#nothing really that intensely fucked up has happened yet but when it does rest assured there will be a content warning for the episode

[sniflig]

number 1 rule of ratr is to never ask me what my target demographic is. idk man anyone who will read really

[valeskakingdom]

since we were talking about candy in the groupchat, what about jerome and reader being at the circus or a festival and reader insisting on trying every candies and snacks? or maybe that would be jerome? haha (of course, ignore if you want to! :))

No it's alright! I think I do it before Jerome became crazy tho. Still I think I mention the abusive relationship and the big hatred Jerome feels for her. Get ready for a little surprise ahaha!

This time it's a very short one tho (my opinion)

Credit: @daily-joker

Jerome x Reader

Warnings: short mention of violence and abuse, otherwise none

Word count: 2139

It was 4ish in the afternoon.

You were excited - finally you see your lover again: the ginger circus boy Jerome Valeska. He meant everything to you, you couldn't without him. In your opinion you and him had almost the perfect relationship. You've never argued, you supported each other, helped each other... It was magical. Both of you, Jeromeor you, could never think it. You and arguing? About what? There was nothing to argue about. You know he would never cheat on you, nor would you. Your feelings for each other were way to strong.

But yes, as you've heard - your relationship was almost perfect.

The crux of the matter were your habits. You lived in a small apartment near the Narrows with a non exciting view to the outside - you just saw damaged houses, trash filled the streets, and just a few people walked outside.

And Jerome - he lived at the circus. Always travelling, always far away from you. Just at the beginning of spring you were able to see him, otherwise you were required to send letters - and you did it, day by day until you both knew everything about each other. You knew, he didn't like the circus - mainly because of his mother Lila Valeska, the snake dancer. In your opinion, she was a whore who abused his own flesh and blood. She was beating Jerome, yelling and punishing him for nothing. It made you cry, thinking your love of your life was living in such horrible conditions. Several times you offered him to live with him but he always declined. He said if he left his mum would find him and kill him. Then you offered him to move to the circus but even that he declined. He said he couldn't forgive himself if his mother laid a finger on you - kind of understandable.

***

You made your way quick to the circus. You didn't want to waste your time, you couldn't wait any longer to see you. You wanted to hug him, kiss the shit outta him, wanted to smell on his cologne that smelled like a mix of candies and the classy men perfume. It satisfied all your senses, you were literally addicted to it.

After you quickly parked in front of the circus, you made your way fast to enter it. You didn't even need to buy a ticket, every artist knew you as Jerome pretty little doll. That was the nickname he usually gave you when he was non stop talking about you.

On the entrance, you saw the Ringmaster seemingly looking for something. His head permanently moved from one side to another and he had a questioning look on his face. It changed though as he saw you. A little smile went over his face and waved at you, he had some empathy for you which was not natural.

"Great to see you (Y/n)."

"Thank you," you gave him a warm smile "Was just looking for Jerome."

"Might be in his trailer. Probably arguing with his mother again. I heard them yelling." He shrugged clueless.

You just sighed in response, you knew what that meant. You'd find Jerome being beaten up in his room, his pretty face was covered in bruises and he'd try to overplay everything although he'd love to cry into your shoulder.

Immediately, you made your way to his trailer, almost running. You hoped he was fine and nothing that bad has happened yet.

Your feeling was wrong.

You saw him sitting in front of the trailer. He was crawled into himself like a little girl that was scared of getting punched but one of its parents again - what a cliche.

You couldn't see whether he was crying yet or not - you just hoped he didn't.

You hope was all gone as you came nearer, you heard him sobbing and sniffing. Fuck, you thought. Your felt sorry for him, you couldn't stand him being so sad. It made you sad, you just wanted to cry. You couldn't see him like that. Your heart felt heavy, breathing became a burden, pins and needles were all over your skin, tears were built up in your eyes at you were trying to hold back.

"Jerome-" Your breathe hitched as he looked up at you - his eyes were puffy and red from crying and his face...oh lord. He had a black eye, a red swollen lip with a bloody cut You almost didn't date to ask. You knew he didn't like taking about it "Wha-what has happened?"

"Had a little argument with my mum and her one off bozo." He shrugged sniffing and looked at the ground.

You couldn't understand Lila, you couldn't understand anybody who ever abused someone like that. Did they have fun destroying someone's life?! Did she love seeing her son hurt?

Saying nothing you took a seat next to him. You took his hand tangling your fingers in your and rubbed circles with your thumb slowly as you rested your head on his shoulder. You tried to calm him down with that. You knew words were useless. You could start this typical encouragement like everything's gonna be better bla bla. You and he knew it was not true and making him falso hope wouldn't help at all.

You both said nothing for a while. You gave him time to clear his head that he could calm down. You didn't want to annoy him with any stupid words or thoughts as well.

"I wanna kill her." Jerome said all of a sudden "She should feel the pain she causes me."

You gulped in surprise. You've never heard him saying like this before, he sounded so serious about it what kinda scared you. Was he serious about it? No he wasn't, right? Jerome was too adorable to be a criminal. He was surely just upset about the stuff his mother does to him and he doesn't know what he's sayinh.

"I just can offer you to stay with me, Jerome. You'd be save, no mother, no violent bozos. There'd be just you and me."

"Soon I will. I promise." He wiped his tears from his cheeks.

"Just say a word and I help you packing." You just kissed his cheek give him a little smile. It was the first time he said this. Now you were assured he really wanted to do all these things you've planned once: Living together, a wedding, kids.

Jerome looked at you now. His gaze met yours, a small smile was built up in his actually face. He was relieved. He was thankful you offered him a place to say although the he permanently denied it. He was thankful to have you by his side. You were his only supporter, and the most intense one.

"I love you," Jerome grabbed your cheeks softly and pulled you into a deep kiss. You couldn't help but smile as your lips touched softly.

"I love you, too." You said against his lips with a smile making him smile, too. You were thinking now. What could you do to make him feel better? Sex was no option for you - well, not right now. You wanted to give him the feeling of freedom, that he could do what he wanted or that he could be a normal teenager like you. You wanted to do something stupid with him. Something like buying tons of food like trying to win the biggest soft animal or taking silly photos of each other. You just wanted to see him happy again.

Then you had an idea.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him after you while you both stood up. Probably that was gonna be one of your most stupid ideas but it was fun. It was childish. Maybe he would even call you dumb but you didn't care. You just wanted to make him love and letting him forget all his problems.

"What are you doing?" Jerome frowned as he wiped the last few tears out of his face.

"I wanna cheer you up, silly." You giggled and kept walking "Have you ever eaten every sort of candies here Or every snack you can buy here?"

"What?"

"Yes or no?"

"Uhm...no? What are you-..."

"Time for changes." You smirked "We now go buy every single candy and every kind of fast food they offer here. Then we go out anywhere and eat them all up and vote what's the best and the worst one."

"Are you serious?" Jerome asked on disbelief.

"I'm anything but joking." You stopped walking giving him a stern look "So you're in?"

"I don't know," Jerome shrugged with a sigh "I'm just not in the mood for anything."

Instead of saying something, you pulled him into a tight hug and buried your face into the crook of his neck. At first, he didn't hug you back, just stood there; sad, unmotivated, pissed. You didn't mind about it. You could understand how he felt. Being beaten up and insulted almost every day had to be horrible. It was a living hell.

After a few minutes though, you felt Jerome slowly wrapping his arms around. His head was leaned against yours, one of his hands was placed on the back of your head and his fingers were tangled in your hair. You felt how he pulled you more against him. He needed you, more than before - more than anything right now.

"I hate seeing you like that, Jerome." You mumbled "I just want you to be happy or at least forget all these bad things for a moment. I know it's hard, but I just wanna help you, okay?"

"I know...thank you for that." Jerome kissed your head, then looked at you giving you a little smile making you smile, too.

"Anytime for you," You pecked his lips "So...does that mean you're in?"

"Do we really have to eat all candies?"

"Yes! That's the fun on it," You chuckled "How about we rate the candies? Criteria are taste and consistence. C'mon that'll be fun!"

"Fineee." He rolled his eyes with a slight laughter. You were glad. You were glad seeing him smiling, hearing him laughing a little. His eyes weren't full of tears anymore, he didn't look sad not like he was about to have a nervous break down. He looked like the funny and happy Jerome you got to know.

***

"What about Twinkies?" You ask as you and Jerome took a bite in it as you both sat n the back seats of your car. You really did it. You bought every candy that existed at the circus. Pop tarts, Nerds, Sour Patch, Twizzlers...everything.

In your eyes it was a good idea doing that. Not because you were obsessed with candies, you just wanted to distract Jerome - and it worked. He was laughing more, he was making jokes, making you smile. Exactly how you wanted it.

"I would say...hm...taste is 7 out of 10, consistence 8." Jerome said thinking "Makes 7.5"

"I agree," You said giving him the cotton candy "Now let's try this." You both took a bite in it.

"Taste is 8 out of 10, consistence is...6."

"Really? Just a 6? It's an 8 as a minimum." You frowned in disbelief. He can't be serious, can he?

"It's too fibrous."

"Well, that's the sense of cotton candy." You rolled your eyes "You aren't a cotton candy type, are you?"

"I just don't like this one. Its just made bad," He grabbed the pop tarts opening them "Now let's try these." And again you both took a bite in it.

"Fight me but 10 out of 10! Both criteria!" You insisted instantly.

"Agreed." Jerome nodded "I think they are my favorites."

"Hm," You pursed your lips thinking "I can't decide between Twizzlers and Pop Tarts." You really couldn't. You loved the frosted chocolate in Pop Tarts, and oh the cookie! The cookie was amazing. But Twizzlers... You loved the strawberry flavor. It was perfect! Not too sour, not too sweet, not bitter. Both were your favorite flavors.

"Let's try them again." Jerome eagerly grabbed the Twizzlers pack and ate some "Definitely Pop Tarts."

"Are you sure? They are both so... delicious and-..."

"I'm more than sure," Jerome interrupted me with a slight chuckle "Trust me, Pop Tarts are the best."

"Okay fine, Pop Tarts are the winner." You smirked eating up the rest of Pop Tarts. You admitted, he was right. Pop Tarts ARE the best.

"By the way," Jerome started scratching his head "Thank you."

"Anytime." you smiled kissing his soft and red lips. You accomplished what you wanted - he was happy again because of your silly idea "And next time we rate fast food."

"I'm in."

[chainhead]

ink

leon has tattoos. ethan was never informed.

leon/ethan. mild swearing. smug leon, done-with-life ethan. fluffy!

It's fine. It's fine. This is totally fine.

Is it weird? Is he weird? God, he must be weird. It's nothing to get this riled up over, yet here he is, peeking over at Leon every now and then to catch a quick glimpse of the ink that spirals up his forearm.

Ethan bites his lip. Twirls the pen in his hand and clicks the button on top a few times, his desk work momentarily forgotten.

No, this isn't normal. Then again, neither is Leon with tattoos, so how is one supposed to think? React? He's been pretty good about hiding his (admittedly disturbing) attraction to the special agent; but things like this… well, they're on the same level as glasses, or piercings. A small change that—for a select few—can turn their entire world on an axis.

How far up do they go?

Does he have more?

When did he get them, and what do they symbolize?

"Ethan?"

The blonde startles, blue eyes flickering up in embarrassment.

Leon blinks at him. "What's your damage?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. "Nothing, sorry. Just a little spacey… today."

"I'll say."

Ethan hurriedly scoots closer to his desk, quickly turning his attention back to the papers that scatter across it. He isn't even sure what he's supposed to be doing with these, or why he even got assigned to deal with them, but if things keep going the way they are, he's gonna be here all fucking night.

Ethan frowns. And then he hesitates, realization dawning on him slowly that… hey, doesn't Leon work crazy late hours, too?

No.. no, no. He's on the clock. He needs to pay attention…

"Ethan." It isn't a question this time. Ethan meets Leon's gaze with a sheepish expression, and the other man draws his brows together. "Seriously, what's going on with you?"

How does one go about confessing their guilty, weird, quid-pro-quo attraction to their superior without coming off as a freak? Better yet, how does one go about it without getting fired? Ethan feels a cold sweat prickle beneath the collar of his button-up.

I like you. I like you. I like you.

"I like…" It's like there's a solid chunk of ice stuck in his throat. "Well, I mean, your… you know."

Leon's look of concern quickly shifts into one of bewilderment. "No?" He says, real slow-like. "I don't know."

Ethan wants to die.

"It's just…"

The atmosphere in the room shifts. Ethan's hands are clammy and cold and he regrets even opening his mouth; wishing he could've just opted to say that he feels sick and his head hurts, and maybe even take the rest of the night off so he could reflect on all of this – perhaps over a nice glass of red wine. Instead, because he's terrible at socializing and even worse at socializing with Leon, he's currently staring the agent down with terror flashing in his eyes.

Leon doesn't say anything, but it's obvious that he's dying to get this over with, just like Ethan is.

"Y– you can't get mad," Ethan stammers, clenching his fingers.

More silence.

Ethan sighs. Then, finally, he lays down his cards with a quiet, "Your tattoos."

Leon tilts his head. "... Mine?" He asks, a bit delayed, and Ethan has never wanted to evaporate into thin air more than he does right now.

"Yeah."

"Like, the ones on my arms?" Leon rotates his wrists, glancing down at his own artwork. 

"Yeah."

"Ah." 

Great. When should he start packing up his belongings? Now? Tomorrow? There's a spare produce box in the break room, and he only has a couple of personal items on his desk. His name placard, a picture of his childhood dog, a cup full of pens he got on clearance at Staples…

Although Ethan doesn't get to stand up or prepare before Leon is speaking again, his voice surprisingly nonchalant. 

"And...?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. That's a good question. "They're… distracting me?" Vague enough to keep matters civil. He can do this. "And that's why I'm a little… slow, today. I think. Because they're doing that. Distracting me, I mean."

Leon hums, acknowledging that he heard Ethan's answer. He waits, silent until Ethan manages to scrounge up the courage to meet him eye-to-eye, and then he laughs.

There's something to be said about the way in which Leon handles all things; from topics as serious as bioweapons wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townhomes, to things like this – Ethan admitting he's intrigued by the older man's ink. He's good at finding the balance while still remaining cool and collected, and that's a trait Ethan's always admired.

Because, sadly, he cannot do that.

"I knew there was something about you, Winters," Leon says jovially, as if he's uncovered some grand secret. He leans back in his chair, pushes himself a little further away from his desk, and says: "Do you want to come have a better look?"

Ethan nearly chokes on his spit. "W– wh– what?"

Leon's grin widens. He's enjoying this. "I can't have distractions in the workplace. So if you're curious, and think it might help you refocus, I implore you to get your ass over here and take a gander."

The blonde flusters, his lips screwing into a scowl. Implore. What did this guy know about words like that?

Regardless, he still obediently gathers himself to his feet, taking the necessary steps to close the distance between him and Leon. The fine hairs on the back of Ethan's neck stand at attention, and he's acutely aware of the personal bubble he is now officially bursting— not that Leon seems to notice, or mind.

Infact, the only thing he does when Ethan comes to stand beside his chair is jut both arms out, letting Ethan do whatever he likes.

Instinctively, Ethan grabs them. Then panics, because holy shit, he's touching Leon fucking Kennedy. Then double panics, because why did he do that? Why is he still doing it right now?

"Uh…"

"You just wanted to hold hands?"

"N– no!" Ethan exclaims, immediately letting go. Leon bursts out into full-bellied laughter, and the blonde has to take a deep breath before he passes out from his nerves. "Jesus, Leon, I– I was trying to bring them a little closer."

"Oh right, the bad eyesight," Leon drawls. "I forgot you wear glasses sometimes. Near-sighted?"

"Far-sighted. Now shut up and let me look," Ethan snaps, finding his second wind. He reaches for Leon's arms again and finds relief in how the older man wordlessly obliges; giving Ethan the opportunity to twist his arms and inspect the patterns that dance across them. It's not a situation Ethan could've expected, or even predicted, but Leon's right about one thing—this is definitely scratching that terrible itch he feels, somewhere deep down. No more needing to sneak creepy, uncomfortable glances to figure out what they are.

However, he'll always wonder where the tattoos lead. And how many more of them Leon has, hidden underneath all those layers of fabric.

"I see." Ethan nods, smiling faintly as he releases his grip again. "They're cool, I wasn't expecting you to have them. Then again, I've never seen you wear anything other than long sleeves."

Leon quirks a brow. "You pay attention?"

Ethan's smile drops. "Oh. I mean, not in like– not in a weird way, that isn't what—"

There's the sound of a scoff, and then Leon's hands are on Ethan's wrists, gently pulling him down to his level. The blonde stumbles forwards and catches himself with a knee on Leon's chair, and the situation is so intense and utterly stifling that Ethan has to rear away with his eyes narrowed in firm on the office door.

"Ethan," Leon coos.

The blonde makes a noncommittal sound in his throat. 

"Ethan, c'mon, look at me."

There's no way this is happening right now. No feasible way. He must be dreaming.

Ethan registers with rapt attention as Leon let's go of his wrists in favor of bringing both hands up to cup his cheeks, and whether Ethan wants to submit or not isn't really an option anymore. Determinedly, the older man coaxes him to meet his gaze again.

"Shy?" Leon teases, and then quickly changes his tune when Ethan struggles in his grasp. "Okay, okay, I was just kidding! Damn."

"Leon—"

"Hold on for a second, sweetheart. I've got a few things on my mind." Ethan's face burns as he tries to process this, process the feel of Leon's touch as it sears itself into his memory. His heart pounds so fiercely in his chest he fears that Leon can feel it, but if he does, he doesn't comment.

Leon brushes his thumbs over Ethan's cheekbones. "You thought I'd be mad?"

"It's... unprofessional," Ethan breathes.

"What is?" Leon asks. His eyes are so blue. "Wanting to see my tattoos?"

Ethan nods. Leon snickers, pulling him that much closer, and the blonde is enveloped in the smell of bergamot and gunpowder and something spicy like sage, and… what was the question again? He can't think clearly when he can feel Leon's words flit across his lips.

"The only 'unprofessional' thing I see is the subordinate about to climb into his boss's lap," Leon murmurs with a wry smile. Ethan lets out a small gasp, jolting, and Leon makes sure he doesn't slip away. "Woah, hey! I never said I didn't like it."

"L– Leon, I don't understand what's…" Ethan stutters, shivering, feeling the traces of electricity that follow Leon's fingertips. He doesn't know whether to lean into him or settle his entire weight on top of Leon, so to play it safe, he refrains from doing either.

The agent takes a moment, eyes sweeping over Ethan's features, before letting out a soft exhale. "Well, now you've seen them. I hope that helped you find some kind of clarity..."

