#love triangle but make it like a tent

[vivienvalentino]

SCREAM 1996, dir. Wes Craven

[tomasweetheart]

FAVORITE ࿔*:･ﾟ

꒰ m. osamu x gn!reader ꒱

° sypnosis: what's osamu's favorite food?

° warning: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!, post-timeskip, it's gender neutral but reader has a vagina, cursing, osamu calls reader: sweet thing, pretty & baby, oral (reader receiving), munch!osamu, cunnilingus, slight overstim at the end

° notes: DON'T LOOK AT MEEEEE!!!!!

Osamu swears up and down that he does not have a favorite food.

They are all equally delicious to him, every bite of every dish he tastes dances on his tongue with a new partner each time. Whether it be an elegant waltz from the caviar served at his brother's wedding, a playful jig from a bite from the plastic dish of dippin’ dots he got for nostalgia’s sake or the quick-paced two-step from the baked mac ‘nd cheese his Ma makes for every family picnic. It’s baffling that anyone would ever expect him to pick a favorite.

This is the socially acceptable answer. This is what he tells Atsumu when he asks for reference. This is what he tells his customers if they even suggest that onigiri is his favorite. This is his go to, but the truth?

Osamu’s favorite food is the one buried deep between the apex of your thighs. 

Just like every good dish, this one has to be prepared with love and care. It starts off tender, it always does with him. Slow, messy, desperate kisses with gentle nips at your bottom lip. His hands graze up and down your sides, before ultimately landing on your hips with a soft squeeze. Your skin feels so warm, so plush and right against the skin of his own hands. Rough from volleyball, fights with Tsumu and endless days molding his rice into perfect triangles. 

His lips move down, pressing messy open-mouth kisses against your jaw. Stopping at the junction that connects your jaw to your neck, sucking a deep hickey before continuing his journey. His hands travel up your shirt, but that’s as far as they go. He’s not wasting time, not tonight. That’s not what he’s hungry for. 

He’ll nip, and suck, and bite, and kiss until you’re writhing beneath him. Not even undressed yet, but somehow you can feel him on every inch of your bare skin. He’s got you right where he wants you. 

Your skin feels so hot, you’re pulsing, throbbing with need. Your whines only spur him further as he lets out a low chuckle and a quick: “Patience sweet thing, I’m gettin’ there.” 

He fumbles with your jeans, he’s too eager now. Too impatient, he won’t wait for his food to cool down. He pulls them off with one swift movement, your underwear catching on the denim and sliding down with them. 

“You smell so fuckin’ good baby,” he purrs, his now swollen lips making quick with the way they kiss along your thighs, “Ma always told me to blow on my food if it was too hot though…” he smirks up at you, “...and I don’t wanna burn my tongue.”

He stops just short of your heat, his hand reaching out tentatively. With two fingers, he collects your slick before spreading apart your lips, putting you on full display for him. He’s practically drooling now, blowing a stream of hot air directly on your throbbing cunt, chuckling at the way you squirm from his action.

You’re cooled down enough.

Eagerly, almost animalistically, he flattens his tongue against your slit. Careful to avoid the bundle of nerves that begs for his attention so desperately. He’ll get there. He laps every inch of your folds, relishing in the way his head burns from how tightly you’re gripping his dark brown locks. His hands hold your thighs firmly in place, fingernails digging in the supple fat while he continues to eat you like a starved man.

The noises he makes are absolutely sinful. Audible slurps fill the room, his own drool coating your cunt while you plead for him to at least ghost over your clit with his mouth. But he has other plans.

He catches the bundle of nerves between his lips, and he moans, fucking moans in sync with you from your taste alone. He sucks, laps, slurps, fucking devours you whole like you’re his last meal and he’s a man on death row.

His pace doesn’t relent, he’s moaning into your pussy, he’s not even focused on himself. He’s lost, you have him hooked. He feels your thighs clamp down against his head, his tongue moves quicker inside of your tight hole before he retracts it and licks another long strip the whole way to your clit, sending you over the edge.

He gives you a moment, only a moment for you to catch your breath before he dives back in again. Laughing hoarsely against your core as you whine and try to push his head away from the overstimulation, but he won’t budge.

“Now pretty, quit squirmin’,” he groans, “I’m tryin’ ta get seconds of my favorite food.”

[moonstruckme]

hello mae! you said that you’re tentatively thinking about doing poly! jily? how about them x shy!reader who is used to spending holidays alone but now that she’s in a relationship, James and Lily wanna give her experiences of like carving pumpkins, baking cookies, or something like that.

just cute and domestic fall activities!! I hope that’s enough.

Thank you for requesting lovely!

poly!Jily x shy!reader ♡ 845 words

You smile, and James plants his lips on your cheek just before the flash. 

“Perfect,” Lily says while the camera whirs. She takes the photo it spits out, going to stow it in a shady corner of the porch. 

“Now one with you,” James urges. 

“No.” Lily waves him off as you second James’ request. “How would we get all of us and our pumpkins in it?” 

“James has long arms,” you say.

"Yeah, Evans." James grabs you roughly around the shoulders, making your face heat even as you smile. "I have long arms. Give it here."

After some debate Lily hands over the camera. James holds it out as far as he can, waiting until you’re all holding up your jack-o-lanterns before pressing the button. 

It goes beside the other photo, waiting for the film to develop. You know as soon as it does, both photos will be clustered in with the others on James and Lily’s fridge, held up by magnets beginning to lose their strength under the weight of so many. Lily has always liked to take pictures, and ever since you got together she’s been cramming ones of you into every empty space. This relationship is relatively new for you, and most days you’re still trying to figure out where you fit, but Lily and James do everything to make you feel welcome. In a million tiny ways, they show you all the time that they care just as much for you as they do for each other. 

James looks between your pumpkins pridefully. “Whose do we think turned out the best?” 

“Lily’s,” you say at the same time as Lily says, “Mine.” 

James’ mouth falls open. “Mine was good too!”

“Sorry, Jamie.” You give his shoulder a consoling pat. “Hers is just better.” 

The fact of the matter is, your girlfriend was simply patient where you and James were not. She outlined her jack-o-lantern’s face beforehand in marker, used a small knife to achieve the curvatures of one heart-shaped eye and one winking one, and took the time to make the edges of her cuts look nice and clean. James and you, however, tried to freehand things with much larger knives; it had not gone quite so well. 

“I think there should be points for creativity,” says James, frowning at his botched pumpkin. He’d tried to give it round eyes, and in the process accidentally cut more than he meant to. The result is jagged and vaguely upsetting, so eventually he decided it was an ill pumpkin and trailed its entrails out of its mouth so it looks like it’s vomiting pumpkin guts. 

“It was a very creative solution,” Lily tells James. And to you, “You did really well for your first time, too, sweetheart.” 

You snort. Yours is nearly as bad as James’. Both of your partners had to show you how to saw through the pumpkin flesh more than once to keep you from yanking the knife out and stabbing yourself. After many tutorials, you’d managed two triangle-shaped eyes, but the teeth you’d tried to put in your jack-o-lantern’s mouth had fallen out, so now it just looks like a rather simplistic, very upbeat face. 

“You did,” Lily insists, but she’s repressing a laugh too as she looks down at your pumpkin. “It’s cute.” 

“It looks like something a five-year-old could have done,” you acknowledge. 

“You and a five-year-old have about the same amount of experience carving pumpkins, so that’s not really so bad,” says James. He reaches for the polaroids Lily took. “Let’s see how these turned out.” 

“James Potter,” Lily’s voice goes sharp, “don’t you dare touch those with your slimy hands.” 

“Okay, alright.” James holds his hands up in the air. He stands instead, backing away slowly like Lily has him at gunpoint. “C’mon, lovie, let’s go fish the seeds out in the sink.” 

“What for?” you ask, following him as he carries your large bowl of pumpkin entrails inside. 

“If you separate the seeds and roast them, you can eat them.” James raises his eyebrows at you. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had pumpkin seeds before.” 

“Nope.” 

“Ugh. You poor, deprived girl.” James takes your face in his hands, and you smile despite the slick feeling of his pumpkin-y fingers on your cheeks. His eyebrows scrunch pityingly as he kisses above your nose. “We’ll right that wrong today, sweetheart, don’t you worry.” 

“You haven’t been missing out on much,” Lily says, slipping past the two of you with your photos. She wedges them underneath a magnet on the fridge. “It’s a lot of effort for a snack.” 

“She only says that because she can’t stand the guts,” James tells you conspiratorially. 

“Really?” You mash your hands into the stringy pumpkin bits. “I kind of like them.” 

Lily makes a face. “They’re all slimy and weird. And sticky.” 

“Wimp,” James teases. 

“You’ve just called them guts, James. In what world does that sound appealing?” 

“Angel,” James says in a quiet voice, “you’ll protect me, won’t you?” 

You frown at him. “Why?” 

He picks up a small mass of pumpkin guts and lobs it at your girlfriend. 

“James!”

[buckys-little-belle]

Hi!! I love your story’s and am always looking for little and daddy Bucky story’s!! I was wondering if you could do insecure reader who’s bigger. She has bigger thighs a bigger tummy and face. Could you do reader is scared to sit on buckys lap or for him to pick her up and carry her around the house. She’s too scared she’s heavy and will crush him and his legs. or that he will drop her because she’s too big. She also never cuddles and sleeps with him in his room always sleeping in her room after he puts her to bed because she’s scared about her breathing or how she sleeps.

Bucky gets her to tell him why and then comfort. Just fluff fluff fluff. If your not comfortable writing this I totally understand!!! If you do could you ad paci use? Thank you!!! Sorry for the rambling…

Strongest Man Alive

Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized!Little!Reader (She/Her Pronouns Used)

Notes - This is not my best work, and has been in my drafts for MONTHS, it's something cute, and a little angsty at the beginning, but it does get super fluffy at the end. It's a little bit different than my usual writting style, so I apologize for that, but I do hope you like it and if not I'm so sorry! I hope I did this ask justice, and I hope everyone is having a good week!!! <3

Warnings - Talks of reader being self conscious for being 'bigger', kept very vague as she uses the words "heavy" and "squishy" to describe her body type instead of more concrete descriptions, the use of a pacifier is very brief as it's something I'm not used to writing, though I would be willing to continue, mentions of reader eating food "snacks" and "sandwich" though never specified, FLUFF at the end, but there is a moment of angst, I DON'T KNOW IF THIS IS A COHEARANT STORY, it's from the drafts and I gave it a once over and I think it's 'good enough' so I apologize if it's terrible <3

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

. ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ .

Y/n often spent their time at the Avengers tower sitting, standing, lingering around Bucky Barnes. It wasn't on purpose, the man just seemed to be the other half of some magnet imbedded deep in Y/n's heart. He just had some ability to pull her towards him.

Maybe it was the way he cut her sandwiches into perfect triangles, or the way his hand always found hers when she got scared. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be reserved around anyone but her that made her feel so connected to him.

He never sulked but always seemed to walk around with a frown stuck on his face, only ever changing it to a smile when she walked by his office or stopped by his room.

As much as Y/n felt like she was pulled to him, Bucky felt it multiplied by 100. His hands always aching to hold hers, his chest always feeling heavy when he began to think about her needing something and him not being around to help her.

The whole tower knew about Y/n's regression. Wanda and Peter often joined in, hanging out in little space and colouring in books Tony had provided, watching whatever new animated movie had just come out and sleeping over in makeshift tents in the living room.

Often other Avengers would help supervise activities, Steve loved playing action fighters in the common areas, Nat loved cuddle puddle on the couch, and Thor was always ready for a park day. Bucky on the other hand liked to stay in the shadows, buying stickers for the group of littles, making them lunch and dropping it off.

Bucky only stuck around if Y/n asked him to hang out with her. "Bucky can you hold my hand?" She had asked him when at the park, he of course grabbed her hand and helped her up the jungle gym.

"Bucky can you open this please?" She had whispered during a movie, her baggie full of snacks too difficult to manage on her own. He opened the baggie and held it in his own grasp, handing her a piece of candy anytime she had finished the previous one.

"Bucky will you colour with me?" She had yelled her ask one day when he was passing by the kitchen, Y/n sat at the island with markers scattered across the marble. He silently sat down and diligently coloured the page she had given him, helping her chase markers that had fallen.

He knew she was comfortable asking for what she wanted, and he knew she wasn't afraid of him ... so, it made his chest tighten every time she asked him to grab something from the top shelf instead of asking to be lifted like Wanda and Peter often asked.

He also felt off every time a little would come running out of their room after a nightmare, rushing into someone's room for a cuddle, yet Y/n's door never opened and neither did his.

Bucky was sure it was his fault she didn't seek him out for cuddles, he thought he had done something wrong when she never asked for a hug. Was it his arm? Was she scared he would turn on her? He couldn't figure it out.

That is until he realised she never asked anyone for a cuddle, or a hug. Nat, Wanda, and Peter would be all comfy on the couch and Y/n would be sat on the chair, a small frown on her face yet she never tried to find a spot next to her friends. And when she scraped her knee on the playground she declined Thor's offer of a "healing" hug.

"Y/n?" His voice was quiet but direct as he called out into the playroom, Y/n sat on the softly coloured rug, her stuffed animals scattered about.

"Hi Bucky!" She smiled, her pacifier tumbling out of her mouth and onto the ground.

"Hi." He sat down across from her, quickly pocketing the fallen pacifier before sought out the, now, dirty thing. "What are you playing?" His hands brushed a stuffed teddy, Y/n tilting her head in confusion as she looked around her.

"'m just dressen 'm up." She smiled at him, grabbing a stuffed unicorn and brushing it's fur back into place, shuffling closer to Bucky as she gathered a few other stuffed animals.

The moment her knees hit his she shifted back, so Bucky shifted his towards her again. Like clockwork she moved and left a small gap between them. "Y/n?"

"Mhm." She looked back at him, her smile one he could easily read through.

"Am I scary?" He asked calmly, not once loosing eye contact as she shook her head 'no'. "Do I smell?" He asked, this time with a laugh.

"No!" She giggled.

"Then why do you run every time I touch you." Instead of answering she bowed her head, hands running over the stuffed animal anxiously. "Why don't you hug Wanda or Peter?" He was worried that all the questions would make her want to run, but as she huffed and leaned into his space slightly he continued. "I know Thor was pretty sad when you declined his hug the other day." That one wasn't a lie, the man had gone on a rant about how he thought he had done something wrong, how he was sure Y/n hated him.

"I jus', I don' want them t' be mad." She admitted, huffing at the end of her sentence. "'m jus', 'm heavy, an' squishy. Wanda and Pete aren't heavy an' squishy." She admitted, eyes locked on the wall, the stuffed unicorn held a little closer to her body.

"What do you mean Baby?" Bucky asked, confused as to what she was alluding to.

"It's harder t' pick me up." She finally looked back at him, tears beginning to gather along her waterline. "And cuddling wif me wouldn' be th' same." She shrugged, trying to play it off like she wasn't bothered by her own words.

The tightness in Bucky's chest didn't ease up with his answer, his worry only growing. He had hoped it was an easy thing to fix, yet knowing Y/n didn't hug her friends, or him, because she felt too big made him hurt. "Baby," He began, not giving Y/n a second to doubt him, he picked her up and sat her in his lap. "you aren't 'too heavy' to pick up." He hated how quickly she curled into his chest, how clear it was that she was missing human connection. "I'm the strongest man alive, and you saying that you're too heavy is going to bruise my ego a bit, Baby." They both laughed, a few of Y/n's tears hitting the fabric of Bucky's shirt.

"I thought Steve was th' strongest man alive?"

"I let him win when we arm wrestle." Bucky admitted, causing Y/n to break out into a fit of giggles.

"'m gonna tell him!" She stood up, bolting for the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Bucky ran after her, lifting her off her feet in the middle of the hallway, Y/n pausing with a gasp, bracing for the two of them to fall, yet laughing along with Bucky as jostled her around, threatening to take her new colouring page off the fridge if she told anyone his secret.

After a pinky promise and some juice Y/n began to trust Bucky a little bit more. She let him pick her up at the playground, and gave him a hug before bed every night. She still worried her hugs were 'bad', that maybe no one would want to hug her because she wasn't 'little' but Bucky never once complained, instead asking for hugs in the morning too.

It took her a while to truly trust that Bucky wasn't lying when he said his back didn't hurt after picking her up, but eventually she became comfortable enough to run and jump into his arms, something she had always dreamed of doing.

It wasn't until a month later that Bucky woke up at 4 am to the sound of Y/n's hurried footsteps rushing to his door. Light creeping in from the opened door she didn't close as she ran to his bed. The sound of soft cries and whispers of "Nightmare" filling the usually quiet space.

Instead of letting her think too much about how she 'should' be cuddling, Bucky just scooped her up and tucked her into his bed, letting her know he'd protect her, and her stuffed animal. He liked having her in his room, it made him feel at ease knowing she was close.

After a few months of staying in Bucky's room, Y/n began to get out of her shell a bit more, hugging Wanda and Peter, and eventually accepting Thor's 'healing' hugs. She finally joined in during the weekly cuddle puddle, laughing along side Nat and her friends as they all got cozy on the couch. And for the first time ever she let someone else, the second strongest man alive, Steve Rogers pick her up. A pride filled movement the man would never forget.

Even though it took her a little longer than everyone else to be comfortable hugging and snuggling, she was happy to finally be apart of the group in ways she wasn't before. Bucky, the man who still often stayed in the shadows, helping from a distance, couldn't help but feel a little lighter every time he saw his girl get over her worries, knowing if anything got to be 'too much' she'd come running to him.

[stardustandash]

Hi! I just saw your quilted butterflies photo, and I was wondering if you would willing to share how to make them, or link to a tutorial? They're gorgeous and I'd love to try, but i don't know the right search terms to find those, i think.

Oh absolutely! Everyone needs an easy craft to do right now. This will be a photo tutorial, so if you need a video the search terms are "origami butterfly bookmark". The instructions will be pretty similar.

*If you are using a sewing machine a single butterfly should take between 15-30mins, and if hand stitching my guess is ~1hr

Tools: -2 Scrap fabrics or 2x fat quarters, one for the main/outer fabric, one for the inner contrast -I recommend quilting cotton, though any easily ironable, non-stretch fabric will work -ruler and marking tools -scissors OR rotary cutter and mat -Pins (if desired) -Thread in a matching OR contrast colour - depending on preference -Iron and Ironing board - You can use a piece of cotton folded into a thin pad in a pinch as long as it's flat!

Step 1: Cut out two rectangles. You can make the butterflies as big or small as you'd like, as long as it's in keeping with the 2:3 ratio. For me, I like to use 4" x 6" rectangles. Use your marking tools to mark out the rectangle on the back/wrong side of the fabric, then cut them out!

Step 2: Put the rectangles on top of each other, with right/patterned sides facing each other. Make sure all your corners and edges line up. Pin in place if using pins. (in this example one of my fabrics has the pattern on both sides of the fabric)

Step 3: Sewing! Mark a 2" gap on one of the short edges. If using hand needle mark out 1/4" distance from the edges. Sew. If using a machine, line up the edge with the 1/4" inch mark and sew. (Image is completed stitching, not placement on machine)

Step 4: Trim the corners without cutting into the stitching line, then flip the fabric inside out through the 2" gap you left. Make sure to stick your finger or something blunt but pokey -like a chopstick- into the corners to make sure they are nice and crisp!

Step 5: Press all your frustrations out by pressing that fabric! Get it nice and flat and crisp! Make sure you've folded in the edges of the 2" gap to match the seam allowance of the already-sewn edges before you press. Then, if hand sewing, slipstitch the gap closed. If using a machine, set your fabric at a 1/8" distance and sew around the edges, effectively closing the gap and giving you a lovely topstitch detail.

Step 6: Let's start folding! First move we're going to make is folding it in half, bringing the short edges together. Keep in mind, whichever fabric is on the outside will be the main fabric of your butterfly, and what is on the inside will be the contrast! Press hard! Then, make sure the edges you just brought together are facing you for the next step.

Step 7: Take the top fabric of the right open edge and bring it to the left side of the open edge. It will tent up in the corner, use this and press that tent down until you have what looks like a triangle of the outside fabric on top of two rectangles of the contrast fabric. Press! (I forgot to take pics of the whole process with the first one, don't mind the fabric switch).

Step 7.5: Flip your butterfly and repeat step 7 on the other side until you have a strange looking triangle like this.

Step 8: Take the inner corners of the contrast fabric and fold it up towards the outer fabric. The bigger this fold, the more contrast fabric you will see in the final butterfly. Press.

Step 9: Take the tip of one of the corners you just pressed up and bring it back to it's original position. Do not press. Gently press down on the tip of the corner, letting the fabric unfold. The butterfly wing should unfold, with the contrast fabric showing in the centre. Adjust until you have as much contrast showing as you'd like, then press hard. Repeat on the other side.

Congratulations!! You now have a butterfly!! You can make a garland, stick them on hairclips, or simply put them on your windowsill to keep you company! If you want to ensure that your butterfly doesn't unfold, you can add a small hand stitch in the centre of the two triangles that make up the "body" of the butterfly right along where the topstitching is.

Hopefully this was clear to follow, but if you have any questions, let me know!

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt! Vulnerable post-case Scully. She can be prickly (because I love your Scully) but also delicate. Case-related vulnerability is my most favourite vibe in the series and every so often I get sad that there are no more moments to watch. Thank you 💜

By the time she gets around to taking it off, her blood-soaked starched blouse has all but melded with her skin. They have to peel it from her body with a crackling sound. Her jacket is already stiffly tented in the corner.

He will burn those items later, he will burn and burn and burn.

***

Acrid scent of gunpowder in the air still. Blood like pennies baking on hot tarmac. Cortisol, adrenaline.

Terror.

Her grasping fingers, her grasping hands, her wracking sobs even as he pried her away to check for wounds.

***

Mulder helps her to his bathroom, holding her elbow as she staggers beside him like a fawn. Her hair is dried in ragged, bloody clumps.

