#like seemingly way more glitter than they even had stuck to them

[madbiscuitlady]

Hello!

Yes. In light of the realization RE: Ed is wearing butterflies in his hair in s105. I am proposing someone draw him wearing those late 90's butterfly clips that were absolutely inescapable from late '98-2000.

You know the ones:

[the-californicationist]

The Old Way

Listen... I don't even know what I'm on with this. Just... don't judge me. Omfg what is wrong with me.

AO3 Link -- TW: omegaverse wildness, biting, blood, etc.

Your people are starving, and your clan's Alpha has asked you, their only remaining Omega, to give yourself up as a sacrifice to save them. So, you agree, and you are to be mated to one of the Alphas of Clan 141, praying that it is to any of them except Alpha Price. He is known to have a knot that is impossible to take, but when you finally meet him, you're not sure of what's possible anymore. Will you risk it all to be with him, even if his knot might kill you? One way to find out…

The Old Way

You couldn’t see the stars. The shroud that hung over your head was made from fine, black silk, and through its thin organza, you could barely make out the shape of the Watcher in front of you, much less the glittering galactic expanse overhead. You were wrapped like a gift, and if you wanted to save the lives of everyone you’d ever loved, you would remain cloaked in your darkness, hidden, waiting for your big moment. More than anything, you wanted to pull your veil away from your eyes just to see the familiar constellations again, to comfort yourself with their shapes, to make one last independent choice before all of your volition was stolen from you forever. 

That wasn’t the right word. You couldn’t steal something that was given freely. You were not bound, and you were certainly not forced to wear the shadowed veil against your will. You had selected this path for yourself, and now you were living through the consequences of that decision.

As the only Omega in your clan – the first one born in seventy years – you were raised on the knowledge that you may one day be asked to give up your life for your clan. After the war, life was hard, and now that your people were stuck in a seemingly endless drought, it had become even more desperate. Your clan leader, Alpha Roan, had come to you six weeks ago with a terrible look in his eyes, a palpable guilt, still wearing his mourning collar for his long-lost mate, Omega Kiran, and he had asked you if you would be willing to undergo The Exchange.

His own wife had come to your clan through The Exchange, and although they had chosen to perform a private ceremony, you knew that it had been a challenge for her. Before she died, she had taught you much about your role, but you were still a youngling, and some things were just not for you to hear at such an age. 

You thought about the years that had passed after the loss of your clan’s Omega. Alpha Roan had insisted on your education, and your training, but the idea that you would be asked to leave your clan through The Exchange was always a distant threat. But, now, here it was. You had been called by your Alpha to sacrifice yourself for their benefit; not in a marriage of love, but in a clan trade. 

You had been asked by your Alpha to think about your choice. After he left you to ponder your choice, you sat down in your chambers surrounded by your Watchers, the women who had raised you, who had taught you to read, to write, to fight, and to charm. They looked at you with the same guilty, knowing eyes, and they asked you if you were prepared to make the sacrifice. 

“You do know what awaits you at the end of The Exchange, don’t you, Omega?” Watcher Trinity had asked you quietly, holding your hands in her shaking fingers, the wrinkled skin of her knuckles folding and stretching over her thin bones. 

You nodded, “Yes, Watcher. I am to be given to a new Alpha.”

She had looked at you then, her eyes sharp and calculating, trying to figure out how she would ask her next question.   

“Do you know the way in which you will be given, Omega?” 

Her tone chilled your heart, sinking through your body like ice across a pond, freezing you in place. You waited. There was more that she needed to say, and you allowed her to explain. 

And now that you knew the truth, you felt fully prepared to accept the terms of the agreement. You would deliver your people from their strife, and any pain, any shame, and any horror that you experienced from this point onward would be in service to your clan. You hoped that would be enough solace to sustain you. There was no shame in your sacrifice, you knew that. But, in your soul, you knew that knowing a thing and experiencing a thing were two vastly disparate sides of the same coin. 

You informed your clan Alpha, holding your chin high, 

“I accept the terms of The Exchange, Alpha Roan.”

“Your people are forever in your debt, Omega. Watchers,” he addressed your caregivers, “Please make preparations in the old way of our clan.”

“The old way, Alpha Roan?” Watcher Trinity had asked, her voice giving away her apprehension.

“Yes, Watcher. We will follow the law, no matter how… upsetting it may be. Clan 141 is too powerful for us to take any undue risks. If they do not accept her, we may not survive their engagement.”

Even in your sheltered little academy, you had heard of Clan 141. Their clan was small, but it was deeply feared. If any other clan dared step out of line, the 141 were there to rain hellfire and destruction down on them until there was nothing left. They were not cruel, but they abided no violent acts in their territory, and any whisper of rekindling the war efforts or of superseding the peace treaty was dealt with swiftly and decisively. 

Before the war, kings and presidents and generals had pulled the strings. Now that the world lay in ruins, the 141 was the only thing between your small clan and total destruction from larger, more aggressive packs. The 141 was the only reason your people still had other clans to trade with; they had made sure smaller communities had access to fair market costs for food and services, and no one dared to shun your merchants now that you were under their protective wing. 

Your Watchers had done their best to ease you into your preparations. Clan 141 would be at the neutral ground in six weeks, and your team had tried to make every moment of that window meaningful in your training. They had started slowly, teaching you to stretch your untouched hole with your fingers, showing you diagrams and depictions of your own anatomy, warning you of the physical trial of taking an Alpha’s knot. 

It was mortifying when you endured your first test. Watcher Gillar and Watcher Bhin had made you sit in front of a mirror and show them your progress. You were told to clench and release the muscles of your hole on command, fluttering it to prove its strength. Then, they had produced a carved, glass phallus, expecting you to practice on a smaller model before moving you up to a more advanced size. 

You took it from their hands, looking at its curved, rigid shape with wide-eyed curiosity, trying to swallow your grief at being seen doing the unthinkable by people you considered to be your closest friends and caregivers. It almost made you regret your decision. But, your people needed you, so you rested the smooth tip of the phallus at the entrance of your hole and began to shove it inside of yourself. 

This new feeling was overwriting your mind, so alien and yet so very comforting to you, confounding in its sensations yet overwhelming in its unique, bright pleasure.

It was a struggle, but you managed to slip it into your body almost down to the large, bulbous knot on the end. The sharp pain of being entered for the first time was not as terrible as you had feared, but when you pulled the phallic rod back out of you, it was cloudy with your slick and your blood. 

“Try the knot, Omega. Your Alpha will be twice as large as this, at least. You do not want your first experience to be at the ceremony. I know that you will want to appear strong in front of the other clans.” Watcher Bhin encouraged you, holding you to her shoulder as she sat behind you, trying her best to comfort you through such a harrowing ordeal. 

You put their practice cock back inside of you, slipping down further than you had, feeling the wide anatomy pressing against your entrance, but still unable to take the full knot inside. You pushed and pulled with your muscles, just like your Watchers had taught you, but it wouldn’t budge. You were panting, sweating, and teetering on the edge of an embarrassing orgasm in front of your Watchers, and you gasped out, exasperated, 

“I can’t. I don’t think I can do this, Watcher.”

“Lay back, Omega. I will help you,” Watcher Gillar said softly, replacing your hand with hers at the base of the phallus. 

You lay down on your back against your soft pillows, trying to avoid your Watchers’ pitying eyes. Then, you felt a cool gel being applied around the sore ring of your hole; something to ease the way since there was no true Alpha present to coax your slick from your glands. Watcher Bhin had held your hand in hers, gripping you tightly, letting you squeeze her through the pain, wiping away your tears as the glass bulb of the pretend knot began to split you, stretching your body before finally popping into place.

You Watchers had comforted you for a few minutes, but then you were told to begin your meditations.

With much difficulty, you sat up, feeling the heavy knot nestled against your walls. Then, Watcher Bhin handed you a firm pillow, and you understood that you must straddle it, and that it would push the knot against you. You were to train your body and your mind to accept it so that you would have the stamina to withstand the ceremony. 

“Do not be afraid to listen to your body, Omega. We will return to help you remove it and recover. I will light some incense for you. Concentrate on your strength.”

You nodded, uncrossing your legs and settling yourself over the firm pillow, feeling the deep, sacral grind of the phallus as you set your weight against it. When you were left alone, you began your breathing techniques, but all the while, a flush was rushing across your skin, the shadow of a rising desire to come, and yet subtly different. Something whispered in your mind, and you wondered if you could call your slick down yourself, without an Alpha’s help. 

So, you tried, rocking back and forth across the pillow, churning the knot within your core, feeling the rounded tip rubbing against your deepest parts. You removed your robes, letting the flush keep you warm, watching yourself in the tall mirror, meeting your own eyes. 

It took only minutes before a true orgasm was upon you, but you tried to hold it at bay, searching through the sparkling, cracking fog of pleasure for the part of you that made you special. No Beta would survive a knotting; they never did, and it was a crime to even try. But, you were meant for it, and you knew that your Watchers’ training would not let you down. You breathed through the bliss, reaching out with your mind towards your slick, imagining it, visualizing your success, manifesting it deep within you. 

When the Watchers found you later that night, they woke you with cool rags and worried faces,

“What happened, Omega? How did you…” Watcher Gillar looked down at your bare legs to where the pillow sat under you, seeing a torrent of slick and milky come covering your skin and the silk of the bolster, confused by how you could produce it without an Alpha’s beckoning call. It was just not done, not even considered to be a possibility. 

After that night, there was much chatter amongst the Watchers. They consulted old tomes, dusting off the pages in the library of your little academy where you trained far away from the rest of your village, kept up here in your tower like a Delphic oracle, buried like a treasure. 

The training became more intense, and each practice phallus that your Watchers produced became harder and heavier, each bearing knots that were unfathomably large. You used your newfound power to face each of your challenges, less ashamed now to perform in front of your team, but knowing that the ceremony would be something else entirely. 

You had asked about it one night as your Watchers were helping you bathe after a particularly difficult practice session, 

“Will there truly be none absent from the ceremony, Watcher Trinity?”

“Only the cubs and their mothers are forbidden from attending. Otherwise, all clan members are obligated to witness The Exchange. We will even invite Clan Farlight and Clan Seres to the feast as a token of goodwill. You know this, Omega,” her tone was a little impatient, wondering why you were asking such a basic question, “Your Alpha has asked for your ceremony to be conducted in the old way, according to the original scrolls.” 

“I am worried that I will dishonor you with my abilities. I cannot seem to take even these false knots without tears,” you repeated the old scripture, chanting it rote to your Watcher just as you used to do when you had started your adult training, “Omegas are vessels. They will silently submit. The ceremony will be still, honoring the sacrifice.”

Watcher Trinity knelt down beside your bath and made you look at her. Her eyes softened, and she told you,

“Yes, that is what is written, but it is not that simple. You have already honored us with your sacrifice. We have no grain. We have skinny, milkless goats, and our well is nearly dry. When we feast after your ceremony, the full bellies of your people will mean so much more than any perceived weakness that you are reluctant to show.” She grabbed your hand out of the warm water, holding it in hers, “If you need to cry, we will understand, and we will be comforting you from the crowd. Trust me, Omega.”

You tried to put it all out of your mind as you marched down the path, following behind your Watchers as they surrounded you, adorned in their own ceremonial garb. They had worn their armor and their long, red robes, carrying huge, black scythes like walking sticks, as was the custom of your clan. Your Alpha was walking in the front of your pack, guiding your clan to the meeting point. You could just see the white, canvas tops of the tents and yurts that had been constructed for the ceremony, meant to house hundreds of people for at least three days. Yours was the biggest, its adornment the most splendid. But that was little comfort to your frayed nerves. 

You were miles from home at this point, missing the comfort of your room and your books, knowing that you would never return there, and that perhaps your new Alpha would not allow you to keep any of your belongings from your old life. 

You’d heard horror stories from some of the Betas in your clan, tales of Alphas who used their Omegas like slaves, keeping them clad in irons, surviving in dark dungeons only to be used to breed and to give their Alphas carnal pleasure. 

While you were being prepared for this journey, a pair of Beta women had helped you paint your skin, drawing intricate symbols and prayers in gold flake, chittering about the ceremony and the feast without knowing what you had been through over the past six weeks.

“This is the first time I will witness a ceremony done in the old way,” Beta Lilia said. 

“Do you know which Alpha will claim you?” Lilia’s friend, Beta Tyran, asked you, not knowing how loaded her words were.

You shook your head; you didn’t even know how many Alphas belonged to Clan 141. Lilia gushed about them for you, taking the conversation out of your hands,

“Clan 141 has four Alphas! Can you imagine? I hear that they have an entire army of Omegas as well. Alpha Garrick is so handsome, and he has three gorgeous Omegas. They are almost too beautiful to look upon.. I saw him when I was at the central market once. He was leading a team, hunting the vagabonds who set fire to a farmer’s field, you remember when that happened? It was years ago now. He was so imposing. But, that other one was there, too.” 

She made a face that was strong enough to make you ask about it,

“Which one?”

“The Ghost, Alpha Riley. They say that no one has seen his face. He wears a terrifying skull mask. I heard from Yair that he has three Omegas as his guards, all masked as well. Yes! Guards! They have armor and weapons and huge, bulging muscles. Beautiful and lethal –”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beta Tyran interrupted, “No one would give their Omegas weapons. No one would let their Omegas out in the public markets! Imagine the danger.”

Lilia shrugged, “Yair said that these Omegas were the danger.” 

Then, you heard about Alpha MacTavish, a descendant from one of the ancient warlords, charming and fearsome. He kept two Omegas as his brides, always pregnant, but almost as fearsome as Alpha Riley’s guards. Alpha MacTavish often expected them to travel with their Beta friends, to take their children up into the mountains, hunting and fishing and exploring outdoors. All sorts of stories about his large, loving family. You silently hoped you would be claimed by him. It would be nice to live amongst Omegas and their cubs. 

“Which one is their Apex Alpha? There must be one in a clan with so many Alphas,” you mused, asking the girls since you did not know much about Clan 141 yourself.

The Betas shared a look, and then Lilia shook her head,

“You will not be claimed by him, Omega. Don’t worry.”

“Why?” You pried, using your influence to force her to tell you.

“His name is Alpha Price, the leader of Clan 141. He’s the deadliest man in the entire land, and he’s the one who destroyed Clan Konni.”

The weight of that news sank in, and the dramatic tone of her story had attracted other Betas and Watchers to gather around you to listen to her tale, 

“Alpha Price has never claimed an Omega. They say that he had tried. He had found one of Alpha Garrick’s Omegas to be very pretty, but she tried to take his knot and failed, so Alpha Garrick took her under his protection instead.”

“Failed?” Watcher Bhin asked, shocked by the implication. 

“My sister was a medic who served with the Alliance in the most recent skirmish, and the 141 helped defeat the rebels who were killing members of Clan Darrah a few years ago. She said that she served under the doctor who had healed Alpha Garrick’s Omega. Said he’d never seen anything like it before in his life. She was so strong, and yet…”

Lilia’s words hung heavy in the air, and all of the women looked at each other and then at you, suddenly feeling the weight of your sacrifice, ashamed at their earlier levity. Tyran shook her head and patted you on the arm, 

“Don’t worry. Alpha Price will not claim you. You have nothing to worry about.”

That night, painted gold and covered in your black silks, you sat in your tent and meditated while you waited for the other clans to arrive. Your mind kept wandering to Alpha Price and his lonely existence. Had he really injured an Omega during his claiming of her? How large must his knot have been to do so? It made you shudder to think about it, and yet deep inside of you, your core warmed from the thought. If he imprinted on you…

But, imprinting was just a myth. Something only written in old texts as a footnote or a story. It was a part of the ritual of The Exchange, but it wasn’t real. 

“Omega,” Watcher Trinity interrupted your meditation and peeked her head into your tent, “It is time to present The Cloth.”

Clan 141 was here, then. 

The ritual of The Exchange began with The Shroud, which you were already wearing. Then, it was The Cloth. If all went well, it would then be The Meeting. And finally, The Ceremony.

The Cloth was a gift from the Omega to her new Alpha, a token of her affection and a chance for him to smell her scent for the first time. In ancient legends, this is when her true mate would imprint upon her, her Omegan scent bringing out his Alphic marks, dark spots or stripes across his neck and back, making him look like a big cat, ready to bite into her neck and claim her as his own. 

She tried to shake herself out of that fantasy world. All she could hope was that one of their Alphas would be drawn to her scent enough to accept her. Her people were depending on her.

“Here is your cloth, Omega. I embroidered it myself. I hope that it honors you,” Watcher Trinity handed you a wooden box, carved and adorned with great care, and when you opened it, you found a red silk square of fabric, sewn with the sigils and symbols of your clan in fine gold thread. You smiled up at your Watcher and reached out to hold her in your arms,

“It’s perfect, Watcher. Thank you for caring for me.”

You were both fighting off tears when she finally pulled away. You hoped that your Alpha would at least let you say goodbye after the ceremony, even if you might never see her again. 

Watcher Trinity and all of the other women left you alone again in your tent, giving you privacy to prepare The Cloth. You made yourself naked, and you began to rub the silk across your neck and glands, trying to soak your scent into the piece. Then, you wiped it between your legs, swiping up some of your wetness to coat the fabric. Usually, this would be enough. You could call your Watcher back into the tent and give her the box, and you would be done. 

But, something in your heart told you to try to call out your slick. You listened to your instincts, and you began to rub the soft fabric against your folds, bringing your own pleasure to a warm, shining height. Just when you thought you might not be able to do it, that your nervousness would make it too difficult or that you might black out again from the effort, you felt something inside of you slip free. Then, your hole was flooded, the orgasm making your vision go blurry and form spots at the edges, your whole body convulsing from the strength of your pleasure, and you had to lay down just to try and stay awake through your gushing bliss. 

You felt it coat the silk and your hand, a thick, milky slick, and your heart swelled with pride. You knew that a gift this special would sway the attention of at least one of their Alphas. You trusted in your skills and training that you were worthy of this ceremony and that your people would be saved. 

Sitting up, you carefully opened the box and returned The Cloth to its resting place, soaked with your scent. You took time to clean yourself up, stuffing wet blankets into your laundry packs and hiding them away, remaking your nest before your Watcher would know what you had done. You weren’t sure why you were keeping a secret from them, but you just felt like this was something between you and your Alpha. A promise, of sorts. 

You replaced your black silks and veil over your otherwise unclothed body and called your Watchers. They entered your tent along with Alpha Roan. 

His eyes widened as he approached you, taking the box from your hands. Quietly, as if knowing that this was an extremely private affair, he whispered to you, 

“What have you done, little Omega?”

“I am doing what needs to be done, Alpha. Please, deliver my message to my new Master.”

You use of the ancient terminology caught your clan Alpha off guard, but you were glad of it. If this was to be done in the old way, then you would withstand it, but you would also do it your way. You were the Omega, here, and you were the reason your clan would survive this struggle. It was time you started acting like the heroine that you were. You would be your people’s strength, no matter the cost.

“Very well,” Alpha Roan sighed, closing the box, calling out to your team, “Watchers, bring your Omega to The Cloth ritual.”

You were guided to the path again, leaving your tent behind and walking towards the big, outdoor theater. It was a crude coliseum of sorts, a large circular pit lined with rows and rows of carved seating that was cut into the land. People had already begun to line the viewing platforms, each clan decorated in their traditional garb. You felt proud to see the stripe of red where your people sat, holding each others’ hands and praying for your safe arrival. 

You were not greeted with raucous applause but instead with reverent silence. Alpha Roan walked in front of your Watchers, and you were the last one into the theater, dressed only in your sheer shroud, trying your best not to feel self-conscious about the fact that - because of the firelight - everyone could see your naked, painted body through the veil, even though you were covered head to toe in the organza. In the tent, the lighting was low and kept you in darkness, hiding your body under the thin silk. But, not here in the theater. Your skin was illuminated by the torches, and you knew that even your friends and neighbors could now see your most private parts. 

You made sure that your face did not give away your lingering shame. 

Alpha Roan took center stage, and you saw the Alphas of Clan 141 for the first time. 

Alpha MacTavish was standing between his two Omegas, and you mused that his oldest children must have stayed behind to care for his cubs. He was dressed in his Clan’s black gear, covered in armor like a gladiator, his head shaven into a mohawk, spiked and messy on the crown of his head. His body was huge and stocky, and the Omegas seated at his sides looked so tiny compared to his bulk. But, they were strong. Their bellies were round with the promise of future cubs, and their skin and hair glowed like the stars. 

Alpha Garrick stood next to him, his Omegas seated together to his right, dressed in the finest robes you had ever seen. He clearly had a type, and you thought that they looked like triplets, all decorated in jewels and gold, riches you’d never even dreamt of. Their Alpha was every bit as handsome as the stories had promised. He had pouty, full lips that were curled in a snarky sort of smile, and his soft brown eyes exuded pure confidence. His hands were wide and powerful, resting on his curved blade that lay sheathed at his hip. 

Alpha Riley was masked, as you had been told, as were his Omegas. They were not seated, and every bit of armor that was strapped to his hulking body was also strapped to them. They had glittering knives, bows, arrows, and slings, looking like they could win their own war by themselves. Their bodies were heavily muscled, and all four of them seemed as tall as Alpha MacTavish, standing proudly in leather boots. 

Then, you saw Alpha Price. He was holding a large wooden stick, at least seven feet tall, with hundreds of notches sliced into the side. You wondered what he was keeping track of, and you shuddered to know. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his hair was cut high and tight on the sides. He was certainly bigger and better muscled than each of his men, but that was not what you noticed about him first. It was his eyes. They were piercingly blue, like glacial ice, and they were looking right at you. Hungry. 

Something inside of your core tightened under his scrutiny, but Alpha Roan’s voice shook you from your trance,

“Clan Arlos welcomes Clan 141 to The Exchange. We present you with our offering, an unmated Omega, 26 years of age, fully trained in the old ways of our people. She is our greatest gift, and we ask for your acceptance of our sacrifice.”

Alpha Roan held up the box with The Cloth inside for all to see. He set it on the large, marble altar in the middle of the stage and backed away from it, waiting for the other Alphas to take part in the ritual. 

Alpha Price spoke, and your body nearly trembled at the sound of his deep, purring voice. You were more nervous than you thought, and you tried to breathe to manage yourself. 

“We will consider your honorable offering, Clan Arlos.”

With that, he slammed his huge stick against the stony ground and Alpha MacTavish stepped up to the altar. He opened the box, and along with the other Alphas in attendance, his body had a visceral reaction. His hands went to touch the cloth and he brought it to his nose, smelling your scent with a sort of wonder and amazement. 

Then, to your great relief, he raised his hand, palm outward, as a show of his acceptance of your scent. If you accepted him as well, you would be mated. 

But, the slamming sound of the stick shook you out of your celebrations. Alpha Price called up Alpha Garrick. 

This was most unusual. Typically, only one Alpha had to agree. It wasn’t like you had much choice in the matter. Even if Alpha MacTavish’s scent did not stir your heart, you would still submit to him as expected. This was not a marriage of love but of convenience. 

MacTavish looked back over his shoulder at Price, just as shocked as you were. His Omegas looked even more taken aback, strangely offended that you would not automatically join them. But, Alpha MacTavish returned the cloth to the box and made room for Garrick, disappointed and visibly confused. 

Alpha Garrick opened the box and buried his face against The Cloth, breathing in once, twice, and then tasting the fabric, right in front of everyone. It was his right, but it was a little audacious. 

His palm went up, high in the air, and his Omegas smiled and held each other’s hands, excited at your acceptance. 

Another loud slam. Another rejection. 

You may still end up with MacTavish or Garrick after negotiations, you remembered, but you were now wondering why Alpha Price had chosen to test you against all three of his men before making a decision. It was very odd. Alpha Roan looked greatly concerned. 

Alpha Riley approached the altar, his gloved hands prying open the box, then, he lifted the bottom of his mask to reveal his mouth and nose. The slightest murmur of shock rippled through the crowd. He bent to smell your scent, and he raised his hand in the air, signaling his acceptance before replacing his mask. You thought you caught the hint of a smile just before his pale lips disappeared beneath the skull plate again. 

Slam! The stick pounded against the floor.

All of Clan 141 turned to look at Alpha Price at once. Your heart stopped. Why would he… Why would Alpha Price want to undergo The Cloth ritual himself? He had no Omega. Surely, he wouldn’t claim you now, not after what had happened. You watched Alpha Garrick’s Omegas. One of them stared at Alpha Price with wide, glossy eyes. You thought that it must be his prior candidate for a mate. She was afraid for you. They were all afraid.

