darken, and you know it's only a matter of time before the streetlights begin to flicker on.

"Just tired, love," you tell him, tilting into his side. "Missed you, this week."

"Yeah?" he asks, quietly, a hand coming up to press circles into the space between your shoulder blades. His voice is feather-light, and pleased at the thought. "I missed you, too."

Your smile stamps itself against his shoulder, lips brushing a gentle kiss through the fabric of his shirt. Nothing more remains to be said, quiet contentment hanging in the beams above you as the sun sets on your street.

You sit there until the lights begin to flicker on and he takes your hand, lead back inside knowing you'll finally find rest.

You go to bed with the smell of fresh linen under your nose, and the sound of rain at your window. In Jason's arms, you dream.

don't know what this is. a little sweetness after the mess of the apocalypse longfic, and also a chance to write something shorter, easier, breezier. i love domestic fluff, and i love jason, and i love suburban sunsets. i was driving through the streets today around sunset and it was so beautiful today and i felt extremely lucky to live in such a beautiful world with all its twilights and sunrises. i love you!

[groversimp]

If you are still taking request can you write a lityerses x fem Aphroditekid!reader? Maybe where he is questioning why they are in love with him and question if it’s because she’s the daughter of the goddess of love and that’s the only reason she loves him (if that make sense) but she temporarily loses her powers due to a quest (they come back st the end) and it proves she really does love him! Super fluffy with angst at the beginning. Like that cute domestic stuff where they are baking and stuff since her powers are gone and she has nothing to do. Idk if I’m doing this right because I’ve never done This before. If I did this right thank you in advance❤️❤️❤️❤️

Also I hope this entire thing makes sense to you<3

But You Tolerate It

I wrote half of this and it DELETED ITSELF.

so we had to start over

warnings: angst mwahaha, but they make up, insecurities, silly silly, hints of toxicity?

they don’t bake but they do play with plants!!!

You stared at your hands, blankly. The buzzing of your cheap-ass fan only amplifies the heavy beating of your aching head.

The quest wasn’t supposed to go wrong, just a simple task for your mother. How did you know that you’d run into your brothers Phobos and Deimos? How did you know that they wouldn’t recognize you?

The burn of a new scar along your face does little to settle you, the inability to feel your newly-lose powers only makes it worse.

They stole them, your powers, and trapped them in a jar along with their other collections- collections of broken hearts and stolen dreams.

The fight with Lityerses was what really messed you up though.

“Do you even care?” He yelled, a hidden sadness behind his blazing fury. “Of course I do,” you cried back- nearly in hysterics. “Really,” he days with a scoff. Lityerses turns, not facing you as he grabs his sword off the bed. “Well it doesn’t seem like it.” The door shut, even as you begged him to just come back- that you two could fix this. The mangled remains of your relationship echoed throughout the room as you sat on the bed.

Here you were, in the same position as you were an hour ago.

You hadn’t told him about your powers being lost, he didn’t give you the chance. Sucking in your tears, you stand and walk to the mirror, wiping off the remaining on your face.

You wipe off your makeup, wash your face, do skincare, and then re-apply makeup. You look better now- the cried mascara streaks no longer on your face, you smile half-heartedly at your reflection. Makeup always felt better when you had your powers.

Then, you go on the hunt for Lityerses. After what feels like forever, saying hi to everyone you see and asking around if anyone else has seen him, you find him in the gardens. He sits on one of the wooden benches and stares at a patch of wilting flowers. Your heart aches to reach out and sooth the worried expression from him face- to kiss it better and tell him he was yours.

But, for now, you just sat down next to him and avoided eye contact.

After a few minutes, he said your name. “Y/n,” his voice was husky and it sent chills down your spine. You offer him a soft, slightly sad smile. “Lit,” you say back to him.

You wanted to yell at him, to let him taste the poison that lay beneath your tongue- courtesy of your mother. But when he pulled you closer, and you set your head on his shoulder, the words died on your tongue.

It would always be like this- you would forgive as soon as he tried to get you back. You truly were the worlds most hopeless romantic, your heart not only beating for him but for the concept of love as well.

You clung onto him like he was oxygen.

And maybe he was. Maybe Lityerses was the breath in your lungs, maybe that’s why it burned when he was gone. Why you’re always safe with him but get hurt once he leaves.

He presses a kiss against your hair, muttering something that resembled an apology. You bit your lip but looked up at him.

“I do care,” you tell him softly. “I know,” he responds.

He was your night in shining armor, your Lit.

