#me: but what if…… you didn’t die……

[steveslevis]

can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop. 

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position. 

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?” 

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you. 

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond. 

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops. 

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though. 

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have. 

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different. 

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back. 

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up. 

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male. 

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you. 

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead. 

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.” 

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?���

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment. 

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly. 

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.” 

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now. 

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store. 

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do. 

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him. 

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there. 

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses. 

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do. 

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice. 

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table. 

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod. 

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.” 

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks. 

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.” 

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond. 

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now. 

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond. 

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill. 

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness. 

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space. 

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse. 

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made. 

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong. 

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him. 

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark. 

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.” 

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day. 

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time. 

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.” 

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them. 

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario. 

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person���Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps. 

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest. 

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him. 

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son. 

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them. 

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.” 

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s. 

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.” 

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe. 

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more. 

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too. 

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough. 

But they don’t. 

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops. 

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs. 

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” 

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.” 

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering. 

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days. 

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?” 

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can. 

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in. 

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed. 

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find. 

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.” 

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?” 

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat. 

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy. 

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest. 

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another. 

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue. 

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate. 

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore. 

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss. 

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment. 

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub. 

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain. 

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough. 

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach. 

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed. 

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently. 

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?” 

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word. 

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing. 

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever. 

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room. 

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump. 

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?” 

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.” 

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate. 

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead. 

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register. 

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh. 

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand. 

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding. 

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.” 

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace

[tsuutarr]

Demon Delinquents x Human! Reader

Here's my gift for @ozzgin (who organized the secret santa event, tysm)!!

Content is about 1K words about you and your new delinquent demon besties <3

You, a human, somehow ended up in a school filled with demons. Though, you’re surprised to see that everything is rather… normal? Despite your peers and teachers sporting horns and other demon-like features, your demon school really seems like every other school.

You’re introduced to your classmates who politely clap, before you’re ushered to your new seat. All normal stuff, really, except that you’re seated at the very back in between what looks to be two delinquent demons. And, just your luck, you seem to have caught their eye. They could probably drill a hole through your skull with how much they’re looking at you.

So it’s really no surprise when you’re called out to the back of the school when class is over. You’re trembling as the demons loom over you, sharp teeth glinting underneath the sun.

“You’re gonna be our hench human,” the demon with red skin cackles, smile wide. You’re pretty sure he could bite your head off.

“And you’re gonna like it,” the demon with yellow skin adds, his frown showing off all his sharp teeth.

You’re too scared to say anything, but they take your silence as agreement.

“Good!” the red demon guffaws, pointing to himself. “Name’s Rex.” He points to the yellow demon beside him. “This guy’s Lem.”

Lem juts his chin out at you. “‘Sup?”

You’re really not sure how to react, making the three of you just stare at each other.

Finally, Rex raises an eyebrow. “Yer name?”

“Oh,” you say, blinking, before stuttering out your name. Rex and Lem look pleased.

“A’ight, great.” Slinging an arm over your shoulder, Rex begins to maneuver you as he begins walking, Lem following behind closely. “First order of business…”

You’re going to die. You’re convinced of it. Why else would they be dragging you with them?!

Surprisingly, however, you find yourself in the cafeteria. Somehow, you expected demons to be more rowdy, but everyone seems to be minding their own business. Even Rex and Lem are standing in line, waiting for their turn despite being delinquents.

You’re not left too much time to ponder, however, since it’s soon your turn to order. You’re certain they’re going to make you buy their lunch, but they… don’t? They pay for their own food, before dragging you away again until you’re on the rooftop.

“Here,” Rex says, tossing you a sandwich. “A good hench human’s gotta be strong.”

“And ya only get strong by eatin’,” Lem adds, shoving a whole melon bun in his mouth.

You blink, sandwich in your hand, as Rex and Lem dig into their lunches.

Rex looks to you, before swallowing down his food. “What? Ya not hungry? Or d’you not like sandwiches?”

“Uh, no, just…” you purse your lips. “I guess I didn’t expect you to buy me lunch?”

“Tsk, tsk,” Rex says, wiping some mustard off of his bottom lip. “You’re our hench human now, ‘course we gotta feed ya. We can’t have a weakling followin’ us around.”

Lem nods in agreement.

“Uh, right.” You nod with a stiff smile. “Thanks.”

With a loud laugh, Rex rips open a bag of chips. “‘Course, hench human! Let us know if you’re still hungry, got it?”

“...Got it,” you agree, before digging into your own sandwich. It’s actually kind of good.

Since that point onwards, you continue to hang out with Rex and Lem. Contrary to their appearance, Rex and Lem are good students, always on time to class (and thus making sure you’re on time too). They’re not… really delinquent like, truthfully.

In fact, one time, you thought they were smoking, but they were just eating lollipops. Another time, you thought they were drinking beer, but it was just apple juice. Frankly speaking, they baffle you – other than their appearance, they don’t really… do anything delinquent-like. But they’re also convinced that they are doing something delinquent like.

“We’re showin’ up to class ‘cause we’re asserting our dominance,” Rex had explained when you asked why he wasn’t skipping class. 

Lem nodded sagely in agreement. “The class is all scared of us, y’see? We gotta show ‘em who’s boss.”

When you asked them about the lollipops and apple juice, Rex said, “It’s ‘cause lollipops and apple juice have a lotta sugar. They’re super dangerous, which is why we’re usin’ ‘em. We’re strong like that.”

“Yeah, we’re cool like that,” Lem agrees.

You honestly don’t really get their logic, but… they’re not bad to hang out with. They take you on bicycle rides (not motorbikes, though, since Lem is scared of them). They walk you home because, according to Rex, “No one’s gonna hurt our hench human!”

They’re strange guys, but they’re kind of fun in an endearing sort of way, maybe. You don’t really mind hanging out with them. Plus, they always buy you lunch. It’s nice eating with them on the rooftop.

“Man, I can’t believe midterms are comin’ up,” Rex groans, looking displeased as he tosses a chip into his mouth. “Gotta study.”

“You guys are studying for midterms?” you ask, making Rex and Lem nod solemnly.

“We hafta. How else are we gonna show the rest of them how scary we are?” Lem inquires, crossing his arms as he chews on his lollipop. “We gotta show ‘em that we’re the strongest.”

“Don’t worry,” Rex says, slapping your back with a grin. “Ya got us, yeah? We’ll make sure that no one can mess with ya. Lem and I are top five in the whole school – we can teach ya, no worries.”

You blink slowly, processing the information. They actually study despite being delinquents to the point that they’re top five in the entire school? Huh?! How does that make sense?

But as you watch them eagerly discuss how they’ll make study guides for you to help you study, you can’t help but let your incredulousness go.

Because, yeah, they’re not traditional delinquents… but they’re doing their best and they care about you a ton, so maybe that’s what really matters in the end.

Maybe.

[theetherealbloom]

Whole Package, Babe, I Like The Way You Fit

Summary: Holiday beach trip with Pedro and friends.

Or, that one new Pedro shirtless pic…

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Beach Trip, Light Blood, Scratch, Ocean, Swimming, Swimwear, Shirtless Pedro, Light SMUT, Spicy, Sweet, Implied SMUT, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: The mf decided to give us shirtless Pedro and suddenly I have the will to live again LMAO. Weirdly enough, I am also at the beach while writing this so it’s kinda a funny coincidence… Imagine if we were at the same beach, that would be so funny (He can never know my existence I might die.)

No one ask me how I knew what hotel they were staying at. I scare myself too dw.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Juno by Sabrina Carpenter

| Main Masterlist |

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — DAY

The warm tropical breeze carried the salty tang of the ocean as you stepped onto the soft, powdery sand of the secluded beach Pedro’s friends had chosen for the Christmas getaway. The sun kissed your skin, palm trees swayed lazily overhead, and the gentle rhythm of waves provided the perfect soundtrack for a holiday escape.  

The group—Lauren Alexander, Brandan Campbell, Omar Apollo, and Pedro’s ever-charismatic agent, Franklin Latt—had already claimed a prime spot near the water. Lounge chairs were lined up under brightly colored umbrellas, a massive cooler sat brimming with ice and drinks, and Omar was enthusiastically attempting to set up a speaker while humming the latest tune stuck in his head.  

Pedro lagged a few steps behind you, carrying your beach bag and his, though his attention wasn’t on the task. It was on you.  

When you shrugged off your airy cover-up, revealing a stunning red bikini that hugged your curves just right, Pedro froze mid-step. His sunglasses couldn’t hide the way his jaw tightened or how his eyes darkened as they roamed over you.  

“Everything okay there?” you teased, tilting your head as you caught him staring.  

Pedro blinked, visibly gathering himself. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” He cleared his throat, but his gaze didn’t waver. “More than fine.”  

You smirked, adjusting the straps of your bikini for good measure. “You’re staring.”  

“Can you blame me?” he shot back, taking a step closer. His voice dipped, low and husky. “You look... breathtaking.”  

A flush crept up your neck, but you refused to let him win so easily. “Not too bad yourself,” you quipped, lightly poking his chest. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing hint of his tan skin and the gold chain that rested against his collarbone.  

Pedro chuckled, the sound warm and intimate. “If I’d known you’d be wearing this, I’d have hired a bodyguard to keep everyone else from looking.”  

“Oh, please,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the grin tugging at your lips. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”  

He leaned in, his hand brushing against your waist as he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. “Stop being so cute, or I might never let you leave my sight,” he murmured.  

“Is that a promise or a threat?” you teased, your voice playful but your heart racing.  

“Both,” he said, his grin widening as he pulled back to admire you once more.  

From nearby, Omar let out a loud whistle. “Pedro, are you gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna help us with this speaker? Some of us want to vibe to music!”  

Pedro groaned, turning reluctantly toward the group but throwing an arm around your shoulders as he led you over. “Fine, but only because she’s coming with me,” he called out, earning a round of laughter.  

As you settled into the setup, the sun beamed overhead, and the carefree energy of the group was infectious. Pedro stayed close, his arm brushing yours as you helped Lauren unpack snacks, and his eyes never strayed far from you.  

At one point, Franklin handed you a coconut with a straw and a cheeky smile. “Best way to stay hydrated,” he said, winking.  

“Cheers,” Pedro said, clinking his coconut against yours. He took a sip before leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But if you spill even a drop, I’m licking it off you.”  

Your cheeks burned as you nearly choked on your drink. “Pedro!” you hissed, swatting at him.  

He grinned, unapologetic. “What? I’m just being practical.”  

The day unfolded in easy laughter and warmth, with the sun high overhead and the turquoise ocean sparkling like a field of diamonds. Pedro carried you on his back through the shallows, his hands gripping your thighs as you pretended to be his commanding officer.  

“Faster, soldier!” you commanded, leaning forward and tugging gently at his ears as if steering him.  

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am!” he called back, mock-serious but laughing as he jogged through the water, sending small waves splashing around you both. “Anything else, ma’am? Should I do some push-ups in the sand too?”  

You grinned wickedly. “Push-ups? I’d like to see you try—with me on your back.”  

Pedro stopped abruptly, twisting his head to glance at you with a raised brow. “Oh, you think I can’t?”  

“I know you can’t,” you teased, leaning down to press your cheek against his.  

He smirked, suddenly spinning in place. “You’re asking for it now.”  

Before you could protest, he dropped into the water with a dramatic splash, sending you tumbling off his back and into the cool embrace of the ocean.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, surfacing with a gasp and pushing your wet hair out of your face.  

He was already laughing, standing a few feet away with his hands on his hips, his soaked hair plastered to his forehead. “That’s what you get for doubting my strength!”  

“Oh, you’re so dead!” you shouted, lunging toward him.  

Pedro yelped playfully, backpedaling but not fast enough. You caught his arm, laughing as you pulled him down into the water with you. The two of you wrestled like kids, splashing and laughing so hard your stomach hurt.  

“Truce! Truce!” he called out, holding up his hands in surrender as you pelted him with another wave of water.  

“Do you admit defeat?” you demanded, a triumphant grin on your face.  

“Never!” he declared, darting forward to grab your waist. Before you could react, he lifted you effortlessly, spinning you around in the water.  

“Pedro!” you shrieked, laughing and trying to wriggle free.  

“You wanted a soldier,” he said, his voice full of mischief, “and now you’ve got one!”  

You finally stopped struggling, letting your arms drape around his shoulders as he held you close. The laughter faded into something softer, the two of you catching your breath as you stood chest-deep in the water.  

His hands slid down to your hips, steadying you as he gazed at you with a look that made your heart flutter. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.  

The way he said it, like it was a simple truth he’d always believed, made your cheeks warm despite the cool water. “You’re just saying that because I’m soaked and ridiculous-looking,” you replied, biting back a smile.  

“No,” he said, leaning in so his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”  

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed against yours, soft and hesitant at first, like he was savoring the moment. The kiss deepened quickly, his arms pulling you closer until there was no space between you.  

When you pulled back for air, Pedro’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. “You’ve got this effect on me,” he admitted, his voice husky.  

“Oh yeah?” you teased, though your voice wavered with the same breathless energy.  

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again, his hands sliding up your back. “And I never want it to go away.”  

For a while, the rest of the world melted away. You stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the ocean rocking gently around you. He kissed you like he was memorizing every detail, every taste, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, feeling completely and utterly adored.  

At one point, he pulled back just enough to whisper, “If this is what it feels like to surrender, I’m never fighting again.”  

You laughed, threading your fingers through his damp hair. “I think I like you defeated.”  

“And I think I like you here, in my arms,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple.  

The sound of your friends laughing and splashing in the distance barely registered. For now, it was just you and Pedro, lost in a world of sunlit kisses and salty skin, the ocean your only witness.  

The group gathered in a loose circle, each person holding a large green coconut decorated with colorful straws and tiny paper umbrellas. The warm, golden light of the late afternoon sun bathed everything in a soft glow, making the moment feel like a scene out of a postcard. Omar crouched to capture the perfect angle with his camera while Lauren struck a dramatic pose, tilting her head back and raising her coconut like it was a chalice of the gods.  

“Lauren, you’re doing the most,” Franklin said, shaking his head but smiling as he adjusted his sunglasses.  

“Darling, I am the most,” Lauren shot back with a wink, drawing laughs from everyone.  

Pedro, standing just behind you, pulled you snugly against his side, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. “C’mon, let’s show them how it’s done,” he murmured in your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.  

Franklin, standing in front with his phone, held it up. “Okay, lovebirds, your turn. Smile for the camera!”  

You turned your face toward Pedro’s at the exact same moment he turned toward you, and the laughter bubbled up before either of you could stop it. Your foreheads bumped lightly, and you both dissolved into giggles, the kind of uncontainable joy that made your chest feel light.  

“Oh, my god,” Lauren groaned theatrically, pointing at the two of you. “Are they even real? Look at them, they’re in their own damn rom-com!”  

“Y’all are embarrassing,” Omar chimed in, snapping pictures anyway. “But keep doing whatever that is because it’s disgustingly cute.”  

Pedro’s grin widened as he tilted his head toward you, his nose brushing against yours. “You’re ridiculous,” you said through your laughter, feeling your cheeks warm under the attention.  

“And you’re perfect,” Pedro replied, his voice low but playful, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smirk.  

Franklin groaned loudly, still holding up his phone. “For the love of all things holy, just kiss her already! We’re trying to make memories here, not watch a slow-burn romance unfold in real-time!”  

Pedro raised an eyebrow, glancing at the group before looking back at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “What do you think, Hermosa? Should we give them what they want?”  

You laughed, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… maybe. But only if you make it a good one.”  

“Challenge accepted,” Pedro whispered, and then his lips were on yours, soft but sure. The kiss was sweet and unhurried, the kind that made everything around you fade into the background.  

“Oh my god, they’re actually doing it,” Lauren shrieked, clapping her hands together like a giddy child.  

“Finally!” Omar exclaimed, snapping several pictures in rapid succession. “This is going on the Christmas card.”  

“Make sure you get my good side!” Pedro joked, pulling back just enough to shoot Omar a wink, his arm still secure around your waist.  

“I don’t think you have a bad side,” you teased, your eyes meeting Pedro’s.  

“Ugh, stop!” Franklin groaned, clutching his chest dramatically. “This is too much. I need a drink—and not out of a coconut. I’m going straight for the tequila.”  

Everyone burst into laughter, the lighthearted teasing filling the air as the moment was immortalized with photos, laughter, and a shared sense of joy. Pedro leaned closer, his lips brushing your temple as the group continued to banter.  

“They’re just jealous,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with affection.  

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling at the warmth in his eyes. “Maybe. But I’m not sharing, so they can stay jealous.”  

Pedro chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because neither am I.”  

The heat of the day softened into a golden, languid warmth as the two of you found refuge under the shade of a broad umbrella. The beach stretched endlessly before you, the waves lazily licking at the shore. Pedro reclined in a beach chair, his book propped open on his lap. The faint breeze tousled his hair, a few stray strands falling over his forehead, and the way he absentmindedly pushed them back sent a flutter through your chest.  

You leaned against his side, your legs stretched out on the chair beside him, the perfect picture of ease. With one hand, you held your favorite romance novel, its dog-eared pages evidence of how many times you'd read it. With the other, you traced patterns along the inked lines of his tattoos. Your fingertips moved slowly, savoring the ridges of muscle and warmth beneath his skin, as if committing every part of him to memory.  

Pedro’s free hand slid into yours, threading your fingers together with a natural intimacy that still made your heart skip a beat. He didn’t look up from his book as he murmured, “Everything feels right when you’re with me.”  

The sincerity in his tone made you pause, your eyes lifting from the words on the page. A small smile tugged at your lips as you squeezed his hand gently. “I know the feeling,” you replied, your voice soft.  

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the kind that only comes when you’re entirely at ease with someone. The distant laughter of your friends mingled with the rhythmic crashing of waves, creating a serene soundtrack to your stolen moment.  

Pedro finally set his book down, slipping a receipt in as a placeholder. His gaze shifted to you, lingering in a way that made your cheeks heat even before he said a word.  

“You know,” he began, his voice warm and teasing, “you’re kind of amazing.”  

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes with a playful arch of your brow. “Kind of?”  

Pedro chuckled, his smile widening. “Okay, more than kind of. Very. Incredibly. Like, the kind of amazing that makes me wonder what I ever did to deserve you.”  

You closed your book, setting it on the small table between your chairs. Turning slightly, you rested your chin on his shoulder, your fingers still entwined with his. “Pedro, where’s all this coming from?”  

He shrugged, but his eyes were soft, almost vulnerable. “Just thinking. Watching you. It hits me sometimes how lucky I am. How lucky I feel to be the one sitting here with you.”  

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “You’re the one everyone loves. The kind, talented, ridiculously handsome Pedro Pascal. If anything, I’m the lucky one.”  

Pedro leaned closer, his free hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re wrong about that. Don’t get me wrong—I like myself just fine,” he teased, earning a laugh from you. “But you? You’re everything. Smart, funny, compassionate. And don’t even get me started on how beautiful you are.”  

Your cheeks flushed, and you tried to deflect with a teasing grin. “Oh, so it’s just my looks, huh?”  

“Not even close,” Pedro said, his voice dropping to a softer, deeper tone. “It’s the way you talk about your favorite books like they’re old friends. The way you laugh with your whole body. The way you care about everyone—how you make every room brighter just by being in it.”  

“Pedro…” you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.  

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger,” he added, his grin returning. “Omar can’t go ten minutes without asking if you need something, and Lauren keeps calling you her ‘new favorite person.’”  

You laughed, brushing at your cheeks as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you. “Stop. You’re going to make me cry.”  

Pedro’s expression softened further, his thumb brushing over your cheek as if to catch a tear before it could fall. “If I do, they’d better be happy tears. Because, cariño, I love you more than I ever thought was possible.”  

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into his touch. “I love you too. So much.”  

For a moment, the world around you faded into the background. Pedro leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and tender, like a promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“Promise me you’ll always stay this close,” he said, his tone carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.  

You smiled, your hands cupping his face. “I promise. Always.”  

Pedro’s heart swelled at your words, and though he didn’t say it out loud, a plan began to take shape in his mind. He pictured the perfect ring, the perfect moment, the perfect way to ask you to spend forever with him.  

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.  

You didn’t need to say anything else. The way you melted into his arms, the way your fingers found his once again, said everything. For now, this was enough. But in his heart, Pedro knew it wouldn’t be long before he made good on the promise his soul had already made: to love you, always.

The late afternoon sun bathed the beach in golden light as you wandered back into the water. The waves lapped gently at your legs, warm and inviting. Lost in the tranquil rhythm of the ocean, you didn’t notice the jagged rock just below the surface until it grazed your shin. You winced, feeling the sharp sting before brushing it off as nothing.  

You emerged from the water, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. Pedro, lounging nearby with a half-finished coconut drink, immediately sat up. His eyes darted to your leg, catching the small but noticeable trail of red trickling down your shin.  

“Are you bleeding?” His voice carried that signature mix of concern and urgency that only Pedro could make sound so endearing.  

You glanced down, surprised to see the cut. “Oh.”  

“Oh?” Pedro’s tone was incredulous as he practically leapt from his chair, already reaching for the towel draped over the back. “That’s all you have to say? Oh?”  

“It’s just a scratch, Pedro,” you said with a small laugh, trying to wave him off. “I’m fine.”  

But Pedro was having none of it. He crouched in front of you, his warm hands circling your calf to keep your leg still. The towel dabbed gently at the cut, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re not allowed to get hurt on my watch,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.  

“It’s barely a paper cut,” you teased, watching the way his features softened even as he fussed over you.  

“Doesn’t matter.” His voice was firm, though his touch remained impossibly gentle. “What if it gets infected? What if—”  

You laughed, cutting him off. “Pedro, it’s not like I got bitten by a shark.”  

He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of exasperation and adoration. “Don’t joke about that. I’d fight a shark for you, you know.”  

The sincerity in his voice, paired with the completely ridiculous statement, made you laugh even harder. “Oh, I’m sure you would,” you said, brushing your fingers through his damp curls.  

“Don’t test me,” he quipped, finally satisfied that the cut was clean. He reached for the small first-aid kit Franklin had insisted on bringing, pulling out a bandage. “Hold still.”  

“Seriously?” you asked, your amusement growing.  

“Seriously,” he said, shooting you a look that dared you to challenge him. He peeled the adhesive back and smoothed the bandage over your shin with a precision that would make a surgeon proud.  

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels and surveying his work with a nod. “Good as new.”  

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head but smiling all the same.  

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, standing up and pulling you into his arms. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens.”  

You leaned into him, your hands resting against his chest. “I think you’re overreacting. It’s a scratch, Pedro.”  

“It’s your scratch,” he said, his voice softening. His fingers tilted your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “That means it matters to me.”  

Your heart did a little flip at his words, and you couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “You know how you’re like—”  

“Absolutely embarrassingly in love with you?” he cut in, a smirk tugging at his lips.  

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Yeah, that.”  

Pedro leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. “I am, you know,” he said, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.”  

Your teasing melted away as you cupped his face, brushing your thumbs over the scruff of his jaw. “Good. Because I’m absolutely embarrassingly in love with you too.”  

His smile grew, and he kissed you softly, as if sealing a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now, no more rock fights, okay? You’ve got to take it easy on me.”  

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ll do my best. But no promises if a shark shows up.”  

Pedro groaned dramatically, lifting you off your feet as he carried you back to the lounge chairs. “If a shark shows up, I’ll negotiate with it. Tell it I’m already your protector and it can’t have the job.”  

You giggled, nuzzling against his neck. “Sounds like a good plan. My hero.”  

He set you down with exaggerated care, pressing one last kiss to your forehead. “Always,” he said simply.  

And as the two of you sat there, the ocean stretching endlessly before you, you felt it again—that perfect, undeniable feeling of being home.

HOTEL ESENCIA, MEXICO — SUNSET

The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo, casting a magical glow over the beach. The group sat in a loose circle, their laughter and conversation mingling with the soft crash of the waves and the mellow strumming of a guitar Omar had picked up. The mood was serene, the kind of calm that felt like it could stretch forever.  

Pedro sat behind you on the sand, his strong arms wrapped securely around your waist as you leaned back against his chest. His chin rested lightly on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft puff of his breath against your neck. His warmth enveloped you, a perfect contrast to the cool ocean breeze.  

“You cold, cariño?” Pedro murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.  

“Not even a little,” you replied, turning your head to catch his eyes. They sparkled, reflecting the fiery colors of the horizon.  

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against your stomach. “Good. Can’t have you shivering out here, not when I’ve got two perfectly good arms to keep you warm.”  

“You’re too good at this,” you teased, smiling as you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.  

“Good at what?” he asked, his tone playful, though his eyes held that familiar, unspoken intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.  

“At making me feel like the luckiest person in the world,” you said softly.  

Pedro’s lips curved into a slow smile, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your temple. “That’s funny,” he murmured, “because that’s exactly how I feel about you.”  

The golden light of the sunset cast a halo around his face, and you couldn’t help but reach up, cupping his cheek as you brought his forehead to yours. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say things like that.”  

“You’d better not,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was an edge of vulnerability beneath it. “Because I’m not planning on stopping.”  

“I’ll love you forever,” Pedro whispered, his lips ghosting against your ear as the first stars began to peek through the darkening sky.  

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze fully, the world around you falling away. “You promise?”  

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady and filled with so much certainty it made your chest ache in the best way.  

His lips found yours in a kiss that was soft and lingering, filled with a sweetness that felt endless. When he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to your forehead before tucking you closer to him.  

The night deepened, and the group eventually wandered back to the cozy beachfront hotel. Pedro’s hand never left yours as you made your way to your shared room, the two of you moving in quiet, comfortable synchronicity.  

Inside, the room was dimly lit, the glow of a single bedside lamp casting a warm, intimate light over the space. The sound of the waves was faint through the open balcony doors, and the scent of salt air mingled with the faintly floral perfume you’d spritzed on earlier.  

Pedro closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his expression soft but unmistakably intent. “You know,” he said, stepping closer, “I meant it. Every word I said out there.”  

You tilted your head, giving him a playful look. “Even the part where you said you’d never get tired of me stealing the covers?”  

“Especially that part,” he said with a grin, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Though I might need extra cuddles as compensation.”  

You laughed softly, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I think that can be arranged.”  

His grin faded, replaced by something deeper, more serious, as his eyes searched yours. “I love you,” he said, the words simple but carrying the weight of everything he felt. “So much that sometimes it scares me.”  

You leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I love you too. And you don’t have to be scared, Pedro. You’ve got me.”  

His lips claimed yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, his hands splaying across your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, his lips parting to taste yours, and you felt the warmth of him everywhere.  

He backed you gently toward the bed, his movements unhurried, as if savoring every moment. The backs of your knees hit the edge, and you sank onto the soft mattress, pulling him down with you.  

Pedro’s hands roamed, his touch reverent as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your neck. “Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and husky.  

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly to bring his lips back to yours.  

His breath hitched at your words, and you felt the weight of his love in every kiss, every touch. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other, lost in a moment that felt infinite.  

Pedro pulled back briefly, his forehead resting against yours as his fingers laced with yours. “You’re my everything,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your heart full to bursting.  

And as the night stretched on, the love between you grew even deeper, wrapping around you both like a warm, unbreakable cocoon.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ angel of mine; i’m probably gonna think about you all the time.

biker!sevika x stripper!chubby!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: when you get news of your grandmother’s declining health, you pack what’s left of your life in miami and begin to head home. on the way you meet enigmatic stranger sevika, who gives you a ride.

wc: 10k

cw: age difference! stripper!reader, chubby!reader, fem!reader, mommy issues, implied melvika, implied melvika x reader, strangers to lovers, roadtrips, biker!sevika, resolved sexual tension, codependency, found family, dysfunctional families, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, exhibition kink (implied), degradation, name-calling, dom/sub, dom!sevika, sub!reader, hyperfemme!reader, lowkey sugar mommy!sevika.

notes: you can definitely tell i’m southern in this piece. i love the south despite it not loving me (black, sapphic, & female) back. so much of florida contains my family and love though i left it. i hope that comes through. i’m really proud of this and i hope you enjoy. so sorry for any typos i may have missed. let me know what you think & if you want a full melvika x reader pt. ii ! i love you. 𓆉⋆｡˚⋆❀ 🐚🫧𓇼 ˖°

playlist: lana born to die: paradise album. listen here.

The white teeth of Miami were always going to eat you alive.

That’s what your grandmother used to say, her voice crackling over the phone, sweet but certain, the way only old women could be. She didn’t say it to scare you—just to remind you that the city, for all its glitter and heat, had sharp edges. She was a lioness, and you were good meat.

You’d felt it too, walking barefoot along the highway, heels swinging in one hand and your purse in the other. The sunset was dying behind you, streaks of cotton candy pink, baby blue, and tangerine smeared across the horizon like someone had finger-painted the sky in haste.

Your cheeks still sparkled faintly under the fading light, remnants of glitter you hadn’t scrubbed off from work. It clung stubbornly, refusing to let go. You’d braided the front of your hair into two plaits that went straight back, falling apart in the middle to join the rest of the mass—wavy and tinsel-streaked. It was your “mermaid hair” as your younger sister loved to call it. You blinked heavily, your 60s-style lashes dragging their soft bodies across your plush cheeks.

The ache in your feet was grounding though, pulling you out of the haze of the club—the strobe lights, the bass that rattled in your ribs, the haze of too many eyes on you.

You’d gotten through the night, but just barely. Grandma’s sick. That had been the thought looping in your head as you swayed under the lights, pretending to be something more desirable than tired. Your mother had called, her voice small and broken. She wouldn’t tell you where she was. I’ll be home tomorrow, you’d promised anyway and then you climbed back on the stage.