All eyes were on Alpha Price as he approached the altar, and the entire theater was silent as he took The Cloth in his hands. He lay it out flat, in no rush, inspecting the wet stain that you had left for him, using his thumb to feel the fine, gold embroidery. Then, his eyes darted up to yours. He was the first one to look at you while he held The Cloth to his nose, that icy gaze making you tremble with anticipation. 

You were so lost in his eyes that you didn’t see what was stirring the crowd. There was a loud gasp and then an explosion of whispers. You looked around, trying to understand what was happening. Then, when he tucked The Cloth into his breast pocket, keeping you for himself, you saw it. 

Long, red lines began to stain his skin like lightning. All of his veins tattooed themselves across his neck, and although his armor was covering his shoulders, you knew that the marks would be there as well. 

Alpha Price had imprinted for you. 

Then, he silenced the crowd by raising his right hand, palm up, staring at you the entire time. 

You were whisked away, surrounded by your Watchers, hearing Alpha Roan’s voice behind you, sounding like protest, but you couldn’t make out the words. Compared to the initial silence, the area erupted in a shattering din, clans shouting and yelling over each other, the drama from the ritual dividing the people. 

You thought you would be taken back to your tent, but you were brought to a large lake about five hundred yards from the theater. It was quiet again. No one was allowed to follow you here, it seemed. 

Watcher Trinity tried to explain in a rushed whisper, helping you climb into a boat and rowing you out to the middle of the lake,

“There is a dispute for your claiming. Alpha Roan will negotiate new terms, and Clan 141 must decide who will be your Alpha. It will be alright, Omega. It’ll be alright.”

She sounded like she was trying to reassure herself more than you.

“What now?”

“Because there is not just one Alpha who has claimed you, they will undergo a ritual called The Trial. It is a fight; a test of will. Whichever Alpha can win will be granted the right to appeal to you first. If you reject him, then you will be given a chance to hear the appeal from the second.”

“So, it will be up to me, then?”

“Yes. Alpha Price has put the choice in your hands. Very odd, and not in our custom, but we must honor his wishes. You will wait here for the winner.”

You looked around. You were now in the middle of the lake, and there was a platform lingering just below the water. It was a wide stone block, about three meters wide in each direction. Watcher Trinity helped you out of the boat and you stepped tentatively onto the platform. 

“Will you wait with me?” You asked, feeling the uncertainty and fear finally get the better of you. 

“No, my Omega. I cannot. These waters are forbidden to Betas. Only Alphas and Omegas can touch it. Take this. It is your flare. If you are in trouble, if he tries to get to you, fire it high into the sky and we will rescue you. You can do this. I know you are strong. Wait patiently for your Alpha,” she paused, grabbing your hand, “I realize you are doing this for us, but please, follow your heart.”

“I will, Watcher.” 

So, you waited. You meditated, standing in an inch of cool lake water as you tried to commune with the land around you. And you waited some more. Hours passed until, finally, you saw torches. Your Watchers lined one side of the lake, and they greeted the newcomers. Then, you saw him. Alpha Price was being stripped down by your Watchers. They took his weapons from him, and then his clothes, making him naked on the shoreline. He craned his neck, trying to look for you in the lake, but it was dark and you were dressed in black. 

You could see him just fine, though. His huge body was covered in short, curly hair, dense and dark against his skin. His muscles bulged and popped as he peeled away his layers of clothing. They left his undergarments on, little more than a linen loincloth. Then, you saw your Watchers attach a huge, metal collar around his neck. They clamped it together with a padlock in the back, and a huge chain was attached at the latch. 

They bound his hands, chaining them together, and then loaded him into the boat. They rowed toward you with his back facing the platform, and as he got closer, you saw his imprint markings, red and raised like jagged scars across his neck and shoulders. Your scent had marked him permanently. The welts would go down, and the red would fade, but it would always be there, evidence of his imprinting. 

The boat reached you, and he climbed out of it, sitting on the opposite side of the platform from you, just far enough to be out of range for your scent. 

His eyes found yours again, staring at you through your veil, finding your gaze with a natural ease. He held a small box in his hands, and you thought you saw the phantom of a smile across his lips as you looked over his face. 

The boat rowed to shore, dragging the long chain all the way back, and you were alone with him. It was quiet for a long while. You were just staring at each other, studying each other, trapped in a silent battle. 

You looked down at his hands, noticing for the first time his cut, bloody knuckles, and he saw the worry cross over your eyes.

“They’re fine,” he said quietly, “My men. If that’s what you were wondering.”

“But, you triumphed over them, clearly,” you replied, not trusting your own voice. 

He chuckled a bit, sighing, 

“I did.”

“You fought for me, then.”

The laughing stopped, and he lifted his chin, proudly, 

“I did.”

“And you are here for my acceptance.”

He didn’t respond to your cue, but instead, he took the box in his hands and slid it across the platform, skittering it along the surface of the water, making little splashes as it landed in front of you. 

You reached for it, opening it up to reveal a shining key. 

“Throw it in the lake,” he commanded you, using his Alpha’s voice to bend your will. 

It shocked you, and you were so close to obeying, but you stopped, cutting your eyes at him,

“What is this?”

“Throw. It. Omega.”

His voice seared through your blood, calling to you with old magic. You fought hard to keep your mind under your own control, 

“Stop! Stop it. Tell me what this is, Alpha.”

“It unlocks my collar. Otherwise, if I make so much as a shift in your direction that they don’t like,” his head turned to look back toward your watchers, “They will pull me into the lake, and I will drown.”

“And if I unlock it…”

“Then, you will be my mate,” his tone turned vitriolic then, “And you will die.”

You let his words sink in, your curiosity overcoming your fear,

“You believe your knot cannot be taken.”

He spat back, 

“My belief is not –”

“But, it’s not up to you,” you interrupted him, “Is it?”

The shock that washed over his bright eyes filled you with a sort of sick satisfaction. You should be afraid of him, but your roles were reversed out here on this rock, and you were holding him under your command. 

“Toss that key, girl. MacTavish fought hard for you. He’ll care for you. He’s a good man.”

“Are you a good man?”

“No,” he growled, his eyes dropping to the water, examining the chains around his own hands, inspecting them for the bloodstains that he obviously thought should be there. 

“I am here for my people, Alpha Price. I am not looking for a husband. I am a resource to be traded for other resources. My clan needs The Exchange. Our people are starving, and I –”

“I would not let them starve,” Price’s eyes shot back up, indignant that you would suggest that he would leave you and your clan without food or water. 

You let yourself smile slightly, teasing him, 

“Spoken like a good man.”

He twisted his lips over his teeth, but he stayed quiet. You continued to torment him, 

“Why did you raise your hand for me?”

He sighed, sitting forward, sloping his shoulders toward you,

“I couldn’t help it. My Alpha…He…” He paused, searching for the words, “I could smell you through the box. I knew you from the moment I saw you walk through the arena. And when my men all raised their hands for you, I knew you would be accepted as our Clan Omega. You are mine in every way that matters. And I cannot have you.”

His voice was full of bitterness. You wanted to smell him. What were the chances that he was your true mate? One-sided imprinting was rare, but true mates were one in a million. 

You stood, surprising him, and he jolted back, sitting up right. The chain around his wrists clattering. You looked over at the shoreline. Your Watchers held the long chain around his neck, heavy and sagging into the black water, ready to yank it tight if he lunged for you, if he fell prey to his Alphic instinct to breed you. 

He watched you approach, seeing how the water rippled with every step you took, gazing upon the dripping silks that clung to your legs, devouring you with his eyes. You stopped in front of his crossed legs, Knowing that he could smell you now. Your pussy was shielded only with a few layers of silk, and you watched him flare his nose, sniffing you right in front of his face, blowing a slow exhale of air through his lips, making the organza billow between your legs. 

“Can I smell your scent, Alpha?” You whispered, your voice slicing through the silence of the still lake. 

His chains clattered as he twisted his head to look up at you, peeling his eyes away from your pretty pussy to meet your gaze. Then, he bent his head to one side, giving you his neck, showing you his scent gland, a sea of red stripes emanating from its center. 

You bent over him, closing the gap, steadying yourself by laying a gentle hand on his huge shoulder. Then, you took a long pause and breathed him in. His scent swirled through your body, wrecking your other senses. It was only him. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Your Alpha. Your mate. Your true mate. 

You felt the red marks of your imprint streak across your skin, and his eyes widened in shock as he saw them branch through your veins and across your gland just as his had done. 

The click of a lock made his eyes flash back to you, and with that movement, his heavy collar tumbled into the lake, the drag of the chain singing as it scraped the side of the platform. 

“What have you done, my Omega?” Price breathed. 

It was the second time you’d been asked that question. Your response was still the same:

“I am doing what needs to be done, Master. I am giving myself to you, my true mate.”

The boats were in the water the moment the collar slipped from his neck. The Watchers were on you in moments, and Price’s Beta soldiers were there to collect him. You watched as they rowed you two apart, taking you back to your camps to prepare for the ceremony. 

Your Watchers were in a rush. There were only a few hours until sunrise. Your wet robes were switched out for red ones, and a red veil adorned your head. Underneath, you were rubbed and painted and sprayed with oils, until finally, Watcher Trinity came forward with a bowl of salve. She had made it herself, you could tell. She cared for you so deeply. 

“I trust you, Omega. I know you know what you’re doing. But, please take this. It will help your muscles relax for him, and it will make it easier to bring on your natural defenses.”

She was being coy, avoiding using the word to refer to your slick, knowing that you had your own method of calling it forth using your special power. But, you took it from her anyway, and after you were left alone again to meditate, you used two fingers to massage it into your hole, feeling its effects begin to warm you, making your flesh supple and pliant. 

A hand curled around your tent flap, pulling it open. Instead of your Watcher, you saw one of Garrick’s Omegas. It was her, the one who had failed to take your Alpha’s knot.

She stepped inside,

“May I speak with you?”

You nodded, motioning for her to sit,

“Yes, but I’m afraid I already know what you are about to say.”

Her eyes widened, 

“If you know, then why have you accepted this? Alpha MacTavish was his second. He is not to your liking? His Omegas are kind and –”

“No, they were all to my liking. I am eager to join your pack in whichever way I can, but Alpha Price is my true mate.”

You showed her your skin from under the red silks, knowing she could not see them through the red of the veil. She gaped at them, 

“Your… true mate? He could… This could kill you, Omega. I don’t want to see you come to harm, and it would destroy him. I saw how he was after my accident. I nearly blamed myself for his deep sorrow.”

“I trust my training, Omega, and I am so grateful for your support, but he is my mate. What is meant to happen to me, will.” You stood with her, seeing your Watchers hovering just outside the tent, signaling them that you were ready to leave. 

“Then, I trust you as well. The others are so excited to meet you. I wish you an easy path, and I hope your ceremony is just as you want it to be. After this, you will be our Clan Omega, and I will serve you until the end of my days.”

She kissed your cheek through your veil and left you to be delivered back to the altar. 

For a long time, you had wondered if this final walk away from your pack would be a sad one. You expected every step to be filled with hesitation and fear. But, the only thing you felt was joy. Your mate awaited you at the end of this long path, and you were ready to submit to him. He was worthy of your strength, and he would help you deliver your people from danger. You would rule beside him, helping him use the 141 for good, eradicating the evil from your land. 

The sun’s pink wash was rising out of the horizon line just as you reached the theater. The crowd was silent again, and you saw the pallor and shock painted on all of their faces. They were expecting a funeral instead of a feast. They had no idea why anyone would be so desperate as to sacrifice their only Omega to this Alpha, especially when it was not necessary. But, they didn’t realize that you were no prisoner. You were no one’s puppet. You were in charge, here, and your Alpha would breed you as you commanded him to. 

Your Watchers led you to the altar, kissing your hands through the thin cloth as they passed you to take their seats near Clan Arlos, tears in their eyes and staining their cheeks, and finally, your clan Alpha approached you.

“Alpha Roan,” you greeted him. 

“Little Omega,” he smiled, kissing your hands just as your Watchers had done. He didn’t need to, but it was his way of showing everyone that he trusted your choice, “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“I do,” you said, smiling at him through your red silk veil. 

Then, Alpha Price’s men came through the center of the theater, each of them bending to kiss your hands. But, instead of the back of your knuckles, they turned them over to kiss your palms, a sign that they would accept what you had to give them. Alpha Riley was first, and he lifted his mask to show you his mouth and chin, his kiss warm and tender against your skin. Then, Alpha Garrick knelt down, placing multiple kisses along your fingers and wrists, displaying his loyalty and respect. Finally, Alpha MacTavish knelt before you, daring to whisper to you as he kissed your palms, 

“Brave lass.”

You used your thumb to pet his lip, acknowledging his trust in you. 

Then, it was time for the Omegas to join you. They approached as a unit, not individually as their Alphas had done, and they helped you lay on the altar, guiding your body back onto the marble platform. They pulled at your silks, allowing the crowd to see your naked body, painted in fine brushes of intricate gold designs, of prayers and songs of your people, their symbols adorning you from neck to toe. Finally, they began to kiss you, licking and sucking at your mouth like lovers, showing their devotion to you as their clan Omega. 

As they kissed you, your skin began to flush hot, your body somehow knowing what was about to happen to you. The Omegas felt your fire against their lips, and they pulled your legs apart, each of them bending to lick and suck at your flower’s drooling petals, slurping and sucking up your creamy nectar. They were at your breasts, your neck, your belly, your hands and feet. You were overwhelmed with pleasure, shaking and trembling under their affection, yet moved by their deep loyalty. You knew you would be safe with them. They would care for you just as your clan had done. 

Then, you heard the familiar slam of a longstaff. Your Alpha had arrived. 

According to the ceremony, you were meant to be still and silent as a showing of your acceptance. If you moved or cried out in any way, you risked a clan war, as taking a mate without their consent was a dark offense. You had to prove to your people that you were here of your own free will, and even though you were feeling the static cling of apprehension beginning to worm its way into your chest, you tried to breathe through it, trusting your Alpha to lead you through this moment with his protective power. 

Your legs were lowered to the stirrup-style rests that were carved just below the stone table, keeping your knees wide apart, allowing your pussy to drip openly, glistening with the beginnings of your slick. You calmed yourself as they left you alone, each of them kissing you softly once more to show their reverence. 

Then, you heard the clatter of fallen armor. He was undressing, removing his warlord’s mantle and coming to you fully bare. You spotted him between the vee of your legs as he approached the dais, his imprint marks flushed a deep wine red, his body shining with the traditional oils, meant to give him another layer of aphrodisiacs, promoting his production of his seed, keeping his cock tall and hard. 

But, you knew that your imprint on his gland would do more than all of their drugs combined. He would kill every last person in this arena to get to you at this point, and although you had consented to this joining, you were no longer controlling it. He would take you, no matter what. 

Then, when he got close enough to your platform, you saw it. It was standing proudly against his thick, furry belly, dripping with precome and lubricants, glittering in the rising sun. His cock was immense. You had not practiced on one so large. And his knot was larger than your two fists pressed together. He was intact, and his foreskin was slipping down his flushed head, unable to contain the swelling glans. Your body threatened to quiver from your suspense, and you tried to move your mind into your meditative trance. 

As he approached, he did not go straight for his position between your legs. Instead, he walked around the front of the marble platform and bent to look you in your eyes, leaning his head down for a deep, heady kiss. He fed you his tongue and suckled on yours, letting it writhe inside of his mouth, rubbing against his own probing muscle.

He pulled away to gaze upon you, his eyes soft and full of joy. You smiled up at him, watching as he enjoyed the rest of your body, caressing your breasts, admiring your paintings. 

“Did my clan show you their loyalty, my Omega?”

“Yes, Master,” you answered quietly. 

“Are you prepared for me to show you mine?”

“Yes, Master. I am,” you replied, giving him a brave face despite the absolute weapon that was slobbering for you against his belly. You wanted to taste it, but now was not the time. 

He returned to the base of your platform, kneeling in front of your wet hole, bending to place his mouth against you. He began to suck, pulling your soft lips into his mouth like he was starving, lapping up the beginnings of your body’s fluids, moaning from the taste and the smell of your scent. You wanted to moan, you wanted to pin his head to your trembling quim, but you didn’t dare move a muscle or make a single sound. Breathing in, breathing out, letting the sparks of an orgasm rush through you, bringing tears to your eyes from holding back so much pleasure. 

Your Watcher’s salve was almost too effective. It had made you pliant, but now you were beyond sensitive, able to feel the pound of your own heartbeat through your hole, desperate for something to press inside of you. You needed his cock. 

But, he did not give it to you. He just sucked and sucked and sucked, and his fingers began to rub along the entrance of your slippery hole, pressing down on your pussy’s walls, testing their strength. You fluttered for him, just like your Watchers had taught you, and you felt him stumble in his movements, shocked by your power. 

He stood between your legs, his face and beard soaking from his meal, letting you drip off of his chin like a messy hound drinking from a river. Then, to test your resolve, he teased you with a little bit of meanness, stepping forward to let his cock lay along your body, measuring himself on the outside of you. He reached far beyond your navel, his lubed phallus warm and heavy, his knot resting in the softness of your folds, and you could feel him throbbing for you. 

You didn’t dare move, but you wanted to cradle his cock in your hands, to rub up and down his length, to feel the smoothness of his head and the firmness of his knot. But, you stayed stock still, showing the crowd that you would not waver. There was some soft chittering from the clans, the shock at his size obviously enough to break onlookers out of their respectful quiet. 

Then, he began notching his head at the entrance of your pussy, letting the tip slide up and down your tight ring of muscles that guarded your entrance.      

“Last chance, Omega. Call it off. Cry out, and my own men will cut me down,” he bade you under his breath, having a hard time holding his words and sentences together, his voice shaking in his throat. 

You looked up at him with closed lips, making a point to give him a soft smile as a response. 

No deal. 

You pulsed your muscles again, making your pussy lap up his sloppy precome like a little mouth, watching as he was torn apart by your action, no matter how minor. 

So, without any other choice, he fed himself into you. It was a fearsome experience, at first. You weren’t sure if you could actually handle him. But, you breathed through the stress, relaxing your body, finding that deep, secret place inside of you, making your slick drop down for him, flooding your hole to welcome him in. 

The confusion that painted his face was so satisfying. He couldn’t understand the sheer warmth and comfort he was experiencing. His cock was being sucked into you, deeper and deeper, and finally, you felt his knot. 

He pulled all the way out of you, and sheathed himself all the way back in, always reaching to that one spot, just above his bulbous anchor, and then starting his process over again. Each time his cock fucked its way through your body, humping himself into you, creamy, milking noises filled the quiet, open-air arena. The whole ensemble could hear him invading your hole, the lurid slap of skin on skin loud and unashamed. 

His phallus was large enough to rub against your most sensitive spot over and over, bullying it into producing more and more slick, making you come just by dragging his heavy cockhead over it, in and out, in and out, pounding into you with almost reckless need. 

You came for him, and your body began to shiver from the overwhelming bliss, but you held your voice. You tried to still yourself, not wanting to show weakness, but there was nothing you could do. You were shattered by his cock, coming over and over again. It was an endless wave. You had no idea where one started and the other stopped. 

You could taste blood in your mouth from biting the inside of your cheek. Still, you pushed through it, testing yourself with every push and pull of your body. 

His huge hands pawed at your hips and breasts, squeezing you, watching your plump flesh jiggle with every cruel strike of his hips. Your Alpha took your own slick and began to rub it all over your skin, swirling it around your nipples, letting it smear across your belly from his palm. Then, he painted himself, taking it from your well-fucked hole and rubbing it across his scent gland, down his chest, matting his hair with your wetness. 

Then, you felt his precome begin to pump out of him. You knew it had begun because this was when your slick was meant to wash through you, but there was no space for anything else. So, it began to pour out of you and over his knot. Every time he pushed it against your body, it threatened to slip into your hole, and you were filled with a twisted excitement, ready for it to be stuck inside of you, to churn and grind against your insides, to trap you in a blinding, rageful bliss. You nearly cried out from the heavy want you felt in your chest. 

“You ready for my knot, pretty Omega?” He growled, no longer speaking to you softly. There was no gentleness left within him. 

He shoved you back across the dais, climbing up onto it with you, breaking every protocol by doing so, but knowing there wasn’t a single other Alpha in attendance who would do anything about it unless you asked them to. But, he trusted you, lifting himself above you, bringing his face to your face, kissing you and beginning to lick your scent gland, making you see stars. 

Would he really bite you right here in front of all these people while you were about to take his knot? It was beyond intimate. Not only was it private, but it was dangerous. It was when an Alpha was most vulnerable. The audacity of this man shook you to your core. 

“Bite me, Omega. Please take me. Claim me as yours, sweetheart. Show them that you are mine. My Omega.”

His voice was ragged and deep, a hoarse purr of commands, all of which you were happy to obey. You began to lick his neck, putting your mouth over his gland as you began to suck at the round swell of flesh. Then, just as you canted your hips, feeling his knot slip inside of you, shoving and burying itself within the tight sheath of your pussy, you used your muscles to yank him the rest of the way in, and you bit down on his neck, hard, your body seizing from a hard, ruthless orgasm. . 

You heard the crack of his gland, and you felt him sink his fangs into yours, the pain and the pleasure mixing within you like a drug, his cock firing rope after rope of searing hot come into your belly, flooding your womb with his spend. He pulled his mouth away and stared into your eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his face full of disbelief, 

“My love…”

You kissed him, taking his lip into yours, suckling on it, trying to guide him back down from his tantric high. He was struggling above you, stuck deep inside of you, unable to stop himself from dumping heavy loads of his come into your body, his cock pulsing and throbbing with each burst of his cream. 

He rested his head on your neck, returning his mouth to your gland, and every time he licked it, now, you felt your pussy twist around him, threatening to slam you with another orgasm. You licked him, too, hearing him cry out against your skin, feeling the mirror of your sensations, his heavy phallus jerking as you sucked on his broken gland. 

Finally, he was able to rock back and forth, letting his knot slip out of you before popping it back inside, fucking you with it just like he did with his cock. He twisted his hips forward, driving into you with all of his strength, and then he would pull himself back out, the swell of his knot increasing with each thrust until, on the last thrust, he was finally trapped, unable to remove himself from your core. 

Now, though, it was your turn. You began to use your muscles to push and pull him from the inside, fucking him like a sleeve of smooth, soaked warmth, jerking his shaft up and down with your insides.

“Oh, fuck…” He whispered, not expecting your skills to be so advanced, but you had trained hard for this moment. You weren’t about to let it go to waste. 

You moved him inside of you, letting his knot take the brunt of your efforts, squeezing it like a fruit, making sure all of his juice melted into your skin. You made him come like this again, using the salve that your Watcher had given to you as an advantage, knowing that the heightened sensitivity you felt was now being passed on to him. He filled you up, his knot plugging your hole, preventing any of his seed from leaking out, and your tummy was swollen from his load, round and full for everyone to see. 

He sat up on his heels, looking down at you with his eyes full of adoration and wonder, watching your strong abdominals clench and twist as you used them to help you work inside of yourself, edging him over and over before pulling him down into the depths of another hard come with you. 

His hands went to the bulge of fluid in your belly, most of it flooding into your womb, unable to escape anywhere else. Your Alpha caressed your skin, marveling at the fullness. Then, he looked down at your stretched hole, playing with your clitorus that had been forced out from under its hood due to the sheer size of his knot, all of your skin bowing around it and pulled tight. 

Your Alpha forced you to come like this, milking him hard, trying not to make a sound but giving away your mind-bending pleasure with shaking, whimpering breaths. 

“That’s a good Omega. So full of my come.”

You smiled up at him, enjoying the full feeling of his come inside of you. But, you were losing your strength, and he could feel it. Alpha Price leaned over you again, grinding himself down into you and helping you reach one last orgasm, pulling himself along with you, squirting the last of his spend into your pussy. Then, he carefully twisted his cock out of you, watching the gush of his come coat the marble platform, dripping out of you and down the sides of the dais. 

You were so empty and weak, but you were being lifted, cradled in his arms, and the whole arena burst into revelrous applause. The feast had begun, but not for you. You would be in your Alpha’s tent, and there you would remain until he bred you, making sure that you were laden with his cub, sharing food and drink with him in bed while you were stuck on his knot, traditionally until sunset when you would be presented to the clans as the new Apex Omega, destined to rule beside him forever. 

“Are you done being quiet, my Omega?”

“Yes, Master,” you whispered, nestling into his broad chest. 

“Good,” he smiled, “I need to hear you scream for me.”

“And I need my Alpha to breed me. I need your knot again, Master. Don’t pull it out.”

“I’m at your command, my love,” he smiled, planting a kiss on your temple, smearing his own salve across your swollen flesh, working his cock until he was hard again. 