You sighed into him, sinking deeper and deeper into his warmth. He was— is— all you need.

His fingers tangled in your hair and you softly chuckled at the soft kisses he pressed to your face. You muttered his name and he only hummed in response.

“I love you,” your words are so soft the wind could’ve blown them away. Never to be heard by Lityerses. But, he heard you. He always does.

“I love you.” He repeats back after a moment, more sure than you were. More hard. He knew what he wants and who he is- and what he wants is you.

[chosoniisan]

A risk worth messy reward ↠ kamo choso

↠alternative title: swapping spit with choso, literally

↠pairing: kamo choso | sorceress!reader

↠setting: post canon, not at all compliant

↠genre: nasty, nasty fluff

↠caution: suggestive; height/size difference ("my" choso is over 6ft); unhealthy-ish/complicated relationship; kinda owner/pet dynamics; coercion (?); lots of tongue

↠summary: after yet another rural-steeped mission, your first priority is finding the nearest bed to fall into; conversely, choso has other things on his mind

↠authoress' notes: my initial plan had been to write a hc about the oddities of choso, how he has some bizarre and inexplicable habits, but writing hcs (without plot) isn't my strength, so I opted for what could be considered "snapshots" instead :')

also, the context, setting-wise, for this is that once the dusts settles post canon, the high-ups (the smattering of them still kicking), let choso live conditioned on you acting as his controller at all times, lest you risk ending up on the execution chopping block, too. . .

A ripely full moon, and the air’s refreshed with a slight chill:

by all means the sort of mid-autumn night you’d want to bottle up and take with you.

You might just have to overlook the chunks of entrails sticking to your soles, though. And maybe you can pretend that it’s the crickets droning in the grass and not the crisping of bone dissolving into nothingness. As if on cue, you resist the urge to sigh to keep the tang of death, thoroughly worn over, from invading your lungs any more than it already has.

It’s not quite how you’d envision your evening—but beggars can’t be choosers. And on the bright side, at least you’re fully intact, all your limbs present and accounted for despite enough close calls to last you a lifetime. Sure, you might have said the very same thing last time (i.e. a handful of days ago), and you’ll no doubt mirror that sentiment next time too (i.e. in another day or so), though you take your blessings when you can get them.

Granted, your good luck quickly runs its course since there’s hardly anything fortunate about the strain of curses the far-flung reaches of the countryside seem to breed to no end. Who would have thought that the higher you climbed the rankings the more acquainted you’d become with woodland critters the size of your hand (excluding cursed spirits, mind you). Then there’s the persistent feeling of otherness crawling over you like a second skin the longer those prying eyes rake and rove over you. (If only they knew that a city girl and her dutiful charge were the last bit out of place in these parts.)

“I mean it when I say that you’re a lifesaver, Choso.” Your poignant ring is all the encouragement he needs to scrap making sure that dead is actually dead this time around and squeeze himself back into your sphere again. Crunch, crunch, crunch goes the tall grass giving way to your missing piece because obviously solace by another name is your side. Leave it to him to be over 190 centimeters of delicately endearing. “I wasn’t expecting that other special-grade, but, of course, you’re always covering for me in a pinch—I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

In that moment, you’re the stargazer of him; a face lighting up the pearly night beyond measure. “I’m always following your lead, though. You’re a lot more experienced than me, too, so the best I can do is try to keep up. Because I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” A dash of sheepishness colors the downward wisp of lashes brushing against his cheeks, but that isn’t enough to distract him from the sway of you in his shadow (even if he has to really drop his head to horde that eyeful for himself). “I’m glad we make a good team,” his brief lull is beseeching, the tilted head even more so, “at least I think so.”

For the sake of his tenderly bleeding heart, your nodding doesn’t miss a beat. “Yep, we sure do. . .! And every good team needs some rest, so I should go ahead and text our supervisor and let him know we’re finished up here.” Another thwarted attempt at a sigh, so you settle for a mild quirk of your lips amidst reaching into your pocket for your phone spared from the fray. “We’ll have to stay the night in town, which isn’t ideal, but we can take the first train back home in the morning.”

The faster you can confirm the rendezvous spot, the faster you can sink into a warm bath and then beneath a cozy comforter, so you’re already a few rapid-fire texts deep when Choso pulls on your sleeve.

“Wait. Before that. . .” he begins, slow, measured as if he’s taking the time to taste every word before it leaves his lips. Like that’s not enough to prod at your attention, you’re especially perceptive to rose stain swashed across the expanse of his face, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think him too innocent to sell his soul to the devil for a life of strife alongside you. Though perhaps innocence in its purest state is wetting his hands in blood, bearing your burden of nocturnal calamity with the occasional slip of diffidence. “Can I. . .” Gulping down that lump in his throat. “Can I have my reward now?”