Not even a little bit, Ethan thinks miserably.

"... But it'll probably kill you to know that there's more than just this, and I can assure you, they are much more interesting." Leon chuckles as he tugs the blonde in one last time, and kisses him, right on the corner of his mouth.

"Still distracted?" He whispers.

Ethan can't even think of a proper reply. His brain has turned to mush.

"You…"

"Mm?"

Ethan sucks in a deep breath. "You're a fucking asshole."

Leon throws his head back and laughs, and when he recovers Ethan is already swooping in for another kiss. To hell with professionalism.

[yoonpobs]

things change | jhs

pairing: jung hoseok x oc

genre: FLUFFFFFF, established relationship

words: 3, 377

summary: when you're an unlikely pair but it works

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you weren’t with her?” Yoongi slurs, his alcohol breath apparent enough for Hoseok to scrunch in his direction.

Hoseok knew, though. What he meant. Drunk Yoongi got sentimental and curious, two perceptions that were dangerous independently and possibly collateral together.

“I don’t.” Hoseok shrugs.

Because being with you was the best thing that’s happened to him and he would be a crazy man to ever put himself through the angst of imagining a world that he was Jung Hoseok without you by his side. It was cheesy and he was sure if he said it to your face you’d groan and shove him by the shoulder. But he’s always been observant and he’d be the first to see the way your eyes soften in a way that no one else can notice but him.

“I do.” Yoongi snorts.

Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” He’s careful with his words because Yoongi was no snitch, even if he was absolutely wasted. But Hoseok can’t say his interest isn’t piqued. Especially when he surrendered himself to the DD (designated driver) of the group.

“It’s just”—Yoongi sighs, sitting up and his drink sloshes in his cup when he places it onto the table—“I’ve said this before and you’ve probably heard this a thousand times but the two of you are so different.”

Hoseok remains silent but doesn’t do anything to give away the thoughts floating through his mind. He was half-expecting the same words to leave his friend's mouth, but having it be confirmed only makes Hoseok internalise his sighs.

“Yeah. You and every person who’s seen the two of us together.” Hoseok grunts.

“Look. I know you hate it when people point it out.” Yoongi says. “And I’m not here to tell you what you already know and on a fundamental level, we both know that the birds of a feather flock together bullshit is redundant and unrealistic. It’s just that every time I see the two of you together—it works. And it’s bewildering maybe because I can’t ever imagine _____ letting you win an argument.”

Hoseok blinks. “She doesn’t.”

Yoongi snickers, throwing the last bit of his drink down his throat before leaning back into the plush booth of the club they were at.

When Jin suggested throwing a bachelor party at one of the hottest nightclubs in Seoul, Yoongi and Hoseok almost ditched purely because the two of them had girlfriends and they didn’t really want to hear the end of the story if a stripper suddenly thought they were free game for the night.

Frankly, Yoongi’s girl was far more possessive but she was sweet. She just didn’t like it when people were actively trying to sleep with her boyfriend.

You, on the other hand, were simply unbothered. It wasn’t because you didn’t care—because you did. Hoseok knew that even if you’d roll your eyes at him when he’d joke about going to a strip club with the boys. But you weren’t insecure, and that wasn’t to say that women who were outwardly concerned were. You were just assured, and you made an effort to let Hoseok know that he needed you as much as you needed him—so anything he did wouldn’t just hurt you, but him too.

“It’s just that you’re basically the most cheerful dude I know and I don’t think I’ve seen you ever frown at anyone. Even the barista who fucked up our order four times.” Yoongi recalls. “Then there’s ____ who’s resting face literally is a big fuck you to anyone who breathes in her direction.”

Hoseok snorts, sipping his virgin cocktail. Even if he wasn’t the DD, he couldn’t do alcohol so the minty flavour of his drink was a night refresher for a tiring night (though he spent it just moping in his seat while the rest of his single friends partied away).

“I get mad too.” Hoseok shrugs.

“Yeah. Barely. Even then—you’re the most diplomatic person I know and you have a way of talking to people to get your point across without making them fear for their lives the next morning.” Yoongi deadpans.

“And sometimes diplomacy isn’t necessary.” Hoseok retorts.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I’m not shitting on your girlfriend. You don’t need to play social justice warrior here.”

Hoseok sighs before leaning back, mirroring the man spread Yoongi was in while he ponders his next set of words carefully.

Yoongi was probably one of the most chill people Hoseok knows, and maybe that was why they got along so well. Yoongi was a take-no-shit kind of man who was truly sensitive under all the intimidating layers he showed the world. Hoseok was just nice, but he was no pushover. It was a good balance that came out when necessary.

So Hoseok didn’t want to rub Yoongi the wrong way and tell him to stop talking about petty differences between him and you but also wanted to satiate the curiousity that lingers in his eyes.

“I know,” Hoseok says. A girl nearly topples into their booth but Hoseok spots his younger friend Taehyung grabbing her by the waist and shooting the two men a sleazy wink before he stalks off with her in his arms. Yoongi rolls his eyes but Hoseok can’t even be bothered.

“I mean,” Yoongi drawls. “Based on what you told me I know that the two of you don’t even want the same things in the future. And again—not saying there’s anything wrong with that—but didn’t you want kids for the longest time?”

Hoseok nods his head, deciding against his words.

Yoongi clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, nodding slowly as if he was processing Hoseok’s words.

“How did that … do you still want kids?”

“I want what _____ wants.”

Yoongi groans. “You sound like a total pushover.”

Hoseok levels a strict stare onto his friend, and even if Yoongi was older—there was something about a man who never got angry shooting him an intense stare that could make Yoongi zip his mouth.

“And kids aren’t endgame to a relationship. I love her, and yeah—I want kids. But she’s important to me and she’s here now. There isn’t a reason for me to condemn her or push her for a future that doesn’t exist yet. She’s the one carrying the baby for nine months and it’s her decision whether or not we have kids. Whether or not a kid comes along doesn’t matter to me because I’m with her because I love her and not because of a kid that isn’t real.”

Yoongi blinks. Then he huffs a breath out before letting out a low chuckle.

“Wow.”

“I know you don’t mean any harm but I don’t need to explain to anyone why _____ and I work so well together. But because you’re my best friend and you get oddly sentimental when you’re drunk I’ll spell it out for you and you better hope you’re sober enough to remember this tomorrow because I won’t repeat it again.” Hoseok says firmly.

Yoongi’s eyes widen at the serious tone Hoseok shifted to and observes the way Hoseok looks stern yet … soft, all at the same time.

“_____ is tough. In more ways than her exterior. She knows what she wants and what she’s ready for. And it was a goddamn miracle that she decided that what she wants and what she’s ready for was me. Yeah, she’s terrifying but she’s human—her heart is still pure and she’s a kind woman—person. Sure she’s systematic and needs an answer for everything but I’m her boyfriend and I’ll make sure that I can give her all the answer she needs to feel safe in this relationship. And yeah—we may not want the same things. She doesn’t want to get married but I do. But marriage isn’t endgame to me. She is. She wanted to move in together but I was iffy about it. So we live apart. That doesn’t change the nature of our love and she still loves me even if all I do is annoy her. So yeah. I’m willing to compromise and so is she. We’re different but we’re together.”

Hoseok is still calm as ever and there’s even a hint of a small smile on his face. The fact he’s smiling only testifies to the fact that you and Hoseok were so different from each other.

Yoongi is stunned to silence and sure he’s a quiet man but he usually had things to say, opinions to add. But Hoseok’s proclamation of your love only makes him sit in silence, letting the words dissipate in the atmosphere but remain in his conscience.

“Wow,” Yoongi repeats his words from earlier, but it’s all he can muster up.

Hoseok offers his friend a kind smile, sipping the rest of his drink while his friend can only stare at his nonchalant demeanour.

“And if you still don’t see it.” Hoseok grins. “There’s a reason why you don’t. I’m the only one that gets to fall in love with her like this.”

Yoongi whistles lowly before rolling his eyes. “No need to get possessive.”

“I’m a man in love. Sue me.” Hoseok shrugs with a slight smirk.

Yoongi gags at the cheesiness even if he finds himself internally grinning at his best friends blatant love for his girlfriend. He was sure it was the alcohol that was making him mushy—or perhaps Hoseok has always looked the way he did when he spoke about you. Eyes bright under dark lights and the heart-shaped smile of his becoming wider.

“If it counts for anything …” Yoongi trails off, offering a lazy smile to Hoseok. “I really hope she does marry you.”

Hoseok scoffs at Yoongi’s blatant optimism. Sure, he wanted that. He wanted nothing more than to see you in white, smiling only at him—or even with your usual stoic face—he doesn’t care. But he knew that the event itself would never change the fact that he wanted to be with you, now and forever. If fate wills, he’d marry you in a heartbeat. But Hoseok was content—and more importantly, he was in love.

“It doesn’t. But thanks.”

extra scene

“Hi, my love and my absolute sunshine.” Hoseok coos the next morning, and that’s the first thing he says when you open the door to your apartment; eyes already rolling to the back of your head.

“Did you do anything to piss me off?” You ask dryly.

Hoseok snickers, but pulls you in by your shoulders to give you a wet smooch to your lips that has you whining. You don’t push him away because you knew it was just the two of you and possibly one of your snooping neighbours.

“As you love to remind me during arguments—my existence is enough to do that, no?”

You nod your head, patting him gently on the cheek as you offer a half-hearted smile. “I’m glad you’re on the road to self-actualisation.”

Your boyfriend snorts, stepping into your apartment as he makes sure to leave his shoes on the shoe rack instead of idly laying on the floor because you were anal about things like that. And he missed you so he didn’t want you shooting him death stares just yet.

“You keep me on my feet.” Hoseok flirts, tone a little sleazy and you can’t help but sigh at your boyfriend's antics even though a hint of a smile marks your face.

When Hoseok settles into your couch, he immediately spots a wrapper that looked like it went into gift boxes—a pretty shade of green, which was his favourite colour. He immediately leans forward and eyes it with furrowed brows before looking up at you.

“My pretty baby got me a gift?” He wiggles said brows as you scoff at him, plopping into the seat next to him as you lean into his embrace.

“See for yourself.” You shrug, face still remaining blank.

Hoseok chuckles, already expecting your reaction even though everything about the placement of the wrapper to the strategic colour scheme of it screamed a gift for Hoseok. He knew you still got flustered when you did nice things for him, even if he’d argue that was on a daily basis because you were just a loud lover in a way that let your actions speak for your affection.

He wants to coddle you further, snuggle you so hard that you’d whine and attempt to shove him away until you decide that you secretly love it and hold him tight. He was so in love. But he placates the shift of your knee in a way he knew was due to your patience wearing thin.

So, he picks up the wrapper and realised that it was much lighter than he’d expected; and lacked the density of a usual present. It almost seemed like you were pulling a prank on him for no apparent reason. But Hoseok trusted you and knew that you weren’t the type to pull shit like that because you just had better things to do.

He unravels each crevice, eyes still searching for the gift that somehow never comes—all until he finally settles on a stick that he vaguely recognises from pharmacies that he never thought would be in his hands, staring up at him with two straight lines.

The silence is loud, but Hoseok is stunned. His mouth falls agape as he cradles the pregnancy test in his palm, eyes not bothering to look at your nervous expression. One that rarely comes from you just because you were an assured person in general and seldom needed validation from others.

But you loved Hoseok and you knew deep down that he’d always have an effect on you, words or actions—presence or not.

“Hobi?” You call softly, voice nervous as you fiddle with the hem of his shirt as he blankly stares at the test.

You’re terrified you made a mistake—or if he’s changed his mind because of your pessimism on the idea of having children. Sometimes you wonder how Hoseok could love you, all edges and harsh lines when you spoke. A woman who was either black and white or purely a grey area. Hoseok was the rainbow on dark days and brightened any environment.

You can’t read Hoseok’s face, and it scares you. Because you usually can since he was an open book. So when he finally turns to you, and you finally get a proper glimpse of his expression—

First, you see tears.

“I-Is this …?” He chokes.

Your eyes widen, immediately reaching out to cradle his cheeks as an involuntary reaction.

“Why are you crying?” You feel yourself tearing up and you try to suppress it. There was something about you being so connected to Hoseok and his feelings that made everything he felt translate to your own conscience.

“Y-You—I-I—you’re pregnant?” He whispers, eyes returning to the stick.

You nod your head slowly. “I am.”

Hoseok nibbles on his lips and you wait patiently for his next response. You can more or less guess that he’s happy yet confused, the conversation of potentially having kids never really showing any progress. But he’s been patient and so loving—and you thought you’d never shake but here you were.

The next thing you know, Hoseok is wrapping his arms around you so tightly that it hurts as you try to gasp for air. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck in a way that makes all your edges turn round, and your heart melt from the stone wall it was into a flurry of emotions that only he can bring out of you.

“We’re going to have a baby?” He asks softly, pulling away to clasp his palms around your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

“We are.” You reply, equally as soft; eyes and tone. “You’re going to be a father, Hobi.”

And somehow, that breaks him. He can’t stop the tears nor can you. So you allow him to cry, and you allow yourself to feel too; holding each other close as you feel his hand reach out for your stomach. And you can’t deny the butterflies that erupt.

When he manages to regain his composure, wiping at his eyes; he looks at you so earnestly and gives you a wide smile that drew you in from the moment you met, and grown to love.

“You really want this?” He asks, eyes concerned but tone irrevocably gentle. You knew he wasn’t doubting your choices, but respecting them.

You nod your head.

“For the longest time … I thought kids weren’t for me. That I wouldn’t be a good mother because of how I am.” You tell him, and you see Hoseok’s eyebrows furrow and you know he’s thinking about denying that. But Hoseok has never been the type to interrupt you while talking. “And maybe I won’t be, maybe I will. But having you here with me just reassures me to know that our baby will have the greatest, most loving and most patient father out there.”

Hoseok’s eyes soften, knowing how big of a decision this must’ve been for you.

“I love you.” He whispers when he leans in to give you a slow kiss on your lips, one that wasn’t leading anywhere but was nice enough to feel the emotions pouring through.

You don’t say it back, but you look at him with gentle eyes that only he can recognise—and he knows. He knows your heart like you know his.

“You’ve compromised a lot of things for me, and I know I’m particular about many things. I have a plan ten years down the road of where I’d like to be in my life—and I never thought I’d be planning with a kid in mind.” You chuckle softly, and Hoseok pulls you closer so that you’re resting your head against his chest. “But you make me want to do things I’ve never done. And I really—I really want this baby. I want him or her to grow up thinking about how badass their parents were even though their mom is a total bitch and their dad is the mediator of the family.”

Hoseok snorts, brushing his hands through your hair.

“How long?” He asks.

You grin against his t-shirt, not looking up when you fiddle with the fabric of it.

“I’ve been feeling symptoms for a month now, and the test was from a week ago. I went to the doctor to be sure because I knew from the moment I suspected it that I wanted it to be true, for you, for me—for us.”

Hoseok tilts your chin up, offering you the smile you love so much and you feel so … happy.

“Next thing you know I’ll have you walking down the aisle.” Hoseok sighs, happy and content.

You roll your eyes, narrowing it at him as you push on his chest to sit up.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jung.”

Hoseok wraps his hand around the back of your neck before pulling you close to meet your lips again.

“Let a man dream.” He grins against the kiss.

He can feel your giggle and the way you do the thing that you do when you’re secretly ruffled but adore him way too much to pull away.

“You know this means we have to move in together, right?” You murmur against his lips.

Hoseok snorts. “Duh. But you know you already have a home in my heart, right?”

You expected it, but it doesn’t make it any less cheesy when you groan and shove at his chest. Hoseok cackles, fully loving the way you scrunch your eyebrows in distaste at him.

“I hate you.” You scowl.

“No, you don’t.” Hoseok sings, resting his head against your shoulder while he looks up at you with innocent eyes.

You’re happy, and so is he.

And a few months down the road, Hoseok drops a ring into your palm, no words or expectations. You roll your eyes, as usual; but you slip it onto your ring-ringer anyways.

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

50 or 33 with jmart for the smooch prompt list :mimhonk.emoji:

#33 - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it, and #50 - A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck. POR QUÉ NO LOS DOS!

thank you tem!!! :D I had a lot of fun with this one, and because of that it also got Long As Fuck so bear with me on that. Set in the safehouse also! Hope you enjoy ^_^

It’s been a very, very good day at the safehouse. The Lonely has been quiet, lurking almost entirely out of sight rather than clinging onto the both of them, and Martin’s been relaxed and open, happy in a way Jon hasn’t honestly seen him in months. The Eye has been quiet as well, and even Jon’s pain levels have been down today - no small miracle given the chilly weather - and it feels like a day for new beginnings, a day for truths.

So, “I missed you,” is what tumbles out over dinner, over beans and soup and tea.

Jon hears Martin’s breath catch before he sees it, before he looks up to see the stunned smile that takes over his face. “I missed you too,” he replies softly, and Jon pretends not to hear the crack in his voice where the unused muscle of emotion splits the air.

Jon holds his gaze for an admirable amount of time, but even he wavers. He’s never been a brave man, and he looks down at the table before speaking. “There were spiders, while you were gone,” Jon begins, tracing a finger along the grain of the table. “God, I really should have gotten more in the business of squishing them.”

“Yeah?” Martin offers, encouraging. The anecdote feels clumsy, foolish, but Martin is laying a hand across the table to show his patience, and Jon is grateful.

“I never quite could make myself do it though, I guess I just-” He trails off, starts a new thread of the story. “They always made me think of you, in a way. You always cared so much about all the little things. Always insisted on carrying them out. Dreadful things that still deserved kindness in your eyes.” Like me, he doesn’t add. “I always admired that about you. So I didn’t squish them as much.” He finishes clumsily, glancing up with a flash of his eyes before looking down at the table again to pick at the grain of the wood.

Martin blinks at him. Stares at him in silence for what Jon can only assume is an eternity, until he has to look up and make sure he’s still there. And then Martin stands, tea forgotten, maneuvers himself around the table, and darts in and presses his lips to Jon’s.

It only lasts for a moment - half a heartbeat of a touch - but it’s warm and vulnerable and a bit awkward and it sends Jon’s eyes flying wide open in shock.

Martin pulls back just as quickly as he had dived in, retreating so fast he bumps into the nearby counter, his eyes widening, and the first thing out of his mouth is “Oh, shit.”

Jon can’t blame him, he’s utterly dumbstruck himself. His head feels pleasantly fuzzy, but confusion swims up to trump every other emotion until the only thing he’s able to push out of his lungs is; “I- excuse me?”