When you felt his knot for the second time, you knew you had made the right choice. Your people were safe, and so were you. You weren’t sure if it was the high of your claiming or the truth that you felt in your heart, but you were eager to be dripping with his come every night. Trapped underneath your Alpha was right where you belonged, knotted and full of his love. 

Seriously, send help. I was too ashamed to even reread it for typos. I'm so sorry.

[sky-kiss]

Raphael & Jaheira: You All Meet at an Inn

A/N: I had to get an intro out of the way before proper sassing down the line. And apologies, I'm out of practice with writing.

R & J: Let's be honest, his taste in wine is so much better than hers

Like many of his kind, the devil was a series of contradictions. 

Handsome but not striking. Languid, but only on a cursory inspection. A more pointed observation would showcase the taut muscles in his shoulders and thighs, hinting that the lazy rolling motion of his wrist was intentional rather than instinctual. And, perhaps most importantly, despite the ostentatiousness of his garb, rich blues, reds, and golds, which demanded attention and respect, few of the Last Light’s patrons truly saw him. 

Jaheira did not fault them for the oversight. The High Harper noted it with a world-weary amalgamation of affection and exhaustion. Few prey animals noticed the hunter until it was upon them. Man and beast were not such disparate creatures. 

She shifted, rolling her shoulders to alleviate some residual tension—the aches that never seemed to properly fade these days, which had faded until only a decade prior. She should turn him out. And aye, much like the aches, even a decade ago, she might have done something about his presence—but where was the harm? He stuck to his corner and played his games. 

In the darker stretches of the night, his attention shifted away from the lance-board and his books towards the door. The devil waited. 

Jaheira waited, too.  

The devil lifted his head, eyes flicking from the Mystra piece to the Harper. He made a show of it, eyes widening, lips turning up in a smile—noticing her, seemingly for the first time. She snorted, arching a brow. He shrugged, expression relaxing into something more neutral and more genuine, motioning to the seat across from him. 

“You know, I rather wondered which of us would bring our little dance to its close,” he began, voice warm and rich. His lips twitched, expression colored with so many masterful little notes—presumed intimacy, natural familiarity…they might have been old friends meeting for drinks in any alehouse. Easiness and charm…the domain of all his kind. His eyes glittered in the firelight. 

The half-elf sunk into the chair, holding her arms out wide. “Shall we continue circling each other like coquettish maids?” Jaheira waved him off. “Who has time for it?”

“Certainly not you, High Harper. All this,” he motioned around them, attention flicking to the window and the shadows just beyond. “Resting on your shoulders…such a weighty calling.” 

“You offer to take it from me?” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You are so…uniquely equipped for these travails.” 

Jaheira snorted. “Let us call it experience—hard won over many years of life.” She tipped her head to the side, regarding him closely. Without a room of distance between them, she could appreciate the more minor details of this mortal form: wrinkles near the corners of his eyes, hints of sunspots across the back of his hands, and streaks of gray brightening otherwise dark hair. He felt fully manifest in a way so many of his ilk failed to recognize—the little things grounded an illusion in reality. “Come, tell me what to call you. In my head, it is ‘devil this, devil that’...tedious.” 

His eyes widened. “You shall have to forgive this lapse in manners—it’s the setting, you see. One really isn’t at their best.” He mimed a bow, someone still regal despite the confines of the chair. “I am Raphael—very much at your service.” 

“A pleasant name! Well-suited to this pleasant face.”  

Raphael hummed. With a snap of his fingers, the lance-board disappeared. In its place, a bottle of brandy. She did not recognize the label’s language. “A devil in your house, and yet…we are rather blase.” 

“Do not take it personally.” She ghosted her fingers across the table. “Gods of death, demon princes…after these things—” his muscles drew taut, eyes narrowing as she spoke. “ —your feathers are very pretty, but… you make for a much smaller bird.” 

To his credit, Raphael laughed. He poured them each a glass of wine. As if in concession, he took the first sip—no poison. Jaheira bowed her head and followed suit. The wine’s bouquet blossomed across her tongue—rich and deep, a hint of cherry and leather giving way to softer, more subtle notes. It reminded her of Calimshan—pleasant evenings before the true weight of adventuring settled on her shoulder…when she’d been young, Khalid at her side. 

The knowing glint in his eye said he’d anticipated such a reaction. A smaller bird, perhaps, but cunning. I have survived so many years, his gaze said, and I have thrived for good reason. 

“To walk so freely on the Prime is no small thing. And you do not seem the sort to bind yourself to the whims of mortals…” she tapped her chin. “A cambion, then.” 

“Are we to trade parlor tricks, my dear? Shall I ask if your house qualified you as a ‘princess’ or a ‘lady’ in Tethyr?” 

“A lady, though my youngest will argue that point till she is blue in the face.” Jaheira held up her glass in salute. “Do not take offense—it was a compliment, one mongrel to another.” 

Raphael chuckled. “One mongrel to another.” The cambion sighed, relaxing back into his seat. He stroked his chin, fingers teasing across the whisper of stubble—not quite a day’s growth, perhaps a matter of hours. A testament to his dedication and vanity—over the past week, he’d never moved from his seat by the window. “Shall we be honest with each other, ladyship?” 

“It depends. Will honestly not make your skin itch?” 

“You wound me. I am a paragon of virtue to friends and clients both. And the honest truth is I am awaiting a favorite distraction of mine.” He sipped his wine again. “I dare say they might even solve the lion’s share of your problems. Interested?” 

She hummed. Jaheira settled more comfortably in her chair. “Sing me your song, lovely bird. Perhaps…we may yet benefit one another.”

[thedo0zyslider]

who i was named for - 4k Words

Hollytuft looks like her aunt, Hollyleaf. She is told this all her life. By her father, her mother, by everyone. She wants to know the cat she was named after, wants to know who she was and what she was like.The story is a lot different than she expects it to be.

A03 Link

On a sunny day Lionblaze lays in Thunderclan's clearing, with three kits playing on and around him. You'd think he was a tree branch or something, with the way they climbed and hid behind him. Though his kits were pretty cute, even at their most rambunctious. As long as they didn’t bite his ears! 

Lionblaze could hardly belive he was a father now, even with three little kittens climbing all over him. Well, more like two little kittens. Fernkit, the golden warriors only son, was hiding behind his fathers flank. His youngest sister, Sorrelkit, is getting ready to punce on him, wiggling her hind quarters in preparation. His third and eldest kit, Hollykit, sits by her father. She is curled up in his chest fluff, content to just watch her siblings; amusement glittering in her eyes. Even when they would playful swipe at her. 

Hollykit does not playfight like her siblings do, and never has; much preferring to just lay next to her father or mother. She has been like this for her whole two moons of life. Quiet. Thoughtful. Much like the cat she was named for. Lionblaze tries not to get choked up whenever he thinks about it. 

Also like the cat she was named after, she is the eldest if three. She has the same black pelt, and glowing green eyes. She is just like her in every way. Lionblaze sometimes thinks he's looking at a smaller version of his sister, before snapping himself out of it. Hollykit is not Hollyleaf, she is her own cat. She is his daughter, and he could not love her anymore than he already does. 

The three of them are brought back into the nursey soon after, each kit yawning with exhaustion from their play match. Hollykit is the first to settle down, curling up into a neat little ball in their nest. Her siblings flop in after her, and the black she-kit grumbles in protest when Fernkit lays directly ontop of her. Though its ignored, and Sorrelkit does almost the exact same thing a second later. 

Lionblaze purrs softly, and settles down next to the three of them. He promised to watch them until Cinderheart returned from her patrol, his mate in dire need of stretching her legs. She'd been complained about being stuck in the nursey, and Lionblaze had convinced Squirrelflight to let her leave camp for a bit. Even if convincing Squrrielflight meant asking her nicely before Cinderheart woke up, and then surprising his mate with the news that morning. 

And so he waits, till his mate comes back from the hunting patrol. And when she does, Cinderheart pops her head into the nursey with a purr, seemingly full of new energy. Getting out of camp had done more good than either of them had thought. Lionblaze hadn't seen her look this alone since before the kits were horn. 

Cinderheart lays down next to him, and wraps her tail around their three sleeping bundles. She looks so happy to see all of them, looking over each with a mother's love. Until her eyes land on the bundle of fur in the middle, and don't move away. 

"Do you think Hollykit's like me?" Cinderheart murmurs, her blue gaze fixed on their eldest daughter, still buried beneath two other bundles of fur. There is something almost wistful shinning in her eyes, along with a wisp of pain as well. Lionblaze wishes, like he always had, that he could bear all the aoin for his mate. Even if he could be hurt now. 

"If you mean amazing, then yes, yes I do think she's like you." He says, touching noses with her affectionately. It's not the answer the gray she-cat wanted, but it was a mood lightener. That was better than nothing. 

"No, you big softy!" Cinderheart laughs, and cuffs his cheek lightly. Lionblaze purrs in response, even as his mate gies back to looking and skunding wistful once more. "I mean is she....a reincarnation like I was." 

"Do you think so?" He asks, honestly not knowing the awnser to that. Lionblaze doesn't think his daughter is a reincarnation. He hopes she isn't. There is also no way for him to tell, unless she starts showing Hollyleaf specific behaviors. The kit is only two moons old. It feels far too early for any of that. 

"I don't know." Cinderheart sighs quietly, a frown forming on her face. This has clearly been troubling her for a bit now. He wonders if she's been worrying about all their kits like this, or just Holly. And if it is just Holly she's worried for, Lionblaze is curious to know why. 

"Surely they wouldn't shove another spirit in a kit. Not after how badly you reacted to it.." He reasons, remembering the moons leading up to the Great Battle, and how much Cinderheart had struggled with her identity. He could only hope Starclan had seen how terrible their idea had been, and sworn off ever doing it again. 

(But, as his brother always says, no cat can never be too trusting of their ancestors...)

"Has Jayfeather seen her in Starclan yet?" Cinderheart finally tears her gaze away from their kits, and flicks it towards Lionblaze. 

"He hasn't said he has.." Lionblaze mutters, resting his head on his paws. This is a worrying possibility, now that his mate's brought it up. He wishes she had shared these fears sooner. Maybe he could've watched out for signs...

"Leafpool?" Cinderheart asks, not sounding too hopeful. And all Lionblaze could do was shake his head sadly. Leafpool doesn't really talk to him about her dreams from Starclan. He doesn't think medicine cats are supposed to anyways. (Which does not stop Jayfeather in the slighest. Sharing all his Starclan dreams with his brother was a bad habit he'd gained from being a prophecy cat, thus needing to share all that information.)

But maybe, if he mentioned this, they might start a bit about their Starclan visits...

"Then she could be..." Cinderheart concludes, with one final glance at their sleeping daughter. Their eldest daughter, just like her aunt was. Their daughter who looks just like her, and has her same, shining emerald eyes. 

"I hope she's not." Lionblaze gives a sigh, and looks over all his kits again. He loves them all so much. Thinking of them suffering, of going through the turmoil their mother had, upsets him too much to say. It's a danger he cannot protect them from, but desperately wishes he could. 

It makes him feel helpless and weak. Lionblaze hates feeling helpless and weak. 

Cinderheart nuzzles into him, and hides her face from the world. All Lionblaze can do to comfort her is give her head a few licks, and hope the senstaions soothes her. "I hope she isn't, either." 

___________________________________

"Jayfeather!" Lionblaze says, poking his head into the medicine den. The sun is shining outside, soaking into his golden fur. It's a nice day outside, one too good to waste. Which is part of his motivation for visiting his brother. The medicine cat needs to spend less time in this den, and get outside more! 

The other reason he's here is something Jayfeather will like less. But Lionblaze will get him to agree to it. 

"Lionblaze." His brother says, turning his head in the tabbys direction. He sounds like he would rather see any other cat in the world right now. Lionblaze thinks he just woke up on the wrong side of the nest again, like his little brother has done for every day of their lives. "What is it?" 

"Oh nothing much," He says, already feeling a grin strech onto his face. Jayfeather could probably hear it in his voice too. "I was just wondering if you could watch the kits for me?"

"Excuse me-"

"My kits need to spend some time with their uncle!" Lionblaze cuts his brother off before he can finish, already senseing some kind of imminent refusal. "Poppyfrost and Berrynose already kitsit them enough! It's your turn!"

"I still hate that you have made me kin to Berrynose." Jayfeather mutters, his tail flicking in faux annoyance. Or, what Lionblaze thinks is faux annoyance; sometimes it's hard to tell with his brother. The medicine cat doesn't actually hate Berrynose that much, just finds him midly annoying. They had long gotten over their differences from their apprentice days, but that doesn’t mean Jayfeather is happy being in-laws with the cream colored tom. 

"It's not my fault Poppyfrost has horrible taste in toms." Lionblaze snorts. No offense to Poppyfrost, of course, her mate was just the worst one she could've chosen. "But you still have to kitsit."

"Well, they can't be in here with all the herbs." Jayfeather mews. He sounds so confident, lile he just found the perefct reason to keep being anti-social. Lionblaze is having none of it. 

"Then go out in camp. I'm sure Leafpool will gladly cover for you!" The golden warrior grins, knowing he's about to win this. He will go get Leafpool himself if he has to. And then they can both bully Jayfeather into kitsitting together. The medicine cat will do this job, one way or another, weather he likes it or not. He should've figured that out the moment Cinderheart was expecting. 

"You are insufferable." Jayfeather sighs, already getting to his paws. He has accepted that there is no way out of this. Lionblaze will keep annoying him till he babysits. Both toms know that he will. Best get it over with now, if that's going to be the case. 

"That's the most ironic thing you've ever said." Lionblaze snorts, and then leads the way out of the medicine den. He drops the kits off with Jayfeather, and then has disappeared into the forest faster than he's ever disappeared before. Cinderheart is right behind him, giving Jayfeather no chances to back out of this. Sometimes that was absolutely on purpose. 

And that is how Jayfeather ends up sitting the the camps clearing, with three little kits running around him. It is how three kits actually get to spend time with their uncle Jayfeather, something that hasn't really happened before now. Unless you count quick trips into the medicine den for small injuries (and the smallest amount of affection extended on those visits) spending time together. Which none of the kits do. 

Jayfeather is way out of his depth here. It's not that he doesn't want to spend time with his kin, he has just never played with kits much before; and has no idea how to keep them entrained. This could end up being a very rocky, and a personally embarrassing, experience. He prays to Starclan that it is neither of those things.

Luckily for him, the little ones are not very interested in playing. No, they are more interested in asking him questions. Some of them, like Sorrelkit asking what his favorite herb is, are stupid, while a few are more worthwhile than that. But only a few.

(Sorrelkit is dead set on the idea of him having a favorite herb. He does not have one, unless you count poisonous plants as medicine. Jayfeather ends up saying his favorite herb is sorrel to make her happy and match her name, making up some lie about it being the best tasting traveling herb. They are equally disgusting in his mind.) 

"What's being blind like?" Fernkit asks the question he had been expecting, gazing up into his uncles sightless blue eyes. He's not trying to be rude about, and is clearly curious. Something Jayfeather can bring himself to appreciate. 

"It's normal." Jayfeather shrugs in response. This is how he's described it to every cat, because it is the only way to describe it. "Just like seeing is normal for you."

"How do you get around so well?" Sorrlekit chimes in, now sitting next to her brother. Her tail is placed neatly over her paws, and she's looking up at him with wide eyes. Hollykit worms her way in between her siblings, a similar look on her face. 

"With my whiskers and my hearing," The medicine cat explains, moving to lay on his side. He might need to get comfortable, sensing that more questions will follow these two. Like, a lot more. "For exmaple, I can tell that Bramblestar's in his den right now."

"You can!?" Sorrelkit asks, her eyes widening. She seems amazed that he's able to tell that much, and the excitement in her voice is cute. If Jayfeather wasn't already endeared to these kits, he certainly was now. 

"Yes. His scent went that way mid-morning, and hasn't left since" Jayfeather explains, remembering how their leader had slipped into his den a few hours ago, tired from doing the midnight and dawn patrol. Squrrielflight had called after him and told him to stop working so much, and take a break. Jayfeather doubts that he heard her. 

"That's so cool!" Fernkit says, bouncing on his paws with excitement. He settles himself next go his uncle, tucking his paws underneath himself. Jayfeather was right fo lay down, it seems, considering how his two sisters follow his lead; making themselves comfortable at the medicine cats side. 

The kits ask a few more questions after that, just like he had expected. Sorrelkit is so curious about herbs, Jayfeather is wondering if she'll be his apprentice. He's practically told her hoe to use every single plant vy the time Lionblaze comes back! Fernkit, on the other paw, is disappointed when the medicine cat can't disclose any Starclan dreams. So he asks for stories instead, and Jayfeather tells him every embarrassing story about his parents, and any other cat they were apprenticed with, he can think of. 

Hollykit is the only one to not ask any questions. Sure, she listens, and laughs at the funny stories of her parents, but she's more observant than anything. Jayfeather can't help but feel a sense of deja vu, with the way her green eyes seem to study him. The way she declares her opinions loud and proud. It feels like another cat long gone is with him again, and it makes hus fur stand in end just a bit. 

(He almost wonders if a ghost is in the clearing with them....) 

"What? You don't have any questions?" He asks when her siblings have quieted, turning his head in Hollykit's direction. She has been strangely silent this whole time, barely even bantering with her siblings. From what Jayfeather knows, she's usually a little more talkative than this. Observant and inquisitive was how Cinderheart often described her, so his niece only being the observant part feels a little strange. 

"No." Hollykit says, her voice too...stoic for a kit. Her siblings don't hear it, but Jayfeather does. Plus, she looks at him like she already knows everything. Like there is is no need for her to ask any questions if she already knows it all. 

He remembers the worries Lionblaze had expressed to him just two moons ago, and prays that his niece is just a little bit weird; and that Starclan isn't meddling with reincarnation again. 

"Ignore Holly! She's always been weird like that!" Sorrelkit says, poking her sister in the side playfully. Their brother giggles beside them. 

"I am not weird!" Hollykit protests, her fur fluffing up defensively. Her tail flicks in annoyance at well, lightly thumping against Jayfeather's flank.

"Yes you are!" Fernkit teases, and then pounces on her. Hollykit lets out a squeak of surprise, and they start play fighting in the grass. Sorrelkit joins in soon enough, when Fernkit nips on her ear on purpose. There are no more questions after that, just the sounds of happy kits playfighting. 

Jayfeather lets out a purr at their antics, but can't help the darker thoughts that linger in his mind. 

___________________________________

Recently apprenticed Hollypaw is relaxing with her mother when she asks the question, the one that might be life changing for her. 

"Momma, what was Hollyleaf like?"

Cinderheart looks at her, caught off guard by the question. For a second there, Hollypaw's feared she's messed up. Crossed some invisible line she didn't even know was there. 

But she desperately wanted to know. Fernpaw and Sorrelpaw got to hear about Sorreltail and Ferncloud all the time! Hollypaw would often feel left out, not knowing anything about the she-cat she was named for. Especially because she was named for her aunt! It wasn’t fair! It didn't feel fair to her!

"Why do you want to know, dear?" Cinderheart questions, her tail tip flicking uneasily. That just makes Hollypaw feel more self conscious about her question, and she shuffles her paws anxiously. 

"Because you never talk about her." She explains fixing her gaze on the ground. "And Fernpaw and Sorrelpaw get to know all about the cats their named after..."

"I see." Cinderheart hums, and says the one thing hee duaghter did not to hear. Something that was probably done on purpose. "Well, Hollyleaf was...my best friend."

"I knew that already." Hollypaw huffs, now getting a little irriated. She is not a kit anymore. She's an apprentice now! She can handle whatever's about to be said. "Tell me something new."

"She was very set in her beliefs. She was smart, she was a good hunter, she was loyal for the most part." Cinderheart sighs, giving into her daughter. She supposes its only right for Hollypaw to know, and that hiding all this will probably do more harm than good. However, she does want to slowly ease her into the....bad parts of a the story. Hollypaw is still young, after all. These are things she should not have to carry on her shoulders, for many of reasons. "And she did some bad things."

"Was she a bad cat?" Hollypaw asks, sounding scared of the awnser. Surely, if her aunt was a bad cat, she would know by now. Surely her parents wouldn't have named her after someone bad, or her clanmates would've said something. Surely. 

"No." Cinderheart shakes her head. There's a look in her eyes that seems to contradict her words, but Hollypaw lets it go. "Sometimes something bad happens, and good cats do things they never thought they would." 

"What did she do?" The apple asks, scared for the awnser. Whatever it is, she already knows she probably won't like it. Something in her gut is saying so. 

"She told the whole gathering who her parents were. That was pretty bad." Her mother takes a deep breath before continuing, and then whispers out the last part. Like it's a secret no one else but they are supposed to hear. "She killed a cat too."

"She killed somebody?" Hollypaw gasps, speaking a little louder than her mother had done. She was named after a cat that had killed somebody!

"It was in self defense, Bramblestar witnessed it." Cinderheart sees how distressed her daughter is, and how her ears have flattened back. So she soothes her with a gentle explanation and wrapping a soft tail around her. "Thats what I mean, by good cats sometimes do bad things in the heat of the momemt." 

For a long while, Hollypaw does not know what to say to that. So instead of having some big reaction, she just settles on a simple sentance. The apprentice needs some extra time to digest that, she thinks. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course." Cinderheart murmurs, and gives her kit a coming lick to too as the conversation comes to an end. A slightly somber atmosphere settles over the two of them, and Hollypaw has a lot more to think about than she ever expected too when asking that question. 

___________________________________

Jayfeather says he doesn't have a favorite niece or nephew. That he likes them all equally. (Loves them all equally. He means he loves them all equally when he says that.) 

He is lying. He has a favorite niece. And it is Hollypaw. Everyone with eyes can see that. Leafpool had joked she got the Briarlight treatment when it came to her son's tolerance  and the senior medicine cat wasn't very far off when she did. She was certainly the last of her littermates to be shooed out of his den, even if Jayfeather did cuff them all affectionately on the way out. 

Leafpool says she doesn't have a favorite grandkit as well. She is also lying. Her favorite is Hollypaw. Everyone can see it. It's the little things that give it away. The small gestures of affection she does not extend ro Hollypaw's siblings nearly as much. This ends up with Hollypaw visiting the medicine den often, always being one of the first cats to bring her kin prey. She likes being in there. It makes her feel loved. 

Bramblestar and Squrrielflight at least favor Sorrelpaw and Fernpaw respectively. The leader likes her sister fiesty attuide, while their adopted grandmother is fond of Fernpaw's kind and fairness. But that is not enough. 

The favoritism from two of their kin does cause some rifts between her and her siblings. It wasn't that bad when they were kits, but it gets worse when they are apprentices. Her sister can't understand why Hollypaw gets so much special treatment from their family. Hollypaw wishes she had the awnser to that, too. 

"They only like you because you look like Hollyleaf!" Sorrelpaw says one day, giving her sister an upset look. Hollypaw has no idea why the brown she-cat is upset at her. She's not the one playing favorites!

"That's not true!" Hollypaw insists, feeling her tail fluff out defensively. She hates when the two of them do this! Like they aren't also named after dead cats! It's not Hollypaw's fault she looks just like their late aunt. One of them was probably gonna be named Holly anyways! Both their parengs had been close to her! She was their aunt, for Starclan's sake! Hollypaw thinks if Poppyfrost had died instead, the same exact thing would've happened, and one of them would be Poppypaw right now!

"Yeah it is!" Sorrelpaw insists. Fernpaw doesn't say anything, just sits beside his sisters awkwardly. He isn't one for arguing, and choose to stay out of it and save himself the trouble. Sometimes, Hollypaw wishes he would just choose a side, and make these things go a lot easier. 

"No it's not!" Hollypaw protests again, much more fiercely this time. She wishes Sorrelpaw would just shut up about this! She doesn't know why they love her so much! She doesn't! They just do! She can't control their families emotions!

"Why don't you go ask them yourself then!?" Her sister yells, her back arched and fur puffed out. Fernpaw looks worried beside them, like he's scared they'll come to blow. He'll probably just stand there if that happens, too. 

"Fine! Maybe I will!" Hollypaw exclaims, the promptly storms out of the apprentices den. She tries to compose herself once she's outside, as to not make a scene in the camp. That would be embarrassing. But thankfully, most of the warriors are out on patrol, so no one notices how she's basically a walking ball of bristled fur. 

She makes her way across camp, poking her head into the medicine den's entrance. There is only one cat inside right now, conveniently. It is her uncle Jayfeather, and he is sitting with his back is towards her. She thinks he mentioned something about Leafpool and Bumblestripe taking Briarlight out of camp for a bit today; which explains the two she-cats' absence. 

He flicks his ear in her direction, a signal that he has heard her, and Hollypaw assumes she can come in. He hasn't turned around and snapped at her to go away, after all. So it's probably fine. 