It's your turn to sound things out for good measure.

“Your. . .reward?” (Emphasis on the furrowed brows there.)

He bobs his head once, meanwhile you’re rifling through the pages of your mental archives in search of this reward, whatever it is. A contemplative hum sifts through you at the recollection of saying something in the realm of treating him once this mission wrapped up; admittedly, it was the sort of remark made in passing, but if it’s Choso, you don’t mind staying true to your word. Besides, you have an inkling of what he might have in mind (or you hope you know him well enough to make that guess. . .there’s only one way to find out).

“You’re talking about the souvenirs near the station; I think you were looking at the sweet dumplings, yeah? I don’t know if that shop is open this late, but we can go over and check—”

“No, not that.” Vehemence strums in his tone, so much so that you start a bit, setting off the ripple effect of him offering you a repentant look in return, one that’s still very clearly brimming with fervor. “I did a good job, right? And you promised I could have a reward if I was really good.” As a matter of fact, he’s not wrong, but his moonstruck gaze, expanding, plants an unnamed sensation between the open spaces in your chest. (You’re not daunted by him, it’s just that unpredictability has never been your forte.) “. . .So I was thinking that I wanted you.”

Doesn’t have a chance to click together in your brain until the warmed heart of his palm envelops your entire cheek, and even then you’re still too many steps behind by the time he’s level with you: face-to-face, eye-to-eye, lips. . .dangerously close. Inhaling a mingling of dried copper and powdery musk doesn’t help you figure out what he means by wanting you, having you; rather, with each fanning of his breath over you in crests, you’re gradually unraveling into something entirely unlike you. Something a lot more nerve-ridden.

If you had intended to chime in after scrambling to make sense of the situation (or not), the reality is that you’re simply opening the door for him to carve a place inside you. Literally. Considering it’s not the sound of a mildly articulated concern that echoes in the air, but a muffled squeak when he catches his lips on yours, inviting himself into the niche of your mouth before you can try to recoil. Even when you do think to reel away, his arm is already circled around your waist, seizing you into the bulk of him to the point that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other ends.

You’ve long given consideration to the fact that Choso’s spent more time sealed than unsealed, that to this very day he’s still working out the kinks of what it means to be mostly human—but this. This goes beyond his idiosyncrasies of not knowing the particulars of kissing. No, this is nothing of a kiss and everything of devouring you whole.

As susceptible as you are, he has no trouble crowding his tongue against yours, which is the difference between tasting him and choking on him. Testing the waters is the last thing on his mind (you suspect it had never been there in the first place) when he’s using the anchor of his hand to steer you right where he wants you, because how else could he map the ridges of your palate without you shrinking like the violet you’re steadily flowering into. Intrusive is him eating away at your lips like a man starved, but it’s also the blooming of heat curled through your insides with a particular penchant for the midst of your tummy.

The compulsion to stagger back is second nature to you, except he’s unnaturally folded into you, so there’s really nowhere for you to skitter off to, especially not with the fixation given to a mesh of sticky pink. And it feels foreign, sinfully so, as he overwhelms you with broad, saliva-rife sweeps of his tongue, undeterred by your stagnate self, too paralyzed by the knotting in your core, the blistering up of sweat at your temples, and the uncut wildness—or is that obsession?—of him before your very eyes. Either way, it’s just the push needed to send you over the edge of quiet bleating. . .that finds its premature end swallowed into him for safekeeping at the bottom of his stomach, just like every other morsel of you.

Heady appreciation is quick to follow on your heels by way of a long-winded moan from him, to you by virtue of his snare. The stammering in your chest is the clear mark of being caught off guard, and Choso in all his fevered glory capitalizes on your lapse of self to plunge his tongue as deeply as it’ll reach. Nevermind the fact that there’s no stifling the stuttered heave around him or the full-bodied quaking against him, either, he’s still singularly focused on partaking in the mess of you. Willingly or not, you can’t help but indulge him when you’re varying shades of fluster, and it’s the gilt reflection of your disarray that has you clamping your eyes shut. Too bad for you, darkness doesn’t temper the dizzying sensation clambering through your veins that’s becoming more, and more, and more intertwined with him.

(You don’t know how much longer you can weather the storm of him, or if you’ll even be able to mend what he’s already bitten through, and maybe it would have been preferrable if he had taken your skin & tissue with him. He took something far more softly perverse.)  