Martin blinks, his panic floundering in confusion. “I- sorry, excuse you for what?”

Jon’s brows furrow together as he tries to piece his thoughts together. “You... don’t,” he says like it’s obvious, and then hesitates. “I-I mean, you- you said... you did, but not... so why-” Jon looks hopelessly out of his depth as he gestures, not making sense. “Why did you do that?”

Martin stares, the tips of his ears burning dark red. “I don’t what, Jon?”

Jon curls in on himself, shame bubbling to the surface. What has he gotten wrong? What has he missed? “I-in the Lonely. You said you loved me.”

Martin’s breath hitches at his own words repeated back at him - words he doesn’t even remember saying. The fog had been so intense, so much and yet so pointless all at once, it had been so hard to keep anything straight, to hold down any memory or emotion. He hardly remembers saying those words, but they draw a wobbly smile out of him anyways. He supposes it makes sense that he would say them, though. Not much could cut through the fog, but Jon did. Jon always did. He still does.

“Did I? I didn’t know I had it in me to share.”

Jon shakes his head, now looking frustrated. “But you didn’t.” He insists. “You don’t... that means you don’t anymore.” His expression stalls for a second, before something akin to horror blooms on his face, and he scrambles to his feet to face him. “Martin, if you think- God, if you think you somehow owe me this after all that, let me be abundantly cl-”

“No!! No, no.” Martin cuts in, sensing Jon’s building distress and moving away from the counter to rest a hand on his shoulder. “No,” he repeats, softer. He takes a deep breath and lets himself run his thumb over the fabric of Jon’s sweater. “I don’t think I owe you. Not in that way. Christ, of course not.”

Jon is silent for several long minutes, before his voice begins working again, and he stutters back into a sentence. “O-okay. Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “Then why-? I-I-I thought-” He gathers up what brain power he has left to sort his thoughts. Something like hope tinges his voice, and Martin marvels at how deeply Jon seems to have resigned himself to this truth, while still being eager to save his life and run away with him all the way to Scotland. Love is a funny thing. When he speaks again, his voice is so, so quiet. “After the Unknowing, I thought I lost my chance. Thought you’d moved on. N-not that I would have blamed you, I just- but you-”

“Jon,” Martin says softly, ducking his head to catch his eyes. “I wasn’t quite myself in the Lonely. I didn’t mean that as an ending.” He breaks his gaze away, looks down at his own hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I was mourning something I thought I’d lost.”

“Oh,” The word escapes Jon’s lungs in a rush; several years worth of longing filling up his chest and squeezing his throat like smoke, making his eyes sting. “Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, no,” Martin shakes his head. “That’s over now.”

Jon presses a hand to his eyes, breathing, letting everything settle in.

“Well. That certainly makes me feel foolish.”

Martin laughs, a free, wonderful sound that fills the air with electricity and warms Jon down to his bones. He realizes he’s staring at him, watching how his shoulders move with adoration, watching the joy radiate from him with nothing short of beauty. A moment of insane courage passes through Jon, and he moves his hand to cover the one Martin still has resting on his shoulder.

He steps closer. “Do you want this then? The way that I do?” His voice is eager, and he’s afraid to breathe.

Martin’s expression absolutely melts, and he sways closer. He Saw Jon in the Lonely, in all his hopeless lovestruck worry, so he knows what he means. “Yes,” he answers. “More than anything. I don’t-” he makes a pained face, and looks down, prepares himself for the undressing that comes before the acceptance of love. “I don’t know how okay I am. Don’t know how much of me is still me after everything with Lukas and- and well, everything, but...”

“I know what you mean,” Jon assures him, running his thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m not even human anymore.” He exhales, in the tone of a joke fallen flat.

Martin squeezes his shoulder. “Exactly,” he murmurs. “But I still want to try.”

“Martin,” Jon exhales, his voice thick and his eyes wet. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Martin tugs Jon’s hand from where it’s resting atop his to press a kiss to his knuckles, and Jon laughs, a quiet little sound, and then he’s moving, leaning back into Martin’s space; his face growing blurry as he gets up close and presses their lips together again. He misses the mark just a bit, the kiss landing a little too high on his mouth, but Martin leans up into it, rearranging their positions, and just like that it’s perfect. Not earth-shattering, not magical, just perfect, in the way that only imperfection can be. Martin lets himself sink into it.

It’s gentle, sweet, and it makes Martin’s head buzz with disbelief. He breaks away to breathe, for a moment, just to wrap his head around what’s happening, and then Jon is tugging him back in, more intentionally this time.

Jon kisses very thoroughly, Martin soon learns with amusement. He furrows his brow and crowds himself into Martin’s space, curling his hands in his shirt, and he moves his mouth in time with Martin’s like he has a purpose to follow, like he’s devoting himself to studying him; focusing on each touch with crystal clarity. He has a single-minded doggedness about the whole thing, and Martin eventually relaxes and just lets himself be kissed, following along with gentle touches and barely held-back smiles.

He raises a hand experimentally to run through his hair, and Jon kisses him deeper in response; open mouthed and wanting, tasting what he can, allowing himself to bite his lip gently. That takes the breath straight out of Martin’s lungs, and the bitten-off sound he makes apparently encourages Jon even more, as he breaks away and kisses him down across his jaw, under his chin, and down the side of his throat.

It’s frantic at first, a desperate attempt to map out as much of Martin as he can in the time he has, but the sense of urgency starts to bleed out of him, and he ends up kissing gentler and gentler the longer he lingers, until eventually Jon’s just nuzzling his nose into his skin and wrapping his arms around him for a hug. The sigh that escapes him makes Martin’s heart clench.

“I love you,” he mumbles into Martin’s shoulder, and later the weight of this will settle on their shoulders. Later they will have to sit down and figure this out, this mess of personalities and supernatural entanglement, this terrible future of fear laid out before them, and the path forward they will choose to carve out together. But for now they can sink into this embrace and breathe.

Martin doesn’t say the words back, he’s not quite there yet, but he doesn’t need to. It’s enough, it’s more than enough to just be here, for Martin to press his nose into Jon’s hair, and smile until his face aches from it.

[themonotonysyndrome]

REDACTED verse - A special night

Prompt: Any Fandom | Any Characters/Pairings | Ordering a sweet treat to be delivered to the other person at home/work

Word Count: 2,136

Author/Team: LadyMonotone

Fandom/Original: Redacted ASMR (Gavin/Freelancer. Vincent Solaire/Lovely) 

Rating: T

Triggers: NA

Summary: Having an Incubus boyfriend comes with many perks. The Freelancer and Lovely really should have seen it coming. 

ConCrit: Y 

Well, I guess this can be a sequel to my previous oneshot, REDACTED verse - Those that stood above the rest. I really wanted to write the Freelancer and Lovely interacting after their first, proper meeting so this oneshot suddenly comes to mind! 

-

Exam week is the bane of every student, everywhere — even for the magical ones. 

An uneasy atmosphere lingers around D.A.M.N as the current semester hurl the students into an intense week of revisions, study groups, and extra classes; all for the upcoming exams. 

The seniors are frantically cramming for their final papers and projects under the watchful eyes of the lecturers. The Freelancer doesn't envy them one bit when they caught a Sonal Energetic screamed into his backpack for a solid ten minutes. 

His scream shakes the student lounge, and the windows shattered. 

Once he got that out of his system, he focused back towards his textbook, expressionless. The rest of the students around the Energetic hardly bat an eye over what just happened. 

On that day, the Freelancer learned to avoid a large group of seniors until the exam week blows over. 

"The tension alone in that lounge could make a Serenity Daemon hide underneath a bed." The Freelancer narrates their experience to Lovely. The two of them are currently having their own study session over at the Freelancer's apartment. 

It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and yet here they are - flipping through textbooks, reviewing and swapping notes and downing cans of coffee and Red Bulls from as early as 9 AM. "Even the janitor wasn't fazed by it. He just snapped his fingers, and the windows were good as new!"

That night after their proper introduction, Lovely and the Freelancer had become quite good friends, much to Vincent's annoyance and Gavin's pleased smirk when the Freelancer told him that Lovely would be coming over for their study session. 

"Aww, look you, Deviant. Arranging a little study date with that friend of yours," Gavin teased during breakfast this morning. They both woke up early to prepare meals that could last the Freelancer and Lovely throughout the whole day. When his Deviant absentmindedly replied, "Uh-huh" as they were busy chopping the vegetables, Gavin couldn't help but plant a fond kiss on top of their head. "Anyway, I'll be popping into Aria for a bit today. A few of my, ah, older brothers and sisters called for a meeting. Can I trust that you two won't be having too much fun without me?"

The Freelancer stopped chopping to gave their boyfriend a deadpan stare. "Gavin, we'll be studying." They explained. "Our first paper is literally next week. So I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but there won't be any fucking happening." They then stop themselves. They suddenly recalled something. "I don't want to be on that Solaire Prince's hit list too."

Gavin just cooed at their disgruntled partner, as if the genuine possibility that the both of them being shred to pieces by Lovely's possessive boyfriend amused him. 

Nonetheless, Gavin pulled his weight to ensure there was enough food and comfortable pillows and blankets in their shared apartment so that his Deviant and the Electro Energetic would be comfortable for their revisions. 

An hour before Lovely arrived, Gavin kissed the Freelancer goodbye and Rifted into his home dimension. 

And now we're back in the present. 

"I think those students around that guy were his classmates," Lovely commented. They take a quick sip of the lemonade that Gavin prepared to refresh their parched throat. Even in a simple pair of slacks, baggy t-shit, and hair pulled up in a bun, they still look as breathtaking as ever. "They reacted as if it was like a regular Tuesday for them. It's so crazy to think that we'll be seniors like them soon."

The Freelancer pours more lemonade into their glass from the pitcher beside them. Their books, notebooks and snacks are spread all over the dining table. A large and fluffy pillow is propped behind the Freelancer so they can lean back on their chair comfortably. "Urgh, mood. I can already imagine the coursework we'll be forced to do in our final semester." They groan. Their brain is fried from all the information and notes they've been reviewing since this morning. On top of that, the thought that they will be getting even more work once they hit their senior year is starting to freak them out. 

Seeing the Freelancer is having an internal crisis, Lovely quickly glance at the time on their phone and decides, "OK, I think we seriously need a break. You look like you're going to pull a stunt similar to that Sonal Energetic, and I don't think your boyfriend appreciates coming back to a half-destroyed apartment."

"Gavin can fix the apartment with his magic, don't worry." The Freelancer is quick to assure Lovely. "He did that after he and Vega trashed the place anyway."

"Uh, what? Who's Vega?"

The Freelancer snapped their attention back to Lovely once they realised the name that they accidentally dropped. "N-Nothing! I didn't s-say anything!" They laugh awkwardly, doing their best to brush off Lovely's concerned expression. "Anyway, break! Yeah! That's a good idea! Are you hungry? We can watch something on Youtube and eat in the living room. You're OK with that?"

Lovely gingerly nods; it's best not to comment or ask about this Vega person since the name alone made their friend jumpy. They push their chair back, stretch their stiff spine, and get up to help set the plates and cutleries while the Freelancer heats the lunch they made in the morning. 

They then move to the living room with a tray of food and drinks, where the couch and coffee table are surrounded by pillows and blankets thrown around messily. 

"You play video games, right?" The Freelancer asked after Lovely settle down on the couch with a blanket over their lap. "Do you want to watch a playthrough or something?"

"Sure! Do you and Gavin play video games too?"

"Gavin does, though he usually only plays those dating sim games for girls. It's a guilty pleasure of his."

"Oh, Otome Games? My respect for your boyfriend just levelled up. Has he ever played Hatoful Boyfriend?"

"Uh... I don't remember he ever mentioned that title. What is it about?"

"We're watching a playthrough of that game. Right now. You can watch it with me, but you can't tell Gavin anything, OK? I promise you're going to love his reactions."

Lovely's eyes light up with glee and grin widely as the Freelancer switch on the Smart TV. When thumbnails of pigeons with pink hearts in the background pop up on the screen, they immediately throw an incredulous look at the Energetic. 

"That top playlist is good to watch. Come on, sit beside me." Lovely pats on the empty spot on the couch beside them, unperturbed at the look the Freelancer is giving them. "I think you're going to like Okosan."

The Freelancer press play on the first video and kick back on the couch with the Energetic. What's better than having a break after a long study session? Hanging out with a friend with some good food while watching a crazy romance video game about pigeons! 

However, when the fourth video starts to play, the doorbell rings. 

"Uh... are you expecting someone?" Lovely asks curiously; their head is tilting towards the door. Their plate of eggplant pasta and buttered abalones are polished on their lap. The Freelancer internally preened when they enthusiastically complimented on theirs and Gavin's cooking skills. 

Anyway, the Freelancer moves their empty tray onto the coffee table and flip over the blanket to get up. "Not really. Gavin said he'll be coming back home at night." They explain and went towards the door when the doorbell ring once more. 

A delivery man greets the Freelancer with a stoic face, an armful of flower bouquet, and a thick, rectangular item wrapped in hot red packaging. 

"I, uh, think you got the wrong address?" They said, confused to hell and back. 

The delivery man blinks, unfaze at the Freelancer's greeting. "Good afternoon. Delivery for..." He pauses to read the card attached to the bouquet. "Deviant? We received a request from Gavin to arrange a flower bouquet and some... special chocolates. He also left a message for you: My Deviant has been working so hard lately~ So I got you something to... help you relax. PS: give some of the special chocolates to that gorgeous friend of yours and their boyfriend."

The Freelancer could only gape when the delivery man finished reciting Gavin's message. From the living room, Lovely is also doing an excellent mimicking of a goldfish. Their stunned expression made the man sigh tiredly. "Look, I'm not going to judge your... bedroom activities. Just take the packages already. I still have more stops to deliver."

"O-Oh my god! I'm really, really sorry about my boyfriend!" The Freelancer finally snaps out of it and stammers an apology. Their face is bright red. They hurriedly accept the flowers and package, shoot a quick thank you and slams the door shut. 

Lovely watches as the Freelancer stares into the bouquet with a mixed feeling, something between fondness and extreme embarrassment, before they scream into the large sunflowers. 

They patiently wait for the Freelancer to get it out of their system before Lovely delicately asks, "So, uh, does Gavin do these sort of things often?"

"No. This is the first time ever." The Freelancer replies. Their voice is muffled because the flowers are still pressed onto their face. "That's what I get for dating an Incubus, I supposed..."

"Aww, don't be embarrassed, dude! I think it's super sweet how much Gavin loves you. Flowers and chocolates? Boy got some serious game; might even give Vincent a run for his money, and you should've seen how we first met."

The Freelancer peeks through the petals and is relieved to find that Lovely wasn't put off by Gavin's forward nature. In fact, they are very accepting of the Freelancer and Gavin's relationship.

Feeling the warmth on their cheeks slowly disappearing, the Freelancer made their way back to the couch. The rectangular package is tossed onto the couch, and the bouquet is on the coffee table. The Freelancer figured they could put the fresh flowers in a water-filled vase later. 

"The guy said that Gavin sent you some chocolates?" Lovely reiterate as the Freelancer began to untie the ribbon and unwraps the box. 

"Special chocolates, and knowing Gavin, I kinda have an idea of what kind of chocolates they are." They admit and make quick work of tearing the paper wrappings. 

Apparently, Gavin ordered two types of chocolates for his Deviant. One box holds a fancy gourmet assortment of salted almonds dipped in rich Belgium chocolate, double chocolate raspberry truffles, vanilla pieces powdered with light matcha and some white praliné hearts. 

Lovely whistle, impressed over the spread. "Your boyfriend really went all out for you!"

The box below it contains rows of heart-shaped chocolates, but the short message written on the card of said box proves it's anything but ordinary treats. 

'These are homemade chocolates made by one of my close associates. She's a Succubus, by the way, and renowned for her aphrodisiac desserts. You can try some first if your Energetic friend doesn't mind being a voyeur.'

The Freelancer promptly throws away the card and cues them, and Lovely shrieking in embarrassment. Neither of them expects the second batch of chocolates. 

"These are sexy chocolates? Like, legit aphrodisiac chocolates made with magic!? Oh my god, I didn't know they were a thing!"

"I didn't either! I was expecting sex toys below the chocolates!"

"Wait - didn't Gavin wants to give these to Vincent and me!? Dude, does he has a thing for Vincent? Because at this point, I should tell you: he noticed that Gavin was purposely riling us up when they first met, and he's been thinking that your boyfriend is out to get him. But, uh, not in the sexy way, but I'm thinking otherwise now. And if that's the case, then you can warn that Incubus to be ready and catch these hands."

The Freelancer groans and hides their face in their hands. "OK, you know what? I'm going to put the special chocolates in the fridge, and then we'll continue watching a few more videos from the playthrough and get back to studying."

"... You're in denial."

"I'm just trying to keep whatever sanity I have left. It's been a crazy year."

"Urgh, tell me about it."

-

That night, at Lovely's and Vincent's apartment: 

"Vincent, baby? I'm back. Look what I got!"

"Welcome home, Lovely. Dinner's ready if you're hungry. Hmm? What's that?"

"It's homemade aphrodisiac chocolates made by a Succubus. Gavin and the Freelancer gave some to us."

"...I'm gonna punch that Incubus in his smug ass face."

"...Does that mean you don't want them in the bedroom tonight?"