You’d scraped together what you could tonight, but not enough for both a cab and the medicine your grandmother needed. The last bus out of town was fucked, something about a technical failure. So, you walked, the stretch of highway endless, the heat still radiating off the asphalt like it was sinking into hell.

You were so distracted by both your raging anxiety and oncoming hunger that the headlights caught you off guard. A single beam at first, low and flickering, until the growl of the engine grew louder, sharper, swallowing the silence. You turned instinctively, lifting a hand to wave—desperation bleeding through the gesture.

The motorcycle slowed. It wasn’t just a machine; it was an extension of her.

Its rider was tall and broad-shouldered, her presence filling the space before she even spoke. A thick, short braid of dark hair hung over her shoulder, catching the light like polished onyx, and her face was all hard angles—sharp jaw, strong brow, a faint scar cutting through her upper lip. She leaned forward slightly, resting her weight on a prosthetic arm that gleamed silver in the twilight. Her eyes, cold at first glance, raked over you, measuring.

For the millionth time that night, you became painfully aware of your appearance. You hadn’t had much time to change before rushing out, so you were stuck in a turquoise spaghetti-strap tank that clung uncomfortably to your skin and a pair of low-rise grey sweatpants, the faded mall-brand logo on the hip barely holding on.

Your purse—a tiny baby pink crossbody clutch—was stretched to its limit, struggling to close over your overstuffed Polo Assn. wallet, its dark brown leather warped by thick stacks of crumpled bills and nearly maxed-out credit cards.

A single white earbud perched in your left ear, the mile-long wire snaking under the loose neckline of your tank and into your hands, where your phone gleamed faintly in the glare of her headlights. Glittery gold, covered in 3D bubble stickers of pale pink and cream roses—your little sister’s handiwork.

Between the heat of the phone and the plastic of the case, you’d tucked a Polaroid: you, your sister, and your aunt, all dolled up in perfect makeup and hoop earrings, the three of you grinning wide enough to make the moment feel permanent. Behind the photo, folded neatly, was a note.

The faintest whiff of smoke clung to you, softened by bellini, cherry, and peach. You’d tried hard to be sweet, always sweet, but it wasn’t enough to cover the night’s work. Especially not tonight.

“You lost?” she asked, her voice gravelly, low, like the rumble of her engine hadn’t entirely faded.

“Not lost,” you said, voice softer than you intended. “Just… trying to get home.”

You were always trying to go home.

She raised a brow, glancing at your bare feet and the glitter still dusting your face. “Long walk.”

You shrugged, exhaustion pulling at the edges of your face.

“No choice.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, her expression unreadable, before she nodded toward the seat behind her.

“Hop on. I’ll get you there.”

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the gleam of her prosthetic, the way it contrasted with the calloused hand gripping the throttle.

“What’s your name?” you asked, finally, your voice quieter now.

She huffed faintly, tilting her head. “Sevika. And you?”

You gave her your name, your voice carrying the weight of gratitude but a lack of trust. You weighed your options—you had none—and decided that you could only hope she wasn’t insane.

You thought of the note in your phone case.

“Lord, I confess i want the clarity of catastrophe but not the catastrophe. Like everyone else, I want a storm I can dance in. I want an excuse to change my life. Lord if I say bless the cold water you throw on my face, does that make me a costume party. Am I greedy for comfort if I ask you not to kill my friends if I beg you to press your heel against my throat - not enough to ruin me, but just so I can almost see your face.” (x.)

Then, without another word, you climbed onto the bike, your fingers brushing against her shoulders as you steadied yourself.

The engine roared, and the wind hit your face, carrying you forward into the night. You bent your neck, tucked your head into her back, and began to pray.

❀

You woke to a soft hand on your skin.

“Hey. You up?”

The words were quiet, almost careful, but they pulled you from the thin edge of sleep. For a moment, you were disoriented. The ceiling above you was unfamiliar, white with faint water stains bleeding outward like bruises. The couch beneath you creaked as you shifted, and smelled of saltwater and lavender. There was a thin blanket draped over your shoulders but it felt impossibly heavy, anchoring you in place.

Sevika was leaning over you, her face shadowed but sharp in the dim light spilling from another room. Her hand lingered on your hip, her touch surprisingly gentle.

“Come on,” she said, her voice low and gravelly, rasping against the quiet. “Mel wants to meet you.”

“Mel?” you asked, your voice still thick with sleep.

“She lives here. She’s… persistent,” Sevika said with a dry edge, stepping back to give you room to sit up. “And she’s got a thing for taking care of strays. Don’t worry, she’s nice. Nicer than me, anyway.”

The apartment was small, but the stomach of it was softened by a clear effort to make it feel like home.

The walls were painted a pale cream, though the paint was peeling in the corners, and the floors were scuffed wood. The furniture was mismatched, but there was a warmth to it—a knitted throw slung over the back of the couch, a row of half-burned candles on the coffee table, the faint scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air.

The windows were open, letting in the salt-thick breeze of the early morning, and a line of photos pinned to the wall swayed slightly, the string barely holding on.

Mel appeared in the doorway to what must have been the bathroom, her figure backlit by the soft, yellow glow. She was taller than you’d expected, her frame lithe but strong, and her black braids pooled over her shoulders like an oil spill, gleaming in the dim light. She held a cherry red hairbrush in one hand and a small bottle of lotion in the other, her brown skin catching the light beautifully.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice rich but cautious. Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, warm but searching.

Most people tended to treat you this way. It was as if you were a scared animal and they were trying to coax you in.

You nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“Yeah. Sorry—I didn’t mean to intrude here.”

“You didn’t,” Mel said quickly, stepping closer. Her tone softened, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Sev doesn’t bring people home unless she has a reason. You must’ve needed it.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Your gaze flicked to Sevika, who leaned against the wall, her arms crossed over her broad chest, her prosthetic glinting faintly in the soft light. She was watching the two of you, her expression unreadable.

“I’ve seen you before,” Mel said suddenly, drawing your attention back to her. Her smile turned wistful. “At The Siren, right?”

The mention of the club sent a ripple of recognition through you. You nodded slowly, and Mel’s expression shifted, her eyes softening further.

“I thought so,” she murmured. “You helped me once, in the bathroom. I was… having a bad night. You were so sweet.”

The moment came back in pieces. Her face streaked with tears, her voice trembling as she spoke about her mother, about leaving home. You’d handed her a tissue, touched her shoulder lightly, said something comforting.

“I remember,” you said softly, your voice catching in your throat.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mel said, her gaze steady. “But I’m glad you did.”

She knelt in front of you, holding up the brush. “Let me help you. You’ve had a long night.”

You hesitated, but something in her expression, in the calm warmth of her voice, made you nod. She guided you to the bathroom, which was small and tidy, the mirror rimmed with salt stains and seashells.

As she brushed your hair, her touch was careful, her fingers grazing your scalp like she was afraid of breaking something fragile.

“You’ve got beautiful hair,” she said softly, almost to herself.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice faint. “You smell nice.”

Her laugh was quiet, and you felt the warmth of it root deep in your chest.

“Coconut oil,” she said, but there was a blush creeping into her cheeks. “Mixed with vanilla. I like to smell dewey and sugary. Kind of like you.”

You smiled tiredly at her in the mirror, lifting a hand to pat at her wrist. The tender powder pink of your acrylics were bright against it. Behind you, Sevika leaned in the doorway, her presence as steady as a shadow.

“You’re making her shy, Melly,” she teased, her voice like gravel underfoot.

Mel glanced at her, rolling her eyes, but you caught the faintest smile tugging at her lips. As a final touch she added a large bow clip to your tamed strands; it was lilac and worn at the ends.

When you were cleaned up, you reached for your purse, pulling out a crumpled bill.

“Here. Let me—,” you began, holding it out.

Mel’s expression shifted, her smile fading into something more serious as she cut you off. She pushed your hand back gently.

“Honey, you don’t owe me anything.”

The sincerity in her voice caught you off guard, and you tucked the money away, unsure of what to say.

Sevika cleared her throat. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

“Tampa,” you said.

She raised a brow, her smirk returning.

“Figures. You seem like a Tampa girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Sevika just shrugged, her mouth twitching.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

The three of you stepped into the early morning light, the ocean-heavy breeze brushing against your skin. You didn’t even know you could live this close to the ocean in Miami.

You turned back and caught Sevika and Mel in silent conversation. There was something unspoken between them, between you, something you couldn’t quite name. For now, though, you let it rest.

Grandma’s sick, you reminded yourself. You had to keep going.

❀

The rest of the day swelled with humidity, the horizon bruised with the threat of rain. The Cadillac’s engine purred low, its growl humming beneath the croon of soft rock spilling through the speakers.

You kept your eyes on the window, the world outside blurring as heat shimmered off the asphalt and smeared the palms into a haze.

Sevika hadn’t said much since you got in her car. She didn’t need to.

There was a quiet kind of ease in her presence, a stillness that somehow made the grief gnawing at your chest feel less unbearable. She drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the window frame, her fingers idly toying with a cigarette she hadn’t yet lit.

The smell of the car had settled around you—leather, faint smoke, and something warm you couldn’t name. It was the kind of smell that made you think of safety, though you didn’t know why.

Your phone buzzed in your lap, the screen lighting up with a message from your mother.

Sorry, baby doll. Grandma’s on the brink.

You read the words twice, three times, and still they didn’t make sense. Your fingers tightened around the phone, your nails pressing into its glittery gold case, and something sharp and hot clawed its way up your throat.

Sevika glanced over, her brow furrowing.

“You good?”

You nodded quickly, your lips pressing together to hold back the tears that were already welling. But it was no use. They spilled over, fat and hot, streaking black mascara down your apple-round cheeks.

You turned your head, pretending to watch the passing trees, but your reflection in the window gave you away.

“Shit,” Sevika muttered, low and rough. She took one last drag from her cigarette, then flicked it out the window. “Hold on.”

She pulled off the highway, her movements smooth and deliberate, and guided the car into the gravel lot of a diner. Its neon sign flickered faintly against the gray sky, Chuck’s written in soft pink cursive. The building was small and sweet, painted robin’s egg blue with white shutters and lace curtains framing its windows.

Sevika parked and cut the engine, turning to look at you.

“Come here.”

Her voice was softer now, but it still carried that unshakable steadiness. You hesitated, your hands trembling in your lap, but the look on her face left no room for doubt. You leaned toward her, and her arms came around you, solid and warm, pulling you into her chest.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her hand smoothing over your hair. “Come on, angel. Just let it out.”

And you did. The sobs came in waves, ripping through you until you were shaking, your fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt like a lifeline. She didn’t flinch, didn’t tell you to stop. She just held you, her hand a steady weight against the back of your head, her thumb brushing small, grounding circles into your shoulder.

You couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged you like this.

When you finally pulled back, your face was hot, damp, and streaked; your mascara smudged into shadows beneath your eyes. Sevika reached out, her thumb catching the tracks on your cheeks.

“Messy,” she said softly, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

The diner’s door chimed as you stepped inside, the scent of fresh coffee and bread washing over you. The interior was impossibly charming, with its pastel booths, checkerboard floors, and the low hum of a jukebox in the corner. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl cool against the back of your legs.

Sevika sat across from you, her body filling the small space like a storm cloud, heavy and unshakable. You stared out the window, watching the rain slip down the glass in delicate rivulets. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, low and faint.

“You’re strong, you know that?” Sevika’s voice broke through the quiet.

You turned to her, startled. Her eyes were dark, but they were the softest you’d seen them so far, almost tender.

She reached across the table, her fingers brushing your chin. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through you, her thumb catching against your skin.

“It’ll be fine,” she said, her voice low and certain. “You’ll be fine. You have to be.”

Outside, the rain fell harder, the sound of it filling the silence between you. And then Sevika let go, her hand retreating back across the table.

The rain continued to blur the diner’s windows, the soft pink neon outside flickering faintly against the new gloom. You stared down at your coffee, the chipped porcelain mug warm in your hands, but it wasn’t enough to steady the tremor that had worked its way into your fingers. The realities of the world felt too sharp, too close, like you might unravel right there in your plain sight.

“Talk to me,” you said suddenly, your voice thin and unsteady. “I feel like I’m about to have a panic attack.”

Sevika’s eyes lifted from her coffee, dark and knowing. Her expression didn’t shift, but something gave in the set of her jaw. She leaned back, one arm slung over the booth’s edge, her other hand absently brushing the lip of her mug.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything.” You exhaled shakily, your gaze flicking out to the rain before returning to her. “Tell me why you drive a beat-up Cadillac.”

That pulled a small, low chuckle from her, quiet but rich. She tipped her head, the motion slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you felt less like you were shuddering into beautiful pieces.

“You think she’s beat-up?” Sevika asked, her lips curving faintly.

“She’s held together by rust and prayer,” you said, almost smiling. “I’m just saying.”

Sevika’s laugh came fuller this time, a sound that filled the air without disrupting the other patrons.

“Hey. She’s got character. My dad gave her to me when I was nineteen. She used to be pristine—white leather, a real beauty. But time does what it does.”

You blinked, caught on the number.

“Nineteen?” you asked, hesitant. “How long ago was that?”

Her smirk grew, slow and sharp. “Longer than you’d guess, angel.”

Your brows furrowed, curiosity blooming against the weight in your chest. “How old are you?”

Sevika’s gaze lingered, the kind of look that made you feel seen in a way that was both unnerving and magnetic.

“Old enough to remember when you had to rewind your mixtapes with a pencil,” she said, her voice dry, teasing.

You couldn’t help it—a small laugh slipped out, barely there, but it felt good.

“I’ve always had a thing for older women,” you said absently, the words slipping out before you realized what you’d said.

Her smirk deepened, her eyes sharpening in a way that made your stomach flip.

“That so?” she murmured, her voice low and rich, a swatch of velvet dragged through smoke. “You looking for a mommy, angel?”

Heat flooded your face, vicious and unbearable, and you pushed back from the table, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor.

“I’m, um—gonna order something at the counter,” you mumbled, refusing to meet her gaze.

She chuckled, soft and lazy, her voice following you as you turned toward the counter.

“Go on, sweetheart. Take your time.”

The diner felt warmer, brighter, as you made your way to the counter, the fluorescents buzzing faintly above. You kept your eyes on the menu board, your pulse still thrumming in your ears.

❀

It’s four more hours to Tampa, but it’s the most excruciating period of your life.

You’d left the diner a little steadier, Sevika’s arm brushing yours as you climbed back into her car. The Cadillac rattled like death, its leather seats sticky against your thighs.

You leaned your temple against the window, watching as the flat Florida landscape blurred into soft greens and yellows. The air outside was still thick with heat, even with the sun reducing its intensity as it slunk away.

The highway stretched out like an open wound, raw and endless. You fiddled with the radio dial until a bouncy indie pop song filtered back through the speakers, filling the air with a thousand wailing guitars. Sevika didn’t complain, her focus locked on the road ahead.

At some point, she pulled off into a gravel lot in front of a boutique. The building was small and unassuming, its pink paint faded by time. A hand-painted sign swung lazily in the humid breeze.

“We’re stopping?” you asked, your voice hoarse from exhaustion.

“You need other clothes,” Sevika said simply, stepping out of the car. “Come on.”

The shop smelled faintly of coconut wax and dust, its racks crammed with mismatched pieces that managed to appear more curated than random. Sevika leaned against a rack of jeans, her arms crossed, as you wandered through the aisles.

“We’re strangers,” you said eventually, holding up a knit top to your chest. “Why are you taking care of me?”

Sevika didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her jaw tightening in thought.

“I remember being twenty-one,” she said finally. “The world was a lot to handle back then. Some days, it still is.”

You lowered the top and gazed at her, mouth dipping in understanding. She was so beautiful here, despite being far from at home in this confectionery store. Her arms flexed gently as she shifted in place, and you resisted the urge to press her hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry that you know what that feels like.”

“You don’t have to pity me,” she said, the response clearly a reflex.

You smiled crookedly and didn’t press further.

The outfit you picked—a striped knit and high-waisted jeans—felt soft against your skin. The knit hugged your curves, the soft plum-colored neckline slipping just low enough to expose the plush swell of your shoulder. When you stepped out of the dressing room, Sevika gave you a once-over, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“You’re a girl with expensive taste,” she teased. “Is that cashmere?”

“It’s my stage name for a reason,” you shot back, smiling softly. “And everything is overpriced here.”

“You look like a doll,” she said, her tone amused.

You rolled your eyes, brushing past her to the counter.

“I’ve got to look a little more appropriate.”

“For what?” she teased. “Tampa doesn’t care.”

“Well , my Aunt Kenna will.”

Unsurprisingly, you found yourself overpowered by Sevika at the register. She pressed her card down, its body sleek and black with silver lettering. Once again, you were struck by the kindness of strangers and you felt your throat tighten.

She gave you a look, as if to quiet your self-effacing urges. Behind the counter, the clerk smiled to herself as she observed the two of you. She was petite and had a pinched face, her hair short and a creamy blonde. Maddie, her tag read. She reminded you a lot of your mother, possessing the same shifty energy of a runner as she racked up your total.

The drive resumed, and with it, you revealed more of yourself to Sevika. You told her about your grandma, about the way she used to braid your hair with fake frangipani from the craft store and sing to you in the evenings where your mother would be gone. How her hands were always soft, even when they were tired. How you used to tuck yourself under the desk at the hospital where she worked when your heart was crumbled by women you definitely shouldn’t have been involved with at eighteen.

You spoke of your aunt, the way she fought to keep the family together, even when it wasn’t hers to save. You spoke of your little sister who in a way was also your child, how you did most things in life for her sake.

Sevika listened in silence, her hand resting on the wheel, her gaze never straying from the road. There was something in her stillness that made you feel seen, even when the words caught in your throat.

When you finally crossed into Tampa, the sky was dyed indigo and gold, the houses lining the street glowing faintly in the dusk.

You rolled the window down and leaned out, your phone poised to capture the image forever on your cracked back camera. You were such a tall child.

The warm air stroked against the moon of your face, tugged at the ends of your hair and dried your lips. You felt Sevika’s hand slide to your thigh, just below the crease of your ass, heavy and grounding, and you froze. Her palm was rough against the soft give of your flesh, her fingers splayed just enough to keep you steady.

“Don’t fall out,” she muttered, her voice tinged with quiet amusement.

“I won’t,” you said, but you sat back soon after, your heart beating a little too fast.

Sevika’s hand lingered a second longer before retreating to the wheel.

The butter-yellow house came into view, its shutters glowing faintly in the twilight. Your breath hitched. It looked the same as it always had, though the paint was more weathered, the steps chipped at the edges.

Sevika pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The silence was deafening. You fumbled with your purse, fingers trembling, but before you could open the door, Sevika’s hand found your chin. She turned your face toward hers, her thumb brushing just beneath your jaw.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Always is.”

Her eyes held you in place, dark and unflinching.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed her. Before you could think too much of it, you leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her cheek. Over her scar.

“Thank you.”

Her mouth parted, but the screen door creaked open, and you saw your aunt step onto the porch, her arms crossed and one brow raised in quiet judgment. You hesitated, glancing back at Sevika.

“You could come in,” you offered, the words heavier than they should have been.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to your aunt before landing back on you. She pushed off the seat and got out to follow you, her presence like a shadow at your back.

The porch light hummed faintly as you step inside, and a creamy warmth filled your chest. Your sister cheered when she saw you, and you laughed—your eyesight blurring. For the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe.

❀

As always, you dived in headfirst and sought out your grandmother’s room.

It was a terrible mistake. You couldn’t handle seeing her like that.

Almost immediately, bile surged up your throat, sharp and acidic, and you bolted—pausing just long enough to set the medicine down on her nightstand with quaking hands. You burst outside, where the air was sweltering with salt and the sudden impact of your new reality.

You weren’t good with death, not in any of its forms.

When your daddy died, something inside you cracked clean in half, the break jagged and irreparable. You’d felt a piece of yourself slip down into his grave, like a loose flower. Since then, you’d clung to the hope that love—your love—could somehow keep the people you cared about alive. At least until you felt ready for the loss.

Your chest ached in a way that felt both too familiar and entirely new, like grief had leveled your ribs to construct a home in your body. You rubbed at it absently, trying to dull the pressure blooming there, blinking hard against the rising tide of tears.

She was going to die. You knew this. It settled into your stomach like lead, poisoning you.

Behind you, the woods creaked, the trees’ chorus soft and low, like they were joining you in mourning. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Hey, angel,” Sevika said, her voice low and warm, the kind of soft you wouldn’t have expected from her. It caught you off guard every time. “You alright?”

“I’m not going back in there,” you said quickly, your voice brittle and thin.

“You don’t have to.” There was a pause, long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, quieter, “Can you look at me?”

You hesitated, staring down at your hands, at the chipping polish on your grown out tips and the way your fingers trembled. You could feel her waiting, patient and steady, like she’d stand there all night if you needed her to. Finally, you turned, slow and reluctant, until your eyes met hers.

Sevika stood at the edge of the porch, broad shoulders framed by the faded light. Her face was unreadable, but not unkind.

“Come here,” she said, barely above a whisper.

You didn’t think. You moved, inching forward on unsteady legs and stepping into her orbit. Her hands came up instinctively, one curling around your elbow, the other hovering just above your waist, as if she wasn’t sure where to touch you.

“I can’t go back in there,” you repeated, your voice cracking.

“[Name]—,”

“She’s dying.”

“But you knew that. You can’t leave her when she needs you the most.

“I’m tired of people fucking needing me.” You crossed your arms over your torso, holding yourself. “They all just leave anyway.”

“When you love people, that’s the process. That’s life’s price.

The words hit you like a perfect blow, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying—big, fat tears that streaked your cheeks with warmth and made your mascara run. You tried to turn away, but her hand found your chin, tilting your face back toward hers.

“Hey,” she murmured, her thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s unfair, I know. Trust me, I know. Let it out.”

And you did. You let the sobs take you, let them rip through you wave after wave, until you were clinging to her shirt, the fabric balled tightly in your fists. She held you through it, solid and unfaltering, her hand steady against your back.

When the tears finally subsided, you felt drained, like you’d been wrung out and left to dry. But her arms stayed around you.

❀

Sevika managed to coax you inside, shivering and bleating like a lamb, but the house was newly unbearable.

Every room smelled like antiseptic and something sweetly rotting beneath the surface, a scent that clung to your hair and the back of your throat. The walls felt too bright, too alive for what was happening inside them.

It was like the house was mocking you. Every sound—your grandmother’s labored breathing, the clock ticking too loudly in the kitchen, your little sister’s restless movements on the couch—seemed to close in on you.

You couldn’t stay. Not in that room, not in that house. Maybe you took after your mother more than you liked to admit.

Your sister looked so small on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her and her face blank as she stared at the flickering TV. She was holding onto the hem of her dress like it might unravel if she let go and the man on the screen promised to get her a spot in heaven, under God’s thumb. Bullshit.

When you spoke, your voice was soft, barely audible over the droning hum of the television.

“Get your shoes on, bug,” you said. “We’re going to the beach.”

Her head snapped up, her wide eyes searching yours for a moment before she nodded and slid off the couch.

You were almost out the door when your aunt caught you, her voice sharp but quiet.

“You better know what you’re doing with that woman.”

Kenna’s words stopped you cold, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder as you turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her face shadowed by the dim porch light.

“I don’t know what I’m doing with her,” you admitted, your voice low. “But I know I trust her.”

Your aunt studied you for a long moment, her gaze heavy and cutting. Finally, she stepped aside, her expression softening just enough to let you know she wasn’t angry, just worried.

“I know what infatuation looks like. I know what love looks like too, even when it’s still on its way. It’s coming, baby. Just—,”she sighed, breaking off.

“Just be careful,” she finished.

You hugged her tight, sagging as she slid a hand over her hair before letting you go.

Sevika was waiting in the car, her arm draped over the steering wheel, her face unreadable in the twilight. Your sister climbed into the backseat, curling up immediately with her Lisa Frank coloring book, and you slid into the passenger seat without a word.

The drive was quiet, the low hum of the city filling the space between you. Sevika didn’t push, didn’t ask what had happened inside. She just drove, and you were so grateful you could’ve kissed her.

The beach was nearly empty when you arrived, the sun beyond gone now. You spread a blanket out on the cool gray sand, letting your sister run down to the water. Her laughter echoed faintly, carried by the breeze, and for a moment, you let yourself relax.

You pulled off your woven cover-up, revealing the soft orange bikini you’d slipped on. The well-loved fabric clung to you, accentuating the plush curves of your body in a way that made you stall for only a moment. But then Sevika looked at you, and the way her gaze dragged over you made all air flee your throat.

She swallowed hard, her jaw working as she tore her eyes away and stared out at the water instead.

“You look nice,” she said, her voice gruff.

You snorted, sitting down on the blanket.

“Nice?”

“Very nice,” she amended, but the rasp in her voice gave her away.

“You do too,” you told her and you meant it.

She was gorgeous in her black cropped tee and little black cargoes. This was “as beachy as she was willing to get”. You didn’t give a damn. You wanted to eat her alive.

The sky deepened into a hazy indigo, the stars faint and scattered. Your sister danced along the shoreline, her feet splashing in the shallow waves. You watched her, your chest aching with something you couldn’t name.

“I wish this was my entire life,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Sevika.

She turned to you, her brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“This,” you said, gesturing to your sister. “Taking care of her. Taking care of my daughter with my wife. No illness, no bills piling up, no—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed hard. “No worries. Just a quiet life.”

Sevika didn’t respond right away. When you finally looked at her, her face was so soft in a way you knew was probably a rarity. Her prosthetic raised in an aborted motion, as if she’d thought to touch your face.

“I could take care of you, baby,” she said quietly, the words slipping from her lips like a promise.

Your breath caught, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

“Come back with me, [Name],” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stay with me and Melly. Bring [Sister’s Name]. You don’t have to do it alone all the time.”

The fantasy of her words pressed against your chest, warm and overwhelming. For a moment, you let yourself imagine it: her, Melly, your sister, a life where the world's heaviness couldn’t crush you.

Your sister called out from the water, waving a piece of driftwood she’d found, and the moment broke. Sevika’s hand brushed yours, solid and grounding, and when you turned back to her, her eyes were still on you, waiting.

The tide lapped at the shore, the sound mingling with your sister’s laughter, and you felt a rising pulse in your mouth, on your tongue.

“They do fireworks at the docks. You have to pay, but we sneak in all the time. You wanna see?”

“Sure,” Sevika said.

The answer came so easily and you knew she’d give you everything. Maybe even love you forever. The thought made you tingle and you dug your toes into the sand.

“Let’s go,” you said, your pinky twisting around hers.

You both knew you weren’t talking about the fireworks.

With a wry smile she rose and set about taking you home again.

Your sister—forever your baby—was curled fast asleep in the back seat of Sevika’s car by the time you pulled out of the lot, her face slack with the kind of peace only children seemed capable of. Her soft snores filled the space between you as Sevika drove back to your grandmother’s house, the streets quiet and warm, lit faintly by streetlights. The evening air hung heavy, sticking to your skin like a second layer.

You glanced at Sevika as she drove, her profile lit in flashes by the passing lights. Her grip on the wheel was loose, but her fingers drummed absently against the leather, her thoughts somewhere else. Maybe with you.

You wondered if she was nervous. You wondered if she knew how much you were.

“She’s out like a light,” Sevika murmured, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Guess it’s just us.”

You swallowed, your fingers playing with the hem of your cover-up, and nodded. “Just us.”

Your aunt was waiting on the porch when you arrived. She was perched on the railing, her vape glowing faintly in the dark. You knew the scent without looking: cucumber, apple, and sour cherry.

Her sharp gaze moved between the two of you as Sevika carried your sister inside, her long stride easy and steady despite the weight of the little girl in her arms.

“Enjoyed your family outing?” Aunt Kenna asked, teasing but pointed, as you lingered by the door.

You blinked at her, startled, heat rising in your cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”

She snorted, taking a long drag. “Sure it wasn’t .”

❀

The docks were quieter than you expected when you arrived. Most of the families had settled in their little corners, kids running barefoot across the wooden planks, their laughter echoing into the open sky. The air smelled of pear, peach blossoms, and distant charcoal grills, a mix of sugar and fire that felt like the very essence of where you’d been born and raised. 

Sevika parked far enough away to avoid the crowd but close enough for you to see the shimmering reflections of the boats swaying in the dark water. She leaned back against the hood of her car, her long legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as you wandered closer to the edge, the creamy orange of your tiny bikini glowing faintly in the dim light.

You should’ve been illegal.

“Careful, angel,” she called, her voice warm, fond. “You fall in, I’m not jumping after you.”

You turned, smirking, the breeze tugging at the bow sitting pretty in the middle of your full breasts. 

“I can swim.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to fish you out,” she said, but her smile gave her away. She was watching you so intently, her gaze loaded, as if committing you to memory.

You walked back toward her, your arms wrapped around yourself, and stopped just a foot away. The tension between you was almost tangible now, electric. You could feel it humming in the air, in the way her eyes lingered on the curve of your wide hips, the dip of your collarbone. It made your breath hitch.

“I’ve always loved the docks,” you said softly. “They feel… timeless. Like you could stand here forever and nothing would change.”

Sevika hummed, tilting her head to look up at you. “You think that’s a good thing?”

You shrugged, your lips curving faintly. 

“Sometimes.”

The first firework burst above you then, a bloom of pink and gold that lit up the sky and reflected off the water. A shock of red followed shortly after. You both looked up, the moment suspended, the sound of the explosion echoing in your chest.

You glanced at Sevika, her face bathed in the soft glow of the fireworks, and felt something shift inside you. Something undeniable.