Though in the end, it’s of his accord, only, that he spares you of the kind of smothering that’ll have you icesheet cold against him in no time flat. And you use spare loosely because he simply moves to sucking and nibbling on your bottom lip as if parting from you means imminent death. If he’d give you a chance, you could assure him that his fears of relenting are unwarranted, but in the thick of hungry fascination, he’d rather stripe his tongue along the corner of your mouth to gather up a stray bead of slick. Whether yours or his, you don’t know—you do know that when he’s done, it’s every bit of his tacky memento etched on your skin.

His gift to you for letting him have one of your deepest intimacies.

As expected, he doesn’t keen over from unlacing himself from you—truthfully, his hand is still palming at your cheek, so it’s not a full untethering—though you’re certainly not boasting a modicum of stability yourself. If that unyielding hold around your middle is anything to go on, you suspect that he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; you might even say that he’s savoring in the ruby-rich reliance of his handler.

“Uhm,” Reticence returns with a vengeance despite having just rooted through you mere moments ago; the moonlight glancing off traces smeared across his lips a testament to that. “. . .Do you we could see about those dumplings now?”

And of course you’ll oblige him—even knowing you’re complicit in preserving his devotion.

[ppomumgranatum]

meet me in the infinity.

also available on Ao3

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

tags: one shot, you POV, modern AU

word count: 4k

Summary: the chances of us meeting are almost zero, but sometimes, it’s not about the odds but the moments that defy them.

Notes: idk if you guys are into au but I am back from a long vacation and hope you can enjoy this short lil treat 🤠

Saturdays were your favourite. It's a sweet reprieve from the weekday hustle and bustle and is your time to kick back, unwind, and indulge in a bit of freedom without the looming spectre of work. But this Saturday in particular wasn’t quite the respite you had hoped for. Lately work has been more demanding of your time and it honestly was getting exhausting. Even the usual picturesque English town, where the buildings are quaint and the atmosphere is steeped with history, no longer soothes you.

Earlier this morning, you received an email with the subject “Friendly Reminder” from your editor, Cressida, regarding an upcoming deadline for an article that you’re currently working on a recent relic discovery. Knowing her bluntness, you were sure the content would be anything but— which only adds up to the already piled up pressure. 

You could’ve made better progress if the archeologist you were supposed to interview didn’t reschedule. Again. For the second time. The first cancellation had been a minor inconvenience. You’d managed to adjust, shuffling your deadlines and taking it in stride. However, when the second request for rescheduling came in, it felt like a relentless barrier to your progress.

His insight is crucial. Without him you might as well write nothing. But your precious time was not going to be wasted on grousing over some nerd boomer.

You’re still determined to salvage the day, so you decided to head to the local café. Upon entering, you were greeted by the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft murmur of conversations. After ordering your usual, you chose a long communal table and sat on the corner.

As you settled in, you opened the draft of your article on your laptop, while a notebook lay ready for you to scribble any spontaneous notes or inspirations. The cursor blinked at you, almost mockingly, but you were in the zone, deeply immersed in crafting your drafts and preparing insightful questions, that the world outside was nothing but a mere meaningless blank canvas.

Your head was running like a bullet train until a voice broke through your concentration.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I share this table?" 

Looking up, you were met with a warm smile from a handsome stranger. 

Handsome was an understatement, this man was gorgeous. He had those brown eyes that were so mesmerising they felt like earth after a summer rain. The kind that you wouldn't mind getting lost in. 

And his smile— God, his smile— felt like a sudden burst of sunlight through a stormy sky, stealing the air from your lungs and leaving you momentarily breathless. 

You knew that exactly because you realised that you had been staring at him for one second too long and your chest was desperate for air.

You quickly gathered your scattered thoughts and motioned toward the empty seat opposite you. "Not at all, please, go ahead," you replied, trying to hide your surprise at the interruption.

The stranger settled into the chair across from you, sipping his coffee casually. He had a book in hand. You tried your best to focus on your own task, but you couldn't help glancing up every once in a while.

There was something strangely familiar about him. It was like stumbling upon a character from a half-remembered dream, someone you couldn't fully place but felt a curious connection to.

Every single of your brain cells were trying so hard to gather your scattering focus to get back to work. You tried to scribble some words on your notebook but your thoughts were getting blurry and the only thing crystal clear was the image of the man sitting in front of you.