"OK, I'll punch him tomorrow. C'mere, Lovely. I've missed you."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

[stra66otkiller]

ELI CLARK SWF/NSFW HCS

sfw:

he’s a darling, truly. he was something akin to a kicked puppy when you first arrived to the mansion. meek, yet intimidated, he was someone you felt that needed taking care of

poor thing looks like he’s having a tough time on a cipher? here you come with your overzealous and overbearing parental love for him.

the whole manor can see how you view him, and really, they all think you’re clinically insane

eli clark was one of many men, but he was not the weak or the lost at all

in fact, he was someone with a tendency to act passive aggressive or have a short temper at a cipher if something wasn’t going right. he was the type of person to ignore you if he feels that you’ll disturb him in the future, the type of person to avoid speaking to anyone at all costs because he thinks he’s higher power (although he’ll never show it)

surely, he is kind, he’s sweet, but there are his moments that the other survivors can see that you don’t get to see

eli loves your personality. loves how you attend to his every response or move. he loves how you take care of him. he finds it adoring when you worry over simple injuries or when he goes out alone and he finds you waiting for him anxiously

he treats you like a god. his god.

everything you do he is unimaginably amazed by it that it’s almost annoying to watch

whenever he’s not near you, he sends brooke to watch after you, but sometimes he forgets brooke is watching you and tries to find you himself which leads to a lot of interaction with the hunter

not to mention, he loves it when your smile, which is cliche in a sense but he loves it. he immediately responds with a smile of his own, whether a small or huge smile on your face, one will find its way onto eli’s face no matter what

he unconsciously leans into your warmth and feels bad when you shuffle to get away. as if a boundary was established that was never there before, yet it washes away the moment you start to coo over him again

and by all means, eli is NOT the funniest. he can’t be unintentionally funny like norton or naturally good at cracking unneeded jokes like kevin, of which you always laugh to (unfortunately), but he does try

his attempt at humor that matches your humor always goes horribly wrong that others cringe watching it. while you find it adoring, and he finds it as another reason for a nervous breakdown when you’re not around

around the other survivors he’s simply that nice one with the owl that occasionally cracks from stress. but to you, the other survivors can tell he looks like an angel descent from heaven and blessed upon you as a babysitter

it was the day of his former fiancé’s birthday, gertrude, that he had realized what was happening

you were so kind when he would vent to you, and you to him, but when he spoke about his past fiancé he wanted a reaction. call it selfish and him a horrible man but he wanted something that showed you had interest in him — just something

but alas, he saw nothing but genuine comfort, raw sweetness dripping from your voice that he so dearly wished to be words that expressed jealousy over his past lover

you saw him as a child. someone who needed supervision. the realization hit him when the other survivors would call you his mother or laugh between your interactions

it only made him cry into your hands, he tried to guise his sudden despair with remembering gertrude, trying to push himself into your lap as if it would help. all the while, fat tears rolling down his face because he feels worthless — he feels alone — and stupid

so then he chooses to do something stupid and spills everything

it’s complicated when he explains it, but when you finally understand the words that were coming out in sobs and stutters, and the tears pooling at your clothes, you then press a soft kiss to the under of his eye

albeit its almost awkward, for you, doing that aloof smile on your face when you’re lost is what makes him confused, but your hands on the side of his head numb that confusion down to silence, and his skin burns where your lips touched

you tell him he’s adoring. literally. there isn’t enough synonyms for adorable to describe him

he questions shyly, sniffling even, that if the relationship could be more

and you agree, although, hesitantly

you saw eli as courageous, cute, hardworking, and sweet, but none of those traits or himself made you scream for romance. and maybe the guilt ate you up, and that’s why you agreed

however, he worked hard to change that perception of him as time passed

he increasingly became more active and bashful during your new relationship. he had a tendency of asking for hugs and small kisses here and there, his cheeks would blossom with red when you would just stare at him long enough

he’d try to prove to to you that he didn’t need supervision. as much as he loves you around him, he wanted you to see him as dependable

sometimes he would coo over you which certainly made the manor erupt in fits of laughter when your face deepened to dark reds never seen before

eli, occasionally, would slip and mention something of gertrude, but you usually don’t pay mind to it. you’re understanding of his situation and you don’t find the need to fight over it when you’re both stuck in the mansion

he finds his occasional slip ups as death. he profusely apologizes and follows you around anxiously to make sure you don’t go to anyone else but him (you can tell he sends his owl at unneeded times), he tip toes around you but becomes blunt when he feels as though you’re mad at him (you’re not, but his anxiety-driven head thinks you are)

the only way you assure he’s fine is by staying by his side and talking to him a lot. and i mean a lot.

eli relies on communication, even if he’s horrible at it, he wants to make sure he’s doing everything right, something you truly adore

nsfw:

sensitive and sloppy. that’s it.

when you kiss him on the cheek it makes everything inside of him twist and burn, his legs wobble when he walks sometimes, but on the lips he truly feels as though he’s going to pass out

he moans into the kiss, trying to follow desperately but ultimately submitting and shaking under you when you pull away with a smile

kisses are usually very sloppy, not that he’s trying to but your simple peck on the corner of his lips makes him go haywire, drool collecting at the sides of his mouth

refuses to touch you. will not lay a hand on you. he’s so scared of hurting you, as though he’s too rough or you don’t like it. he worships you, he wants you to feel like a god when you are one

sometimes his hands ghost over your head or hips in fear of hurting you, you can only watch as his orgasm makes his hands flinch or scrunch up his clothes with an immeasurable amount of strength to avoid touching you

he loves initiating small acts whenever too

occasionally, coming to wrap his hands around you and shoving his face into your neck to pepper kisses along your collarbones, but he’s always too scared to go further and needing your guidance for the rest

you love to give him head at any given moment. tears start to pool into his eyes when you suck particularly too hard at the skin of his cock, or when he feels the tip hit the back of your throat

he loves it when you swallow his cum but also hates it. he apologizes and says it’s dirty but he can’t help feel more aroused when you swallow around him

eli’s favorite position is cowgirl or doggy-style

you being on top allows for you to lead and him to submit to you. whining when you go too fast or too slow, and you only laugh meanly before speeding up

he also loves cockwarming. something about being connected to you so intimately is really arousing to him. sometimes you’ll find his hands trying to push you further down his cock to hold you into place, crying about how good it feels to be inside of you and how warm, and how your walls are milking him

doggy-style, even in a more submissive position, you still have power over him

again, eli loves communication, just telling him he’s fucking you so good, calling him pup, or even baby, his hips are immediately stuttering into yours like a dog in heat

“it feels good, right?” he questions with a stutter, letting out a sharp grunt into your neck when your walls clamp up against his cock

unlike others, he doesn’t curse. but he will call you beautiful while he’s pounding into you. and sometimes he’ll call you his

even if he came already, he’ll listen if you tell him to keep going. the sensitivity leaves him spinning and coming once more

something you find cute is that jealousy sex is nothing rough. in fact, it’s so tame. eli takes his time to kiss you and thoroughly remind you that you both were dating, even if it means he’s crying into your shoulder while fucking you slowly

he’s so vocal to the point you’d rather just listen to him during sex. he whines uncontrollably when you slowly sink down onto his cock, praising about how big it is and how it might not fit

loves being called pup!!! during sex!!! outside of the bedroom it’s disheartening, but when he’s fucking you so sloppily after a bad day, drool coming from his mouth, and he’s whining into your ear, hearing you call him pup has him coming inside of you immediately

sadly, he does not like coming inside of you. he worships your body and thinks of his cum being inside of you is dirtying you. he tries to avoid it and comes into his hand

he basically treats you like a god outside and inside, so when both of you are finally spent, he’s the one getting up and cleaning everything. his aftercare is so intensive, especially if he came inside of you, he wants to make sure everything is out and you feel comfortable

[fenristheorem]

Hi can we ask you nsfw headcanons for lance please?

Oh hell yea you can! I suppose since you asked kindly. 😉

*Note: This post is completely nsfw - as asked for - and is, therefore, descriptive and filthy and has lots of swears. There are absolutely no safe / non-descriptive parts through this, so don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with descriptive sexual situations or explicit language.

Also, I sort of inserted Guardienne into this - rather than leaving this without mention of a partner - for the sake of being able to describe things easier.

~Under the cut~

General nsfw for Lance:

To start off, Lance is likely quite large. He’s very tall and is probably very muscular (considering his profession) noticeably very muscular (thanks episode 4), and while that doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s large, it’s clear that his genetics have left him gifted with height and a masculine body (broad shoulders, high cheekbones, etc.) so that likely translates to his manhood as well. He’s not the largest male to ever exist, but he’s certainly larger than average and is generously thick. He has one or two prominent veins that run jaggedly down his length, and leans slightly to the side when fully hardened. His grooming routine is very basic - just enough to keep from things being unmanageable down there - and is completely flexible if his partner would like him to shave or grow out a bit more.

Lance hasn’t had sex for nearly as long as he can clearly remember - and those memories are usually overwritten with nauseating whispers that remind him that that was during a time when he was naive and spiraling towards an inevitable downfall into madness and destruction against Eldarya - so the first time he experiences these kind, pleasurable touches again, when he’s stable and with a clear mind, it’s intense and he truly embraces the feel. He falls into her with a heat and passion that he’s long since forgotten, but has now been remembered and revived by her presence and want for this. However, once the first time is over - it’s over. It stays with him always, though - it was his first time with a woman in years and the first time since he’s righted himself.

His manner changes in time - but only to some degree. He’s less quickly taken by the pleasure and can hold out longer, and he finds that he really likes to torture her with long bouts of foreplay when he can finally manage to restrain himself for that. Of course, he needs to be in a certain mood to do that. It’s much more common for him to tease her until she’s moaning and wet for him, and then let himself indulge in her slick warmth until he loses himself in her. Those times where he tortures her with long, relentless forms of foreplay happen only when he knows he can hold out for hours watching her writhe and moan and pant beneath him, holding her down as sweat glosses her skin and her desperation leaves her begging for him.

That being said: sex becomes a major outlet for him. He’s a warrior, so it’s common for him to practice his fighting skills against other members of the Obsidian guard and release energy and emotions that way, but it’s not very intimate - he has a lot of future opportunities to practice his skills and it gets tiring to be constantly pummeled with attacks - and it does get a bit boring when you learn each and every colleague’s tactics and know so many tactics yourself that it’s not very hard to win. Late nights spent with his woman become cherished moments in between his routine life of fighting, trying to forgive himself, and making sure everyone is kept in check. There are times where he’s soft, gentle - tracing his fingers over her skin as he breathes in her scent and basks in her warmth and kind touch. He’ll take her slowly, keeping their lips locked in deep, passionate kisses while holding her close as he makes love to her. However, there are also times where he fucks to forget. Memories will come upon him - all bad and unwelcoming to the point where he nearly isolates himself for the day to attempt to hopelessly mend himself - or the day will be overly stressful with no feelings of hope, and he’ll take comfort in the pain that lashes across his back as she claws at him, or the way her lewd screams for him will drown out his own internal screams desperately wishing that things turned out differently. He’ll find himself fucking into her until he can’t possibly think of moving afterward - when he seeks to curl up into her arms and sleep away his troubles - and when she’s nearly crying from the erotic pleasure he drowns her in, he’ll be forgetting what it was like for him to have ever been in agony of any sort.

He doesn’t like that second form of sex very much. It’s enjoyable when they’re both in the mood to be rough and fuck each other up, but the mentality he’s in then versus when he fucks because he needs the distraction is very different. He enjoys rough sex on the occasion, but he hates sex that's used to forget and wear himself out - but he’s not sure of any other tactics that will ease him of that pain in the same way rough sex does.

Just as he enjoys rough sex (normal rough sex, not the desperate-to-forget type), he also enjoys softer forms of sex. After years upon years of doing nothing but fighting and suffering in pain, it’s nice to be able to embrace his partner with soft, kind touches as he presses into her - knowing that he could easily go for hours on end and countless rounds without growing tired of the passionate yet relaxed pace he sets. Her touch is gentle and welcoming, always pulling him closer and running over his form as she kisses him sweetly. Occasionally a thought, a comparison sparked from her gentleness, will run through his mind - a reminder that he’s agonized through so much in his fucked up life - but it’s quickly, easily dismissed as he recognizes that things are different now. He has her, and as he anchors his partner completely against him, grinding his hips against hers and filling her slowly again and again, his thoughts are washed away in another way - a subtle, quiet way that’s almost bittersweet until he no longer remembers what began to eat at him. Lance likes to truly embrace her in these soft moments; gently holding her thighs to keep her open for him, resting his forehead against hers and keeping affectionate eye contact, softly tracing the sensitive parts of her skin with a brush of his calloused fingers, pressing passionate, slow kisses to her lips and neck as he urges her to hold him closer. He’ll never once falter as he moves within her, wishing to portray through his touch what words could never say; wishing she could even begin to grasp just how much her companionship means to him.

Rough sex is typically used for him to forget, soft sex is used for him to truly love her.

In terms of where they have sex; he’s not afraid to be a bit adventurous. Although he feels most safe in their bedroom, sometimes the urge is just so overwhelming that he needs to have her in the middle of the day. So take her to their room and have his way with her? Nope, he's been fantasizing about taking her on the conference room table, so that's where it's going to happen if there's no one around. He’ll assess her first, making sure she’s not in a bad mood that could interfere with his advancements and cause a possible scene, and then drag her - subtly - to a secluded corner of the guard and have his way with her, be it on a table, against the wall, or even if he needs to hold her up without any other support - he’s a warrior, he has the strength to suspend her weight on his own. Lance will typically find a place where no one really visits to do this, but occasionally they’ll feel very risky and have a quick round in a currently quiet but semi-active place. Let’s just say that they’ll never view the forge or conference room in the same way... These times in semi-active places are usually pretty late at night, though - when Lance is working a late night at the forge or they know the conference room won’t be busy for a few hours... usually.

An important thing to know is that he sees sex in a very instinctual, carnal way. He’s deeply in tune with his emotions and - being a dragon - his instincts as well. For him, sex is a great way to connect with his partner and blow off steam, but he makes it clear early on that - while he can control himself and back off if she needs a moment to breathe - he can only control himself so much during the moment. Sex is emotional and instinctual; if she’s giving no signs of being uncomfortable then he’s just as much a victim of his overwhelming desires that submerge him in violent torrents of racking need in the same way he does to her. For this reason, their safe-words and touches (in the case where they can’t speak) are very clear and easy to recognize, so he can be quick to realize her distress and reign himself in to back off. The last thing Lance wants is to accidentally hurt her or make her uncomfortable about joining him in bed again - or being around him in general after seeing him in such a vulnerable, feral state - so before they get into anything too crazy he’s quick to communicate concerns with her and form ideas to assure nothing goes wrong. 

Lance would never in a million years reveal his kinks... and Guardienne would be rendered speechless with her face the color of a sunset at a reminder of those nights. What kinks Lance is into that night depends on his mood really. Some days, when he’s feeling good - assertive and possessive - and he’ll advance on her confidently. He’ll pin her down on the bed, holding her wrists above her with one hand while the other evokes his powers to make the skin of his hand ice cold as it ghosts over her in specific ways that perk her senses. Lance may take a soft rope or fabric and tie her wrists or blindfold her - even better if it’s both - and purposefully leave her untouched for a certain amount of time. She’ll grow shy as she knows he’s admiring every part of her, but she won’t have long to think about it before he starts to touch her - the pad of his thumb brushing over her nipple before gently pinching, his other hand ghosting up her inner thigh to rest near her slit, his mouth trailing along her lower abdomen as he kisses lower and lower until his tongue laps at her. The air in the room will grow cold around her as she arches her back and moans, writhing softly against her restraints and his warm touch as the hand Lance rested on her thigh joins his ministrations directly between her legs. Later on, when he’s so deep inside her dripping warmth that his head spins, he’ll take her neck in hand and squeeze, ice blue eyes meeting her lustful gaze with a heat of his own as he fucks her and chokes her. He won’t mind if she claws haphazardly at him - he has scars already, what are a few more that were received during their passionate, late-night romps? Lance isn’t worried about if he’s too rough, either; he’s treated her way worse in the past and they’ve established a clear network of terms and touches if either of them need a break or can’t handle something at the moment.

He’ll enjoy dirty talk as well, whether it’s him or her speaking - although he really enjoys her responses to his comments. His voice will drop octaves lower, a rumbling rasp taking his voice as he speaks and says the most filthy things to her with a faint cruel grin. Some days she’s easily taken by pleasurable touches he inflicts on her, readily begging and pleading for him to appease her needs as she submits to him. Other days she’ll want a fight, responding to his commands with witty remarks - sparked only because she likes the way he looks at her when he’s defied - that urge him to growl and stare at her with burning eyes as he fantasizes her impending surrender. Occasionally those witty remarks - followed by more sensual pressuring from his end - turn into deals; she’ll do this, as he’s been demanding, as long as he allows her to do this to him afterwards. These agreements are nearly always accepted, only rejected in the rare case where Lance couldn’t possibly hold out that long for her to tease him in a certain way, but when they’re accepted they’ve always yielded tantalizing results.

Don’t even begin to tempt him with a good pair of lingerie, though. Sex, again, is a very instinctual, feral thing for him. He has a very hard time controlling his impulses when they’re evoked while his partner is around, especially in private, so when she purposefully tempts him - knowing very well how fragile his sexual self-control is - by sitting him down and stripping and waltzing around his room with nothing but thin, taunting underwear on he nearly loses himself completely. Guardienne knows to use caution when bearing lingerie - it has a heavy effect on Lance as it’s almost guaranteed to throw him into a fit of blind lust, picking her up and throwing her on the bed or pinning her against the wall to hold her still and stare down at her, burning the image into his mind before having his way with her. However, once in a while, Lance will sit obediently as she bears herself, only just faintly breathing as he watches her move in alluring, seductive ways that leave his cock aching and his skin shivering. He’ll wait patiently for her to come to him, but once she settles on his lap she’s fair game, and he’ll quickly take her under him to attack her. He makes a point not to tear the underwear though - he wants to see it again in the future.

He’s fine with nearly any position she wants at the moment, but he does have a few favorites. He loves missionary for a multitude of reasons; he can watch every expression that flits across her features, hear her lewd moans and pleads better (he doesn’t care if that makes her a bit louder than what he’s usually comfortable with), hold her in a variety of ways ranging from possessively / aggressively pinning her down, to tenderly / sensually laying completely against her, he can adjust her legs or entwine their fingers, and kiss her whenever he wishes (which is especially helpful if he feels she’s becoming loud enough to hear through the walls). Doggy is a favorite as well; it’s nice to rest his weight on her back as he grasps her hips and ruts into her, kissing and biting at the back of her neck and having the freedom to wrap his arms completely around her to pull her back into him. He’ll happily hold her up against a wall (or nothing at all) with her legs around his waist or suspended by his forearms, and will eagerly bend her over a table, or - if they’re truly desperate enough to revert to that sort of animalism - will take her right on the floor if they can find a comfortable position. Occasionally Guardienne will ride him, and while he’ll gladly take to controlling the situation from below, he’ll also enjoy being allowed to lay there watching and basking in the wonderful pleasure she inflicts on him.

He knows all of his partner’s sensitive spots; he’s explored her body many times over and purposely takes to memorizing (and testing) which spots make her tick for the sole sake of knowing how to rile her up whenever he wants. It took his partner a bit longer to learn his sensitive spots, but through the deals they’ve made she’s managed to hold him down long enough to discover these gems (yes, she’s had Lance tied up helpless in front of her multiple times to discover this stuff, it’s a sight to behold.) Of course there are the typical sensitive spots like the neck, lips, pelvis, etc., but she’s found a few other specifics in time. Pulling at his hair, gently biting the muscle just behind and below his ear, nipping at his ear, and digging her nails into the lower back of his neck are a few spots that have been discovered over time, bound to draw a rough grunt or a growl from him as he grips her hips or jerks aggressively against his bindings. Clawing at his lower back when she’s under him, especially paired with clinging tightly to him, provokes an assertive quality within that leads him to hold his hips against tightly hers and anchor his upper body around her as he moves within her core without breaking away from her. When she rides him, pressing her hands into the muscles of his lower abdomen while her hips roll rhythmically against his spurs him to arch his back just slightly in an attempt to lift his hips from the bed, beautifully tensing his body in response to her surging movements as he grunts and heaves a breath.