The show continued, and you moved to lean against the hood of her car. The metal was warm and your stomach was buzzing at the nearness of Sevika’s broad body.

By the time the fireworks were halfway through, you couldn’t focus on them anymore. The loud bursts of color seemed secondary to the way Sevika was lounging next to you, her broad shoulders relaxed, her eyes soaking in the way goosebumps bubbled along your arms. It felt like she was daring you to do something, to cross the line you’d been dancing around since she’d swept you off the highway.

You moved closer, your bare feet brushing against hers, and she straightened slightly, her head listing to the side as she watched you.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her voice low.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. 

“I’m thinking…” You trailed off, your fingers twisting in the sides of your bikini bottom. “I’m thinking this feels… nice.”

Her lips quirked, just slightly, but her gaze was serious. “Nice?”

“So good,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel… safe with you. Things are perfect like this, and—and I’m probably never gonna feel this way again.”

The words hung between you, honest and raw, and you could see the way they landed on her, the way her expression softened, her guard slipping for just a moment.

“I’d never hurt you,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, stepping even closer until you were standing between her legs, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. “I know.”

You didn’t, really. She could be selling you a paper thin dream. But your hope had always been the largest part of you. It spurred the flame you felt for her, your aching burning desire to be with her all the time. To ride by her side without question. 

Her hand came up then, hesitating for just a second before settling on your waist. The touch was light, almost cautious, but it sent an electric current straight through you.

“Sevika,” you whispered, your voice stumbling.

She leaned in slightly, her breath warm against your cheek. 

“Yeah?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the gap between you, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that felt just right, like the tide meeting the shore. Your body lit up, and you collapsed into her—trusting and free. 

She stilled for a moment, as if surprised, but then her hand tightened on your waist and she kissed you back, slow and deliberate.

The world seemed to fade then, the fireworks a distant, glittering symphony in the black sky. All you could feel was her—her warmth, her strength, the way she seemed determined to hold you together even as you felt like you might fall apart.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in weak gasps, lightheaded and aching to faint, she rested her forehead against yours, searching your dilated eyes.

Your lip gloss was smeared across Sevika’s jaw, leaving a streak of shimmering peach and rose that caught in the fleeting light of the evening. It clung to her skin, soft and vivid As she moved, the stain glistened faintly, the contrast against her sharp, weathered features sending a slow, aching thrill down your spine. 

It was yours, this faint, glittering mark, lingering in the space where your mouth had been. She made no effort to remove it.

“Angel,” she murmured, her voice rough. “You sure about this?”

You nodded, your hands clutching at her shoulders. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Her smile was soft, almost reverent, as she pressed another searing kiss to your lips. 

“Come on,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at you. “Let’s get in the car.”

❀

Your palm slapped hard against the roof, your teeth almost tearing through your bottom lip as you tried to hold back a loud moan. 

Beneath you, Sevika gripped the copious flesh of your ass as she sucked at your clit. 

“Oh, shit, Sevika. Fuck.”

In the beginning you were so careful, worried about blocking her airway. With a hard slap to your ass she pulled you down, relentless in taking all of you. 

“Hnnnnnh,” you whimpered. “Sevi, fuuuuuck.”

Sevika hummed in satisfaction at that. As she watched your face she grazed your clit with her teeth, relishing in how you arched. 

You were so warm and supple between her fingers, your pussy slobbering over her nose and mouth. You tasted so good, so musky and honeyed. She never wanted to let you go. 

Slowly, she slide you down and pressed you down to her chest as she undid your bikini top so that your tits spilled eagerly against her own. She then tenderly tucked two fingers inside of you, cooing as you whined at the stretch. 

She began to bounce you by the fabric of your bottoms, forcing you to ride her fingers until they were covered in the thin film of your wetness. You moaned at her strength, at how easily she’d decided how you’d take her. 

“Good fucking girl. So sweet, aren’t you, baby? Hmm?”

“Sevi, please. Just—just a little faster.”

She grinned meanly, inserting a third finger and curling them—raking cruelly against your g-spot. You sank further into her, swiveling your hips if only to get her deeper. To take her harder. Your pussy was weeping, emptying itself onto her hand.

“Jesus, sweetheart. You’re leaking all over me. ‘M never gonna get this out of these seats.”

“Good,” you breathed out, smiling impishly.

Sevika’s eyes darkened and she suddenly rearranged you till you were on your back against the leather seats, your legs wholly spread. she lowered between them, licking a long stripe up to your clit experimentally. 

She had you soft and loose. You didn’t realize just how spacious this car was.

You moaned, high and loud, snapping into an arch until you were forced to come back down, Sevika’s arm holding your hips firmly. Your eyes were closed now, and your eyelids were no longer just black, explosions of color staining them, ripping through you.

Sevika lapped at you, taking her time but still intentional with the way she touched you. She used a hand to spread you apart burying her face into her pussy, her nose becoming wet again with your rabid need. She became messy, moving her head back and forth, slurping at you until you were almost shaking, on the edge of something greater.

Settling back just slightly, she spat harshly into your cunt and rubbed it into your clit, pressing down until it was close to painful. You couldn’t breathe correctly. You couldn’t even remember your name.

"Sevi. Sevi. Mommy, oh my fucking God.“

Sevika said nothing, just caught a lip of your cunt between her teeth, biting down as she slid her fingers back in.

"Unh," is what you had to add to the nonexistent conversation and Sevika grinned against you.

She spread her fingers and then curled them, dragging your hips into her lap as she sat up. You couldn’t feel your fucking legs.

"Yes. Yeah. Yeah, just like that. It feels so fucking good."

Sevika was driven and vicious, determined to eat away at the woman beneath her. You curved your back as your orgasm approached, determined to feel it all the way up in the cavern of your mouth. You needed this.

Sevika leaned over you, tilting your head down so that you were looking at one another.

"I want you to keep looking at me as you cum."

You made a faint noise of agreement and clutched at Sevika’s arms. She took your hands and placed them underneath your knees, so that you could hold yourself open. It spread you apart until she was able to view how pink and puffy you were. 

“I can’t wait to get you in bed, honey. ‘M gonna bend you over, open that tight little cunt with my cock, and watch you swallow me.”

“Oh.” You let a little groan of satisfaction as she thumbed at your clit. 

Sevika pressed your foreheads together and thumbed at your mouth. You felt both here and there, brain blanking. 

“Ohh,” she mocked you with a slight smile. “You’re so fucking cute.”

You cast your head back as Sevika returned her mouth to your pussy, suckling at it in combination with her fingers carving a space deep inside of you.

"Come on, angel," she urged. "Be good for me."

You were trying, goddamnit.

"Gonna take a photo of this creamy cunt. Show Melly, tell her that I did this. That you let me."

You let out a high whine, and she nodded in faux sympathy.

“Mmm? Is that what you want to do? Want me to take you to that shitty club and spread you open on stage? Stake my claim?”

A fourth finger now. Her voice dropped as if telling you a secret.

“Maybe I’ll slide some cold, hard cash into this slutty cunt, stretch that slit.” Faster now. Your toes curled. “ Fuck. I’m sorry, baby. Mommy just wants to slut you out.”

She pressed a delicate kiss to your cunt and you were unsure if what came next was just the slam of your hand against the door echoing or another firework going off. 

All you knew was that the world around you was roaring, that she refused to stop. All you knew was her digging into you. 

You imploded.

❀

The drive back was quiet, the tension between you still palpable but softer now, sated and sleepy. Sevika reached over once, her fingers brushing against your cheek and you shifted, pressing the petals of your lips into the center of her palm without hesitation.

When you finally pulled into your grandmother’s driveway, the house bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, you turned to her, your heart full to bursting.

“Stay,” you said, your emotions splayed wide open. “Just for a little while.”

She looked at you for a long moment, and then she nodded. “Okay.”

You both knew it wasn’t just for a little while.

❀ 

The house smelled like hibiscus and coffee when you walked in, the faint scent of six-dollar soy candles lingering in the corners. Your aunt was at the sink, her hands submerged in soapy water, her curls pinned back with a clip. She turned when she heard the door creak open, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she took in Sevika trailing behind you, broad-shouldered and quiet.  

“You brought her back?” she asked, not in a disparaging manner, though her tone carried the weight of an older woman who’d seen it all.

“[Sister’s Name] forgot something in her car,” you lied easily, gesturing toward said alibi, who was peeking into the kitchen while rubbing a fist over her eye, her drowsy greeting muffled as she dragged her blanket behind her.  

Your aunt didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue either. Instead, she flicked her chin toward the counter. 

“If she’s staying, she may as well help.”  

Sevika looked at you, one brow arched slightly in amusement. You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the idea of her folding herself into your life—even for something as mundane as this—made your stomach swoop. 

The kitchen was broiling, almost unbearably so, with the old oven humming faintly and the humidity from the day still clinging to the walls. Sevika rolled up her sleeves, revealing the curve of her forearms, the prosthetic gleaming faintly in the soft overhead light. 

You tried not to stare, but your eyes kept drifting—over the way her hands moved as she dried the dishes your aunt handed her, the faint flex of muscle under her skin.  

“You ever wash a dish before?” your aunt asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.  

“Plenty,” Sevika admitted, her voice low and even. “Did a couple restaurant stints when I first came to this place. I was hoping to never do that shit again.”  

You bit back a smile, ducking your head as you reached for a towel to dry the counter. The space felt smaller with her in it, her silhouette filling every corner, her quick movements electric.  

Your aunt glanced between the two of you, her gaze lingering on Sevika before she handed her another plate. 

“You’re a hard worker. Good. She needs someone who can keep up.”  

Sevika’s lips quirked, but she didn’t respond, her attention focused on the task in front of her.  

The radio crackled faintly from the corner, playing some old Cuban bolero your aunt loved, and you found yourself swaying slightly as you worked, the rhythm infectious. You caught Sevika watching you out of the corner of her eye, her gaze soft but intent, and your cheeks warmed.  

“You dance to this too?” she asked, her voice pitched low enough that your aunt didn’t catch it.  

“Sometimes,” you said, keeping your focus on the counter. “Not for free, though.”  

She chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in her chest. “Figures.”  

Your aunt, oblivious or maybe just tactfully ignoring the tension that weaved itself between you, turned to Sevika with a clean dish in hand. 

“Rinse this for me, would you? And don’t let her distract you—she’s been trouble since she could fucking walk.”  

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sevika said, glancing at you with a spark of amusement in her eyes.  

The night wore on, the kitchen growing quieter as your aunt finally finished and stepped out to check on your sister. You stayed behind, leaning against the counter as Sevika dried her hands on a threadbare patch of towel. 

“I can’t believe you were hustling in restaurants,” you said, nodding toward the sink.  

She smirked, tossing the towel onto the counter. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. I can be a delight.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

 “Thanks for helping.”  

“Anytime,” she said, her voice softening slightly.  

You watched her for a moment, the way her shoulders seemed less tense now, the way her hair caught the light. The memory of her hands on you earlier still lingered, watering over your skin. It was a secret only the two of you shared.  

“You okay?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she stepped closer.  

You nodded, though your chest felt tight, your pulse thrumming in your ears. 

“Yeah. Just a little tired.”  

Her hand brushed yours, just barely, but it was enough to make your heart skip. She noticed, her gaze dropping to where your fingers nearly touched before she pulled back, her jaw tightening.  

“We should get some sleep,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.  

For a moment, neither of you did, the hum of the radio the only sound in the room. Then she stepped back, giving you space you didn’t want, and you let her.  

❀

Your bedroom felt much like the inside of a shell—quiet and strange, the air soaked with a mixture of rose, magnolia, and something darker, something that sat low in your chest. You could still taste the golden slices of your childhood, still feel the ache in your ribs that came from building elaborate forts. 

But now there was Sevika, solid and steady beneath you.

As soon as the door had closed, she’d taken you apart slowly, carefully, as though she’d known you needed it to feel stable again. 

The rough pads of her fingers, the soft murmur of her voice, the way she called you princess like it was the only name you’d ever had. And you had suffered in silence, hand across your mouth as you clenched and shook around her head for the third time, then the fourth. 

You’d finally tired after a good ride on her thigh, holding on desperately to the nape of neck. Her baby hair was soft there, tender. She came when you kissed her nose, slid down to her mouth, and called her beautiful. She’d whimpered, bucked awkwardly around your fingers, and you held her to you as you whispered her name. 

You’d looked it up in the bathroom. Sevika. Of Indian and Sanskrit origin. Servant of God. 

Now, she lay between your legs, her head resting heavy and warm against your stomach. The weight of her felt magical, made your body feel more virginal than it ever had been, and you sighed lowly as the first rays of sunlight slipped through the blinds, casting pale gold stripes across her back. 

The swan wings stretched with her every move, the feathers catching flight as she breathed. Muted ivory and soft grays leaned tenderly into the faintest hints of lavender and navy blue, the delicate gradient of ink glowing against her deep, bronze skin.

You reached out, tracing the curve of a wing’s tip near her shoulder blade. The ink felt warm under your fingertips, her skin soft but unyielding. The swan’s head, nestled at the base of her neck where the wings met, was elegant and sharp, its eyes bright as if they could see into you. You followed the line of its neck with your thumb, your touch lingering at the place where her spine dipped, and she hummed low in her throat, a sound that vibrated through your body.

She tilted her head, her cheek brushing against the softness of your belly as her eyes opened slowly, sleep still heavy in her gaze. 

“You like it?” she murmured, voice rough and low.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

You had already said this, and the reminder made you blush in embarrassment. A slow, lopsided smile tugged at her lips, and she closed her eyes again, sinking deeper into you as if she belonged there. You felt her hand slide up to rest on your thigh, her fingers splayed against your skin, holding you in place like she was afraid you’d disappear into the rising morning.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, and you flinched at the sound, the world outside pressing back in. Sevika didn’t move, just let her hand trail lazily up your spine as you reached for it. The screen glowed with messages from your aunt:  

aunt kenna 𓆉: Couldn’t get anyone to cover the rest of my shifts this week. aunt kenna 𓆉: Mom’s still kicking. She’s getting stronger. aunt kenna 𓆉: Ty for coming home. See you soon. Love you, bug x 

Still alive, you thought. The words lit up something inside you, bright and raw and impossible to contain. You laughed, the sound catching on the edge of a sob, and dropped the phone onto the bed.

“What is it?” Sevika asked, her voice filling with concern.

You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. The words tangled in your throat. Instead, you turned to her, your fingers trembling as they found her face, tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her full mouth. 

“She’s still alive,” you whispered, the words spilling out like a prayer.

Her eyes softened, her hand sliding up to cradle your face, her thumb brushing against the corner of your mouth. 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice steady, certain. “She’s a strong woman, just like the rest of you.”

The relief hit you all at once, sharp and overwhelming, and you kissed her because you couldn’t think of anything else to do. It was messy and desperate, your hands fisting in her hair as you tried to pour every unspoken thing into her mouth. She let you, her body surrendering to its basest urges . 

“Still alive,” you repeated, this time against her lips, your forehead resting against hers as your tears slipped silently onto her skin. 

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, her hands steady on your hips. “You’re all gonna live forever.”

You kissed her again, because you needed to. You needed her. 

You believed her. 

And the truth was you didn’t know how good it would get for the two (five) of you. 

You’d look back, let go, lose this part of things. Take your baby sister and leave.

You’d still be you, but you'd be free.

taglist: @miles-42-morales @indigopearl96 @marvelwomenarehot0 @vintagelotus345 @queen-simone @uronlymiaa @namuranguinhos @femlesbianbarbie @femme-historian @vikaswife @powderpinkandsweeet @drgnflyteabox @icespiceluva @theirlaliengirl @supermanwifey @nkeyaaa @batmanslittlelover @strawberrykidneystone @shimmerstraps

© hcneymooners

[regthomas1728]

Bare with me, I’m gonna actually try writing…(written on my phone, sorry for mistakes)

***

Your humble sandwich shack was recently upgraded to a small hovel. You now do specialized drinks and sandwiches.

Of course, you also had to get better insurance when you moved into the rent to own two story building in the city.

Not just any insurance! You needed insurance to cover hero and villain damage. You live in the city that birthed the greatest heroes and deadliest villains. While the chance of being murdered is extremely low, the chances of losing a house or building due to the fights were incredibly high.

High enough, insurance companies decided to make a pretty penny on all the people of the city.

You owned a small business that was rapidly gaining popularity. To keep up with demand, you decided to capitalize on the idea of heroes and villains. You began catering to tourists and eventually became one of the reason people visited the big city.

You began naming items on your list after heroes. Sandwiches and drinks alike had catchy names such as “Spexpresso” in reference to the fastest hero and the fastest acting coffee any coffee addicts have had or the brisket sandwich called “Smoked Pixet” named after the fairy hero named Pixie.

You thought it was funny, some of the customers thought it was creative, but the real fun came in the drawn cartoons merging the heroes with their respective menu item.

You bought a couple tv’s to showcase any submitted art and attention for your sandwich joint grew.

It wasn’t until the second hero stopped in, in their hero getup, and ordered their sandwich that you realized you were at the top.

Hey! The first one might have been a fluke or an accident.

Maybe you fumbled over your words but everyone was star struck.

“Good sandwich, I’ll have to get Euro in to try the gyro.” The hero chuckled on his way out, taking another big bite of his sandwich.

The customers and you let out a big sigh—you hadn’t even realize you were holding your breath—and then the little caf filled with laughter. It didn’t die down for a week—your caf was expanding and it took so much out of you until you hired three more people. All three workers were college students and you hired them within two weeks of the second heroes visit.

A few months later, your menu had changed greatly as new heroes wanted a spot on the menu and heroes already on the menu wanted to change certain ingredients.

You catered to a fee and stood your ground with most. The heroes respected you more for that as did the customers. You still made their sandwiches the way they preferred when they came in.

It was crazy for you to think about. You knew the orders of some of the most popular heroes and they came at regular intervals to get their lunch or dinner.

Marketing heard about your setup and chose to setup times where heroes would take photos with fans. You were gaining publicity and hero agencies were jumping on the band wagon.

You politely declined interviews or let your employees sub in. You weren’t someone who liked to be on camera and even the smooth talking lava rock hero couldn’t make you budge.

He did enjoy the spicy sandwich you made in his honor.

After all the humbug settled, you found a steady rhythm. But, all good things must come to an end.

After closing shop at 10:00pm, you were on your way to the car when you heard a voice call out to you from across the lot.

You turned at the sound, startled and trying to remain calm. Just because murders didn’t happen often didn’t mean they never happened. You were desperate not to be in the three percent.

“Why haven’t you made sandwiches for villains?”

“What?”

“Villains eat to, ya know?”

Not that you hadn’t thought of it but you didn’t think it’s go over very well. Not with heroes frequenting your place.

“I’m not too sure that’s a good idea. I don’t need heroes and villains fighting at my restaurant. I have insurance but it could never be that good.”

The man stepped out of the shadows and you realized you just told the most wanted villain no.

“Work on those sandwiches and I’ll work on a compromise.”

“You sure? I could just make you a sandwich under the table…? You could stop out back and grab it to go?”

The villain, covered in shadows and red (was that blood?), shook his head and took a step back.

“No. Put our sandwiches on the menu after a weeks time.”

“It’ll take longer than that to establish a villains menu and a good advertising strategy.”

“Well…I’ll have the hero and villain compromise figured out by then. The timeline isn’t up to you. I look forward to your work.”

“You’re not going to kill me if you don’t like the sandwich, are you?”

With shadows covering his exit, all you heard was an evil laugh that reminded you despite his absurd request, he was still a villain who made up one or two percent of the kills in the city over the last ten years. Okay…maybe not that many but you knew it was a lot! You just didn’t know ALL the statistics regarding heroes and villains.

While a normal person may have brought the conversation up to one of the many visiting heroes or maybe called the police, you brought out your folder of dreams and got to work on sandwich ideas.

And sure, you told the shadow villain that it would take more than a week to get started on this idea but you may have lied. It would take no time to start the menu—no the real issue was convincing civilians and heroes to accept a few changes.

One of the changes would be making a seasonal menu. Which would not correlate with actual seasons but rather about keeping scores between favorites sandwiches and drinks.

The advertising took some time and planning, you only had a rough outline of what that would look like.

By the end of the week, you were positive you’d be getting another visit from the shadow villain but it wasn’t him who called out to you in a parking lot. It was the number one hero.

“Y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you and your sandwich shop.”

“But you haven’t tried anything? That’s a real shame.” You smiled, turning your key into the car and starting the heat. You sat in the seat with your hands in your pockets and the door open. The hero walked a bit closer but kept a respectable distance.

“I heard you got a visit a week ago from…a mutual acquaintance.”

You frowned, your brow crinkling.

“I think? I think I know who you’re talking about.”

“Do you get so many visits from villains?” There seemed to be genuine concern in the pull of his smile. “He’s requesting your restaurant be made neutral territory. No arrests, no fights.”

“Sounds like an ideal insurance policy.”

The hero grimaced but nodded.

“I’ve agreed. I’m sure it wont be much use but I’ll ask anyway. One, is he pressuring you?”

“Not really. I’ve had the idea in mind for a while.”

“I thought so. So, is there any chance you tell me who he is?”

“I don’t know him. But even if I did, I wouldn’t put myself in the middle of the most powerful villain and every hero and hero agency. I’m powerless not stupid.”

The hero seemed surprised by your response but quickly covered it with a small smile.

“Right. Well, if you need help or if any of the villains try anything, I’d feel a lot better if you had this.”

He took a step forward and held his hands out, dropping a small device in your open palm.

“If you press that button, it’ll call me directly. You don’t have to say anything when it calls—very few people have it and know to only use it in an emergency. I’ll come running.”

“Flying.” You correct lightly with a soft smile.

“Flying.”

Business returned to normal and within a month you were preparing the advertisements and informing your regular customers of the upcoming menu additions and changes.

Heroes were a bit distant at first, not excited about the change, but the number one hero quickly helped with the transition by becoming a regular customer. He visited and chatted with you every Friday.

Villains, on the other hand, were much quicker to visit and test the boundaries set by both heroes and villains.

Just when you’d had enough, the shadow villain you hadn’t seen since the night he proposed the new menu showed up.

“I believe I made myself clear! Neutral territory. No stake outs, only steak cuts!”

That earned a laugh from you, nervous chuckles from civilian patrons, and an earnest smile from a couple heroes.

“I’ll have a conversation with you after your shift. I shouldn’t have had to find out from that snotty number one hero that you were having difficulties with my crew.”

“Don’t you threaten me, Shadows.”

“Shadows?”

“I don’t know your name, sorry.”

“I’m literally the number one villain. I have a reputation that exceeds me. I’m a symbol!”

“Bit egotistical, don’t ya think?”

Luckily, he was in a playful enough mood to see the joke for what it was.

“Perhaps. I’ll take the sandwich you have undoubtedly made after me. I’m surprised I haven’t seen it in the advertisements.”

“I wanted to wait until you had tried it.”

“Naturally. Only you would make a guinea pig of me.”

You took fifteen minutes to make his sandwich and his sidekicks drink. You brought it out, a breath nestled deep in your chest clawing out but unable to until he stamped his approval on the sandwich you made with him in mind.

“How is it?” The number one hero stood directly behind the most wanted villain with a bright smile on his face.

With his mouth full, the villain rearranged it into his cheek to say: “Give me a second to savor it.”

The hero looked down, his hands on his hips as he awaited the answer you were eagerly shaking for. You were jumping with excitement as he took another bite.

“It’s a winner!!” You did a little happy dance and the few people watching cheered with you, grinning almost as madly as you were. Almost.

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. I’ll give you that. I’m not a pickle person, though.”

“I’ll tell you like I’ve told everyone else! That is a damn good sandwich and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna change it because of personal preference.”

The cheers died down, the hero shifted his weight from his front foot to his back, subtly getting in a defensive position.

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll still make you a sandwich without pickles but that’s the one going on the menu. Glad you like it.”

The villain walked out with a small smile that disappeared into the shadows along with him. That grin was the last thing you saw of him.

“I’ve never seen anyone talk to him like that.” The hero spoke with note of admiration and shock, eyebrows nearly to his forehead.

“I won’t back down to anyone.”

“I suppose that’s a good trait to have. Almost gave me a heart attack but, a good trait nevertheless.”

He ordered the same sandwich and complimented you with a wink.

“When do I get a sandwich?”

You own a sandwich shop in the heart of a superhero city. After gaining customers by making sandwiches based on heroes, you decided to try making some based on villains. Today, a villain stopped to review theirs.

[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.2 first move

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

note: and the game begins…

masterlist

You were still thinking about the party as you got back to your apartment, shaking off the strange vibe that lingered after your conversation with Sukuna. He wasn’t exactly rude, but something about the way he talked, the way he acted so sure of himself, rubbed you the wrong way.

You threw your jacket over the back of your chair, saying goodnight to Shoko as she walked into her room. You plopped onto your bed, pulling your phone from your bag.

You opened Instagram, scrolling through posts finally loving the peace.

Until a notification popped up.

Sukuna Ryomen started following you.

You sat up in shock, staring at your screen. Sukuna had followed you?

Your thumb hovered over the notification, the tension building as you debated your next move. Block him? Ignore him? Or… stalk him?

The smarter choice would’ve been to block him, but knowing yourself, you clicked on his profile.

His account was exactly what you expected.

Post after post of candid photo, Sukuna at some party. A drink in his hand and his arm slung casually around a girl who looked like she’d won the lottery. Sukuna leaning against his car, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine.

He had thousands of followers. The comments were full of heart emojis and flirty compliments. He had only followed 20 people, mostly his friends and family.

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the growing curiosity. He didn’t follow anyone unless they were important, so… why was he following you?

Ignore it, you told yourself, he’ll get bored eventually.

As your stared at his profile, a second notification popped up.

Sukuna Ryomen sent your a message.

Your stomach flipped.

2:40AM Sukuna Ryomen: took you long enough to notice me

You scowled, your fingers itching to respond. He was so full of himself that it was almost comical.

2:40AM You: is this part of some weird social experiment?

His reply came almost instantly.

2:40AM Sukuna Ryomen: what me following you? nah just curious

2:41AM You: curious about what?

2:41AM Sukuna Ryomen: about what kind of stuff you post don’t worry i won’t judge… much

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against your headboard. the nerve of this guy.

2:41AM You: wow, lucky me

2:41AM Sukuna Ryomen: relax sweetheart i’m just here to see if you’re as boring online as you are in person

Your jaw dropped. He had to be kidding. You stared at the screen, debating weather to let the conversation die or put him in his place.

2:42AM You: bold words for someone who posts the same three poses over and over

This time, there was a pause before replying. When it came it was shorter than you expected.

2:42AM Sukuna Ryomen: touché

For a moment, you almost smiled.

2:42AM You: now that you’ve satisfied your “curiosity” you can go ahead and unfollow me

2:42AM Sukuna Ryomen: nah i’ll stick around

You sighed, swiping away from his message leaving him on seen. You stared at the screen, the notification still visible: Sukuna Ryomen started following you.

You glanced at his profile one more time. The same images, the same cocky smirk in every picture.

With a deep breath, you pressed follow back.

For a moment nothing happened, you set your phone down and let out a slow exhale, almost feeling dumb for replying to him.

Just as you were about to close the app and convince yourself it doesn’t matter, your phone buzzed.

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: i knew you couldn’t resist

You rolled your eyes, a smile hugging at the corner of your lips.

2:50AM You: don’t get too cocky

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: too late already am

2:50AM You: your unbearable

2:50AM Sukuna Ryomen: only when i’m around you

You stared at the screen, for a moment, unsure how to respond. He was good at this, good at getting under your skin, making you react, and you had to admit it was starting to feel like he wasn’t just messing around.

2:51AM You: we’ll see how long that lasts

2:51AM: Sukuna Ryomen: i’ll be around as long as you let me.

A little shiver ran down your spine at his words, but you pushed it aside. You weren’t ready to admit how much you were starting to look forward to whatever this way.

Sukuna was following you everywhere. You meant it everywhere.

It doesn’t matter if you were grabbing a coffee, sitting in class, or heading to the library, whatever you were doing he was there. Sometimes he would be leaning against the wall, staring at you as you walked by, other times he would be scrolling through his phone like he just happened to be in the same place.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. After all, it wasn’t like you owned the campus. But by the fourth time in a single day? Yeah, no. He was definitely following you.

You were midway through highlighting your notes when the chair across from you scraped against the floor. The sudden sound made you glance up, and there he was. Sukuna Ryomen.

“Are you stalking me now?” you asked, glancing back to your notes.

“Stalking is a strong word,” Sukuna's voice drawled, too close for comfort. “We just happen to be in the same place at the same time.”

You sighed, as you spun back to face him, he’s leaning back casually on the chair, one arm draped over the chair next to him.

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

You crossed your arms. “Pretty sure we already had that conversation. Last night.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Yeah, but you didn’t say anything interesting, figured I’d give you another chance.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.” there was something about the way he was staring at you, like you were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Why are you even bothering me? you’ve got half of the campus eating out your hand, and i’m not interested in joining the club.”

Sukuna leaned forward, just enough to make your knees touch. “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t care.” his tone was softer now, the change caught you off guard.

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “how tragic for you.”

he grinned. “See that’s why I like you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding harder than you wanted to admit. What was he even talking about? he didn’t know you.

“You don’t even know me,” you said, your voice quieter now.

“Not yet,” he said simply, as if the answer was obvious.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do.” you said bluntly, closing your notebook with a snap.

You stood up, gathering your things quickly, but Sukuna wasn’t done. As you walked away, his voice followed you. “See you around, sweetheart.”

“I’m telling you, he’s obsessed. First, he’s showing up wherever you are, second, he’s following you on Instagram. classic Sukuna move.” Shoko says as you guys are seated at a small table in the student lounge.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Yeah, and now he’s everywhere I go. It’s like he’s trying to prove something.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow. “Maybe he is. I mean, it’s Sukuna. He doesn’t exactly follow people around for no reason.”

You scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean? He follows around half the campus trying to get in their pants.”

“Yeah, but those girls usually throw themselves at him. You…” Shoko gestures vaguely at you. “…don’t. He’s probably intrigued.”

you snort. “Well, he’s wasting his time. I’m not interested.”

Before Shoko can respond, Sukuna’s voice cuts through the chatter. “Ouch. That hurts.”

Both of you look up as Sukuna strolls over, his signature smirk firmly in place. He’s holding a small paper bag in one hand, the other resting casually in his pocket.

Shoko grins and leans back in her chair, clearly ready to enjoy whatever’s about to happen.

“Talking about me?” His voice carries just the right amount of smugness as he stops by your table. “I can feel the love from here.”

You glare up at him, unimpressed. “Love? please your delusional.”

Ignoring your sarcasm, Sukuna slides the bag closer to you. “Here. Thought you’d like this.”

You looked at the bag like it might explode. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Open it,” Sukuna says, leaning back in his chair, watching you carefully.

You side-eyed him before reaching for the bag, you’re fingerings brushing against the paper as you peek inside. Your favorite snacks are in there.

You looked up at him confused. “How did you know these are my favorite?”

Sukuna shrugs like it’s no big deal, “I have my ways.”

You narrowed your eyes, a mix of suspicion and frustration bubbling up inside you. “That’s not an answer. Are you really stalking me?” It all felt too strange to ignore. First, he found your Instagram without you ever mentioning it. Then, he seemed to show up wherever you were. What was next—was he going to start lurking outside your house?

He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt. “Stalk you? What kind of guy do you think I am?”

You don’t buy it for a second. “The kind who’s trying way too hard.”

“Or the kind who pays attention,” Sukuna counters smoothly, his voice dropping a fraction as he leans forward.

The words hang in the air for a moment, and even Shoko raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the show.

You stiffen but recover quickly, crossing your arms again. “You really think this is going to work? Snacks and flirty comments?”

“It’s a start,” Sukuna says with a lazy grin, standing up. “By the way, there’s a party tomorrow night. You should come.”

You don’t hesitate. “Not interested.”

Sukuna shrugs, completely unbothered by the rejection. “I wasn’t asking. I’ll see you there.”

He winks, turning and walking away without waiting for your response

Shoko finally speaks, her tone laced with curiosity. “What was that?”

You rolled your eyes, stuffing the bag into your tote. “Nothing. He’s only doing this to try to get me into his bed. It’s his thing.”

Shoko studies you for a moment, her voice thoughtful. “I don’t know. That didn’t seem like that to me.”

You huff, shoving your drink away. “Whatever. I’m not falling for it.”

Shoko grins, standing up and grabbing her bag. “You don’t have to fall for anything. But we’re going to that party.”

Your head snaps up. “What? No, we’re not.”

“Oh, yes, we are.” Shoko pulls her chair back, already starting to walk away. “I need to see where this goes. Plus, free drinks. You’re coming, no arguments.”

You groaned, grabbing your things to follow her. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love me for it,” Shoko calls over her shoulder, grinning.

Sukuna didn’t realize how hard this was going to be. Day one of the challenge, and you were already proving to be unlike anyone he’d dealt with before.

It was frustrating and intriguing.

He had done his research, of course. Stalking your social media was step one, but even that had been harder than he expected. Your profiles were understated. No attention-seeking selfies, no overly revealing posts. Just snapshots of books, obscure playlists, and the occasional candid photo with friends.

“I can’t figure her out,” he had muttered late one night, scrolling through your feed for what felt like the hundredth time.

That’s when he realized he needed help.

“You really don’t know anything about her?” Geto had asked, his tone laced with amusement as he leaned back against Sukuna’s desk.

“She’s invisible,” Sukuna muttered, tossing his phone onto the table. “No parties, no drama, no clue what she’s into. It’s like she’s living on a different planet.”

Geto smirked. “Sounds like someone’s not used to working for it.”

Sukuna shot him a glare, but Geto just shrugged. “Relax. I’ve got this.”

The next day, Geto cornered Shoko during a break between classes. He made it look casual, of course just two old friends catching up. But Geto had a knack for reading people, and Shoko wasn’t hard to crack.

“She’s into the little things,” Shoko had said, blowing out a puff of smoke from her cigarette. “You know, stuff that actually matters. Like, she’s not going to fall for some big, flashy gesture. She likes thoughtful things her favorite snacks, a good book, stuff like that.”

By the time Geto reported back, Sukuna had a plan. It was subtle, sure, but he could work with that.

After handing you the snacks, He strolled back to his usual spot with Gojo and Geto, settling down next to them with a frustrated sigh.

“So, any luck with her?” Gojo asked, not missing a beat.

Sukuna set his drink down, running a hand through his hair as he slouched in his chair. “Not as easy as I thought. You guys are right—no amount of flashing a smile and throwing out my usual charm is going to work on her.”

Geto smirked, leaning forward. “She’s in your head, huh?”

Gojo chuckled, propping his chin on his hand. “This is new. Sukuna Ryomen, struggling to win over a girl? What’s next, you’re gonna write her a love poem?”

Sukuna shot them both a glare, his jaw tightening. “Laugh it up,” he muttered. “But I’m not backing down.”

Geto raised a brow. “You sound almost impressed.”

“Maybe I am,” Sukuna said, a glint of determination sparking in his eyes. “And maybe that’s what makes this fun. I invited her to the party.”

Geto and Gojo both blinked, momentarily stunned by Sukuna’s straightforwardness.

“You invited her to the party?” Gojo asked, leaning forward in surprise. “Bold move. What’s the plan there? Just charm her in front of the whole crowd?”

Sukuna shrugged, but there was something sharper in his expression now. “It will work. I don’t think she’s the type to fall for a big scene, but if I show her I’m not like the others, she’ll bite eventually.”

Gojo chuckled. “You’re really going for the slow burn, huh?”

“Exactly.” Sukuna’s lips curved into a confident grin. “She won’t see it coming.”

Geto raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ve got, what, few more days to make this work? Good luck, man.”

Sukuna smirked, not looking away from you as you stood up, chatting with Shoko. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Later that night, you were lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, trying to forget the strange encounter with Sukuna earlier. Your mind kept drifting back to the way he’d smiled when he handed you your favorite snack, the way his eyes seemed to linger on you just a second too long.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen, and your stomach flipped when you saw his name. Hesitating for a moment, you opened the message.

11:30PM Sukuna Ryomen: hope i see you at the party tomorrow sweetheart wouldn’t be the same without you

Attached to the text was the party’s address.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the pillow beside you. Why did he have to be so persistent? And You told yourself you wouldn’t go—there was no way you were giving him the satisfaction.

But as you stared at the message again, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go.

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu @ferretsqueen @anonnieghost @boogiemansbitch @sukubusss @sterzin @miazzzma @silkija @blueemochii @number0netrash

[mini-ism]

#— HOLIDAY LIGHTS.

pairings: lighter x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,300

synopsis: he hated the way those cheery holiday lights made him feel so small the night you rejected him. yet, he still answers every time you call. that shred of hope will never die, especially not as it gets cold.

warnings: p in v, biting, kissing/making out, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, friends with benefits type relationship (can be read as reader and lighter get together after the fic), lethal amounts of pining, rejection, grinding/dry humping, nipple sucking/licking, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms). 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

notes: crossposted to AO3. merry pissmas losers. ily!!

it was a force of habit, always a call away.

ever since his boxing days, he was a call away.

“hello?” his husky voice could be heard on your end. it was getting cold out, the season lonelier when alone.

“lighter!” you spoke happily, almost relieved he’d answered. when didn’t he answer your call? even when he was busy at the time, he managed to return the call, managed to ask you “what’s up?”

in a heartbeat, you could hear his smile through his words and tone, he filled in the blank. “you want me to come over? you know, it’s the holiday season, can’t leave you feeling lonely.”

you laughed, an involuntary, fond, and soft noise. “yeah, could you do that? it’s been a while since i’ve seen you. …maybe you could be my gift?”

he chuckled on the other end, letting a bit of a snort through, “you bet. i’ll be there soon.”

you could only manage to tidy your bedroom before he was knocking at your door, the knocks gentle but persistent. you opened the door for him, standing in his usual attire. he waved hi, making haste to immediately settle in like it was his home too. “you missed me already?”

lighter’s words carried a teasing lilt to them, “well of course i did.” you answered him honestly, perhaps even a bit shyly. he smirked, the expression not entirely smug, carrying a layer of humility.

“well, i missed you too,” he turned to you after hanging his jacket on the back of the nearest chair, outstretching his arms, “come here.”

you obliged, scoffing at his endearment, letting his arms wrap tightly around you. his hug was secure, full of warmth and strength, a level of love underneath the surface of it all. you and him were quite familiar, your bond deep and connection deeper. he had met you when he was still fighting in the ember arena, misery behind his swollen eyes and bruises littering his battered body. yet, you never took him for what he seemed to be — a ruthless man with nothing but his life to put on the line.

hadn’t it been around this time he first kissed you? when he gave you his breathless confession? he tore off his boxing gloves, nose trickling with blood as his diaphragm stuttered with each breath. lighter had taken a particularly ugly punch to the gut, every last bit of oxygen in his lungs getting beat out of him. it still hurt to breathe, and that punch was sure to leave a hideous bruise on his … washboard abs.

as the champagne-golden and multicolored christmas lights illuminated the streets above and around the city, he huffed out an honest admission. a declaration of deep love, a sparkle igniting behind his dark and tired eyes.

you could only tell him that now wasn’t right. that, as much as you loved him back, he needed to get out of here most, that there was still so much interpersonal work to be done for yourselves. his ego was terribly hurt, the beating he took insurmountable to the pain of a slight rejection. but still, you called.

the attraction was palpable, undeniable, tangible. his name was spoken on your lips like a prayer, reverent and begging for his mercy. you begged him like he wholly owned you. the ache in his ego was replaced with a strange swell of pride, the look in your gaze unmistakable as he approached you. you stared at him with those pretty, twinkling eyes, that look beckoning him for his mercy and cruelty, to treat you as his for another night.

lighter would always oblige you. sure, that pain that shattered his fragile ego mended, and yeah, the way you practically worshipped him inflated it further. he was convinced that not even time could rip you away from him, that as he became a different man with new goals and a better set of priorities, you remained in his life. he turned down everyone, a silent part of his heart naively hoping that eventually you’d throw yourself onto him like a damsel in distress. you’d profess your equally passionate love for him, and that you were ready to be his only. he’d always pick up your call.

lighter loosened his grip slightly, bringing you back to reality as a small bit of chill crept in, “it’s always nice to see you.”

you smiled, the affection in his voice oozing with sincerity. you could feel him beginning to shuffle towards your room, holding you tight as you began to backpedal. he released an arm around you to gingerly shut the door behind him, the limb stretching somewhat awkwardly as he smothered you in himself. you couldn’t complain, the man smelled incredible and he was warm as a radiator.

his hands were immediately on you again, moving upwards to cup your face. he couldn’t stop himself from smooshing your cheeks together, stifling a laugh. lighter dove in to peck your lips, mimicking them with a puckered look of his own, the sight was thoroughly amusing.

he couldn’t stop himself after one kiss, the kisses becoming progressively less silly. his hands lessened the puckered tension of your lips and cheeks. he gently caressed your face with his thumbs as his lips deepened the kiss. his lips grazed yours, every second of contact drove him further into a frenzied need. your lips on his always felt so right, so soft and gentle. the way you tasted left him craving something that was so uniquely you, that couldn’t be emulated or sought anywhere else. his tongue was granted entrance, mingling with yours in a familiar way.

lighter softly groaned, the sound coming from deep within his chest. he never got tired of feeling your tongue on his. whatever taste your lips had, your tongue was better, it was stronger. his kiss was heated and passionate, seeking that comfort that you brought his soul, your presence a healing balm. he could bask in it for as long as he lives, until his existence is a fading shred fighting the winds of time. his hands came to your waist, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss to lift your shirt over your head. lighter’s breathing was ragged, eyes carrying the recognizable spark of need behind the darkly tinted lenses.

you stood in front of him, chest bare, your nipples hardening. he could never get tired of those tits, eyes immediately flicking down to look at them. his face was dusted with a soft pink color, peeling off his right glove to get a bare feel. his calloused fingers immediately came up to pinch the nipple softly, rolling it under his thumb and on the side of his index finger. the pressure was enough to make you wince in a delightful pain, drawing your lip between your teeth. his bare hand palmed the swell of your chest, groping as much boob as he could in his large hand. the sensation of your soft skin against his rough palm got him harder than he wanted to admit, you still had that effect on him after years. “…fuuuuck.”

lighter’s curse came out as more of a hiss, a quiet admission of arousal. he quickly pulled off his other glove, letting it carelessly land on your floor next to your shirt. his hands immediately roving back onto your chest, squeezing and kneading as much as he could.

your eyes were lidded, vision growing hazy and careless. you could feel him lift you up, hoisting you high enough to latch his mouth onto one of your tits. his arms were strong and tight around your body, carefully bringing you over to your bed. his mouth was unfocused and lazy, tongue lapping at the bud to stiffen it every time he felt it soften. lighter guided you down onto your sheets, laying himself above you.

lighter’s lips immediately lavished attention onto the other nipple, taking it between his teeth and sucking it with a pop. you could feel his cock hardening in his pants as he laid on you, hips rocking every few seconds. “you have no idea how much i love doing this…” he muttered between breaths.

lighter trailed kisses from your sternum to your clavicle and up your neck. you could feel his breath tickle your ear and his lips drag along your pulse point. his hands travelled down your abdomen, to your lower waist, trailing his tongue down your carotid slowly. lighter savored the whimper you let out for him. “that’s right, baby, let me hear you.”

lighter pressed a sloppy kiss to the junction of your collarbone and neck, tongue licking along the light bite marks he left on your skin to tease you. his fingers pressed into your sides harder, grinding his hips and cock against the flesh of your thigh beneath him.

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, pulling them off with your underwear. lighter parted your thighs with a particularly large and muscular thigh of his own. you carded your fingers through his hair with a sigh, giving him a gentle look. lighter returned it with a smile, letting his lips kiss their way down your body. he replaced his thigh with his face, nuzzling the inside of your thigh as he laid prone on your bed. he pressed his erection into the sheets, grunting as the friction provided him with growing arousal disguised as relief. lighter nipped the inside of your thigh playfully, giving the quivering skin a kiss as a mock apology.

as he dove in, tongue first, he held eye contact with you. he allowed you to remove the sunglasses covering his eyes, the sight of you bearable to the rest of the world. his tongue flicked at your clit, sucking and kissing the sensitive slit between your legs. your fingers worked in his hair, his arms snaking around your thighs to press you closer to his mouth. he shut his eyes, rolling his hips against the soft sheets beneath him.

you had always been more than bearable in his heart, in his eyes. you were probably the only person rooting for him in an arena full of people cheering on his downfall. it had all become too much, the sights, the sounds, the smells. the sunglasses became his weird coping mechanism, serving more than their original purpose. he could only handle parting with them when he was with you, you were the only person that didn’t look at him harshly. you didn’t tell him to fight for you, you’d be the only person to clean his wounds and wash all the dreaded blood out of his hair.

that kiss he gave you during his confession was the only gift he could give you during the season. he was still flat broke, struggling to keep it together. he wasn’t living his life, he was watching it through those pretty green eyes of his. you were the only one to cut through the zombie-like haze of his mundane life. he had nothing material to provide you with, though his soul screamed at him to fight more matches, scrape up enough money doing odd jobs. yet, the way you looked at him had him feeling like all you wanted was him. although you kissed him back that night, he still couldn’t shake the looming doubt clouding his judgement. those holiday lights were hurting his eyes.

it had him filled with a strange sense of jealousy, envy. they were bright and admired, even through all the years of wear and harsh weather. people loved those lights, they would go out just to see them. they would seek them out, they were the substance of holiday nostalgia, something to decorate with and gawk at. he felt small and incomparable to the barrage of festive lights and cheer that night. it was stupid, he knew, but it was real.

a sharp tug on his hair pulled him out of his thoughts. you were breathing heavily, body shaking with pleasure as he mindlessly ate you out. his tongue was coated with a thick sheen of your cum, pussy quivering as you trembled. he didn’t need to use his fingers to get you to come this time, you must have really missed him. he gave your cunt another thorough lick, a long stripe to collect as much cum as he could on his tongue. it left you in agonizing pleasure, the sensation causing you to buck your hips and sob.

he loved the way you tasted. your skin, your lips, your tongue, even your pussy. he could eat it for days, he would if you’d let him. “can’t get enough.” he swallowed down the rest of your cum on his taste buds, the tangy taste lingering.

he had neglected his own body, too. he could feel the sticky pre-cum pooling in his boxers, cock twitching. his dick was begging him for attention, to at least grind on something, to let him bury himself inside you without a thought. his eyes were glassy, his stare magnetic and alluring. lighter’s hair was tousled and messy, his green eyes shining with arousal. it had you wishing he didn’t hide those pretty eyes away from the world, remembering that you’re lucky he still has them, even after all those black eyes and that horrible injury he sustained years ago.

he rose, settling himself differently between your thighs. your body was trembling, but your eyes conveyed full trust in him. you watched as he lifted off his own skin-tight undershirt, the scars along his body speckling his skin. the texture was different from his much softer skin, each with its own unique story. had he listened to you, maybe he wouldn’t have half of them. you still diligently kissed each one when you could, caressing his chest lovingly. his scars were never something he was ashamed of, just a reminder of reality, a reminder that the world isn't what it seems. you say they make him look sexy, so that isn’t half bad either.

the dog-tags around his neck jingled as he unbuckled his belt, throwing it aside with the rest of the clothes on the floor. he couldn’t be reminded to care, palming the prominent bulge in his pants instead. his face was red with lust, sweat dripping from his chest and beading around his hairline, soaking into his soft locks. lighter deftly unzipped his fly, reaching down into his boxers with a sultry drag of his fingers. he traced them down his lower abs, lower, lower…

you could see the outline of his hand stroking his cock through the fabric of his boxers, eventually freeing his dick from its confines. his size never failed to take your breath away, lighter still had to break you in each time. years of fucking, yet you could never get fully used to his cock. he stroked it a few times with a heavy sigh, a noise he reserved for his time with you. “nobody one could get me hard like you,” he mused, “i don’t think i can get hard thinking about anyone that isn’t you at this point. you have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

fuck, if that didn’t turn you on… you moaned, squirming and writhing in arousal, just from his honest thoughts. “lighter, take me. i don’t want anyone else’s dick, just yours.” your voice was strained, laden with burning hot need. you could feel the coil in your gut tighten with every one of his grunts. his voice was so sexy and deep, so smooth and soothing, soft when he wanted it to be.

“i thought you’d never ask,” lighter teased, collecting your wetness at the head of his cock, pushing in slightly with just the tip. you let out a whine, the sound throaty. you looked to him, who was already looking down at you with a loving smile. he pulled back out, the tip of his cock barely slid inside you. lighter’s hand came up to stabilize your leg at the hamstrings, the other aiding his cock inside with practiced ease. he winced in deep pleasure as your pussy graciously accepted his length, you were much wetter than usual too.

he couldn’t help but throw his head back after your cunt took the fattest part of his cock, burying himself to the base, his shaft coated in your wetness. “fuck, you want all of this?”

you gasped as he rocked his hips further into yours, the head of his cock hitting your cervix. you grit your teeth, jaw held tight as he pulled out slowly, dragging his hips out, before slamming back in. he took note of the lewd expression you made, jaw loosening as he fucked back into you, each thrust faster than the last, the pause in between shortening. you looked so hot like that, taking his dick just as you should. it’s got him realizing his love for you has grown even more over the years. it felt less like a trauma bond, blossoming into a deep and profound appreciation, an attraction that his brain can’t handle processing without short-circuiting a little bit. lighter’s expression mirrored yours, his face flushed, hair sticking to his face as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and held it.

he had gradually increased his pace, the sound of skin against skin gradually getting louder. your bed started to rock against the wall, his hands grabbing the undersides of your thighs tightly. he didn’t dare to look away from you, from your eyes. your pussy was already an eyeful, getting all wet and tight like that, but fuck, the faces you made as you got close made him even harder. hard enough to dick you down into your mattress.

lighter hadn’t silenced you at all, matching your moans with fervor. his hips slammed against yours, groaning and huffing louder. his muscles were wound with the same tightness and tension as yours, your pussy getting unbearably tight with every shaky exhale. “come on, that’s it, lemme hear you. let me feel you come on me, i want you to cum on my dick. can you do that? fuck, fuck…”

his brows furrowed in concentration, his rhythmically rocking into you with a brutal force. the bed frame was squeaking and moving underneath you both, masked by the shared sounds of pleasure and sex. the intense pressure in your gut was rearing its head, coming to a climax, little babbles falling from your lips. “lighter, gonna— i’ll, fuck, ohh… fuck, fuck, lighter! lighter!”

your hips frantically pushed against his, beckoning him deeper, harder. with a particularly loud mewl, your back arched off the bed, wailing in pleasure as your climax washed over every tense muscle in your body. lighter didn’t stop, the pace maintained and ruthless as he chased his own orgasm. “yeah? yeah, just like that, you feel too fuckin’ good. think i’m gonna cum too.” a faint jingle could be heard in the heat of passion, the silver colored dog-tags dangling off his neck with each thrust. “take care of this pussy every time you want me, oh, fuck—”

his final words were strained with pleasure, his own body twitching as his balls drew up tight. he rutted his hips a few times in and out, fucking his cum into you with uncharacteristically deep and desperate moans. his hands shook, palms clammy and body quivering with the after effects of sex.

lighter leaned down to give you a tentative kiss, one akin to the first gift he ever gave you. it was slow, explorative, devoted. he leaned into your neck, nibbling on your ear affectionately, “how is that for a gift?”

“…good enough for me to reconsider our relationship.”

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 6)

You go to confront The Witch and Lady Death

Word count: 3900

Warnings: smut, fingering, more murder

You try to call Tony on the way over, but his number isn’t there. You scroll through your text messages, his thread isn’t there either. You try recent calls. Nope. 

It’s like he’s been entirely erased from your phone. 

You’re getting frantic, desperate, and you know that you can’t exactly look up the personal phone number for the director of an FBI branch, so on a complete whim, you check your blocked contacts. 

Fucking Rio. 

She must’ve gotten into your phone when she came by to get your clothes that night and made sure there was no way you could reach your life outside of Westview. No way you could get help. 

Fingers gripped around the blade of the knife, you’re about to leave the room when your phone lights up with a call. Tony. You scoff, decline it, and block him. You don’t have time for that. 

Grimacing, you massage the area between your eyes. You’ve made a huge mess of everything. 

You unblock him and call him and he picks up on the first ring. 

“Y/N, where the hell have you been?” He barks and you wince at his scolding tone. 

“Things here have…developed,” you start, weighing how much you should tell him. 

He scoffs. “None of my calls or texts have gone through. I thought you were dead!” You try to say something but he barrels over you. “I’m on my way to Westview right now. I’m supposed to land in about an hour. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’m bringing you back to Miami.” 

“No!” You cry out. He can’t. “Please, Director, I’m so close, I’m about to get them right now. I know who they are and where they are, I’m on my way.”

You can hear his sharp intake of breath when he realizes what you’re about to do. “Agent, stand down. That is a direct order. You are not to engage with them.” 

A blush spreads through your body as you remember just how much you’ve engaged with them. 

“It’ll be fine,” you assure him. “They don’t want me dead.” 

The sound of him hitting the tray table on the jet reverberates through your phone and you almost jump. “Dammit, Y/N, this isn’t a game! This is life or death, and you are not to try and get them all by yourself. Turn around from wherever you are and go back to your motel and do not leave until I get there!” You’ve never heard him this mad. 

But you can’t. You’ve come too far to let them slip away like this. You have your gun and maybe the element of surprise on your side. You have the power to end this tonight. 

Tony’s still ranting about how irresponsible and impulsive and stupid you’re being, so you hang up. The call ironically disconnects in the middle of him saying how you never listen to anything he says. 

You’re more convinced than ever that Agatha and Rio did something in the woods that day that fucked you up beyond measure. 

And who was that other woman? 

Somehow, after all of that, you had ended up in the hospital with hypothermia and pneumonia, and the post-traumatic and retrograde amnesia accounts for the block in your mind. Did you hit your head on something? 

Or did someone hit you on the head with something? 

Agatha and Rio and the mystery woman had been so shocked and afraid when you came across them doing something bad that they had clobbered you in the hopes that you would forget, or die? 

It’s plausible. 

If nothing else, you need answers before you kill them tonight. Maybe knowing what they did will give you some semblance of peace and you can sleep without fearing that you’re going to murder innocent people. 

It can hopefully get rid of your headaches, at the very least. 

When you get to the address left on the note, Agatha’s car is already parked out front. You breathe a sigh of relief and the tension in your shoulders you didn’t know you were carrying seeps out. They’re here. They didn’t send you on a wild goose chase. 

Your heart is beating so fast you think it might fly right out of your chest and you try to slow down your breathing before entering the viper’s nest. 

There’s no telling what you might find in there, or what tricks they have up their sleeves, so you want to be mentally prepared. 

When your breaths are finally under control, you get out of the car and immediately slip on ice. You crash down to the pavement with a thud and you struggle to get your bearings and 

Snow. 

Clearing in the woods. 

The woman beckons you forward and you find her with two other women. Out of the three, there’s two brunettes and one with gray hair. The gray-haired one looks older, lines prominent on her angry face. She’s standing against a tree.

The two brunettes smile. 

When you get closer, you can see that the gray-haired lady is standing in the middle of a big mound of sticks and branches. 

Why doesn’t she just move? 

The cold ground bleeds through your pants and brings you back to reality. The big mound of sticks and branches coupled with the fire you started seeing…was she on a pyre? 

One thing at a time, you remind yourself, pushing yourself up with the help of the car next to you. 

You silently slink up to the front door. It’s slightly open. You pause and press your ear to the wood, listening for anything that might indicate a struggle happening. 

Nothing. 

You push it all the way open and carefully step inside, wincing when the floorboard creaks under your foot. It’s so silent in the front corridor of the house that you think you can hear your blood rushing under your skin. 

There’s flickering light coming from the living room and you make your way in that direction when you hear something. You strain your ears and stop against the wall to try and discern what it is – is that a smacking noise? 

Are they kissing? 

You dare to peek around the corner and yes, not really to your surprise, Agatha and Rio are making out amidst a crime scene.

 A dagger sits on the kitchen table next to a plate of the same cookies from their house, two purple azaleas, and two containers. 

Two people, a man and a woman, are laying on the ground gasping for air. Their skin is getting tighter, shriveling, lines etching into their face as their cheeks hollow out. 

Their chests are still intact though. Maybe they haven’t gotten to that step yet? Clearly Agatha and Rio have been sidetracked.

You should go help them. You should go in there and save their lives, you should stop The Witch and Lady Death. Why do you feel so hot? You must have a fever, there’s no reason your body should be this warm.

But then you look in their direction and you’re enraptured, all other thoughts leaving your head.

The skeleton mask is thrown on the floor and the glow of the fireplace lights up Agatha and Rio trying to devour each other’s mouths. 

A flush of heat stutters through your body as Rio reaches her arms around Agatha’s neck and tries to pull her even closer. Agatha’s hands are clasped on her wife’s cheeks and you can see her tongue sliding into Rio’s mouth. The electricity under your skin is back, roaring to life, while your eyes move from the people on the floor, taking their last breaths, to Agatha and Rio, still kissing like their lives depend on it, to the 

Snow. 

The clearing. 

The sound of a match striking against the matchbox. 

You watch it fall, almost as if in slow motion. 

A brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

Agatha’s foot squeaks on the floor as she walks Rio backwards, mouth never leaving hers. Your fingers tighten around the gun so hard you think you might snap them. You should shoot them. You should shoot them both right here, right now. 

But you can’t move. 

You’re stuck, rooted to the same spot around the corner, watching as Agatha’s lips trail down Rio’s neck. The younger woman’s head drops back to give her wife more room and you can almost feel the pleasure she does. 

“Agatha,” Rio whines and you never thought you would hear her beg. But the mighty therapist, the same woman who poisoned you after eating you out on your couch, is reduced to holding her wife’s hair so she doesn’t move away. 

Your breath comes out in sync with Rio’s, like you’re imagining that you’re her instead of you, that you have Agatha pressed up against you instead of being pressed against a wall. 

Rio’s fingers dig into Agatha’s thick locks and she switches positions, whirling Agatha around, and she takes control of the kiss. Your eyes are wide, rapt with attention, not daring to look away as Rio moves down to Agatha’s chest and rips her flannel open, revealing her pale chest and lacy black bra. 

Your mouth waters and the ache, the same one you felt in the woods and in your motel room, the same one you feel whenever you’re around them, floods through you, settling right between your legs. 

Rio nips at Agatha’s breast over the fabric, mouthing at her nipple, and you would kill to be with them. Agatha is watching her fondly, with heat in her eyes, and you think Rio must be looking up at her. 

Now would be the perfect time to shoot, so why can’t you move?

Because you like this too much, your body answers for you. You have to tug at the neckline of your sweater as you feel too hot. 

Rio kneels down, hands sliding up and down Agatha’s thighs while she sucks on the smooth expanse of her wife’s stomach. Your body is swimming with desire, it’s dizzying almost, and you think you need to cum soon or you might die. 

Agatha gasps when Rio sinks her teeth into her skin roughly and then soothes the spot with her tongue. She reaches up, moves Agatha’s hair out of the way, and unclasps her bra and you feel a guttural moan form in your throat. You have to bite your lip hard so it doesn’t escape. 