He settles her onto the toilet lid, gets the bath running at her preferred level of scald. He squirts in a few blobs of his pine-scented body wash, which begin to foam. Scully smiles a heartbreaking smile in thanks.

“Bubbles,” he says, inanely.

Scully’s chest is caked with blood, even with her shirt removed to reveal the stained satin of her bra. Her belly is streaked with it, her black trousers rusty and stiff.

How is there any blood still inside her? How is she still here?

She has her arms crossed at her lap, her head bowed. He cannot see anything but her white shoulders and her draggled hair and her dark, narrow thighs.

“Scully,” he whispers.

She gazes up, hollow-eyed. “He didn’t…” she begins. “We never….”

She looks away, lower lip between her teeth.

“Oh, Scully.”

His hands are gentle at the clasp of her bra; he turns his eyes from her breasts even though he’s seen them.

He unbuttons the fine wool trousers at her waist, slides them down with her dark panties. He doesn’t look or touch or breathe more than he has to because the idea of connecting any of this to lust makes him sick.

Her hips, the dark triangle of sunset hair between her thighs, are also sticky with blood. The lace clings a little and she winces. Her trouser lining tugs. Finally, she is nude. She is so small and so bloody and so bare, like a newborn creature.

Mulder guides her towards the tub, averts his eyes like she is Artemis bathing. Tries not to think the name Diana.

Scully, breast-deep in bubbles. Scully dripping rusty rivulets in the steam. Her tears are silent now, streaking paths down her blood-smattered kidskin face.

Mulder fills a scuffed blue plastic Knicks cup with water, curves his palm around her eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, and she does, distant, outside of herself.

He sluices water over her head until it runs clear, until she is sleek as an otter, a siren, a goddess. She gasps a little, spreads her fingers against her skull.

Her freckles are magnified by the falling water, her eyes a little too big. A little too round. Her nose is straight and queenly throughout however; her lips parted like a budding tulip.

He massages pearly-blue Head and Shoulders shampoo into the rare, persimmon beauty of her hair. He massages her scalp until she purrs a little. He touches her until his nerves are settled.

“Mulder,” she says, and grasps his forearm in her fine, pale hand. Her face is pre-Raphaelite. Her face is like a D below middle-C; a plucked bowstring, still quivering.

Agent Mulder is already in love.

“Padgett was crazy, he was -“ she begins.

“Sshhhh,” he says. “I have conditioner.” He holds the bottle out, a drugstore brand promising THICKNESS!!! and SHINE!!!

She laughs and it warms him like a hot toddy, like the sun in August, like the sand at Ninigret Pond.

***

Scully is clean, finally, even her smudged makeup rubbed away. They’ve drained and refilled the tub with fresh water, with fresh bubbles. She seems like herself again, not so dazed.

He passes her his robe, turns his head to hold it out when she stands.

“You’re so Victorian.”

“Oh, you know how much I love to lie back and think of England.” He glances over. “The memories are so nice, Phoebe and all.”

Scully ties the too-long belt in a big square knot. “It was kindly meant.” Her smile is soft.

“I know.”

They shift awkwardly for a moment in the small space. Scully looks like a kid dressed up as an angel for a Nativity play in that enormous robe, her bare face and bare feet and tumbled halo of hair.

“Thank you,” Scully begins finally. “I couldn’t have-“

“I’m sorry,” he says at the same time.

Scully frowns. “Why on earth are you sor-“

“My neighbor. So I feel like I..I don’t know. I led him to you.” He picks at a non-existent hangnail.

Scully sighs. “Oh, Mulder.”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t… I didn’t mean to make it about me, I know these are your choices, that you’re not some damsel in distress. I just hate when these things hurt you.”

Things is such an inadequate word, but no word ever could be adequate.

Scully blinks. She opens the door, wafts into his bedroom with the steam. Trails his bathrobe like a court gown.

Mulder follows after, wary. Watches her sprawl on his bed, far from the blood stains in the living room. He’s already called the crime-scene cleanup company.

Again.

She pats the bed next to her. “I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”

He laughs a little at that, remembers her looking a lot like this years ago in Bellefleur, in that awful motel with that terrible brown Clairol wash on her hair. He flops next to her. “Any mosquito bites you want me to check, Doctor Scully?”

She thumbs his cheek. “I was a child.”

He kisses her nose so that he doesn’t kiss her mouth. Though why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t they?

“I was a child and she was a child in this kingdom by the sea…” he quotes. Trails off. What are they doing, this isn’t a partnership. This is strange and awful and gorgeous. Her dying baby in his arms, her ova, her-

“In her sepulchre there by the sea…” Scully murmurs. “In her tomb by the sounding sea.” She closes her eyes.

They breathe one another’s air. They breathe artificial pine scent, dryer sheets, warm nitrogen. Faded cotton, old paper.

“Are you okay?” he asks, so he doesn’t slip a finger between her thighs. So he doesn’t say I love you the way oysters love the morning tide.

Her finger at his lips, her breath on his lashes. Her sweet, warm skin and her extraordinary brain and the scarred palimpsest of her body right here.

“No,” she says, stroking his jaw. “But I will be.”

****

She stays with him all night and he stays with her all night and they are arranged like the Lovers of Valdaro.

His coffee pot is programmed. His carpet is soaked in her blood, her gun is going to be the subject of an investigation.

He and Walter will protect her.

***

She loses the robe at 2AM, mumbling something vague about being tangled and too hot. Her naked body is now asleep against his chest and he lets go, finally, in the sweet vulnerability of her slim arms that can heal and kill.

[ventismacchiato]

mr. oblivious

The entire staff at the new school you work at consistently attempt at getting you and another rather aloof teacher, Kuni, together after witnessing you interact quite often. The catch is that you both are married, and none of the staff have figured it out, yet.

scaramouche x g!n reader

established relationship, married, modern teacher au

2.7k words

a/n: sorry if it clogs up ur feed 😭 everytime i do the keep reading thing it crashes for me so, transferred from ao3 so if there’s any weird typos lmk

It took about three weeks at your new job for you to notice something was going on with your co-workers, and your students as well to top it off. It was as if they were all in on some inside joke you weren’t a part of, or perhaps the center of it. But that might just be your own insecurities about being the newest teacher at this school.

You had recently been laid off as a literature teacher after working at the same high school for a few years due to lack of budget to support the creative arts.

So, instead of educating high schoolers, you deemed it would be much better to teach a group of younger kids, much easier and stress free. After a couple of weeks you had gotten a job as the Art teacher at the very school your husband worked at thanks to his recommendation. Everyone there was very accepting of you and you felt right at home, for a while at least.

It was much different then being a literature professor for older kids, now you got to do finger painting for a living. And even though your English degree was collecting dust, (you shed a tear at this every night), you were actually enjoying your time teaching for once. Little children were much more bearable than high schoolers. There were no love triangles you had to deal with, kids giving handjobs under the desks, or getting paper planes thrown at you. The most drama that ever happened in your elementary classes was when Timmie wouldn’t share the red crayons with anyone.

Well, you were enjoying it. Past tense.

Ever since you ended up catching teachers and students halting their whispers when you walked by you’ve been rather uneasy.

You brought it up to Kuni during dinner one night and the other male merely shrugged, but that one was on you though. Kuni didn’t interact with any of his co-workers unless he absolutely had to. It was a surprise he was a favorite teacher among the students, unbeknownst to you it was because the children found the male handsome and his teaching style atrocious.

You were surprised to learn none of your co-workers had even held a coherent conversation with Kuni, despite him working there for much of his career. So when Venti, one of the school’s music teachers, let out a gasp at seeing Kuni sitting beside you in the staff room, he was taken aback. Kuni never went out of his way to make new friends, it seems he was content with the little to no socializing he did in college and called it a day.

“So, what’s your secret?” Venti sang, sidling up next to you as he poured himself a cup of coffee, “How’d you get the ever so stoic Kuni to talk to you for longer than a minute?”

“What are you on about?” you chuckled, taking a tentative sip of the hot beverage, you didn’t want to burn your tongue again, it had ruined your entire week last time, “I just talk?”

Venti and you quickly clicked upon your moving careers, there was something calming about the constant chitter chatter that left his mouth. Although, it was also a little annoying at times. Like right now.

“Last time I did that he just glared at me,” Venti dramatically sighed, “Maybe he has his eyes on you.”

“Ooh, are we talking about KuniYn?” Lisa grinned, the actual English teacher, walking into the staff room.

“What the hell is KuniYn?” you questioned, growing uncomfortable, why was everyone obsessing over you and Kuni? Was this their way of welcoming you?

“I’m going to exit this conversation now,” you mumbled, turning around when you bumped into the other half of said conversation.

And to your horror, a little splash of his coffee landed on the other male.

A collective gasp was heard from the staff room, preparing themselves for the ever so aloof male to lash out. Last time Bennett spilled his drink on Kuni the dark-haired male had the entire staff shaking in their seats.

“Careful,” Kuni mumbled, catching his arm on your shoulder to steady you before making his way past you to make himself a cup of coffee, not batting an eye as he grabbed a napkin and dabbed at it to lessen the soak.

“Fuck, sorry,” you immediately apologized, grabbing the napkin from Kuni and placing your mug down, “Do you want my jacket?”

“It’s fine,” Kuni assured, picking up your mug and handing it back to you before grabbing his own mug that was now full and leaving the room, but not before patting your waist fondly on his way out.

You made sure to pointedly ignore Venti and Lisa’s loud snickers as you hurriedly left the room.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Everyone’s intentions became clear when you overheard your own students conversing about you. The utter betrayal.

You were running a little late to your class that afternoon after a lively student had spilled glitter on you earlier that morning, you spent a good five minutes scrubbing it off your hands in the staff bathroom before making your way back to class. You had left your classroom door ajar in a hurry to leave, which made it easy for you to eavesdrop on your students when you heard Kuni’s name spoken for the nth time that day.

“I saw them eating lunch in Sir Kuni’s room the other day when I went to get my backpack!” Luo insisted, a lollipop hanging halfway out of her mouth as the group that had gathered around her table eagerly nodded along to her story, “I think they like-like each other!”

“Like-like?” Qiqi drawled out, tapping her chin, “That’s very serious.“

“We should make them be a couple!” Klee giggled, clapping her hands, “Teacher Y/n is very nice! Mister Kuni is too strict for them but it’s okay.”

So this was what your coworkers were giggling about, they thought that you and Kuni were pining for each other. Which wasn’t necessarily untrue, but had Kuni really not mentioned being married even once?

Truth be told, you never wore your ring to school, you didn’t want any paint or glitter to get stuck between the diamonds and have to pay to get it cleaned, but did Kuni really leave his ring at home too? Seems even Mathematics teachers were prone to disasters via children.

“Alright, back to your respected tables, please,” you greeted as you made your way back into class, ignoring the exuberant glances the children gave you. “Valentines is coming up this week, how about we make little cards for your friends?”

“Or boyfriends,” Klee giggled behind her hands as the class shrieked in laughter. You merely patted her on the head and sighed. Today was going to be quite the long day.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“—I say we send Y/n a Valentine in Kuni’s name, we all know he won’t do it himself!” Venti rebuked, pointing an accusatory finger at Hutao.

“Shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt!” Hutao huffed in response, “They’re clearly into one another.”

“You got it all wrong, Y/n will make the first move and we should allow them to do so,” Xingqiu, the school’s librarian, drawled, tapping his finger on his chin. “I believe they will ask Kuni out on Valentine’s!”

“Are you guys chatting about me again?” you deadpanned, already backing out of the room, but your back ran into something, or rather someone.

“Clumsy as always,” Kuni murmured, placing a hand on your waist and gently pushing you out of the way, “What are you idiots looking at?” he questioned, glaring at Venti who was stifling a laugh.

“You never come in here, I should be interrogating you!” Xiangling defended, hands on her hips.

“Lunch,” Kuni dryly stated, reverting back to his one word answers, and handed a bag to you, “You said you were craving Chinese earlier.”

The familiar smell of fried rice wafted through the room as you peered inside the bag, “You remembered? Thank you.”

Kuni hummed, turning to leave the staff room and hermit himself in his classroom once again.

The moment he left all hell broke loose.

“SEE! I knew Kuni would make a move!”

“But it’s not Valentine’s yet! Y/n still has a chance!"

“We should just lock them up at this rate, this is getting frustrating.”

You clutched the bag tightly and walked out the room, ignoring the shouts questioning the nature of you and Kuni’s relationship that your coworkers shot behind you.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Kuni?” you called out, knocking on the door as you opened it, which took away the action’s purpose but you were impatient.

Said male looked up from where he was typing and gave you a glance before averting his eyes back, humming to show he was listening.

“Have you eaten yet?” you asked, shutting the door behind you as you pulled up one of the students’ chairs to sit beside Kuni, leaning back into it as Kuni gestured to his half finished take out box.

“Everyone thinks you and I have a crush on each other,” you blurted, leaning your chin on your palm as you watched Kuni work, watching how his nimble fingers came to a stop at your words.

“A crush?” Kuni repeated, turning to face you, “What? That’s childish.”

“They don’t know we’re married!” you huffed, “Did you not tell them? Where’s your ring?”

“It never came up,” Kuni mused, “Last time I wore my ring I took it off to help a teacher out and when I came back the brats were tossing it, so I started leaving it at home.”

“Oh, it seems they’ve never seen us with our rings,” you frowned, causing Kuni to spin on his chair to face you, an amused smile on his face.

“They just can’t believe I managed to make you mine,” Kuni shrugged, chuckling at the immediate shove you sent to his shoulder.

“Stop trying to be corny,” you smiled, reaching out to tug on his dress shirt and yank him closer.

Without a second of hesitation, your guys’ lips interlocked as if it were second nature. The familiarity behind Kuni’s every touch was still as refreshing as it was years ago when you both first met.

The moment was interrupted with a gasp from afar, and both of you pulled apart to see who had walked in on them, exhaling a sigh of relief to see it wasn’t one of the students. But perhaps this was worse.

Kazuha was staring with a flushed face before he realized he had come over for a specific reason and walked up to Kuni’s desk, dropping a file onto it which led Kuni to groan and sadly flip through it.

“So how long have you two been together?” Kazuha drawled, leaning forward as Kuni shot him a glare. Despite being one of the few people Kuni actually sort of talked to, it seems even Kazuha hadn’t known of their relationship status.

“Since graduating college, married now,” you answered, earning a smile from Kazuha as he nodded, turning to make his leave.

“I’m so winning this bet–”

“What bet? KAZUHA GET BACK HERE! WHAT BET?!”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Valentine’s day had finally decided to make an appearance, and the school would not let it pass by without a proper send off. The hallways were adorned with pink ribbons and little drawings the kids made, along with the occasional love is love poster and rainbow flag. There were streamers hanging on every doorway, and you couldn’t count how many kids you had to help untangle themselves after getting stuck.

At least it looked pretty.

“I tried to get them to sing Bad Romance, can you believe they’ve never heard of it?”

“Venti, they are children,” Kazuha mused, shaking his head as he unwrapped one of the many chocolates they had lying around for Valentines.

“As their other music teacher you should add it into the curriculum,” Venti huffed, perking up as you entered the room, “There they are!”

“Me?” you repeated, about to take a seat next to them when Xingqiu pointed to the large basket of flowers sitting on the table, “Looks like someone has an admirer,” you added, peering into the basket.

“It arrived this morning, the card says it’s addressed to you? But there’s no sender,” Xingqiu mused.

“Coward,” Lisa reprimanded, “How will I get my daily dose of drama if I don’t know who it’s from?”

“I can infer,” you laughed, tugging on the card, “Probably my husband,” you thought aloud as you read the writing, a smile growing on your face. You were so absorbed in the note that you didn’t notice the staff room grow quiet.

“Hold up, you’re married?!” Venti shrieked, getting up from his seat, “No way.”

“Is that unbelievable?” you frowned, holding up your left hand, “Been married for six years now.”

“Oh my god, we’ve been trying to set you up this entire time!” Xiangling cried out, covering her mouth, “This is so embarrassing! I didn’t know you had someone at home!”

“I’m surprised you guys didn’t know,” you sheepishly laughed, twirling one of the flowers from the basket between your fingers, “You guys have met him before.”

Kazuha snickered behind his chocolate bar as the other staff looked at him.

“So THAT’s why you made a bet saying Y/n married to someone, I thought you just had a gambling addiction,” Xiangling scoffed, hitting Kazuha on the shoulder as he cackled.

“Pay up,” Kazuha grinned as you shook your head.

“Can’t believe you all made a bet and tried to set me up,” you mumbled.

“Yikes, I told Kuni I would get him a date tonight with you offhandedly,” Lisa admitted, looking ashamed as the door to the staff door opened.

Kuni stepped in, but instead of letting him pass by unnoticed as usual you tugged on his sleeve, shooting him a soft smile.

“Thank you for the basket, Kuni,” you thanked, caressing the other male’s arm to show your affection. Neither of you were big on pda, it was a lot for you both to even hug in public. Mostly due to Kuni’s awkwardness with it, but he made up for it by showing affection behind closed doors.

Kuni merely hummed, awkwardly shuffling his feet, you felt a little bad about putting him on the spot but you wanted to show off your husband for once!

“Pause,” Venti stated, pointing between the two of them, “No fucking way.”

“I just lost so much money,” Lisa groaned, sucking her teeth and already pulling out her wallet as Kazuha gleefully counted his bills.

“I’m still processing,” Xingqiu murmured, staring between the two of them, “What, when, and where?”

“I don’t know what you mean by what, we started dating in senior year of highschool, and got married in the town Kuni grew up,” you answered, firmly grasping Kuni’s arm so as to not let him escape. He was already trying to run off.

“I owe Kazuha money?” Albedo questioned as he overheard the conversation walking into the staff room, “No way was his hypothesis correct.”

“Suck my dick,” Kazuha grinned, opening his palm as Albedo sighed and slapped a twenty on it, rolling his eyes as the other male gloated.

“You guys are so fucking annoying,” Kuni complained, but his threat didn’t look at all intimidating as you was pinching his cheek, “Do you really have nothing else to do then try to set me up? No wonder the education system is shit.”

“I’m surprised you even managed to score someone,” Venti giggled, dodging the box of candy Kuni picked up and tossed at him.

“I still have more game than all of you, where’s your partner?” Kuni countered.

“The audacity,” Albedo murmured as Venti huffed in response, the staff room bursting into laughter.

“Guess we need a new project,” Venti grieved, scanning the room till his eyes landed upon Kazuha, “I guess I’ll set you up with someone.”

“You’re gonna what?!” Kazuha exclaimed, his face aghast as the staff immediately started listing off potential candidates

You laughed as you watched Kazuha practically run away from Venti, who was interrogating him on which teachers he found the most attractive.

Your new co-workers were a bit crazy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lay-z]

– too sweet | pt. 1

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader x Keegan P. Russ Warnings/Infos*: virgin!Simon Riley/Ghost; time skips; angst; hurt/comfort; love triangle; slow burn; heavy smut; fluff; pregnancy; various kinks (they will be tagged in later chapters); jealousy/possessiveness; minor violence; PTSD; domestic bliss; cussing; relationship struggles; mental health issues; insecurities; slightly Mary Sue!Reader (because it's fun) Summary: Ten months after joining TF-141 as another Scout Sniper, having been recruited by Captain Price, you’ve developed a strange yet wholesome friendship with your direct superior, Lieutenant Riley. Despite the odds, things between you change after a particularly rough mission, and things keep escalating developing from there. * Some Warnings/Infos apply to future chapters!

Friday | June 9th, 2023 – 21:28 (9:28) p.m.

Three firm knocks on your door and you’re startled from your relaxed state, sprawled out on your couch in sweats and a loose-fitting gym shirt, and having just recently calmed down from the familiar adrenaline rush that comes with returning home from another mission, and home being the military base where the 141 HQ is located.

You have to actively remind yourself not to slip into survival/soldier mode again. It’s probably just Keegan anyway, knowing he wanted to come over tonight, as neither of you like to be alone immediately after coming back to base.

Three more knocks follow, and you eventually manage to get up with a small groan; body battered and bruised from days of combat and being deployed.

Shuffling through your open living space like a granny with arthritis and not a highly skilled Special Forces operator in her late 20s, you make your way down the short hallway towards your front door on soft soles.

Swinging your front door open, you start talking without looking first.

“I fuckin’ hope you brought snacks, you–“

Then, you do look and you’re not met with Keegan’s pale blue mirthful gaze, but your Lieutenant’s intense deep brown stare.

“Oh.”

Sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth, your stomach simultaneously clenches and flutters at the sight of the tall, bulky man, oozing natural authority and dominance – at first glance, that is.

However, as you take a closer, assessing look, you can see a different kind of tension in his wide shoulders, because beneath his black hoodie, he seems to be… trembling?

“Hi?” You ask tentatively, eyes flickering over his appearance eagerly – as always.

Lieutenant Riley is wearing a pair of dark grey sweatpants, a large black hoodie that makes him look even bigger and buffer than he already is, his skull balaclava, and a pair of black trainers. Casual as ever, though it’s not something you see for the first time. You’ve already had the privilege to see him like this in the past months – this leisurely. Even though, he never seems to truly relax, no matter how cosy his clothes look.

It’s the look in his eyes that makes you tut. He looks feral, almost distressed; lacking his usual stoicism, the simmering fury and intensity.

“Can I come in?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts, your assessment of your superior. Your friend.

It’s not really a question, not an order either, and it takes your fuzzy mind a moment to decipher the hidden plea behind his words.

Without thinking further, you step aside wordlessly, giving him permission to enter your apartment – like you’ve done several times before now.

His footsteps are nearly silent on the hardwood floor as he takes cautious steps down the short hallway towards your spacious living room, and it’s as eerie as ever when he does that.