In the end, it matters less on what and where his sensitive spots are, and more on how she uses it to her advantage. His partner will have the most unrestricted access to these spots when his wrists are tied and immovable from above his head - although she doesn’t really like to blindfold him as she can’t see his burning, icy eyes as they lock onto her or flick closed in moments of ecstasy - and they’ve learned in time that they need to use soft rope or chains to keep him bound. Any thinner material and the hold will snap under his strength as he loses himself to the occasional struggle against his restrains, seeking in the moment only to escape and throw her under him so he can have his way with her. The first time they realized this was a rather surprising but thrilling experience... However, when they finally manage to find a material that can withstand his strength, his partner will be the one who needs to hold back on her desires for a while now - for the sake of watching how Lance’s scarred, tanned skin tightens around hard muscles as he groans and pants under her teasing ministrations. Faint beads of sweat will accumulate on his skin, casting a beautiful sheen over him while she kisses and nips at his skin, one delicate hand braced on his lower abdomen while the other brushes along his strong hips, touching anywhere but his hardened, twitching cock as pre-cum wells at the tip. All of the teasing of his sensitive spots are just foreplay up until the point where she finally moves lower, settling down at his hips to take his length into her mouth, dragging her tongue along him and sucking at his head as he growls, snarls, and pulls against his restrains until she’s finally waited enough and leans over him to sink down onto his thickness with a moan. His muscles will ripple under gleaming skin as he fights the clattering restraints again, his partner pulling the hair at the nape of his neck while sucking and nibbling at his upper neck as he grunts husky, cavernous moans. Much of the time she’ll need to make sure he isn’t accidentally pulling himself higher on the bed as he flexes his arms - this is usually solved by anchoring her weight onto his lower abdomen or hips - as he certainly has the strength to do so with ease, and she’ll need to brace herself when she finally releases him from his restrains; he’ll grasp her without mercy and throw his weight on top of her to pin her down and fuck into her at a breathtaking pace - and this is also how she found out that digging her nails into his lower back reinforces his dominating behavior.

This leads to his manner in bed. Lance is quite adaptable with how he treats her - always assuring that she’s enjoying, of course - and his spectrum can range from being a gentleman and taking her softly and quietly to gripping at her ruthlessly and fucking her so hard it’s a miracle that the bed doesn’t break and neighbors don’t complain. The nature of their sex depends on both their moods - if they’re both feeling content and affectionate then that’ll likely translate into tender, slow touches that glide warmly along their skin, passionate kisses and soft moans as they embrace not just a bonding between their physical forms, but also a bonding on a deeper level of their existence. In the times where they’re feeling frisky and searching for a challenge, they’ll wrestle on the bed - fighting for dominance of the situation with tantalizing touches and sultry words - until Lance inevitably pins her down permanently. From this point, he’ll either torture her with pleasurably agonizing touches or she’ll strike a deal with him, agreeing to let her have control if these certain demands are met at some point. However, sometimes they don’t even need to make a deal - Lance is completely fine with being the one writhing beneath her for a change some days, all she needs to do is ask.

Just as Lance enjoys seeing his partner gasping helplessly beneath him, he also enjoys nights where their roles are reversed. He’s completely fine being bound, choked, bitten and clawed at - hell, sometimes he urges her to do so - enjoying seeing her submit to her desires and also because he enjoys the way he loses himself in his instincts as he growls, fights restraints, and grows lightheaded as pleasure overwhelms him. He views sex as an instinctual thing, but he doesn’t always let himself succumb completely to his desires as he knows it may be too overwhelming for her sometimes, so instead of exhausting her whenever he seeks to lose control, he let’s himself be bound so he can submit to his impulses as much as he wants while drawing their appetite out and giving her the satisfaction of the control as she watches him lose himself. His partner learns in time, too, that she can be as rough as she wants with him - especially when he truly succumbs to his carnal instincts - even to the point of drawing blood and leaving scars; he’s a powerful warrior, familiar with pain as it is, and isn’t afraid to incorporate that into his sex life if she’s in the mood to include it.

Lance is very versatile - he can be rough and demanding or soft and affectionate, but he’ll always portray himself in a very feral manner, whether he wants to or not. Due to this, sleeping with him isn’t for the faint of heart. This man would happily drown himself in a full, long night of overwhelming ecstasy with his partner, so she’ll need to be prepared for that possibility by having in-depth knowledge of his weak spots and what makes him tick if she wishes to survive the night and still walk in the morning. Fortunately, once she learns how he works, she shouldn’t have much of an issue in spending long nights with him - but she will need to remain cautious; the more she uses these pleasing tactics, the more he loses himself to his demanding instincts that tell him to pin her down and fuck her until the sun rises. Like that time where they found out that a mere thin cloth wouldn’t bind him; if she’s not careful she could find herself suddenly, unexpectedly beneath a passionately simmering dragon. Although, those times where he accidentally gains the upper hand in a fit of carnal aggression do seem to be much more thrilling and rewarding than when they expected him to be the dominant one...

I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of writing nsfw for Lance lol. I tried to cover a lot of different topics, but there’s certainly more that could be talked about, so I’m happy to do a part 2 if anyone wants to request it.

Thank you for requesting!

Have a request? Ask them here!

But first, please read the rules list for asks!

[angstymarauder]

Arch Enemies {M.M}

Marlene McKinnon x Female!reader ; marauders era

summary: where two long-time rivals realize how thin the line between love and hate really are after an unfortunate quidditch incident.

word count: 3.4k ish

contains: angst, fluff, a heated kiss?, side of wolfstar,

a/n: i didn’t re-read it bc I'm lazy. Also if people could drop some wlw angsty harry potter recs that would be phenomenal.

· · · ∞ · · · · · · ∞ · · · · · · ∞ · · · · · · ∞ · · ·

Marlene McKinnon has been your rival since as far back in your Hogwarts years as you can remember. Always at each other’s heads. Always a competition between the two of you. Always striving to be better than the other.

The two of you made just about everything a competition. Chess Matches. Pranking. Grades. Eating. Walking. Detentions (you almost got kicked out of Hogwarts that year.)

Anything that could somehow be made competitive, you two competed. And while you tended to beat her with grades, she often beat you in things that took place outside of the classroom.

The Marauders, apparently, have been placing bets and keeping track of your wins against one another. Lily even claims that one time she walked into their room unexpectedly and caught them writing on a poster on their wall that had both your names in big letters on each side and a series of tallies below each with dates and event names on the bottom, but as soon as they saw her one of them casted a spell to make it disappear.

This year was no different. You knew it was stupid to believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to try out for the quidditch team without Marlene fighting you for the same spot. You have no real desire to be on the quidditch team, quite honestly, but your older siblings play quidditch, your parents played quidditch, your aunts, your uncles, your cousins, your grandparents, your great-grandparents.

You have a quidditch family and you do not want to can not disappoint them.

The hope that Marlene may leave you alone for this one was shattered, as you expected it to be, when you walk into the team's locker room, a bag of quidditch gear in your hand. “Y/L” Marlene spoke as soon as her eyes met yours. Her eyes widened more than usual, a change most people don’t notice, but then again, you’re not most people. You know Marlene better than anyone else, you’ve memorized the meaning of every look in her eyes, every curve of her lips, every flick of her hands. You know her brain, how she works, what she is thinking, for the most part at least because right now you found yourself momentarily confused by the surprise lacing her voice. Why is she so surprised? Did she not expect you to be there? Your thoughts are cut short when the blonde standing at the other side of the room clears her throat in an attempt to reactive her favorite tone of voice when speaking to you, cockiness, “you going for the beater position too?”

“Yea,” you respond, walking over to one of the lockers.

“May the best player win,” you continued unpacking your bag, putting on the final touches to your uniform, but you didn’t need to look at her to know that she was smirking as she spoke, you could hear it clear enough in her voice.

She awaited a snarky response from you, you know that, but you didn’t want to waste your energy on a catfight right now. Your anxiety is already through the roof, there is enough pressure on you at the moment that you feel like your brain physically cannot handle any more conflict, so you ignore her.

Her eyes burn holes into your body as you continue to pull your knee pads on. Eventually, the door opens and you listen to her steps as she walks out of the locker room, closing the door with a slam and leaving you all alone.

It’s not long before you’re 100% ready for tryouts. You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror for a moment before leaving. Taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm your nerves. Calm your mind. It helps a little bit, but maybe not enough.

· · · ∞ · · ·

“Y/L! Watch out!” is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

The tryouts were going great, James was the captain this year and after stealing a glance at his little sheet, you could tell that you were going to beat Marlene out for this spot.

You should’ve been happier with that knowledge than you were, but somewhere deep down you almost wanted Marlene to beat you. This wasn't what you wanted and by the look in her eyes, you knew that this was what she wanted. A strange feeling arose in your chest each time she looked at you during tryouts, her eyes conveyed a message you hadn’t seen her wear yet and all you wanted to do was decode it. To understand why her eyes looked… sad? Almost. Like she knew you were going to beat her and she was upset about it. She’s never been upset before, always a team player. She took her losses as they came and just vowed to beat you next time. But for some reason… for some reason this was different.

· · · ∞ · · ·

Marlene’s Pov:

You looked so pretty. Flyaway hairs and a look of determination on your face as you swatted away Bludgers so effortlessly. She loved quidditch, but she wasn't as good as you. Jealous, not because you’ll win whatever competition the two of you are probably making out of this, but jealous because she knows she won’t get the position she’s been working her ass off for. Lost in thought she doesn't even notice the bludger coming towards her, luckily she hits it just in time, but then… Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Marlene watched as the bludger tumbled straight towards you, “Y/L! Watch out,” was all she could get in before it hit you right in the head.

· · · ∞ · · ·

The first thing you felt when you woke up was an intense pounding in your skill that caused an unconscious groan to leave your mouth. As you increasingly became aware your head began hurting more and more. You went to bring your hand up to rub your eyes in an attempt to wake yourself up when you felt another hand on yours. Opening your eyes only increased your headache, but the desire to know whose hand was holding yours overruled the pain. Their hand was soft, warm, it felt like … like home. That's the only word you could find in this pain-forsaken state to properly describe the feeling.

The blur of a person who held your hand made you think you were crazy. You found yourself blinking a few times in attempts to clear your vision, not initially trusting your eyes and barely trusting them now as you see Marlene McKinnon's hand, holding yours.

Marlene McKinnon.

Your arch-nemesis?

The one who practically hates you?

Yea… her.

What the fuck.

Why is she holding your hand… and why do you never want her to let go?

You can feel your lips curve up into an unconscious smile as you stare at the place where her hand connects with yours before roaming your eyes up to her figure to her sleeping face being held up by her other hand, elbow resting on her armchair next to your bed. She looks so peaceful, so beautiful, and you wonder why you’ve never noticed how gorgeous she was before. How her lips look so soft and her skin so smooth. The way the waning gibbous moonlight shines into the room from the large infirmary windows and lights her face up in a way you’ve never seen in before and in that moment you want nothing more than to stare at her face like that forever. You don’t even notice your other hand moving up to touch her face until you hear a voice whisper from a few beds over from yours. “Oh, you’re up.” Startled, you feel like you were just caught committing a crime and immediately pull your hand back to where it was before. Marlene shifts in her sleep from your quick movements and you’re watching this moment slip through your fingers, silently begging whatever runs the universe to let you stay in this moment just a little bit longer. Thankfully, they answer and Marlene stills, returning to her peaceful sleep. “Don’t worry, Lils says she sleeps like a log.”

You giggle at these words, turning to face Remus with a smile, “yea, she does. We can never get her up in the morning.” “It’s the same with Sirius. He never wants to wake up.” The two of you giggle quietly, afraid to wake up anyone in the castle this late at night, especially the girl sitting beside you. You talk about Remus first, asking if the full moon the night before was really that bad that Pomfrey made him stay overnight again and if he's okay. He assures you that he is fine and redirects the conversation to you, “What about you? Are you okay?”

“I don’t even know what happened to me,” you tell him, “or why my head hurts so much or why M-” you pause, now looking at the girl. You’re scared of speaking the words out loud, afraid it may reveal that her presence is only a dream or a figment of your imagination and that you will sound crazy if you speak about it.

“Or why Marlene is here, holding your hand.” Remus finishes your sentence.

“Or that.” you turn your gaze back to Remus, now wishing the moon was a little darker so your close friend can’t see the blush that is surely on your face.

“Well to answer your first questions,” started Remus, “You got hit with a bludger during tryouts, Marlene and Sirius rushed u in here while I was taking a nap - thanks for that by the way”

“Sorry” you giggled

“- and then Sirius went back to practice, as for McKinnon there, she refused to leave. I think she feels bad cause she's the one that hit you. Pomfrey said you probably have a concussion which means you can’t … well you can’t play quidditch this year.” You should be focusing on the quidditch part, it was something you were working so hard for, but you can’t stop your mind from trailing off to her. Is she only here because she feels bad? Or is there more to it? You hope it's more. You’re not sure when these feelings came to fruition, but they’re there now and you’re worried about getting your hopes up because it means risking yourself getting let down.

“I think she likes you,” you take a minute to process the werewolves' words, glancing between the blonde’s head and her hand.

“You think so?” you say with a hopeful smile.

“I think she’s liked you since first year and you’re just too oblivious to realize it,” you look up with him, your confused face causing a slight chuckle to leave his lips, “I’m observant, you know that but it's not that difficult to see how in love you two are, even though you act like you hate each other. I think she knows what she feels,” you both glanced at the girl, “and I think you just figured out what you feel.”

You smile at his words. “I think you’re right,” you admit, too tired to be stubborn and reject what your heart says is a fact.

“Just wait till January to tell everyone please, I have a bet going with the boys and- “ Suddenly the door to the infirmary opens, Remus goes quiet with confusion and Marlen begins to stir from the noise. She’s really waking up this time, you immediately close your eyes, unsure of what else to do or even say to her. You can feel her eyes on your face, her hand holding yours. “Good morning sleepyhead,” remarked Remus. You curse out his name in your head as you feel Marlene’s hand immediately rip out of yours. All you want to do is look at her face, read her mind. Was she embarrassed? Ashamed? Your mind went to the worst.

“How’s the girlfriend?” marked a new voice, Sirius. Of course. Who else would come to the infirmary this late other than Sirius to check up on Remus?

“She’s not my girlfriend.” remarked Marlene, her tone sending a brief stab of pain through your own heart, “I don’t even like her,” another stab.

“Yea, okay, and Moonys not my werewolf boyfriend.” You would’ve laughed, hearing the noises of Remus hitting Sirius in response to his words, but your mind was stuck on the words of the girl who was still standing close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off her body.

“I don’t like her,” she said, her words laced with annoyance and anger, “In fact, I hate her. We’re literally enemies.”

“Then why are you here then?” Remus rebutted, he probably meant to be helpful, but the words she spoke next only made your heart ache more.

“Because I’m not a monster! I hit her with the bludger and I felt bad. That’s it. Nothing else.” you were almost thankful when you started to hear her moving around, collecting her stuff, tears were threatening to spill out of your eyes and you didn’t want her to see. “I’m tired so I’m going, goodbye.” And with that you waited, listening to the sounds of her footsteps, getting quieter with each moment. You listened to the opening and closing of the infirmary door and only dared to open your eyes again once you could no longer hear the clicking of her shoes down the hallway.

“You okay?” Remus spoke first, witnessing the silent tears now streaming down your face. You wish you stayed asleep. You wish you never looked at her. Never let yourself feel something you knew she wouldn’t reciprocate. You curse yourself for believing Remus’ hopeful words.

“Fine,” you spoke quietly before turning to your side, the back facing the two boys who get to share the kind of romance you find yourself only able to dream about.

“M’Sorry,” you heard Remus whisper, before the weight of your head and your heart lulled you into a dreamless sleep.

· · · ∞ · · ·

You woke up to Madam Pomfrey's voice urging you awake. Her soft voice reminded you of your mother and made you want to curl up into her arms and cry, Marlene's words last night still resting their weight on your chest. “How are you this morning, love?” she asks, placing a plate of food on the bedside table, you're thankful that she doesn't mention the tear stains that probably made their home on your cheeks last night.

“M’fine,” you mumble, “better.”

“Good, good,” she smiles, handing you a glass of water that you didn’t realize how much you needed until the whole glass was gone in a minute and Madam Pomfrey had to fetch you a new one. “Took a big hit yesterday, that Miss McKinnon has a good arm.” You hum in agreeance, an attempt to not be rude to the elder in front of you, but hearing her name still hurts, the wound of her words still leaving scars on your heart that haven’t even begun to scab. “Speaking of the devil,” the nurse spoke, your head raising up to see Marlene's figure entering the curtain that surrounded your bed. Her hair looked so soft, messier than you usually see it, but you liked it. You couldn’t stop your eyes from travelling down her face, taking in her beauty while she was awake. Bags plagued her beautiful brown eyes, she didn't sleep much last night. Your gaze moved to her lips, the same lips that unknowingly cut scars along your heart mere hours ago. Memories from the night before that you had allowed yourself to forget for a moment returned as fast as they left, returning the heartache that accompanies them. Suddenly, you found the hem of your shirt more interesting, keeping your gaze and your hands on that. “I’ll leave you two alone,” spoke Madam Pomfrey, ignoring the tension-filled silence that laid in the air, “I’d like to keep you here for a little while longer but you should be discharged by dinner,” and with that she left the two of you alone, your breaking heart not even strong enough to look at her.

“Hey,” she spoke first, breaking the silence, but not moving from her spot where she stood at the end of your bed. “Sorry I hit you with a bludger,” she tried to joke, but the tension was too thick that it was just awkward.

“Why are you here?” you ask, a sudden surge of bravery coming from the anger that stems from your sadness.

“Wh-What?”

“Why are you here?” “Because I feel bad? Because I'm not a total bitch and I care about you?” she remarks.

“Why do you care?” your voice grows louder, angrier than you want it, but you’re too stubborn to stop speaking now. “I can’t play anymore, you got the spot on the team, didn’t you? “I mean you said it yourself we’re enemies, right? You hate me?” you continue, repeating her words from last night. “So isn’t this what you wanted? You won. You beat me. Congratulations.”