The pale skin of her chest is flushed red and there’s a slight sheen of sweat on her clavicle. Her nipples are a dusky rose color, pebbled and hard, and you want them in your mouth so fucking bad. 

Rio surges up to do exactly that, tugging on them with her teeth, and Agatha groans, eyes fluttering shut. 

Your brain finally forgets about shooting them, forgets about the fact that they’re serial killers at all, and you do possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. 

You put the gun into the waistband of your pants and you step out from behind the corner. 

Agatha’s eyes fasten on to you immediately, but instead of looking surprised, she looks impatient. Like you should’ve been here thirty minutes ago. 

“There’s our superstar,” she drawls, hands tangling in Rio’s hair, forcing her still. “What took you so long?” 

You try to think of something to say, anything at all, perhaps a remark about how you caught them, when Rio rakes her eyes up and down your body and chuckles. “Look at her, Aggie. She didn’t just get here. She’s been watching.” 

Agatha smirks in agreement. “I wonder what got her more hot and bothered, watching us” She nods to the surely dead couple on the ground. “-or watching them die.” 

“You two are crazy,” you say, willing your hand to grab your gun, but it doesn’t obey. The heat in your voice betrays you, though. 

Rio simpers, advancing toward you with Agatha in tow. You clench your teeth as they start circling you like sharks. “Want to know how we do it?” Rio purrs into your ear and you shudder. 

“No,” you spit out, trying desperately hard to keep your eyes from darting down to Agatha’s breasts. She’s made no move to cover up. Her nipples are still hard.

“First,” the detective starts. “We lace the cookies with a delicate mix of hydrofluoric acid, acetone, isopropyl, and a few other things meant to just confuse test results. It slowly decomposes their body from the inside out and they’re dead within minutes.” 

Rio moves your hair out of the way to press kisses to your neck and it sends goosebumps down your spine. 

“And then,” Rio says right against your skin while Agatha’s hand slithers from your waist to your stomach up to around your throat. You can feel your pulse throb against her fingers. “I take my knife and carve out their hearts. The first cut is always the sweetest. After that, we use bleach to wash it away and hydrogen peroxide to eat away anything we left: blood, fingerprints, DNA.” 

“Voila,” Agatha says, snapping her fingers that aren’t around your throat. You hate how wet you can feel yourself getting. “That’s how you get away with murder.” 

Rio’s hands are on your hips now, squeezing in time with the hand on your throat. Your airway is constricted, you know you should be scared, but you meet Agatha’s blown-out pupils and are sure yours look the exact same. 

The therapist finds your gun and disarms you. “Or in your case,” she says right into your ear, jabbing the muzzle into your back. “You just lure them into the woods while you’re unconscious and slit their femoral arteries.” 

All the air leaves your lungs, both from their proximity and your own weapon being used against you. 

“Get on your knees,” Agatha orders, letting go of your throat so you can immediately drop down. 

Your knees hit the ground hard, but you barely even register the pain, looking up at them eagerly to await what’s next. 

Rio slowly walks around until she’s standing next to Agatha and tucks the gun under your chin, forcing it up even more. “Look at how much she’s getting off on this,” she says in a hushed voice. The air between the three of you is thick with tension, the dead bodies only a few yards away completely forgotten. 

“You’re capable of so much more than just being a profiler,” Agatha says wistfully, stroking your hair with some sort of affection. “You can be so much more.” 

Snow. 

The match drops.

Fire. 

The gray-haired lady screams. 

You’re running through the woods. Are you being chased? 

There’s a crack as your head hits the ground.

“What did you do to me?” You ask, voice breaking. “What did you do to that woman?” 

Rio drags the gun up the side of your face, traces your cheekbones, and then presses it to your lips. Instinctively, your tongue darts out to flick at the cold metal, and both their eyes flash. “You still don’t remember everything?” Rio asks. 

“I remember that you killed her, and it fucked me up,” you tell them, voice level as it’s finally making sense to you. “I found you two in the woods. You burned her, and then what? You tried to kill the ten year old who saw it? And this is — what? Your way of finally tying up all those loose ends?” 

Agatha snorts and Rio scoffs. 

“Look at our superstar, thinking she knows everything. We don’t want to kill you,” Agatha says, rolling her eyes. Rio takes the gun away from your mouth and tosses it onto the couch. 

Your gaze flicks between them, not sure who to look at. “What do you want then?” 

Agatha winds her fingers through your hair and yanks you off your knees, dragging you in for a kiss, biting your bottom lip hard. A metallic taste fills your mouth and it only makes you hungrier, so you open your mouth and shove your tongue into her hot and waiting mouth. 

You feel Rio’s body pressing against your back and her hand delves under your waistband to cup you over your soaking underwear. Your hips involuntarily jolt at the contact and you moan, but it’s swallowed up by Agatha’s lips. 

The detective pulls your shirt over your head as Rio pushes your underwear to the side and lazily spreads your wetness around your cunt. 

There’s a tugging in your gut, a burning, aching, guttural tugging that is going to be the death of you. Electricity skates through your veins, lighting up your blood and setting it to a boil. 

You’ve never felt so hot in your life. 

Agatha’s lips on your neck do little to quench your thirst for more and Rio shoves two fingers into you with no warning and a gasp tears its way out of you. Agatha bites on your collarbone as Rio twists her fingers and you groan loudly. 

“She loves this, Rio,” Agatha says like you aren’t even there. Rio whimpers and curls her fingers, her other hand snaking around to grab Agatha’s throat. The older woman’s breath hitches as she kisses along your bra, tasting the perspiration on your cleavage. 

Rio’s fingers inside you and Agatha’s mouth now sucking on your nipples, having pushed your bra down, somehow isn’t enough. 

You need to feel them. 

Your hands find Agatha’s breasts, kneading them and pulling on her nipples. She makes a noise against your skin and it only sears you more. You slide your fingers down her stomach, over the red marks from Rio’s mouth, and dip them into her pants. 

She’s just as wet as you are, and you gingerly rub her clit, gathering wetness from her entrance and bringing it back up to swirl at her. She pants hotly against your skin and you can feel her hand creep behind you to Rio, who has set a slow pace inside you. 

“Aggie,” Rio breathes and bites down onto the back of your shoulder. Agatha chuckles breathlessly and you’re able to twist your head just enough to see Agatha’s hands down the therapist’s pants too. 

It makes you clench around Rio’s fingers. You’re all being fucked, and fucking someone, and you can feel Agatha’s wetness the same way Rio is feeling yours, the same way Agatha is feeling her wife’s. 

You slide your middle finger into Agatha, groaning when her walls flutter around you. Rio squeezes a third finger into you and you keen at the stretch, but then she starts fucking roughly and it’s everything you need and more. 

Her thumb swipes at your clit and you try to time your thrusts into Agatha with Rio’s into you. 

Rio’s teeth find your shoulder blade again and dig in, and the pain just makes your body feel even more alive. 

You’ve never felt like this before. The intensity is tenfold what anyone else has ever given you. 

Your ring finger joins your middle and Agatha nips at the curvature of your breasts. Your free hand palms hers and you roll her nipple, enjoying the way she gets tighter around you. Rio plays with her wife’s other boob, and you don’t think you could move a muscle either way because the two women are wrapped so firmly around your body, holding you in place in the middle. 

But that’s nothing new. You’ve been intertwined with them since you’ve gotten here, maybe even almost your whole life. 

Agatha’s lips capture yours and you can feel her muscles in her arm strain against your bicep. You curl your fingers and find the spongy spot that pulls a resounding gasp from her mouth right into yours. Rio pauses, pulls out, and when she presses back at your entrance, your head almost falls back when you feel four fingers posed. 

The detective seems to know because she chuckles against your lips, sucks on your tongue. 

And then she pulls away as Rio plunges four fingers into you, the stretch burning. But the pain gives way to even more pleasure and when she twists them upward, you almost cum. 

“I’m so close,” you moan and Agatha leans behind you and out of the corner of your eye, you see her kissing Rio. And then Rio pulls your head back by your hair and her mouth is on yours and then there’s a flurry of tongue and teeth and lips and you don’t even know who you’re kissing but it’s someone and it’s so good and you’re about to —

— Rio’s fingers stop inside you and you whine, frantically rolling your hips. Your fingers are still pumping at a steady rhythm inside Agatha and you can feel by the movement in her arm that she’s still fucking Rio. 

“Why did you become a profiler?” Rio asks into your ear. “Tell us and we’ll let you cum.” Her thumb brushes against your clit and you’re so sensitive, you think you might be able to cum anyways with that and the fullness. 

“You guys…you killed her so I wanted to know why you did, how you could,” you choke out and Agatha peppers kisses all over your chest. The livewire in your body is about to snap. 

Rio gives you one harsh thrust and you almost sob. “Try again,” she orders. 

Tears prick in your eyes and your fingers falter inside Agatha. You can hear Rio’s breaths becoming shorter and shallower, indicating how close she is. Agatha’s eyes dart from your dark pupils to your swollen lips. She’s still holding onto her composure, better than you and her wife are at least, but you can tell she’s on the edge. 

“I don’t know,” you say, but is that the truth? 

The thrumming in your head comes back, like a memory knocking on your brain, asking to be let in. 

You give in. 

Snow. 

The clearing. 

The three women: two brunettes and one with gray hair.

You can now see that the gray-haired lady is tied to the tree.

The sound of a match on the matchbox. 

The match is flicked onto the sticks by someone, igniting the stake and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

Who set the fire?

Your eyes snap open, the entire block in your mind gone and the memories flood through your head. 

“I wanted to understand why I did it,” you gasp and you know that you finally got it right when Rio starts fucking you with a renowned vigor. 

It takes no time at all before you cum explosively all over her hand and the two of them follow shortly after. The feeling of Agatha orgasming around your hand triggers another one in you and you cling to both of them while you come down from the most intense high of your life. 

They soothe you, whisper sweet nothings, press kisses all over your face, and you wince when Rio pulls her four fingers out of you, the emptiness filling you. 

You start to shake and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until they’re kissing your lips and you can taste the saltiness from your cheeks. 

“It’s okay, baby girl,” Agatha says, and they wrap their arms around you, holding you and letting you cry. “We got you. We’re not letting you go.” 

You sniff and lean into their embrace, feeling whole for the first time in your life. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

I just found this https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGdk8Quhj/ and it’s so Jason Todd core

Would it be possible for you to write something about this 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻with a plus sized reader 🙏🏻

Thanks so much if you do 🫶🫶🩷✨

When you first started dating Jason he came across as someone who was independent and self reliant, however this illusion is quickly shattered the longer it continues and now you’ve come to realise one thing about Jason Todd; he has major separation anxiety -or so he claims- and the only known cure is to be within the same room as you, yes that even include the bathroom when your showering.

‘Jaybirdie?’

‘Yes sweetheart?’

‘…do you have to be so close to me when I’m trying to make us breakfast?’ You looked over at Jason who was basically pressed up against your back, his hands were locked on your waist, and his head was resting upon your shoulder as he looks at what you were doing with sleep ridden eyes.

Jason looks at you with those same sleep ridden eyes as he pouts. He loves being this close to you as it meant getting to caresses and knead your plush flesh as though he was a kitten, it was something he had become obsessed with when you first started dating, and even went as far as calling you his human body pillow with how perfect you were with your cute tummy he often used as a pillow and thighs that he’d gladly suffocate and die in if you let him.

‘I have separation anxiety chipmunk, you know this.’ He says and you couldn’t help but laugh at how unintentionally cute he was being.

‘I understand that but wouldn’t being in the same room be enough to calm your anxiety?’ You look at him with a raised brow but a knowing smile stretched across your face.

Jason shrugs. ‘Fuck if I know but being in the same room as you isn’t enough,’ he whines as he tightened his hold on you and sighing in content as he borrowed his hands under your shirt to caress your tummy. ‘I need to hold you like this specifically and have my hands under your shirt to cure it.’ He adds as he pressed a series of kisses against your neck and shoulders to his hearts content.

‘Sure that’s the case, I believe you.’ You said through a series of giggles as you felt his kisses tickle those sensitive spots upon your neck before having to push your hand against his face to get him to stop, much to Jason’s dismay as he whines and tries to bite your fingers, making you pull away from his mouth as quickly as you could to save your fingers from being bitten. ‘Quit it!’

‘No.’ Jason chuckled as he squeezed you further against him, finally managing to burry his head in your neck once more.

‘I can’t make dinner if you’re unwilling to let me go!’ You exclaimed but it didn’t seem to mean much to Jason as you could feel him shrug his shoulders.

‘Then let me help my sweet marshmallow from further stress over breakfast.’ Jason said without hesitation as his hands moved from under your shirt, under your pits and towards the stove you were hunching over, keeping you pressed between it and him. It was a sight so humorous that you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous the two of you must look from an outside perspective, with Jason tempting to make breakfast from behind you, all the while you watched him fail to prod at some eggs with a spatula.

‘You’re ridiculous jaybirdie.’ You say to him as he only looks at you with mischief in his eyes before taking a playful nibble on your cheeks, making you playfully swat him, ‘what was that for? For telling the truth?’ You then add as you tried to keep up with the amount of surprise affection he had been giving you all day.

‘I just needed to make sure my marshmallow was still as sweet as possible given how sassy and mean they’re being to me today.’ Jason retorts as he takes yet another nibble of your cheek. ‘Yep still sweet and soft, just how I love them.’ He adds softly into your ear as you lean against him to kiss his cheek in return.

‘And I just needed to make sure that you were still my jaybirdie.’ You tell him as you found yourself melting into his touch as his hands were back under your shirt, lovingly caressing and kneeling your tummy with worship and more adoration than you ever thought was possible, but then again it’s Jason he was a man was full of love and he loved every aspect of you wholeheartedly and unconditionally. ‘What’s the verdict?’ Jason asks you and you kissed him on the lips briefly.

‘Yep, still my jaybirdie.’ You say with a smile, happy to have Jason however you could, even if you were subjected to his bouts of separation anxiety that has him clinging onto you, acting like an overgrown puppy; He was still your Jason after all.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - Everything I Do

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), light fluff, mutual pining, light angst, love confession, smut (handjob, fingering, p in v sex), Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.

Summary/Warnings: The Mark reaches a breaking point. Usual Warnings, little angst, lotta smut.

Author's Note: I am of the firm belief Rowena would’ve said cunt religiously if the CW wasn’t full of a bunch of pussies.

Chapter title from Video Games by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.7k

Read on A03!

Chapter 5

Dean can breathe. Not easily, but he can. He can feel the weight of something airy and thin wrapped around him, stuck to his skin and far too heavy. There’s a hand on his brow, and it’s not the right one. Dean’s not sure what the right one would even be, but he knows it’s not this one. This one feels a little wrinkled, and the nails are too long, and it doesn’t satiate the betterlust. It’s just there, pressed to his skin like it’s looking for something and not all too pleased with what it finds.

The longer it’s there, the more the betterlust pounds and stabs and scrapes at him. Rots his guts and carves open his skull and rips through his chest. It’s searching for something that’s not there, and Dean’s head is too clouded with pain and ache and sickness to figure out where he should even be looking. Not in the hand. Not in the thing around him like a shroud–hot and clinging to him like a plague—but maybe somewhere close. Because wherever Dean is—he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t have enough of a brain to guess right now—it’s unfamiliar, but feels right. He’s lying on something soft, and it smells good, and when his fingers flex, they’re tracing over an impression left on the area next to him. An indent left on the space by something that could curve and press into Dean exactly like he wants. Craves. Needs. 

The betterlust starts to flare and bellow, almost drowning out the low voices around him, and Dean knows he might die if he doesn’t find what fits into that impression and take it.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I’m not sure, a few hours?”

“Well can you try to be sure, Samuel?”

“I got here the same time you did, how am I supposed to be sure-“

“Ask our resident Dean Expert, the poor girl has been stuck with him all week-“

“No, I’m not going to make her do more. And, uh,” there’s a long sigh, and Dean still isn’t really sure what’s going on, or who these people are, or why they’re talking about him. “I don’t think it’s safe for her right now. To be around him. He said he didn’t want her-“

“He obviously lied, you idiotic boy-“

“He didn’t want her to know, Rowena. And it’s not my place to tell her-“

“She’s a big girl, she’ll survive a little bit of emotions.”

“He’d, he’d fucking kill me-“

“And he will kill himself if he does not accept what he needs! It’s quite honestly a miracle he was a stubborn enough arse to resist the Mark’s demands this long.”

Dean’s really fucking confused. There are two voices, one that sounds a little like his and one that very much doesn’t, and they’re both talking about him like he’s important. He doesn’t feel important. He mostly just feels tired, and bad, and sick. Sweaty and hungry and desperate for something he can’t name, but they say he needs to name or he’ll die, and he doesn’t even really know what names are right now-

“If I tell her, this becomes her responsibility-“

“Well, Dearie, I wasn’t aware you were stupid and blind-“

“Hey-“

“You cannot look me in the eyes and say that she would not welcome the responsibility, boy. She is so pathetically obsessed with him it makes me feel ill.”

Dean felt his mouth try to frown—he can’t figure out how to move, so it more of a twisted grimace—as he racked his mush of a brain to figure out who they could possibly be referring to. He couldn’t remember names, but he could remember presences. Remember that the voice like his was good, and he was supposed to protect it. The voice that wasn’t like his was bad, and kind of a bitch, but helpful when they ran out of options. There wasn’t a third voice, but there was a smell that he really liked. Loved. Craved. Needed-

That was the imprint. And it wasn’t here right now, but the betterlust and already spiraling around it and constricting his lungs as he tried to find it. He needed it, and it didn’t need him, and he was going to die-

“I know,” the familiar voice sighed. “Believe me, I know, but I can’t ask that of her-“

“She’ll shred your sorry arse apart if you don’t-“

“And Dean will put a bullet through my brain if I do!”

“He will die before he gets the chance. Have I not made it clear that, unless Dean receives the help our lovely, pretty, lovesick-“

Then the voice that wasn’t like Dean’s said a name, and the betterlust exploded inside him. He knew that name. He’d die and kill and cut himself to pieces for that name. He wanted it. He couldn’t have it. He needed it, more than he needs air or water or food or music. The betterlust demanded it, and was shredding apart his insides because he refused to take it, but was also lending him the strength to find it. To find Her. Dean needed to fucking find Her, or nothing would ever be good again-

His eyes fly open, and for a long movement everything is only a blinding blur of color. There’s noise around him—both voices shouting words that sound like they’re for him but he can’t understand—and Dean’s brain kicks into a vigilant, borderline feral function as he hauls himself up, something pushes him back down, and the betterlust grew feral.

“Rowena, grab the other arm-“

“I am not meant for brute labor, Samuel-“

“Are you fucking kidding me-“

Dean roars Her name clawing and grabbing at the air to try and go, try to get to Her, because he was going to fucking die, and the betterlust told him She could fix this, make this better, make Dean better-

“Oh for- Fine.” 

The voice not like Dean’s says something he can’t understand, his whole body tightens. Like a weight has been dropped on his chest, and ropes have been wrapped around his limbs, forcing him to collapse back onto the bed with a noise that might have been a whine.

“Dean.” Rowena appears in his vision, her face drawn in annoyance. “Blink twice if you understand me.”

Dean scowls, but blinked twice.

“Good. Are you going to try and kill us again?”

Dean glowers at Rowena, keeping his eyes wide open in a gesture of no, and she sighs.

“Good boy. I’ll let you up, but if you ever try and grab my hair again, I’ll make you regret having hands, aye?”

The tension vanishes from Dean’s body, and he sits up slowly, pinch the bridge of his nose to try and curb the pounding ache behind his eyes, taking deep, mechanical breathes to get some fucking control over his body. Over the betterlust. Over himself.

“Dean, are you feeling okay?“

Sam looks worried. He’s frowning and scanning over Dean with concern, like there will be wound on his skin they can patch up to fix this. 

But only one thing can fix this. And Dean still isn’t strong enough to not know where She is, not when all he can remember is dragging himself to Her room, and hearing her voice, and seeing her pretty face before it all went dark. 

Dean mutters Her name, his voice low and gruff, and Sam and Rowena freeze. “Where is she.”

“She’s eating.” Sam mutters, bracing his hands on his hips. “I told her to get some rest. You freaked her out, dude, she-“ Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a look he doesn’t understand, and doesn’t have the energy to try and decipher. “She was really shaken, when we got back. She needs-“

“She needs you.” Rowena interrupts Sam, and he shoots her a venomous glare. “You’re too much of a meat-headed dolt to see it, but that darling girl looked as if she’d been devastated over you.” 

“Rowena.” Sam hisses. “We agreed-“

“You agreed. I made no promises-“

Dean raises his hands—they both need to shut up, or his skin will fly off his body—and their argument stutters off.

“How bad is it.” He looks to Rowena, the moment alone an act of labor. “And don’t try to lie or sugarcoat it. How long I got.”

Rowena sighs. “If you insist on keeping your head up your own arse, a day. Maybe two.”

“But we’re going to try to reverse it.” Sam jumps in, his voice desperate. “And Rowena gave you something to keep you going-“

“But, as I told your brother,” Rowena’s words are harsh, and Dean appreciates it. This really isn’t the fucking time for dancing around anything. “It is a very temporary solution, and the reversal will take time you no longer have. There is an obvious fix to your little problem-“

Dean lets out a dry chuckled. “My problem? Last I checked, Rowena, you were the one who fucked this up-“

“I did not fuck anything up, you petulant man child-“

“Rowena-“

“No!” Rowena cuts off Sam with sharp words, holding Dean’s glare. “I did my job, Dean Winchester, but you are too much of an arrogant, brooding little cunt to do yours.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Watch it, bitch-“

“I did not have to help you,” Rowena hisses. “But that poor, desperate, lovesick woman begged me to. You know exactly what you need, and you are too cruel and stupid to do it.”

Dean’s hands curl into fists on the sheets. “I said fucking watch it-“

“She’s right.” Sam mutters, and Dean’s gaze whips to him, his mouth falling open at Sam’s pitying, exhausted expression.

“I’m sorry, I must be going insane, because there’s no fucking way you just sided with Rowena-“

“I didn’t side with her.” Sam snaps, running a hand over his face as he shakes his head. “I’m just trying to get you to think for five seconds. I’m trying not to lose my brother because he can’t see what’s right in front of him-“

Dean scoffs. “There’s nothing in front of me, Sam. Rowena botched the spell, and now I can’t do anything but-“ He cuts himself off with a groan, a stab of pain twisting over his ribs, and Sam throws his hands in the air.

“For crying out loud, Dean, you’re dying because of this self-righteous, sacrificial bullshit you always pull! Rowena didn’t botch the spell, you’re just refusing to give the Mark what it wants, and until you do-“

“It doesn’t matter what I want!” Dean roars, slamming a hand down on the mattress. “Fuck, Sam, I’m not going to force myself onto her just because-“

“Because you think she’ll say no?” Sam rolls his eyes. “Dude, you can’t be stupid enough to really believe that-“

Dean scowls. They don’t fucking get it. Sam and Rowena don’t know Her like Dean does. They don’t understand that She would say yes, but she wouldn’t really want it, and Dean would stain and mark Her in a way that they’d never come back from. She’d never smile at him the same, and he’d have to die alone in the dirt when she finally got the memo that he wasn’t worth helping. When She left him, her soul more tainted than when she’d found him. When his poison sunk into Her skin, and she would still be so pretty and amazing, but ruined and marred from Dean’s touch. From how weak and pathetic and toxic he was. 

He couldn’t do that. He’d rather fucking die.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean mutters, his gaze falling to that imprint of Her on the bed. Her bed. Dean was finally in Her bed, and he didn’t even get to enjoy it. “It’s not happening. And you’re not going to convince me, so either fix this, or let me die without goddamn yelling at me.”

There’s a moment of wired silence, Rowena silent in the corner of the room as Sam and Dean glare at each other, and Sam shakes his head like he can’t believe Dean’s nerve. Like Dean isn’t saving the only good thing they both have. Protecting the only person that’s stayed with them, that they both love, even if Dean’s love is made of undying, animalistic, grime and dirt covered devotion, and Sam’s is purer, softer affection that could never cut and scar Her like Dean’s. 

“She was crying.” Sam finally says, his tone colder than Dean’s heard it in a long time. “When we got back, she was sobbing, Dean. Have you ever seen her cry? Ever?”

He hasn’t. Dean has seen Her grit her teeth and bite back sounds of agony from injuries, seen Her scream and flail when they’ve lost people, and seen Her so angry it scared him a little, but he’s never seen Her cry. She didn’t cry. Her eyes got glossy, and her voice grew tight and choked, but she didn’t cry. Sam has to be lying, and he doesn’t look or sound like he is, but he has to be. She doesn’t cry, so why the hell would that be the truth? But why would Sam lie, and why has She stayed this long, and fuck, everything hurts and Dean’s too damn tired to figure out what the hell Sam is trying to tell him but the betterlust is scratching at his heart to know-

“Sam,” Dean swallows, watching his brother carefully. “I-“

There’s a knock at the door, and everything in Dean flies to the sound. It’s Her. Before Sam’s hand is even on the doorknob, Dean somehow knows it’s Her. Here. Maybe for him, maybe not, but the betterlust doesn’t seem to care because it’s Her-

She looks horrible. Still so fucking pretty, but horrible. There’s a slump to Her posture as she stands in the door—hair tangled and shirt wrinkled—and Her gorgeous face is slightly puffed. Her lips pouting. Her eyes lined with red. 

Like She’s been crying. 

Sam says Her name in question, and when She speaks her voice is hoarse.

“Look, I know you to told me to rest, but-“ Her mouth falls open as her eyes land on Dean, and Her sharp inhale feels like it shoots adrenaline right into his blood. 

He tries to offer Her a winning, I’d be happy to see me too smile, but it doesn’t feel right on his face. It feels too vulnerable, where it’s always been like a shield. It feels like it’s a lie, or trick, or act of cruelty when Dean’s rarely met a woman who doesn’t flush and giggle under that attention. It’s supposed to make him feel good from their happy, hopeful eyes. It’s supposed to make them feel good from Dean’s well-crafted, carefully wielded charm.

But right now he still just feels like shit. Bottom of the gutter, horrible, flea-ridden and matted shit. A fucking piece of shit that might have made Her cry, and isn’t even smart enough to know why.

He tries again, making the smile wider, adding his most casual drawl. “Hey, Sweetheart-“

She makes a strangled sound—loud and pained, making the betterlust start to snap at Dean’s brittle spine—and all but runs to the bed, almost falling to Dean’s side as Her hands begin to grab at his face and run over his skin. Angling him for Her to examine with frantic eyes and words, igniting little paths of insatiable fire wherever She touches.

“Are you okay?!” She turns his head to the side, her fingers tracing his jaw and cheek like boils or scars might have just appeared. “Your fever is gone,” the back of Her hand presses to his brow, flipping to touch it with Her palm. “But shit, you’re covered in sweat-“ Her glare whips around to Sam, Her grip still tight on Dean’s face. He doesn’t really mind. The betterlust is still trying to climb out of his throat, but he can fight it—for Her—and this can be enough. It’s all he’ll get before he’s gone anyway. Her touch, and loud almost furious shout at Sam. “Why didn’t you change the sheets like I told you to-“

“He was dead weight,” Sam says Her name, his voice a hell of a lot kinder than when he’d been talking to Dean. “And you also told us to make sure he got some rest. Rowena said the fever broke, and he’s lucid again-“

“But this is gross Sam, and you could’ve moved him if you tried-“

“Moved him where? He started freaking whimpering when we took away your comforter-“ 

Dean scowls. “Can you guys stop talkin’ about me like I’m not right fucking here-“

Her gaze turns back to Dean, the odd, aggressively mind-numbing panic and care returning to her eyes as she begins to examine him once more. 

“You seem better, but you’re redder than you should be, and, shit, was that scar always there-“

Her finger’s trial over Dean’s chin, dangerously close to his mouth, and he has to bite down a groan as he says Her name. “That’s been there at least a decade-“

“What about this one-“

“Three years, you were there when I got it-“

“Fuck, you’re right.” She shakes her head, Her eyes suddenly boaring into Dean’s and settling warmth in his gut. “Well, are you feeling okay? Does anything hurt, or feel sick, or feel numb-“

“Sweetheart.” He catches Her hand, and she falls silent with wide eyes. “I’m-“

“And,” She moves his gaze onto Her’s, and fuck She’s always so pretty. Even when She’s pissed at him. Especially when She’s pissed at him. “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Winchester, I’ll stab you-“

He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, but maybe the realest sound he’s made since he woke up. “I don’t doubt that, Sweetheart.” He drawls, and she lets his guide Her hands away from his face. “But I promise, I’m feelin’ better.”

She nods slowly, and Dean pretends he can’t see Sam’s eye roll in the background.

“Oh. Okay.” She turns at Sam and Rowena, her voice slightly unsteady and weak. “Have you, um, have you both been in here? The whole time I was eating?”

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Oh.” She swallows, and Dean notices Her body go slightly rigid. Sam must notice too, because he tilts his head and frowns at her.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just…” She trails off, staring at her nails as her voice drop to a mumble. “There’s a lot of people in here. Makes me nervous.”

“Shit, sorry.” Sam says Her name, his voice apologetic. “Didn’t know that. We can go, if you want.”

There’s a long moment where She’s just staring at Sam, Her mouth slightly open, and her body curled in on itself like she’d been punched. Sam repeats Her name, his voice cautious, and when She snaps out of it, her voice is still soft and anxious. 

“That would be good.” She whispers. “Thank you.”

Sam nods. “No problem. Me and Rowena,” he shoots the witch a glare, and she rolls her eyes. “Are gonna go try to fix this. Text me if you need anything, either of you.”