The black she-cat settles next to her uncle, refusing to look at him. She doesn't think she can say what Sorrelpaw did while looking at him. The medicine cat just contained whatever he's doing with the herbs, mixing them she thinks, and waits patiently for her to speak. 

Hollypaw clears her throat, and keeps her eyes firmly fixed on the den's soft floor. She wonders if her aunt once sat here too, watching as her kin mixed herbs. "Jayfeather?"

"Yes?" He says, not looking up from what he's doing. If she didn't know him better, and if he hadn't said anything, she would've thought he was too focused to even notice that his niece was sitting next to him. 

Hollypaw takes a deep breath, and asks what could possibly be a second life changing question. "Do you and Leafpool only like me because I look like her?"

Jayfeather pauses before he responds, letting the words process in his head, making sure he hard them correctly before he says anything. "What's making you think that?" His voice is guarded when he does speak, and it makes Hollypaw think her littermates might be right after all.

"Well, Fernpaw and Sorrelpaw said that." She mumbles, starting to feel shame rise beneath her pelt. She shouldn't have listned to Sorrelpaw. She should've never come here. It was a stupid idea. "And it kinda made sense.."

"Well, your siblings are mousebrains." The medicine snorts, wrapping his tail around his niece. She blinks up at him, her green eyes big and owlish

"We like you for you, the Hollyleaf thing was just a coincidence." Jayfeather explains, seemingly recounting what his brother had told him moons and moons ago. "Lionblaze was gonna name one of you three Holly anyways. You just happened to be born a black cat."

"Oh." Hollypaw mutters, blinking a few times. She's glad her earlier thoughts were indeed correct, but hearing it from someone themsleves had caught her a little off gaurd. "Thanks." 

"No problem, kid." Jayfeather mews gently, and lets her stay in his den as long as she needs too. 

___________________________________

"I'm sorry, Papa." Hollypaw says, sitting next to him one day. She has just come back from patrol. Brackenfur had compared her hunting to his old apprentices. It had gotten her thinking once again. 

"What are you sorry for, dear?" Lionblaze asks, looking up from the mouse he just finished. He wounds worried. Hollypaw hates worrying her parengs, but she has to say sorry for this. 

"I'm never going to be like her." She mutters, and hears the way her father stops breathing for a moment. He probably wasn't expecting that. Hollypaw wasn't expecting him too. 

"Like who?" He asks, as if he doesn't already know the awsner. Her father is funny like that sometimes. It's why she loves spending time with him so much. 

"Hollyleaf." Hollypaw says. She's about to be a warrior now, and she has not spoken that name since her conversation with Cinderheart two seasons ago. It feels like a curse to do so. Saying it feels just as natural at the same exact time. Like breathing. 

"Oh darling, you don't need to be." Lionblaze mutters, and touches his nose to her head. A comforting purr leaves his throat, and it works more than he will ever know. "You're perfect just being you." 

"I don't feel like I am." Hollypaw admits, and it feels like the biggest weight has been lifted from her chest. She's felt this need to live up to her aunt her whole life, and then always felt like she could never fulfill said need. Hollyleaf was Hollyleaf. Ex-prophecy cat. Sister of Lionblaze and Jayfeather, granddaughter of Firestar, three of Starclan's chosen. And other than being kin to all those cats, she was just regular old Hollypaw, and nothing more than that. 

"Trust me, you don't need to be her." Lionblaze says. He is surprisingly great at this reassurance thing, his kit is finding out. Maybe even better than their mother was. "No other cat could ever be Hollyleaf."

"Considering all that happened, I don't think she would want you too, either." He adds, a dark undertone to his words. One that Hollypaw can now understand. She doesn't know if she's grateful for the understanding or not. 

"She wouldn't?" Hollypaw repeats, curious. She thought, that by some off chance, if she ever met her aunt, the latter might want to see a mirror image of herself looking back. 

"Nope." Her father's voice is firm. He is sure of whag he's saying, and knows it is the truth. His daughter will soon come to accept it as that as well. "She would want you to just be Hollypaw, and nothing else."

Hollypaw nods, taking those words into consideration. If Hollyleaf would want her to just be Hollypaw, then she will be. She will just be Hollypaw. It feels like the least she can do

[razzle-zazzle]

2900 Words; post-canon

Secret Santa post for @spiirals! A little oneshot featuring the Aquatos (+ Ford and Gisu) on a snowy winter day!

AO3 ver

“Hey, Pooter!”

Raz turned at the sound of Frazie’s voice—only to immediately get a snowball to the face. It wasn’t a very tightly-packed snowball, bursting into cold and wet on impact without really pushing Raz back—he was more shocked than hurt.

“Pleh!” Raz spat out cold water. He rubbed at his face trying to get rid of the rest of the snow, sticking his tongue out at his sister. “What was that for?”

Frazie chuckled, another snowball already in hand. “Your head’s so big I thought it was a target.” She teased.

“You called my name to make me face you, though.” Raz pointed out. He shrugged—it didn’t really matter. Frazie did this every year—or all the time, if Raz counted pinecones and rocks alongside snowballs. “Have you gotten Dion yet?”

Frazie’s grin told Raz all he needed to know. The thrum of satisfaction in her head only further confirmed Raz’ suspicions.

“And I’ll get him again!” Frazie boasted, tossing her snowball up into the air. She flipped over into a handstand, catching and balancing her ammo on her foot.

Raz snorted. His boots crunched in the snow as he turned to continue on towards the camp proper. “Good luck!”

“Like I’ll need it.” Frazie scoffed, kicking the snowball from foot to foot. “You joining us for dinner tonight?”

Raz nodded. “Yeah, I was just heading over to let Mom know.” He started to continue along towards camp—

A snowball nailed him directly in the back. Raz stumbled forwards a bit to the sound of Frazie’s laughter—but, even as he regained his footing and turned back to shoot her a glare, Raz couldn’t help but chuckle. He should have seen that one coming, honestly. “Good shot!” He complimented honestly, then started flipping forwards to get out of his sister’s range quicker.

Frazie’s laughter rang in his ears the whole way to camp. She had still been balancing on a gloved hand when she had launched that snowball—either she kicked it or launched it with telekinesis. Raz had a strong suspicion that it was the latter—it was good to see her getting more comfortable with her powers. Even if they were only further fueling her usual antics.

Raz stepped under the string of fairy lights marking the edge of his family’s camp—

“Razrazrazraz!” Mirtala came up from seemingly out of nowhere, bells jingling as she barreled into Raz. “Look look look!” She angled her braid hoops towards him the moment they separated, shaking her head slightly to show off the glittery blue-and-silver ribbons threaded through them. “Aren’t they pretty?” She bounced on the balls of her feet, the thick winter coat she was bundled up in doing nothing to slow her movements. “Mom helped me put them in!”

Raz grinned. “They suit you well!” He complimented. And really, the glitter did suit Mirtala well—the shimmer combined with the jingle of Mirtala’s bells was almost soothing in how nice it felt to Raz’ senses. It only served to make Raz all the more excited to give Mirtala her gift—though that day wasn’t for another week and a half.

Mirtala beamed. She looked at Raz, now that the excitement of showing off her new ribbons no longer had her full attention. “Did Frazie get you on the way in?” She asked, noticing the snow still clinging to Raz’ scarf.

“Yeah.” Raz admitted, making his way towards the caravan. Mirtala kept pace with him, her bells jingling as she walked. “Has she gotten Mom and Dad yet?” While Frazie mostly stuck to her siblings—Dion and Raz in particular—during the warmer months, nobody was safe from her when there was snow on the ground. Well, nobody but Nona, who had recently rediscovered a trick to turn snow into water—and wasted no time in using it this year, even if it was just to remove snow from her clothes. Even Queepie and Mirtala sometimes got hit by the lighter, less dense snowballs when Frazie was really getting into the spirit of winter.

Mirtala nodded. “Dad shook a branch with his mind to get her back,” She informed him, “But I think Mom’s still waiting for the right moment.”

Raz grinned—oh, he wished he’d thought of dumping a whole branch’s worth of snow on Frazie. Maybe that was something he could try on Dion…

“Pootie!” And there Donatella was, coming out of the caravan with her cloak drawn tight around her shoulders. “Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

Raz nodded. “Will we be eating at the Gulch?” It wasn’t uncommon; though the Gulch was Lucrecia and the Psychic Seven’s space first and foremost, Nona was still an Aquato—and it was easier on her old bones for the family to visit her.

Donatella hummed. “She said she’d be joining us tonight.” Her lips pressed into a frown, “Though that does mean Cruller will also be there…” It did make sense—with Ford’s ability to teleport, Nona wouldn’t have to make the journey to and from the camp. But, despite the months since the summer, the family as a whole still didn’t regard Ford super high. Raz felt better about the old man than he had immediately after that week—but his feelings were definitely still mixed.

“But I suppose it is on theme,” Donatella mused, “Since Dion will be bringing along Gisu.” She turned to Raz, her eyes twinkling. “I don’t suppose you could invite Lili? Your little girlfriend is always a delight.”

Raz flushed. “Well—maybe.” He managed, trying desperately to not remember the first time Lili had joined the Aquatos for dinner. Nothing had gone too spectacularly wrong—but Raz wasn’t sure he would ever live down the embarrassment of his mom practically drilling Lili to decide if she was “good enough” by her standards. As though Lili could ever be anything less than one of Raz’ favorite people in the whole world. “I’d have to ask her, though.”

Not that that was hard—a quick mental nudge was all it took to deliver the question. Lili’s response was just as easily made—a wave of mild apology and prior obligation crawled up their link like vines up a trellis. Raz sent back a pulse of understanding, and a reminding curl of fondness that she was pretty much always invited over.

Lili’s response was a fiery of course—she knew how Donatella and Augustus thought of her.

“She can’t make it tonight,” Raz reported. Donatella frowned, and shrugged her shoulders.

Raz’ mind took that moment to catch up with everything his mother had said. “Wait, Gisu’s coming? She didn’t tell me that.” Then again, she had been more busy lately—they’d only had enough time to exchange good mornings before Gisu had headed off to Otto’s lab. But Gisu was cool, and fun, and if she was coming—

Raz made a face. Oh, Dion was going to be obnoxious.

“Pootie,” Donatella chided, correctly intuiting Raz’ thoughts without any psychic power at all, “Don’t be like that. If Dion wants to invite his girlfriend to dinner, that’s his choice.” She briefly made a face, “Though I suppose I should probably remind him not to be gross at the dinner table…”  She trailed off, and Raz took that as a signal the conversation was over.

He turned towards Mirtala, who had wandered off to do handstands by her tent, gloves crunching in the snow and bells jingling. He watched as she did a flip, then another.

Raz turned. He looked around the camp, but couldn’t see Queepie anywhere—Raz guessed Queepie was still in the K.L.O.B. treehouse with Morris, then. Since it was still a while yet before dinner—Raz had headed out pretty much immediately after lunch at the Noodle Bowl, and the Ottobon tubes were fast—Raz wasn’t particularly worried. Queepie would either turn up for dinner on his own, or Morris would prod him to get home the moment it started getting dark.

With that in mind, Raz turned to go look for Augustus. He really wanted to hear about the tree branch trick.

He didn’t have to look for long—he was halfway to the funicular when his father called out.

“Razputin!” Augustus’ voice was warm, his arm wrapped around a thick bundle of sticks on his shoulder. “Come to help your old man with the firewood?”

“Sure!” Raz darted over, looking for logs to grab with his telekinesis. “Bet I can lift more with my mind than you.” He dared.

Augustus laughed. “I don’t doubt that, my boy.” He nodded towards the trees to his left. “There’s still some more good wood over there, if you want to help.”

“Okay.” Raz nodded, heading over to where his father indicated. He started lifting sticks and small branches—first with his arms, then with his mind—and carried them back over to Augustus.

They headed back to camp together. “Will you be joining us for dinner?” Augustus asked.

“Yep!” Raz responded. “I asked Lili, but she can’t come tonight.” He added.

“That’s a shame.” Augustus remarked. “Gruloky is more fun with more players.” He stroked his beard with his free hand. “Well, I assume you’ve told her that she’s always welcome to join us if she wants.”

Raz nodded. “Yeah.” Twirling some of his telekinesis-held sticks a bit, he switched topics. “Frazie’s already taking advantage of all the snow.” He commented, “She got me in the face and back on my way in.”

Augustus chuckled. “Yes, she’s up to her usual antics—your mother and I found out this morning.” His eyes twinkled, “But this old man’s still got a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“Yeah! Mirtala said you dumped a whole bunch of snow on her! With your telekinesis!” It was good, Raz felt, that his family was getting more comfortable with psychic powers. Excitement thrummed in Raz’ chest, matched by the jovial mischief humming at the edge of his father’s mind.

“Oh, I don’t doubt she’ll get me back.” Augustus responded. “But I suppose it’s just that time of year again.”

They walked under the string of fairy lights, setting what they had gathered with the rest of the firewood. Augustus moved to start setting up the firepit, only to stop. “I forgot the matches,” He said, standing back and aiming a hand at the firepit. A look of concentration crossed his face, and flames burst into life around the wood. The immediate area around the pit was already snow-free, but Raz had to clear the logs and stumps circling around of snow before he could sit on them. Not that that was really all that hard.

Donatella came over, pressing a kiss to Augustus’ cheek. “Mio caro, can you help me find my blue eyeshadow? I couldn’t find it this morning.”

Augustus grinned, pressing a kiss of his own to Donatella’s cheek. “Of course, дорог��я.” With that, the two of them went back over to the caravan, leaving Raz at the fire.

“Ewwww.” Mirtala hopped up onto the log, right next to Raz. “Is Deedee going to be like that with Gisu?” She asked.

Raz made a face. “Oh, I hope not.” If Dion and Gisu decided to get all sappy and gross and kissy, Raz would lose his appetite. “I bet Frazie’ll dunk him in a snow drift if he does.”

Mirtala giggled. She hopped off the log, bells jingling. “Gimme a bouncy ball, I wanna do some flips!”

“It’s called a levball.” Raz corrected, forming one anyway. Mirtala cheered and hopped atop it, flipping over onto her hands and rolling it around.

“But it’s so bouncy!” She riposted, launching herself into the air.

The rest of the evening continued like that, Raz and Mirtala entertaining themselves by the fire. It wasn’t long before Augustus and Donatella returned, sitting together by the fire and talking in low tones. No, wait—flirting in low tones, gross.

Ford and Nona showed up just as the sky was beginning to pinken, and Queepie trudged into camp not long after. With all the layers he was bundled up in, Queepie had to sort of waddle through the snow, and any impediment to his movement always made him grumpy. But Raz could remember when he was the one being bundled up like that—it was as much of a yearly tradition to wrap the babies in as many layers as possible as it was for Frazie to nail everyone with snowballs.

Gisu turned up, and Donatella was quick to greet her warmly and recruit her into setting up the table. The caravan wasn’t up for family dinners—but they had a large tent meant for exactly that. Everyone not setting up the table or still out and about was gathered around the fire, though, enjoying the warmth of it.

Dion trudged into camp not long after a snickering Frazie, snow in his hair and on his shoulders. Mirtala giggled, and Dion’s shoulders hunched. “Not a word.” He growled, already making for his tent.

Too late—Gisu and Donatella had returned, and Gisu was already giggling. Dion squeaked, and hurried over to his tent before anyone could say anything else.

“You got him good, huh?” Gisu asked, sitting down right next to Frazie. She held her gloved hands out towards the fire.

Frazie grinned. “Of course.” She boasted good-naturedly. “He makes it too easy! But enough about my brother,” She focused in on Gisu, “You and I haven’t had a Girls Night in forever.”

“Well, I’ve been busy,” Gisu shrugged. “But I’ve got some free time tomorrow, and I was hoping to get some levboarding in.” She offered.

“Oh, I’m there.” Frazie decided. “Dee’ll be helping Mom with groceries tomorrow, but I’m free all day.”

“See you then!” Gisu beamed.

Dion chose that moment to reemerge from his tent, hair fixed and snow-free. Raz lost the thread of the conversation at that point—Lili started nudging him through their link, and dragged Raz into a mental conversation about whether a blindfolded Sasha could beat a team of future-seeing laser sharks.

The evening continued on, and Dion left for the caravan with Donatella to handle the cooking. The fire was dying down, now, and instead of feeding it more wood Augustus moved to put it out. At that, everyone started making their way inside the tent, where a space heater kept the dining room comfortably warm.

It looked like Nona wasn’t up for cooking tonight—she followed Ford inside, finding a cozy spot near the space heater to pull out her knitting needles and current project. Queepie waddled over to her, taking advantage of the space heater to escape his coat prison.

Frazie and Gisu continued to chatter at the table, while Augustus and Mirtala joining in so often. Raz also piped up, though he and Lili were still working through their own conversation. The whole tent was alive with conversation and warmth—it was a familiar sight, to Raz, even after having his whole life turned upside down over the summer. Some things just didn’t change, it seemed.

At some point, Raz lost sight of Ford. He looked around—the old man was nowhere to be seen. Nona’s needles continued clacking away, and Mirtala had joined Queepie in sitting near her.

Raz was just wondering if he should go looking for Ford when Dion’s voice rang out from the caravan.

“Don’t think I don’t see you slinking around!” A dull thunk sounded out, and Ford appeared next to Raz with the shimmer of teleportation, rubbing his hand and muttering.

Nona cackled. Ford shrank a little further, and Raz couldn’t help but chuckle. Dion had never really gotten along with Ford—but could manage a grudging politeness when he had to. Apparently, politeness went out the window when cooking was involved.

Gisu snorted. “No luck, huh?” Frazie snickered.

Ford grumbled, but otherwise didn’t respond. Instead he made his way over to Nona, sitting next to her as the two began talking quietly.

Ford hadn’t picked an awful time to try snagging a bite of food early—it wasn’t much longer before the table was fully set and everyone was seated. Raz had ended up in between Gisu and Queepie, with Dion on Gisu’s other side. Frazie had been seated between Queepie and Mirtala, who was shooting dirty looks to Ford directly next to her. With Donatella next to Dion and Augustus, and Augustus next to Nona, there were no particularly pressing complaints about the arrangement.

The table was alive with conversation during the meal, and there was a stack of cards already waiting for post-dinner Gruloky. The tent itself was aglow with fairy lights and the space heater, warm with lively conversation and a filling meal. It was so familiar to Raz, a sight he had seen and a feeling he had experienced so many times before—but it was different, too. Gisu and Ford were the most obvious example, but—

Raz’ chest felt light. Warm. Lili had receded a bit, to pay more attention to her own dinner, but Raz could still feel her at the other end of their connection if he tried. Augustus was trying to control his fork and knife telekinetically, and Gisu was challenging Frazie to a snowball fight for tomorrow. There was none of the tenseness there used to be when psychics came up, with even Donatella’s protests about Augustus’ behavior being lighthearted—

Raz swallowed, his eyes stinging. His chest tightened, then relaxed. It was warm, and his family was alive and happy around him—alive and happy with him.

Raz couldn’t wish for anything more.

[cheesus-doodles]

How do you think platonic Yandere toman would react to reader meeting the haitani brothers and being friends with them?

this was one of the hardest shorts that i have ever written, no lie. i got stuck on it for so long just thinking about what to write, where to go, and i'm just kinda relief that i'm finally done with this. didn't manage to include the toman boys here, but maybe in another part? written this as a continuation to Leaving You, but more as an addition to that spinoff rather than a part 2. dedicated to this patient anon and also you know who you are ^^

‎

Canon continuation to Leaving You.

Recommended Readings: Leaving You

Masterlist

tw: yandere, violence

‎

Light of Day

Yandere Platonic Toman Boys

The glint of sunlight that caught the blade of the knife right before it plunged into your flesh was the first time you had made yourself known in their world. From their vantage point seated atop the rotting husks of several scraped cars, the way you fell looked just like a petal dropping free from its flower, your hair tossed up into a momentary halo around your head that glowed and glittered in the sun as you gently crumpled towards the ground, right before you were caught midair by a blond-haired boy. Dressed in neither the black of Toman uniforms nor the white of Valhalla's, the whimper of your name was as if the chime of a bell that resonated across the battlefield, an eerie silence immediately falling upon the pandemonium that reigned the abandoned lot just moments ago.

Under the cruel afternoon sun that unrelentingly bathed the earth in its hellish heat, and the gaze of their cold violet eyes, the lot seemed to almost freeze in time, watching, waiting with bated breaths as you lay panting on the ground, fingers delicately exploring your newly acquired wound. Yet even while clad in just your simple shirt and shorts, the quiet huff of pain that still managed to slip through your tightly clenched teeth was already enough to plunge the momentary peace straight back into absolute chaos. They watched as calls for ambulances rang up and above the ensuing turmoil, as you were ever so carefully let down onto the dirt floor, Baji, the former First Division Toman Captain, immediately getting to work administering first aid with a makeshift bandage torn from his own shirt. And then there was Kazutora, who had only then noticed the splatter of blood, your blood, that had gotten onto his hands, and had all but shut down, shaking gaze locked onto equally trembling hands.

Lest to say, the Haitaini brothers were instantly intrigued. Amidst the clash of giants, your gentle cry had been enough to draw both white and black to your side, ending the fight that had been set to determine the fate of Tokyo. Enough to send a wave of ashen faces rippling through the Toman forces, as they seemingly recognised you, or perhaps just your name, despite your lack of uniform. Enough to send the Invincible Mikey into an absolute fit of rage, striking down Hanma with a single blow to his temple, and then turning those wrath-filled eyes on Kazutora, even as your own eyes slipped shut under the hateful glare of the sun.

Who were you? Ran mused, his uninterested expression never slipping as he watched several of the Toman founders fly into a panic at your sudden lack of response, while others could only watch on dumbfounded as Mikey lashed out at Kazutora for his supposed sins. For dragging you into this world, it seemed, Rindo barely able to make out the accusation roared before the Valhalla third-in-charge was sent flying with a fist to his face, which meant that you belonged to neither Toman nor Valhalla. Then how were you connected? How did a fragile little thing like you wield so much influence having never dipped your toes into the dark?

They could only wonder to themselves, you fighting what they knew to be agonising pain as you struggled onto your side, only to have all your effort be in vain when your legs were knocked out from under you by Draken, and you were forced back down onto your back by Baji, who quickly resumed reinforcing his bandage with yet another strip of his shirt. Yet it was your weak call that stopped Mikey’s rampage in an instant, the boy favouring pattering over to check on you over pummeling your attacker.

But it seemed at this point in time, you were destined to remain an enigma, the wails of the ambulance sirens drawing nearer a warning that their time here was drawing to a close. You did still have one last surprise to give to the two infamous brothers, the soft, comforting mutter of your friend’s name as he pulled you into his lap, one almost too faint to catch from their distance if not for the sudden draft that picked up and floated your voice over. One that sent shivers up their spines for reasons they couldn't discern. Turning back to spare you one last glance, the sight of a retreating Toman, the unexpected victor of the match, was only overcasted by your pale face, now shadowed by Kazutora's, you reaching out to soothe him even when you were the one vulnerable and gasping for air.

Neither brothers were inclined to stay beyond that, the risk of being caught and arrested again outweighing their curiosity, and sight of you and Kazutora quickly disappeared as they rounded the corner of an alley, vanishing into the crowds of Shibuya. Though even with the momentary fascination they had, their memory of you quickly faded with every setting sun, the rays of dying light that signalled the start of their reign over the back alleys of Roppongi stealing any thought of you away. In the dark of night where countless stars dotted the sky, and where only the occasional rays of moonlight peaked through its cover of clouds, the Haitani brothers went about their business, the cries for mercy and the blood and sweat that washed their hands a much more exciting, genuine sensation than whatever lingering thoughts they had about you.

Or so they assumed, right up till you burst back into their world with a vengeance a few weeks later, carrying with you a light that, much like moths to an open flame, they couldn’t help but be drawn to. Once again it was a gentle exhale floated over by the dry draft, above the muted hustle and bustle from the main street, that had caught their attention, one that had them whirling back to find you having appeared seemingly from nowhere, picking your way down the alley where they could have sworn they left no conscious beings.

A far cry from the ashen, unmoving figure that had first caught their attention with a quiet huff, they easily recognised you even though your face was now flushed with life. Though he mused, Ran’s lips quirking up into a lazy smile, the apologies that spilled freely from your lips were amusing, your painfully careful steps across the alley obviously an absolute failure. Shoes clicking against the concrete pavement, it was inevitable that you would step on strewn hands or hair, though you still, for some reason beyond them, made sure to try your best to avoid the fallen men on the ground. Gaze turned towards the floor, you only barely managed to avoid walking straight into them, swirling to the side as soon as their shoes came into your line of sight, the top of your head barely grazing their clothes. Just in time as always, it seemed.