“So you were eavesdropping?” she asks, her tone attempting to stay angry, but her eyes revealing that look you’re slowly seeing more and more often.

“It’s not eavesdropping if I’m lying right there.”

“Merlin, y/n, I don’t hate you!”

“Liar.”

“You’re so stubborn,” she yells, getting closer to your face.

“If you don’t hate me then why would you say it?” You sat up, both your voices were raising, anger surging through the air.

“Because I don’t hate you! I love you,” she yelled, and then everything went quiet. She loves me? Only now did you realize how close your faces were. Her lips were inches from yours, your ragged breaths intermingled with one another, both of you already exhausted from your previous argument. You looked up from her lips to her eyes, just to find them already staring into yours.

“You what?” you whispered so low that only she could hear it.

“ I-” her eyes were filled with fear. Fear that her feelings won’t be reciprocated. Fear to express the vulnerable emotion that has plagued her heart for how long? You don’t know. So you move forward and capture her lips in yours.

After the initial surprise, Marlene began to kiss you back, her hands finding the back of your neck and your head while yours found her hips. You broke apart too soon for your liking and she rested her forehead on yours. One of your hands moved to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear before speaking. “I love you too.” You watched as her eyes lit up with joy and you couldn’t help but smile. “I get a point on the leaderboard for admitting it first,” she chuckled.

“Mmhm,” you hummed in agreeance leaning forward again so your lips brushed against hers as you spoke, “but I get one for kissing you first.”

“Dammit,” she whispered, before leaning in for another kiss.

· · · ∞ · · ·

“So Gryffindor Beater, huh?” you asked Marlene. The two of you laid together in the infirmary bed, her back pressed up against half of your chest, your arm hanging around her shoulder twirling and untwirling her hair with your one hand while both her hands played with the fingers of your other.

“Yea, James said it’s mine if I want it, but I don’t need to take it if you don’t want me to.”

“No, merlin no,” you said quickly, “I know how much you want that spot, I barely even wanted it. Was only doing it because with my family I felt like I had to.”

“Really?” She looked up at you hopefully, “you don't mind.”

“Nope.” “Promise?”

“Promise.” She gave her a peck on the lips before turning her head around again. “Plus, you’re going to look so hot in that uniform, I feel like I’ll be the real winner in this situation.” Your words earn a loud laugh from the girl in your arms and you feel like you're on cloud 9. You place a quick kiss on her temple and want nothing more than to be the one to make her laugh for the rest of your lives. Lives that you hopefully get to spend together.

Meanwhile…

“Told you so,” he whispered.

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” the second boy groaned, placing coins into the other boy's outstretched hand.

“Yea, but look how cute they are, Moony the Matchmaker.”

“Oh shut up Padfoot,” he groaned, “I’m hungry, let's go to dinner.” “Whatever you say handsome,” barked the boy before looping arms with his lover and walking away from the two girls in the infirmary who looked utterly and completely infatuated with one another.

[hualianff]

Mi Amor(tentia) II 《I》

Every Sunday, XL personally delivers the ingredients to HC to restock after each week. Sometimes it’s during the morning before classes, HC inviting XL to stay and chat over coffee.

Other times, it’s in the middle of HC’s classes because XL’s only has so many chunks of free time to drop the ingredients off. XL usually keeps himself scarce as he helps himself to deposit the ingredients off on HC’s desk in his office.

On days XL is especially busy with classes, meetings with outside personnel and tending to the school’s greenhouse, his sixth-year teaching assistant, BY, will deliver ingredients to HC.

HC is easily the person XL enjoys spending time with the most. They have such fun conversations and HC makes XL feel so comfortable and listened to. Plus, HC is undeniably charming and handsome. XL thanks whatever higher power there is that someone as refined as HC took XL under his wing.

XL has learned and observed that HC is a professor that students either love or hate. Some perceive the potions professor as sketchy-looking and unfair in his grading. They take HC’s pushing as ridiculing, then complain about their poor marks after refusing to do the bare minimum of the assignment.

(Unbeknownst to HC, XL has taken it upon himself to passive aggressively warn these students from bad-mouthing HC in the hallways.)

Understandably, The first year students absolutely cower in HC’s presence. But from fourth year and up, HC is one of the most loved professors. When HC begins to passionately lecture with really big hand gestures and funny word combinations, the students can’t help but admire him with starry eyes.

(Student: “Hua Lao Shi, I don’t think ‘impossibleness’ is a word.”

HC: “It is now. As I was saying, don’t let the impossibleness of a goal influence your confidence in working towards it. You should not pay attention to whether something is possible or not, but rather focus on what steps you’re taking to find your answer.)

He’s clearly smart; intellectually based from the readings he assigns students from his own books; socially as his humor is always on point and he never misses a beat to tease his students; and emotionally because HC does not tolerate bullying in his house or his classroom. (Nor in the school, if he can help it.)

HC himself was bullied back in the muggle orphanage and during his time at Hogwarts. He knows what it feels like to wake up dreading going to classes and interacting with people who had nothing better to do than put others down. 

So while HC can seem intimidating and blunt at first, he genuinely has his students’ best interests and wellbeing in mind. Witnessing how seriously HC takes his job as a teacher and trusted adult figure, XL’s feelings wrap around him like vines and squeeze him in their hold anytime he’s around HC.

XL’s never had a crush like this before.

Later in the semester, XL and HC are chosen as the professors to monitor the first years on their first trip to Hogsmeade. There is no doubt the transfiguration professor, SQX, took part in pulling some strings to make this happen for XL.

What no one knows is that the defense against the dark arts professor also played matchmaker. In an intense game of wizard's chest that unfortunately ended in his defeat, HX was forced to nominate HC to go with XL. 

HC and XL make the best guides. XL is very enthusiastic in answering first years’ questions while HC is good at describing things through muggle terminology.

During his years at Hogwarts, XL has always loved the Hogsmeade trips and bought new candies from Honeydukes each time. In fact, he has a huge sweet tooth that he can never satisfy. Cue XL showing the students around Honeydukes and HC buying all of XL’s favorite goodies in the background.

When it’s time to move on to the next store, HC presents the bagged sweets to XL with a smile.

(XL, staring at the bagged sweets: “San Lang! You shouldn’t have!”

HC, grabbing XL’s hand and physically transferring the bag: “Nonsense. Gege deserves a reward for working so hard lately. Giving him a few candies is the least I can do.”

XL, clutching the bag tightly, fingers tingling from brushing against HC’s own: “If you insist. Many thanks, San Lang.” 

XL snacks on some sweets for the rest of the trip. HC watches with a pleased eye.)

One day during finals week before winter break, XL falls ill with a terrible migraine. He’s been prone to migraines for a while now, which he’s used to enduring with medicine tablets that don’t do much to ease the pain. 

XL manages to get through his morning classes. But by lunch time, his stomach pain worsened tenfold to which HC, who planned on having lunch with XL, convinced the herbology professor to take the rest of the day off. 

“But my classes-” XL’s voice breaks off as he winces as another wave of nausea sweeps through his body. HC puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“I will fill in for you,” HC assures. XL looks like he’s about to protest, however, the potions professor holds a finger up to his lips. “I can quickly brew something up for your pain. You like the smell of eucalyptus, right? I can add a faint scent to soothe your sinuses too.”

“San Lang…”

HC fixes XL with a pointed stare. XL’s face softens, eyes closing in defeat.

“Thank you,” he says gratefully. Without thinking, HC reaches over to cup XL’s cheek, sliding back to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear before massaging his temple. 

“It’s not a problem. Gege needs rest.”

Luckily, HC doesn’t have afternoon classes lined up for the afternoon. Once XL has retired to his room to relax, HC settles behind XL’s desk as students filter in for class to take the final exam.

(Students who had potions that morning entering the herbology room: “Oh shit-”)

Between classes, HC completes the tasks written in XL’s planner he left during lunch. Unfortunately, HC has a certain TA who sidles up next to him out of nowhere, whispering inconspicuously, “I know you have the hots for Xie Lao Shi.”

HC, who had been marking scrolls, jolts in shock. His left hand streaks across the parchment, leaving a red trail in its wake. 

(Student who receives his scroll with a huge red line: “The fuck???? Does this mean it’s wrong? Do I need to do it again?”)

HC ignores BY as he continues about his business. Except BY rolls a chair right beside the desk, her prying eyes making HC feel like he needs to cover more than just his right eye.

“Tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Liar.”

“Watch how you speak to your professor, young lady-”

“Watch how you speak to your professor, young lady,” BY repeats in a nasally voice. HC tightly clenches the pen in his hand. BY, unfazed about testing HC’s patience, sighs pitifully. “Sorry, Hua Lao Shi. I swear, I’m only trying to help.”

“Help with what?” HC asks, attempting to remain oblivious. BY gives HC a deadpan. “Ok, fine. How could you possibly help?”

“Well, I heard that Xie Lao Shi might be crushing on another professor-” HC chokes on his spit. “-and maybe you two…”

BY taps the tips of her pointer fingers together. 

“What!?” HC aggressively clears his throat. The scrolls are long forgotten now. “H-how do you know?”

“He told me,” BY reveals, smirking like the devil’s child.

“Who is it? Tell me more,” HC demands.

“Ah ah ah–you first.”

HC can’t believe this girl who has him cornered is the same timid third-year transfer student who couldn’t even look him in the eye. He bites his tongue, reluctant to discuss his person of interest with a seventeen-year-old. BY just sits there, looking unbothered as she examines her nails while waiting for HC to cave.

It doesn’t take more than ten minutes before HC admits it. 

“Fine. Yes, I like Xie Lao Shi.”

“What do you like about him?” BY asks immediately. HC itches to take points from Hufflepuff; what is this, an interrogation?

To no one’s surprise, HC spends the next half hour praising XL’s selling points (which are all of them) and subtly hinting how plans to ask the herbology professor out soon. BY unhelpfully inputs that HC needs to confess his feelings first. 

“And then he needs to accept your feelings too,” she adds, much to HC’s irritation. 

“I thought you were helping me?”

“I am,” BY smiles innocently. “By listening.”

“You’re not going to tell me who…?” HC falls silent, glaring at the last scroll he finished grading. A glance at his watch indicates there are fifteen minutes left before the final class of the day begins.

“Of course not. I don’t go around spilling professors’ secrets, especially Xie Lao Shi’s,” BY says. HC nods in resignation. 

BY doesn’t tell HC shit in the end, yet somehow made him unload a few things about his feelings regarding XL. HC supposes she was right about the listening part. 

Must be some sort of witchcraft. (HC tells himself that XL definitely would’ve laughed at this thought.)

Strangely, HC feels better after this little confessional session. Though he is incredibly curious as to who has caught XL’s eye in this school. HC’s heart painfully twists in on itself at the possibility that it’s anyone but him. 

HC desperately hopes BY’s rule about not sharing secrets applies to him as well. 

《III》

[zodiyack]

In Letters

Requested by @imaginesbymk​: Oh gosh hi! Could I request a imagine w/ Eugene Sledge falling in love with y/n and when he returns home he surprises them with flowers and asks y/n out on a date? Hope this was ok!

Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, mentions of war

Words: 1,795

Summary: (See Request)

Note: So I got a little carried away and I’m not too proud of the ending, but I tried my best and I hope you liked it :D

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @fandom-puff​, @darling-i-read-it​, @simonsbluee​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​

Masterlist | Joe Mazzello Masterlist

My dearest Gene,

The nights seem quiet, deafeningly so. The room feels lonesome without your presence. Although it pains me to admit it, it’s not just my chambers that are haunted with such sadness.

I feel goosebumps rise from my skin as I lie in bed, similar to the ones I’d get when you wrapped your arms around me. The hairs on my neck rise just as they did when you whispered in my ear each night, assuring me that nothing could hurt me, for you were there to fend off whatever creatures dwelled in the night. But alas, these are not from you this time. My body reacts in such ways to a frightening feeling, one I almost forgot having never felt it after the first night you snuck into my room, and the nights prior to your descent. With you away, I have no soldier to protect me whilst I rest.

My words, melancholy yet true, shan’t bring you down... I hope. Please do not assume wrongly of my intent; I am indeed very proud of you. So much so that I simply cannot help but worry.

What has my worries, you may ask?

Well, my soldier, it’s you. Whether this letter will actually find your soft hands at all, I know not, however, you told me to have hope, so I will. Before you set this parchment aside and go out to your tasks, I ask one last request.

Take your advice, and have hope. When the nights become too much, think not of the horrors, but of me, of this letter, of the nights back home wherein you protect me like you are now protecting us.

You’re so strong and brave. I find it mandatory that you know that and believe it, not just hear the words and brush it off as a compliment. Eugene Sledge, it is a fact. You hold others up as though you are Atlas and they are the world that you carry upon your shoulders. Even now, you carry a burden and you march forward nonetheless. It amazes me. Inspires me, truly.

To end this letter, I’m unsure. Do I make up some falsehood to fill you with delight? No, no, I cannot do such a thing to you, even if I wanted to. I can try all I want, but anytime a lie is formed on the tip of my tongue whenever I talk to you, it rolls backwards rather than out like I want it to.

What ever are you doing to me, Eugene Sledge?

Y/n

Darling Eugene,

You didn’t have to send me the necklace. You know that, right? Nonetheless... I have yet to take it off since I received it. It smells like you. Before the war. Your scent lulls me to sleep as though you are lying with me once more. I’m too overjoyed to remind myself of the reality. I hope you received my gift. And I hope it gives you the same affects yours does unto me.

I try to cling to the hope that you may return safe and unharmed. Any type of war is never easy, I know that, I really do, and I know you won’t be the same person you were when you left. However, you will always be my Gene. With that being said; I will never turn my back on you the way you wrote, the way you feared I would.

Lest you too lack of sleep more than before, I have included a gift of my own. See to it as...a gift to make things even. It’s only fair, seeing as you sent me an accessory you crafted. If you haven’t seen it yet- open it.

A locket can be seen as a feminine accessory, yes, but in truth, it’s attached to no sex. I do hope you like it. I’ve also debated on sending you one with a photo of us both, but settled on purchasing matching necklaces. One for you, which holds my photo, and one for me, which holds yours. Before you lecture me on spending money on you- I spent it for both my sake and yours.

I’ve read every book you gifted me throughout the years and still, you are not yet in my arms nor beside me in the study. I try to imagine, but it gets harder as time goes on. I miss you.

I hold strong aversion to the time it shall take for your return. Nothing pains me more than the suffering you must be going through, and the suffering I too am experiencing. Though my pain is less than yours, it is still great in its ability to affect me. Life without you is dull, meaningless, gut-wrenching and awfully depressing.

Have you made any friends? Other than “Peaches” and “Snafu”, whomever those men are. Perhaps you can introduce some of them to me when you’re home, I’d love to meet the men who kept you company. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. (Peaches is quite an interesting name though. I mean no ill-will behind my curiosity, but...is “Peaches” his real name?)

In reference to my previous question; I myself haven’t made any new friends. To be completely honest, I rarely leave the house. Whenever I step foot outside...it feels...well...pardon my language, like I’m entering a shit show, stepping into hell itself. I’d rather be in hell than live in a world without you.

Think not of my prior comment. Merely bask in the positive parts of this letter. For me.

All my love,

Y/n

Eugene,

I heard you boys are coming home? I do hope the news is true. I fear I cannot face yet another disappointment, nor much longer without you. As time has gone by, nights spent without you beside me, days awfully bore...your face seems to fade as though it plots to abscond.

Funny. It’s seldom that I think of anything else, and it still rebuffs all my attempts to conjure your image into my brain. Whilst I have photographs to assist in my efforts, I can’t quite see your beauty in full, as though the photo is faceless. I miss your charming features and I loathe myself for having struggled to remember them now, even if it happened against my own wishes.

Albeit my words, which were truthful, I still see you in my dreams. Only, when I wake, your face abates until it’s lost in the nothingness, lightyears away from my grasp.

My sincerest apologies for the briefness of this letter and its majority of sorrowful content. I would write you a thousand joyous letters if only I had the strength to tell you falsities.

Awaiting your return,

Y/n

Each letter he received from her warmed his heart and never failed to put a smile on his face. Despite being in a literal warzone, joy never left his heart. The nights where he couldn’t sleep due to the things he had to see, the things his imagination conjured up, or just due to the lack of Y/n. It was the last one more often than not.

Snafu teased Sledge with each letter he managed to catch a glimpse of. Despite the man’s suggestive teasing, the two in question were only friends, inseparable since childhood. However, he wasn’t completely wrong with his jabs. Eugene felt his heart long for her like hers did him, but his longing wasn’t purely platonic. Since his teen years, he felt an almost magnetic-like pull towards her. Her letters only amplified the harshness of the tug on the invisible rope.

His hands shook as he wrote back to her, the first few lines seeming very unlike himself, but the rest so poetic and beautiful, even Snafu was speechless. The words were there, but they only really flowed onto the paper after he let go of control and wrote from the heart. Honest and sincere, he told her as much as he could.

The only thing he didn’t include ever, was a confession.

It took almost all of his strength to prevent himself from giving in to the urge of being lovesick-fool. But as her letters grew more desolate, as the war became more intense, as his time to write shortened...he couldn’t bring himself to confess. He couldn’t bring himself to push that onto her- a confession during the war, forcing her to live with his last letter being a question he could never fulfill.

...

He underestimated himself in so many ways.

The second he returned home, he bought flowers and rushed to find her, not even caring to make sure he looked his best. It was the first thing on his mind. Despite being ever so tired, his eyelids begging to drop for a little while longer, his feet sore beneath him- he powered through.

His fist rapped against the door, a quiet hiss leaving his mouth through his teeth at the feeling of his skin coming in contact with the hard wood. It creaked open, half of a face, an eye mostly, coming into view slowly before it widened and the door swung open.

“Gene!”

She surged forward, wrapping her arms around him as she leapt into his grasp. The two chuckled for a moment before her feet found the ground again and they stood in silence. Drinking each other in, all they could do was smile.

“Oh!” Eugene exclaimed once he’d returned to reality, holding out his hand to Y/n. “I uh- bought these for you.”

“Thank you.” She smiled sweetly, accepting the gift with teary eyes.

“But...not as a friend gift, really.”

“Well of course not, we’re best friends!”

“No, no... I mean it as a step above best friends. I mean them as a gift and a question.” Her brows furrowed and she tilted her head, visibly confused. “I know I just came home- I haven’t even changed my clothes for fucks sake, but I need to ask. I’ve wanted to ask for so long.”

Y/n’s eyes darted around, even more confused than before. “Ask what?”