“You work for BBC?” He suddenly asked and he could tell that you looked confused so he had to clarify with a small gorgeous smile tugged on his lips, “Your pen. I assume you work there or have stolen it.”

“Oh.” You blinked and gave away a small smile, “Both, actually. I lost mine and took it from an annoying colleague.”

“Ah.. justified.” He replied playfully.

There had to be something wrong with your brain because you couldn’t think of a single comeback. Forget wit, you could’ve said anything casual like a normal person would but nothing came out. Being critical and creative were the reason your mouth was fed and yet you’re speechless in his presence.

Some hand of desperation was tugging inside you to have this conversation going and like a weird interrelation you sensed that he must’ve felt the same way because then he continued,  “Are you on telly, then?” There was a genuine spark of interest in his question.

“No, I’m a feature writer.” You politely corrected him, “I write for History.”

“My apologies.” There was a momentary pause before he continued,  "You know, I read this incredible story on there a couple of months ago about some marine archaeologists discovering an alleged Viking shipwreck off the coast of Ireland. It was so vivid and immersive—I think the writer really nailed it."

"Yeah, I remember that one," you confessed, feeling a touch of bashfulness colour your cheeks, "I actually wrote that piece.”

“No way.” He sounded pleasantly surprised but not in a dramatic kind of way. Like he expected you to be great— like he somehow already knew you, “Though, at first I suspected that it was a Mediaeval ship rather than Viking when I saw a picture of the rudder. Such maritime technology was known later in the time period, not Viking.”

You smiled in disbelief for his astute observation, “It is Mediaeval. They posted their final report recently.”

“Well, it's always nice to know that you are right.” He grinned.

“What are you? A history enthusiast?””

“Something like that.” 

“Oh really?” You sounded slightly surprised by guessing correctly, ”What’s caught your eyes recently?” 

He shrugged, “There’s this relic found in a catacombs in Scotland.”

Your heart beat a single loud thud it echoed to your brain. You tried to mask the shock with a nod and contemplated slightly on the coincidence. But something must be written all over your face because he asked, “Something wrong?”

“Oh, nothing– it’s just a really funny coincidence.”

“What is?”

“I actually have an interview with someone at the museum about said relics on Monday.” You confessed reluctantly.

There was a pause.

“Monday, 11 AM?”

You were a bit thrown off by his knowledge of your schedule, but you didn't want to make assumptions. “..yes. How do you know?”

“Because I, too, have an interview on Monday at 11 AM with a reporter from BBC about said relics.” A playful smile tugged on the corner of his lips, “I mean— feature writer.”

Your eyes widened when the realisation dawned on you. The man sitting in front of you—relaxed, casual, and sipping his coffee—was not just some history enthusiast, he’s a history expert and more specifically the very person you had been cursing in your head for the past couple of weeks.

The coincidence was almost too perfect.

“You’re Dr. Sebastian Sallow?”

“Nice to meet you.” He charmingly said, before taking a sip of his coffee.

Your mouth gaped open slightly trying to find the right words to say to him but you were too bewildered by the figure in front of you.

“I-i’m sorry I just didn’t expect you to look so..” —Handsome? Charming? Astoundingly stunning? Drop-dead gorgeous? Hunky?— “..young.” 

Thank God something appropriate actually came out of your mouth.

He chuckled and set down his coffee, “I get that a lot. I suppose the hazard of this job is people expecting all of us to look like we’re withering away.”

“I guess I did picture someone more slumpy with white hair.” You felt the initial shock begin to melt away as you tittered at his attempt to lighten up the mood, “This is quite a pleasant surprise, Dr. Sallow.”

“Oh please, just Sebastian would suffice.” He waved you off, “It bothers me when people call me Doctor outside of the museum. That title means something else entirely to most of the people here and I don’t want anyone suffering a heart attack expecting me to help them and all I have with me is my humidity control equipment.”

“Fair enough. Just Sebastian.” You joked.

And he laughed at the lamest jest a woman could ever throw. 

This man is handsome, has a great sense of humour, and humble. You’ve only met him for a few minutes and he’s already ticking a lot of boxes. 

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, still grinning. "But if I’m just Sebastian, you can’t be just a feature writer either. We’re both at a disadvantage then."

His eyes locked with yours with that playful glimmer in them. And again, you found yourself at a loss for what to say. You were used to being in control of a conversation, but Sebastian’s easy charm had thrown you off-kilter.

"You’re not going to withhold your name because of some rule of journalistic ethics, are you?"

Sebastian's grin grew wider as he watched you struggle to come up with a response. You were flustered, and he seemed to be relishing the situation a little too much.