“Oops sorry! Didn’t see you there.” Your eyes finally turning up from the floor, you froze, the black of the other’s clothing instantly seering itself into your mind - the past few days and weeks had more than taught you about needing to avoid other Toman members for their own safety. Though your brain quickly registered that the black garment the two boys wore wasn’t that all too familiar uniform like you had feared, it still took a few seconds for you to recover from the initial scare, before you glanced up, phone held loosely in one hand. “I’m just really lost right now.”

Wide eyes that glimmered with a certain innocence flickered up to meet their violet ones unhesitantly, a brilliant smile, one that seemed to light up even the shadow of the towering buildings around you washing onto your face. You didn’t recognise the supposedly notorious brothers that even civilians tread gingerly around, face lacking the slightest bit of fear as you eagerly examined something about them, your obvious excitement readable with one glance. Did you not notice the broken and bleeding men strewn across the alley, an obvious outcome of their actions? Or did you not care? Either way, he was certain that there was no way you were Valhalla, or even Toman, mused the older of the two, allowing his eyes to roam you as you did him - too innocent, too genuine, too vulnerable. Yet there you had been, almost effortlessly putting an end to the clash between Toman and Valhalla. Not without sacrifice on your part though, the memory of you laying unmoving on the ground one that came roaring back to the front of his mind.

The rustling of garbage bags, and now the groans of pain from the men slowly coming back to consciousness, as a gentle breeze blew down the alley filled the moment of peace. It didn’t manage to offset the heat that still lingered from the blazing afternoon sun, but it was a welcomed relief nonetheless.

“I love both your hairstyles!”

The brothers blinked. That was - unexpected, far from what they might have assumed. But it was easy to tell that you told no lies, one look into your eyes revealing the sincerity and fascination shining through from its depths, even as you quirked your head this way and that. “How do you do your braids so neatly around the bands of color? And I love the alternating blue of yours!”

“Is it okay if I-” You started, the eagerness clear, dainty hand already reaching out towards them, almost as if in a trance. But you were halted before you could reach them, your phone going off with a cheerful chime that had you scrambling to react, delicate fingers flying over the keyboard in a haste. “Oh shit, I’m already late!”

Now with a more frantic look in your doe eyes, you turned back yet again to face them, pointing at something on your small screen. “Sorry to bother, but do you know where this shop is?”

“To the left after you exit at the main street.” Came the mumbled response from Rindo, surprising even himself when the answer had slipped out from his lips.

“Right, thank you!" You hopped a few playful steps past them, before turning back to grin one last sweet smile at them. "You have to teach me someday!"

A quick wave of your hand, your hair streaming behind you as you sped round the corner and disappeared from sight could have been mistaken for the final rays of light from the dying sun sinking below the horizon in the distance, the night slowly but surely chasing away the light of day as the dark seeped into the sky.

The disappointment that wrenched their gut was equally unexpected, though neither Ran nor Rindo were able to comprehend what brought about the feeling of dismay that set over them at not having the opportunity to have your delicate fingers tangled in their hair. It was as if the shadow of the alley somehow became darker when your kind, pure smile no longer beamed at them. Who were you, they wondered, taking a seat on the backs of one of their fallen victims, earning them only a single oof, with no one daring to lift a finger after their previous beatings. What did you do to them?

Even with great difficulty, their second memory of you was impossible to dislodge, thoughts of you seemingly popping up no matter what they were doing. Everything reminded them of you and your soft smile: the small flower blooming through the blood pooling in the cracks of the pavement, the first rays of light that gently fell upon them when they finally stumbled home, tired and bloodied, after a long night of putting others in their place. You were haunting their every step, but the Haitani brothers would be lying if they said they hated it - there was just something about the warm and genuine affection shining through your eyes that had them already craving to see again.

But without even your name to go by, neither Ran nor Rindo seemed to be able to find even a trace of you no matter how hard they looked, prowling every street and back alley of both Roppongi and Shibuya both night and day. And taking their anger out on Toman members didn’t do the trick either, their faces very obviously paling beyond what was usually humanly possible when questioned under the promise of torture. No man was willing to let your name pass their lips even on their last inch of life - it seemed that something had happened within the gang, something that had even you freezing on sight of a possible Toman uniform. With their hands now essentially tied, all they could do was sit and wait and hope that their little light would come back.

“I found you!” The sound of your gentle voice, one that they had been eagerly awaiting for the past week, finally wafted over on the soft breeze, much like the break of dawn of a new day. Light steps that barely made a click against the road, you somehow managed to have tracked them down yet again in the winding back roads of Roppongi. Though to be fair, where you found them this round was just a stone's throw from that shop you had been looking for the previous time.

The school uniform you were clad in today, still neatly pressed and tucked despite a whole day of school, seemed to only accentuate your innocence to the harsh realities of their world.

Sticking your hand out, you introduced yourself with a somewhat sheepish smile, the other hand fiddling with the cloth of your top. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to rush off like that last time.”

"Ran." "Rindo." Taking turns to grasp your hand ever so delicately, you felt especially breakable, especially vulnerable, clasped between their white gloves, the same ones that had been drenched in the tainted blood of others. Just a single twist of their hand, or a hard grip, and they were sure your bones in their grip would shatter like glass, yet you didn’t seem the least bit concerned, their names sounding heavenly coming from your lips.

Retrieving your hand, you briefly turned to retrieve two small packets, those clear plastic ones that rustled with every move, from your sling bag. Chuckling slightly to yourself under your breath as you handed them out, the lingering touch of both brothers' hands on yours as they received your gifts all but lost on you. Taiyaki. But not just any run-of-the-mill taiyaki, with the fish-shaped snacks, neatly wrapped in a ribbon, instead having been carefully customised by hand to feature two very familiar, very eye-catching hairdos. "I made these earlier this morning, had to hide them aside for you two!"

Intricate little braids of and streaks of hair of varying browns crowned the heads of each fish, the care that you put into each and every painstaking detail obvious even with a courteous glance. And for the first time in a very long time, the duo didn’t feel like they were just the Haitani brothers, a synonymous blob to be feared and avoided at all costs, that preyed on the weak in the dark and in the night - in your wide, innocent eyes, they were just Ran and Rindo. New friends that had helped you navigate the maze that was Roppongi, and that you had returned to thank.

"Maybe one day if I have time, you can show me how you do your hair like that." How did you do that? How did you seem to bring the sun with you, flushing their world with light and color even when you were hidden in the shade of the narrow alleyway?

Yet just like their previous encounter with you, it seemed that with just a blink of their violet eyes, your time with them was up once again. As if on queue, your phone went on with that despicable chime, and with one last soft, teasing remark about hoping that they liked your snack, you bid them farewell, light footsteps pattering the short distance to the main street exit past them.

Forced to just stand aside and watch your back retreat into the distance, hands lightly locked behind your back as you hummed a short tune under your breath, a bounce in your steps as you skipped out of their lives, no words needed to pass between the two brothers for them to come to the same conclusion, the realization striking them in the depths of their chest, as fast as quick as their own brutal attacks. How frail, how delicate you looked next to everyone, yet you lacked fear, the only thing shining out for your eyes from your gentle soul was kindness and sincerity.

It wasn’t that Ran and Rindo didn't want to hear your pleas or cries, they mused silently, the color of their world seemingly drained away with your parting. But what they needed wasn’t to hear your pleas of mercy - what they needed was to see tears well up in those doe eyes of yours, to see your tears shed on their behalf. The aching desire to hear your voice crack as you pleaded for them to stay safe, clutching onto their robes like they had seen you back when you first burst into their world in a blaze of selflessness, maybe bury your face into their robes as they promised you anything and everything under the sun.

It was rather unexpected, they had to admit, how two brutal sadists like them would come to crave your light of day in the eternal midnight they lived in. To crave your light brushes of your fingers running through their hair in the comfort of their home, or maybe even yours, where you would be safe away from the prying eyes of the night. They longed to keep your fragility only for them - your love, your kindness, your light of day that chased away the moonless night of their world. Yet at the moment, all they could do was watch.

[chemicalpink]

Pairing: Jungkook x Female reader

Words: 4.7k

Genre: smut, angst, fluff if you squint really hard, childhood friends to lovers AU

Warnings: unprotected sex, bathroom sex, infidelity, JK is a heartthrob that is bad at feelings, YN realises she’s been in love with JK all along.

A/N: this is me trying to write longer fics, I liked how this one came out yayyy. This goes out to the @thebtswritersclub​ monthly prompt _____ to lovers, in this case it’s childhood friends to lovers. I just- I really liked how it came out, I’m so excited to know what you guys think of it.

Summary: Falling in love is such a curious thing in life, Jungkook would know best, after pinning over you for years on end, only to have his best friend take away his opportunity, or does he?

The sun was shining brightly over the park as you made your way down the slide, hot skin scorching at the contact with the yellow plastic, although you couldn’t bring yourself to care as much as your mother would, meeting Sungho at the end of it, who was covering his eyes as best as his arms would allow him to do, summer was almost coming to an end and you two had decided to spend every single second of it together, much to both of your mothers’ dismay who had long decided to take turns to tire both of you out by the neighbourhood park, nothing too exciting, if it weren’t for your young imaginative minds combined, which turned you into the closest a six year old could get to being a menace.

As you smiled brightly at your friend, you couldn’t help but turn your head towards an almost inaudible whimper coming from the shaded side of the park, finding a kid around your age plopped down by the tree, desperately drying his eyes with the back of his hand, small sobs coming out of his lips as three other kids, which you knew to be a little older than you and quite disrespectful at that, kept laughing at the boy, so really, what else were you supposed to do if not come in to save the day. “Come on Y/N they’ll make fun of us too” Sungho said as he tried to tug you away, only to have you stand your ground firmly

“If they make fun of me, I won’t cry” you crossed your arms stubbornly over your chest

“Y/N let’s just go”

“You go, Sungho” Sungho was always the type of kid that your mother kept reminding you to be more like, always righteous, never picking fights like you were known to do, but you really couldn’t stand watching the mysterious kid crying by himself while no one else did anything in the slightest. So you stood between him and the three kids that were still making fun of him, head high, fists up by your sides in a superhero pose “You shouldn’t make fun of others”

“Why don’t we make fun of both of you then, Y/N?”

“At least I can put my shirt shirt when I’m dressing myself, Areum” the girl looked down for half a second before staring you down, full of rage before huffing and turning around in true mean girl fashion.

You turn back to find a pair of bambi eyes staring at you, sobs silenced, although his chest still showed him trying to fully catch his breath. You extend your hand for him to take it so that he could stand up “I’m Y/N what’s your name?”

“I’m Jungkook” you were quick to grab his arm and pull him to where Sungho had watched the whole scene with Areum, now staring at the way you dragged the slightly shorter boy towards him

“Well Jungkook, this is Sungho and I just decided that all of us three are going to be best friends forever” the small boy smiled at that, bunny teeth showing in the process, eyes sparkly with wonder and pure appreciation, contrasting the look on Sungho’s face.

“Y/N I think you need to have girl friends to have these sleepovers with, Jungkook and I are boys” Sungho says as soon as you pass him the mirror and he is left staring at his reflection with a ton of glitter eyeshadow on his face, you turn to look at Jungkook, who is currently sprawled out playing with his nintendo, a set of pigtails adoring his head along with the hottest pink lipstick you could find

“I don’t mind it” he stuffed his mouth with chips as he continued to play on his console, not sparing any of you a look, although you smiled at him fondly, grateful to have him play along whenever Sungho didn’t feel like it, which seemed to be more and more as all of you grew older.

“Well I’m going to take this off” he said as he ran into the bathroom to wash his face. Good luck trying to get rid of glitter.

You huffed out a sigh at how boring it was getting if Sungho didn’t like to play your games, along with Jungkook being stuck inside his own little world. “This is so boriiiing”

“It was your idea Y/N”

“Yeah but you guys are no fun”

Jungkook pauses his game to turn to look at you “We can watch a movie if you’d like”

If someone were to tell 6 year old you that twelve years later, the kid that used to make fun of you would turn into your best friend, you would have probably laughed in their face, although as years went by, Areum had finally gotten better in terms of personality, up to the point where she had a full on talk with you before you decided to give it a try, even more so as she now took it as her job to protect you in high school, seeing as she was a year older than you.

“Jungkook has changed” the brunette said while taking a seat next to you inside the cozy smoothie shop, crumpling up her receipt inside her bag distractedly as you just stared at her, not knowing what had prompted her to talk about your best friend, Jungkook wasn’t exactly what one would consider popular, especially amongst the higher grades, especially not given the bickering grudge he held against Areum after all those years.

“What do you mean?”

“Just- seems like before summer he was this scrawny little thing, deer eyes, soft smiles” you looked at her intently, Jungkook had gone on vacation with his family for weeks as soon as finals were over, leaving with the promise of hanging out for the few days before school started again, similar to how you were now hanging out with Areum, her having arrived back a few hours before Jungkook “Now- well”

There were a million thoughts running inside your mind, some seemingly more plausible than others, tow hich yopu found yourself asking “Areum, did you fuck Jungkook?”

“I mean- we were both staying at the same hotel Y/N” Areum sipped on heir smoothie as a way to act coy about it, wide eyes turned the other way at the prospect of having said out loud that her latest conquest was none other than little Jungkook, the guy she had always made fun of for one or another reason

“Oh god you slept with Jungkookie” and you really tried to picture her, accepted into college, beautiful Areum, long lean legs, model faced Areum, flirt queen that always seemed to go for older guys Areum, paired up with sweet Jungkookie, sure, your best friend was cute, handsome even, there was no denying it, he was just not- Areum level handsome, Areum liked going out to party, let men shower her in drinks while Jungkook absolutely loved staying home battling Sungho in the newest video game that was around “I-I have no words”

“Y/N- Y/N don’t judge until you’ve tapped it” your friend seemed to space out for a second, as if looking back at her time with Jungkook, dreamily. “The guy got buff”

And sure he did, not only did Jungkook was now full of muscle, he also apparently had renewed his wardrobe, bought a motorcycle and apparently had even grown a few centimeters taller, or at least that much was said by Sungho as you three met up for lunch the day before classes started again, trying to catch up as you did every year when the three of you didn’t get a chance to hang out much.

“So are we getting that newly released game Kook?” Sungho mentioned in what appeared to be the background, your eyes completely fixated on whomever the man sitting in front of you was, definitely not your best friend Jungkook.

“Nah dude, I sold all my consoles and games to buy my bike” your eyes widened at the confession, probably mirroring the uttermost shocked look that Sunho was also sporting. Jeon Jungkook selling his videogames was definitely a sign of the apocalypse. You were about to make a comment before you heard a very familiar voice behind you, making you turn your head towards it.

“Jungkookie, you wanted me to come over?” her eyes had that sparkle in them which you have come to recognise as her being infatuated by someone, even if she didn’t really talked about it openly, you turned towards Jungkook in disbelief

“Yeah, Areum, lose my number”

You consciously close your mouth at the exchange as Areum backed away from the table muttering an ‘oh..okay’ as Jungkook smiled daily at her, your eyes lock in surprise with Sungho’s, both of you silently agreeing that this Jungkook was certainly a new side neither of you could yet guess whether or not you would continue to be able to befriend, although the history between the three of you spoke volumes.

And just like that, enough to get whiplash from it, Jungkook’s lazy uninterested eyes were replaced by the squinty smile you had learned to adore over the years, bunny teeth showing as his laugh resonated in the restaurant “Oh god you guys should have seen your faces!”

Your eyes travelled along the expanse of the space you three were in, looking at Sungho for a clue to pick up about what was happening, coming up empty handed as he spoke first “Dude I almost had a heart attack, I thought you had sold your games!”

“Oh no that I did” Jungkook took a sip out of his drink calmly

You tried not to show how nothing made sense in your mind “And that thing with...Areum?”

He placed his cup down, looking at you with wide eyes humming softly “Yeah that was a thing too, she’s been texting me non stop after we hooked up. I’m just glad I’m back with you guys”

So Jungkook had changed, that much was true, just not as much as he let people believe. Sure enough, the guy was now pure muscle, rode a bike everywhere, and made it his lifeplan to conquer as many girls as his schedule allowed him too; he also made a few other friends outside of your friends' circle, enough for rumours to go around about him being involved in shady business, or him hooking up with somebody’s mum. Either way, if you were to turn a blind eye to his social persona, Jungkook was still your and Sungho’s little Jungkookie, bambi wide eyes that teared up whenever it was movie night and you picked some chick flick, bunny teeth and loud giggles as he played a prank on Sungho, even though you could tell his heart just wasn’t in it as it was before.

“I’m gonna ask Y/N out” Sungho has asked Jungkook to meet him outside of campus on the first weeks of college as all three of you decided to attend together, uninterested on whatever it was that he was about to tell him, but trying to keep up his fractured friendship with the man (and you) he had shown up, even so a little fashionably late to make his point clear.

“And you’re telling me this because..”

“I don’t want to make it awkward, Jeon” Jungkook scoffs before rolling his eyes at Sungho “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you little boy crush on her for years”

“What I think you haven’t noticed is that I don’t do feelings” Jungkook retorts as he approaches him “And although I find Y/N to be quite fuckable if you ask me, I appreciate her enough not to put her in a weird place like you’re about to do, asshole”

Once weeks rolled around, things kept on being as the were after that fateful summer where Jungkook completely reinvented himself, even as semesters came and went, Jungkook grew a bit more separate from both Sungho and yourself, although it became a little harder to discern whether it was because of Jungkook or due to the fact that Sungho and you had started dating during the first semester of college. Sungho had no real answer to give you when asked about it, saying that outside of the scheduled movie night you three kept on sharing, he barely even texted Jungkook on his own.

“I heard your girl is getting married” his friend said as he handed him an opened beer, taking his place back against his bike in the middle of the night after some race they had gone to near the outskirts of Seoul.

Jungkook took a swing out of the bottle, squinting at the questionable choice in alcohol “I don’t have a girl Jihoon”

“Oh? Then what’s Y/N?'' he felt the blood draining from his face, heart heavy, breath hitching inside his throat as soon as your name left his lips. Of fucking course Sungho would try to marry you before you graduated. That bastard.

It was quite funny really, Jungkook knew from the very start, back when all three of you had 6 years old and you had saved him from a set of mean kids in the park, that Sungho was never fond of him, or rather, of the relationship you had developed with him, sure, the two men had bonded over a few shared interests as they grew up, but the only thing that kept them together was you. Sometimes Jungkook guesses it could have been him instead of Sungho, asking you out, sharing nights together, even being about to get married. But those thoughts were only wishful thinking, he had long ago decided that you deserved so much more than what he could give you, what with his eternal fear and inability to give himself up to others. So he had let you go, never thinking about the possibility of Sungho taking a place he wasn't worthy of either.

"Good for her"

It wasn't long after learning that you were engaged, that the invitation arrived to his apartment, just a few days after graduation. It wasn't really a surprise anymore, even back when he first heard the news, it wasn't that surprising, he guessed it was the years of knowing both you and Sungho, learning your patterns, that he had somehow seen it coming. It didn't make it any less hard to wish you weren't about to walk down the aisle to a man that wasn't him though. But he kept repeating to himself to stop being selfish, he had lost his chance, not that he ever had one to begin with, but as long as you were happy, he would be too.

And you really did seem happy, so he was willing to just ignore the way that his chest seemed to constrict every time your eyes locked on his from across the room as the rehearsal dinner, you were sporting a gorgeous emerald dress, the same colour as when you two first met eighteen years back, his mind spinning with impossible scenarios as each minute that passed really just turned out to be a minute closer to watch you walk down the aisle to another man, one that was supposed to be his best friend at that.

“Bride’s or groom’s” A sweet female voice called him as he sipped on his fifth? sixth? champagne flute, finding a woman staring at him with what he has come to recognise as lust.

“Eh.. you could say both”

A glimpse of recognition could be seen in her eyes before she spoke again “You must be Jungkook then, the overseeked bachelor”

“In the flesh” He smirked at her as she took a hold of his hand, guiding him upstairs to where you and your soon to be husband had booked bridesmaids and groomsmen alike for the night. Not that the blonde had anything to do with how utterly horrible he was feeling about the whole wedding situation but perhaps fucking his frustrations out would help just a little.

Jeon Jungkook was never the one to stick around until morning, that much was true, and although he might be known for a varying of unspeakable things, nothing could have prepared him for what he had to witness at ungodly hours.

He picked up the rest of his clothing after half dressing himself, not even sparing a second glance at the woman that was laying on her bed peacefully, careful not to make more sounds than the inherently necessary, his curiosity is peaked as he hears faintly moaning and skin slapping skin coming from the room next door, seeing the door barely open, and against his better judgement he peeks inside only to feel his heart pounding against his chest, blood rushing inside his ears as he can’t seem to look away from the image presented to him. Sungho, your soon to be husband, the one that he used to consider his best friend for years on end, the oh so righteous Sungho, ever morally correct Sungho, bending your other so-called best friend and maid of honour, Areum, over the comforter as he fucked into her. A few hours before he got married to you. After everything that he had put him through, making him believe that it was in your best interest top let you go, that he should have handed you over to him, that he was the best option out of the two of you to build a life with.

Jungkook sees red and doesn’t quite remember anything other than Areum running out of the room as he punches Sungho in the face, receiving some punches back.

“You absolutely disgust me”

The bastard has the guts to laugh at him “You know, Jeon” he goes to inspect his face in the mirror “If you burst Y/N’s bubble, you’ll forever be remembered as the stupid little boy that was jealous enough on her wedding day to ruin her life”

Jungkook clenches his fists by his side before deciding to turn his heels and leave the room, vision still blurry in anger, breathing ragged, a small trickle of blood making its way down from his eyebrow as he almost automatically walked himself to the other side of the hostel where he knew you must have been resting, taking a few too many second to decide to knock on the door.

“Jungkook? What are you- oh god” sleep seems to leave you as soon as your eyes lock on his beat up face, him smiling at you in a futile attempt to have you not worry that much about his well being, but of course you were already searching for a first aid kit as he took a seat on your bed “Jungkookie, what happened?”

And perhaps he didn’t think it through that much, but he couldn’t let you walk yourself into a marriage blinded by the persona Sungho had always made you believe he was. “Y/N” he took your hands in his, stopping you from rubbing any more antiseptic into his cut “You’ll hear,a nd probably have already heard, too much shit about me”

His eyes beg you to stare at him intently, and although the whole scenario had you giggling out of nervousness, it soon died down “Kook, what are you talking about?”

“Y/N- Sungho is not the man he’s made us think he is” your eyes scan his face for any more clues on what he’s saying a syou feel a beeping sound closing in on your ears, overwhelmed by the situation “And he’ll probably say this is me just being a jealous asshole after being in love with you for more than half of my living years but-”

You stare at him in horror as your hands remove themselves from his hold as if he was burning, standing up from where you were seated next to him, feeling your whole world being crushed down a few hours before what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life “No” you take a step back as you hold your chest, feeling hot tears welling up in your eyes “Jungkook please don’t do this shit to me”

“Y/N just- don’t marry Sungho” somehow he had willed his voice to remain calm

Your head shook fervently at him, as if somehow the action would make him retreat his words “Sungho loves me, Jungkook”

His eyes were ice cold at your words “He loves you enough to fuck Areum a few hours before making you his wife”

He really didn’t mean the bite on his words as he said them, this had nothing to do with you and everything to do with that asshole you called finacé, so he could completely understand when through your tears, chest heavy with rage and head spinning you asked “Please leave”

And he did.

Everything seemed like a fever dream. The words that Jungkook had said, the implication that it had. And really, if it weren’t for the fact that Jungkook was gone from the whole ordeal, you could have sworn your life that it was nothing other than a nightmare, Areum was as bubbly as ever, helping you get ready. Sungho’s good morning text still found its way into your inbox. Jungkook had not only accused you fiancé of cheating, but had said he had always been in love with you, no further proof to his words, so you decided to go as planned, yet you found yourself hyper aware of every move Sungho made, especially when they involved Areum.

You stood in your pristine white dress in front of a couple dozens of guests as traditional words were spoken, your mind a thousand miles away as you kept on looking towards the door, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they would open up, Jungkook would show up and stop you from making what could potentially be the worst mistake of your life.

"If anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace." your eyes trail to the soor, yearning to hear Jungkook’s voice amidst the otherwise silent chapel, but it never came.

“Hey, Y/N come dance with us,” one of your bridesmaids say as the night progresses after dinner, some loud beat taking over the venue at the reception, making everyone stand up to dance, including your now-husband as you find yourself sulking sitting on your designated table.