Closing the front door behind you and locking it, you turn back around just in time to see him pull off his balaclava at once, exposing his short, dirty blond and dishevelled hair. You think you can hear him breathing a deep sigh of relief and you can’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Now, that is a sight you haven’t quite gotten used to yet; the Lieutenant showing his face, showing you a sight of him that he usually keeps concealed at all times. You still remember the moment he first took it off in front of you back then, right where he is standing now, in your apartment, like it was no big deal.

You still thrive off of the fact that he trusted – trusts you enough to do that, sometimes.

“As much as I love to have guests over after a stressful mission,” you start, your voice laced with your familiar sarcasm, “I gotta ask… You alright there, LT?”

“Don’t,” he objects immediately as he takes a seat on your large couch; brown leather creaking beneath his massive frame. “Don’t call me LT nor Ghost, either. Not now… not tonight.”

You continue to approach and survey him, like he’s some dangerous yet wounded animal and you are the zoo keeper, trying to calm it down; bare feet softly patting on the floor until you come to stand a few feet away, the coffee table separating you from the couch.

“Okay… Well, you alright there, Simon?”

At the utterance of his name, the corner of Simon’s lips look like they’re lifting the tiniest bit and it makes your chest fill with that deep sense of pride again at making the enigmatic man’s façade crack a bit.

Silence follows where he doesn’t meet your eyes again as he simply looks around your apartment, taking in his surroundings while you shift on your feet, crossing your arms in front of your chest, before you turn on your heels to walk into your adjacent, open kitchen.

Taking out the stashed bottle of Kentucky whisky from one of your cupboards, the one for emergencies like this one, you pour a glass before making your way back into the living room, where he is still sitting like a statue, like the unmoving force he is.

“Here,” You say, offering the glass of liquor to him, which he accepts with a curt nod.

When you go on to take a seat in the corner of your couch, since he decided to man-spread right in the middle of it, his ungloved and free hand suddenly shoots out and grasps your wrist that is closest to him, keeping you from sitting down.

“Uh, okay… Interesting,” you remark nonchalantly, brows furrowed, though you shouldn’t be surprised by his strange antics by now. You can see his jaw clench and a muscle ticks in his stubbly cheek before he finally looks up at you, meeting your gaze at last.

“Can you… sit in my lap?” His asks gruffly, almost begrudgingly, chapped lips barely moving as he speaks.

Your eyes widen imperceptibly as your heart nearly jumps in your chest. Sit in his lap?! Your gaze flickers down at his strong legs, his thick thighs, and his grip on your wrists tightens a little. It’s like your brain short-circuits at once, too tired and suddenly too excited to even question his timid request.

“Y-Yeah,” you answer eventually, trying not to sound too eager, as you give a small nod, “Sure, why the hell not.” You snort, trying to downplay this incredibly strange situation, considering you and the Lieutenant have done nothing but nurse and develop this strange friendship for the past ten months.

When you shuffle and move to sit in his lap, your heart flutters even worse when he grabs your upper arms to help you, to guide you, until you’re straddling his thick thighs with a little strain to your sore legs, and it becomes clearer to you how big this man truly is as you finally sit down comfortably.

Simon takes a sip of his whisky then, merely looking at you at this very new, very close proximity, and you do exactly the same.

You can see all the scars up close now; discoloured skin tissue a stark contrast on his pale skin. The one splitting his right eyebrow, the thick and ragged one around his neck, smaller ones along his cheeks and jawline, the one on his crooked nose – a nose that has clearly been broken a lot of times. He has slight crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the bags under his eyes are still visible despite the smudge black combat paint around his eyes.

He must’ve taken a shower before coming to your place; he smells too clean and fresh, with a hint of tobacco beneath the scent of peppermint toothpaste.

Suddenly, his buff chest heaves with a breath that rumbles through it and your attention is back on his whisky-coloured eyes. You know that he hates it when you look too closely, pay too much attention to his ruggedly handsome face.

And now, neither of you seem to know what to do next.

“Hi.”

Simon exhales sharply through his nose; a noise that you can only categorize as a huff of amusement at you awkward attempt to ease the tension.

“You’re silly, lass,” he remarks, taking another sip of his whisky while you watch his throat constrict as he swallows.

“Mhm,” you hum in return, unable to keep your eyes from drinking him in, fingers twitching to reach out and touch while your palms rest flat on your own thighs.

“Do you –“ He stops, clears his throat and swallows again, his own eyes unwavering as he surveys you just as eagerly.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

It’s a simple question and yet – it has your mind racing. Yes, why is he here? Not that it’s entirely unusual to appear unannounced, like the mystery he is.

“Enlighten me, Lieu– Simon,” you retort, smiling sheepishly at your almost slip-up that has him narrowing his eyes at you briefly.

“I’m–“

He takes another sip of liquid courage, downs the whole glass actually, before he bends over in a way that has you shifting and clinging to his broad shoulders as to not fall off while he puts the empty glass on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You use the momentum to let your hands rest on his shoulders and he doesn’t correct you, doesn’t shrug them off; it makes your palms go clammy and your heart fluttering again.

And then, Simon lets his mammoth hands move to your hips in return, almost hovering over your clothed skin before he closes the last half-inch of space between his hands and your body, and suddenly, you feel the weight of his paws on you, their warmth seeping through your clothing.

“It was a rough mission,” he says then, eyes flickering while you can feel his fingers twitch against you nervously.

You know it was a rough mission for the whole team; you were there, too. They’re always rough, nerve-wrecking. There is more to his statement, way more, but you let him speak his mind at his own pace, you always do.

“I couldn’t – can’t – be alone tonight,” he admits roughly, uncharacteristically quiet and vulnerable, too, “I don’t want to be alone.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours and the intense, raw look in them takes your breath away momentarily. The sheer need and desperation he is showing you right now, is almost too overwhelming for you and you curse yourself for averting your own eyes from him briefly.

“I needed to see you.”

And suddenly, you’re wide awake, sitting up a little straighter on his lap, with no trace of fatigue or soreness left. Everything vanished, along with your many, many thoughts.

“You need… me?” You repeat quietly, feeling your gut twist as the meaning of those words fully settle in. He needs you – you!

“Why?” You ask, your voice breathy and quiet, and then you feel silly for asking for some unknown reason.

“I feel like I’m losing it,” Simon admits bluntly, fingers now digging into your plush hips as if he’s trying to ground himself – and you let him, squeezing his shoulders softly in return.

It’s a heavy confession from a man like Simon Riley, the stoic, mysterious Ghost who is always in control; always keeping his mask in place, shutting everyone out.

“I’m here to feel something… to feel human again, but I don’t know if I’m even capable of that anymore, lass.”

“And you come to me with that?”

Simon huffs through his nose, shifting in his seat slightly, and lips sealed into a tight line before he speaks up again.

“There’s no one else I trust with that,” he answers curtly, “Not even Price.”

Oh, but that sounds even better; it feeds right into your self-diagnosed helper syndrome deliciously. It’s the validation you crave from him, only him for some reason or another. The fact that he sought you out, makes you feel special, like you’re worth something. You desperately try to supress the giddy smile that threatens to spread on your lips.

“And what – what do you want me to do about that now?”

“I’m not sure,” he sighs and it’s a rough sound as he averts his gaze again, focusing it on the floor instead, “All I know is that the lines between Ghost and Simon keep blurring.”

“Mhm,” you hum affirmingly, keeping incredibly still on his lap as you listen and process and analyse. “And you want to be –“

“I want to feel human. I want to…” He stops mid-sentence, closing his eyes briefly, taking a breath through his nose before he opens his eyes; onyx-coloured pupils quickly expanding and narrowing again against the light as he meets your eyes.

“For once, I just want to be Simon… for you… with you.”

For me, you repeat the words to yourself in your head and they fill you with a strange kind of warmth as the feeling keeps blossoming in your chest relentlessly, until that voice in the back of your mind keeps screaming at you that this is still your superior! However, the very selfish part of your brain ignores that voice very quickly again, stuffing an imaginary sock down your logic’s and conscience’ throats.

“I just don’t know where Ghost ends and Simon begins anymore,” he admits hoarsely, nose scrunching up slightly as he spits out the words as if they physically hurt him to admit.

“Well,” you start, blinking a few times as you try to sort out your thoughts and words, but then your eyes land on the thick scar around his neck again and suddenly, you reach out with your right hand to cup his left cheek, thumb lightly brushing over his stubble.

His eyes widen and he sucks in a sharp breath, holding it. You’ve never touched his face before.

“I’d say, Simon starts right here,” you utter softly, fully aware that he could easily break your wrist for touching him like that right now, “Right here, without that bloody mask.”

You can feel his whole body tense up, can feel the sheer power of him as his muscles coil and bristle, but you don’t withdraw your touch, keep yourself from pulling your hand away until he tells you to – but he doesn’t.

“It’s… nice,” he mutters, as if he’s trying to tell himself that, exhaling through his nose, though he looks anything but like he’s enjoying this. It almost makes you giggle out loud if it wasn’t for the utter devastation and pity you were experiencing for him.

“Is it?”

He nods curtly, his large hands easing their grip on your hips a little, thumbs drawing circles on the fabric of your sweats.

“Want me to take my hand away?”

He shakes his head immediately, rubbing his scratchy cheek against your palm as he does so, like a stray realizing that he really does like this touch that he seems to be craving so much – for some reason. Simon almost looks offended that you’re even asking.

You keep cupping his cheek somewhat awkwardly as you remain seated on his lap, caressing his cheekbone for a moment in silence, until your splayed fingertips brush against some cropped short hair at his neck behind his ear. You notice that his ear has been pierced – probably a long, long while ago – and your eyebrow quirks curiously, suddenly imagining a rebellious, teenage Simon with pierced ears and perhaps black nail polish just to piss his bastard father off, but you don’t dare to voice those thoughts. Instead, you opt to ask:

“Do you cut your hair yourself?”

His dark blonde brows furrow at your question, he looks surprised by it; the genuine curiosity in your voice and eyes. But his surprise is soothed at once when your hand snakes around his neck, soft fingers raking through the short hair at the nape of his neck. You watch as his eyes flutter briefly, feel him roll his shoulders and move his neck from side to side as you caress him tenderly.

“Mhmm,” he hums lowly, “Don’t trust anyone with scissors or blades standing behind me,” he tells you and his voice has dropped an octave, making a sudden tingle run down your spine.

“Sometimes Johnny cuts it for me.”

“– ‘course, he does. That Scot and his silly Mohawk,” I retort with a mock eye roll, still playing with his hair absentmindedly, “I hope you won’t ever decide to let him give you one."

That makes him crack a small smile, which makes you also smile in return. It feels like a victory, being the one to make Simon show any type of positive reaction.

“Nah,” he answers with a shrug, “I just need it short and neat or it’ll get itchy under the mask.”

Silence ensues again, though it’s less awkward. I’m more than comfortable straddling his lap now, touching his face and toying with his pretty hair, while he keeps surveying me, relaxing more as the minutes pass.

Then he breaks the silence again, “You’re –“

He stops himself again, clenches his jaw and you tug on his hair playfully, egging him on to continue speaking. Simon huffs, upper lip twitching comically, like a wolf’s chaps snarling.

“You’re the... first lass to ever sit in my lap.” He admits, averting his eyes from yours again, as if he’s embarrassed of that fact. You, on the other hand, are absolutely beaming internally; practically vibrating with a sudden wave of excitement – excitement you have to keep concealed, because you don’t want to overwhelm him or, even worse, scare him off.

It must be hard, being such a paradox; a man who doesn’t want anyone getting close to him yet desperately craving comfort.

“I like that.”

His brows furrow again, “You do?”

“Yes, sir,” you response playfully, giving a firm nod. “I do actually like you as well, y’know?”

His fingers dig into the fabric of your sweats at your admission, rough pads rubbing over your hips more firmly. You decide to take it a notch further.

“Can I hug you? You look very… huggable right now.”

Simon lifts an eyebrow, lips pursing slightly, which makes him look like he’s actually amused by that.

“Aye,” he answers, clearing his throat slightly, though he doesn’t move a muscle as he looks at you with those pretty, whiskey-coloured eyes and then you realize that he’s waiting for you to initiate the hug.

“Alright then…uhm,” you utter under your breath and clear your throat, retrieving your right hand from his neck to drum your fingers on your thighs nervously instead. Suddenly, your initial courage has vanished like smoke in the wind, and you start overthinking, because he clearly hasn’t been touched like that in a while and what if he hates it? What if you give him a bad hug and make him recoil from you? The thought alone is enough to make your stomach drop.

Simon seems to notice your inner turmoil and shifts in his seat, leather creaking softly under your combined weight and the way his thighs feel beneath your body makes your heart flutter again.

“Lass?”

The concerned undertone laced in his uncharacteristically quiet yet gravelly voice is enough to snap you back to reality again. Blinking rapidly, you try to inhale and exhale discreetly, before you finally lean in until your chest is pressed flush to his and you can wrap your arms around his broad shoulders tentatively.

It’s awkward again and you try not to move and squirm too much on his large lap, because God forbid, he gets a boner. You wouldn’t be able to handle that tonight.

Then, Simon’s muscular arms eventually wrap around your midriff in return, hugging you even closer somehow, and – Oh, this is nice. Very nice, you think to yourself, eyes widening slightly as you stare at the white wall mere inches in front of you.

You get a good whiff of his body wash and laundry detergent, and underneath those chemicals, you can smell – him, and suddenly, it’s like a switch is flipped in your head and then you’re nuzzling your nose into his neck shamelessly; scenting your superior, your friend, like some feral maniac. You can feel your cheeks flush; embarrassment and desire mixing in your gut like a deadly combination that triggers both your fight or flight instinct, but then –

Something tickles along your neck and your eyes widen even more, because you realize – he’s doing it, too! Simon is nuzzling your neck, burying his crooked nose into your shoulder and inhaling deeply while his chest rumbles, like a lion purring.

“Feels good.” He says eventually, deep voice muffled by the fabric of your hoodie, while his arms tighten around your body like steel rods.

[rosemaze-reveries]

May I request weeping yearning and pining from afar but reader notices this and sends a message? 😚😚😚😚😚😚

omg who could this be ( ᷄ᾥ ᷅ ︎🫶) ty for the chance to write weepybeepy again

― spellbound

Disclaimer: This was loosely inspired by a scene in The Last Circus (the film Hullabaloo’s love triangle is based on). You couldn’t pay me to sit through that movie again but I’ve got to make use of those 2 hrs I wasted somehow </3

⚠️ Some Sergi/Margaretha. Reader uses they/them (sparingly).

Joker sits on the bench by the prop wagon, the one you instructed him to meet at, watching the other performers practise their stunts. A letter is clutched in his hands, written in your script, its envelope stained with tears that dried well over an hour ago. He’s beginning to accept that you aren’t going to show up. But Joker would wait a lifetime for you—if he had nothing else to cling to, he would always choose you. That’s how it’s been for years.

You’re the light of his life, a star on stage and off. He’s never missed a single performance of yours. He might even be more familiar with your schedule than you are. As brilliant as you are, you’re prone to such scattered thoughts that Joker is sure you wouldn’t be able to live on your own. He’s taken it upon himself to watch over you from afar. Every time you forget a piece of your costume, or your lunch, or a stage prop, he finds them for you; he sets aside a plate of all your favorites whenever you’re late to dinner (which is, impressively, most of the time). You’ve never known who your guardian angel is, and he adores playing that role for you.

That’s also why he believes you aren’t standing him up on purpose. But even if you are, even if this letter you sent out of the blue was all a setup, he would still play along for you.

“Joker, I’m so sorry!”

His eyes flick up at the sound of your voice. You’re hauling around several bags in either hand, props and cosmetics practically spilling out over the top. He jumps up from the bench to greet you, ready to rush over and take some of the load. But before he gets the chance you hitch up your bags and break into a sprint toward him. A couple of greasepaint tins tumble onto the grass, but you pay it no mind and even discard the rest of your things off to the ground with them. Then you toss your arms around Joker, squeezing him tight. His shoulders tense on impact, so stiff they nearly graze his ears.

No one has ever held him like this before. It’s almost unbelievable how much tenderness can seep through a person’s touch. He’s slow to process the sudden warmth that’s enfolding him. After a moment’s hesitation, he realizes this is a chance he might not see again for a long time. So he snaps free of his stupor, delicate fingers cupping over your shoulder blades for an awkward pat back.

“...I-It’s funny, I…” he mumbles into your neck, “I’m not sure I...” Halfway through his words fade out. It’s not meant to be a protest, but you can’t see it as anything else.

“Sorry, I couldn't help myself!” you quickly pull away. Joker mourns the loss. A prickling sensation lingers on the skin where you’d touched him. “There was a huge mix-up,” you explain. “I accidentally agreed to go shopping for the morning crew, and I told someone to tell you what happened but they couldn’t find you in your tent. I didn’t think you’d still be here!”

With a sheepish smile your attention turns to the trail of makeup scattered on the ground. “Anyway, I promise I’ll make it up to you,” you say as you pick up your things. “You know, Sergi’s treating us to dinner tonight. It’s nothing special, just a couple of our friends getting together for drinks. You probably know most of them already. Mike will be there! And Natalie too, obviously. I could let them know you’re coming and we’ll save you a seat?”

Joker doesn’t dwell on it for a second. You’ve invited him out for dinner — what do the little details matter? You will be there, the one person he adores above all else, and that’s enough for him. Sergi’s presence alone is excruciating enough to spoil it all, but he’d sit through it for you. He doesn’t even care that he never would’ve known about this get-together had you not felt guilty enough to extend an invite. This is a dinner date, no matter how you try to twist it. His heart skips a beat at the thought.

 “A-Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! And don’t worry about Sergi. I mean, this sounds bad, but he probably won’t even notice you if you sit on the end… Honestly, I get nervous around him myself so I know how to…” —appease him. You can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. “...Well, you know. But we can keep each other company!”

You’re so full of contradictions, Joker muses. Thoughtful, but careless. Sympathetic, but selfish. You talk to him like a well-meaning friend and yet you would’ve been just as happy without him tonight. But that’s alright, it’s not your fault. You’re that way with everyone, he knows that. He just has to step up for you to take a more intimate notice of him.

“Can’t promise I’ll be much of a guest,” he says, lips twitching into a wry smile, “but I guess I could swing by, if you’re going and all…”

And with that your eyes light up and Joker is relieved to know he said the right thing. As you pull him in for a goodbye hug, he closes his eyes and lets himself fall into you, savoring the few seconds your touch belongs to him. When you move to break away, his arms tighten, not willing to let you go just yet. But then he catches himself and his eyes flash wide as a rabbit’s, afraid he’d wronged you in some way. You only smile, gently tucking a lock of red hair behind his ear.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go drop these off! Dinner’s at seven, so let’s meet at the carousel a quarter till? See you tonight!”

“See you,” he echoes, dazed, and finally unhooks his arms. He watches you wave before disappearing into the busy Hullabaloo crowd. Then he reaches up to trace his hair, mimicking your touch.

This is love. He’s sure of it. He feels as though a fairy had come and bestowed a kiss upon him before vanishing with the wind. One blink and you’re gone, just a trick of the eye, and yet his body feels like it’s on fire. What a cruel spell you left on him—he’s pinned in place with butterflies flitting around his stomach, a heart that’s beating louder than his thoughts, and a dull ache pulsing up his leg.

— ୨୧ —

Not forty minutes pass before Sergi hears about the talk you had with Joker. He is Hullabaloo’s shining star, after all, with eyes and ears everywhere. He finds you on the Moonlit River Bridge throwing crumbs for the birds, apparently having nothing better to do, but you would have picked an afternoon of utter boredom over Sergi’s company any day. He strolls over to you and leans against the rail.

“Excited for tonight?” he asks. You spot Natalie observing from afar. She gives you a shy wave of her fingers, but keeps her distance. That’s all the proof you need to know that Sergi isn’t here for some small talk. Your gut tells you to stay on your guard.

“Uh-huh…” you reply, warily. “Do you need something?”

Sergi chuckles, before he slings an arm over your shoulder and begins reeling you across the bridge. Your legs stumble to match his pace, but you don’t fight him. “Listen,” he says as he walks, “you know I love Natalie, right?”

“Yeah?” You can taste the whiskey in his breath, burning your nostrils.

“She’s the love of my life. True love. Say it with me—”

“True love,” you echo.

“True love, exactly. I would do anything for her. And that clown you’ve been talking to lately, I don’t trust him. I don’t like the way he looks at her. I don’t want him even near her. You get me?”

That’s what this is about! All the tension melts from your face. “Oh, don’t worry! He’ll be sitting with me.”

“I’m worried about my wife,” Sergi insists, laying a hand over his breast. “So you understand I have to speak up when you invite someone that might hurt her. To my dinner party of all things. Look, you’re good company. My boys like you, I like you. But I don’t want a mopey clown to spoil my appetite. Right? We want to have fun. And we can’t have fun with him around. Right?”

He keeps up an easy smile, but his eyes warn you to choose your next words wisely. The pit in your stomach drops all of a sudden. You crinkle your nose to escape the smell of his breath and duck under his arm.

“I can just get a separate table,” you say, smoothing out your tousled sleeves. “I really don’t think he’s hurting anyone. Plus Mike’s fond of him, you know, they go way back—”

“(Y/N), I’m saying if I see him there, I’ll blame you for his murder.”

“......”

Those words roll so effortlessly off his tongue, you almost don’t believe you heard him correctly. Your blood runs cold, heart nearly stopping in your chest. This is my circus, is what he’s so graciously reminding you, I’m your meal ticket, not Bernard, not anyone else. You’ll listen to me. Knowing Sergi, this kind of threat is no surprise, and likely an empty one at that, but the sudden switch-up still gives you a jolt. You don’t know how to answer. All you can do is take a few slow steps out of his reach. Some kind of rebuttal rises in your throat, but you choke it back down for a half-hearted “Mhm,” instead, then break into a brisk half-run.

A miffed scoff follows behind you. “Christ, do I have to worry about you fucking up the mood too?”