Truly, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about him that you just couldn't put your finger on. Something pleasant, definitely. The way he spoke, the way your banters flow so naturally, and even the way he smiled—all of it had an air of comfortable familiarity that put you at ease.

"Well?" He prompted, still waiting for your answer.

You blinked, realising you had been silent for too long. You could feel a blush spreading on your cheeks. You introduced yourself, your name rolling off his tongue in a way that sounded almost musical. And there it was, that odd sense of familiarity you had felt earlier, a touch of déjà vu that had caught you off guard. The sound of your name on Sebastian's lips, the way he repeated it, testing the syllables.. it sounds just.

But strangely, you didn't mind. In fact, you almost revelled in it. Sebastian's gaze met yours, holding it just a moment too long. That flicker of recognition in his eyes mirrored your own. You felt that strange comfort again, as if he understood whatever you’re feeling, too.

“I do apologise for the delays. I had to attend to some urgent matter.”

“Oh, please, it’s alright.” Lie. That was an absolute lie.

“Since the museum is literally across the street, do you want to have a look? I could show you around and perhaps give you a headstart for the interview.” He suggested, “I could at least try to make up for the delay. If I’m not interrupting anything, of course.”

The offer to view the relics early was certainly tempting, especially knowing the pressure you were under to meet the deadline. But if you could be honest, getting to spend more time with Sebastian was what sold you.. His easy-going nature was refreshing, and the banter was already so much better than any interview you’ve had.

“I suppose a little preview can’t hurt.” You agreed, a smile tugging at your lips. “Lead the way, Dr— er, Sebastian.”

The museum stood majestically across the street, an elegant building that exuded an aura of history and mystery. Instead of leading you to the usual main entrance, Sebastian guided you through a small side entrance, known only to museum staff and researchers.

He held the door open for you, a gentlemanly gesture that warmed your heart just a little more. The hallway was quiet, with the stillness broken only by the soft sound of your footsteps on the tiled floor. Sebastian led you towards a door at the end of the corridor.

As he pushed open the door, it revealed a wide room that looked more like a combination of a lab and an office space. There were shelves lined with various tools, equipment, and all sorts of items that you assume were historical artefacts, were placed all over.

As you glanced at the relics spread out on the lab equipment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. There was something intimate and profound about having access to history in such a raw and unadulterated state. You were used to writing articles about historical events and interviewing people in the field, but this was different.

This was a peek behind the curtain, an up-close-and-personal experience unlike anything you had ever had before. It reminded you of the time your parents took you to a sweet shop.

Sebastian noticed your wide-eyed wonder and smiled, "It's something, isn't it? This is where the real magic happens. Each artefact here has a story waiting to be uncovered."

You nodded, still taking in the scene. "It's incredible.”

He led you further and you followed behind him, "This is where we carefully study, preserve, and sometimes even restore pieces of history. It's a meticulous process, but incredibly rewarding."

He pointed to a workbench where a delicate, ornate vase was being examined. "For example, this vase was found in a burial site in Wales. It's over a thousand years old, and we're trying to learn more about the culture that created it."

“The detail is astonishing.” You marvelled at its intricate patterns and delicate craftsmanship, a testament to the skill of its maker.

Sebastian was clearly amused by your reaction as the smile painted on his face was as wide as yours. 

He then guided you to another section of the lab, where a different artefact lay under soft lighting, carefully displayed on a padded surface. It was a small, ornately decorated bronze mirror, its reflective surface dulled with age but still faintly gleaming.

"This," Sebastian said, "is another fascinating piece. It's a Celtic mirror, also found around the area where we found the vase and it dates back to around the same period. Mirrors like this one were not just utilitarian objects but it also held significant cultural and spiritual value."

Your eyes trailed along the other tables. The beauty of these items were clearly overwhelming and to be surrounded by such rich history was an amazing feeling. 

Amongst the collections, your eyes faltered into an object that appeared to be some sort of cane. The wood of the shaft looked like a well polished ebony with a brass handle and it looked relatively new compared to some of the others that were certainly ancient. 

Curiosity piqued, you turned to Sebastian and asked, "What about this one? It’s so beautiful. How does it look so well-preserved, though? How old is it?"

Sebastian’s eyes were a little bit flustered. He carefully lifted it from its display stand. "Ah, this one is actually younger than us."

You blinked in surprise. "Huh? What do you mean?"

He smiled, holding the cane carefully. "I just got it from a shop down at the market. It’s for my roommate. He’s blind."