“I’m fine, you go” you try to flash her the biggest smile you can as she goes, leaving you once again with your thoughts. Thoughts that mainly involved Jungkook, figuring that after all these years, life had managed to finally separate you, heart yearning to have him close to you, the more you became aware of your current life path, the more you realised what a humongous mistake you had made. You had always thought that marrying Sungho would give you a sense of utter happiness, of fulfillment, whether what Jungkook said was true or not, as you watched your husband having the time of his life without you. If he were Jungkook, he would be seated right by your side.

Jeon Jungkook, as deviated as he appeared to be to everyone, as much as he slept around, he had demonstrated to be the most loyal human being by your side up until the last second of your friendship, unlike Sungho, he had always been interested in what you wanted to do, had always let your voice be heard, had helped you through rough times when Sungho was nowhere to be seen, perhaps you had chosen the wrong best friend to fall in love with a few years ago, the wrong man in your life to marry. It had been Jungkook all along. It could have been Jungkook all along.

Your eyes fixate on the way that Sungho whispers something on Areum’s ear and you feel your blood boil, more out of self-pity and annoyance at letting such a man manipulate you rather than jealousy as you stand up to make your way to the bathroom, in hopes of freshening up before coming up with a plan to fix this mistake.

You sigh as you hold yourself up by the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror, pondering just how deep you’ll have to dig to come out of the mess when you hear an all too familiar deep chuckle behind you “So you realised”

You turn your back to the mirror to face Jungkook “That Sungho was an asshole or that I’m in love with you?”

His eyes turn into those deeply surprised deer shape you remember from when he was younger for a split second before they’re filled with something else between lust and deep appreciation as he backs you up further against the sink, a tattooed hand coming up to your chin “Does that mean I get to kiss you with no regrets now?”

“Would you kiss a married woman, Jungkook?” you ask playfully, matching the brattiness in his tone

“Only the ones whose husbands are assholes” and so his lips capture yours in a sweet quick kiss that has you wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning in once again, escalating from a very much due kiss filled with words that are unable to be said, into a fiery pit in the low of your stomach at the prospect of kissing Jungkook while still being in your wedding dress, just a few hours married and kissing another man.

Jungkook’s hands have abandoned their place on your figure in favour of trying to undo the little buttons on the back of your dress, breaking the kiss to complain “God just how many buttons does this dress have?”

Soon enough your dress lays forgotten on the floor, matching lingerie covering your body as Jungkook has most of your body up against the mirror, panties aside in favour of having him fingering you, arms almost failing to keep you upright as he mouths at your skin, moans escaping your lips regularly as he pumps and curls his fingers inside you, lewd noises taking reverbating on the small bathroom’s walls, a faint trail of bass coming in from the party “God you’re so perfect Y/N” he grunted as you heard his zipper coming down before feeling the tip of his cock teasing your entrance, his hand coming up to grip your hair making you face the mirror, makeup completely wrecked, the sight almost unrecognisable to you, a slight burning but pleasurable sensation on your scalp “I bet that bastard Sungho wouldn’t be able to wreck you like this” without further notice entering you from behind, your walls clenching against him as you felt him slowly but firmly making his way in and out of you at a building rapidly pace, a moan slipping past your lips and Jungkook shushing you in exchange as he increases his speed and you bit your lip to forbid any noises from coming out, afraid of being heard even when you knew it would be almost impossible to do so over the loud party noises, this bathroom being so far away from it.

Jungkook had placed your right leg up the sink, hitting an even deeper spot that had you building your orgasm at an incredible speed, throwing your head back in pleasure, feeling him completely inside you as heat pooled in your lower belly.

“K-Kook I’m gonna-ah! I’m gonna cum” a few flicks on your clit with his expert fingers as he helped you keep yourself upright did the trick as Jungkook made sure to somehow thrust even deeper, a loud moan scaping you as he spilled his warm seed inside you, quickly adjusting back his boxers and trousers as one of his fingers collected some cum that was dripping down your thigh to push it back in, letting go of you to hold yourself up against the sink, pulling your panties back in place.

“Think that counts as a wedding gift?” he turns to leave the bathroom, leaving you heaving to haphazardly step inside your dress as you trail behind him, finding him resting against a wall, his bike roaring a few meters away as he smiles your way knowingly as he puts on his helmet, throwing another one your way "So.. all ready to leave that asshole of a husband now or should I wait another 15 years?"

[dickwheelie]

sooooooo I wrote a sequel to that love entities jmart post that got pretty popular. all you really need to know is that post mag 200 jon becomes a local cryptid and listens to people's stories about encounters with the entities to help unburden them of some of their fear. please enjoy!

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Just inside the entryway of Old Fishmarket Close, hidden just out of sight of the street, there stands a shrine. It is not an old shrine of weathered stone, nor is it carefully crafted with intricate religious symbols, nor is it static, weighed down by years of collected dust. It is in many ways a living shrine; flowers bloom and wilt at its feet, while above it, against the wall of the Close, piles of paper, photographs, and keepsakes are haphazardly stacked and stuck. The shrine seems to breathe as each day passes, as innumerable and unsung hands replace its flowers and let their offerings crawl up its wall like vines.

The shrine is not marked, but everyone who looks for it, in the shadows of the entryway, knows precisely who it is for.

You arrive that day with only a piece of notebook paper in your hand. Upon it is written a short message, and not an uncommon one to see at the shrine: Thank You. A substitute, of sorts, for the flowers and other gifts that people often leave. You, like many others, are not well off, and you hope that a small note can make up for your lack of material offerings.

As you approach the shrine, a gust of wind whistles through the alleyway and rustles the pages plastered across the length of the wall. You’ve brought no adhesive, so you slip the piece of paper partially beneath a bouquet lying on the stone walkway. It’s relatively fresh, so you hope it won’t be moved anytime soon. You’ve no idea who replaces the flowers, but you suspect it’s never the same person twice. The locals all know about the shrine and the person it’s meant for, and they’ve grown protective of them both.

Dozens of other people have had the same idea before you; the ground is littered with short notes of gratitude. Thank you for listening, says one, transcribed in loving calligraphy, the i’s dotted with hearts. Thank You For Finding Me, Whoever You Are, says another. I rely lik yor hat, says one written in crayon. Another says, You’ll probably never read this, but thank you for hearing my story. There must be hundreds of them, and there are more each time you visit.

You had spent the better part of the morning trying to come up with something more eloquent to write, but you’ve never been great with words. Telling the mysterious person your story had been the only time you’d ever felt as though your words matched your thoughts, that what came out of your mouth was exactly how you felt, and that the person you were talking to understood you fully.

You suppose a thank you is better than nothing, and after one last fond look at the shrine, you turn to go.

A footstep that is not your own echoes down the alleyway. You turn, half-alarmed, but relax at once when you see who it is.

You have only ever seen him once before, about a month ago when you told him your story, but he is difficult to forget; his figure tall and thin, his posture horrendous, his features hidden entirely by a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He stands now at the far end of the alleyway, hands clutched before his hunched torso, giving you the distinct impression he’s staring directly at you.

“Um, hello,” you say, haltingly. You’re not quite sure how to address him, but you figure a polite greeting is universal. You gesture at the shrine. “I don’t have, uh, another story or anything. I was just leaving a note for you.”

His hat tips curiously to the side, and he shuffles forward with his cautious gait, peering closer at the shrine. The dark brim of his hat swivels towards you, as though asking a question.

“The shrine,” you say. “I just left a short note. It’s no big thing, I just—I wanted to leave something.”

The words seem to mean nothing to him. He looks at the shrine, then at you, then back at the shrine. He steps a bit closer to it, and reaches out a long-fingered, gloved hand to touch the petals from a bouquet of daffodils. After the briefest of moments, he pulls away again, hands resuming their wringing.

A thought occurs to you. “Do you . . . do you not know what this is?”

He shakes the hat once.

“This is . . . this is for you,” you say, spreading your arms to encompass the garden on the ground and the sea of pages above. “The flowers, the little trinkets, the thank-you letters—it’s for you. From . . . from all of us, who’ve told you our stories. You’ve helped us so much, we wanted to let you know how much we appreciated it. How grateful we are.”

He doesn’t react, and so you reach out and pick out a card, one that says, Talking to you about how scared I was of the dark made me less afraid of it. I sleep better at night because of what you did for me. Thank you, mysterious stranger. Much love, E.M.

“Here,” you say, handing it to him, and he takes it with a shaky glove. The brim of his hat lowers as he reads. "That’s just one of them. There are loads more just like that.” You survey the pile and pick out another. “This one’s from a kid, thanking you for helping their mom . . . And this one’s just a simple thank you note but they did cover it in glitter glue, so, there’s that . . . And this person wanted you to know that their anxiety improved after talking to you . . .”

He takes note after note from you, reading them all, silent and unexpressive as always, but there’s something in his posture that is unbearably human. Somehow it reminds you of how people stand when they hold a baby chick in their hands.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know,” you say, not unkindly. You’re both sitting on the ground now, amidst the bouquets and piles of thank-yous. “Who else would this all be for?”

As he picks up yet another note, a tremor runs through his body. He raises a gloved hand to the shadows beneath the hat, and you watch as two drops of water stain the page in his hand. His chest convulses as more tears fall, his hand moving under the hat to wipe them away, but they keep coming. Still he makes no sound.

You didn’t know he could cry. You don’t know why you’re surprised; he’s strange, certainly, and perhaps not entirely human . . . but he has heard so many horrible things, and human or not, he deserves a chance to cry.

“Are you—are you okay?” you say, not sure what to do.

The hat nods once, and then shakes.

“I . . . I know it’s probably a lot, all at once,” you say, and you reach out to touch his arm. The movement comes naturally, without much thought; you would have done the same for a friend.

He flinches at your touch, and you immediately pull away, but then he relaxes again, and nods. Tears are still falling from the shadows down onto his coat.

You touch his arm again, gently, and he doesn’t move away. “I’m sorry if it’s overwhelming. But we really are grateful, and you have a bad habit of not accepting thanks. This was one of the only ways we could think to . . . to show you.” You take a deep breath, and gaze into the shadows of where his face might be, doing your best to look him in the eye. “We don’t really know who you are, or why you came here, or why you choose to listen to us. But somehow, we know you mean well. I think everyone who’s told their story knows that, me included. That you’re trying to help us, that you want to do good. And you do. We . . . we want you to know that you’ve done good.”

His chest rises and falls shakily, and though he still makes no sound you swear you can hear a sob. He reaches out and grasps your arm in turn, and suddenly you realize what he needs.

“Can I give you a hug?” you ask.

The hat nods, again and again, and you open your arms, and he falls forward. You would have done the same for a friend.

You almost expect the hug to be gentle, but it is not; it is tight and desperate, and feels so human you do not think twice about hugging him back just as tightly. He is not terribly warm, but you can feel a heart beating beneath his coat. A few tears fall on the back of your jacket. You know that if you just looked up, you would be able to see his face beneath the hat, but you keep your eyes shut tight.

When you move apart, a few moments later, he seems a little more composed, and no more tears fall from beneath the hat. He straightens his back a bit, growing taller even in a sitting position, and you can see just the barest hint of a mouth, which is smiling a delicate, wobbly sort of smile. He brings a gloved hand up to his chin, placing his fingertips against it, and moves them towards you, once, twice.

You are by no means fluent in sign language, but you recognize the sign for Thank you when you see it.

You smile back at him. “You’re welcome,” you say.

He looks back at the shrine, at the piles and piles of notes he has yet to read. You watch as he picks up a handful more, seemingly at random, shuffling them in his hands and pressing them close to his chest. After a pause, he reaches out and slowly picks up one of the bouquets, overflowing with small blue flowers. You’re not entirely sure, but you think they might be forget-me-nots. He pulls a single flower from the bunch and tucks it, carefully, into the collar of his coat, as though for safekeeping.

He nods once, satisfactorily, and stands slowly, giving a small bow in your direction before he turns and shuffles back down the alleyway, the bushel of blue flowers peeking over his shoulder, rustling in the breeze.

Just before he is swallowed by the shadows at the far end of the Close, you call out, “Thank you! Again. For . . . for everything.”

It’s certainly just a trick of the light, but when he turns back to look at you, just before the shadows overtake him, you swear you can see the light catch on a single, twinkling eye, crinkled in one corner by what must be a smile.

[captain-kinda-trash]

Hello love! I hope I’m one of your first asks!!! 😍

Can I order up a new love/confessing feelings with a side of fluff, a la Bayverse Donatello please?! 💜

Sure thing lovely!! Hope you enjoy!!

Truck Repairs (Bayverse! Donatello x Fem! Reader)

"Torque wrench please."

"Got it."

The slap of cool metal against scales resounded from underneath the Turtle Truck (a name Y/N commonly used, much to her companion's distaste), as Donnie was handed yet another tool from the plastic box next to his feet.

"Thank you." He huffed out. The cranking of gears, clinking of iron echoed out from the truck.

"Sure thing, Don," The girl said, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the turtle's legs, "How much longer do you think this should take?" Her eyes stole an extensive glance at those toned, long, delicious-looking limbs. Wait. What? That didn't come from her mind again, did it?

Of course, it did. When did it not? Donatello sighed, voice floating out from below the massive machine, and then the wheels of his skateboard rolled against the cement as he uses his feet to pull his body from underneath.

"Uh, I'm not sure. The damage inflicted on the lower regions of the compression body is pretty tremendous. It could take up a few days, weeks even, if not strategically maneuvered-" he pushed the goggles from his eyes to settle comfortably on the top of his head, revealing the glittering hue of those beautiful amber eyes, "But it seems to be going well at the moment."

His mouth cutely curled up into a smile, one that never failed to release a cocoon of uncaged butterflies in Y/N's stomach.

She grinned back, and then shyly turned to study the soles of her shoes, evidently more interesting than looking at his uncannily handsome face.

"That's good to hear. Maybe we should take a break soon. You've been working like crazy since you got back from patrol."

His smile very subtly faded at this suggestion, though he made sure that his friend didn't catch it. Donnie enjoyed this company that she provided working with him on the truck's repairs, much more than he was willing to admit. Though, yes, he could use a nice break, maybe grab a snack or glass of water, the mutant knew surely that nothing fueled his cravings like her sweet presence (incomparably rich to the taste of his beloved pop tarts).

And if the same wasn't in her book about him, then by gods...

I mean sure, he's a mutant. Gross right?

Wrong. So, so very wrong.

"Y-yeah I guess we could take a little break." He responded, then let out a sort of struggled grunt as his body lifted to sit upwards and rest his shell on the side of the garbage truck.

Y/N's eyes wandered once more at the marvelous rolling and extending of his muscles as he did so, draping a single sturdy arm across one knee and using the other to adjust his glasses. She gulped. Her gaze shamelessly traveled to the seemingly endless length of his legs, until she caught the quick movement of his head in her peripheral.

She immediately averted her stare, back down to the laces of her converse, trying to subside the heat crawling quickly over her neck.

"T-tell you what, why don't I go grab you a snack, and you stay here and see if there's anything else we can do." Y/N pushed herself up from the ground and before Donnie could respond, she had already scampered out of the workshop to avoid any further humiliation.

"O-okay!" He called after her, though the likeliness of hearing him was probably far gone since she was already in the kitchen by then.

Y/N grasped the bridge of her nose between her for dinner and thumb, letting out an exasperated sigh as the tap water still poured, pattering against the metal sink.

'He totally caught me staring,' she thought. Though her self-control was usually tempered, easily under restraint, it melted into a helpless puddle when Donatello's presence was made known around her. Hell, even passing up the open doorway of his lab as he worked was a strain, and Y/N found herself peeking in curiously as his eyes fixated carefully, passionately over a project as he worked.

It took every willful ounce in her body not to just snatch the tails of his violet bandana and yank him in for a savory kiss every time he was a few feet away from her.

Her brain, exhausted from such thoughts, tried to focus on her footfalls, the wrinkle of pop-tart wrappers, the clinking of ice against glass cups, a cool contrast against Y/N's warm arms.

She halted directly outside of the workshop, inhaled, exhaled, and then rounded the corner to see-

Nobody? Weird. Perhaps Donnie had gone to his lab to grab more tools or just put them away since the aforementioned bucket of appliances had gone missing right along with their possessor.

"Huh. Weird." Y/N thought aloud, and then after looking over her shoulder and out of the doorway, she decided that she might check out the inside of the truck. After all, it had been some time since she'd seen it and was rarely able to because of the lack of missions she joined in on.

She set the two cups of water and foil packages gently on a nearby bench, before making her way towards the rear entrance. Y/N's hands settled on the large iron handle wrapping their small extent around it and then pulled down with all of her strength.

Man, the brothers made it look so easy, and by the time the lever reached its lowest point with a loud click, she had managed to work up a bit of a sweat.

The door, a huge garage-like lift system on the back end of the truck, began to lift, creaking and groaning as it did so. Y/N smiled, eyes glancing down carefully as her feet made contact with each rising step into the truck.

However, her plan had been spoiled, if you could even call it that. Because, just as she was entering the vehicle, it seemed Donatello would be exciting. As Y/N looked up from the final footstep, and Donnie from his tech pad, their noses and mouths bumped, and all was still. Both of their bright eyes were wide with shock and unbearable mortification at the sensation of petal-soft skin against cool scales, lips awkwardly resting upon one another.

They both pulled away as fast as they had come together, though Y/N had been so caught up in her humiliation, that she forgot about the staircase behind her and lost footing. An abrupt shout escaped her lips, helplessly flailing her arms in the air to grab onto something and a strong pair of arms had quickly caught her.

When the girl hesitantly opened an eye to analyze her seemingly unfortunate position, all she was met with, was the shine of Donnie's lustrous eyes, glinting in the bright lights of the workshop. Both were heaving breaths, adrenaline rushing from the swiftness of this occurrence.

"Thanks..." Y/N managed to squeak, trying to calm the furious blush and racing tempo of her heart at the touch of Donatello's strong arms still wrapped around her, "I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes..."

At her remark, Donnie's expression seemed to relax, and he let out a little giggle of amusement. Y/N smiled softly, and then placed the tip of her finger on the bridge of his snout, accompanied with a small 'boop!' That made him laugh even more and then a snort, something he didn't seem to proud of.

"Have I ever told you how cute you are?" She asked, rather abruptly, and the blunt question caught the turtle off guard. She wanted to smack herself across the face at the spilling of her internal conflicts but figured that doing so would cause her further embarrassment. Instead, Y/N was stuck trying to interpret Donatello's dumbstruck expression.

"E-erm, uh no. No, I don't think you've told me that..." Stupid, stupid stupid! What a response! Donnie's mind quipped, Could have at least said thank you... "Y/N..."

"Yeah, Don?"

His answer was completely wordless, just boring endlessly into her sparkling eyes. Though his next move seemed to be a more suited response.

Before he could stop himself, Donnie closed the short distance between and capturing her mouth in a short kiss, tightening the strong grasp of his forearms around her waist and back.

Y/N blinked once. Twice. And nothing shifted, though seemed completely unreal, like one of the hallucinations that she'd conjured in her mind before.

But this was just so... Real. He pulled away before Y/N could fully process what was going on, leaving her mouth to chase after his momentarily.

"You're really... U-um, Y/N I think you're beautiful. And I have this strangely romantic fascination with you..." Donnie trailed off, realizing how utterly stupid he must sound, however, the girl held tightly in his arms found it extraordinarily romantic.

Her fingers danced around the back of his neck snatched the tails of his silk bandana, and then pulled him in again, this time for a lingering address on the lips, tilting her head just slightly to deepen it. Donnie let out a short squeak of surprise, that faded into a satisfied chirp, bellowing from his throat.

They broke away, heaving puffs of air, and idiot-like grins spread across their faces.

"I really like you too Donnie."

"I'm glad," he breathed, just inches away from her face, "cause now we can work together and you don't have to hide staring at my legs."

Y/N flushed immensely before swatting his chest repeatedly, trying to hide her smile at his amused laughter.

"Donatello I will take away your pop tart privileges!"

fin💜

[ellsbclls]

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of  Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here. 

Your secret hideaway. 

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response.  “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare. 

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you. 

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice.  “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way. 

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her?  “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?  

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.” 

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb.  “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach. 

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking. 

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening. 

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake. 

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss. 

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines. 

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse. 

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears. 

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill. 

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open. 

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene —  opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you. 

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that. 

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you.  “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings​

[yostresswritinggirl]

and, if Albedo have his own personal botanist, what about xiao have his own personal chef, or something like that? the reader working at wangshu inn as the chef or maid 👀 (this the request... If you want to make something from this absurd idea 👀👀)

Hehe I like your thought process, anon. Albedo and Xiao really just: 😏👉👉 *finger guns* 👈👈 😑 for having reader assistants in my masterlist huh.

Making this solely a personal chef/maid thing would defo make this response hella short so I added in more info and background just like I did with Albedo's, so I hope you guys end up enjoying this one too!!

It isn't an absurd idea, but I sure as hell made an absurd answer to it kek

Xiao's Devoted "Chef"

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant

Background (let's gooo)

The arrival of the Adepti Yaksha in Wangshu Inn was really something I've been intrigued about for a while now, but I won't make much assumptions here because his banner is coming and more info would be given to us.

Xiao had long since been residing in and spends a majority of his time in this Inn yet its owners, Verr Goldet and Huai'an, barely knows anything about the adepti or his lifestyle.

So on a sunny, quaint day like any other where calmness passes through the lands without worry, they expected the Adepti to resign himself to a moment of peace and rest too.

So color them surprised when they save the familiar silhouette of the adepti ascending to the top floor. Porcelain white skin and clear tank top glittered with fresh blood as a broken and bruised figure lays unconscious in his arms. The couple was thankful that there were no customers out and about that day, because it would be a disaster for an audience to witness such a thing. Also bad for business, but they'll hold that in at the back of their mind.

Skilled workers were quick to work with their seemingly extensive experience with such a protocol. As they tended to the victim, the Boss stayed behind to tend to and inquire with the Adepti. Yet such a conversation between them came out strained:

There were no visible wounds that require immediate medical attention but there was a look in his eyes that feels much more broken than anything they can fix. Verr's hands hover over him in an attempt to urge him to clean up his still bloodied form. His amber eyes that were usually sharp looks through a distance light-years away.

"Xiao," the woman started and the eyes snapped out of its reverie, subtly looking around to ground himself. "What happened? And are you okay?"

"Their- the parents died from a Hilichurl ambush, I was only able to save the child," his crossed arms gripped at his forearm in the realization of his utter mistake. "32 seconds."

"32 seconds?" The Mondstadtian offered a fresh set of hot towels he had taken, and he had flinched when he saw the carnage that stuck close to his skin.

"I was 32 seconds late."

Your parents were adventurers who brought you with them as big fans of traveling and nomadic lifestyle, no set home yet freely living by. You were in your younger teens and you'd clarified you had no other family to go to.

The death of your parents came as an obvious shock to your young self yet you grieved in silence and sobs, as the only person you trust hovers next to where you rest in silent contemplation.

Verr knows that look, and it was something she hasn't seen on the Adepti before. Of pure guilt and a sense of responsibility.

That night you rested surprisingly nightmare-free as your savior stands his ground next to where you rest.

Present Times

The couple had adopted you into the Inn family without a second's hesitance and you were thankful for them as you were to Xiao. You were no heavy expense or disadvantage and that made it all the more easier to adapt into your new lifestyle.

Despite no words or explanation, you were perfectly aware of the deeds your savior had done to save you and keep you alive, and with that you had sworn to serve him until the end of your time. A life for a life, equivalent exchange.

Coming into terms with being in Liyue and the Inn, your life choices were meddled with commerce and the importance of livelihood. You were young but your guilt of being under the care of such people forced you to take on any and every responsibility you can handle.

Despite your background you were expertly skilled with cooking. Your mother and father always taught you the importance of a meal for adventurers whenever you'd camped out. And your special touch on dishes that saves adventurers had drawn in many appetites.

Business boomed and the Inn wasn't just famous for being a temporary residence, but a sanctuary that offers tastes paired with the divine sense of Celestia. You became Wangshu Inn's Head Chef, with your sous-chef Smiley Yanxiao.

At times where Xiao is forced to make rounds to seize looming threats, he'd find himself picking fresh and healthy ingredients he'd find on the way back and present to you for new recipes to experiment on.

But you also pride yourself with a different title, or titles: The Adepti's Personal Chef, Tender of the Yaksha, Adepti's Devotee.

This title was emphasized by the Sigil of Permission sewn into an armband hanging by your right arm, something you proudly wear even beyond the walls of the Inn.

You found out the Adepti's favorite during your daily visit and breaks, usually done so by hanging out in the balcony with him with a brand new recipe you recently made and wanted to test out.