Again, you don’t respond. He changes his tune a second later:

“I was kidding, (Y/N), you know that! C’mon, it wasn’t that serious! We’re all family here! Tell ‘em, Nat.”

Only at the mention of Natalie do you glance back. She seemed to have sensed the tension and rushed over. She has a soothing hand placed on his back, while Sergi’s arms are spread wide in the air, as if he’s expecting you to rush back in for a hug and say, “Oh, Sergi, I was out of line! I won’t doubt you again!” The sight of it makes your blood boil. You fear you might turn foolish if you act on your rising temper, so you swallow it down and face forward again. Before you storm out of earshot, you catch the last of their conversation:

“Natalie,” Sergi warns, voice low. You guess it’s because she hesitated to back him up. You can almost envision her scrambling to find her words when she calls from afar, a little frantic:

“He didn’t mean it!” she says. “You’ll still show up tonight, won’t you?”

You don’t turn around for her this time. A part of you regrets it, because Natalie is a dear friend of yours, but you feel like the wind’s been knocked out of your lungs. You’re sure you’ll have the chance to speak to her later, at least. She’ll come to apologize on Sergi’s behalf once things quiet down, try to reassure you that he was just a little drunk, that “he’s not really like that.” That’s how it always goes.

Watching you run off, Sergi spits on the ground. “Psycho making me look bad,” he sneers. “You know I was joking, right?”

“Of course I do, Serge,” Natalie coos.

“Right. Everyone loves Sergio the Happy Clown. I make kids laugh. I make you laugh, too. This goddamned circus would’ve burned itself to the ground without us here to save it.”

— ୨୧ —

Joker has spent hours fussing in the mirror.

With one clean stroke, he lines white facepaint above his lip, smoothing right over his cleft. He tries to rub it in with a careful finger. Blend it too much and the scar shines through; too little and he’s just drawn himself a milk moustache. There’s apparently no in-between. This is much easier to cover up when he’s in a full face of show makeup. At a loss, he decides to scrap the white and try a bit of rouge instead.

All the products at his disposal are made for the stage, bright and vibrant and grossly obvious in any natural setting. But as he wipes off the rouge he used on his lips, he discovers it leaves a faint stain behind. Not too prominent, yet it still conceals what he needs it to. Perfect. He uses that technique to plump and even the shape of his mouth. Satisfied with the results, he tucks his hair behind his ear before setting down his mirror.

“Joker, are you there?”

Oh, he loves that voice. Sweeter than anything he’s heard in this world. It’s yours, of course. But you shouldn’t have come for at least another hour or so — and especially not to his tent. …Unless he lost track of time? He glances at the striped canvas wall, the other side of which you’re presumably standing.

That was your voice, right?

He nearly knocks over his vat of lip paint as he lunges for the pocket watch atop his bed. It’s not even six o’clock. So he reassures himself that it’s nothing important. You’re probably just here to update him about the carousel’s faulty calliope or something. That’s a cute habit of yours, he’s discovered: you’re always compelled to tell whoever you can about the smallest of breakthroughs, insisting you’d forget about them otherwise.

He stands up from his stool to greet you, only for a rush of doubt to hit him. Quickly he grabs his mirror and scrubs all the makeup off his lips before slinking over to the slit of his tent.

“E-Early, aren’t we?” he greets, a little meeker than he means to. “Well, not that I mind…”

A weak smile ghosts his face as he talks, expecting to see you mirror it. But the one waiting for him outside holds their brows knitted together, eyes wild and distracted, as if they’d just witnessed a murder. That’s a side of you he never thought he’d see in his lifetime. His smile falls.

“I didn’t mistake the time, did I…?”

“No,” you say. “Um, listen. I don’t think you should come tonight.”

Joker assumes you’ll elaborate, and when you don’t, it’s him that mirrors your knitted brows. He comes closer.

“What happened?”

“Sergi’s upset about it. And he’s serious, I mean it.”

His breath catches in his throat just at the sound of that name. It’s easy to fear the worst. “He didn’t lay a hand on you, ri—”

“No, nothing like that.” You’re quick to cut him off with a firm shake of your head. “I’m sorry I keep messing things up. And about my letter, it wasn’t that important to meet somewhere special or anything. I just wanted to say thank-you for always doing so much for me. I notice, you know.”

As heartfelt as you mean to sound, your tone is devoid of its usual passion. Clearly meeting “somewhere special” had been an important part to you. Joker can imagine what’s coming next: you’ll say that you’re still planning on going to that dinner, that you don’t want to worry anyone, that you’ll see him tomorrow. He doesn’t want to stop you from doing as you like. But at the same time, you’ve cast him aside once already, and he fears his chances at pursuing you whittle away the more this happens.

Sure enough — you start to turn around. “Anyway, I’m still going to go,” you tell him. “I think it’d put Sergi in a better mood if things go like they’re supposed to.”

Joker doesn’t hesitate. He latches onto your arm, his hand quivering slightly.

“You don’t want to,” he points out. “(Y/N), forgive me for being blunt, but you’re shaken up an awful lot… Why put yourself through all that?”

You don’t deny it. “It’s not like I’ll be alone with him.”

“Not tonight,” he presses. “Not tonight. Stay here for a while. I-I’d be glad for the company, and… I’ll figure something out with Sergi. You can take it easy…”

You search Joker’s face. He’s not looking at you, his expression uncertain, gaze lost to the dust on the ground. The pull to stay grows stronger the longer you wait. It’s a tempting offer, and finally the weariness in your bones makes the decision for you.

[redvexillum]

A/N: So this is smut with Lute, but it is inherently an Adam x Reader story. FoxSinner!Reader makes a second appearance! Also, @peach-flavored-flambe how dare you infect me with the word "boop" and its uses! It somehow made it in the story!

RedVexi Sickness Update #1: Fevers, chills, coughing, lack of sleep, did I hit my peak for my illness? Will tomorrow be better?

SUMMARY: For the hundredth time, you broke up with Adam, this time telling yourself it was the last straw. But as you stormed away, you encountered an angel, Lute, who seemed to have an intimate past relationship with your boyfriend—err, ex-boyfriend. One thing led to another, and somehow, you both ended up trying to prove who was the better lover for Adam.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, fox sinner!reader, established relationship with Adam, face slapping, one-sided love/interest, Lute hates reader a lot, hate fucking, sex toys, complicated relationship, love triangle (sorta), strap-on, double penetration, overstimulation, degradation kink, reader is emotional and is a bit…ditzy

After the dizzying sounds of laughter, broken glass, and blaring music subsided, your once-cozy home looked like a war zone. Torn red and green streamers hung limp like office workers past clocking out time, and the smell of stale beer clung to the air like a mocking reminder of the chaos. You stood in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes narrowing as they zeroed in on the offending culprit sprawled across your floor. 

Adam. 

He lay there in nothing but white briefs, his stout body stretched out amidst a halo of crushed beer cans—a parody of snow angels. His mouth hung open slightly, and a faint snore rumbled from his throat, utterly unbothered by the destruction left in his wake. Rage bubbled up inside you, sharp and hot, as your tail swished behind you with dangerous precision. 

“Get. Up.” The words escaped your clenched jaw like venom, your teeth grinding together as your ears flicked back. When his response was nothing more than a particularly loud snore, you growled, your patience thinner than the ice you were about to shove him onto. 

With a sharp jab of your finger into his side, he jolted awake, snorting loudly. 

“Wha—huh?” Adam blinked blearily, his crimson eyes squinting against the dim kitchen light. His hand instinctively raked through his dishevelled brown hair, and as his gaze focused on you, a slow, infuriating grin spread across his face. 

“Babe,” he slurred, his voice a drunken drawl, “looking good.” 

Your lips curled into a sneer, your eyes flicking down to the tent now prominently pitched in the front of his briefs. Heat rose to your face, though it had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with seething irritation. 

“Seriously, Adam?” you barked, your voice rising sharply. His wince only spurred you on. “I told you so many times I didn’t want to have this goddamn party!” 

“Relax, babe,” he groaned, his large frame unfolding as he stood. He swayed slightly, towering over you as he lumbered closer. Then, with all the grace of a drunken toddler, he poked your stomach with the tip of his… erection. 

“Boop,” he said, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. 

You froze. Your brain struggled to process the sheer audacity of it all. The boop, of all things, was what made your eye twitch. Of course, Adam—your overgrown, immature boyfriend—had adopted the most cursed word in the human vocabulary. And now, he was weaponizing it against you. 

Your gaze flicked up to his smug face, then down to the persistent offending appendage. “Adam,” you growled, your voice low and dangerous. “Stop. That.” 

But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. “C’mon, babe,” he teased, poking you again, his grin widening. “I know what's gonna help you unwind.” 

For a fleeting moment, you considered murder. Then your eyes flicked to the aftermath of last night’s disaster—the vomit stains, the overturned chairs, the shards of glass glittering like cruel little stars—and back to Adam. Maybe he could make it up to you. Maybe a good dicking would at least take the edge off your frustration. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice heavy with resignation. “Get your ass on the bed. Now.” 

Adam’s grin morphed into a triumphant fist-pump as he stumbled off toward the bedroom, his childish glee almost endearing—almost. 

As you stripped off your clothes and crawled onto the bed, Adam asked you to roll onto your stomach. With a grumble, you obliged, expecting things to escalate quickly—but no. The man had the audacity to leave the room. You lay there, face buried in the pillow, equal parts annoyed and confused. Just as you were about to yell, he waltzed back in like nothing had happened, carrying a sandwich, of all things, and climbed back onto the bed. Well, it wasn't the first time he ate while having sex. 

Your body, traitorous as ever, was already eager for what was coming. But when he grabbed the base of your tail, earning himself a startled squeak, and slipped one fat finger into your asshole, the mood took a sharp turn. It wasn’t the act itself that sparked your anger—it was his commentary.

“Boop,” Adam said with zero shame.

Clenching your ass tight around his intrusive digit, you whipped your head around, eyes blazing. “Did you just say boop again?” Your voice dripped with incredulity.

The simmering irritation from him ruining your Christmas plans boiled over. And yet, this? This was the final straw.

You glared at him, catching the unmistakable sight of your precious BLT sandwich in his free hand. He was casually munching on it while simultaneously rubbing the shaft of his cock against your slick folds. 

The crumbs. 

The audacity. 

The absolute disrespect.

“Oh, that is IT!” you screeched, wriggling away from him with a feral determination. Your tail lashed, your ears flattened, and you practically threw your clothes on, rage igniting every cell in your body.

Adam barely looked up, still chewing, as he watched you with wide-eyed confusion. “Wait, what? Babe, what’s wrong?”

You narrowed your eyes at the crumpled wrapper in his other hand, your name scrawled across it in unmistakable all-caps. Something within you snapped, the chaotic storm of emotions inside suddenly going deathly calm. Your voice was eerily steady. “We’re done.”

His chewing slowed as the realization hit. “What?” he mumbled through a mouthful of your sandwich. Crumbs spilled onto the bed as he gestured vaguely. “Now, that’s not very demure of you.”

A single flick of your ear and a twitch of your tail were all it took for him to clamp his mouth shut. You levelled him with a glare that could have reduced him to ash.

“Fuck you,” you said with venomous finality, flipping him the bird as you stormed out.

Behind you, Adam sputtered, sandwich still in hand. “Wait—hold on—was it the boop?”

The icy air of the outside world hit your face like a slap, but it did little to cool your raging emotions. You marched a block away before stopping abruptly, your heels grinding into the pavement as frustration boiled over. 

Why the hell were you the one to leave? That was your home. Your territory. Yet here you were, storming the streets of Hell like a runaway instead of standing your ground. Pride, too wild and untamable, kept you from turning back. If you went back, you knew what would happen. 

What it always happened. 

You’d get pulled into his orbit again, your resolve folding over like a wet newspaper. 

But not this time. This time, you were going to be strong. You were going to stand by your decision. 

And yet… 

Your ears twitched, straining to catch the sound of heavy footsteps behind you. Your heart lurched every time you glanced over your shoulder, hoping—wanting—that he’d followed you. Each time, you were met with the lack of his presence. The pit of disappointment that formed in your stomach was as crushing as it was infuriating. 

You hated yourself for wanting him to come after you. For needing it. 

The endless cycle of hope and disappointment gnawed at your resolve, each turn of emotions feeding into a bitter spiral of self-loathing. You shoved your hands into your pockets and pressed forward, your footsteps echoing into the streets full of drunk people after celebrating the winter festivities. 

You didn’t notice the shadow until it was too late. 

A hand yanked you into a dark alley, slamming you against the rough brick wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, and you struggled to regain it, glaring up at your assailant. 

“What the fu—” 

Your words died in your throat as your gaze locked with piercing dark eyes framed by moonlit silver hair. The presence of the figure before you felt suffocating, oppressive. Your back straightened instinctively, adrenaline coursing through you. 

Why the hell was there an exterminator here? 

Ever since the Princess of Hell’s infamous battle with the angels, exterminations have been cancelled. It was a victory that dominated every news outlet and social media feed for days. This shouldn’t be happening. 

“Apologize to him,” the angel growled, her voice as sharp as a blade. Her fingers dug into your shoulders, her strength bruising. 

“What?” you blinked, your mind scrambling to process the absurdity of the demand. 

“Apologize to Adam.” Her teeth bared like an animal ready to rip into prey. “How dare you show such disrespect to the Commander?” 

“Commander?” Your brow furrowed, the word hanging in the air like a grenade about to detonate. “The fuck are youtalking about?” you screeched, your voice rising in disbelief. 

Your tail tucked between your legs instinctively, though you weren’t scared—at least not entirely. Wary, yes. Confused beyond reason, absolutely. 

“Let me go,” you sneered, baring your own teeth as your ears flattened against your head. 

Her grip tightened. The world felt as though it had tilted, dragging you into a nightmare where none of this made sense. 

Her nails dug into your shoulders like talons, sharp enough to sting but not break skin. “You should be worshipping the very ground he walks on,” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury. Her dark eyes burned with unfiltered rage, a mix of contempt and disbelief. “Don’t you realize who you’re even with?” 

The words hit like a slap, and for a moment, your brain struggled to process them. You’d never asked Adam about his past—it didn’t matter to you. He was Adam, your lazy, ridiculous, infuriating boyfriend. But now your mind raced, piecing together fragments of information you’d ignored. 

Was that pathetic excuse of a man the Commander of the fucking angels? 

The thought short-circuited your brain. Your world tilted dangerously, but years of survival instincts kicked in. You compartmentalized, shoving the revelation into a mental box labelled "Deal With Later." Right now, you needed your wits about you. 

“Let go,” you gritted through clenched teeth, twisting your body to break free. Her grip was vice-like, but adrenaline gave you the edge. With a sharp yank, you ripped her hand off your shoulder. “It’s none of your business anyway,” you snapped, lifting your chin defiantly. 

A surge of satisfaction bloomed in your chest as a flush of frustration spread across her perfect, angelic face. 

She crossed her arms, her lips curling into a cruel smirk. “I don’t see what’s so special about you,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “I bet you’re a pity fuck. What did you do? Beg him to touch you because no one else would?” 

The taunt was so petty, so juvenile, that it reminded you of Adam’s own infuriating antics. You knew you should walk away, let it roll off you like water. But irritation flared, hot and sharp, fuelling the pettiness surging through your veins. 

You whirled around, planting your hands on your hips and mirroring her stance. “And let me guess,” you shot back, your voice thick with venom, “you begged him to fuck you, and he probably laughed in your face.” You let your gaze drift up and down her figure, daring her to react. “What was it? ‘No thanks, not even in your dreams’?” 

Her low growl sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to let her see it. Her black spandex suit, patterned with feather-like designs along the collarbone, left nothing to the imagination. A dark wave of jealousy clawed its way into your thoughts. 

Did Adam fuck her too? 

The bitter thought lodged itself in your mind, feeding your insecurities. You hated how easily jealousy and self-doubt wrapped their fingers around your pride. You knew your flaws—how you hid your vulnerability behind arrogance and defiance. The awareness of your own weakness only deepened the bitterness. 

But in Hell, weakness was a death sentence. So you squared your shoulders, tilted your chin up, and faked confidence as you’d always done. 

“Oh, trust me,” the bitch purred, her smirk widening into a grin that made your blood boil. “You can only dream of how fucking amazing our sex was.” Her words were a dagger, twisting deep. 

You closed your eyes, inhaling sharply as you repeated the mantra in your head. Don’t take the bait. Don’t take the bait. Don’t take the bait. 

But, like always, you did. 

The dingy sex hotel reeked of sweat, desperation, and bad decisions. The neon-red light from the sign outside bled through the thin curtains, bathing the room in an unsettling glow. 

You rubbed your sore cheek, the skin still smarting from where Lute—as she introduced herself—had punched you. The memory flashed in your mind: the sharp crack of her fist meeting your face, your vision blurring for a second before the red-hot rage kicked in. 

Now here you were, sitting on the edge of a creaky bed in a room you’d paid for, wondering how the hell things had escalated this far. 

Lute lounged against the opposite wall, her arms crossed, a victorious smirk plastered across her face. “Feeling better, sweetheart?” she cooed mockingly, her tone laced with condescension. 

You gritted your teeth, resisting the urge to lunge at her again. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. 

The moment Lute smugly mentioned she’d fucked Adam—your Adam—a tidal wave of possessive fury surged through you, so consuming it left no room for rational thought. Words turned into shouting, shouting turned into cursing, and before long, the two of you were rolling on the ground, nails clawing, legs tangling, and pulling hair like feral animals. Somehow, in the chaos, the argument shifted into a challenge: who was the better fuck? 

And the only way to settle it? To fuck each other. 

Now, standing stripped bare in the cheap hotel room, the gravity of what you’d agreed to hit you like a freight train. 

Holy hell… We’re all such idiots.

The thought barely formed before Lute grabbed the back of your hair, her fingers tangling cruelly in your locks. Without warning, she dragged you into a kiss so heated and rough it stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t sweet. It was teeth and dominance, sharp bites against your lips, her smirk pressed against your desperation. 

And you hated yourself for moaning into it. 

The pain from her grip on your hair sent jolts of pleasure down your spine, mixing with the heat pooling low in your belly. You pressed against her without thinking, your breasts flush against hers, nipples rubbing together in electric friction. Her skin was impossibly hot, searing into yours, and when her thigh slipped between your legs, pressing firmly against your dripping core, a strangled cry tore from your throat. 

“Look at you,” Lute sneered, grinding her thigh harder against you. Her voice was low, dripping with condescension. “So fucking wet from just a kiss. You’re pathetic.” 

“F-fuck you,” you managed to spit out, though the words trembled under the weight of your moans. 

Lute shoved you backward onto the bed with effortless strength. Before you could process, something heavy and cold hit your breast—a glittery pink dildo falling unceremoniously onto the sheets. You stared at it in disbelief. 

“What the hell is this?” 

“Start fucking yourself,” she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. She stood tall, her posture imperious, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and superiority. “I’m not done getting ready, but I want a show.” 

When you didn’t immediately move, her smirk darkened. “What’s wrong? Can’t even make yourself cum without help, you useless little slut?” 

Her words sent a pulse of heat straight to your core, and you hated the way your body reacted to her degradation. Your thighs quivered, your wetness betraying you. Gritting your teeth, you grabbed the toy with shaky hands. “I’ll show you why Adam chose me again and again,” you shot back, though the trembling in your voice betrayed your arousal. 

The dildo was thick, almost intimidating, but the wetness between your legs made it easy to press against your entrance. Slowly, you pushed it in, relishing the delicious stretch, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to spill out. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered, adjusting your hips to take the length deeper. With one hand, you pumped the toy in and out, your slickness making obscene sounds that filled the room. The other hand teased your nipples, pinching and twisting until they ached in the best way. 

Lute stood across the room, donning a strap-on that was almost comically large—angry red with veins that made it look impossibly real. Her toned body gleamed under the dim light, her breasts full and her nipples hard as she watched you writhe on the bed. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” she taunted, her voice a low growl. 

You ignored her, focusing on the pleasure building inside you, pumping the toy faster and faster. The bed creaked beneath you, your body arching as you chased your release. “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, your voice rising. “I’m gonna—gonna—” 

A sharp, stinging pain snapped you out of your haze. Your clit throbbed in shock as your eyes flew open. 

Lute stood over you now, her strap-on gleaming, her manicured hand raised from where she’d just slapped your sensitive flesh. “Not so fast,” she drawled, her voice thick with amusement. 

Before you could recover, her hand came down again, the sharp sound of the slap echoing in the room. Your back arched involuntarily, a strangled mix of pleasure and pain spilling from your lips. 

“Beg,” she demanded, her voice dark and dripping with authority. Her body towered over yours, her confidence radiant, as if she had already won. 

“Ah!” The cry tore from your throat as your back hit the mattress fully, legs spread wide, the dildo a relentless invader as your hips bucked against it, desperate for more. Your body moved on instinct, shamelessly chasing the aching need pooling in your core. 

“Look at you.” Lute’s voice dripped with smug satisfaction, her sharp smile cutting through the haze clouding your thoughts. Her fingers were precise, cruel, landing another slap against your throbbing clit. The sharp sting reverberated through your body, a wicked cocktail of pain and pleasure that left you gasping. 

“I knew you were a fucking slut,” she hissed, leaning closer as her eyes bore into yours. The insulting words should have made you burn with shame, but instead, they sent another wave of heat rushing through you. Her confidence was suffocating, intoxicating. 

In retaliation—or maybe submission—you bit down on your lip, muffling a throaty moan as your back arched off the bed. The dildo inside you pulsed against your walls, each thrust filling you to your limits. The obscene squelch of your arousal echoed in the room, louder and more frantic as your hips moved faster. You were so close, your body trembling with the promise of release. 

Lute, as if sensing your impending climax, doubled down. Her hand struck your clit again and again, each slap harsher, sharper, driving you to the edge. The sound of flesh meeting flesh melded with your cries, creating a symphony of debauchery. 