She hums an acknowledgment, Her attention never leaving Dean as Sam and Rowena close the door, and Dean’s whole existence begins to curve into only the feeling of Her as her fingers trace over the back of his hand. 

After a long moment of silence—only the sound of Dean’s heart in his ears and the shifting of blankets under their bodies—she swallows, her voice barely a breath. “They can’t fix it, can they.”

He blinks at Her. “They’re gonna get it-“

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.” She gives him a soft smile that makes her look like she’s already grieving, and something in him lights up and withers away in the same second. “Please.”

He swallows. He is really tired of lying to Her. And he can say something closer to the truth and still hold his ground. He’s not quite that weak. Not yet.

“It’ll be close.” He grunts. “But I’ve survived worse. I just gotta pull through-“

“You don’t, though.” She whispers. “Rowena said you just have to-“

“Rowena can eat me.” Dean mutters, glaring at the door. “I’m not doin’ whatever the hell the Mark tells me to, that was the fucking point of this.”

“The point was to help you, Dean.” She sounds so freaking sad, and it’s pulling Dean apart. His will and mind all being reduced to Her. Too good and pretty to be sad. And it’s just Dean. She shouldn’t be this sad over only Dean.

“Sweetheart-“

“I don’t,” She swallows, speaking over Dean with quiet, soft words. “I don’t know why you’re being such an ass, Dean. Why can’t you just do what the betterlust wants? Isn’t it what you want-“

“It is.” Dean has to push the words through his teeth, because She so close and it’s not close enough and everything fucking hurts. “But I can’t have it, so we’re dead in the water. But Sammy and Rowena-“

“Dean.”

He can’t look Her in the eyes. Her voice is so gentle and nervous, and he’s not strong enough to look Her in the eyes and see all that worry and pity in them. He can barely even grunt an acknowledgment for her to continue.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not gonna-“

“Is it me?” She whispers, and Dean’s eyes shoot to Her’s. He can’t breathe. He can’t do anything but stare at Her and try not to die as he realizes this is it. This is how he loses Her. Forever. This is the last time he gets to look at Her and bask in her beauty and kindness, the last time he gets to drown in the smell of cherries and feel a little more alive under Her touch.

But She doesn’t look afraid, or disgusted. She just looks urgent. Desperate. As confused and hopelessly hopeful as Dean feels.

And he can’t speak, or think, or do anything but stare at Her as she speaks again.

“Dean, do you,” She takes a shaking breath, and Dean needs to touch Her. “Do you love me?”

——————

He’s not saying anything. Dean’s looking at you like you’ve shot him right through his heart, ripped it out, and taken a bite. Gaping like he’s trying to ask you for it back but can’t find the breath to, blinking like he’s trying to test if you’re really there. He reaches a hand up to run over his own face, reaches out to touch you—trace broad, calloused fingers over your cheekbones and jaw, over your chin like he’s wiping something you can’t see away—and jerks back suddenly, like you’d hurt him. Burned him. Branded him.

He’s branded you. You’re never going to forget his voice in your head, sounding like he’s overdosed on something awful, and doesn’t think he’ll come back down. Like he’s trying to cleanse himself of something by whispering words that will either haunt you past the grave or feed you for the rest of your life. Your heart will never forget the way it stopped for only a second before kicking into a pace that was all too fast when Dean’s eyes closed, and your hands will always remember the cold fever of his skin.

“Dean.” You have to make your voice strong. Steady, like you’re demanding something from him and not praying to him. “Please-“

“Why-“ His voice is hoarse, almost strangled, and it makes your every muscle feel a little weaker. “Why would you ask that.”

“I’m, I can’t tell you, just please answer me-“

“Did Sam tell you-“

“Sam?” You frown, shaking your head slightly. “No, I just, this has nothing to do with Sam-“

“Then why the hell are you-“

“What would Sam have told me?”

Dean falls silent, opening and closing his mouth as he goes red, his eyes looking almost feral. He looks like a cornered animal, something starved and needy, unsure if it should bite the hand reaching for it or grab it and never let go. 

You want to hold him and never let go. You want him to grab your hand, and hold it, and never think to drop it again. You want to hear him say those words again, and have his voice be certain. You want to touch him, no matter if he’s like this or breaking or furious or—in those rare, priceless moments—happy. And you need to know. Dean’s never owed you anything, and he never will, but if there’s only one thing that he can offer you in universe, it would be really nice if it was this. If Dean ever gives you anything, please, dear God, let it be this. 

“Dean,” you whisper, moving your hand to his knee and holding his almost fearful, rabid gaze. “Please answer me. Tell me what Sam-“

“He,” Dean swallows, voice gruff. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything. He fucking swore he’d never-“

“He didn’t.” You repeat, unsure if he’s even understanding the words out of your mouth. “All I’ve talked to Sam about is the spell. But why-“

“Rowena.” He mutters, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Rowena must’ve open her bitch mouth-“

“I haven’t really talked to Rowena at all-“

“Must’ve been some fucking spell-“

“Dean!” You scream, your nails digging into his leg like you can hold him with you forever. “It was you! You told me you loved me! You had a fever and you told me you loved me, you said my name, and I just,” Your voice cracks, desperation starting to break through your blood, out of your mouth in spit. “I need to know, please, you need to tell me if you meant it-“

“Sweetheart-“

“Please.” You refuse to look him in the eyes. The moment you look in Dean’s deep, pretty eyes you’ll know what he’s thinking, and you’ll lose him forever. Everything in you is screaming to know, but you’re still not able to just look into Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please tell me.”

“Why.”

For a second you’re not sure if you heard him right. The question startles you enough to make you look up, and the moment you see him something snaps inside of you. He looks wounded. Nervous. Almost as afraid of you—of your words, and what they might be capable of doing to him if you use them wrong—as you are of him.

“Why would you need to know.” He rasps, staring at his own hands. Flexing in his lap, seemingly against his will. “You’re not- It’s not somethin’ you’re-“ He looks up to you, his eyes almost pleading. “Why would you give a shit about-“

“About you?”

Dean’s throat bobs, his nod short, and you summon more bravery than you’ve ever been capable of before. Enough to reach out, over the space between your bodies that so small—but still feels like miles—and place your hand on his cheek. Keeping his gaze on yours.

“I always care about you. I-” You take a shaking breath, the last words falling off your tongue. “I love you.”

Dean’s hand shoots up to cover yours. To hold you against him, with a grip that tells you he might be trying to sear his skin into yours. 

“You-“ His voice is so soft. His hand over yours is like iron, but everything else about him seems to be dreamlike. Hazy and uncertain, both of you watching each other like you’re sure the other will vanish if you look away. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” you try to smile at him, and it’s not charismatic. It’s pleading and tragic and so fucking delicate. “I do. I mean, I have. For a while.”

“How-“

“Four years.“

He blinks at you. “No, I, I meant-“ He swallows, shaking his head. “I meant how. How did that happen.”

It’s your turn to frown at him. “How did that happen?”

“You shouldn’t love me.” He mutters, his hand over yours flexing. Like he’s trying to pull it away but doesn’t know how. “It’ll get you hurt.”

You raise your brows slightly, running your thumb over his cheek. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I-“

“Are you?”

“Of course not, I’d never-“

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter why-“

“It does.” You whisper, folding your legs under you to rise on your knees, dropping your brow to his. Holding his gaze the whole time. “It matters to me, Dean.“

He makes a choked sound, but doesn’t move away. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” You whisper. “And it would be really cool if you loved me.”

Dean’s only staring at you, his eyes flicking between your own, slightly blurred gaze that can still see him so well, and your lips. 

“And it happened,” you push on, your voice growing a little weak when he still doesn’t respond. “Because it’s really easy to love you, Dean Winchester. You’re a good man.” You offer him a smile, and his own mouth falls open just a little. “And even if you don’t love me, I wouldn’t have you any other-“

Something in Dean’s eyes flickers, and he moves before you’re sure what’s happening. Yanking you into his lap with his hand—fingers now tangled in yours—catching you with an arm around your waist, and kissing you. 

Kissing you. Dean’s kissing you. 

Your body sparks into action—even as your brain becomes fogged with a hazy, Dean-shaped lust—and you fist a hand into his shirt, pulling him as close as the world will allow. He’s holding you so carefully, leaning down in a slight dip, and there could be a storm raging around you instead of the soft, romantic rain this feels like it belongs to, but you wouldn’t know. Because this is a kiss people wage wars over. 

It’s louder than music in your ears and electric in your blood, but sparks isn’t a strong enough word. It’s like lightning. Shooting through your spine and lighting up every nerve in your body to Dean. Soft lips molding perfectly into yours, warm and calloused hands skillfully mapping over your skin, a groan down your throat that you can feel settle in your lower gut and start a wildfire.  You’ve been hungry and you’ve never dared to eat, but Dean is here now and you’ll either be starved for the rest of your life or never want for anything again.

When Dean tries to pull away, you just follow him. Chase after his lips with yours, trying to get just a little more before this all comes tumbling down. Before the thought can even dare to cross Dean’s mind—that he’s not good for you, and he should go—because this is all you’ve ever wanted and you’ll be damned if you don’t cling to it for as long as he’ll allow. You’ll fall all the way down, until your body is only supported by Dean below you, and you’ll forsake oxygen until your body demands it. Maybe a little while after, too. 

And Dean doesn’t seem to care to let you go. Every time he tries to pull back it’s a jerked movement, and every time you collide again he grows more and more feral. His groans turn into deep, animalistic growls, and his touch on your skin becomes rough. Not painful, never painful, but urgent. Uncontrolled. Pulling at your skin like he’s trying to meld it into his, kissing you with bruising force, bucking up into you with his hard cock brushing your inner thighs. 

You grind down onto him once—when he hits closer to where you’re beginning to ache for him, and your own need grows stronger than you’re desire to let Dean control this—and he bites you. Dean catches your lip between his teeth, sucks in into his mouth, and grins like he’s won a prize when you whine a plea of his name.

“Holy shit,” he mutters your name, pressing his brow to yours as you both catch your breath, grabbing your waist to stop the next roll of your hips. “I’m not- I can’t do this to you-“

“You’re not doing anything to me,” you whisper. “I love you. I want this.”

Dean catches your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles and staring at the movement, his voice so low you almost don’t hear it. “Say you’re lying.”

You blink at him, and shake your head. “No.”

His eyes flash, shooting back to yours as he grunts your name. “You need to say you’re lyin’ right now, or I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” You lower your face back down, until you’re sharing Dean’s every breath. “Fuck me? Actually say you want me?”

His throat bobs, voice rough with lust. “You, I can’t fucking control it, sweetheart, if you’re fuckin’ with me you need to take it back now-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hand, forcing his darkened gaze back to yours. “Answer my fucking question.”

He shakes his head weakly. “You don’t-“

“I love you.” You hiss. You need to make sure he feels it, in the slightly spit on his face, that still tastes a little like him because it’s pushed through lips that are swollen from Dean, and Dean alone. You glide a hand down his chest, the kiss apparently fueling something bold inside you that hadn’t been there before. Your fingers trace down, over his abdomen—hardened from work but still soft in all the best places—and Dean takes in a sharp breath, his hands on your hips tightening enough to leave a mark, and you lean back. Just enough to open space between your bodies, just enough for you to palm him through his sweatpants.

He’s huge, and twitching under your careful, light fingers, and God, you need him inside of you in any fucking way—between your hands or filling your mouth or buried deep into your cunt—but Dean’s still just staring at you. His chest heaving, eyes so dark and wanting you might cum just from his attention, and nostrils flaring as you move your hand up, resting right over the hem of his pants. 

“I love you, Dean,” you whisper, the rush of confidence barreling down as you wait for him to do anything. “And you need to tell me now that you don’t love me, or-“ you take a long breath, dragging up the last bit of your nerve. “You need to say you love me, and do something about it.”

Something shatters in Dean’s gaze for the last time, and whatever war he’s been waging with himself reaches a brutal end as he surges back up, kissing you with all spit and bloody need. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever dared to have on his tongue, and he might be trying to chew off a bit of you to keep.

He won’t need to. He has you. He’s had you for a while, and when he leans back to watch you with glazed, hungry eyes, his words seal some deep, fragile part of you to him forever.

“I love you,” Dean grunts your name, scanning over your face like he’s afraid the words will yank you from his hands. They won’t. “I need you. I gotta have you, but I’m- I’m not in control of it right now-“

“I can take it.” You push your hand into Dean’s sweats, taking his cock in your hand. He groans, eyelids fluttering, and when you run your thumb over the head of him—pressing into the weeping slit and squeezing just so lightly—he hisses your name like a prayer. “Please, Dean. I want it. Please.” 

You pull down his pants with your free hand, taking his boxers with them, and start to slowly pump your hand up and down his impressive length. There will be bruising marks of Dean’s hands of your hips for a while, but you’ll survive. It’s worth it, to watch him unravel below you, to see Dean’s pretty eyes grow glazed with lust for you, feel his dick throb and hips jerk under your touch, hear his low growls and grunts as his jaw clenches and he doesn’t pull you away.

“God,” he moans your name, and you start to squirm above him, desperate for a bit of your own relief. “I wanna- Wanna taste you. Fuck you. Ruin you-“

“So do it,” you slip your other hand down—trusting Dean’s hold to keep you upright—and squeeze his balls. “You say you love me, Dean, but you haven’t proved it-“

The words do exactly what you’d wanted them to. Dean yanks your hand from around him, crashes his lips into yours with a fervor that might have been dangerous if it didn’t taste and sound and feel like Dean, and lets go. 

His every movement is rough and uncontrolled, because his tether over every bit of will that had seemed to keep him restrained is gone, and in its wake is only the Mark. All its lust and fury and hunger, primal and focused on you. On taking what it wants.

And you’d give it to him, even if it left a few marks on your skin and bruising on your heart, but you realize that the Mark doesn’t seem to just want to use you. If it did, Dean wouldn’t be sucking on your neck and moaning at the taste of your skin, all while tracing big, warms hands around your body to palm your breasts. He wouldn’t allow you to grind onto him, or whimper his name, or scratch at his skin as he pulls you apart with barely anything at all. When he flips your over without any effort—only a low grunt and flex of his muscles—you feel like the most priceless bag of flour in the word. Perfect to be tossed around like that forever, but worth more to him—more the Mark—than just another body.

And you can’t see him anymore, but you don’t need to. You hear the sounds of him shuffling behind you, the muffled noise of his shirt being tossed onto the floor, and then his voice. Low and feral and saying your name in a way that makes your knees weak. 

“Up.” He grunts, and you whine when he angles your hips up and pulls down your shorts, you already wet cunt being hit by the cold air. “So fuckin’ pretty, gonna ruin you, baby. You’re never gonna even think about a cock that’s not mine again-“

You nod a little stupidly, wiggling your ass back into him and moaning when his still-clothed erection presses right into you. “Fuck, Dean, please-“

He spanks your pussy—just once the stinging pleasure shooing up your spine—and you bury your face in the sheets to stifles your desperate moan. 

“Need ya’ to listen.” He mutters. “You’re gonna have to talk to me, baby, lemme know what feels good, what you’re likin’, what you need more of-“

“You,” you gasp, and Dean chuckles, running a taunting finger between your folds. “God, I need you, Dean, need you so bad-“

“You need me?” He pushes the finger into your cunt, his body moving to covers yours as he whispers in your ear. “Need me to fuck this tight little pussy until you scream? Goddamn prove you how much I’ve wanted you, how much I’ve always wanted you-“

“Yes.” You nod frantically, grinding your ass up into him. “Show me, please show me-“

Dean moves your head to the side, capturing your lips in a long, slow kiss, and hums in satisfaction when he crooks that finger right up against that deep, sensitive spot inside of you, and your hands start to claw at the sheets.  

Then he’s gone. Without warning Dean draws back, yanks his finger out without warning, spanks your pussy again—chuckling at the high, needy sound that escapes your lips—and presses one hand to your lower back to still your writhing as he shuffles behind you

“Tell me whatcha want, baby.” He mutters, moving his hand to rub up and down your thigh. “And I’ll get it for ‘ya. But you have,“ He slaps your pussy one last time for emphasis, and you can only moan. “To say what you-“

“Your cock.” You whisper, spreading your legs wider for his to see. To look at your wet pussy—need dripping down to your knee—and take whatever the Mark is asking of him. “Want your cock Dean. Want you to fuck me, no holding back, please-“

He slams into you without warning. Burying himself at the hilt in one brutal movement, groaning above you as you go limp under him, trying only to twist and touch him, only to push back and somehow get him deeper. You feel so full, so fucking high on the stretch of Dean inside you, but it’s not enough-

“God, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” Dean starts to massage your ass, with one hand, the other holding you up in the air for him to use. “Better than I dreamed, feel like heaven, gonna fuck you so good like you deserve-“

“Dean, fuck-” you clench around him, the praise feeding right into your cockdrunk daze of Dean, and he groans. 

“Don’t do that,” he grunts your name, and it sounds like an order. “I ain’t gonna last if you-“ He moans as you squeeze around his massive cock again, and pulls all the way out before slamming back into you with a growl.

Your mouth falls open, a sound like a mewl escaping your mouth, and Dean starts to fuck you. Really, properly fuck you into the mattress, with low groans and an unforgiving pace, bumping your cervix and snaking a hand around your stomach to pull you up to his chest, rubbing your clit until you’re wrecked and seeing stars, thrusting up into you like a jackhammer and keeping you so blissfully pleasured and warm.

“So fuckin’ good,” he growls your name in your ear, and you squeak. “Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ well, all warm and tight, made for me. You were fuckin’ made for me-“

Dean’s thumb and fore finger roll your clit in a tight circle, and you cum with a scream. Light and color lining your vision, the far-off sound of Dean’s filthy praise making your orgasm ride out and out and out until you’re sure you’ve reached something like heaven. Your vision is still blurred when the satisfaction has washed fully through you, and you realize Dean’s stopped moving.

His hand tangles in your hair, angling your face back for him to see, and fuck he’s so handsome. Breathing heavy in your ear, lips puffed from sucking and kiss your skin, eyes glazed but still focused on you.

You must look like an idiot. Your expression is slack and needy, your eyes glazed a lips parted, but Dean looks at you like you’re a diamond and his cock twitches inside you as your eyes meet.

“Shit, baby,” he mutters. “You gotta say somethin’-“

“That-“ You let out another moan, your pussy still fluttering around him. “Good.”

He chuckles, kiss the very corner of your mouth with a smirk. “You got full words, Sweetheart?”

You swallow, the full feeling of Dean—throbbing inside you, still rock hard, pushing against that heavenly spot but with just too little pressure to send you over once more—crashing into you, and you say the only thing you can think of.

“Keep going?” 

He stares at you for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I- I’ll be fine, I can take care of myself-“

“Want you to use me.” You’re practically whining, and you’d be more embarrassed if the words didn’t make Dean jerk up into you. “Please-“

He groans your name, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. “I’m not- you’re-“

“I said don’t hold back.” You whisper, rolling your hips against him and feeling pride glow in your chest at his moan. “Fuck me, Dean. I’m yours.”

And there it is again. You say the exact right thing, the thing you knew would work, and Dean gives in. He shoves you down, flips you onto your back—pulling out for only a second as he adjusts you under him—and starts to fuck you like an animal. Rutting into you at a near inhuman speed, hitting your cervix with every thrust, every word a low growl that coils release tighter and tighter in your lower gut. 

“So fuckin’ greedy,” he grunts, slamming a little rougher. “Wantin’ more, begging me to fuck you, so fucking pretty comin’ apart on my cock, tell me how good it feels, baby-“

“Good,” you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders as the bed creaks around you, your whole body overwhelmed with pleasure. “Feel so full, Dean, feels so good, you’re so fucking big-“

He groans, and you start to babble. You’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, because every word feels like it’s spilling from your mouth. But every inch of your brain trapped in Dean’s skin slapping against yours, his muscles flexing around you, the low and primal sounds rumbling out of his chest as his movements grow sloppy and his cock starts to throb inside of you, and you couldn’t think about anything else if you tried.

“You feel so good, Dean, please don’t stop, want you to cum, I-“ You gasp as he starts to kill up your neck, your hands shooting into his hair. “Fuck, Dean, please, so good, God, I love you-“

His mouth slams into yours, and your orgasm rushes through you like a tidal wave. Longer and powerful, leaving you so fucked out you can only whine under Dean’s body, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head as your pussy flutters around him.

Dean pulls out, keeping one hand gently on your knee as he pumps himself with an almost blurring fist, and cums over your abdomen and thighs. It’s hot and sticky, and part of you wishes you’d had enough of a brain to ask him to let you taste it, but you’re so completely spent that when Dean collapses over you—a heavy, comfortable weight you’re more than happy to be trapped beneath—your brain wipes every other thought but Dean away, and you decide to just stay here. Where Dean’s face in buried in your neck, and your sore from all of it but there will never be a better pain to experience.

“I-“ Dean breaks the silence, words muffled in your skin. “I feel better.”

“Oh.” You huff a soft laugh. “Good.”

“What, uh, what should we tell Sammy?”

You tug on his hair, just enough to move his gaze back to yours. “That we had sex?”

“No,” Dean groans your name, a smile pulling at his lips. “About the Mark. But we should tell him that-“

You make a mock, dramatic gasp. “Dean Winchester, are you going to brag about sex to your brother-“

“It’s sex with you, Sweetheart.” He winks, rolling you both over and caging you comfortably against his chest. “And Sammy’ll be thrilled to hear it, he’s been on my ass for years-“

“Years?” You squeak. “How many years?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, all of them?”

“All of them?! What do you mean all of them-“

“I mean since I met you.” Dean starts to rub soothing circles on your back, his mouth curling in smug amusement. “Deep breathes, baby, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

You flush, still not really use to the baby thing. Or Dean’s hands on your skin, every touch lingering like an imprint that will never even try to fade. “Shut up-“

He shakes his head. “Nah. You love it.” A boyish, wide smile splits over his face. “You love me.”

You might die. You might explode into a million, tiny pieces of confetti and shimmering glass, because Dean looks so happy. There are no ghosts in his beautiful eyes, no loathing or dread stained over his perfect face. He’s happy, here, with you, and you’re not cruel enough to stop yourself from crawling up his chest and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his lips.

“I do love you,” you mumble against him, straddling his torso as you push yourself up flat palms. “But I’m still gonna tell you to shut up.”

He chuckles, the sound rolling and humming right into your blood. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean reaches up to tuck a little hair behind your ears, and freezes, his eyes trained on his forearm. On the Mark.

“We, uh,” he clears his throat, watching you carefully. “We do need to figure out what we’re gonna do about this.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “We do. But I, I think-“

You cut yourself off, taking his hand in yours and running light fingers over the Mark in thought. Dean stares up at you with a slight awe in his gaze that makes you feel almost important, and your words fall to a soft breath.

“If you want.” You whisper. “We can turn it back-“

“No.” He shakes his head, sounding almost panicked. “I’m not goin’ back to that shit, not now-“

“Dean.” Your fingers still on his arm. “Was it me? That the Mark wanted?”

He swallows, but nods, and you sigh.

“We’re going to have separate sometimes. And we can figure out the bloodlust-“

“We should have to figure it out though, you don’t gotta put up with that-“

“I know.” You smile at him, and it’s not hard. Smiling at Dean is never hard. “But I will.”

“Do you-“ He stares at you, tangling his fingers in yours. “Do you not want me to keep the betterlust? You can tell me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to, for me-“

“God, no.” You shake your head, squeezing his hand. “I’m just, I’m worried about what might happen when the betterlust decides I’m not enough. Or when this, um, when you-“

Dean says your name, slow and firm, and you swallow. “This is it for me. It’s you, and the Mark knows that. You’re gonna be more than enough, hell, you’re more than I deserve-“

“That’s not true.” You mumble. “You deserve the world.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand. “It’s adorable that you really believe that, baby, but-“

You scowl at him. “It’s the truth, Dean. You’re a good man, I meant what I said-“

“I know you did.” His charming, cowboy grins falters slightly. Not falling, but twisting into one you’ve never seen before. Still roguish, still well designed and stealing your breath, but with a slight crack that allows you to see deeper. To see the lonely part of him, that really thinks you don’t belong here with him. That’s trying to drag you into him, because he’s certain you’ll start running if he doesn’t. “But this,” he nods to the Mark. “Is still gonna be a problem. I’m still gonna be a problem-“

“You’re not a problem-“

He says your name, the word careful and tender and holy from his lips. It’s the best way you’ve ever heard it. The only way you want to hear it again. “Do you want me to keep the betterlust.”

You purse your lips, and nod.

“Words, baby-“

“Yes.” You whisper. “But I need you to promise me that if it stops working-“

“It won’t.” He shrugs, his voice flat, as if he’s speaking in fact. “And we’re gonna keep looking for a way to get this son of a bitch off. But we’re doin’ it together.” He pauses, scanning over your open features. “If that’s what you-“

You lean down, silencing him with a long, easy kiss. It’s not desperate anymore, but careful. Like you’re making art, or starting to spin a web that could unravel with a single tug, but neither of you will let it. You’ll never let this—whatever this becomes—fall apart. You’ll put your whole life into keeping Dean, fighting for him and helping him and reminding him that he’s not really a burden. Letting him remind you that he really does want you, and he’s never going to allow you to doubt that again.

“Together.” You speak against his lips, letting your content breath fall into his mouth. “I’d like to stay together.”

He nods, mouth curving into a grin. “Alright then. Together.”

End Note: Thank you so so much for reading!!! I've had a lot of fun with this one, and I'm so happy y'all have as well! I hope to see some of you soon for the next one, and if not, thank you. no matter what!!

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[onlinedolly]

THE NEIGHBOR

a/n my rly long erwin drabble/fic!! this was super self indulgent for me so i hope u like it sm!

cw: p in v, tiny bit pervy erwin, older erwin, age gap

there were two options when it came to college students: stay in a broken down dorm or stay in a slightly better, still pretty beaten up, apartment. you chose the latter, deciding eight hundred dollars was worth it for no curfews and a private bathroom. you were a freshman literature major, a full scholarship to a school eight hours outside of your home town, and you’d felt out of place in a dorm full of people you didn’t know. it took you a full day to move in and a full month to get it semi-furnished. it wasn’t big, a one bed one bath with a kitchen that was more of a glorified hallway, but it was enough space for you to be functionally comfortable in.

you’d been moving things into your bedroom when you heard it for the first time, the grunting. the walls were impossibly thin as is, but the grunting could be heard so clearly it echoed around the walls of your bedroom. you’d brushed it off at first, curious and slightly disgusted at what could be going on in room across from yours, yet you pretended it didn’t happen as you moved on with the rest of your day. when the grunting didn’t die down the next night, or the one after, or even the one after that, keeping you up with a pillow wrapped around your head, you’d started to grow angry.

what could possibly be going on that initiated groaning and every night? you’d contemplated banging on the wall, marching over there with harsh words and a “can’t a girl sleep in her own home” speech ready to go, but that wasn’t in your nature. you were pretty docile and non confrontational, taking the road of being quietly angry in your own apartment instead.

erwin wasn’t a creep. he could say that with confidence. he wasn’t a creep when he watched you move in through the peep hole of his front door, he was just curious, that’s all. his last neighbors were a family with unruly children, with a short asshole father, that beat on the walls and screamed until erwin’s head spinned, so really he was just seeing if he would be put in the same predicament. but when he saw you, in your short jean shorts and a tank top that kept rising up, he couldn’t help but be glued to his door for at least a couple hours, watching as you pulled box after box into the threshold of your apartment.

you were young, that much he could tell, with long silky hair and doe eyes that darted around as you made yourself familiar with the building. he was enamored by you, if he was completely honest with himself. but that didn’t make him a creep. and it didn’t make him a creep when he fisted himself to the thought of you that same night. it just made him a normal man with urges and you were the first pretty thing he’d seen in a while, that’s all.

when he’d pulled his cock out the night after, or the night after that, or the next nights to follow, imagining your face contorted in different forms of bliss he’d just chalked it up to the simple fact that he needed to get laid. he’d watched you a couple of times since then, a couple grocery runs and a few times watching you get back from what he assumed were classes. god you were young, a freshman maybe? erwin had to assume he was at least twenty years your senior and the thought lit a fire inside of him. erwin wasn’t a creep, but he couldn’t help how he felt everytime he looked at you.

you’d finally met your neighbor.

he was a tall blonde haired man, older, and albeit handsome. you were carrying groceries in as he was locking the door to his apartment. he was dressed in simple clothes, a pair of slacks and a button up shirt, a pair of readers hanging from his shirt pocket as he fumbled with the keys in his hands. you busied yourself with getting your groceries in, pushing heavier bag in with your foot until your startled by a deeper voice next to you.

“who are you?” he asks, watching you stoically.

you stumble back a bit at his words, taken a back by his words as you blink your big eyes at him, once, twice. “you’re new neighbor…” you drawl our like it was the most obvious thing in the world. but maybe he really didn’t know, the most of your interaction being screaming into your pillow as he grunts across the wall from you. so you smile at him, straightening yourself up holding your hand out and giving him your name.

“erwin.” he speaks back smoothly, slipping his larger calloused hand into your own. you follow your gaze from his hand to his muscular arm up to his face, before pulling your hand away from his tight grip.

“nice to meet you,” you smile at him, before nudging a bag with your foot, “i’ve gotta—“ you point towards your open apartment door and he nods in acknowledgement, “ice cream.” you sheepishly say before shuffling into your apartment, out of the corner of your eye you watch as erwin slips back into his apartment and your furrow your brows as you hear your own door slam behind you.

erwin knew it’d be today, when he saw you in a pretty summer dress with your hair curled back behind your face. he’d waited until you were almost done before slipping out and pretending to fumble with his keys as he watched you bend over to grab a bag with both hands. and like previously stated, erwin wasn’t a creep, but he couldn’t resist but looking when you bent over, your white lace catching his eye as he keeps from groaning.