 “Oh.” Well, that’s not embarrassing at all.

A few pieces later, you eventually circled back to the purpose of your visit: the relic you were meant to be writing about.

It was an ancient, intricately carved triangular piece, rumoured to have ties to a long-lost civilisation. The designs were rather suspicious and eerie which Sebastian later explained that some people believed it was used for some sort of dark magic ritual. 

At that point you don’t know what was more beautiful, the way he captivated you with his eloquence or the way his eyes sparkled with so much passion in what he’s doing.

It wasn’t just his knowledge that drew you in— it was the way he made you feel connected to the past, to something greater than yourself. His presence was magnetic, and you found yourself wanting to know more—not just about the relic, but about him.

His smile, when he caught your gaze, was warm and genuine. It made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. It’s so magical you were practically spellbound. You realised that you were no longer interested in the story you were here to write but you were way more enthralled by the man who was telling it.

When the formalities of your interview were completed, Sebastian suggested showing you a special place within the museum. Intrigued, you agreed. He led you through a series of winding corridors, past exhibits and storage rooms, until you arrived at a small, unmarked door. He unlocked it with a key he retrieved from his pocket, and you both stepped inside.

The room was a hidden gem, unlike any other part of the museum. It was a spacious atrium with a glass ceiling, allowing the evening light to filter through and bathe the room in a soft, golden glow. It’s an indoor garden that gives off a serene, almost magical atmosphere. In the centre of the room was a small fountain, the gentle sound of trickling water adding to the tranquillity

He led you to an alcove that overlooked a small pond. You leaned against the railing while Sebastian shared anecdotes about his childhood, his inspirations, and the journey that led him to become a historian. He mentioned that his twin sister, who had recently overcome cancer, was under his sole care, which was his reason for rescheduling your meeting a couple of times. 

The more he opened up to you, the more familiar he felt. Despite hearing his stories for the first time, none of it felt foreign. Each laugh, each sigh, and each heartfelt revelation came with a comforting rhythm between the two of you. It made the evening feel like an unfolding chapter of a story you were always meant to be a part of in a strange yet pleasant way possible.

It was in this context that you found yourself unable to shake the feeling that there was something more to your connection. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask this,” you said, a hint of hesitation in your voice, “have we met before?”

Sebastian smiled and shook his head, “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know, I just— I don’t know how to explain it but this entire day has been feeling like a—” Your head was searching for the right word but Sebastian managed to find it for you.

“Like a déjà vu?”

“Exactly.” You said softly, “Like a déjà vu.”

Sebastian hummed in agreement, his eyes studying your face intently. It was as if he too, was trying to decipher the strange familiarity that seemed to linger between the two of you.

“So you’re feeling the same way?”

“Yeah.”

There was an extended silence, allowing the both of you to get lost in your thoughts. 

"I’ve been trying to figure out why this day feels so surreal. Meeting you, the sound of your name, even the way everything is unfolding—it’s like it’s part of a story I already know." He confessed, “Like this was some forgotten history written some time ago and when I look at you.. something in me recognises you. It’s like we’re supposed to know each other somehow.”

He managed to articulate exactly what you were feeling. Then he moved closer to you, “Do you believe in destiny, by any chance?"

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as Sebastian posed the question. You've never been one to believe in destiny—or fate for that matter. But something about this situation, this moment, seemed to defy all rules and logic.

“Not usually, no. I’m more of a taking-my-own-chances kind of woman.” You replied truthfully, ”Do you?”

“I’m not sure,” He admitted while his eyes never left yours. “But I do believe in probabilities. Do you know why?”

You swallowed hard, your heart now hammering against your ribcage with increasing speed. 

“No,” You whispered, your voice suddenly sounding very small, “Why?”

“Probabilities are often tied to the idea of potentiality and the nature of existence. It’s about the likelihood of certain outcomes based on a series of events and choices that can lead us to moments that feel almost destined.” He began, “Some theories believe that these events might interact and create an infinite number of new realities.”

As he spoke, his fingers lightly touched your resting arm.

“Essentially, you could be the archeologist and I am the writer. Or you could be a hero and I could be a wizard.” He took another step closer, “In this vast expanse of parallel realities, there is a probability that our choices might have led us to cross paths. And perhaps in some of those realities, we already have.”

No matter how many possibilities there were, you knew there was only one outcome you truly wished for.

“What’s the probability of us meeting today in this version of reality, then?”