“Oh, fuck!” Your scream tore through the air as the dam broke. Heat burst from your core, a gush of liquid spilling out of you and coating both Lute and the mattress beneath you. Your cries morphed into incoherent moans as you kept pumping the dildo, riding the waves of your orgasm. “Yes, yes, yes—more, more, more!” The words spilled from your lips, uncontrollable, desperate. 

“Fuck, you make such a disgusting mess,” Lute spat, though her flushed cheeks and heaving chest betrayed her own arousal. Before you could recover, she grabbed your wrist, ripping your hand away from the dildo. She pressed its base deep into you, forcing the tip to kiss your cervix. 

The sharp intensity of the stretch sent a strangled cry out of you. “Oh, fuck!” Your hands clawed at hers, trying to ease the overwhelming pressure, but she pinned you in place. Her free hand found your nipple, twisting it with cruel precision. 

“Look at you,” she sneered. “You can’t even handle this, and you think you’re worthy of him?” 

“Fuck you,” you gasped, your body betraying you as the pain began to blur into pleasure. 

“I bet this isn’t enough for you, you insatiable whore,” she growled, her tone laced with venom. Without warning, she flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up sharply. 

The familiar position sent a spark of recognition through your fogged mind. This was how Adam liked to take you—how he knew you liked it. A pathetic yowl escaped your lips when Lute grabbed your tail, the tug sending a jolt of pain and pleasure through your trembling body. Your saliva dribbled down your chin as your cheek pressed against the mattress, your body arching into her dominance. 

The dildo inside you felt impossibly large, your walls fluttering around it as anticipation coiled tightly in your belly. You hadn’t taken two cocks in so long, and the idea alone had your pussy clenching around the toy. 

Lifting your head slightly, you glanced over your shoulder. Lute’s flushed face, her eyes dark with lust, zeroed in on you like a predator. Her gaze lingered on your exposed ass, her intent clear. 

Swaying your hips, you smirked. “Oh, trust me,” you purred, your voice dripping with provocation. “Adam—” Her expression faltered slightly at the name, a flicker of insecurity cracking through her mask. 

“Adam loves to fuck my ass,” you continued, dragging the words out slowly, savouring her reaction. You began to move the dildo in and out of your dripping cunt with deliberate slowness, moaning loudly for effect. “He can’t get enough of my pussy and my ass.” You arched your back further, your hips pushing up enticingly. “Isn’t that why he’s constantly fucking me instead of you?” 

The words were a dagger, aimed to wound. And by the way Lute’s lips curled into a snarl, it had struck its mark. 

A sharp slap echoed through the room, the sting rippling across your skin and leaving behind a fiery warmth. The pain dissolved almost as quickly as it came, replaced by the shocking, relentless intrusion of Lute filling your tight ring of your ass. She didn’t ease her way in—she claimed you with a force that left you gasping. The stretch burned deliciously, a stark contrast to the rhythm of her hips as they surged forward with unrelenting purpose. 

You felt overwhelmed and in response you moaned, low and throaty, your body arching into hers. The obscene slickness of your drool coated your lips, dripping onto the sheets as every thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you. She filled you completely, both cunt and ass stretched to their limits, her movements precise yet feral, striking every nerve that made you tremble. 

“You really thought you could leave him?” Lute growled, her voice a mix of derision and lust. Her nails bit into your hips as she yanked you back into her thrusts, burying herself even deeper. “That he’d come crawling after you, begging like some love-struck fool?” 

Her words were as sharp as her movements, cutting into the haze that had overtaken your mind. Emotions churned wildly—shame, desire, anger—all tangled together in a chaotic storm you couldn’t control. Your body, however, had no such conflict. It betrayed you completely, you gripped the dildo in your slick folds and moved in time with her pounding thrusts. 

“Adam!” His name tore from your lips in a raw, guttural scream. It wasn’t a conscious decision; it was instinct, a plea from a place deep within you. Sobs wracked your chest as pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your pussy convulsing around the thick toy. The orgasm was devastating, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d ruined you—mind, body, and soul. 

The room fell eerily silent as you lay there, trembling, your breath hitching in uneven gasps. Lute’s hands never faltered. She rolled you onto your side again as if you weighed nothing, her strength unnerving yet exhilarating. She grabbed the dildo from you and moved with a slick, obscene rhythm, each thrust sloppy and wet. You clawed at the sheets, your body pinned beneath hers as she drove you further into submission. 

There was no reprieve. Lute’s lips descended on your swollen clit, her tongue working circles that made your thighs quiver. Every nerve felt like it was on fire, the sensations building to an unbearable crescendo. Tears slipped from your eyes as your body jolted under her expert touch, writhing as waves of pleasure blurred the edges of your consciousness. 

“Ah… ahh…!” Your cries were incoherent now, reduced to desperate, broken sounds. Lute’s stamina was as merciless as her demeanour—she never faltered, her thrusts rhythmic and punishing, her tongue a relentless torment against your most sensitive flesh. 

Time lost meaning. The room dissolved into nothing but the wet, slick sounds of your bodies and the heady scent of sex that filled the air. Your legs trembled as exhaustion tugged at the edges of your awareness, but even as your body began to give out, she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. 

Her stamina rivalled his. No, it mirrored his. And with that realization, dread and anticipation coiled in your stomach. You knew she would push you past every limit, wringing orgasm after orgasm from you until you had nothing left to give. Even unconscious, you were certain she’d find a way to make you submit. 

Your body burned with a pleasure so intense it felt sinful—like a divine punishment crafted for a sinner like you. Maybe you deserved it, you thought, the fleeting notion lost in the cocktail mixture of sensations. You were too far gone, too consumed by the overwhelming heat, the slick press of her body against yours, the ceaseless rhythm that stole your breath and fractured your mind. 

And then, finally, sweet oblivion overtook you. The sounds of your body, your cries, your moans faded into the void, leaving you adrift in a dark, silent expanse where nothing else mattered. 

Lute heaved, her chest rising and falling as she stood over your wrecked, sprawled form. The dildo in her hand was soaked, glistening with your juices, and the room reeked of your debauchery. Her eyes flicked to the darkened spots staining the sheets beneath you, evidence of your squirting with every climax she’d wrung from you. She bit the inside of her cheek, bile rising in her throat at the thought of how Adam had always loved that—the mess, the chaos, the rawness of it. 

“Super hot,” he’d called it. 

Her gaze drifted lower, settling on your used pussy. It fluttered weakly, twitching in the aftermath of her relentless assault. She ripped the strap-on harness from her hips, her hands trembling with something she couldn’t name—frustration? Hatred? Envy so raw it felt like it would consume her? 

This was the cunt. The one Adam had fucked endlessly, obsessively, ever since his damnation. Her teeth clenched so hard it hurt. 

Her eyes burned as she looked down at the dildo slick with your juices. Slowly, she pressed the head of it against her entrance, her breathing shallow. She let herself imagine—for one fleeting, painful second—that it was him. That he was here, pressing into her, taking her apart with the same fervour he’d given you. 

The thought sent a violent shudder through her body. Anger swirled with frustration in a maelstrom of emotions that left her shaking. 

Why? 

Why did it have to be you? 

Why couldn't it have been her?

Lute’s nails dug into her palm as she stared down at you. She’d been by Adam’s side for centuries—since the day she’d pledged herself to the Exterminator’s cause. She had fought beside him, bled beside him, held his dying form in her arms during that final battle. If anyone deserved to be next to him, to be his, it was her. Not you. Not some temperamental fox demon whose mood swung as wildly as Hell’s weather. 

Her lip curled, hatred twisting her features as she thought of how effortlessly you’d stolen him. But before she could act on the anger roiling inside her, a sudden knock at the door startled her. 

She froze, her pulse hammering in her ears. That was... unexpected. Glancing at the clock, her brow furrowed. Their time shouldn't be up yet.

The knock came again, louder this time, insistent. Her head whipped toward the door, her breath catching in her throat. Tossing the dildo aside, she scrambled to find her clothes. Whatever was on the other side of that door, it was a threat. She was sure of it. A Sinner, perhaps. Maybe even one of your pathetic, desperate allies. 

But as she reached for her Angelic Steel weapon, she froze. 

“Babe?” 

Her blood ran cold. 

The voice was unmistakable. 

“I know you’re in there,” Adam called from behind the door, his tone light but carrying that same commanding edge she remembered all too well. Another knock followed, firmer this time, shaking the door on its hinges. 

Her heart raced, the sound of it pounding in her ears like war drums. She hadn’t seen him—truly seen him—since that battle, since she’d cradled his broken, bleeding body and watched the light leave his eyes. Since she’d learned he had fallen, damned to this place. 

And she had followed him, hadn’t she? Not openly, not brazenly, but from the shadows, drawn to him like a moth to flame. She had watched him, studied him, but never once dared to face him. How could she? He was everything she had been taught to loathe. A Sinner. The Sinner. And yet, here he was, standing on the other side of the door. 

Slowly, her trembling hands reached for the handle. She cracked the door open, just enough to see him. 

Her breath hitched. 

He hadn’t changed. Not really. The soft brown hair that curled at the ends, the sharpness of his goatee, the confident grin that had always set her pulse racing—it was all still there. But his eyes, oh, his eyes were sharper now, darker. They pierced through her like a blade, and she could feel her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. 

“Si—” she started, her voice barely a whisper. 

But Adam cut her off, brushing past her with the ease of a man who had nothing to prove. 

“Damn,” Adam muttered, his eyes softening as he looked down at the fox sinner lying unconscious on the bed. His tone was warm, almost affectionate. “If you wanted a good fuck, you should’ve come to me, sugartits,” he said with a smirk, effortlessly picking you up in a bridal carry, your limp form cradled against his chest. “Ah, shit, I should probably cover you up before you get pissed at me for flashing the entire streets of Hell,” he chuckled softly to himself, the tenderness in his voice as natural as breathing. 

Lute’s blood ran cold. Her eyes burned with a fury that threatened to consume her whole. She watched the scene unfold with a bitter, seething resentment. This was the man she had devoted everything to—her loyalty, her love—and here he was, cradling that bitch like you were the most precious thing in the world. The way he cared for you, the way he held you so gently—it made her want to tear her own heart out. Adam had never looked at her like that. He had never held her like that. She had given him everything, and now he was throwing it all away for a cheap sinner. 

For you 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shatter something, to make him see her, to make him feel her. The pain twisted in her chest, and a furious, bitter laugh bubbled up from the depths of her throat. 

Adam turned to leave, his attention on the door, but Lute stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Her chest heaved with desperation. She couldn’t just stand there and let it happen. She couldn’t just let him walk away from her without at least trying to make him see. 

“Sir, I—” her voice cracked, her heart pounding in her throat as she reached out to him. 

Adam stopped, looking at her with a flicker of curiosity. He didn’t even seem annoyed. His gaze was more... bemused. He tilted his head, his lips curling into a slight smirk. “You’re sort of in my way,” he said lazily, the words like ice in her veins. 

It hurts. The words she had wanted to say to him, the things she had wanted to plead, now stuck in her throat like shards of glass. She had tried for so long to fight it, to hold on to something, but now she saw the truth. She wasn’t the one he wanted. She wasn’t the one he needed. 

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she swallowed down the bitter rage that threatened to spill over. This was the man she had fought beside, bled for, and fallen in love with—and now he was walking away, without even a second glance. She wasn’t even a thought in his mind. 

“How could you?” Lute spat, her voice sharp and full of venom. “How could you live like this? Where’s your honour, your faith, your—” 

He snorted, a cynical laugh escaping his lips. His eyes, red as blood, flickered with something dark. “We’re in Hell now, Lute. What honour? What faith?” he said, his voice flat, resigned. The coldness in his tone stung her, as if he had completely given up on everything they had once stood for. The man she had loved—worshipped—was gone, replaced by this hollow shell. 

Her heart shattered all over again. “Y-you’ve changed,” she managed to choke out, her voice raw. It wasn’t just the words, it was the realization that he had completely slipped away from her, that everything she had once thought was solid and real was reduced to less than dust. 

Gone. 

"Uh, duh," he muttered, his tone so casually dismissive it felt like a slap. His eyes didn’t even linger on her as he adjusted the fox sinner in his arms. There was a tenderness there that Lute could never seem to get from him. He didn’t look at her the way he looked at you. "I kind of have horns now, like actual horns, and I’m in Hell,” he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 

Lute stood there, the anger swirling inside her like a storm. “We could change that,” she said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. She had said this to herself a thousand times before, rehearsed it in her mind like a mantra. “We could go to the Seraphim and beg them to reconsider. We can—” 

“Lute,” Adam’s voice was soft, but it was enough to silence her. That soft command, the one that had always made her want to kneel before him, now closed her mouth with a force that felt like a blow. She looked up at him, seeing that tired, resigned expression on his face—the man who had once been so full of life was now defeated, broken. “I can’t go back up there anymore,” he said simply, like it was a fact she should have already known. “The big man upstairs saw fit to bring me down here, so you and I both know it’s impossible.” 

“No,” Lute whispered, her voice trembling as she took a step closer to him. She had to try. She had to make him see. She reached out, desperate, her fingers brushing against his arm. “It’s not impossible. It’s not impossible.” 

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “One of the residents from that hotel—the snake sinner—he… he made it into Heaven, sir.” 

The words hung between them like a suffocating fog. Silence stretched out, heavy and unbearable. Lute’s heart raced, hope flickering in her chest even as the truth sunk in. She knew—deep down—that Adam had already made his choice. And it wasn’t her. 

He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable.

Adam’s chuckle started low, almost like a whisper, a dark, bitter sound that sent a chill crawling up Lute’s spine. It grew, slowly, until it broke free, rippling through the room in a full, boisterous laugh that seemed to mock everything they had once fought for. His shoulders trembled with the force of it, a laugh full of cynicism, full of sorrow, full of something Lute could never name but felt in the very marrow of her bones. And then, as quickly as it had come, the laughter faded, leaving only the heavy silence of a man who had long given up on anything pure, anything worth fighting for. 

Adam walked past her without a glance, his presence like a storm she couldn’t escape. He paused just before the threshold of the door, casting one last glance at her without ever really looking at her. She felt it—a hollow emptiness, as if he had already made his choice and it didn’t include her. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured softly, as though to himself. But the words cut through her like a knife. “Maybe my sons didn’t have to die after all.” 

Lute’s heart stopped. Her blood turned to ice. She was desperate to stop him, to make him understand, but the words caught in her throat. He was already walking away, retreating down the hallway like a man who had finally lost his soul. She scrambled toward the door, calling his name over and over, her voice frantic, raw with desperation. “Adam!” She could feel the tears beginning to burn at the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Not yet. “Adam, please!” 

But he didn’t turn back. 

Not once. 

Not ever. 

He didn’t even spare her a second glance as he walked away, each step taking him further from her, further from everything she had ever believed in. The very man she had respected, the very man she had loved with everything she had, was leaving her behind in a trail of dust and broken dreams. He was walking away from everything they had built together. From everything they had fought for. 

And it hurt. 

It hurt more than anything she had ever felt before. More than the battles they had fought. More than the pain of losing her faith. More than any wound ever inflicted upon her by another. 

He turned his back away from salvation. 

He turned his back away from faith. 

He turned his back away from her. 

And in the silence that followed, all Lute could do was stand there, lost in the shadows of a love that would never be returned. 

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that girl

PART ONE ✩ PART TWO WORD COUNT: 0.9k WARNINGS: f!reader | suggestive | fake relationship | love triangle

Ever since you'd first started hanging around JJ MAYBANK the other Kooks of Figure Eight have voiced their concern. Every word and every insult has been thrown around to describe him so as to convince you not to "waste your time with him." The mouth of RAFE CAMERON is especially foul. "I'm jus' looking out for you, that's all." he'd insist, and he's shown his concern by towing you along with a harsh grip on your upper arm.

It's no secret that Rafe's interest in you is selfish. He's told you in many ways that you belong with someone from your side of the island, not a delinquent who'll end up just like his slum father. Of course, he hasn't explicitly specified who exactly you should have you eyes on in Figure Eight.

There's something about the way Ward pushes you together, as if you're good for Rafe. Not just Ward, but Sarah and Wheezie love you. They cling onto your arms and tell you about how they wish you were part of the family already, grossly misinterpreting your relationship with their brother. Sarah rolls her eyes at how Rafe talks when he's around you, how he's on edge and slightly more neurotic because he "likes you so much it's embarrassing." Playful and innocent, yet they put you at unease, teaching you to suspect Rafe's oncoming confession.

It's gotten to the point where you're afraid to be alone with him. That he'll confess his feelings for you, or respond poorly when you reject him. Actively avoiding him whenever you're in the same vicinity because the pressure is just too much. However, he's determined, and when he corners you inside at the Midsummer's, you run through a list of excuses at a record pace.

"... and I just think it's time we go out—"

You interrupt him with possibly the worst option on the wheel your brain had spun. "Rafe, I have a boyfriend." Blurting it out in a flinch, readying for his inevitable meltdown. He's not known for being stable. An indignant, knowing glint flashes in his eyes as he refocuses on you, taken aback at the prospect of you belonging to someone else.

"Well, who?"

You're reminded of the back of JJ's head when you'd spotted him sneaking in earlier. "C'mon, you should know already." In an attempt to be lighthearted, you push at his arm but he's immovable and unresponsive, glancing at your contact as if it's unwanted. Embarrassed, you drop your arm, and give him a shrug, "It's JJ." you say in a forced laugh. The silence is killing you as he processes your words, lips pressed into a thin line. Tentatively, you crawl across the wall, inching out of the space he caged you in. "I should... get back to him. Excuse me." your tone feathers out, and you escape, power-walking back to the outside where people are. You leave him staring at the wall with his knuckle to his mouth in thought.

You crane your neck, searching bobbing heads for the one of familiar blonde hair. Miraculously, you spot him on the dancefloor, rounding Sarah. Hiking up your dress, you hurry to his location, and usher him aside. "Sorry, Sarah, be right back." you assure her.

"Hey, easy, you'll get it crinkled." JJ scolds you, straightening out his waiter get-up indignantly. Without thinking, you hand claps over his mouth and he furrows his brows at you, scanning your figure.

"I don't have time to explain, but I need you to be my fake boyfriend—"

The crease in his brows deepen at the notion, minutely shaking his head under the pressure of your palm. "Uh-uh!"

"Please, JJ, I need your help—"

He smacks your hand off, "Are you kidding me?" he questions, too loud for comfort, and to evade making a scene you drag him further away while shushing him.

"You don't understand, just for a little bit!" you beg, clutching onto his clothes as he continuously pushes you off, intent to back up and away. You chase him.

"No, no way, princess. You know what the white knights of Figure Eight'll do to me if they find out a dick from the Cut is your sweetheart? I've got enough heat on me as is." If it were under different circumstances, maybe, but his friends have assured him the less attention on him the better. Not while they're in the middle of a treasure hunt, and less eyes means less competition. Certainly not something he can disclose with you, and you hound after him as he furthers from the centroid of the party. A door opens, and Rafe comes into your view. You jump into overdrive, diving onto JJ to pull him out of Rafe's peripheral. "The hell—?"

"That's Rafe, that's Rafe. God, please, JJ. If you just pretend you're my boyfriend in front of Rafe maybe he'll leave me alone?" You upturn your brows, begging him while his back is to the wall. Bewildered, he stares at you a second before looking around the corner. He licks his lips. The chance to get back at Rafe psychologically sounds pretty good right now, and the way you throw yourself at him ain't bad either. He locks eyes with you again, giving you a once-over in your pretty Midsummer dress. "Please?" you sigh. "JJ. Please?"

His nostrils flare when he sucks in a breath, pursing his lips. "Damnit. Damnit, alright. Enough with those eyes, are you kidding me? I'll do it."

You expel a breath in relief, tossing yourself at him to wind your arms around his neck. "Thank you! Thank you, thank you,"

"Alright, alright." He peels you off of him. "Don't get all happy with me, you've gotta remember I make the rules here."

You shouldn't have agreed to his rules so readily. Like an idiot, you had told him you're down for whatever it takes and he took that seriously. Now you're subjected to his every whim. A small part of you deems it's worth it, especially seeing Rafe's face after JJ made out with you and grabbed your ass for the first time in front of him.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (X – SAURON)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST ALTERNATIVE ENDING (ADAR)

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You already made your decision to remain by Adar's side but your former lover has different plans.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — First of all, thank you so much for your comments under every part and your support because this fic (and this fandom) was what brought back my joy for writing! 😊 I am aware most of you wants to see The Reader from this fic with Adar but I still wanted to let you make a choice and I had an idea for this storyline either way, so... 🤷🏻‍♀️ The very cold line Some are born for sacrifice is taken from another fantasy TV show – The Shannara Chronicles. 😅 I loved while watching the show and I remembered about it while writing this story. I think it suits. 🤐 This part is more canon-like than the alternative ending where The Reader chooses Adar tbh.

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship, YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS 💀

WORD COUNT — 4,930

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (X – SAURON)

You spent the rest of the day and half of the night inside the forest, in your new favourite place, feeling uneasy. Alone, just in case Sauron wanted to reach out to you again. But he was not making such attempts and it was making you anxious more than ever. His wrath was something you did not want to experience yourself and you knew very well that you had earned it.

Nervously fidgeting with the wedding band around your finger, you were sitting there by the fallen tree and listening to the sounds of the battle taking place nearby. Once more, you felt like sneaking back into the camp, stealing your own horse and running away to some place where no one knew you. But you knew you could not. You had to face the consequences of your actions.

Eventually, you took a deep breath in and decided to find Adar. You needed him close to feel safe and secure again because your anxiety was growing bigger and bigger with each given moment.

You found him near your shared tent, surrounded by the Orcs, small fires to light the path and all the war machines that made you realise how truly close you were to the battle indeed and how serious the situation was.

As you were approaching Adar from one side, you spotted Glûg walking up to him from the opposite one, with some of his friends standing behind as if they were waiting for him to speak to their Lord Father in the name of them all.