Eugene cleared his throat, finally meeting her eyes; “Would you be interested in joining me for a meal...or, more specifically, a date? It doesn’t have to be today-”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Y/n bit her lower lip and giggled. “I would love to. Tonight, after you get some rest, I’ll meet you at your place.” Y/n placed a hand on Eugene’s cheek, smiling at him. Then, her lips replaced her hand. She turned and walked back inside, closing the door with a smile.

The soldier outside, who had faced and won two wars around the same time, stood outside, hand where Y/n’s lips were, and a matching smile upon his lips. He was undoubtedly glad he didn’t confess in letters.

[lustbile-archive]

Don’t Make Me Tie You Down

JoshuaxReader

Word Count: 3.2k

Request: Can I request Joshua smut? When you had one of your hand tied up with his hand and he make you orgasm several times before he fuck you hard lol

When Joshua first brought up bringing restrains into your sex life, it was more of a joke.

“If you don’t shut up I swear I’ll..,” he trailed off, teasingly shaking his head at the playful mood you had adopted that day.

“You’ll what Josh?” you had asked, leaning over to crowd his personal space. You genuinely weren’t looking to start anything, you were just feeling more hyper than usual and you wanted to see him get exhausted by you, “ya gonna spank me or somethin’?”

“Maybe,” the quick response made you break out in laughter from the way his eyes widened in seriousness, “maybe even tie your wild ass down.”

You only grinned and brushed him off, he hadn’t sounded incredibly serious so you didn’t think much of it, but the next time, he got more specific.

——

You were in another mood. Nothing serious was going on, it was just he was kind of tired, and realistically so were you. You had spent a whole day out running errands, ending your day by just hanging out and doing your own things, when he decided he just wanted to give you a hug and lean on you for a minute.

Unfortunately for him, your sleepiness had made you a little mischievous. So every time he’d go to rest his chin on your shoulder, or press his face into your neck, you’d duck away, and move to another spot in the room under the guise that you had thought of something new that needed to be done that exact second.

The first few times he huffed. Rolled his eyes, shaking his head. This wasn’t the first time you had gotten like this, and he was fully aware it wouldn’t be the last, so he let it slide. After a few minutes, he’d find you again, and deal with the same motions of you moving away with a mean grin dancing on your lips.

By the fifth time he had had it.

You were standing in front of the couch, fiddling with your phone and your eyebrows drawn together as you held the electronic far too close to your face. Regardless of you not feeling any particular way in the moment, Joshua thought your little scrunched up face made you look cute and grumpy, and despite the denial he had gotten previously, he moved once again to pull you back against his chest.

You almost immediately started squirming, trying to break your arms free from where he held them against your body with his own. You whined out something about needing to look something up on your laptop, before he was pulling you down until you were both sitting on the couch, you sitting still wiggling in his lap.

“Let me cuddle you before I tie you to me,” as soon as the words left his mouth, he was holding you tighter, with his nose digging into the side of your neck.

You couldn’t help but wonder why your stomach started turning and your skin buzzing at the idea of being locked to him, and unable to get away.

And it went on like that another few times. Hollow threats whenever you two were being playful of how he’d tie you down, or lock you to him in some form of fashion. And unfortunately for you, he had yet to follow through.

Maybe it was just becoming a weird subconscious habit of his to use binding you in some way as a threat. Something he wasn’t even aware that he was saying. You two would get playful a lot, and he always liked to playfully scold you, but the threats were so new and very specific, you couldn’t help but find yourself thinking what it would be like to be bound by him.

It was getting to the point where you had to admit they were just empty threats. He’d grow out of his new found threat eventually, and revert to however he would try to put you in line in the past. While you definitely wouldn’t mind him following through, it just felt like he never would.

That was until you were bouncing while hyped up on adrenaline.

——

You weren’t sure what had happened, you just woke up more hyper than usual with a rebellious little streak running up your spine. Joshua, at first seemed to be nothing but amused at your antics, and would even encourage you until you started to wear yourself down.

You’d been bouncing off the walls all day, it was inevitable that you’d start to crash eventually, you just never expected him to take that moment as his time to strike.

Music still pumped against the walls of your apartment from where you were dancing wildly in only a large shirt and a pair of underwear earlier, but instead of spinning like a top in front of your boyfriend while he watched on like a mother watching her child make poor decisions at the local park, you had finally started to dwindle down. Now, instead, you found yourself sinking into one of the chairs placed at the kitchen

counter, your face tucked into your arms as you hummed and enjoyed the dark you had surrounded yourself in.

You were sure you had jumped a few feet in the air when it first touched the skin of your wrist. The cool metal locking around your wrist makes you sit up quickly, but the hold he has on the other end stops you from pulling too far.

“Josh?” the confusion that ran through your still vibrating form making his name the only thing you can form with words. The gleam that bounces in his eyes when you make eye contact and the metal of a handcuff holding you in place only confuses you further.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he starts as he moves the other cuff to lock around his own wrist as you blink at him in curiosity, “but I can’t stop thinking about having you locked to me. Under my control.”

Once the metal is secure around his skin, he tugs gently to see if it would stay. The bite of the metal into your skin makes you shiver and your mind begins running wild at being physically unable to move away from him, away from what he wanted to do. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth and your head is bouncing with a nod before you can even form the thought of making the motion. Your eager agreement making you two adopt matching grins.

“If at any time,” he starts to assure as he helps you stand and begins leading you out of the kitchen and down the hall towards your room, “you need to stop, say red like normal.”

“Yes sir,” you say playfully, saluting once he turns to look at you after opening your bedroom door.

“Good,” he nods, pulling you into the room and closing the door behind him. He follows, hovering over you as you move to lay down with your head pressing into the pillows. He moves his hands to hold himself inches above you, and when your trapped hands press against each other, he intertwines your fingers together.

There’s a moment of silence where his eyes run across the expanse of your face, and you can feel your skin warm at the undivided attention. The intensity in his look makes you start squirming against the sheets until a quiet whimper falls from your lips.

At the sound hitting his ears, he smiles down at you lovingly before he’s moving to press the tip of his nose into yours. His heated breath hits the skin of your mouth as your breaths mix together, before his eyes slide shut and he slots his lips with yours. There’s no pause before his tongue presses to pull your lips apart and allows the warm muscle to lick into your mouth.

You can’t help the quiet whimper you let into his mouth, when his fingers brush the skin of your neck and travel down towards the hem of the loose shirt you wear. You can feel your legs moving in impatience, tangling the sheets below them, and he only happily hums back in response.

His mouth continues to press and mold against yours, as he shoves the fabric up to bunch up above your chest, the cool air of the room hitting you like bricks. Your hips jump into the air, knocking into his, when the tips of his fingers bush gently over your nipples. Your breath becomes labored as he brings the sensitive skin between his rough fingers, and you feel your nails dig into the back of his hand that you hold when he delivers relentless pulls. He only moves a few moments later to move to the other and give it the same amount of attention.

You can feel your heart rate pick up when he lets go and begins traveling his greedy hand down your stomach. His mouth moving away only a few inches, to allow him to start to taunt you.

“Is there something you need me to do?” he rhetorically asks, picking at the band of your underwear, pulling gently down but not enough to expose you to the room, “you seem pretty eager about something, is there a way you want me to help?”

“Josh please,” you try to move your hips up to push his fingers deeper inside the fabric, “please touch me, I promise I’ll be good.”

“You promise huh?” His eyebrows dart up as he asks with a light mocking tone, “well since you promised,”

He trails off, as his fingers move to slide through the arousal that drips from you, a quiet groan rumbling his chest at the amount he finds. He dips his fingers in you quickly to collect the mess you’ve created on his fingers, before moving back up to move his four fingers in slow circles on your clit.

“How about this,” his pace only picks up a bit, but enough to have you writhing with your face screwing up in pleasure, “you come nice and pretty on my fingers and you’ll get a really nice reward. How does that sound?”

Your eyes dart down to look at where his hand is stuffed in your underwear, the fabric of your shirt blocking your view slightly. The sight of his arm flexing and tensing with his efforts is enough to send you reeling with your hand squeezing roughly onto his. His movements only pick up, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm, making your mind fill with fog. The only response you can offer to his question, is another desperate ‘please’ that fills the air of your room.

“Don’t please me baby,” he shakes his head softly with faux disappointment, “whether you get your reward or not is on you, so hurry up and come.”

The quiet, but demanding way he says the words pushes you full force off the edge. The only thing holding you back on earth is the way he squeezes your hand in reassurance, as you shiver and clamp your thighs tightly around his still moving hand.

He pulls his hand away, quietly laughing to himself as you slowly calm down. Your mind is too fuzzy as you try to even your breathing, you don’t feel the way he moves down your body, nor the way your trapped hand obediently follows. You only come to your senses when you feel you joined hands tickling your stomach and his teeth tugging at your underwear.

You can only offer a quiet whimper of his name, before his free hand is dragging the fabric down your legs. He throws them carelessly behind him, a muffled noise of them hitting your floor is the only sound other than your breathing that you can hear, before he begins taunting you again.

“You wanted your reward right? Think you can handle it,” all coherent thought leaves your mind and you only babble in response. He grins happily at the way he’s gotten you to lose yourself with only one orgasm, admiring the way you pant and whine, before he flattens his tongue against your still sensitive skin.

He laughs against you, the vibrations rattling up your spine. Your wrap holds tightly onto his in an iron grip as your free hand moves to fist at his hair. The pain that shoots through his scalp changes his laughter into a deep groan, and his free hand moves to grip your thigh and pull you tight against his mouth.

His chapped lips wrap around your buzzing clit, sucking harshly as your back arches as high as your intertwined hands will allow as they dig into the flesh of your lower stomach. You moans and whines only grow in volume when you feel his drool slip out of his hungry mouth, the air circulating through the room cooling it against your skin.

Your toes curl painfully as your heels dig into his back, and you can already feel yourself being pushed to a second orgasm, when he lets go of your thigh to shove his fingers as deep as they can reach inside you. He thrusts them relentlessly inside you, making your thighs clamp around his skull, and with the combination of the way his fingers curl inside you and his heated tongue abusing your clit you can feel yourself being forced into a blinding orgasm for a second time.

You feel yourself curling into yourself as your body tries desperately to pull itself into the fetal position. Though, even with your shaking and crying, Joshua shows no interest in detaching from your core, and he only moves with you as you fall to your side.

The way your arm gets trapped under you while still trapped in his hold is painful, but the biting pleasure coming from his refusal to allow you a break distracts you from anything else that happens around you.

Regardless of the tearful and incoherent pleads you let out, he only continues to lick against you, as if you were spilling the only thing that would keep him alive. And it's when you feel your nails digging into his scalp and your body trying to crawl up the bed and away from him, you’re forced into your third orgasm of the night.

Your breathing is erratic as you shake in his hold. You’re only partially aware of him moving away from you and the tears steadily running down your face as you try to relax your breathing. Your body melts into the mattress below you as he turns you to lay on your back, every muscle in your body had been turned to liquid from the way he’d managed to pull you apart.

He moves his face back in front of yours as he lays to press your chests together. His lower face glitters slightly from the evidence of your orgasms that you had left behind and you can’t help the dazed smile you give him when he’s gone back to being your sweet boyfriend instead of the demon that was tucked between your thighs only moments before. `

His damp fingers move softly against your stomach as he uses the other hand to squeeze yours gently in hopes to calm you a bit, “you okay?” he asks, the relaxed smile he wears puts you slightly on edge, but the warmth that surrounds you from him being pressed against you makes you smile in return.

“Yeah,” you nod, leaning up to press your lips against his, the action making his smile grow when you move away.

“Good,” he nods in response, and you feel your heart rate pick up, when you lose the feeling of his fingers against your stomach and you hear the shuffling noise of him tugging at his lounge pants, “cause I’m not done with you just yet.”

That’s the only amount of warning you get before his pushing inside you. You feel yourself clench weakly around him, but with the amount of arousal and saliva that still covers your skin, he pushes in with almost no resistance.

He coos at you lovingly as he pushes fully inside you, your hands once again squeezing weakly at his. Your breathing comes out loudly from your nose, as you clench your teeth at the overstimulating pleasure.

He takes advantage of the way your head tilts back at the feeling of him stretching you out, to latch his mouth to the skin of your neck. He licks and sucks softly at the tingling skin as you adjust to him being fully inside you, but when your free hand goes to hold at the back of his neck he takes this as your sign of being ready.

In the same moment, his teeth bite harshly at the skin of your jaw and he starts to thrust sharply inside of you. The rough pace of his hips is overwhelming to your already spent body. Your mind is unable to form thoughts or words as he stuffs you full, your eyes rolling back as you feel yourself lose control on your own form.

Your shoved up the expanse of the bed with each of his thrusts, his tongue and teeth ruining the skin of your neck. You try to wrap your legs around his hips, but his rough rhythm and the weakness of your muscles makes them immediately fall back into the sheets.

He finally pull his mouth from your skin, using a thrust to push his mouth to move against your ear, “give me one more baby,” his fingers return to your clit as he speaks and you feel your body shiver and squirm in response, “come for me, and i'll come for you. Just one more for me yeah?”

The nod you give him is a subconscious act as the thought process behind it never moves through your foggy mind. The pace of his fingers match the pace of his thrusts, and it's only moments after his command, that his teeth bite down on the lobe of your ear and your coming for the final time.

Though not as strong as the ones before, the orgasm that runs through you makes all of the muscles in your body tense and shake. And as tired and slurred moans fall out of your mouth with no control, you can feel the way that your clenching walls pull him along with you and into an orgasm of his own.

Your lower belly warms as he fills you with his come, his low groans putting enough energy into you that you find the strength to wrap your legs and free arm tightly around his body. He’s pressed fully into you as his orgasm subsides and he curls around your body in return.

You’re not sure how long you lay there wrapped up in each other’s arms, his clammy hand unmoving from yours. It could have been only moments or hours that you lay there, but it's not long before your eyes start to fall close in exhaustion.

“You’re always so good for me,” there’s a lapse in your mind in registering his words, but once the words string together, you happily purr in response, “always let me play with you any way I want hm?”

“Mhm,” you respond, afraid that any other noise would come out completely disjointed.

“We can lay here for a little longer,” his fingers running up and down your spine as he speaks, “but we gotta get out of these handcuffs and get you cleaned up before you pass out on me.”

[hippohead]

15 and 16 for the kisses list!

hello anon! sorry this took a little while, but here is 15. a fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick. enjoy!

read it on ao3

It’s been an entire month since the day he finally kissed Kurt but Blaine can’t stop getting stuck on this: how on earth did he not realise sooner?

Because Kurt is pacing, back and forth and relentless, a monologue about the new Hello, Dolly! film announcement coming out of him like it has to, like if he doesn’t look at Blaine with wide and imploring eyes and say, “-the Barbra Streisand version is right there,” then he might explode. And it’s adorable. It is passion inside of him that makes him puff out his chest and complain, compare, despair over whatever director will ‘ruin’ his favourite film. Lots of films are Kurt’s favourite film.  

Blaine really loves that about Kurt; that he cares about so many things and that they are all his favourite, the contradiction of labeling more than one thing that seemingly completely irrelevant.  

Kurt pauses and takes a deep breath, and then starts up again, his argument shifting to Hollywood’s obsession with remakes in general now. There are a million different things that Blaine wants to do; roll off Kurt’s bed and tackle him into a hug, or shut him up with a kiss, or let him talk until he tires himself out and use the time to watch him, understand him, let the adoration in his heart for this boy grow even more. He wants to kick the door closed even though Burt had made a pointed comment about leaving it open, and distract Kurt with his mouth and his hands and his-

All of it – the wanting to do something but not being sure what and the adoring and the wandering thoughts, is not exactly new. It’s always been here, in the space between Kurt and Blaine. It just took him so stupidly long to catch up and figure it out and know.  

Kurt had asked him to stop beating himself up about it after the fourth apology. “We’re here now and that’s what matters,” is what he’d said, and then he’d kissed Blaine in a way that was so sure, so solid, so grounded, that Blaine had felt them twist and plant with roots.

He stopped apologising after that, but it doesn’t stop him from wondering why it took him so long to identify this delicious ache in his chest that’s been here all along, since that first day on the Dalton staircase.  

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice sounds different – soft, no longer raised. “I’m ranting, aren’t I?”

“Mm,” Blaine nods, a smiling playing on his lips. “Keep going.”

Kurt huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, more at himself than at Blaine’s teasing.  

“Come here,” Blaine says, all of the tease gone and entirely replaced with plead. He hasn’t been able to get a handle on the neediness that comes with all of the stopped apologies, but he knows the assurance in Kurt’s touch, Kurt’s smile, Kurt’s closeness will soothe him.  

Kurt does – climbs onto his bed where Blaine is resting with his back against the headboard and kneels in front of him, reaching out to curve his hand around Blaine’s thigh in a gesture that is so intimate, he’s not quite sure he deserves it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Blaine smiles, looking down at the way Kurt’s thumb is moving over his leg, a tiny touch that says, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here. “Sometimes I just need to feel you, to remember that you’re real, to know that I didn’t mess it all up.”

There’s something generous about the way Kurt kisses him at that, all softness and willing to give him what he needs. Kurt always looks after Blaine’s insecurities with a feather-light touch and more patience than Blaine’s used to, and he does it again with this murmur: “You did the opposite of mess it all up.”

He lets that settle, tucked away in the corners of him, safe. And then it’s his turn to offer something, “When the remake comes out, I’ll take you to the cinema to see it and then even if it’s good, we’ll get a coffee afterwards and talk about how awful the casting was and how badly it was directed. Okay?”

Kurt grins, “Okay.”

They look at each other for a moment, just look, nothing required or expected. Sometimes his feelings for Kurt take him off guard, like they’ve been building up for so long without his knowledge that the gravity of them shock him. Right now, though, he’s realising that the weight and enormity is for a reason, even if they’re young, even if this thing between them is still running on firsts and newness. The roots are so deep that he can’t move, doesn’t want to, wants to be a tree with Kurt next to him always.  

He wants to ask Kurt if it’s normal to feel like you’ve found the love of your life at sixteen years old. They haven’t even said the L word yet, though, so he doesn’t.

“I like this shirt,” Kurt says, playing with the hem, breaking the intensity of the moment. “You wore it to Rachel’s party.”

“I did. You have a freakishly good memory.”

“That,” Kurt laughs, shuffling on the bed until his legs are kicked out to side of him, bent, his knees needing a break, “-or I just noticed because I had a stupidly big crush on you.”

He knows Kurt is just teasing, lightly, making fun of the pining he had done while Blaine was being busy being oblivious. He’s trying to give him some ease, but suddenly Blaine feels desperate to let Kurt know he wasn’t totally alone in it all. Especially not that night.  