While he sat parallel to you, he eyed the transparent syrup and the gelatinous substance in the obvious curiousity he shows for all your new creations, silently awaiting your opinion by watching your expression: whenever you show even the slightest distaste, he'll pointedly ignore his curiousity and the dish altogether. And if you express such pride and achievement, his interest will get the better of him, if you haven't offered the dish quickly enough.

"What is this?" He'd finally ask after your delighted moans, indulging on your own creation.

"Mmm, Almond Tofu... do you wish to try it?" Without an answer he'd pick up the only spoon on the plate and tasted it himself. And just like that, he'd froze, eyes full blown in surprise and awe.

"Do you like it?" He can only hum in response as he scarfs down the plate by himself, chewing respectfully yet with a hint of vigor in every scoop. "It tastes... like dreams..." the way he looked at you, with eyes possessing such childlike wonder, you couldn't help but fall.

After that, Xiao had requested a daily plate/offering of it. It became a routine to the point that all workers heard of the favoritism and are encouraged to learn the recipe. But it's usually your dish that is served, unless special occasions calls for someone else.

There has been an influx of dormers and adventurers recently as citizens around Teyvat flock to the Liyue continent in hopes to watch the most extravagant celebration of the new year, the Lantern Rite Festival.

Your best efforts manning the kitchen together with Yanxiao took gruelling hours just to prepare for the dinner's first course even with hours of prep time available. Even both bosses had to lend some hands as your sous-chef can barely keep up with your stride. And after the dishes are finally distributed to the dining hall, you were already set in cleaning up the kitchen, and before you knew it-

"It has been an hour."

"It was a busy day, I'm sorry, Xiao." You could only muster a mumble in guilt as you kept your head down on the usual table, refusing to look at the disapproving expression he definitely wore, except he doesn't. His face has the slightest hints of worry and wonder at your deflated composure.

But his focus now was on the food he has been craving the whole day, already digging into his dessert. And you just tried your hardest not to fall asleep on the cold, wooden tabletop. Until your tummy rumbled through the silence.

A hum. "You haven't eaten?" You shake your head as you lift your head, gazing at the cute sight of your guardian tilting his head to the side in slight distaste for your lifestyle. You open your mouth to retort until you felt the cold utensil touch your bottom lip. "Here, I saved you the last bite. After this, get yourself a meal and retreat to your quarters, I don't want to hear any excuses." He softly urges a little push with the spoon so you get the hint, and you wrap your lips around it, chewing and gulping down cold dessert. He offered his favorite food, used the same spoon, and spoon fed you with it—

"Wha... don't- don't bite the spoon," you squeeze your eyes tight from the embarrassing thoughts in your head.

When people wish to have an audience with Xiao, most of the time they head to you for guidance after inquiring with Verr. They require a sigil of permission, and most of the times, your own sigil has been under fire a lot in their desperation.

An old merchant who desperately wants to hire the adepti to aid his caravan with personal security once tried to claw at your armband, but a split second after the tip of his fingers had touched the cloth, he was blown away to the nearest wall.

"What-," a pressure on your left shoulder pulls your other against a lean chest, protectively squeezing as a polearm materialized in front of you. You can feel the ragged vibrations of the Yaksha's unusually heavy breaths, his amber eyes sharp and dangerous, dilated like a predator.

"What gives you the idea that you had the authority to lay a hand on my assistant?" Black and teal embers conjure around you two as a dark shadow slowly creeps up from the ground. "That is their sigil of permission; I want nothing to do with you mere mortals."

If not for Verr and the other staff, things would have gone gruesome and unsightly for the business. Yes, business. Everyone disliked the guy enough to care more about the Inn than his actual well-being. When he'd come to, he was forced out of the Inn (he would have done so himself anyways as he was already traumatized).

"Sir Xiao, why did you do that?"

"He didn't have a Sigil, he was pretty much asking for it. And why have you gone formal?" You pouted at him and his only response was a quirked eyebrow. Walking over to stand behind him, you slowly wiggled your arms through the gap between his waist and slack arms, finding it easy enough with how thin his waist is as you wrapped him in a hug.

He tensed from the secretly ticklish feeling before letting down his guard in your arms. This was one of your leeway as his most devoted follower. Your constant exposure with the aid of the divine sigil has made you immune to the negative effects of Adeptal energy, enough to make him nigh worry about your safety around him anymore.

And him letting you hug him like this... let's just say it's from your mannerisms of comfort when you were still young and around him.

"Take an indefinite leave," Xiao broke the silence a few minutes after, forcing you to crane your head to the side to look at him. He meets your gaze with an amused glint. "You have no debt to pay here, you shouldn't be holed up in a place like this."

"It is true that me leaving wouldn't have majooor repercussions, but what's with the sudden idea?"

He huffs. "You're my only follower and yet you divide your attention serving temporary mortals that will pass by without remembrance. And besides," you tense at the sight of an upturn on the edge of lip, pearly whites subtly peeking, "personal does not mean sharing."

You were an adventurer at heart and it's time you indulge in that glorified life of excitement, with your guardian by your side. It was the only gift he can come up with for your undying devotion.

Holy - I had to cut this thing A LOT because I wrotE A HECKIN LOT WTF?! It's not even done in my mind, my goodness, there should be an adventuring unit here too but hhhh I got too conscious of the length sksksks I'm so sorry! P-Part 2-?

I enjoyed writing this a tad bit too much sksksks but now that the second to the last installation of this even is published, the next request should be the last one! And that means I'll have to stop the poll and start working on the requests for the 100 followers one! So if you haven't voted there, you should before it's too late!!

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 15

A/N: well, the end is finally here. I’m not done with this lil au by any other means, there are some oneshots (like missing scenes from this story that I couldn’t get to flow with the rest of the fic) and some oneshots that take place before and after this story. there is also a nature wives sequel that I am contemplating. anyway, I just wanted to give a HUGE thank you to all the love this fic has gotten. when I set out to write this, I never imagined it getting this much love. I was writing this story mostly for myself, and this has been a work that I have never been more motivated to write, and that is largely due to the love that it has gotten. again, thank you so much. and I wrote this chapter while listening to Like Real People Do by Hozier on loop, I think it fits the mood of this chapter very well.

Warnings: pretty much nothing, just kissing and a ton of fluff

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

-

Quite some time had passed since that fateful day that Jimmy had saved Scott from the corruption. Jimmy still didn’t quite agree that his kiss was what had saved Scott in the end, he was sure Scott had something to do with it too- safe to say this was a common debate between the two. Debating was something that had not changed between them in the slightest. They still bickered, but it was lighthearted, more affectionate now. Their arguments, if they could even be called that, were filled with laughter that glittered like gold and grins that shimmered like bronze.

The defensive strategies that the new and improved House Blossom Alliance came up with helped a great deal- not that they really ended up needing it anyhow. Fwhip and Sausage kept to themselves most times these days. Both of them seemingly felt guilty about what had happened, even if they made no moves to try and repair the bond that had been broken. That stung more than some of the former Wither Rose Alliance members cared to admit. Pearl and Gem both wanted to see the best in Fwhip and Sausage, but even if either of them came crawling back for forgiveness, neither one was sure they would give it to them. And Scott wasn’t sure how he could handle even seeing one of them again.

Then there was the matter of the corruption. The containment box Gem had made seemed to be working enough, but every now and again one of them would spot a strange red plant growing from the ground, and would have to uproot it and add it to the box. Luckily nothing seemed to be spreading too far yet, and there was no sign of the “he” that the red Scott spoke of. Shelby seemed constantly on edge, and Jimmy caught Scott staring up at the statue of Aeor and asking for answers on more than one occasion. But Jimmy was confident that the containment would work, and since they beat it once, they could beat it again!

But it was silly to worry about those things, not on a momentous day like this. Jimmy adjusted the pale green bow-tie for about the millionth time, and fidgeted with the suit jacket, unused to the blinding white color of it. He wasn’t wearing his cod head- and he didn’t have a cod mask either- but the bronze scale-like pattern dotted here and there on the white suit was enough for Jimmy. Besides, for once, he wanted his head to be entirely visible today. However, upon Lizzie’s insistence, he did don a bronze-colored crown inlaid with emeralds.

“You ready?” Lizzie asked softly, holding out her arm to Jimmy. She had traded her dress with its blues of the Ocean Empire for one with the greens of the Cod Empire. Jimmy swallowed nervously and nodded with a smile, not trusting his voice to break. He took Lizzie’s arm, and the two of them walked out of the hallway and down the aisle of the new ceremony room of Katherine’s castle. Joel waited for them at the front, while all of Jimmy’s friends- Pixl, Katherine, Shelby, Pearl, and Gem- were sitting in the pews on either side of the aisle. Once they made it to the front of the ceremony room, Lizzie squeezed Jimmy’s arm encouragingly before taking her seat in the audience. Joel gave Jimmy a supportive smile, before the music began and both of them looked to the entrance of the ceremony room. Everyone rose from their seats- and in came Scott.

He was breathtaking. The dress he wore had white lace detailing, while the skirt itself was satin and had a layer of tulle over it, with more lace detailing at the hem. It was sleeveless, and must have been backless to make room for his wings. Gold jewelry adorned him, including the crown on his head, and in his hands he held a bouquet of blue orchids picked from Jimmy’s empire. Jimmy felt himself getting a bit misty-eyed, and couldn’t keep the adoring smile off of his face as Scott made his way down the aisle, finally coming to a stop to stand across from Jimmy. The bouquet was handed off to Joel, who set it down on the table behind him, but Jimmy was too busy gazing up at Scott, hardly able to believe that this day was happening.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Jimmy, the Codfather and ruler of the Cod Empire, and Scott, the winged elf ruler of Rivendell. Their love is one that was won through adversity, and may they always have each other through whatever trials they may have to face,” Joel said, then turned to retrieve the pillow that held the two rings on it from the table. Jimmy took one of the rings, the one that was gold with a sliver of bronze through it, and reached out for Scott’s hand.

“With this ring, I declare my love for you. No matter what you say I did to save you, I still believe that you are one of the strongest people I know. You are as imposing as the mountains you rule in, yet your smile is like morning sunlight and your laughter is glittering gold. My love for you is as steady and sure as the ground beneath me, and as strong as the ocean's currents. I could stumble, or get swept away- but I know you'll be there to save me, as you say I have saved you," Jimmy said, gazing at Scott as he slipped the ring onto his finger. Scott's eyes were glassy as he tried not to cry, smiling that sunshine smile that never failed to make Jimmy’s heart soar. Scott took a deep breath, then took the other ring- this one was bronze with a sliver of gold through it, the inverse of the one Scott now wore.

"In the red dreamscape you saved me from, the corruption made a comment about you and I. It said that you are an Icarus, and that I am your sun. But I think it's the other way around. Sure, you can certainly be an Icarus- ambitious and determined, but you are my sun, Jimmy- warm, radiant, and dazzling. If I am the mountains, then you are the sun that peeks over them. My heart soars for you like I do with my wings, I fly ever closer to catch the beams of light you give off- and I fell. I fell for you- sweet, brave, wonderful you- despite everything. So with this ring, I declare my love to you- my Icarus and my sun," Scott said, taking Jimmy’s hand and slipping the ring on his finger. Jimmy wiped at his eyes with his free hand before taking Scott’s other hand. He looked away from Scott for a brief moment to nod at Joel, before looking back to Scott. Joel turned again, setting down the pillow and trading it for two lengths of ribbon- one gold, and one bronze. An amused sparkle came to Scott’s eyes, and Jimmy gave him a look that said not-now-Scott-not-on-our-wedding-day when Joel began speaking as he looped the fabric around their wrists.

“May the threads of these ribbons never unravel, just as your love will not. May your bond stay strong and true, just as the ribbons that connect you now,” Joel said, removing his hands once he was done. The gold ribbon was looped around Scott’s right wrist, then under their clasped hands to wrap around Jimmy’s right wrist. The bronze ribbon was looped around Jimmy’s left wrist, then over their clasped hands to wrap around Scott’s left wrist.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” Scott murmured, voice low enough that only Jimmy and Joel could hear him. Jimmy let out a soft laugh, and Joel rolled his eyes fondly.

“Scott, do you take Jimmy to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?” Joel asked, looking to Scott.

“I do,” Scott said softly, all joking and teasing gone from his expression, leaving only unabashed adoration in its place.

“Jimmy, do you take Scott to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, as long as you both shall live?” Joel asked, looking to Jimmy.

“I do,” Jimmy said, unable to keep himself from grinning widely, feeling like he would float to the ceiling if Scott wasn’t keeping him tethered.

“Then by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss the groom,” Joel said, nodding to Scott. Jimmy barely got the chance to lean in before Scott tugged him closer by their clasped hands and kissed him softly. Jimmy couldn’t stop smiling into the kiss, and he let out a delighted laugh when they broke apart. Their friends were cheering and clapping, and Joel threw blue and green confetti over them, Jimmy giggling at the way it got caught in Scott’s hair. They slipped their hands out of the ribbons, carefully handing it over to Joel as he handed the blue orchid bouquet back to Scott. The two of them then walked arm-in-arm down the aisle, married.

-

Jimmy didn’t think he had stopped smiling since the ceremony started. He even kept smiling all throughout Lizzie’s speech full of embarrassing stories about Jimmy at the reception. He definitely smiled when Scott threw the bouquet, and Shelby enthusiastically leapt up and caught it- only to stumble back into Katherine’s arms when she landed. The rest of the night, the two of them kept exchanging sheepish glances and Shelby held the bouquet close to her chest for most of the evening. Jimmy couldn’t even bring himself to be mad that someone else seemed to be finding love at their wedding.

Jimmy’s smile finally settled to something softer as he and Scott shared their first dance as a married couple. He could feel the other’s eyes on them, but that quickly faded to the background as the way Scott held him and gazed down at him captured all of his attention. Jimmy couldn’t stop stealing glances to their matching rings, heart fluttering at the reminder that they were husbands now. If you had told Jimmy at that first House Blossom Alliance meeting that he would end up married to the winged elf that badgered him into picking a fight, he would have never believed you. In fact, if you had told Jimmy anything about what was going to happen to him and Scott, he would have called you crazy. Yet here he was, dancing with someone he once swore he hated, with the man who he had been to hell and back with. And Jimmy wouldn’t have had it any other way.

-

Taglists below! Ask if you want to be added/removed (I will be keeping the aiahs taglist for any future parts of this universe)!

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[debiteful]

Okay so this one is based on an anon request I got. A particular detail made me uncomfortable, but otherwise the concept was solid. If you want elaboration on my feelings on that, you can ask, but I don't wanna bog down the story with that ramble ^,....,^'

A wereboar discovers a human living beneath their floorboards. This person is in exile and being hunted; to make matters worse a very tough person is hunting this human. The good natured wereboar decides to help the human evade capture.

Content: soft, safe protection vore, panicking prey, willing human prey, boar-human hybrid pred, belly bulge, fearplay, threat/false claim of digestion, regurgitation, comfort afterward

Tuki walked up their front steps, feeling the familiar creak of boards beneath their feet. The bungalow stood alone in a woodland clearing, the perfect place for someone like Tuki to live. Isolated, yet close enough to civilization to get the supplies they needed.

Once inside they let their loaded sack fall to the floor. They knelt and began going through it, sorting the things within; food went to one side while fabric went to the other. Behind them, they heard a rustling noise. Very slowly they stopped rifling through the bag and listened. Their nose twitched and they snuffled curiously while slowly turning their head.

Something was scraping against a floorboard over there. Had to be big, a rat wouldn't sound like that. Maybe a raccoon? Looking around, Tuki could see one of the cabinet doors was open in the kitchen. That little thief!

The homeowner crept across the floor as quietly as they could. Unfortunately, stealth was not their strong suit. Their weight made the floorboards groan with every step.

The rustling went quiet. Tuki bent low and sniffed at the floorboards with little grunts. They had to be getting close. The scent of some creature wafted up; it didn't smell like racoon.

"Hey!" They called gruffly, "Get out here you vermin!"

A soft whimper and hasty scrabbling from below the floor was the only response. Tuki growled and leapt to their feet. In a flash they were out the door and scrambling under the cabin. Leaf litter and dirt kicked up as the creature tried to hurry away. Tuki crawled on their belly, moving arm over arm with surprising speed thanks to bulky muscles.

As the creature became silhouetted by the daylight on the far side of the cabin, its pursuer frowned. That almost looked like a person… 

Tuki stopped and called, "Hey! I won't hurt you. Wait!"

It froze. They could see a head swivel and bob while it tried to get a look at them. They approached slowly.

The creature backed out from under the house, sunlight revealing its form. It was a human! Mud streaked their ashen face and twigs stuck from their unkempt hair at odd angles. They kept taking steps backwards, eyes trained on the crevice where Tuki would emerge.

By the time they were free to stand, the human was halfway to the tree line. They brushed themselves off and stood by the back of the house, "Hey! I said I wouldn't hurt you. You look like you could use some help. I- well I don't like that you stole some food, but you clearly need it. Come inside and I'll help you."

The frail person tilted their head one way, then the other. Big, dark eyes glittered as they considered the offer. They seemed human, but right now they reminded Tuki more of a yearling doe. 

Tuki held out their hand, "Come here! I promise it'll be okay."

They blinked, then approached. Tuki let their arm fall and turned towards the front of the house. They didn't need to look back to sense that the bedraggled human was following a short distance behind.

Inside Tuki was able to heat some water so they could bathe. While they did, the host picked out some of their own clothes that might fit. An oversized shirt made a dress-length tunic for the human. Then they set to cooking up some warm food; they could tell it would do them good.

Over the meal, Tuki managed to gather that his name was Lark, and he was hiding from someone. He was vague about that, as if worried Tuki would change their mind about being so hospitable if they knew. Sensing the reluctance, they didn't press the matter. 

After even this small bit of care, Lark was looking much better than he had been. His cheeks had a warm, healthy glow, and his hair was hanging in loose curls just above his shoulders. He looked a little silly in the large shirt, but at least it was soft and clean.

A loud knock at the door rang through the cabin. Lark jumped and spilled the soup he had been sipping from a bowl. His eyes were wide with alarm, and suddenly his whole body shook.

Tuki stood to answer the door but he darted over and grabbed at their arm. "No! Don't!" He hissed, looking up with pleading eyes.

They frowned down at him, "Why not?"

"They're here for me; they'll hurt me. You gotta hide me somewhere- somewhere they won't find me!"

Their frown deepened and they cast a worried glance around the simple dwelling. The only room besides the main area was their bed and bath room, but that didn't exactly have any hiding places. If he could get back under the floor, then maybe- 

Another flurry of knocks rapped at the door. This time it was accompanied by a warning voice, "Whoever is in there, open up or I'll have to come in myself!"

Lark trembled and clung to Tuki's arm. His wordless plea was all across his face. Their face softened and they whispered, "Do you trust me?"

"I- what? I have to; if you have a plan, then do it!"

Tuki nodded and gently removed him from their arm. The human watched with a creeping dread as before his very eyes his host's shape shifted. Their face elongated, sharp tucks sprouting from between their lips. Their stubble lengthened and hair thinned, becoming thick bristles. Ears lengthened and flopped, and their form filled out their shirt better.

Beady black eyes full of concern gazed at Lark from that monstrous face. His host wasn't human; they were a were-boar! 

He sucked in a shaky breath and fought the urge to turn and run. Filled with desperation, he knew flight was not an option.

He squeaked as their powerful hands grabbed his slight shoulders and lifted him. His feet reflexively kicked a little as they left the floor. Their jaws opened wide, saliva hanging in thick strands that trembled with their hot breath. The humid air washed over his face as he screwed his eyes shut. Terror pricked at his belly and sent his heart racing as he felt a slobbery tongue rise up to greet his face.

Their maw shut around his head and shoulders gently. Even if he wanted to cry out, he couldn't, smothered by wet flesh as they crammed his head down their throat. They swallowed; it was a sickening feeling to have those powerful muscles constrict around him.

He could hardly feel their hands grasp his hips now and heave him deeper in. His legs kicked wildly and he fought for air through the panic and slime. His whole body became completely enveloped in rippling muscle and coated in saliva as he slid downward.

Tuki wiped their mouth with the back of a hairy hand while the other slid down to support their swelling belly. They felt their gut stretch as their hastily gobbled prey slid down and was forced to curl. Their stomach walls were taut and smooth around Lark's quivering form. The bulge of their belly strained against their shirt, making it ride up a little. It wasn't very inconspicuous, but it would have to do. 

They plodded over to the door just as whoever was outside turned the handle. The door swung inward to reveal the would-be intruder, a hulking man carrying a baton in one hand and clutching the short leash of a massive dog in the other. The beast snarled and snapped at Tuki, but they held their ground. The man looked surprised, but a snear took over, "There you are, you dumb brute! You couldn't hear me knocking?"

Armed and with that vicious dog, Tuki knew they couldn't fight. Especially stuffed full like this. They would have to talk their way through this. "I could," they said crossly, "but I was finishing my dinner when you so rudely interrupted."

"I have important business, more important than you stuffing your face, pig."

Tuki narrowed their eyes, "What is it then?"

"I'm on the trail of a dangerous fugitive who is an enemy of the state." At that Lark squirmed inside their belly nervously, but went still as the man continued, "I tracked him here, intending to apprehend him so he can be exiled permanently."

The dog was straining against its tether, sniffing with interest at the threshold. Its master didn't spare it a glance, stone-cold eyes fixed on Tuki and club raised menacingly. They replied, "Well I haven't come across anyone dangerous." 

"He's a sly curr, might not seem dangerous. Have you seen any strangers around here? Heard anything odd?"

"Hmmmm," Tuki said, weighing their options. They scratched at their belly, drawing up the shirt to reveal the rounded bulge sagging over the waist of their pants. "There was this one little fella, big doe eyes. He stole some food from me," the anxious squirms started up again, making their protruding gut wiggle. "So I ate him instead!"

"You what?" The man snarled. Slowly his gaze drifted down to their taut stomach, and horror crept into his eyes at seeing it move. He looked back at Tuki with disgust, "You ate a man?"

"Hardly a man," they shrugged, "More of a vermin. I'm not too picky though," they said with a smirk.

Seemingly at a loss for words, he just gaped at the wereboars belly for a while. Then he looked past them, into the house, "I'm going to have a look around, just in case." 

"You won't find much," Tuki gloated, patting their belly. A burp rumbled up and escaped loudly. The dog sniffed the air then bayed and reared up to investigate their snout. They laughed and the man dragged it away and into the house by its leash.

Tuki kept a wary eye on the two invaders while they leaned against the threshold. Lark still hadn't settled down, his body writhing within the flexible limits of the stomach. Little muffled grunts could barely be heard above the gurgling fluids shifting around him.

The dog barked with savage excitement as it found Lark's dirty clothes. The wash water had already been drained away, leaving little explanation. The man hooked the tattered clothes with a finger and brought them to Tuki, "Whats this? Is it yours?"

"No, you're welcome to it. I took those filthy rags off that human before I devoured him. I have some standards," they huffed. 

The man eyed their still moving gut, "You ate him alive?"

"Of course! Killing is so messy, I don't like to do it in the house. Besides," they leaned in with a ghoulish grin, "I like to feel them squirm as I digest."

Lark flailed as best he could within the cramped confines, but the real reward was the brief widening of the intruder's eyes at that comment. He scowled, "Can't you spit him up? I have a job to do."

Offended, Tuki leaned back, "What? And waste a perfectly good meal? No, you were too slow. He's mine now. Besides, it's not like he's going anywhere. Just tell your master you did it; how're they gonna know any different?"

He considered, then trudged past the wereboar, hauling his dog along, "Fine. But if I get in trouble, don't think I won't send someone after your hide too!" 

"I expect nothing less from a scoundrel like you."

He froze and clenched his cudgel. Tuki dearly hoped he wouldn't try to use it. Thankfully, that was the case, and he stomped off without another word.

Tuki shut the door and locked the bolt into place, just in case. They went over to their chair and sat down heavily. Their belly bumped against their legs as Lark continued to wriggle frantically. His whining could be heard by Tuki, and their heart lurched. The poor creature must be terrified. If only they had had more time to explain.

They got up and hurried to get a towel, then went to their bedroom and stood infront of the bed. They heaved, and with great effort Lark slid up and out of their stomach. He landed on the towel laid out to catch him and lay there shivering. Before he could scramble away, Tuki shifted back to their human form and bundled him up in the towel. He fought against the warm folds of cloth weakly before realizing he wasn't in danger. The wereboar sat on the bed and cradled the swaddled human in their lap, using a corner of the towel to wipe his face and hair. 

He looked up with wide, tearful eyes, "You…." He couldn't find the words.

They hugged him tightly then gave an apologetic stare, "You're quite the mess, again. I didn't know what else to do. He would've found you if I hadn't-"

He cut them off, "I know. I know. It's just- the things you said, they were terrifying. Especially from, well, in there," his eyes flicked meaningfully to their belly.