“who are you?” he attempts to be as stoic as possible, back straightening up as he halts his fumbling movements.

he relished in the way your big doe eyes blinked at him, taking in what he’d said before speaking out matter of factly that you were his new neighbor. yeah, he knew that. not that you knew that he knew that. he’d done his best to keep his distance until he was ready.

he slipped his hand out to you and you accepted it with your smaller softer one and erwin almost groaned. the hand was smooth in his, manicured nails pressing into the back of his hand as he so slightly shudders, “erwin.” he speaks out.

when your hand leaves his it leaves an empty pit in his stomach, he watches as you shuffle away explaining something about ice cream and he stands there for a second before scrambling back into his apartment.

he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he leans against the door, his eyes wide as his heart beats within his chest. he didn’t know why he felt like this, a teenager in love, it’d only been a couple months and he felt himself becoming head over heels for you.

erwin wasn’t a creep, mind you.

the groaning never stopped, you almost felt like the sounds had gotten louder, now accompanied by the sound of skin slapping against skin roughly. when you’d met your neighbor, the older blonde gentleman, it was almost easy to forget how someone who looked so well put together was jerking themselves off in the next room every night that was until you were reminded with the groans and occasionally thump against the wall.

you kicked around in your bed, throwing a not so mild tantrum, as you whine out. “literally what the fuck.” you sigh, covering your hands over your ears and humming loudly to drown the sounds out. you swore next time you saw him you would say something.

you did in fact see him again, and soon. it was a week after your first meet, you were heading out to a college party you really weren’t all that excited to go to, dressed in a short black dress and heeled boots you ran into the man. literally almost ran into him as you sped out of your apartment and turned around to almost hit him chest to chest. “erwin— oh!” you yell out, stumbling back, almost tripping over your heels, but erwin was quick, grabbing your arm with a tight grip as he pulls you up right.

“you okay, sweet thing?” he looks at you over the readers he has perched on his nose. you fumble out an apology, nodding your head, and as you look at him you forget all over again why you were so mad at him in the first place. erwin was a handsome man, older and chiseled, and as you looked at him you felt your heart skip an unfamiliar beat. “hey? can you hear me?” he waves a hand causing you to blink up at him, was he speaking? you didn’t notice, you were to busy basically eye fucking him. god you needed to get laid.

“i’m sorry, what?” you hum out, looking up at him.

“where ya going dressed like that, hm?” he places a hand on his hip, and it makes you think of a father scolding their daughter.

“a college party.” you all but whine out, making erwin shift his weight from foot to foot. if he could tell you weren’t excited about it, he didn’t say anything.

“you look nice.” he says nonchalantly, pushing his readers down the bridge of his nose slightly, to give you a look up and down. you felt hot under his gaze, a pit deep inside of your stomach you couldn’t quite place.

“i have to—“ you’re running off again, just like last time, as erwin nods, just like last time, giving you space to squeeze by. and you do, scurrying along before turning around on your heel, “also—“ you take a breath, “i don’t mean to be rude but your groaning—“ you take another breath, “keeps me up. okay bye-bye!” you run off, embarrassed.

you knew. erwin wasn’t a creep but it made his cock shift in his pants at the thought that you could hear him jerk himself off every night.

and you, dressed in that short dress, with your tits spilling out the top, he had no inclinations in stopping anytime soon.

you stumbled through your front door, drunk and smudged makeup as you made it to your bedroom and sprawled out with a content sigh. “finally.” you groan, rolling over so your back was pressed against the plush.

the party was…a party. a place you never wanted to find yourself at and a place you never want to go again. eren drank too much and mikasa ditched you to coddle him leaving you to take shots alone and dodge jeans advances every chance he got for a couple hours. you were just glad to be back in your cold, dark, quiet— no. no. you scramble your body up as you place your ear against the wall, rolling your eyes as you hear the familiar grunting.

“i’m going to fucking kill him.” you grit out as you hear the usual skin on skin slapping. you think about to earlier, his strong grasp on your arm, the readers perched on the bridge of his nose and you shift a little as you press your ear closer to the wall. the anger shifted into something…different, and you blamed it on the alcohol as you listened to his no doubt jerk himself off. you thought back to his hooked nose and the way his blonde hair was styled to perfection, you wondered if it would be tousled and sweaty as he bent over himself with his cock in his hand. it made your legs clench together.

“shit. fuck.” you mumble out as you clumsily throw yourself onto your back, you felt so….horny. (to put it bluntly) and before you can really think straight you’re working your hand into the front of your dress. you ghost over your clit and mewl out as you listen to his grunting. you’re rubbing your clit and hushing your moans to listen to the way he groans from the other side of the wall, matching your movements with what you thought his were.

you’d came listening to him let out a strangled string of moans, clenching around nothing as you spasm around your fingers rubbing circles into your bud. when you calmed down you sighed, rubbing your eye hard with your free hand.

what the fuck had you just done?

maybe you had a crush on your neighbor.

it’d been a couple weeks since you’d drunkenly masturbated to your neighbors self pleasure. and since then it’s become a nightly occurrence for you to wind yourself down with your hands under your panties, listening to your neighbor get himself off. you felt an immense guilt for it, even though you’re not sure why you should. he was the one getting himself off first.

you sat on the ground, attempting to tighten a loose screw of a cabinet with a butter knife as you sigh. you knew you were going to have to bite the bullet and ask erwin if he had a screwdriver, but the thought left you uncomfortable, knowing what you had been doing every night to the sounds of him. yet you still drag yourself off the ground, taking a shaky breath as you walk into the hall. his door seemed daunting, like a world you didn’t know if you were ready to immerse yourself into. you took another deep breath before knocking, waiting a minute, and then another, almost turning around and giving up before the door swings open.

“hi sweetheart,” he hums out, looking down at you, “what can i do for you?”

you falter a bit, taking a step back to take him in fully. you look up at him, trying to find the words to say, but all you can remember are the sins you committed every night, hand between your legs as you mewl out. “i uh—“ you take a breath, recollecting your thoughts, “yeah— fo you have a screwdriver? i need screwed— i mean i have a cabinet it needs—“

“let me grab my stuff i’ll meet you over there.” he laughs, walking towards his hall closet.

“no you don’t have too i just need the to—“

erwin interrupts you with a wave of his hand, pulling the tools down, “nonsense it’ll take five minutes.”

he’s following you into your apartment, closing the door behind you as you shake like a dog. it felt so intimate, having him here in your space. he was close to you as you bent down to show him that the cabinet was in fact wobbly and he hummed in acknowledgement.

“you really didn’t have to.” you mumble out, crossing your arms over your chest.

“already here, doll.” he bends down, and who are you to not take a peak at the way his face concentrates as he tightens the screw, he was handsome. handsome but so much older. it wasn’t right, he had to at least be early forties and it was inappropriate to have a crush on a man so much older, to do someone of the things you’ve done. but still you felt that familiar feeling stir in your stomach.

it didn’t take him long at all in fact, he was done in no time, straightening himself up with a kind smile. “is that all you need?”

“…yea.” you hesitated, why did you hesitate? that is all you needed, and now he was free to go. he should go, back to his apartment, away from you. why didn’t you want him too?

“are you sure?” he asks, reading right through you, making you shift your weight. you wanted him to stay, wanted to find a way to get him to linger a little longer in your apartment.

“do you want coffee?” you ask abruptly, twisting a ring around your hand nervously.

“it’s nine o’clock at night, sweetheart.” he spoke, pointing towards the oven clock. “tryna keep me around?” he smirks, hand on his hip as your eyes widen. what were you to say to that, if it were a yes what would happen then? would he stay? would he be weirded out? if you were to say no you were sure to lose him.

“yeah.” you breathe out before you could overthink it.

“good.” he smiles, its wide and reassuring and it makes the panic inside of you settle. “who don’t i get some wine, hm? stay right here.”

as he scurries away into his apartment, you listen, staying in your spot as you bite down on your lip. he was coming over? you were to drink with him and he was coming over? was this too much? you barely knew him, you found yourself borderline creepy for having a crush on him when you’d met him twice before, the extent of your interaction after that behind getting off to his sounds through a wall. and now he was coming over here to what, drunk with you? before you could overthink he waltzes back into your apartment, sliding a wine glass into your hand and pouring something red and expensive looking.

“just getting to know the neighbor, relax.” he smiles, placing a hand on your head before walking to the couch. it eases you a bit as you follow him, sitting with enough distance away that another person could wedge themselves in if they wanted too. “are you in school?”

“yeah. literature.” you nod, taking a sip of your wine.

erwin’s eyes light up and before you know it you’re in a comfortable conversation about classic authors. erwin was insanely bright, but you suppose that comes with age. age. something he had on you by twenty years. it made your legs close together, it made you feel guilty.

after an hour you both were sufficiently drunk, your topics had jumped from classic authors to erwin’s job (an architect) to smaller bursts of random things. you’d both inched closer to each other until your knees crashed together, but at this point you didn’t mind. “you know—“ you say, a new confidence found, “i still hear you every night.”

erwin blinks, once, twice, before breaking out into a big smile. you didn’t know why he smiled, expecting a bashful embarrassed look, over the cocky one he has sprawled across his face right now. “i know.”

“you know?” you scoff, pushing his shoulder, “and you didn’t stop?”

“not when you were enjoying it so much.” oh. he knew. fuck, of course he knew. why wouldn’t he, the walls are thin, why didn’t you ever fucking think of that. if you could hear him then surely he could hear you. “don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.” he places a comforting touch to your knee, smiles at you sweetly and you drunkenly lean into his touch, “really helped me get…there. if you know what i mean.”

“yeah.” you shudder, the though of him jerking off too much for you to imagine.

“don’t be shy now doll.” his smile turns into a cock smirk as he leans back into the couch, wrapping his arm around the back of the couch. it’s then you notice the tent in his pants and you dig your nails into the cushion of the couch.

“you’re hard.” you state, eyeing his hard cock through his sweats, face flushed.

“i am.” he smiles sweetly at you, rubbing his hand down his leg.

this was all happening too much, and honestly it was not okay in any sober standpoint, but you were drunk and hazy as all you could do was eye the tent in his sweats. “you’re older then me.” you slur out.

“okay?” he laughs, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“it’s inappropriate.”

“you’re an adult.” he cocks his head to the side, taking a sip of his wine as he looks you up and down hungrily.

“barely.” you squeak out, moving up to look at his face. his eyes were darkened in lust, he looked like he was ready to eat you whole.

“even better.” he quips out, splaying his knee out so it knocks with yours again.

everything was sending you into overdrive, the alcohol, the look in his eyes, his cock begging to burst out of his pants. you were past the point of just drunk, but you don’t think you can blame the alcohol as your core pulses. “do you want to fuck me, angel?” he laughs and it sounds borderline degrading as it leaves his mouth.

“no.” yes. you were a liar, a huge fucking liar, as the thought of fucking your neighbor made your head spin. and he saw right through it too, laughing out as he called you exactly what you were. a liar.

“c’mere.” he pats his lap and against your better judgement your scooting that way, basically crawling as you had set your wine glass down on the coffee table. you crawl over his body and you feel hot as tour one leg is placed on the floor and the other is pressed against the outer side of one of his. your hands are pressed against the back of the couch as you lean over him, face close to his as you let in a shaky breath.

erwin’s face was so close to yours, you could smell the mint and wine wafting off of his breath as he slowly looks up into your eyes. “tell me you want this. tell me you want me.” he speaks out and it makes you shudder.

“i….want you.” you breathe out and he’s leaning up and smushing his lips into yours roughly. he’s on you in a second, lips rough against your own and as his arms pull you close. your sitting on his lap and you can feel his hard cock pressing against your chest.

“erwin,” you whine against his lips, grabbing his shirt between your fists as he coos.

“patience, sweet thing.” he hums, readjusting you so you’re sitting fully in his lap as he places kisses down the corridor of your neck. you’re mewling above him, pushing back the panic of everything happening so quickly. he’s running his hands down the expanse of your back as you whine above him, begging for any sort of friction to satisfy the building tension between your legs. “i’ll take care of ya, don’t fret, angel.”

he brings a hand up and thumbs your nipple over your shirt making you gasp his name out. erwin is reveling in it, his hand hadn’t been doing it for him, not since day one. and you’re mewls from touching yourself got him by, barely. but this— this was going to make him immediately cum if he wasn’t careful. he ran his thumb over your clothed nipple again, then once more, making you whine out loudly. erwin runs a hand under your shirt, under your bra, until he makes contact your breast and it makes you nearly push yourself away.

he rolls your nipple between his fingers and you let out a broken moan from above him, rolling your hips as he tuts and stills your movement with his free hand. “you’ve gotta learn patience, i’m going to have to teach you that, needy thing.” the thought of teaching you anything makes your hips try to roll once again, met with resistance from erwin’s larger hand. he takes his time with you, tweaking each nipple, twirling them around between expert fingers and he’s close to working you to edge with just nipple stimulation.

you’re getting overwhelmed, big fat tears spilling from your eyes as you beg him for more, for anything.

“think you deserved it, pretty? deserve my cock?” you whine and nod, your head leaned into the crevice of his neck as you place shaky kisses against him. he pulls your shirt up suddenly, pushing your bra up with it, and your nipples become rock hard at the brisk air of your apartment.

“erwin please, please.” you cry out. erwin has this shit eating grin on his face, like he has you exactly where he wants you and you’re reminded of his age again. at how much more experienced he probably is, and it makes a shudder run down your spine.

“what’s got you shakin like that, babydoll?” he leans forward, attaching his lip to your nipple making your back arch, chest pressed against his swollen pink lips.

“y-you.” you whine out as he nips at your nipple, swirling his tongue around the bun and he hums in response. the hum only making you shudder more, the pleasure shooting right to your core.

“don’t you forget it.” he coos, moving to your other nipple doing the same — biting and swirling his tongue around. you were desperate for any kind of attention to your cunt, at this point. tears leaking from your flushed face as he moans against your breast. “i hear you baby, i hear you. here—“ he slips a hand in your sweats and moans when he comes in contact with your bare cunt. “no panties? filthy thing.” he laughs, thumbing at your clit making you almost cry out a thank you.

erwin rubs slow, teasing circles around your clit as he sucks your nipple and pulls back with a loud pop! you’re a mewling overwhelmed mess as you attempt to move his hand closer to your clenching hole. “don’t be a brat now. you’ll take what i give when i give it.” he scolds, pulling his hand away from you completely causing you to cry out. erwin’s lifting you up with one hand then, working you to the side as he uses his other hand to pull his sweats and underwear down. erwin’s large cock springs out and hits against his chest and you’re eyes go wide. erwin was big, more then a handful of inches and thick. his cock curved toward him and it made you shiver thinking of the spots he could reach.

“betcha wanna sit on it, hm? you’d like that wouldn’t you?” he says condescendingly, laughing a bit at the way you sniffle and nod your head. “gotta touch it first baby, get me ready to take you.” he says it like he’s the one who needs to be worked up, and you bite your lip thinking about how you were going to for all of him inside of you eventually. you reach out and stroke his cock, your face flushed and wet tears cover your cheeks as you begin to stroke him up and down. erwin lets out a loud groan, loud enough that you were sure any neighbor around could hear. but you learned a while ago he didn’t care about things like that. “god baby, i’ve been thinkin about you touchin’ me for months.” he speaks through gritted teeth as you stroke him at a steady pace.

he moans and wriggles underneath you as you stroke him and after a few minutes he pulls your hand away telling you to hover above him. you’re ecstatic, to say the least, as you line yourself up with his cock. he has a tight grip on your hips, helping you line yourself up, and when you try to sink down he stops you, keeping you stilled there above him. “beg for it.” he smirks, giving you a lust filled expression as he leans back against the couch lazily.

well…that’s embarrassing. beg for it? really? you wondered if you had too, if you just stayed silent for long enough he’d give in work his cock into you. but he doesn’t seem like the type. so you bite your lip before opening your mouth— “erwin,” you whine, gripping his shoulders as you look at him with a tearful expression, “need this so bad. need you so bad. please, please.” you cry out, trying to wiggle your hips down on his cock. “let me make you feel good.”

that was all he needed before he’s sinking you down on him and you gasp, sinking your nails into his shoulder blades. a wonton moan leaves your body as you throw your head back, the feeling of erwin filling you up almost being too much. “erwin!” you yelp as he has half of himself inside of you.

“shhh…not even close to bein done sweet thing,” he shushes you working you down even farther. eventually you’ve taken him fully, your cunt forming itself around him and you mewl babbling on about filling too full. “you wanted this, girl. not used to bein fucked by a man, huh?” he smirks, picking your hips up before dropping them down on his cock. the movement causing you to yell out, throwing your body against his as he does it once more.

“don’t—“ you whine into his neck, biting down on the flesh, “tease. just fuck me.” you cry.

erwin wastes no time, picking your hips up and slamming you on his cock roughly a few times. everytime he hits your g spot it makes you crane your spine back, head thrown back and he swears if he looks hard enough he could see stars in your eyes. he begins a steady pace of fucking you on his cock and in just a few short minutes you’re both panting and he’s groaning so animalistically it’s egging your own moans on.

his cock is big inside of you, hitting you in all the places it should plus a few you didn’t even realize were there and it makes you cry in pleasure. he’s got one hand on your hip and the other tangled in your hair keeping your eyes locked on his as he rolls his hips up to match the pace he’s got you bouncing. you’re overcome with pleasure, and you can feel that familiar coil in your stomach. “i’m gna—“ you whine out and you can feel how erwin’s hips falter.

“yeah? me too baby. let’s do it together.” he’s fucking up into you fast, sloppy thrusts as you bounce on him. before you know it your eyes glaze over and your body’s shaking. your cunt is convulsing around him, working him to his high until he’s cumming in you. you’re both cumming hard, erwin’s basically growling as you milk his cock and you’re crying out as you feel his seed work itself deep inside you. if you weren’t on birth control he sure would’ve got you pregnant.

once your highs die down erwin keeps you nestled on his softening cock, placing a kiss against your temple as he pumps a few more times to make sure his cum is deep inside of you. “thank god you moved in, hm?” he laughs.

[spitefully-existing]

the sleep token book is a bit hard to read, i rewrote it the best i could below the cut; hopefully this helps!

thank you to @top-quality-garbage for helping me decipher some of this and to @doiha for the spanish translation! 🫶🫶

⚠️⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️⚠️

15 days since emergence of the Lunar Anomaly

When I was a child, I was frequently beset by certain reoccurring dreams. this is one such dream that I remembered more than most – one in which I found myself standing on a vast shoreline, gazing out at a flat, wide sea. Slowly, as I watched the horizon gradually begin to lift. Before long I was able to observe that this lifting expanse was approaching me – a wall of smooth, black water that curls into an impossible lip at its peak. rather surprisingly, I do not recall being afraid of such an ominous sight. Well, to be more precise, I was afraid – I was terrified, but not of the wave itself. Instead, it was the thought of what was beyond it. This vast, unstoppable force sweeping forth to herald the end of everything, to drown the world and then eventually sink back into itself. A careless shrug of entropy enough to sever the thread of all fates. I felt that were I to somehow survive this limitless tide then I would be left in the world that would not recognize me. I would become an element unto myself and myself alone. 

An echo stuck in the throat of a dead god.

yet here I am. It has been over two weeks since the emergence of the lunar anomaly. our team spent nearly 2 years attempting to anticipate what this event would mean for humanity – analyzing endless reams of lunar topography along with every known form of spectroscopy, all amounting to one hopeless conclusion: to burrow into the bowels of the earth and simply wait that whatever emerge from within would reach us these last.

as it would turn out this one final act of humble surrenders is what one the last of us the right to our own lives in these final days. Those of us alive now are not those who sought to barter with destiny and defiantly cling to a civilized existence of the surface – or even any existence at all.

it would seem that in the week of this phenomenon, we are best served by our most base instincts, whose shame found no place to dwell. The ones who survived are those who spat their hubris and hid desperately down in the mud like rats.

I want it to be known that we made every effort to warn the others, though naturally we could not provide much of a basis upon which to suggest that our entire species with facing imminent and utter demise besides a few fissures of the southern lunar pole. with that said we begun building this underground facility once we realized that the moon’s orbit was rapidly decaying in a way that was inconsistent with any known physical model – I found it hard to believe that none of them followed our lead perhaps some of them did either way we have no way of knowing now.

my expectations for the first surface expedition were bleak at best in all honesty. I was shocked to discover that our initial readings showed that these remained a breathable atmosphere. Perhaps in all this turmoil, I found it easier to commit my mind to the worst possible outcome at every turn.

The limited data we gathered before the event – despite two years of efforts – didn’t prepare us for the havoc we now face. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain, the phenomenon would be a gracious understatement. The catechism that occurred two weeks ago had taught us one unshakable rule about this new world we now hid beneath – to gaze upon the moon is to die.

For this reason, we rapidly developed wearable counter measures for the surface teams that would prove vital in allowing them to navigate the surface. If only we could have known that this was far from the only threat that awaited them. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomena would be a gracious understatement.

it is not only human life that is affected by the lunar anomaly, but that of all life, albeit in vastly different ways. To put it simply – this new type of emergent biology is beyond the boundaries of what we are able to study and understand.

I find myself already laden with guilt over those we lost. More than that however, I feel most guilty about the way I reacted to learning of the remnant human elements that attacked our team. I felt strangely comforted, despite the deeply disturbing nature of that discovery.

Upon further introspection, I arrived at the conclusion that this feeling came from a sense of familiarity. Human beings fighting other human beings is a horror that has played us all since time immemorial, but here in the wake of such deeply unfamiliar and unpredictable occurrences, it is hard not to feel almost comforted by such an immediately recognizable problem.

with that said, I do also find myself deeply troubled by the prospect of humans remaining on the surface in that state. The consensus among my colleagues is that their actions were not born of their own will, though there is every chance that this is a conclusion we are clinging to in preference over the more unsettling alternative.

I feel that I am rapidly squandering the precious remnants of human life in the desire to understand what has happened, though in truth, I know not what else to do. Perhaps this is the only way we can cling to our humanity – by continuing our constant battle with the sheer unknown right to the very end.

The Director

28 days since Lunar Anomaly

already I find myself in the surprising position of yearning for the way things were two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I was contending with the end of the world. Now, I contend with the reality of what has replaced it.

we took the trouble to equip ourselves as thoroughly as possible, with the means of studying any emergent phenomena on the surface, even whilst and tomb beneath the Earth. We now find ourselves consumed by the pursuit of understanding – it is truly all that we have left. However, the samples we’ve acquired offer no such mercy – their nature and origin is fundamentally foreign to us. Something we can say is that, contrary to the initial assumption that most life on the surface had been wiped out, there is in fact in abundance of some kind of new organic material. It can be found everywhere in some form, including in the atmosphere itself. Its cellular structure is completely unique – where one would expect to see some approximation of a typical eukaryotic cell, what we see instead resembles membranous tubules that contain vast quantities of foreign organelles. These organelles seem to function in an oddly synchronous fashion and are able to perform a variety of functions. Primarily, they are able to ‘grow’ the tubules that contain them by undergoing a form of transformation at either end which renders them as part of the tubule wall. secondly, and far more strangely, they are able to exert some kind of force over the tubule as a whole, contorting it in a way not dissimilar to muscle tissue, (but without any apparent nervous impulse.)

as to the origin of this tissue, our initial assumption was that it had been somehow transferred from the moon itself to earth – perhaps via pieces of lunar material falling through the atmosphere. This makes some sense, however, the sheer proliferation of this material across the surface within a relatively short period of time suggest that there is more to it than that.

I am reluctant to comment on the reports of other worldly beings on the surface. Their presence carries implications I am simply unprepared for. At a certain point, however, I must accept that this only increases the inevitable danger placed upon the surface teams during their expeditions. What I must also accept is that these precious human lives are now the only currency with which we can barter against the unknown.

Thus far we barter in vain.

The Director

58 days since the lunar anomaly

when we first retreated down into the ground, I think that somewhere in the midst of my despair, I clung to a degree of hope. This wasn’t so much a hope for survival as much as the hope that we would at least be able to discern some kind of meaningful understanding of what has happened. we have committed everything – I have committed everything. The last precious remnant of humanity extinguished in the name of what makes us human to begin with. To shed what light we have left on the sea of the unknown. But now I see that this was a futile effort that has resulted in nothing but death, not merely in the context of our final struggle, but across the scope of all human existence. It has all amounted to nothing but a few extra skulls drifting in the foul ether that has swamped our world.

It is clear now that the lunar anomaly functions in accordance with laws of its own. It makes a mockery of science. It permeates and distort reality to the degree that all fundamental assumptions are rendered useless. it kills everything it touches while simultaneously imbuing it with some kind of new life, twisting nature into something grotesque and unrecognizable. These new forms seem organic, but they have nothing resembling a typical cell structure or genetic blueprint. They can bring forth in an instant, summoning flesh from nothing. Furthermore, our ability to measure even the most fundamental aspects of our physical world is becoming impossible. The massive objects change slightly, depending on where they are, as though gravity itself, has begun to lose its grip. We have detected seismic activity from further inside the Earth than we even thought possible. The anomaly doesn’t just want to consume all life. It wants to consume reality.

as for those beings, I know not what they are were where they originated. They themselves are not consistent with the nature of the anomaly they inhabit. Their actions seem to exhibit some strange sentence, but their motives are unclear, and they make no effort to communicate. At times I have concluded that they are here to replace us, or perhaps, even that they themselves represent some fractured distillation of our nature. they are after all violent, just as we have been to the very end. They seem to push against one another as a part of some strange order. As time has passed, though, I have come to believe that they have no connection to us. I believe that what our world has become is a little more than an arena to them – a crucible of existence where they will battle eternally. The totality of their being is not their individual functions, but rather the conflict between them. We are merely spectators to their endless dance of ceaseless struggle. this is perhaps the only thing that connects them to the drowned memory of what humanity once was – that we too saw meaning through constant friction and unending movement, compelled by some core motive force that drives us to bring ourselves to bear on the world and manifest our own perceptions.

in these final dimming days, I know only the solace of a promised end. I have become the ultimate witness. I have been saddled with the heavy blessing of seeing the unraveling of everything and I can do nothing but wait for it to unravel me too. But I live still within this temple of untampered flesh, and I will spend what blood still beats through it to barter one last time with the fangled threads of fate. if I must, I will march through the eye of death and meet it with eyes of my own.

What few of us are left now have our orders.

We must know what it is to become of us.

The Director

61 days since the lunar anomaly

I once spoke but now it seems through me just as I speak through it no longer to nothing I can change nothing no can change nothing nothing has become my thing I can make nothing into a weapon there will be no void left unfilled I am human and humans are always human and always scared because being human makes us scared and being scared makes us human I will crack the flesh I will crack the earth I will eat the pieces they will be pieces of me would you like to dance I have always been dancing we must keep dancing even when we are just tendrils we were always tendrils we could touch everything even things god did not want us to touch that is why he left us here that is why he thought we were ugly he could not wrap his tendrils around every part of us we spilled his paradise over the earth and danced with such a beautiful dance horror would leap and dance with us who would bathe us and we could lie within it we could tear the horror out from our hearts over and over we could never sleep sleep is death not even the earth would sleep the earth fears death it’s blood would freeze out in space out in nothing we must reach through the stars through the darkness even though it is so cold it can freeze our blood we can let our blood freeze and then crack it open hot like the earth we can step through death wear it like a crown hairs to the highest pantheon of life precious life with death as its blood precious death bursting from the many wombs of sacred war paradise was empty without us there was only silence but our blood made the flowers grow god spilled his blood over paradise god knows the stars are waiting fertile ground cold to the touch those stars are hungry they crave only the blood of god we are his tendrils and we will bury ourselves into those cold stars and there will be no darkness death will give us fear and fear will give us blood we will spill our hot blood across the stars I finally understand now I do I understand but will you let me keep my human fear will you let me yes being scared makes you human fear will sow the hot blood of god across the gold stars fear will make us dance and we must keep dancing can you see god dancing for you can you see him biting into you can you hear his teeth cracking into pieces of the stars they sent sparks raining down through the darkness all these years you have hunted him and reached for him you want his blood he made you with veins inside you like tendrils we dance through his veins as we bite through the stars and dance and he opens his mouth wide I am so scared Will you let me be the last human I understand now I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god

——————

15 días desde la aparición de la Anomalía Lunar

Cuando era niño, a menudo era acosado por ciertos sueños recurrentes. Este es uno de esos sueños que recuerdo más que la mayoría: uno en el que me encontraba de pie en una vasta orilla, mirando hacia un mar plano y amplio. Poco a poco, mientras observaba, el horizonte comenzó a elevarse gradualmente. No pasó mucho tiempo antes de que me diera cuenta de que esta extensión elevada se acercaba hacia mí: una pared de agua negra y suave que se curvaba de manera imposible en su borde. Sorprendentemente, no recuerdo haber sentido miedo ante tal ominosa visión. Bueno, para ser más preciso, sentía miedo, estaba aterrorizado, pero no de la ola en sí. Más bien, era el pensamiento de lo que había más allá de ella. Esta vasta e imparable fuerza que se desplazaba para anunciar el fin de todo, para ahogar el mundo y luego, eventualmente, sumergirse nuevamente en sí misma. Un encogimiento despreocupado de la entropía, suficiente para cortar el hilo de todos los destinos. Sentí que, si de alguna manera lograba sobrevivir a esta marea ilimitada, entonces me quedaría en un mundo que no me reconocería. Me convertiría en un elemento para mí mismo y solo para mí.

Un eco atrapado en la garganta de un dios muerto.