“Lord Father,” Glûg started just when you stood next to your husband and wrapped your trembling hands around his arm, happy that he was still there; that Sauron’s rage had not taken him away from you just yet. “The wall is stronger than we thought,” Glûg continued with his head slightly bowed down. “We may not breach it before morning. The Elf is faring better than you expected,” he added. “His troops have already destroyed five of our trebuchets. Many Uruk are dying,” he emphasised, his voice filled with pain and fear. “What are your orders, Lord Father? Shall we sound retreat?”

“No,” Adar’s answer was quick, nearly harsh. It caused a shiver to go down your spine as you watched with interest the conversation between him and his son. “Sauron must not escape,” Adar stated and turned around in your direction, putting his arm around your back to walk you inside the tent. “Bring down that wall. At any cost,” he added.

“Adar!” Glûg exclaimed and you exchanged a meaningful look with your husband. There was desperation but also a hint of disappointment mixed with anger in the Orc’s voice. You both froze and turned around to face him once more. “You told us… You loved us,” Glûg reminded his father in the Black Speech and your heart clenched inside your chest at his words that you could understand perfectly well now.

“With all that is left of my heart,” Adar answered with pain but also determination in his voice. Too much to let you become Sauron’s slaves.”

There was no answer from Glûg or any of the Orcs, so Adar left your side and went inside the tent. You hesitated at the sight of their faces, though. Their expressions did not mean anything good but you had no idea how you could fix it.

Either way, it was an argument between the Orcs and their Lord Father. You were not a side in this conflict. Therefore, you turned around and followed your husband inside the tent.

When you looked around, you spotted that he was angry and crouching down next to a few dead bodies of the Orcs. Lady Galadriel was not around.

“She’s still in the camp. Find her!” He barked at a few Orcs coming inside after you and they nodded before running out.

“What happened?” You asked.

“She escaped,” Adar stood up and showed you a small Elven key Galadriel had to use to get out of her shackles. Suddenly, you realised what Herald Elrond had done while kissing her. He had managed to distract everyone from the fact he had handed her his brooch with a hidden item inside.

“Smart,” you admitted and tilted your head but Adar was not impressed.

“You were supposed to watch over her,” he reminded you, harshly.

“Me?” You were surprised at his words. “I know that you are nervous because the battle is not going the way you planned and I agree with Glûg that we should retreat and go back home but that is no reason for you to take it out on me,” you drawled out through your gritted teeth.

Adar did not say anything to that as he gave you a scolding look and left the tent in a hurry, leaving you speechless. However, not even a minute passed and he was back.

“Forgive me,” he said and extended his hand towards yours. “I might die today and I do not want to leave this world knowing that the very last thing we did was to argue,” he admitted and you sighed, approaching him.

You ignored his extended hand because you threw your arms around his neck instead and you hugged him tight before taking a small step back and cupping his face in your hands.

“Do not say such things, please,” you pleaded and cracked a nervous smile before joining your lips together to kiss him softly before you eventually let him go to join his children.

The battle was getting worse and more ferocious but you remained inside your tent, nervously patting the surface of the wooden table with your fingers. Then, suddenly, angry Glûg entered the tent without even announcing himself. You turned around, surprised and raised an eyebrow at him.

“My Lady,” he bowed his head very slightly, nearly lazily, which was quite uncommon for him.

“What is it, dear?” You tried to be more lighthearted.

“I come to you because Adar remains deaf to my pleas,” Glûg sighed, still standing near the entrance of the tent as if he was scared of approaching you.

“What pleas, Glûg? He will not agree to go back home. Believe me, I’ve tried,” you rolled your eyes slightly and Glûg squinted his small eyes at you.

“That I know, my Lady,” he nodded. “He has just ordered to send the troll in.”

“And what about it?” You inquired. “Have we not brought that filthy creature here to use him in battle?”

“He is killing our own kind!” Glûg tried to protest and you pursed your lips after realising how delicate the situation was indeed.

“I understand,” you nodded and stood up finally to approach him. “However, you must trust your Lord Father’s orders. Some battles require smaller losses to win the big thing in the end. I have lost a lot myself. I have lost things you have no idea of, Glûg,” you only said and he growled but then he looked down at your scolding expression. “We all have a part to play,” you added. “Some are born for sacrifice.”

Glûg looked up at your face as if he was scared of you. Perhaps he was but you were not given more time with him because he left the tent in a hurry. You sighed and went back on the chair. Everything was a mess and you just wanted the battle to be over. The worst thing was the uncertainty.

When the dawn came, you could no longer stay in one place. You left the tent and went deeper into the forest to hide between the tall trees. But instead of going straight to your favourite place, you took a small detour, trying to calm down your pounding heart and your shaky breath.

Your mind was plagued with all the things you could have done differently. You could have told Adar back in Mordor that Halbrand was Sauron. You could have slaughtered him yourself with Morgoth’s crown. You had known then, after all, where Adar was keeping it. You could have discouraged your husband instead of encouraging him when it came to the matter of attacking Eregion.

So many things you could have done differently but you had been blinded by Sauron and his empty promises.

You reached the cliff and there you could witness the true image of what you had caused – burning Eregion, one of the most beautiful Elven cities… now fallen. Your eyes welled with tears but could you really blame yourself? It was all him – Sauron.

“I have promised you, have I not?” His voice filled your head that very moment. You turned around but no one was there as your heart skipped a beat. His voice was overlooming and malicious – he was angry with you and you could feel it despite the physical distance.

“Promised me what?” You asked, angrily.

“I have promised I would destroy them all. All the beautiful Elven cities you felt so small compared to. Mithlond, Eregion… I have promised that you would watch them burn,” Sauron reminded you.

“You have promised me I would watch them burn with a crown upon my head,” you gritted your teeth.

“And you promised me you would bring me the very crown and put it onto my head. Back in Mordor, when I was your prisoner. How sweet you were to me then,” Sauron answered, his voice filled with sinister irony.

“Leave me,” you shook your head and shut your eyes close, letting the warm tears stream down your cheeks.

“You have outdone yourself, I must admit, my love. You might have earned my forgiveness with the army you brought me,” he whispered before leaving your mind as you had requested.

You took a deep breath in and opened your eyes rapidly.

Adar.

You had to find him. You had to find him now.

You gathered your skirts and ran back inside the forest, through the trees and the hidden paths you were able to see perfectly well because of your Elven heritage. Your ancestors had been running through forests like this one – maybe even the same woods. It was in your blood to be able to swiftly move through the trees.

In no time you found yourself in your favourite spot by the fallen tree where the sunlight was creeping in. And as you circled around, wondering where to go, you overheard glimpses of conversations. You immediately recognised your husband’s voice but also… Lady Galadriel’s?

With a furrowed brow, you followed the voices and found yourself approaching a small forest clearing with a stone circle, which had most likely been made by your kin back in the First Age. In the very centre of it stood the biggest stone and Morgoth’s crown was placed upon it.

Your husband was approaching Lady Galadriel and handing her back a Ring – you assumed he had managed to get the one forged by Lord Celebrimbor for her. And the power of this item you could feel even there, hidden between the trees. It was vibrating with pure light and chiming with a beautiful, Elven song.

And Adar’s face was different. It was… Healed. You gasped and took a step ahead but when he turned his face back at you, you could see the scars appearing once more because the Ring was now back on Lady Galadriel’s finger.

“We must go,” you swallowed the lump in your throat as you approached them. “We must go back home. Please,” you grabbed him by his sleeve. “I beg of you,” you added, not caring much about your pride anymore. You didn’t even mind Lady Galadriel’s curious gaze.

“On the contrary,” Adar smiled softly and caressed your cheek. “We have just made ourselves a deal with the Elves” he told you and you furrowed your brows before laying your eyes on Galadriel. She smiled nervously at you. “Together, we might destroy Sauron.”

Hope bloomed deep inside of you once more at his words. You cracked a smile at Galadriel, too.

“Thank you,” you breathed out to her.

But despite all of that, you had a feeling that something was not right. It was too easy. Sauron would never let it happen and he would surely predict it.

“We shall create a lasting peace in Middle-earth,” Adar added and you squeezed his arm tighter, lovingly. “Now and forever.”

You knew that deep down that was all he had ever wanted – for his children to have their own land and live there peacefully as he would watch over them. And you would, too. By his side. You smiled to yourself.

Your small moment of blissfulness was interrupted by a few Orcs carrying Glûg on the stretchers. His face was wincing out of pain and he seemed to be hurt. Adar left your side immediately and you stood there with Galadriel while you observed.

“What happened?” Adar kneeled down to check on his son.

“We found Sauron, Lord Father,” one of the Orcs explained and you moved uncomfortably at that mention. “He tried to make Glûg betray you, but he resisted. So, Sauron did this. The others are pursuing him now.”

“Forgive me, child,” Adar whispered to Glûg.

You wanted to go to him, too but you tilted your head instead when you realised that the rest of the Orcs were not kneeling by their dying brother’s side. No, they were keeping a fair distance as they formed a circle around Adar and Glûg, with their hands close to the hilts of their weapons.

“Adar…” You called his name. “My love, can you come back to me?” You reached out to him with your hand carefully as it trembled.

But he did not listen to you because, at that moment, his son’s pain was his priority.

“It’s too late…” Glûg groaned.

“It’s never too late,” Adar insisted. “Not even for me. And not for you, my son.”

“Adar…!” You insisted but you were ignored once more and tears filled your eyes. You even took a small step closer even though at that moment, you were not sure anymore if you could keep trusting the Orcs.

“It’s too late…” Glûg whimpered as if he was dying and a short moment after you watched in terror how he pierced Adar’s side with his blade.

You shouted and reached for your sword without thinking twice about whether your abilities were enough or not to fight them but when you were about to charge at the Orcs attacking your husband and him not even trying to defend himself… you were stopped.

A hand on your shoulder.

You looked around and saw Sauron’s face so close to yours that you gasped. He had a new form once again but this time it did not differ so much from the previous one. He was a blond Elf now, radiating light and wisdom. A blasphemous image, surely.

His eyes in that moment were nothing but two dark abysses as he was looking you up and down with pure hatred and curiosity.

“Let go of her!” Lady Galadriel ordered and you nearly chuckled at how naive she could be.

“She is exactly where she is supposed to be. By my side,” Sauron smirked and you turned your head around once more to glance at your husband.

Adar was laying on the ground now but he was still alive enough to see. You tried to get free from Sauron’s grasp and he surprisingly allowed it.

There was no point of fighting the Orcs now – there were too many of them. And perhaps some part of you wished for them to do to your body the same thing they had done to your husband. So, you tossed aside Morgoth’s sword because it would only slow you down and you hurried to Adar’s side as you kneeled by him and sobbed.

“Please, stop!” You begged the Orcs but they ignored you. Yet, their blades made sure to not even scratch you as they were piercing through Adar. “Please…” You begged and begged as Adar laid his blue eyes filled with sadness on your face. “My love, please, forgive me… Please…” You caressed his cheeks and his hair as your tears were falling down upon his face. “You can’t die thinking I did not love you. I am so sorry… So, so sorry…”

Sauron approached you all, which caused the Orcs to retreat. You noticed he was holding Morgoth’s crown now in his hand. They were standing in a circle above you and you were kneeling down, holding Adar’s dying body, sobbing and looking up at your corrupted lover.

“Please…” You whispered. “I love him,” you told Sauron.

But Sauron did not react. He only watched with a twisted satisfaction and you squeezed Adar’s cold hand. You felt his fingers trying to squeeze back yours, which only made you sob even more.

“My… children…” He looked at you as he breathed out in the Black Speech.

“They are not children anymore,” Sauron informed him and you shot him a deadly glance. Glûg was standing right next to him and your pain mixed with anger at the thought that it was him out of them all who had betrayed your husband.

“I forgive you,” Adar told you in the Quenya language now and your heart skipped a beat. “I love you.”

You were too heartbroken to say anything to that but you knew that he knew how much you loved him, too. And you knew he understood why you had done all those things – he understood what it meant to be under Sauron’s spell.

Sauron put his hand upon your shoulder and moved you away slightly to make more space for Glûg to finish Adar off with one final stroke as he yelled and you sobbed.

When the fallen Elves die, where do they go?

“What orders, Lord Sauron?” Glûg asked Sauron as all the Orcs bowed down. The very moment their Lord Father let out his last breath.

Crying silent tears, nothing but hatred grew and grew inside of your heart for them now. They were just like everyone had been saying – vile and cruel. They did not know anything about love or loyalty.

They did not deserve Adar.

You did not deserve Adar.

“Raze Eregion,” Sauron ordered but you couldn't care less about anything else now. All that mattered was your husband, laying there dead. You were still squeezing his hand. “Leave no Elf alive but bring me their leaders.”

“Hail Sauron! Hail the new Dark Lord!” Glûg shouted in the Black Speech and the rest followed, screaming it over and over.

In the meantime, you caressed Adar’s face and wiped the black blood streaming down his chin from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. You fixed his hair delicately and closed his eyelids and it nearly looked like he was asleep.

The Orcs finally ran away, passing you by. Sauron kept staring at you with contempt and you looked up with hatred.

“I will be back,” he smirked and walked away to join Lady Galadriel since the business between them was surely not over yet. You watched with gritted teeth how he picked up your sword and claimed it as his.

And, once more, you found yourself not caring. Because it did not matter, after all. Nothing mattered and you felt nothing, too. You were empty.

Sauron and Galadriel began their duel but you did not watch. She hurried away into the forest and Sauron followed her and now all you could hear was the sound of clinking metal.

“Sleep, my dear,” you whispered as you looked down at Adar’s peaceful face and caressed his hair. “Sleep, you deserve it,” you added with a trembling voice.

Your hands went lower to his own because you wanted to take the wedding ring off of his finger to keep it. You did so and then you reached with your fingers inside his sleeve and you sobbed more after finding there the leaves of the holy trees you had married under.

“Oh, Adar…” You lowered yourself to press your forehead to his. “Thank you for everything.”

He was the very first who had shown you love and given you power. You missed him already – his soft smiles at you, the brushes of his fingertips upon your cheeks, his rough voice, his usual calmness, his wisdom. His respect towards you and how safe he was able to make you feel. That you just knew he would never harm you – his wife.

You did not know how much time had passed but you were sitting there without moving an inch, holding Adar’s body close and feeling how his body was slowly getting colder and colder.

Familiar footsteps brought you back to reality. Sauron, wielding your sword in one hand and Morgoth’s crown in another with Galadriel’s blood dripping down from its iron spikes as you looked up to see his angry face.

“She refused you once more,” you pointed out, bitterly. “So you’re back to me. What would you do if she said yes? Would I join my husband in death then?” You asked, calling Adar your husband to spite him.

“She said no and I am here,” Sauron clenched his jaw. “What would you do if he was alive?” He asked and your expression changed because, sadly, he had a point.

He had betrayed you but you had betrayed him, too. It was only fair. But just like you had feared his wrath – perhaps he should fear yours, too. That would be fair as well.

“He is dead and I am here,” you caressed Adar’s cheek one last time and stood up to be on Sauron’s level. “Give me back my sword,” you reached out with your hand but there was no reaction from him. “It was not a plea. The sword is mine, so is Mordor and so is the army. I have earned them,” you stated, harshly and Sauron let out a contemptuous laugh. “The Lady of Light did not follow you and you were a fool for thinking she would even consider it,” you added and Sauron’s laughter stopped in an instant as he shot you a deadly glance.

He could not threaten you with death, though, because it would only mean a reunion with Adar, therefore you did not fear it anymore.

“Only I am rotten enough to follow you, Sauron,” you pointed out, bitterly. “Perhaps all of this had to happen for us to finally realise that we are cursed with one another,” you continued and walked past Adar’s body to get your sword from Sauron’s hands yourself. He allowed you to but he kept watching you closely. “We are doomed to walk side by side, my love,” you whispered but your words were malicious.

You looked deep into his scary eyes although you were sure yours were just as terrifying at that moment. And when you were getting the sword from him, your hands joined together for a moment as you two froze like that.

You hated and despised him. He had betrayed you. And yet, it was true that you had to be doomed to be with him because, still, you felt attracted to him. Still, you would follow him wherever he would go now.

You had nowhere else to go anyway.

“I rue the day I met you,” you told him in Black Speech, “shadow of Morgoth.”

Those words visibly angered him as he tilted his head with a smirk.

“If I am nothing but his shadow, what does that make you? You are merely made in the image of me,” Sauron remarked.

“No, I am my own self. My own person. My own soul with my own desires,” you raised your head high. “If I am to follow you, it will be on different terms this time. It will be as your equal,” you insisted.

“What use are you to me except for warming my bed?” Sauron grabbed you by your chin as he brought your face closer and his hot breath fanned over your skin.

“What use are you to me except for warming mine?” You answered, calmly.

Your spat was interrupted by Glûg himself who ran up to you with one of his friends. At the sight of him, Sauron let go of your chin and you both turned around to face the Orcs.

“We are overwhelmed, Lord Sauron!” Glûg exclaimed after approaching you two and you kept staring at him with nothing but pure hatred and disgust. Like he deserved to be treated after everything he had done. “The Dwarves are securing the Elves’ retreat,” he shook his head, nervously.

Sauron said nothing and kept staring at the Orc with a puzzled expression, surprised that he even dared to file such a complaint. Glûg laid his small and pleading eyes on you as he bowed down.

“If we pursue, many Uruks will die, Lady Mother,” he addressed you and his words caused your jaw to clench as blood boiled in your veins.

“Do not call me that,” you scolded him, harshly, as you glanced briefly at your husband’s dead body before looking back at the Orc. “I have no love for you,” you told him and Glûg’s eyes widened. “You have betrayed the only person who was able to love your filthy kin,” you added and you made your point very clear to the rest by piercing your sword right through him.

And what a satisfaction it brought you to watch him choke on it when it was him who had betrayed your husband the most. You twisted the blade and retreated it as Glûg fell down on the ground and curled up to die.

“What are you staring at?” You barked at his shocked and terrified friend. “Go back and fight!” You ordered and he ran away.

Short silence occurred between you and Sauron. When you finally broke it by sighing and turning around to walk away slightly, you felt his hands on your wrists, pulling you closer once more. His face was right in front of yours but this time there was no threat in them and they were no black abysses anymore but a beautiful shade of green.

However, you moved away.

“I want to give my husband a proper burial,” you crouched down next to Adar’s body. “Then I can go with you.”

You formed the funeral pyre yourself in that favourite spot of yours by the fallen tree. It took you a whole day since you were carefully choosing the best branches to do so. And it was you without anyone’s help moving Adar’s body on top of it. When you were able to finally light the fire, it was dark already but you knew he would prefer it this way.

You hesitated while carrying the torch because you knew that burning him was a definite act. He would be no more. Not even his flesh.

Yet, you couldn’t leave him behind to rot.

“In flames he returns to darkness,” you whispered in the Black Speech and lit the pyre before taking a step back and watching it burn.

You were so cried out that only one single tear streamed down your cheek and you did not even bother to wipe it.

A quiet sound of the footsteps made you realise that Sauron joined you but you did not look back. You knew he made that slight noise with the purpose of letting you know he was there, so you ignored him purposefully, too.

“You, Elves, you marry once in a lifetime, do you not?” He stood right behind you and you sighed at the irony in his voice.

“We do,” you nodded as you played nervously with the contents of your pocket – two wedding rings and the leaves of the holy trees. “But in the eyes of the Valar, we are married. You and I,” you turned your head around to look at his devilishly handsome face being lit by the light from the dancing flames. “I have given myself to you out of my own free will and during our first night together I became your wife,” you reminded him, bitterly. “You have many brides, though, am I right, Lord Sauron?”

He did not answer as he kept staring at the flames but he put his hands on your shoulders and pulled you a bit closer to him.

“None of them as terrific as you,” he confessed with a hint of admiration and leaned in to place a kiss upon your temple.

His words were like venom – treacherous and infectious. You liked to think that you were immune now to him and his craft but perhaps you had overestimated your own self.

You turned your head around and your noses brushed softly as you gave in and opened your lips to welcome his hungry kiss.

“My Dark Lady of Mordor,” he whispered between the kisses. “Commander of my Army. My Queen.”

His Queen. Everything you had once wanted and now you had it.

But what a price you had to pay for it.

What a price indeed… To find out that you had a heart hidden in there despite it all – only for it to die and rot shortly after.

And whatever was left of it, Sauron had a tight hold on it.

“Your Queen,” you cracked a sad smile and let go of the wedding rings and the leaves inside your pocket to raise your hand and caress his smooth cheek. “Your malediction.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE 2.0 — Hi, it's me again! 👋🏻 If you are here for angst, then I think reading Adar's ending might make it worse for you because it shows you the possibility of what could have been only if our Reader made slightly different choices. If you read both endings, you will see that it was mostly small gestures of kindness and compassion that decided her fate. 💓

MASTERLIST

[bowlofsoob]

mr. oblivious

The entire staff at the new school you work at consistently attempt at getting you and another rather aloof teacher, Choi Soobin, together after witnessing you interact quite often. The catch is that you both are married, and none of the staff have figured it out, yet.

choi soobin x gender neutral reader

established relationship, married, teachers au

wc: 2.7k words

It took about three weeks at your new job for you to notice something was going on with your co-workers, and your students as well to top it off. It was as if they were all in on some inside joke you weren’t a part of, or perhaps the center of it. But that might just be your own insecurities about being the newest teacher at this school.

You had recently been laid off as a literature teacher after working at the same high school for a few years due to lack of budget to support the creative arts.

So, instead of educating high schoolers, you deemed it would be much better to teach a group of younger kids, much easier and stress free. After a couple of weeks you had gotten a job as the Art teacher at the very school your husband worked at thanks to his recommendation. Everyone there was very accepting of you and you felt right at home, for a while at least.