They nodded and continued to clean him up carefully. He relaxed into their hold, inhaling the fresh air deeply.

Neither of them spoke. Both of their minds independently wandered to the same, simple question: what next? Neither of them had the answer right now.

[tsuki-chibi]

Post-Reveal Revelry Day 22: Glass

Read them all on AO3

—-

“So what is this exactly?” Chloé said dubiously, looking around at the collection of booths in the park.

“It’s a craft fair!” Marinette said brightly, seemingly immune to Chloé’s skepticism. “I can’t believe you and Adrien have never been to one before.”

“Just a coincidence, I guess,” Adrien said, exchanging a look with Chloé. He thought that the craft fair sounded like fun, and it was definitely right up Marinette’s alley, but he didn’t think his father would’ve been thrilled to know that Adrien was here. Gabriel tended to look down on homemade crafts unless they were from someone as naturally talented as Marinette.

“Well, you’re both going to love it,” Marinette said determinedly, linking her arms through Adrien’s left arm and Chloé’s right arm. She pulled them along with her before Adrien or Chloé had the chance to say anything, dragging them right up to the first booth.

Adrien looked at the collection that the booth was offering, realizing that it was a selection of scarves and other knitted products – or maybe it was crochet. He couldn’t tell. But what he did know was that none of the available stuff could even hold a candle to what Marinette was capable of. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chloé opening her mouth and stepped around Marinette to jab Chloé in the ribs.

“Ow,” Chloé said, pouting at him. Adrien just rolled his eyes back at her and then jerked his chin towards the person manning the booth. They were involved in a conversation with Marinette already, but that didn’t mean they’d be deaf to what Chloé had to say.

“Come on. Marinette is going to be a while,” he said, recognizing the signs of Marinette settling in for a good long chat. The craft terms being tossed around right now were going way over Adrien’s head. He and Chloé could keep walking around while she was talking, and then Marinette could catch up with them when she was done.

“Oh fine,” Chloé said, falling into step beside him. “What do you want to look at then?”

“Umm…” Adrien looked around, searching for a booth to hold their interest, and smiled when he saw just the right one. “Hey, look. They’re selling merchandise of the Miraculous team.”

“What?!” Chloé’s head whipped around. Her eyes lit up with excitement when she saw that there was some Queen Bee merchandise available, and for the second time that day Adrien found himself being dragged around by a girl. But that was okay. He was just as excited to see the Chat Noir merchandise.

“Oh my god, look at this one!” He pointed to a figure of Chat Noir right in the middle of use Cataclysm. The effect of Cataclysm had been recreated using some kind of black glass that glittered in the light. It looked really cool.

“You should buy it,” Chloé said. She was holding a fat pillow shaped like a bee and a small keychain shaped like an exaggerated version of Queen Bee. Adrien was also surprised to see her holding similar keychains of Ladybug, Chat Noir, Carapace, and Rena Rouge. He looked at them questioningly.

“You’re getting all five?”

Chloé’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “Lahiffe and Césaire couldn’t come,” she said stiffly. “And it’s only for one day, so…”

Growth! Adrien wanted to hug her, but he decided that doing so would probably embarrass her. So he just nodded and said, “And who is the Chat Noir one for?” He gave her his best set of cute kitty begging eyes.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Chloé said teasingly, because she was more immune to the kitty eyes than Marinette was. “Maybe Marinette would like it.”

It was Adrien’s turn to blush, but he recovered quickly. “Does that mean I can have the Ladybug one then?”

“Pfft, no way. The Ladybug one is mine,” Chloé said.

Adrien pouted. “Mean! Is there another one?”

“Nope. It’s the last one.” She grinned and stuck out a finger, letting the keychain dangle from her finger tauntingly. Adrien tried to grab it and she laughed and pulled away just in time.

“Chloé!” he whined.

“Sorry, Adrikins. Gotta be faster than that. Maybe if you pay for me, I’ll think about sharing.” She stuck her tongue out from a couple feet away.

Adrien sighed but nodded because the keychain really was cute, and took his wallet out. “Fine. You drive a hard bargain, but you win.”

“Excellent! Then you should totally buy that Chat Noir figure out were looking at and the matching Ladybug one,” Chloé said, appearing back at his side as though by magic.

Matching Ladybug?!

Adrien took it back. Chloé wasn’t mean. She was a genius.

[danddymaro]

Meetings Under The Moonlight | Byakuya Kuchiki x Reader

A/N : Just a little idea that I've had. It wont be long though, and will continue family bullshit because I like nonsensical drama.

- This piece includes two parts

Word Count : 957

Meetings Under The Moonlight

She stared up at the raven-haired noble through half-lidded (e/c) colored eyes. 

Glittering with an undine love, they focused on him and his entire physique, admiring him wholeheartedly as though it was her last and only chance to capture the sight of him. And while he'd always been beautiful in her eyes, he held a more sensuous radiance that night, as though there were something special during this particular meeting.

During then, he stared down at her, the familiar impassive glance that was always shot towards the rest of the world somewhat slacked. And to her, he seemed almost content, and in a sense, at peace, something she liked to believe within the furthest depths of her being was just because of her.

‘ Byakuya,' she thought with a soft smile, one that held the lightest touch of sorrow that was well hidden to hide her internal torment, because she just couldn't let him see even the slightest bit of her true heart. 

Because when he did, she knew it would all be over. 

If he truly grasped as to how much she truly felt for him then perhaps it would all end, whether it was because of guilt, or the burden of her asking him for more, he would make sure to cut her off completely.

All in all, she was certain that she could never hope for more.

Through her dark, wet lashes she couldn't help but admire the beautiful man, relishing in the thought that for just that moment she was above anything else to him.

For just that moment, he let go of the obligations and order that made him so ridged.

Spellbound, she gazed at him with eyes that didn't stray, capturing his very image with a mind that would never forget, even if, somehow, the beautiful moment, one day, turned bitter.

As her back touched the cold floor, she closed her (e/c) colored eyes, her low breaths extended into long huffs that were on the brim of fulfillment.

And as he came closer,  she clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, hiding her nose within a silken curtain of sable, breathing in the intoxicating fragrance with ecstasy, inhaling in the sweet smell of his milky neck.

The faint blossom color that bloomed over his cheeks glowed of not embarrassment, but of arousal, that much was clear by the seductive, certain way his fingers grazed over her sensitive womanhood.  

She suddenly cried out as his long, elegant fingers lightly touched her, grazing her in a way that was teasing and ghosting, almost as though to remind her that while he was there, the true touch of his full affection was not.

"Byakuya," She muttered softly, her words barely above a whisper, hardly even constituting as eligible speak with how airy her voice had gone.

Perhaps it was the way that he sweetly touched her that made her melt so much, or maybe it was the fact that during those meetings, she could refer to him as his actual name and not any of his titles.

On that night there were many factors that played that left her bare, vulnerable enough to let slip something she hadn’t, 

"Byakuya..." she said again, repeating his name with bliss, " I love you..." she whispered against his skin, her warm breath fanning over his perspiring skin like the soft summer breeze.

At the admittance, rather than offering her a response formed with words, he claimed her lips again, and as he did he let the moment last longer.

 He then drew back almost hesitantly, all while never tearing his midnight-toned eyes from her glittering ( e/c) ones.

' If this night could be more perfect.' She started absentmindedly, ' I would wake up right next to you the following morning.' She added while weaving her fingers through his silken strands of ink.

By then his hands were on either side of her head while his piercing gaze remained unmoved, focused on her expressive face, particularly her (e/c) colored orbs.

His body then jerked forward, drawing a long pleasured mewl from her, filling the night with lustful sounds that replaced her sweet breaths and honeyed voice.

The dark-haired man then threw his head back, letting a low groan slip past him as his hands found their way to her hips. 

Possessively, they dug their nails into her, quickly drawing small, crescent indents into the (s/c) colored flesh as he delivered one, final push full of force and aggression.

There was then a moment of stillness, one that was filled with only panting breaths that slowly steadied as they gently fell back from their floating cloud of bliss.

It wasn’t long before she felt his hold loosen, and by then she knew their moment together was over. 

Afterward, he was as silent as always, and without a word, or so much as a single utter that could be mistaken as a hum of acknowledgment, he left. 

And she expected nothing more, already knowing the routine. However, in spite of all the anticipated disappointment, there existed a part of her that yearned for change. 

It hoped that one day he'd at the very least, turn back to look at her.

As time progressed she was certain he'd returned to his home, leaving her lonesome, left with nothing but the smell of him stuck on her clothing, melted onto her skin, and burned into her memory.

"If the night could be more perfect..." She started, lowly murmuring the words as she stared out into the outside world,  

"You'd stay..." she breathed, finally able to release the pitiful tears that had been held throughout their moment together and that she only had the courage to release once he was far gone.

Far off to the corner of her eye, she saw a bright luminescence. 

The sharp crescent in the sky glowed, smiling down at her with kindness, and perhaps pity as well because if anyone knew the man better, it was the forlorn moon. 

─────────────────────────────

- Let’s give this a bit more time, shall we?

A/N: This is after a time skip

Word Count : 903

Includes some Kisuke x Reader (But it’s truly platonic and just something sweet.)

Waiting beneath the same night

She touched her swollen belly with a tender hand, and during then nothing but a soft hum sounded from her. 

Looking up at the illuminated moon, she couldn't help but let stray tears fall from her glowing cheeks,

 ‘I would start off and ask how you are... But I know already.’ She started as a bitter smile rose.

‘ Right now you're sitting alone in your office, working relentlessly…

You're working, no doubt not missing any bit of me.

Working, fulfilling your duties, duties much more important than I could ever be.

Duties which make you unattainable...’

She continued before A shallow breath left her. 

 The soft, melodic tune she'd mindlessly conjured was then interrupted, and she gritted her teeth, holding back what would have been a heavy, choked sob that threatened to break through the tranquility of the night. 

Forcibly swallowing it down, she sniffled instead, choosing to incline her head back whilst closing her eyes, hoping to hold back any escaping tears.

‘ I can never stop thinking of you…’ She admitted with lament, ‘And it breaks me,’ She confessed.

‘Because I know you’ve lived your life well off without me...because let’s face it, 

This was no doubt what you wanted.’

She thought with resentment, only imagining the relief that the captain felt after she'd departed and found refuge in the world of the living.

‘The only one ever in love was me,

The only one of us that ever convinced themselves that it could have been anything more...was me.’

“ Byakuya Kuchiki... How I despise you,”  She susurrated, knowing fully well that while her words could, from time to time hold venom, they lacked certainty.

Otherwise, she wouldn't wait for him. 

Because, if it were any different, she wouldn't stare up at the dark sky, speaking to every face the moon had, hoping that during one of those conversations he'd step forward.

Gently, he'd caress her face before falling in. 

Afterward, he’d whisk her away, beneath the same moonlight they’d kissed, beneath the same lonely night they’d always lay together, he'd find her and bring her close.

And it was all she needed because she didn't ask for much but the simple admittance that she meant something more to him.

'Just coming here. Just searching for me.' She started, 'Byakuya, simply missing me would be enough,' She thought pitifully, well aware that she should ask for so much more out of someone she would be willing to give the world to. 

'I just need to know I fit somewhere in your heart,' she thought with sadness.

“ - I see you're out here again,” said a cheery voice, one that was very familiar to her, and had been something of comfort throughout the last few months.

Her (e/c) colored eyes then made way to the silhouette and recognized the former captain who hadn’t changed since his days in the soul society, and who remained the same man afterward.

 “ Kisuke,”  (f/n) said softly, hiding her wet face beneath the curtain of her loosely flowing hair that had been rustled through her sleepless turning.

He sat next to her and grinned down at her with a cheeky smile, seemingly ignoring her expression that was filled with melancholy, instead, offering his same playful and uplifting mood without a falter, 

“ Come now, you're too cute to be making that face again, “ he said while addressing the crestfallen look he knew was adorning her, because he knew why she came out, and especially why she stared up at the night sky so much.

"It's lovely isn't it?" He asked her,  encouraging a smile with his own. 

Looking away, she let an involuntary smile escape her as she nodded her head, 

“It always is,” she answered back, wholeheartedly believing it. 

'And it stings,' She inwardly added.

He took a quick glance towards her face, catching the sight of the glistening tears before watching as she whipped them away. 

A placid smile was then over her lovely lips, and with sympathetic hazel eyes,  he watched her lean her head onto his shoulder.

"That's why I stay out here," she lied, not knowing why she bothered to put up a front because she knew it wasn't convincing, especially not for a man as observant as he was.

"I know," he said back, "I just wish that you'd ask for company. You know I wouldn't mind," he said with sincerity, being true when he said he wouldn't be bothered by it if she asked.

"I know..." she said back, "Next time, I will." (f/n) muttered back to him. 

Quietly, he looked up at the sight she held dear, and while he did so he felt her tired body slump, absentmindedly smiling at how precious she was.

‘I know that tomorrow you'll be out here again,’ He thought to himself, recognizing it was all just routine. 'You'll be out here all alone,' he added with a touch of gloom, wishing she would just share a fraction of her lamenting with him because in her state it wasn't healthy.

 ‘And I guess I have no choice,' he thought with an inaudible sigh, ‘I'll have to do this again, at least until it breaks... until you just let someone in. ' He added while moving slowly.

He moved gingerly, careful not to disturb her as he cradled her. 

He then carried her, being careful as he moved her back into her room, leaving her there once he left her one last look of sympathy.

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 57 (Final)

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You find your relic.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You’d only been to the ancient Sanctum a few times, with strict access to the library for your studies and nowhere else, and normally you would be excited to visit the unofficial headquarters of the Mystic Arts.

But now, as you followed Wong to the room of portals that would lead to the Nepal sanctum, your stomach twisted and your heart raced. You couldn’t even enjoy the fact this was where Strange had gone on his near-disastrous pilgrimage. The idea of the Ancient One kicking him out on his ass was an entertaining one, though you were still glad she eventually trained him. As irritated as you were about a lot of things regarding the former surgeon, he and Wong both had taught you nearly everything you knew.

Plus, you’d seen the scars on his hands. As arrogant and egotistical as he appeared, Strange had suffered to get where he was. Not unlike yourself. Not unlike Bucky.

The Orb of Agamotto hung within the circular room where other sorcerers consulted with it, verifying that the magical Earthly shields were still intact. Past them were three doors leading to the other sanctums, including the one in Kathmandu.

You and Bucky followed Wong through, the familiar feeling of displacement shifting your stomach and throwing you off balance for a moment. Neither Wong nor Bucky were as unsteady as you were. It had been something you were embarrassed about, but according to Strange during one of your lessons, it simply meant you were more sensitive to spatial displacement.

As Wong led you both through the ancient stone hallways, past the commons where other sorcerers were in training, doubt crept along your nerves. Someday, possibly sooner than you were prepared, all of these people were going to follow you. Look to you for guidance, for teaching. For protection.

How were you supposed to become the next Ancient One if you couldn’t even walk through a portal without getting dizzy?

This wasn’t going to work. The idea was crazy enough to begin with. The Ancient One had to be wrong. You were going to step into her office and nothing would happen. You would make a fool of yourself; you weren’t any more talented or skilled than any other sorcerer. Just half a year ago, you’d had no idea demons and magic were even real.

And now, you were expected to carry on the mantle as one of the most powerful sorcerers on Earth? How was that even possible? How could you ever be worthy enough to—

Wong opened a door using a complicated series of hand gestures, and as soon as you stepped through, your panicked mind fell silent. Energy thrummed along your skin, setting the hairs upright.

“Here it is.”

Wong’s announcement was unnecessary; you would know this place in your dreams, even though you had never been.

It was a simple room with a single large, circular window pointed towards the mountains over the city. Potted plants perched on most available surfaces that weren’t covered with books, scrolls, and odd knickknacks.

There was only a single writing desk pushed to the side, humble and unobtrusive. The rest of the room was empty space with a single well-worn green rug in the middle. But the plants made everything seem alive and verdant. It felt very much like a place the Ancient One would spend her time. It was a reflection of her, in a way. Quiet, but hidden with secret truths.

“Take a look around,” Wong said, but you were already moving. Slowly and with intense focus, you circled the room, reaching out and feeling, not with your hands but with your mind.

Odd and powerful energy pervaded the room, muted by spells but still apparent to you. They were coming from the artifacts that were laid out, seemingly casually, on the shelves and desks.

Most of them seemed as plain and unimportant as the room itself. A cracked vase with the lip stained red. A golden helmet that was varnished and faded, but two glittering horns jutted from the temples. A knobby staff with a smooth, grey stone fixed at one end, as modest as any walking stick except for the melodic hum that emanated from the stone. You had a feeling neither Wong nor Bucky could hear it.

But despite all the weird, wonderful oddities in your reach, you were drawn elsewhere. You approached one corner of the room where lay a pile of old scrolls and their cloth wrappings, and moved them aside with care to reveal what was hidden underneath.

It was a sword hilt. Just the hilt. There was no blade, not even a piece of broken metal. The metal was dulled with time and flaked with rust, the pommel grey and dirty.

You reached out and hesitated. Fingertips inches away, something stopped you. The knowledge that once you took hold of the relic, everything would change.

You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky.

He was watching you with close attention, as was Wong, but when he caught your eye he gave a small smile of encouragement. He supported you, even though he had to know what this meant, or at least had a good idea of it.

Not every sorcerer found their relic within the Ancient One’s study.

Comfort and warmth, so strong it could only be described as love, flooded across the bond and washed away your fears. You returned his smile, even if it was shaky, and you held on to that feeling as you turned back to the hilt.

You closed the distance, wrapped your fingers around the relic, and lifted it.

It was surprisingly heavy; that was your only observation before it began. The hilt thrummed in your palm, vibrating so fast you nearly dropped it.

The rust flaked away from the metal, leaving it polished and silver. The grey pommel was shaken of its dirt, and you realized it was white bone, the metal wrapping around it to form the grip and crossguard.

The thrumming didn’t stop, but you couldn’t let go even if you wanted to. Your fingers seized around the metal, energy teeming up your hand and arm. When it reached your right shoulder, all the way up to your pentagram, the sigil burned in a way it hadn’t done since the ritual.

Bucky must have sensed your panic because he rushed forward, but you backed away from him fast, instinct screaming at you to put a safe distance between you now.

It was a good thing you had; the energy from your sigil exploded down your arm, through your hand, and into the hilt. A burst of red light shot outward, forcing you to turn away from the blinding beam.

When the light dimmed and you could see again, blinking away the after images, you stared at the sword. That’s what it was now. A glowing red blade, seemingly made entirely of light. The energy that came from it was purely of the demon realm, scorching and sulfuric.

“What…” You choked the words past your dry throat. “What is this?”

There were only a handful of times you’d ever seen Wong shocked. So, that was three powerful sorcerers you’d rendered speechless in the span of a day.

“The blade of Hell, or so it is spoken. None in the history of the order had been able to unlock its powers, rendering it anything more than a broken hilt.” He leveled you with a somber stare. “It is called Daemonio Vexatur. Which means—“

“—to become a demon.”

Wong raised a brow.

“Rough translation, but yes.”

“So, it’s a demon sword?” asked Bucky, eyeing the glowing blade. He was understandably wary, and honestly, was accepting what was happening better than you were. You were still stuck on the fact that you were holding a glowing-freaking-sword in your hand.

“Yes. And no,” Wong said in traditional teaching-fashion. “A demon cannot wield it, but it takes demonic energy to power.”

“Oh. So that’s why my sigil and my entire arm feel like they’re on fire.”

Bucky’s mouth opened and he took a step forward, protectiveness sizzling along the bond, and you gave him a hurried smile.

“Kidding. Sort of.” You smiled wider through your clenched teeth. “It is really uncomfortable.”

Bucky’s dark look told you he didn’t believe you, and with what you imagined was coming from your end of the bond, you didn’t blame him. Holding the sword was like holding on to a live wire that was also burning. There was a molten jolt connecting the hilt to your sigil, and you were just hoping to not get incinerated in the process.

And just like that, the connection was gone, and the relief of your arm no longer being on fire was dimmed by the disappointment as the sword was extinguished, leaving nothing more than a gleaming hilt.

“What happened?” You frowned, eyeing the relic as if searching for an on switch.

“It will take time and training to effectively control your relic.”

“How long?” You looked up when Wong didn’t answer immediately, catching the serious dent in his brow.

“It’s hard to say. No one in living memory has wielded the blade, and it was believed no one ever would.”

Wong gave a heavy sigh.

“So of course, you would be the one to wield it.”

You returned your gaze to the relic and turned over the hilt in your hand, admiring the metal and bone. You wondered if the bone was from a demon, a safe bet considering.

“So.” You carefully put down the hilt and turned to give Bucky your best serious face. “How does it feel to have a wizard girlfriend with a lightsaber?”

Wong rolled his eyes. He knew you well enough by now to know what you were doing, but he didn’t comment on your attempts to over your fear with humor. He muttered something about reporting to Strange as he left the office.

But Bucky…

Worry and fondness conflicted across the bond, struggling to coexist. He stepped forward, the green cloth tunic he’d found in one of the drawers of your room stretched unfairly tight across his chest. It was the largest he could find in a hurry, and it was nearly enough to distract you from your own anxieties.

“I think…” Bucky wrapped his arm around you, drawing you into an embrace that you melted into easily. “That I’m scared for you. I’m confused as hell what this means, and I’m guessing this isn’t going to make your life any easier or less complicated. But… I’m also proud of you.”

You could sense the pride easily, but Bucky was trying to bury the fear that was close to terror. He truly was scared of what this meant. You were too, and the Ancient One’s words weighed heavily on your shoulders.

There was a questioning feeling tugging at your thoughts, and you remembered too late that Bucky could sense the same anxiety, even if he didn’t have all the details. So you smoothed out your tumultuous thoughts and covered them the best way you knew how.

“You say that to all the wizard girlfriends.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“That is what swords do.”

Bucky pulled back far enough to stare at you with narrowed eyes, but when he touched his horns to yours it was with such gentleness that you nearly forgot to breathe. But breathe you did, drinking in his familiar, soothing scent and allowed the tension to drain from your muscle.

“We should head back.” Bucky said after a moment of intimate, comfortable silence in which you finally relaxed. “Got a bastard to catch.”

You reluctantly let go first, knowing he was right and you couldn’t stay here forever. Turning toward the sword hilt, you reached for it and paused. You took a small detour and picked up an old, ratty cloth nearby and carefully wrapped the relic within. Until you had a better grasp of how to wield the sword, it was probably a wiser idea to not handle it directly. You had no idea if it was sentient like Strange’s cloak, and it would be better not to accidentally set it off. Slicing off your own leg was a poor way to convince anyone that you were the next Ancient One.

On your journey back down the halls toward the portal door, Bucky said, “So… what are you going to name it?”

He smiled at your sideways glance.

“All cool swords get a name. It’s kind of a universal rule.”

Maybe you didn’t know Bucky as well as you thought you did, because you had no idea he was such a damn nerd.

“Yeah? You’ll have to bestow all your sword knowledge on me.”

“Is that a sexual innuendo?”

“It is now.”

Bucky’s smile died on his lips when you were no longer at his side. He paused and looked back where you had stopped at the threshold to the portal room.

“What if I can’t do this?” The doorway before you was no longer just a doorway. It was an insurmountable hurdle, and your feet wouldn’t budge from the floor. “What if I fail?”

Bucky approached slow and steady, his expression gentle and fond.

“You won’t. You’re too stubborn to fail.” A warm hand softly cupped your cheek, his human one, and you leaned into it. He laughed silently at your predictable need to be touched, but his expression faded into something more serious. “But on the very slim chance you do, then you get back up and you start again. Just as you always have.”

Your stomach fell. Bucky couldn’t understand what failure meant in your case. You didn’t even know what it meant, but you could guess. If you failed to be the Ancient One everyone needed… then there might not be any second chances.

Bucky wrapped you in his arms one more time, undoubtedly sensing his words of encouragement hadn’t hit as effectively as he’d wanted.

“Whatever this means, you finding that relic… Whatever happens when we find Zemo...” Bucky’s voice was deep in his chest, a rumbling sound that never failed to comfort you. “I’ll be here.”

You returned his embrace, gripping him tightly as you pressed your cheek against his chest.

“I know.”

And you did, too. Bucky would be there for you. Not because he was compelled to be, and not out of a sense of duty or guilt to protect you. He would be by your side by choice.

And that fact made Zemo’s escape, the Ancient One’s words, and your own self-doubt a little easier to bear. Because you and Bucky would weather it.

Together.

“When wounds are healed by love, the scars are beautiful.” –David Bowles