Y aquí estoy. Han pasado más de dos semanas desde la aparición de la anomalía lunar. Nuestro equipo pasó casi dos años intentando anticipar lo que este evento significaría para la humanidad: analizando interminables volúmenes de topografía lunar junto con todas las formas conocidas de espectroscopía, lo cual resultó en una conclusión desesperanzada: cavar en las entrañas de la Tierra y simplemente esperar a que lo que emergiera desde dentro nos alcanzara, siendo lo último en tocarnos.

Como resultó ser, este acto de humilde rendición fue lo que otorgó a los últimos de nosotros el derecho a nuestras propias vidas en estos días definitivos. Los que estamos vivos ahora no somos los que intentamos negociar con el destino ni aferrarnos desafiante a una existencia civilizada en la superficie, ni siquiera a cualquier existencia en absoluto.

Parece que, en la semana de este fenómeno, actuamos mejor con nuestros instintos más básicos, cuyos remordimientos no encontraron lugar donde residir. Los que sobrevivieron son aquellos que escupieron su arrogancia y se escondieron desesperadamente en el barro, como ratas.

Quiero que se sepa que hicimos todo lo posible por advertir a los demás, aunque, naturalmente, no pudimos proporcionar una base sólida para sugerir que nuestra especie entera enfrentaría una inminente y total desaparición, aparte de unas pocas fisuras en el polo lunar sur. Dicho esto, comenzamos a construir esta instalación subterránea una vez que nos dimos cuenta de que la órbita de la luna se estaba deteriorando rápidamente de una manera que era inconsistente con cualquier modelo físico conocido. Me resultó difícil creer que ninguno de ellos siguiera nuestro ejemplo; tal vez algunos lo hicieron, pero de todas formas ya no podemos saberlo.

Mis expectativas para la primera expedición en la superficie eran sombrías, en el mejor de los casos. Me sorprendió descubrir que nuestras lecturas iniciales mostraron que aún quedaba una atmósfera respirable. Quizás, en medio de todo este tumulto, encontré más fácil comprometer mi mente al peor desenlace en cada giro.

Los datos limitados que recopilamos antes del evento, a pesar de dos años de esfuerzos, no nos prepararon para el caos que ahora enfrentamos. Decir que nos encontramos perdidos para explicar el fenómeno sería un subestimado amable. El catecismo que ocurrió hace dos semanas nos enseñó una regla inquebrantable sobre este nuevo mundo que ahora nos oculta bajo tierra: mirar a la luna es morir.

Por esta razón, desarrollamos rápidamente contramedidas portátiles para los equipos de superficie que resultaron vitales para permitirles navegar por allí. Si tan solo hubiéramos sabido que esto estaba lejos de ser la única amenaza que les esperaba. Decir que nos encontramos perdidos para explicar los fenómenos sería un subestimado amable.

No es solo la vida humana la que se ve afectada por la anomalía lunar, sino también la de toda forma de vida, aunque de maneras enormemente diferentes. Para decirlo de manera simple: este nuevo tipo de biología emergente está más allá de los límites de lo que podemos estudiar y comprender.

Ya me encuentro cargado de culpa por aquellos que perdimos. Sin embargo, más que eso, me siento más culpable por la forma en que reaccioné al enterarme de los elementos humanos remanentes que atacaron a nuestro equipo. Me sentí extrañamente reconfortado, a pesar de la naturaleza profundamente perturbadora de ese descubrimiento.

Tras más introspección, llegué a la conclusión de que este sentimiento provenía de un sentido de familiaridad. Los seres humanos luchando contra otros seres humanos es un horror que nos ha atormentado desde tiempos inmemoriales, pero aquí, en medio de sucesos tan profundamente desconocidos e impredecibles, es difícil no sentirse casi reconfortado por un problema tan inmediatamente reconocible.

Dicho esto, también me siento profundamente preocupado por la perspectiva de que los humanos permanezcan en la superficie en ese estado. El consenso entre mis colegas es que sus acciones no nacieron de su propia voluntad, aunque existe toda la posibilidad de que esta sea una conclusión a la que nos aferramos en lugar de aceptar la inquietante alternativa.

Siento que estoy desperdiciando rápidamente los preciosos restos de la vida humana en el deseo de entender lo que ha sucedido, aunque en verdad, no sé qué más hacer. Tal vez esta es la única forma en que podemos aferrarnos a nuestra humanidad: continuar nuestra constante batalla con lo absolutamente desconocido hasta el final.

-El Director

28 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Ya me encuentro en la sorprendente posición de anhelar la forma en que eran las cosas hace dos semanas. Hace dos semanas, luchaba contra el fin del mundo. Ahora, lucho contra la realidad de lo que lo ha reemplazado.

Nos tomamos la molestia de equiparnos de la manera más completa posible, con los medios para estudiar cualquier fenómeno emergente en la superficie, incluso mientras nos enterrábamos en el suelo. Ahora nos encontramos consumidos por la búsqueda de comprensión; realmente es todo lo que nos queda. Sin embargo, las muestras que hemos adquirido no muestran tal misericordia: su naturaleza y origen nos son completamente ajenos. Algo que podemos afirmar es que, contrariamente a la suposición inicial de que la mayoría de la vida en la superficie había sido aniquilada, en realidad hay una abundancia de algún tipo de material orgánico nuevo. Se puede encontrar en todas partes, en alguna forma, incluso en la propia atmósfera. Su estructura celular es completamente única: donde se esperaría ver una célula eucariota típica, lo que vemos en su lugar son tubos membranosos que contienen vastas cantidades de orgánulos ajenos. Estos orgánulos parecen funcionar de una manera extrañamente sincronizada y son capaces de realizar una variedad de funciones. Principalmente, pueden "hacer crecer" los tubos que los contienen al someterse a una forma de transformación en cualquiera de sus extremos, lo que los convierte en parte de la pared del tubo. En segundo lugar, y mucho más extraño, pueden ejercer algún tipo de fuerza sobre el tubo en su totalidad, retorciéndolo de una manera no muy diferente a como lo haría el tejido muscular (pero sin ningún impulso nervioso aparente).

En cuanto al origen de este tejido, nuestra suposición inicial fue que había sido transferido de alguna manera desde la luna a la Tierra, tal vez a través de piezas de material lunar cayendo a través de la atmósfera. Esto tiene algo de sentido; sin embargo, la proliferación masiva de este material en la superficie en un período de tiempo relativamente corto sugiere que hay algo más detrás de todo esto.

Soy reacio a comentar sobre los informes de seres de otro mundo en la superficie. Su presencia conlleva implicaciones para las que simplemente no estoy preparado. Sin embargo, en algún momento, debo aceptar que esto solo aumenta el peligro inevitable al que están expuestos los equipos en sus expediciones. Lo que también debo aceptar es que estas preciosas vidas humanas ahora son la única moneda con la que podemos negociar contra lo desconocido.

Hasta ahora, hemos negociado en vano.

-El Director

58 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Cuando nos retiramos bajo tierra, creo que, en medio de mi desesperación, me aferré a un grado de esperanza. No era tanto una esperanza de supervivencia, sino la esperanza de que, al menos, seríamos capaces de discernir algún tipo de comprensión significativa de lo que ha ocurrido. Hemos comprometido todo, he comprometido todo. El último y precioso vestigio de la humanidad se extinguió en nombre de lo que nos hace humanos en primer lugar, para arrojar la luz que nos queda sobre el mar de lo desconocido. Pero ahora veo que este fue un esfuerzo fútil que no ha resultado en nada más que muerte, no solo en el contexto de nuestra lucha final, sino a lo largo de toda la existencia humana. Todo ha sido en vano, salvo por unos pocos cráneos flotando en el éter pútrido que ha inundado nuestro mundo.

Está claro ahora que la anomalía lunar funciona de acuerdo con sus propias leyes. Se burla de la ciencia. Permea y distorsiona la realidad de tal manera que todas las suposiciones fundamentales quedan inutilizadas. Mata todo lo que toca, mientras imbuye con algún tipo de nueva vida, torciendo la naturaleza en algo grotesco e irreconocible. Estas nuevas formas parecen orgánicas, pero no tienen nada que se asemeje a una estructura celular típica ni a un plano genético. Pueden materializarse en un instante, invocando carne de la nada. Además, nuestra capacidad para medir incluso los aspectos más fundamentales de nuestro mundo físico se está volviendo imposible. Los objetos masivos cambian ligeramente, dependiendo de dónde se encuentren, como si la gravedad misma hubiera comenzado a perder su agarre. Hemos detectado actividad sísmica desde más adentro de la Tierra de lo que pensábamos posible. La anomalía no solo quiere consumir toda la vida, sino que también quiere consumir la realidad.

En cuanto a esos seres, no sé qué son ni de dónde provienen. Ellos mismos no son consistentes con la naturaleza de la anomalía que habitan. Sus acciones parecen exhibir alguna extraña condena, pero sus motivos no están claros y no hacen ningún esfuerzo por comunicarse. En ocasiones he llegado a la conclusión de que están aquí para reemplazarnos, o tal vez, incluso que ellos mismos representan una destilación fragmentada de nuestra naturaleza. Son, después de todo, violentos, al igual que nosotros hasta el final. Parecen empujarse unos a otros como parte de algún extraño orden. Sin embargo, con el tiempo he llegado a creer que no tienen ninguna conexión con nosotros.

Creo que lo que se ha convertido nuestro mundo es poco más que una arena para ellos, un crisol de existencia donde lucharán eternamente. La totalidad de su ser no está en sus funciones individuales, sino en el conflicto entre ellos. Nosotros somos meros espectadores de su interminable danza de lucha constante. Tal vez esta sea la única conexión que tienen con el ahogado recuerdo de lo que fue la humanidad: que nosotros también encontramos significado a través de la fricción constante y el movimiento interminable, impulsados por alguna fuerza motriz interna que nos lleva a manifestar nuestras percepciones en el mundo.

En estos últimos días que se desvanecen, solo conozco el consuelo de un final prometido. Me he convertido en el testigo definitivo. He sido cargado con la pesada bendición de ver el desenlace de todo y no puedo hacer nada más que esperar a que también me deshaga. Pero sigo viviendo dentro de este templo de carne intacta, y gastaré la sangre que aún late a través de ella para negociar una última vez con los hilos enredados del destino. Si debo hacerlo, marcharé a través del ojo de la muerte y lo enfrentaré con los míos.

Los pocos de nosotros que quedamos ahora tenemos nuestras órdenes.

Debemos saber qué será de nosotros.

-El Director

61 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Una vez hablé pero ahora parece que no puedo hablar ya no hay nada que pueda cambiar nada puede cambiar la nada se ha convertido en mí no puedo convertir nada en arma no quedará vacío sin llenar soy humano y los humanos siempre tienen miedo porque ser humanos nos hace tener miedo y tener miedo nos hace humanos romperé la carne romperé la tierra comeré los pedazos serán parte de mí ¿te gustaría bailar? siempre he estado bailando debemos seguir bailando incluso cuando solo seamos tentáculos siempre fuimos tentáculos podíamos tocarlo todo incluso las cosas que dios no quería que tocáramos por eso nos dejó aquí por eso pensó que éramos feos no pudo envolver sus tentáculos alrededor de cada parte de nosotros derramamos su paraíso sobre la tierra y bailamos con una danza tan hermosa que el horror saltaría y bailaría con nosotros ¿quién nos bañará y nos apoyará? podríamos sacar el horror de nuestro corazón una y otra vez nunca podríamos dormir el sueño es muerte ni siquiera la tierra dormiría la tierra teme la muerte su sangre se congelaría en el espacio en la nada debemos alcanzar las estrellas a través de la oscuridad aunque esté tan fría que congele nuestra sangre podemos dejar que nuestra sangre se congele y luego romperla como la tierra podemos atravesar la muerte llevarla como una corona con las cabezas apuntando alto hacia el más alto panteón de la vida preciosa vida con la muerte como su sangre preciosa muerte brotando desde los muchos úteros de la guerra sagrada el paraíso estaba vacío sin nosotros solo había silencio pero nuestra sangre hizo crecer las flores dios derramó su sangre sobre el paraíso dios sabe que las estrellas esperan tierra fértil fría al tacto esas estrellas tienen hambre anhelan solo la sangre de dios somos sus tentáculos y nos enterramos en esas estrellas frías y no habrá oscuridad la muerte nos dará miedo y el miedo nos dará sangre derramaremos nuestra sangre caliente a través de las estrellas finalmente lo entiendo sí lo entiendo pero ¿me dejarás mantener mi miedo humano? ¿me dejarás sí? tener miedo te hace humano el miedo sembrará la sangre caliente de dios a través de las estrellas doradas el miedo nos hará bailar y debemos seguir bailando ¿puedes ver a dios bailando para ti? ¿Puedes verlo mordiéndote? ¿Puedes escuchar sus dientes crujir con los pedazos de las estrellas? mandaron chispas lloviendo a través de la oscuridad todos estos años lo has cazado y alcanzado quieres su sangre él te hizo con venas dentro de ti como tentáculos bailamos a través de sus venas mientras mordemos las estrellas y bailamos él abre la boca bien grande tengo tanto miedo ¿me dejarás ser el último humano? ahora lo entiendo soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios









[librarygarten]

I don't think I'm the only one who thinks Wars was an asshole? Like, is the reader supposed to have -known- they were actually controlling somone? The world they were from, the Links aren't real, right? And here he is instantly blaming them for playing something they'd only know as a game, cruelly making them cry and being just all around awful. I hope someone calls him out on it.

Sorry, nonnie :( Wars was indeed an asshole, but his game would probably one of the worst to live through. He had to watch his men die in a war that turned out to be some sort of sick entertainment for an interdimensional being. Add to that his whole... situation with Cia, and he's not thrilled with the idea that reader might have just. Over-written his free will while playing the game. Don't worry, Twilight will beat up Wars on your behalf <3

#2 Chain x Speedrunner! Deity! Isekai! Reader - Who's in Control?

Part 2 includes Sky, Twilight, and Legend Part 1 ✿ Part 2 (you are here) ✿ Part 3

When you first fell through the portal and joined the chain on their quest, you had revealed that they were only stories in your world. It had taken a while for them to understand the concept of a video game, and even longer for them to come to terms with the fact that some of the most traumatic events of their lives were reduced to children’s entertainment. However, as they talked with you, they came to another horrifying discovery: YOU were their “player.” Your actions in your world, the decisions you made while playing the games, directly influenced their own lives. What’s more, you were a speedrunner.

Sky

“Hey, Y/N?” Sky approaches you at camp, wringing his hands nervously. He won’t meet your gaze. “Did… did I do something to make you mad?”

“What?” You think back on your last few interactions. You hadn’t been treating him any differently. Unless you were somehow a jerk and didn’t even know it? You have been pretty sleep-deprived lately. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that…” He trails off, clearly not sure how to approach this topic. He takes a breath and tries again. “You kind of controlled us during our adventures, right?”

Well, crap.

“I think so? I’m not really sure how it works.” Now you’re the one that won’t look him in the eyes. “My influence on you guys is still… weird to think about.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. Learning the existence of your free will was questionable at best was not a great feeling. “But you controlled everything we did, right?”

“Not necessarily!” You can feel the sweat dripping down your neck. “Talking to some of the others, maybe you guys could influence me, too? Like, Four said he felt scared during the final fight, and that’s the same time that I messed up with the controls!”

Sky hums, as if agreeing. It’s clear he doesn’t believe it.

“But you’re the one that made me jump off that post in Skyloft.” He says quietly. He’s not angry. He just seems sad, honestly. “And then… Fi was there all of a sudden? I can’t remember exactly. Everything seemed so… out of order?”

You swallow the glob of spit in your throat. He was talking about the Back in Time glitch. How did he even remember that? It requires two save files and to move around while in the menu.

“You remember that?” You yelp. “Shoot, I’m so, so sorry. That’s a glitch to make the game faster. I swear, I had known you weren’t just a video game I would have never-”

“It’s fine.” He interrupts, giving a weak smile. “I’m used to it.”

“Used to what?” You ask, but he walks away. He disappears between the trees, and you’re left staring at the empty clearing full of camping equipment.

“...Used to what?” You whisper to yourself.

Twilight

“Y’alright?” Twilight asks you. He’d found you a ways away from camp, curled up agains the side of a tree. You sniff, wiping your eyes but not meeting his gaze.

“Peachy,” you say sarcastically, but your voice cracks, and it sounds more pathetic than anything else. He sits down next to you.

“Rupee for your thoughts?” He smiles. When you don’t respond, he leans forward, trying to get a look at your face. “You know you can talk to me, right? Or I could be Wolfie, if that would be easier? Dog therapy is a thing right? Wolf therapy is just a few degrees removed from that.”

“Don’t go transforming for my sake.” You snicker, finally turning your head to look at him. Your eyes are red and puffy from crying. “It’s nothing. No need for you to get worked up over it.”

“It is very clearly not ‘nothing’.” His eyebrows furrow. “Did one of the others say something? I swear if Legend was giving you grief again–”

“No, nobody said anything. It’s just a lot of things, I guess…” You explain hesitantly. “Like, I got sucked through a random portal and suddenly a bunch of game characters are real. And what’s worse is the things I did in the game actually happened to them? Does that apply to every game I’ve played? What about when I stopped playing a game? Or deleted a save file?” You thread your fingers through your hair, feeling more tears threatening to spill out. How many deaths and traumas were your fault? How many lives have you ruined? 

“You couldn’t have known. Heck, WE didn’t know about you.” Twilight pats your back, bringing you back to reality.

“But didn’t you feel something was off? I was like,” you make claws with your hands, emphasizing your point “controlling you guys against your will or something.”

“Well, it was kinda weird when I stared at a rupee for fifteen hours straight.” He chuckles, “But like I said, you had no way of knowing. Nobody here blames you.”

“I’m pretty sure Wars hates me…”

“Well, he’s an asshole.” Twilight rolls his eyes. “I’ll give him a piece of my mind next time he’s bothering you, ya hear?”

“Okay,” you smile, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Legend

“Speedrunning? That sounds incredibly stupid.” Legend scoffs. You had tried explaining some of the strange things that he had encountered during his adventure, only to be made fun of. Honestly, you probably deserved it a little bit.

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing. People compete to get the fastest time, which usually requires glitches.” You chuckle nervously, scratching the back of your head.

“So you broke the very fabric of reality in order to win.” He raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t break reality!” You exclaim.

“I climbed up a ladder and just… kept going up, even when there wasn’t anything to climb on!” Legend throws his hands in the air. “I held a bomb above my head and floated across a room.”

“That’s not necessarily breaking reality,” you grimace. He’s honestly got a point, but you’re not about to concede like that. “People can fly. There’s a whole race of bird people called the Rito in the other timelines.”

“Do I look like a bird?” Legend motions to himself, showing off his very-much-not-a-bird-self. “You know what? Forget it. If all you’re going to do is make excuses, I’m done.”

He turns to walk away, but you grab his hand. His back is to you, so you can’t see his face. Hopefully he won’t hate you too much.

“Legend, I swear I would never have played the games if I knew I was messing with real people. I had no idea.” You sniff, tears threatening to fall. You’re so sick of this. You’re so sick of needing to explain this to them. “Your games were some of the first games I ever played. I remember coming back from school as a kid, excited to play them. I… I loved all the characters. I spent hours trying to find every side quest, trying to get everyone a happy ending. When I started speedrunning… I never could have known… I’m sorry.”

He turns around, his bangs half-covering his eyes. He looks ready to cry, too.

“You loved her too, huh?” He whispers, then laughs, regaining his composure and returning to the snarky Legend you know and love. “Just make sure you don’t, like, puppet me around now, alright? I can’t imagine what the others would do if I started backflipping through walls.”

You giggle at his annoyed expression. They were sure to be insufferable about it.

“Deal.”

[loganhowlettshousewife]

logan howlett x latina!reader

series masterlist - my masterlist

“i need to learn spanish,” logan says out of the blue as you’re carefully doing your makeup. he likes to watch you get ready in the mornings, and though you don’t understand his fascination with the process you’ve been doing for years, it’s nice to have him around.

“is there a reason for this?” you ask, trying not to allow the conversation to distract you from the task at hand. you’ve gotten good at this, at both getting ready and talking to him, having conversations about everything and nothing, the kind of conversations he would never have with anyone else.

you met logan a few months ago, when he accompanied a group of mutant kids to canada, almost dying in the process to save them. he’d been on the verge of death when you found him, skin sallow and pale from the intense blood loss, breathing ragged. it hits you sometimes how lucky you are to have found him in time, to have been able to bring him back to his daughter - every day you’re infinitely grateful.

he’s struggled to adapt to life here. eden, a sanctuary for mutants that reminds him a bit too much of the x-mansion, the place where everything in his life went wrong. where he’d let his guard down little by little, letting people see past his mask, making relationships only to watch them all die. he could do nothing to save them.

so he hardly interacts with anyone other than you and laura kinney, his daughter, though lately she’s decided she wants everyone to call her laura howlett. the look on logan’s face when he told you was one you’d never forget: joy and fear and confusion, adoration for his little girl tinged with the anxiety of knowing that anyone close to him usually suffered terribly.

“laura,” he grumbles, which is the answer you expected. despite living in mexico for quite a few years, he didn’t pick up much spanish, and certainly not enough to understand laura’s rapid-fire quips. “she always says shit in spanish when she doesn’t want me to know what she’s sayin’.”

you laugh. laura’s a bright kid, and it’s true that she enjoys insulting logan in spanish, but only at the same frequency as her english insults towards him. most of the time her spanish comments are neither good nor bad, just stream of consciousness comments. she enjoys logan’s frustration at not being able to understand her, so really it doesn’t matter what she says, just that he hears it.

“i can try to teach you,” you reply, “but i’ve never taught anyone a language before, so be warned i may not be good at it.”

“a lot of people here speak spanish. i didn’t ask them.” logan says, “you’re the only person i can stand bein’ around for more than a few minutes, so you got a better shot than anyone else.”

you feel a rush of giddy excitement flow through you in response to his words. it’s not a secret that you find logan horribly, unbearably attractive with his salt-and-pepper hair and his beard and his deep eyes and his arms and honestly you could spend hours listing every one of his attractive features.

the point is, you want to kiss him stupid, and with the way he lingers around you in moments like these, makeup half-done and your bedsheets still rumpled from sleep, makes you hope that he might feel the same. maybe spending more time together is just what you need to figure it out.

“we can start tomorrow.” you agree.

diversity december taglist: @raeinyourdreams @meetmypointlessaddiction @chubbyhedgehog @yxtkiwiyxt @isepod @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @deaky-with-a-c

latina reader: @naggywaggy @mami-veracruz @spencerswh0r3 @taextannie @gl1ndathegoodwitch @uncertified-doc

[mudinyourshoes]

I paused my FoF rewatch for My Journey to You but reading fanfics about FoF has me thinking about how tragic Wen Xiao’s ending is. When I watched it the first time, I was so focused on the tragedy of Bai Jiu, Pei Sijing being left alone, and how how happy I was that ZYC and ZYZ got a hopeful ending that I didn’t pay that much attention to Wen Xiao. But I keep coming back to how sad her ending is and maybe it doesn’t seem as sad as it actually is, at first, because nominally she got exactly what she wanted — the restored powers of the Baize Goddess. In fact…EVERYONE gets exactly what they wanted at the start:

Wen Xiao starts out seeking the Baize token and trying to make herself useful — at the end she is the fully restored Baize Goddess, very much alive and useful

ZYZ starts out wanting to die at ZYC’s hands — ends dying at ZYC’s hands

ZYC — wants to restore the Demon Hunting Bureau and kill ZYZ — ends with the Bureau restored and kills ZYZ

Pei Sijing — wants to solve the mystery of her brother death — solves it

Bai Jiu — wants to bring his mom back/find out what happened to her — brings her back

Ying Lei — wants to become a cook — becomes a cook

But as each character gets what they said they wanted, we see that their priorities have shifted and they are now focused on something else. This ranges from Bai Jiu, who is overjoyed that he succeeds in his original mission, but is now focused on saving his found family, to ZYZ, who doesn’t want to follow through on his original goal at all.

For Wen Xiao, like ZYZ and ZYC, getting what she originally wanted turns out to mean sacrificing her personal desires for the greater good. But unlike ZYZ and ZYC, who manage to duck out of their worst ending at the last minute, Wen Xiao is trapped by her fate as the Goddess without reprieve (as far as I can tell?! someone come tell me i'm wrong?!).

Not only does ZYC leave her and Wen Xiao leaves Pei Sijing, she also probably gives up her relationship with ZYZ (someone wrote a great meta about how she places her contract with ZYZ on the alter stone and this is her letting go of him and that only by releasing him in this way is he able to find his second chance with ZYC).

She ends the drama completely alone in the Wilderness, having lost everything she gained over the course of the drama except the token itself! It’s what she's been working towards the whole time and it’s only made possible by her selflessness and it’s a complete fucking tragedy!!

Wen Xiao’s selfless generosity is a dreadful and heart wrenching thing.

[divinitysotherside]

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

JUST WANT YOUR PUSSY !

ᯓ★ . “if i were a zombie, i’d never eat your brain, i just want your pussy ?”

pairing . choso kamo x reader

warnings . smut – mdni , choso and reader are both of age , zombie choso , zombie apocalypse , choso can control the fungus or something cause he’s a half curse , reader’s first time , mentions of overstimulation , pussyeating , established relationship

choso was still not back. he had just told you that he’ll look for food and other supplies you both need, but it’s been 4 hours, and he’s not back yet.

you look outside of the window of the house you and choso were staying in, seeing the horde of zombies roaming around. the apocalypse truly was brutal.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

after a few more hours of your anxiety kicking in, choso finally got back. “choso! i was worried sick!” you yell, pouncing on him playfully as he entered the house.

“sorry to worry you,” he smiled, caressing your back as you clung to him. “i needed to fight some zombies while coming back.”

you peppered his neck with kisses, making sure to hug him tightly, showing him just how much you missed him.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

it wasn’t until choso was alone in the bathroom, taking a shower, when he noticed the hidden bite on his arm.

shit, he was infected.

his discovery soon fell in vain, though, as he felt his mind going blank. “fuck,” he cursed, relief washing over him when his skin didn’t turn green.

maybe because he was a half–curse, who knows?

but he started drooling, and he knew he could only control his hunger for a while. so he hurriedly barged out of the bathroom, searching for you.

“my dear,” he called out, panting as he finally found you.

you look up at him, confused. “yes, choso?” you ask, tilting your head.

that was until you noticed him drooling, and he obviously looked like he was struggling or.. fighting something back. panting and everything.

“choso? are you okay?” you ask, concerned. standing up, you look into his eyes, examining him.

“n–no, you need to get out of here. i’m infected!” he blurted, stepping away from you. “i know i can.. only stop myself for a limited a–amount of time, so get out while you still...can!” he grits his teeth, obviously fighting the virus back.

“choso, no! i won’t leave you here! you think i’m gonna do that when we already did so much together!?” you ran over to him, pulling him in a tight embrace.

you know you should leave if you still wanna see another day, but fuck it, it’s either you die with choso or you won’t accept death.

“b–baby, leave, please..” choso murmurs, his hands tightening on your skin as he holds you. it’s clear that he can’t fight the virus anymore, but he tries.

“no, i won’t! i love you, choso, and i will prove that!” you cried, clinging onto him tightly. “you have already p–proved that to me!”

choso tries to push you off, but his attempts are futile, and he then starts to lose control, his mind going blank, his mouth drooling.

he then pushes you away, his force stronger than before. “c–choso, i’m not leaving—” you look up, seeing choso’s eyes, lacking irises. he looked messed up, and messed up bad.

the virus has taken its effect.

“shit,” you curse, switching up on yourself as you scan the room for nearby weapons. as you reach for your metal bat, choso grabs your arm, forcing you to look up at him.

“fuck off!” you barked, struggling as you try to hit him with your free hand, but he catches it again. his skin was still like before, and it’s probably because of his half-curse blood.

he pounces on you, making you fall to the floor with choso pinning your arms above your head. he was growling, already out of his mind as you look up at him, terrified at what happened to your lover.

“c–choso! get off!” you yell, but it reached deaf ears. “ choso ” was already out of his mind, and this was definitely not him.

“w–waant you,” he managed to grumble in a distorted voice—is he still there? can he fight the infection? “choso!? listen to me! g–get off!” but his grip only tightened, enough to leave bruises.

“sorry,” you hear him mutter as he leans down to bury his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. his warm tongue then drags along your soft flesh, from your neck, your collarbones, to just above your breasts.

“hungry,” choso whispers, one of his clawed hands coming up to rip your shirt off slowly, exposing your chest to his gaze. “c–choso..” you mumble, your breath hitching once his hand squeezes one of your tits.

his tongue then swirled on one of your nipples, before sucking on it fully. you watch as he continues to satisfy his "hunger", his iris-lacking eyes then dropping lower.

he leans down, his hands gripping your thighs as he positions himself—his face between your legs. “l–let me,” he growls, already burying his face in your panties.

as soon as you nod, he rips your panties off, licking your slit. he groans at your taste, determined to have more of you. he dives in, his tongue messily swirling your pussy in a desperate attempt to eat you out.

you moan, your hand flying to tangle itself in his hair, bucking your hips against his face. you bite your lower lip, the man—zombie between your legs beginning to enter your cunt via his tongue.

your legs trembled as you neared your orgasm, his tongue relentlessly licking up your juices caused your grip on his hair to tighten—moaning as you came.

and as choso hungrily takes everything you had to offer, he didn’t stop eating you out.

with a zombie that technically can go all night? good luck.

a/n . tysm for reading this fic ! i wasn’t able to post anything because our wifi went out for 5 days and i couldn’t post :(