It was much different then being a literature professor for older kids, now you got to do finger painting for a living. And even though your English degree was collecting dust, (you shed a tear at this every night), you were actually enjoying your time teaching for once. Little children were much more bearable than high schoolers. There were no love triangles you had to deal with, kids giving handjobs under the desks, or getting paper planes thrown at you. The most drama that ever happened in your elementary classes was when Haerin wouldn’t share the red crayons with anyone.

Well, you were enjoying it. Past tense.

Ever since you ended up catching teachers and students halting their whispers when you walked by you’ve been rather uneasy.

You brought it up to Soobin during dinner one night and the other male merely shrugged, but that one was on you though. Soobin didn’t interact with any of his co-workers unless he absolutely had to. It was a surprise he was a favorite teacher among the students, unbeknownst to you it was because the children found the male handsome and his teaching style atrocious.

You were surprised to learn none of your co-workers had even held a coherent conversation with Soobin, despite him working there for much of his career. So when Beomgyu, one of the school’s music teachers, let out a gasp at seeing Soobin sitting beside you in the staff room, he was taken aback. Soobin never went out of his way to make new friends, it seems he was content with the little to no socializing he did in college and called it a day.

“So, what’s your secret?” Beomgyu sang, sidling up next to you as he poured himself a cup of coffee, “How’d you get the ever so quiet Soobin to talk to you for longer than a minute?”

“What are you on about?” you chuckled, taking a tentative sip of the hot beverage, you didn’t want to burn your tongue again, it had ruined your entire week last time, “I just talk?”

Beomgyu and you quickly clicked upon your moving careers, there was something calming about the constant chitter chatter that left his mouth. Although, it was also a little annoying at times. Like right now.

“Last time I did that he just glared at me,” Beomgyu dramatically sighed, “Maybe he has his eyes on you.”

“Ooh, are we talking about SoobinYn?” Hueningkai grinned, the actual English teacher, walking into the staff room.

“What the hell is SoobinYn?” you questioned, growing uncomfortable, why was everyone obsessing over you and Soobin? Was this their way of welcoming you?

“I’m going to exit this conversation now,” you mumbled, turning around when you bumped into the other half of said conversation.

And to your horror, a little splash of your coffee landed on the other.

A collective gasp was heard from the staff room, preparing themselves for the ever so aloof male to lash out. Last time Yeonjun spilled his drink on Soobin the dark-haired male had the entire staff shaking in their seats.

“Careful,” Soobin mumbled, catching his arm on your shoulder to steady you before making his way past you to make himself a cup of coffee, not batting an eye as he grabbed a napkin and dabbed at it to lessen the soak.

“Fuck, sorry,” you immediately apologized, grabbing the napkin from Soobin and placing your mug down, “Do you want my jacket?”

“It’s fine,” Soobin assured, picking up your mug and handing it back to you before grabbing his own mug that was now full and leaving the room, but not before patting your waist fondly on his way out.

You made sure to pointedly ignore Beomgyu and Hueningkai’s loud snickers as you hurriedly left the room.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Everyone’s intentions became clear when you overheard your own students conversing about you. The utter betrayal.

You were running a little late to your class that afternoon after a lively student had spilled glitter on you earlier that morning, you spent a good five minutes scrubbing it off your hands in the staff bathroom before making your way back to class. You had left your classroom door ajar in a hurry to leave, which made it easy for you to eavesdrop on your students when you heard Soobin’s name spoken for the nth time that day.

“I saw them eating lunch in Sir Soobin’s room the other day when I went to get my backpack!” Hyein insisted, a lollipop hanging halfway out of her mouth as the group that had gathered around her table eagerly nodded along to her story, “I think they like-like each other!”

“Like-like?” Haerin drawled out, tapping her chin, “That’s very serious.“

“We should make them be a couple!” Sunoo giggled, clapping his hands, “Teacher Y/n is very nice! Mister Soobin is not good enough for them but it’s okay.”

So this was what your coworkers were giggling about, they thought that you and Soobin were pining for each other. Which wasn’t necessarily untrue, but had Soobin really not mentioned being married even once?

Truth be told, you never wore your ring to school, you didn’t want any paint or glitter to get stuck between the diamonds and have to pay to get it cleaned, but did Soobin really leave his ring at home too? Seems even Mathematics teachers were prone to disasters via children.

“Alright, back to your respected tables, please,” you greeted as you made your way back into class, ignoring the exuberant glances the children gave you. “Valentines is coming up this week, how about we make little cards for your friends?”

“Or boyfriends,” Sunoo giggled behind his hands as the class shrieked in laughter. You merely patted him on the head and sighed. Today was going to be quite the long day.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“—I say we send Y/n a Valentine in Soobin’s name, we all know he won’t do it himself!” Beomgyu rebuked, pointing an accusatory finger at Yeonjun.

“Shouldn’t we give him the benefit of the doubt!” Yeonjun huffed in response, “They’re clearly into one another.”

“You got it all wrong, Y/n will make the first move and we should allow them to do so,” Taehyun, the school’s gym teacher, drawled, tapping his finger on his chin. “I believe they will ask Soobin out on Valentine’s!”

“Are you guys chatting about me again?” you deadpanned, already backing out of the room, but your back ran into something, or rather someone.

“Clumsy as always,” Soobin murmured, placing a hand on your waist and gently pushing you out of the way, “What are you idiots looking at?” he questioned, glaring at Beomgyu who was stifling a laugh.

“You never come in here, I should be interrogating you!” Yeonjun defended, hands on his hips.

“Lunch,” Soobin dryly stated, reverting back to his one word answers, and handed a bag to you, “You said you were craving Chinese earlier.”

The familiar smell of fried rice wafted through the room as you peered inside the bag, “You remembered? Thank you.”

Soobin hummed, turning to leave the staff room and hermit himself in his classroom once again.

The moment he left all hell broke loose.

“SEE! I knew Soobin would make a move!”

“But it’s not Valentine’s yet! Y/n still has a chance!"

“We should just lock them up at this rate, this is getting frustrating.”

You clutched the bag tightly and walked out the room, ignoring the shouts questioning the nature of you and Soobin’s relationship that your coworkers shot behind you.

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Soobin?” you called out, knocking on the door as you opened it, which took away the action’s purpose but you were impatient.

Said male looked up from where he was typing and gave you a glance before averting his eyes back, humming to show he was listening.

“Have you eaten yet?” you asked, shutting the door behind you as you pulled up one of the students’ chairs to sit beside Soobin, leaning back into it as Soobin gestured to his half finished take out box.

“Everyone thinks you and I have a crush on each other,” you blurted, leaning your chin on your palm as you watched Soobin work, watching how his nimble fingers came to a stop at your words.

“A crush?” Soobin repeated, turning to face you, “What? That’s childish.”

“They don’t know we’re married!” you huffed, “Did you not tell them? Where’s your ring?”

“It never came up,” Soobin mused, “Last time I wore my ring I took it off to help a teacher out and when I came back the kids were tossing it, so I started leaving it at home.”

“Oh, it seems they’ve never seen us with our rings,” you frowned, causing Soobin to spin on his chair to face you, an amused smile on his face.

“They just can’t believe I managed to make you mine,” Soobin shrugged, chuckling at the immediate shove you sent to his shoulder.

“Stop trying to be corny,” you smiled, reaching out to tug on his dress shirt and yank him closer.

Without a second of hesitation, your guys’ lips interlocked as if it were second nature. The familiarity behind Soobin’s every touch was still as refreshing as it was years ago when you both first met.

The moment was interrupted with a gasp from afar, and both of you pulled apart to see who had walked in on them, exhaling a sigh of relief to see it wasn’t one of the students. But perhaps this was worse.

Hueningkai was staring with a flushed face before he realized he had come over for a specific reason and walked up to Soobin’s desk, dropping a file onto it which led Soobin to groan and sadly flip through it.

“So how long have you two been together?” Hueningkai drawled, leaning forward as Soobin shot him a glare. Despite being one of the few people Soobin actually sort of talked to, it seems even Hueningkai hadn’t known of their relationship status.

“Since graduating college, married now,” you answered, earning a smile from Hueningkai as he nodded, turning to make his leave.

“I’m so winning this bet–”

“What bet? HUENINGKAI GET BACK HERE! WHAT BET?!”

______ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

Valentine’s day had finally decided to make an appearance, and the school would not let it pass by without a proper send off. The hallways were adorned with pink ribbons and little drawings the kids made, along with the occasional love is love poster and rainbow flag. There were streamers hanging on every doorway, and you couldn’t count how many kids you had to help untangle themselves after getting stuck.

At least it looked pretty.

“I tried to get them to sing Bad Romance, can you believe they’ve never heard of it?”

“Beomgyu, they are children,” Hueningkai mused, shaking his head as he unwrapped one of the many chocolates they had lying around for Valentines.

“As their English teacher you should add it into the curriculum to analyze or something,” Beomgyu huffed, perking up as you entered the room, “There they are!”

“Me?” you repeated, about to take a seat next to them when Hueningkai pointed to the large basket of flowers sitting on the table, “Looks like someone has an admirer,” you added, peering into the basket.

“It arrived this morning, the card says it’s addressed to you? But there’s no sender,” Beomgyu mused.

“Coward,” Yeonjun reprimanded, “How will I get my daily dose of drama if I don’t know who it’s from?”

“I can infer,” you laughed, tugging on the card, “Probably my husband,” you thought aloud as you read the writing, a smile growing on your face. You were so absorbed in the note that you didn’t notice the staff room grow quiet.

“Hold up, you’re married?!” Beomgyu shrieked, getting up from his seat, “No way.”

“Is that unbelievable?” you frowned, holding up your left hand, “Been married for six years now.”

“Oh my god, we’ve been trying to set you up this entire time!” Yeonjun cried out, covering his mouth, “This is so embarrassing! I didn’t know you had someone at home!”

“I’m surprised you guys didn’t know,” you sheepishly laughed, twirling one of the flowers from the basket between your fingers, “You guys have met him before.”

Hueningkai snickered behind his chocolate bar as the other staff looked at him.

“So THAT’s why you made a bet saying Y/n was married to someone, I thought you just had a gambling addiction,” Yeonjun scoffed, hitting Hueningkai on the shoulder as he cackled.

“Pay up,” Hueningkai grinned as you shook your head.

“Can’t believe you all made a bet and tried to set me up,” you mumbled.

“Yikes, I told Soobin I would get him a date tonight with you offhandedly,” Beomgyu admitted, looking ashamed as the door to the staff door opened.

Soobin stepped in, but instead of letting him pass by unnoticed as usual you tugged on his sleeve, shooting him a soft smile.

“Thank you for the basket, Soobin,” you thanked, caressing the other male’s arm to show your affection. Neither of you were big on PDA, it was a lot for you both to even hug in public. Mostly due to Soobin’s awkwardness with it, but he made up for it by showing affection behind closed doors.

Soobin merely hummed, awkwardly shuffling his feet. You felt a little bad about putting him on the spot, but you wanted to show off your husband for once!

“Pause,” Beomgyu stated, pointing between the two of them, “No fucking way.”

“I just lost so much money,” Yeonjun groaned, sucking his teeth and already pulling out his wallet as Hueningkai gleefully counted his bills.

“I’m still processing,” Beomgyu murmured, staring between the two of them, “What, when, and where?”

“I don’t know what you mean by what, we started dating in senior year of highschool, and got married in the town Soobin grew up in,” you answered, firmly grasping Soobin’s arm so as to not let him escape. He was already trying to run off.

“I owe Hueningkai money?” Taehyun questioned as he overheard the conversation walking into the staff room, “No way was his hypothesis correct.”

“Suck my dick,” Hueningkai grinned, opening his palm as Taehyun sighed and slapped a twenty on it, rolling his eyes as the other male gloated.

“You guys are so fucking annoying,” Soobin complained, but his threat didn’t look at all intimidating as you were pinching his cheek, “Do you really have nothing else to do then try to set me up? No wonder the education system is shit.”

“I’m surprised you even managed to score someone,” Beomgyu giggled, dodging the box of candy Soobin picked up and tossed at him.

“I still have more game than all of you, where’s your partner?” Soobin countered.

“The audacity,” Taehyun murmured as Beomgyu huffed in response, the staff room bursting into laughter.

“Guess we need a new project,” Beomgyu grieved, scanning the room till his eyes landed upon Hueningkai, “I guess I’ll set you up with someone.”

“You’re gonna what?!” Hueningkai exclaimed, his face aghast as the staff immediately started listing off potential candidates

You laughed as you watched Hueningkai practically run away from Beomgyu, who was interrogating him on which teachers he found the most attractive.

Your new co-workers were a bit crazy, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[phoward89]

Jealous!Coryo x Reader, Odair!Ancestor x Reader.

Series Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. That man is a walking blood red flag waving heavily in the wind! engagement (not reader), smut, infidelity, love triangle, manipulation, stalking?, gaslighting, fluff, Head Gamemaker!Coryo, District 4 Cruise Ship Heir!Odair OC. Dark!Coriolanus, Jealous!Coriolanus, Dom!Coriolanus

Chapter 4:

You just resumed chopping up the vegetables for the quick stir fry you were going to make for dinner whenever a knock sounded at your door. Oh, so Coriolanus came back for his forgotten jacket. That's good. So, without giving it much thought, you put down your knife and left the kitchen- to go into the main room and answer the door.

But when you opened the door, it wasn't your platinum blonde ex that greeted you, but your current bronze haired boyfriend. Odysseus.

“I brought you some dinner from North Italia.” He smiled, holding up a couple of cardboard boxes with the restaurant’s label on them. “It's squid ink tonnarelli and tiramisu.” Odysseus informed you with a bright smile, making his way to your kitchen. “I think you'll like it; it's what I always get when I go there.”

“I usually get the chicken parm and some cannolis, but I'm sure what you got me will be good.” You half lied. Oh, you were honest about what you always ordered from North Italia (a place that you and Coryo seemed to both order out from and attend his business dinners at), but not about how you felt about what Odysseus got you. Just the thought of eating something made of squid ink made you cringe.

Like, really? Squid ink? Food made with squid ink… You know that Odysseus is really into his District 4 roots, but isn't squid ink food a bit much.

“Hmmm…” Your boyfriend skeptically hummed.

“I was chopping up some veggies to make a stir fry with, but I guess I'll just put them up in the fridge for another day.” You told your boyfriend, following right behind him.

Upon entering the kitchen, Odysseus stopped dead in his tracks. The takeout containers fell out of his hands, due to his shock at seeing a red suit jacket and a large bouquet of red roses on your kitchen island.

Your eyes went wide as you remembered the roses and Coriolanus’ forgotten jacket that are on your kitchen island. Oh no…Odysseus saw them.

“Odysseus?” You tentatively asked, coming up next to him and placing a hand softly on his arm.

He could react one of two ways…

Either lash out on you or cry, but both would come with an accusation.

Pushing your hand off of his arm, Odysseus turned to you only to incredulously exclaim, “We've been together for over a week and you're already cheating on me!” Shaking his head, causing his bronze waves to rustle around his shoulders, he rhetorically asked, “What the hell's wrong with you, honey? I thought you were a nice girl.”

“I am a nice girl, Odysseus.” You told your boyfriend, only to quickly deny the cheating (that you finished doing not that long ago) with, “I didn't cheat. An old friend from my Academy days came over. He's a gentleman; has a thing for bringing roses, and forgot his jacket when he left.”

“You expect me to believe that, Y/N?” Odysseus bitterly scoffed. “Please, don't lie to me. We both know that you're not an Academy graduate, honey.”

That took you aback. Why would he assume that you weren't an Academy graduate?

“But-” You began, only for your boyfriend to cut you off with, “We both know what kind of people attend the Academy, Y/N. Hell, I attended it because it's for rich people, and sadly, honey, you're not rich.”

You felt a heavy, sad feeling welling up in your chest, but you pushed it down. You didn't want your new boyfriend to see you get upset from his words. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Plus you only felt comfortable enough with one man to let yourself show emotions around them. Or at least you did, before everything went down the previous month…

Trying and failing not to let your boyfriend's words get under your skin, you retorted with, “I know I'm not rich, Odysseus. I never said I was, but I was raised around rich kids despite growing up not having a pot to piss in.”

“Look, you don't need to impress me by trying to fluff up your background with Academy cred. I’m not into the social hierarchy of the Capitol, unlike my father.” Odysseus told you, clicking his tongue in a slight reprimanding manner. Crossing his arms over his firm chest, he revealed, “I like you, honey, but the fact that I can't trust you now cause of-” Waving his hand towards the red jacket and roses on the island. Refolding his arm over his chest, your boyfriend sighed, “I think we need to take a break for a few days, so I can clear my head and see how I feel about us.”

Of course, he wanted to take a break. You don't blame him one bit for that. If the roles were reversed, you'd probably want a break too.

“I think that maybe you should take a few personal self-help mental health days. Uh, 3 of them should be good.”

“What? Odysseus-”, You began, feeling that 3 personal self-help mental health days was uncalled for just because the two of you got into a fight and decided to take a small break, but Odysseus cut you off dramatically with, “I suspect you of cheating and you need to think about what you did. Plus, honey, we don't need tension in the company, you do work in the marketing department of the Odair Luxury Cruises.”

“You can't expect me to stay home because we're having a misunderstanding, Odysseus. Hell, we don't even work on the same floor.”

“I don't need any company drama, Y/N, and we're not having a misunderstanding. I caught you cheating, honey, and now I have to decide if I want to give you another chance or not; I don't need to be seeing you around my Pop's company while trying to figure out what to do with you.” Odysseus told you before exiting your apartment; leaving you alone in your kitchen entrance to stew in your thoughts.

You’re alone in the elevator, holding the large bouquet of red roses in your hand; red jacket draped over the crook of your arm, furiously rubbing away the tears that are trickling down your cheeks. Your eyes were starting to blur as you saw the floor numbers begin to reach double digits.

You had to quickly dry your eyes. You couldn't let that platinum haired ex of yours see you crying.

No.

You just wanted to give him back his jacket and roses; thank him for fucking up your new relationship too.

Suddenly, the elevator reached its destination and came to a stop. The doors opened with a loud ding, causing you to step out and into the foyer. You didn't even bother to take in the foyer’s modern decor, just made a beeline towards the penthouse door. The sooner you give Coriolanus his stuff back, the sooner you can go back to your apartment and wallow in your misery. Think of something to say when you call up your boss in the morning to take a few impromptu self-help healing days.

Coming to a stop in front of the ornate door, you scrubbed your eyes dry for a final time and let out a sigh. Balling your hand into a fist, you knocked- quickly to signal that you didn't want to wait in the foyer too long.

It felt like hours as you waited for Coriolanus to answer the door, but in reality it was only minutes.

And when you saw him leaning in the doorway, eyes taking in your upset form, you didn't hesitate to throw his forgotten jacket and roses at him while shouting at him to take his stuff back and to stay the fuck out of your life.

When Coriolanus heard the knock on his door, he was on his sofa watching the P-PANEM (Political-PANEM) channel on TV to see how he was doing since announcing his Senate run. And, sadly, he was ranked at the bottom, which pisses him off. So, your knock was actually a nice distraction from the bullshit he was listening to about himself.

And he knew it was you too. How did he know? Eh, call it lover's intuition.

It only took Coriolanus a few minutes to reach his front door and answer it.

But when he saw your red puffy eyes paired with the roses and his red jacket in your clutches, he knew that his plan worked. He just wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Wow, seems like Odair just had to see you tonight. He was expecting the big cheating breakup fight to happen in the morning or tomorrow night. But it happening so soon worked in his favor.

“Take your roses and jacket back.” You told the tall, sinewy man in front of you while throwing the stuff at him. The jacket and roses flew over his shoulder, landing on the marble floor with a loud thud. “And stay out of my fucking life, you damn bastard.”

Coriolanus figured you'd be upset about a breakup with Odysseus l, but he wasn't expecting you to order him to stay out of your life. Okay, now he wants to know what Odair said to you. What happened to make you start calling him a bastard with a hateful tone of voice.

“Baby, what happened?” The platinum blonde asked, placing his hands on your shoulders in a show of concern and sympathy.

“My boyfriend, Odysseus, came over to bring me some squid ink tonnarelli and tiramisu from his dinner meeting at North Italia, but he saw your jacket and the roses you left in my kitchen and now my life's ruined.”

“God, I hope you didn't eat the squid ink shit? That sounds like a case of botulism just ready to happen.” Coriolanus dryly jokes. On a serious note, he did think that the food sounded disgusting- but to each their own.

But hearing you say that your life's ruined did concern him. A simple breakup doesn't ruin somebody's life. So, he was getting the feeling that more than a breakup occurred.

“How is your life ruined now, Y/N?” The blonde asked, needing to know how bad he needed to punish Odysseus for making you cry; ‘ruining your life’.

“Odysseus wants to take a break for a few days and told me that since I work in the marketing department for his father's company that I have to- well he ordered me to- take a few days off for personal self-help mental health days; that Odair Luxury Cruises doesn't need any issues due to me cheating on him.”

“What? He told you that?” Coriolanus asked, not believing the bullshit manwhore Odair was pulling on you. You two didn't even work on the same department, with you being in marketing and him on the top floor playing VP.

“Yes, he did.” You confirmed with a nod.

You're a hard worker and great at your job. Coriolanus was awed that Odysseus was putting your career in jeopardy over his bruised ego. Fuck, even Coriolanus wouldn't do that. In fact, he'd do the opposite. He'd be up your ass at work, trying to work things out.

Then, the aspiring politician had a wonderful idea. Yes, yes, it was perfect. He'd surely win you back with his sudden spur of the moment idea.

“Come in, we need to talk.” Coriolanus told you, grabbing your hand in his and leading you inside of his lavish and modernly designed penthouse.

“There's nothing for us to talk about, Coriolanus.” You objected, trying to pull your hand out of Coriolanus'.

Your ex just tightened his hold on your hand while closing the door behind you. “Yes, baby, we have something very important to talk about.” You just rolled your eyes at him, prompting him to say, “You're fearful about your job, so let's talk about a new career opportunity that’ll make you 92 thousand a year.”