“If we consider the vastness of all possible outcomes and the nearly infinite number of parallel realities, the chance of us meeting today in this particular one— I’d say almost impossible.” His fingers continued to lightly trace your arm, “And yet here we are, having this conversation. I guess despite that infinitesimal probability, something extraordinary has happened.”

You hummed, “I guess no amount of parallel universes or alternative realities can account for the fact that sometimes–some people–are meant to be.”

“I thought you’re more of a taking your own chances kind of woman.”

You leaned in closer until you could feel his breath on your skin. He was now so close, you could count the eyelashes framing his brown eyes and the freckles that decorate his skin, “Well, I’m taking my chances now.”

Finally, you closed the final gap and met him in a kiss that  felt like a culmination of those infinite possibilities. Sebastian's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. You were acutely aware of every sensation: the taste of his lips, the firmness of his hold against you, the heat of his body against yours.

You didn’t know what you had expected of his kiss. Merely hours ago, you never knew Sebastian existed and yet his touch on your lips felt as familiar as a cherished memory. There was a warmth and a tenderness in his kiss that spoke of a connection far deeper than the short time you had known each other.

It was not like any other kiss you’ve ever experienced. Not a single word in the dictionary can come close in describing the overwhelming splash you feel throughout your entire body. This man— this stranger—was kissing you back, and you were certain that everything felt perfectly right.

When you finally pulled back, you both were breathless, faces inches apart, foreheads touching and his eyes were still locked onto yours.

“Kissing a woman I just met in the coffee shop today was definitely not on my list.” He admitted

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. “Me, too. But I’m glad it happened.”

You both stood there for a moment longer, savouring the intimacy of the shared space and the connection that had formed between you. As you continued sharing the moment, Sebastian still had his arms wrapped around you until eventually, you both knew it was time to leave. But he didn’t want to let go and neither did you.

“You know,” He began, “Since we’ve practically had the interview. What if we go out for brunch, let’s say, Monday 11 AM?”

“Yeah? And what’s next?”

“Hmm, we could have a walk? Have dinner some time after? Or perhaps we could make out in some other places?”

Your laughter came out light and carefree. Sebastian had to mentally take a note of his new favourite music, “All of the above, please. I don’t want any of it to end.”

“Neither do I,” His eyes softened as he looked at you, “Or we could keep taking chances and see where it takes us?”

“Sounds perfect.” You leaned in once again to give a final kiss on his lips.

[myalchod]

First Line Tag Game

Stolen from @backjustforberena, because it seemed fun! From most recent going backwards, limited to what I've put up on AO3. Limited fandoms, but a reasonably broad spectrum of dynamics and ratings and fic lengths (as well as first line lengths -- from a single word up to 84 in total), so there's that.

Rules: post the first line(s) from the last 10 fics you've updated or posted (or however many fics you have, if less than 10).

1. are your lessons done?

Causes, Aeldra Sedai tells her, when it’s Liandrin’s turn to train with her — the Blues dedicate themselves to causes, and when Liandrin pushes her on that front she talks of political reform, of advising rulers with wise counsel and guiding them towards policies that will benefit those weaker, but the answers she gives Liandrin all linger at the top and it is hard for her to see how they will ever bring any meaningful change for those who live in mud and squalor.

2. hold me like water (slipping through your fingers)

“Dad?”

3. Restless

He watches as she paces the length of her office.

4. the shine i saw

“You didn’t need to come with me.”

5. make a mercy out of me

She wakes before him, and for a moment she simply lies there, luxuriating in a peace limned by the beat of his heart and the diffuse sun slanting through the shutters.

6. undone and divine

“You’re stressed and it’s distracting me,” he had said — and somehow that has brought them here, in the glow of a moon nearly full, to the currently-abandoned training mats of the specialist quad.

7. only know (when you let her go)

She had always known this day would come.

8. the still point

“How,” she asks, unable to keep the exasperation from her tone completely, “can you be an excellent specialist but so utterly incompetent at this?”

9. anchor

It’s always like this: the first knot settles into place, and the world begins to fall away.

10. the sky it was grey

“… to protect Solaria and its people so long as my body has strength and my lungs draw breath, or until I am released from my service.

It occurs to me, idly, that if I'd added some of the prompt fics on here it would've skewed the wordcount higher -- but that's because some of those are for limited sentence ficlets, and I abuse grammar shamelessly to make longer sentences there.

Also a bit sad to realise this takes me back to February of last year; I do hope I can get a bit more writing done this year, even if I ended up doing better in 2024 than I'd hoped.

I'm not gonna tag anyone specific, but if you steal this in turn, please tag me back so I can see your results!