“And what would that be, your personal mistress?” You sarcastically scoffed.

“No.” Coriolanus shook his head, leading you around the items you threw on his floor (the maid’ll get it in the morning). “You'd be my campaign manager; my public affairs advisor.”

“What?” You asked, feeling as if the air was knocked out of you, while entering the large living room with Coriolanus.

“Well, you'd be working with me at the Citadel as my assistant, but I'd have you running my Senate campaign and PR.” He told explained, leading you over to the large white leather sofa.

“Part of your PR would be me promoting your engagement and wedding to Livia, Coriolanus. I don't know if I can do that.” You honestly told him while sitting down on the sofa.

Coriolanus sat down next to you, only to cup your chin and say in a manipulative and soft baritone, “It's a money match. And arranged between Strabo Plinth and The Cardews, nothing more. You can do PR on it because, my darling rose, I hate Livia and she hates me right back.” Tenderly stroking your jaw, he went on to assure you, “I have no feelings for her, whatsoever. But it's you that I feel rather fond of.”

Hmm…so he feels rather fond of you. Nice to know that you're on the same level as an old stuffed animal or a memory. Things that people are fond of are usually things that get forgotten or tossed to the side.

Of course, you're easily expendable. You're something that's perfect to be fond of.

You loved (you still love him, but refuse to admit it since you're moving on from him) Coriolanus, but he's just fond of you. Just your shitty luck, huh?

But, despite how you feel, the yearly salary that Coriolanus promised you was more than enough to rent your apartment and to give you a life that your mother and brother always dreamed of for you. A life where you're able to be successful. And perhaps you'll be able to find love again while attending various social events that are only exclusive to high Capitolite society.

“Fine, I'll do it. I'll take you up on your job offer.” You told him, hoping that you wouldn't regret saying yes.

“Wonderful, darling.” Coriolanus smiled widely, pearly whites on full display. He thought that he'd gotten you right where he wanted you, but he has no idea that you're just using the new career move to secure a future in Panem.

A future without him. One where you can rely on yourself and show everyone that you're perfectly capable of being successful in the dog eat dog world of Capitol City, Panem.

Plus, there won't be any work drama at the Odair company if/when you and Odysseus decide to work things out and get back together.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @dcylight-fciry

[infin1ty-garden]

GOOD LUCK, BABE

✧. ┊ summary: love triangle where the two love intrests get together instead ✧. ┊ pairing: chani kynes x fem! reader, past! paul atreides x fem! reader ✧. ┊ warnings: *dune part 2 spoilers* ✧. ┊ word count: 657 ✧. ┊ author note: canon divergent obvi

masterlist. & 100 follower celebration

From a young age you'd been betrothed to Paul Atraides. The two of you had met on a multitude of occasions your families organised. You could even say love started to bloom between you. Then everything changed when the Atraides acquired Arrakis.

Paul became distant and after a few weeks of no contact. You decided to visit Arrakis. Your Father informed Leto Atraides of your arrival, he'd said they'd gladly welcome you. No one anticipated that would be the day house Attaides died.

Your ship had been knocked out of the sky and landed in the never ending desert. Your outfit is not fit for the conditions of the cruel desert. You accepted that you'd die on Arrakis. Would it be killed by the heat or Sandworms? Your guards decided it would be best to stay in the ship until help arrived.

You doubted that help would come, you probably cooked alive in the ship before that would happen. To your surprise your betrothed came to your rescue. You've never hugged someone as tight as him right now. Glad to see he was alive. After days of convincing yourself he was dead.

His mother was also with him both wearing still suits. "You look beautiful," you laughed. "Sure," you noticed that you were being watched as did your guards. "Princess get back."

"No, no. Wait! They're with me," he switched to your native language. "Please trust me." You ordered your guards to lower their weapons.

"He's bringing more outsiders in," Shishakli nodded along with Chani's statement. "His betrothed to my understanding," this shocked Chani. "She is adjusting better than the rest." Chani felt bad for the girl, Paul had been flirting with her before she arrived. He was anything but a faithful man.

Maybe that's why she wanted to be in her presence so often. Pity, that must be it. When she wasn't out with the rest of the Fremen, she was spending her time in the company of the girl. Her stories of her home planet astonished her. Chani started to look forward to talking to her everyday.

Shishakli noticed and wouldn't stop teasing her about it. "You like talking to the outsider now."

"Yeah, what about it," Shishakli shrugged and changed the subject. Chani got closer to the girl and one night they exchanged their fears, hopes and dreams. A feeling started to bloom, one which Chani recognised as love but she was to marry Paul and probably forget her life on Arrakis.

Chani chose to ignore these feelings and pretend they aren't there. They had to leave north. Chani made sure to stay close to the girl as she had yet to fully master riding the Shai-Hulud. It was a difficult journey through the storm. At one point Chani saw Y/N's grip loosen, almost falling off but Chani grabbed her before that could happen.

Once they arrived at their destination, Chani scolded her and pointed out where to improve for the next time. The truth being Chani was hiding her worry. She is getting too attached to the girl. She can see that the relationship between Paul and her is growing stronger and stronger. It's only a matter of time before they leave.

"Chani, are you awake?" She'd heard that sweet voice ask her. She got up and opened her tent, letting her in. "What is it?" A sour expression was present on her face. One that Chani would do anything for to see be replaced with a smile. "I can't marry Paul. I know it's my duty to my house and family but he has changed."

Tears start filling up her eyes. "I d-don't know what to make of it." Chani gently dried her tears with the thumb of her finger. You don't need to waste your water for him. Her heart couldn't bear you crying over him. She wanted to wash all your worries away. "Marry me?"

Thanks for reading!

[13as07]

Weekend #2

(Neji Hyuga & Shikamaru Nara)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to unknown. Again I couldn't find the source, I'm sorry]

Requested by: xxziggy

Word Count: 3,415

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

I just realized this is the second FWB story I've put Shika in. Our poor man.

Love Triangle

Name Calling: Pet, Princess

Second part is a Neji half-smut so beware :)

Fingering (Female Receiving)

Teacher/Student Roleplay (for like two paragraphs)

Voice Kink

Praising

Verbally Fighting

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"Hey, Pet?" Shikamaru's voice calls out, followed by the sound of the zipper of the tent Ino and I are sharing being pulled down. "Are you ready to meet up with everyone?" He asks, eyeing the swimsuit he never got the chance to see.

"Ya, are you ready?" I ask back, grabbing the beach bag before crawling out of my tent. Once I'm out and standing straight again, I fix the cover I've wrapped around my hips.

Shika hums a soft yes, his eyes trailing over my fingers as I fix the knot. "Let's go," he murmurs, gripping my wrist before he leads me forward. His hand slips into mine, toying with my fingers as we head towards the beach. "Hey?" He peeps up a few steps away from the start of the sand.

"Hey, what?"

"Come here," he mutters, tugging me toward him by our joint hands. I'm pressed against Shikamaru, his free hand sliding up to cup my neck before his lips brush against mine. His kisses are hungry and quickly get rougher the longer he kisses me.

"Hey," I giggle, gently pushing him away from me. "You know the rules. No conjugating on the friends’ weekend."

"Ya, I know," he grumbles, pecking my lips again before turning back to tugging me forward. "A kiss or two won't hurt though," he mutters, jumping down the small edge from the forest grass to the sand of the beach.

"I guess so," I mutter, jumping down the edge too, Shika's hands holding my waist on my way down. 'Hello's are thrown our way by our friends as we walk across the beach. Ino and Choji wave us over their spot, getting an eye roll from Shikamaru. "Come on, stop being so boring," I tease, taking over the tugging as I beeline for our friends.

"Ino!" I cheer, racing forward to gushing over her swimsuit. "You are looking so hot."

"Bsh, this old thing?" She says, fake coyness in her voice. "I just got it off the Clarence rack last season. Look at you though! Hot damn, mamas!"

We both giggle, getting groans from the other half of our little group. "Can we just go swimming now? That's the whole point of this trip," Choji teases, standing up from the sand to stretch. "Aside from the s'mores of course."

"Of course," the three of us mock, following after the large man.

When we get to the dock, Choji races forward, jumping into the lake and making a huge splash. Ino dives in after him, her jump a lot more majestic than Cho's. "Alright, our turn," Shikamaru says, taking hold of me, and hoisting me up before I can stop him. He jumps off the deck, tumbling the two of us off the deck.

"Shika!" I shriek, gripping his shoulders and taking a deep breath before I'm pulled under. The water envelopes us as we sink, the strands of our hair tangling together as we slowly float back up to the surface.

My head breaks the water surface first giving me the chance to catch my breath first. "Meanie!" I giggle, splashing him when he breaks the water’s surface too.

"'Come on, stop being so boring'," he teases, splashing me back before he swims towards me. "Come here," he grumbles again, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging me against him again.

Shikamaru situates us, letting himself float on the water's surface with me sat on him like a surfboard. "What are you doing?" I ask, squeezing his sides with my thighs as my hands rest on his chest. I paddle my legs in the water, slowly shifting us around the lake.

"I'm going to take a nap," he murmurs, letting his eyes fall closed.

"Shika!" I whine, splashing him again. "We're supposed to be swimming."

"We are swimming," he answers, splashing me back. "Just relax, Pet. We can waste energy paddling around later. You should take a nap too."

I grumble but give into Shika's plans, leaning my head back with my thighs squeezed tighter. As I sink into a half float, I let my upper body rest in the water like he's doing.

In my upside-down sight, I catch a glimpse of Neji and Lee on the beach. Neji's sights are set on us, his face scrunched up as he looks our way. Jealousy or is Lee annoying him? It has to be Lee, Neji doesn't take me as the jealous type.

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"Nara-Chan?" Neji's voice echoes from outside my tent, getting me a teasing look from the girls. "Are you still awake?"

"Yes, I am. Give me a second," I answer, shooting a look at them to knock it off before I unzip the tent.

He pops his head in, a huge smile on his face as he looks at me. "What are you girls up to?"

"Playing a game of poker, a game I'm winning by the way," Tenten taunts enjoying her victory streak and pulling mumbles from the other girls in the makeshift room. "How about you, Nej? What are you up to?"

"I came back to see if Nara-Chan wanted to go on a walk," he answers, focus turned toward me again. "Would you like to go on a walk?"

"Sure Neji," I say, my heart fluttering a bit. We haven't had any alone time since we got here and it would be nice to finally have some. A string of teasing noises spill from the girls as I climb out of the tent, making me roll my eyes. "Hey Nej," I greet once I'm out, climbing to my feet.

His hands shoot down, clinging to my elbows and helping me to my feet. "Hello, Nara-San."

"Would you stop calling me that?" I tease, enjoying the feeling of his hands on me.

     "I suppose I could call you something else. I will have to think about it though," he mutters, eyebrows pressed together in thought. "As for now, let us go on our walk." His arm slides into mine, hooking us together as we start our stroll away from the army of tents.

Our walk is sweet, the two of us walking in silence and enjoying the scenery. Soon the forest gives way to the beach again, a soft yellow of light poking into the night sky a few yards ahead. "Neji," I murmur, my senses heightening at the thought of someone else being around.

"Calm down, Princess."

"Princess?" I ask, the nickname catching me off guard.

"I set us up a spot to enjoy some time together," he explains, blowing off my question.

"Did you?" I ask, letting him lead me forward. He hums a yes, helping down the split between the forest and the sand of the beach. "That's so sweet Nej!" I coo, the little scene he set up falling into view.

A small fire burns, with a blanket laid out in front of it. Pillows and rose petals are littered across the blanket, adding to the romantic star-gazing spot. "Do you like it?" He asks, shifting behind me with his hands softly resting biceps.

"I love it! It's so sweet," I praise, leaning against his chest. After a beat, I take hold of his hand and race forward, sliding a bit in the sand. "How'd you manage all of this? Hasn't Lee been attached at your hip all day?"

"Lee helped me set it up," Neji explains, his hands gripping mine to help me onto the blanket. "He wants 'a full report of the night' when I get back," he adds, sinking to the ground as well.

"A 'full' report?" I tease, adjusting some of the pillows before I lay down. My fingertips got with some of the petals, enjoying how soft and smooth they are.

"Yes," he answers shortly, lying down next to me. "Lee is a bit invasive."

"He's just excited for you," I murmur, letting my eyes jump around the sky, lazily counting the stars.

We fall quiet again, enjoying our star gazing before Neji's voice rings out again. "Are Shikamaru and you something? I feel like I'm intruding."

"No, we're not together," I answer, my hand sliding over the blanket in search of his. When I find Neji's hand, I tangle our fingers together.

"Then what is going on between you two?" He asks, squeezing my hand gently a couple of times.

"Sometimes we just... help each other out... with... our needs."

"Is that so?" He asks, the sound of his head turning against the fabric of the pillow following his question.

I turn my head towards him, squeezing his hand in return. "Ya, that's so," I mutter, looking into his white eyes. "Does it bother you?"

"No, Tenten and I do the same thing on occasion." Neji's eyes jump around me before settling on my face again.

     "Oh ya?"

     "Yes, does that bother you?" He asks, a flicker of concern flashing across his face.

     "No, Nej, I'm not that sallow. I just assumed you were a virgin," I giggle, a string of laughter falling from me because of my honesty.

     "I am not a virgin! I have... been with a woman," he huffs out, cheeks turning red as he turns his head back toward the sky.

     "I don't believe you," I poke, turning toward the stars too. "I think you're a virgin that doesn't know what he's doing."

     "I know what I'm doing," he grumbles, squeezing my hand again. "I know what I'm doing," Neji repeats, now squeezing my hand in repeat.

     "Ya? Prove it. You won't though, I know you won't," I taunt, turning my head again as I let out another round of laughs.

     His voice and squeezing stop before his movements pick up. Neji turns over, the hand not wrapped up in mine slides into my hair, clinging to it as his head moves forward. His lips crash against mine, a bit unbalanced with nervousness for a moment before we fall into a pattern.

     "That..." I start to mutter when he pulls away, my eyes hazily opening to look at a red-faced Neji. "Proves nothing."

His lips purse together as he scans me again. "You are a very attitude-filled person," he mutters, shifting again so he's hovering over me, legs tangled with mine and hands pressed on either side of my head. "But that is alright. It is part of what attracts me to you."

This time it's my face going red as I turn my sights away from him, a smile breaking out on my face. Damn it, Neji, why do you have to be so straight-forward about everything?

"Well that's good," I peep out, slowly focusing back on the man hovering over me. "What else attracts you to me?" I ask, letting my hands wander over his sides.

We're both still in our swim attire, Neji in his swim trunks and a t-shirt, and me with a pair of shorts and my swim bottoms underneath, an open sweatshirt covering my arms and leaving nothing but my bikini top. It's pretty generic rom-com beach wear if I think about it.

"Aside from your attitude, you are also pretty, and nice, and devoted to your work, and good to the people of the village, and get along with Hinata," Neji starts, peppering kisses to my neck after every compliment that spills from her.

"Well... pretty beside the bruise Shikamaru seems to have left you," he mutters, tapping his nose against it before shifting further down my body. "You are very vocal too, at least when you're with close friends," Neji continues, now peppering kisses across the exposed parts of my breasts. "Are you vocal during other times as well?" He asks, head tilling up to lock eyes with me as his fingers toy with the elastic band of my swim bottoms. "Shall I test it out? After all, a virgin like me could use the experience."

Cocky little shit. I go for cocky little shits. "Well..." I stumble out, clinging to the material of his shirt as I get turned on by his soft touches. "Who... who am I to deny an eager student?"

Neji smiles at me softly, pecking my lips as his hand slowly snakes down to my bottoms undoing my shorts before continuing his trail down. He finds my clit almost instantly, rubbing slow circles into the material it's still hidden under. His mouth stays busy with softly sucking on my neck. "Ya... ya, okay," I mumble, fingers digging into the loose material of his shirt. "Defiantly not a virgin."

He chuckles softly, stamping a kiss to my temple before shifting towards my ear. "I told you, but you wanted proof, so I'm giving you proof." Neji's fingertips shift, slowly crawling down before dipping into me.

"Neji," I breathe out, my hands climbing up from his sides to bury themselves into his hair. I toy with it, trying my best not to tug or pull on it as his fingers curl inside me before being pulled out and thrust into me again.

"Princess?" He hums, lips brushing against my jaw now that he's gotten bored of my neck.

      "Aren't you like... like... like a goodie two shoes? A... a... 'follow all... all the rules' guy?" I stumble out, squeezing his arm between my thighs as my orgasm quickly builds.

     My movements don't go unnoticed, Neji's fingers move faster, his thumb moving around before tapping against my clit. "Neji," I whine again, tugging on his hair this time.

     "Princess," he says softly, a gentle smile on his face as his tilted head looks at me. "Yes, I am a bit of a rule follower. I don't think a tad of conjugating will hurt anything though."

     I tug on his hair again, the sound of his voice adding to my quickly building orgasm. "Keep... keep talking," I mutter, using my grip on his locks to tug him closer to me.

     Neji's head settles against mine, lips brushing against my ear as he talks. "Is that what does it for you Princess? My voice? Do you like hearing me talk to you?” He softly taunts, his smile present in his tone. “I’m glad because I like hearing your pretty voice too. I like seeing the way your beautiful face shifts in pleasure. I like seeing arousal in your pretty eyes. I look seeing your chest pump up and down with your breaths. I like - ”

He cuts himself off, my next praise falling silent as I let out a pitched whine, my pussy clenching around his fingers as I ravel undone. “Neji,” I hiss, tugging on his hair as if he could get any closer to me. “Neji, Neji, Neji,” I call on repeat, my voice a whine as I cling to him.

“Calm yourself, Princess. You are alright,” he soothes, rubbing my clit a time or two more before pulling his touch away from my cunt. His hands settle on my bare sides, rubbing circles into my skin as he litters my stomach with kisses. “You made such pretty voices,” he coos, his mouth jumping past my chest to press another kiss to my lips. “Focus on the stars, count them as you breathe, Princess,” he gently orders, tipping my head back before littering my neck with fresh lingering kisses.

One, I count to myself, eyes settling on a star. Two, I continue letting out a shaky breath. Three, Neji is now softly sucking on my skin again, enough to make it tingle but not enough to leave a mark. Four.

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Shikamaru's eyes keep fluttering from Ino to Neji and me walking back to the clearing we've set up camp at. He's not paying attention to the lecture about paying attention Ino is giving him.

Neji's arm which was loose around my hips is no longer loose. His hold is tight, pushing me against his side as we finish the short walk back to Ino's and my shared tent.

"Where have you been?" Shika asks, cutting off Ino's lecture.

"I already told you, she went on a walk with Neji. Do you ever listen when I talk?!" Ino complains, even more huffy at Shikamaru.

"To be fair," Choji says around a mouth full of chips, head poking out of our tent. "If you didn't complain so much, we all would listen to you more." Cho doesn't help the situation, but he does shift Ino's focus from lecturing Shika to lecturing himself.

Shikamaru ignores her, eyes cast at me in their 'I'm waiting for an answer' way; dark and slightly slit with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Like Ino said, Neji and I went on a walk."

"You were gone for an hour. That's a long walk," he grumbles, eyes slitting some more as he noses around the situation.

"We star gazed for a little while. What are you, my dad?" I snip, glaring back at him, mimicking his stance.

"No, but I am your friend, and at the very least your chief. It's my job to care about your safety. You shouldn't be out for so long while it's dark out." Our staring contest continues for a beat or two before Shika's eyes jump towards Neji. "I don't like you taking her out and about so late."

"She's a grown woman. She can make her own decisions. It's not like I dragged her out of her tent and used my legal standing to force her along," Neji shoots back, poking at Shika's 'I'm your chief' argument chip. "It just so happened she chose to go on a walk with me."

"Don't think you're special because she went on a walk with you," Shika hisses, arms falling to his sides as he takes a step forward. "She would have gone on a walk with anyone. Hell, even if annoying ass Lee asked she would have said yes."

"Alright, that's enough," I pipe up, moving out of Neji's grasp to gently shove Shika back the step he took. "Maybe let's not insult Lee since he didn't do anything wrong. Since no one did anything wrong," I look up at Shikamaru during my last sentence, eyebrows raised in an attempt to remind him of his place. "Just a nice reminder boys. I'm single. Do not have a boyfriend. No girlfriend in sight. Haven't been asked on a date in like two years. As single as a person can be."

After my little rant, I grab a hold of Ino, shoving her into our tent before I duck in behind her, zipping it up after myself. The two boys outside continue to argue, comments about my 'honor being taunted and rumors growing' thrown by Shika and comments about 'abuse of power and feeling intimidated' being thrown by Neji.

"Well this is entertaining," Choji says, shifting his bag of chips closer to me. I shoot him a glare but do take a handful. "Who are you going to choose?"

"Neji, duh," Ino butts in, rolling her eyes at our friend as she gets comfortable on her makeshift bed. "He's from a top clan, not to mention he's pretty high up on the ranks in said clan. Plus he's so sweet and soft-spoken. Neji is the smart choice."

I settle on my makeshift bed, leaning on Choji since he's taking up most of the space. "Absolutely not," he says, plopping another bunch of chips into my hand. "Ya, Neji is all like badass and cool or whatever, but Shikamaru is better."

"Shikamaru?" Ino asks, lifting an eyebrow as she gets up, walking across the small space to join me leaning against Choji. "The man that is bored of everything but still somehow complains about even more, is better... than Neji?"

"In this situation, ya. He knows her better than Neji. They grew up with the same culture, same traditions, same childhood, same memories. That's something Neji can learn but never truly understand as Shika can. I think you should choose Shikamaru," Cho says, focusing on me during his last sentence.

"I don't know," I mutter, snapping my eyes closed. "I think I need to sleep on it." For the next two years or however long it takes this to blow over, I mentally add. What the hell am I going to do? Why did it have to all bubble over on our friends’ weekend? This trip is supposed to be about relaxing. I sure as hell was relaxed about twenty minutes, and I sure as hell am not relaxed now.

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