“I noticed, too.”

Kurt looks at him, a little skeptical, as if his memories of that night prove otherwise. And he has a point, really, because Blaine had been an idiot. Actually, he’d been more than an idiot – obnoxious, out-of-his-depth, scrambling. Kissing Rachel, getting stupidly drunk, taking the easy way out instead of acknowledging what it meant that looking at Kurt in that outfit made him feel like he was overheating, on fire, too much.  

“I noticed,” he reaffirms, because he did. "Red shirt, buttoned all the way up.” He lets his finger run up the centre of Kurt’s chest, over the top of his sweater, stopping at the base of his throat. “Black tie,” and he flattens his hand, palm curving around his neck. Slowly, he moves his fingers to Kurt’s shoulder, drags them across his body diagonally, “That fucking harness belt.”

Kurt has been staring at him, stuck on a breath, but the curse word makes him inhale, quickly, like he can’t quite believe it. Blaine’s voice is filthy – far filthier than they’ve ever let themselves get around each other but he can’t help it. That harness belt is what had started his unravel that night, and it’s haunted him ever since.  

He lets his hands fall to Kurt’s hips, follows the curve of them and then down his thighs, “Black pants with safety pins all the way down the side.”

“You remember it,” Kurt says, almost a question but not quite.  

He doesn’t know how to tell Kurt that he more than just remembers it; he knows it, has it traced out in his mind and on-call, a picture, a painting, a portrait. He’s thought about Kurt in that outfit in bed, late, hand down his pajama pants and imagining what would have happened if he had done something that night. It feels like too much to reveal and they’re still figuring out where they’re at with all of that. So, instead, he says, “It was a very good outfit.”

Kurt smiles and lets a little bit of the tension that Blaine has created drain away, and waves his hand in a dismissal, “Yes, well, I was trying to impress someone.”

Blaine’s tone and the look in his eyes build that tension back immediately, as if he’s missed it in the second it was gone and needs it back in the air right now, “It worked.”

And then Kurt is – smirking. He’s smirking at Blaine, as if it’s finally sunk in that his outfit that night had an effect on Blaine, and that it makes him feel powerful, noticed, sexy. “Close your eyes.”

“What?” Blaine asks.  

“Close your eyes,” Kurt repeats, and it’s deep, dark, lower than his voice usually is. Sort of strict. Blaine nods quickly and then does.  

He feels the bed shift as Kurt climbs off it, and then he hears noise – general sounds of Kurt moving around his bedroom before a, “Keep them closed, okay?” and then the door closing. Blaine peeks; he can’t help it. The room has gone silent and his quick glance confirms it; Kurt has locked himself in his adjoining bathroom. He squeezes his eyes shut again and waits.

“Blaine? You can- you can open your eyes.”

Kurt’s voice has lost its lowness, instead filled up with a mixture of nervousness and commitment. He opens his eyes. They immediately blur into something darker, richer, raking over Kurt’s body. He’s standing in the doorway to the bathroom, head to toe in the exact same outfit. Boots, safety pin pants, red shirt, black tie. Harness belt.  

He’s fixed his hair, too, a little bit more styled that it was just before.  

Blaine knows he should say something. Kurt is doing this for him. Entirely for him. His mouth feels dry, though, and nothing feels worthy of being said right now when he could just watch. Admire. Drink him in.

“You know how I feel about repeating outfits,” Kurt says, less nervousness in his tone now, “but I figured I could make an exception.”

“Kurt, you...” but, what? He still doesn’t have a single clue how to articulate what he’s feeling. Kurt looks... hot. He always does but right now unbearably so. He’s noticing him the same way he did that night, but this time he doesn’t have to hide it, bury it, ignore it, distract himself from it. He lets it wash over him and enjoys the thrill it gives him, the way it makes Kurt flush because he can see the want in Blaine’s eyes.  

So he gives up on words; moves across the bed and hops off it, makes his way over to Kurt but keeps the steps slow, careful, on purpose. Grips the harness once he’s close enough, fingers winding around the strap and holding on the way he’s wanted to ever since he first saw it on Kurt. And then he tugs, quite strong, still on purpose.  

Kurt looks happy, triumphant, knowing he’s succeeded in what wanted from this. 

“Can I kiss you how I should have kissed you that night?” he asks, a little desperate.  

Kurt nods, sure, sure, so sure. He’s always been so sure.  

Why hasn’t Blaine?

He wants to start with a tenderness, to ease them into the kiss that Kurt deserves, but apparently his lips have other plans. They’re fierce and insistent right from the start, giving and taking so much, everything, more, more, more. He keeps pulling on the harness as if Kurt could get any closer to him, as if their bodies aren’t already lined up and pressed together.  

Kurt’s hands twist around the back of his neck, tugging too. They are both tugs and pulls and need. Blaine can feel a heat in both of them that he’s never felt before – they've made out plenty; in empty rooms, in the back seat of Kurt’s car, on Blaine’s front porch. Anywhere they could, really. But there had been a sweetness in that making out, like they were just tasting and trying and falling into it, nicely. There is nothing just nice about this.  

He wants more. It feels like Kurt wants more, too.  

They won’t chase more, though, because of the open bedroom door and Burt being upstairs and they haven’t talked about... that. But it makes him feel wild and excited to know that it’s there, under the surface, and that they will get to it.  

He starts to slow the kiss down, loosening his grip on the harness and giving the tenderness that he’d intended to start with. And then he nips at Kurt’s bottom lip, playful at first and then one last one, with more intent, to let Kurt know he doesn’t want to be stopping, but is. And then he uses his tongue to soothe it, glides over the spot he just bit, and kisses him once more. Soft. Tender. Lingering.

Kurt breathes for a moment. He needs to. Blaine needs to, too.  

And then once it settles, Kurt speaks. It’s quiet and reverent and almost a whisper.

“You noticed.”

He did. He definitely did.  

“I noticed.”

[liukangmybeloved]

everyone else is fighting for second {Mortal Kombat (2021)}

SPOILERS FOR MORTAL KOMBAT (2021)

Summary: Canon Divergent AU. Crack & Fluff. The team develops into something of a found family, which happens to include Cole's actual family. They take a day off from fighting to go to the fair, where the biggest question is 'who is Cole's daughter's favourite in the team?' Besides her dad, of course. Kano is very competitive about this question.

A/N: 1968 words. I will take a meat-tenderizer and FIX the canon and make it SOFT. i love cole young and mk 2021, if you don't like that, you've been warned. everybody lives/nobody dies AU & kano isn't a traitor. also imagine there's just like.... more time before the tournament. enough to become a found family. like i said, fluff & crack. warnings for swearing.

If Cole had it his way, Emily and Kano would have never met. He would be perfectly happy letting everyone else on the team meet her, but he's yet to hear a single sentence leave Kano's mouth that didn't include some colourful variation of 'fuck', 'shit', 'wanker', or 'cunt'. So unsurprisingly, he wasn't exactly eager to let his teenager daughter near the man who Sonya had literally called 'scum of the Earth', but alas.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, pinky-swear!" Kano's grin was all teeth as he'd held his pinky finger up to Cole's glowering face, wiggling it a little when Cole made no move to finish the pinky-swear.

"If you say - cunt -" and the word sounds so uncomfortable coming from Cole, he damn well looks uncomfortable just saying it, "within a hundred feet of her, I'll get Kung Lao to cut you in half." And he gesutres over to where Kung Lao and the rest of their ragtag bunch of misfits; the man in question had forgone his usual weapon for a more modern, soft-brimmed sunhat, but his jaunty wave to Kano at the sound of his name still managed to be menacing. The Australian shuddered in horror at the mere thought; at least he took the threat seriously.

"You don't have to be jealous, man," the threat seemed to only have dampened Kano's jovial attitude momentarily, as he's got a spring in his step as he follows Cole to the rest of the gathered champions, "Uncle Kano's gonna set a fuckin' - flippin' -" he corrects himself as Cole shoots him a warning look, "great example." Sonya barks a loud, derisive laugh as Cole sees fit to remind him that he's not Uncle Kano.

"Emily's a good kid," Liu Kang assures, kind and sincere.

"Yeah, she never even believes me when I tell her Kano's a dirty, little rat," Kung Lao smirks in the face of Kano's sudden outrage, and Cole is pretty sure that, despite it being Emily and Alison's idea, to give the team a day of levity and to bond, this might be the worst plan he's ever agreed to.

"This is a day of bonding, not of infighting," Raiden's voice joins them, followed by the God himself only moments later, which is enough to unite all the champions in confusion at his choice of wardrobe for the day. While still sporting a majority of his usual attire, somehow he'd managed to procure a t-shirt with a meme of all things on it, a personalised meme!

"I designed it myself, I think it turned out pretty okay; whaddya think?" Kano sounded far too proud of himself, looking at the cartoon drawing of what could only be Raiden himself pointing awkwardly at Thor as depicted in Marvel Comics, who was pointing back.

"We are both Gods of Thunder," Raiden explained, pointing to his own shirt; Sonya had gone wide-eyed, unsure of how to react, while Jaxx was doing his utmost not to burst out laughing.

"I... didn't know you knew what a meme was," Cole admits, though honestly, once the shock had worn off of, it was rather charming.

"I didn't know you knew what a meme was," Kano fired back, equally confused.

"I have a thirteen-year-old, of course I know what a meme is -" but then it seems to hit him just as it hits Sonya and Jax, and the three of them turn to the pair of confused, cave-dwelling, internet-free champions. None of them knew where to begin trying to explain the whole situation, but thankfully, Raiden chose that moment to open a lightning portal, and they all headed through quickly.

----

The night that Cole and his family had gone home after everything had gone down, the fighting, Sub-Zero, and the man he's pretty sure is the ghost of his ancestor, Emily had looked him dead in the eye and called him a super hero.

And then told him that his friends were really cool.

This was a sentiment that his new friends seemed to share about his family.

Cole quickly comes to realise that family isn't something a lot of the rest of the team have nowadays; they have each other, but for a lot of them, that's mostly it. He sits on an invite to dinner that he'd already ran past Alison several days ago, before inviting Liu Kang and Kung Lao over, if nothing else, to repay the hospitality they'd shown him so early on.

Alison's rule was that there was to be peace on their property; no training, no fighting, but the team was welcome as long as they didn't bring trouble to the door.

So then it was Sonya and Jaxx, who brought dessert when they came over.

Emily once asked what Thunder Gods ate. Did they eat? Cole wasn't sure. He extends an invite to Raiden anyways, but it's politely declined. The next time, however, he took up Cole's invite, mostly for the company, and to thank Alison and Emily for their patience; having Cole away so often wasn't easy, he'd be the first to acknowledge that. Alison appreciated the sentiment, as did Emily, though she was also just bursting with questions for the God, and he did his best to answer what he could.

Then finally - finally - after so long spent with the team, of most of them coming to find comfort and serenity in his home on the occasions that they need it, Kano is invited to Sunday lunch too.

----

"I know us champions and our super powers are pretty cool," Kano says to Emily, the moment they step through the lightning portal and emerge into the sunshine and the noise of the fair, "but I'm your favourite, right? Besides your old man, of course," and he rolls his eyes a little at that, as does Cole, for very different reasons, while Alison shoots Cole a questioning look. Thankfully she still does not trust Kano as far as she could throw him.

For her part, Emily answers incredibly diplomatically, sounding much older than her thirteen years, and quite a bit like her mother;

"Kano, you're a grown man, my approval shouldn't matter to you," she sounds sincere, which is completely undercut by Kung Lao sliding into step beside Kano.

"Which means you're not her favourite," he teases, and Kano practically growls back, embarrassed, while Emily calls out to Raiden that she likes his shirt. He practically beams.

"Not a lot of people will really get it, though," she points out, and Raiden muses on that for a moment.

"But I get it, and it's mine."

"Fair point," Emily nods at that, as their strange group steps up to buy tickets.

---

Emily spends more of the fair of people's shoulders than she does actually walking, which delights her endlessly. Mostly she's up on Jax's shoulders, and charges her cotton candy for the ride, ripping a small chunk from the one Cole had bought for her.

"It's weird seeing you all look so normal," she says to Sonya, the two of them in line for the Dodge 'Em Cars alongside Liu Kang and Kung Lao. Sonya grins, knows exactly what she means, gaze turning to the two members of the Shaolin Order of Light, not that anyone would know simply from looking at them now. Where Liu Kang had found a pair of trendy, ripped jeans was beyond Sonya's imagination.

"You look cool, though," Emily amended quickly, "I didn't realise you all would come to the fair, but I'm glad you did," she's smiling brightly as they get closer to the front of the line.

"Who did you expect to come along today?" Liu asks, eyes wide and curious. It wasn't that he was as competitive as Kung Lao or Kano, but he still found the child's interpretation of their group to be interesting. She knows, in some capacity, what they're capable off; she'd watched her father slice, dice, and kill Goro after all. The fact that she could think so highly of them speaks a lot to her capacity for kindness, or perhaps her childish naivety, but Liu preferred to think it was the former.

Emily, however, goes quiet, seems to be a little embarrassed. She mutters something, avoiding eye contact with any of them, and Liu goes to ask her to repeat herself, but she interrupts him while doing so;

"I wanted Dad to have a day off," she admitted, before adding, "and... and Lord Raiden; I don't think he's had a day off this millennium."

"It's good of you to look out for them," Sonya tells her fondly, "our team can be pretty single-minded, but we needed this day off, I think." And she gives Emily a pet on the shoulder, and lets her steer the tandem Car when they finally get a turn.

----

"It's me, right? I'm your favourite," Jax asks Emily over lunch, not because he genuinely believes it, but because it riles up Kano, and to a lesser extent, the competitive Liu Kang.

"Jax is one bad day away from pledging his allegiance to Skynet, he can't be your favourite -" Kano grumbles.

"Dad's my favourite," Emily reminds them sternly, and Cole has to hide his proud little smile, before she adds, "and mom's my favourite too, the rest of you, well of course you're all badass as hell -"

"Is it Liu? 'Cos he's pretty and you're, yanno, a teenage girl," Kano scowls at the warrior who'd been attempting to just quietly enjoy his basket of fries. Both Cole and Alison are wearing similarly murderous expressions, and Kano raised his hands in mock surrender, dropping his gaze.

"Actually," Emily said pointedly, despite the embarrassed flush on her cheeks, though she was mirroring her parents intensity, "my favourite is Raiden because he's literally a God that shoots lightning out of his hands, and you're now my least favourite because you're a rat bastard."

"I taught her that," Kung Lao was grinning from ear to ear, and when he and Emily look to each other, they share a definitive nod.

"How come he's allowed to teach her words like bastard?!" Kano demanded to know.

"Because you're a bastard," Sonya interjects.

Kano is thankfully quiet for the remainder of lunch, sulking at his end of the table as chatter returns to normal, returns to talk of how everyone else had been enjoying the day.

----

At the end of the day, Kano shoves a large, stuffed kangaroo at Emily that he'd won at the booth where you had to knock over bottles.

"Didn't even use me eye or anything; lost an hour of my life and fifty fuckin' dollars," he was grumbling, while Emily was examining the prize.

"You won this?" She seemed endeared by it, endeared by the thought that he'd put the time into winning it for her.

"'course I won it, can I stop being your least favourite now?" He asked, and Emily tucked the kangaroo beneath her arm, giving him an appraising look.

"You can't buy my loyalty -"

"Wouldn't want it if it could be bought, I know that shit from experience," Kano interjected, crossing his arms defensively, ignoring where Cole was glowering at him every time he swore.

"But you put time in, and effort, so you're back to third with everyone else."

"As long as none of those bastards is beating me, I'm okay with that."

As they headed to the exit, to where Raiden had created a lightning portal for them all to go home through, Emily reached out and punched Kano lightly in the shoulder.

"Thanks, Kano, it's pretty sweet that you care so much."

"Don't tell the others," he grumbled back.

"We've been with you all day," Jax calls out, "we already know."

[marcykinsmaki]

Since you write for all games can you write a s/o who at first couldn’t stand byakuya, mondo, kazuichi, and fuyuhiko but they comfort the s/o after a trial and they go from rivals to friends to lovers <3? Up to you if the guys disliked the s/o at the beginning too! If that’s too many characters the ones that really matter to me are byakuya and kazuichi! Thank you!!

HEYYYYY IT’S FINALLY DONE AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAANDAMDALKMDWAD cough cough cough. anyway. i only wrote byakuya because this piece is almost 5k words i hope you like it please love it anyway here it is.

Byakuya Togami x Reader.

Words: 4,365 (long)

CW: Mentions of suicide, heavy angst in the beginning, some suggestive moments.

Rating: Mature

--

You have to be kidding. This can’t be real. I thought he was bad before, but this? This is an entirely new low. He’s a jerk, a complete asshole who does nothing but make everything harder for everyone and laugh in our faces about it. Saying shit to hold us back, to make us confused and scratch our heads while he holds something we don’t. But messing with a body. A dead person’s corpse, for the sake of what?

“The motive of my actions is irrelevant.” I stared at him with a gaping jaw. “The thing we should be doing is figuring out the true killer. We know it isn’t Genocide Jack and now we know that it isn’t me.” Like that makes me feel better. He looks over to me, the sting of tears growing behind my sinuses. “Please, Y/N, keep yourself together. You’re going to catch flies if you keep that mouth open so wide.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and my hands grip themselves into tight fists, my body shaking with rage.

“Y/N, it isn't worth getting angry at.” Kyoko interrupts me before I could do something. “I think we’re all upset at this reveal, but we have to continue. It was an intrusion that no longer stands in our way. Let’s continue.” She replied before continuing on.

Eventually, Mondo slipped. Makoto caught his lie and called him out. The rest of the trial was a haze. We all watched Mondo get strapped to the motorcycle, ride into the cage and eventually come out as… that. Some sick fucking joke that is. We all stood after, looking at each other as we tried to hold ourselves together.

“Chihiro was a good person.” I finally broke the silence. They all looked to me. My eyes were locked onto the floor. I couldn’t stand to face anyone. “He didn’t deserve someone like you to be touching him and moving around his body so we could all get slaughtered for your stupid half second decision. And for what?” I muster up the courage to face him. “What was running through your head that this was a good idea? You know that you would’ve died, too. You’re all for other people speaking on your behalf or whatever stupid thing you have going on,” I began to step forward towards him. “, whatever God complex you fucking deal with. You are so far up your own fucking ass that you were willing to drag us all down for your dedicated fanboy shit? You hate when people mess around like low lives yet you built your own coffin, dug your own grave, locked yourself in your stupid little box, and buried yourself.” I eventually was face to face with him. The room was still silent. Even Monokuma didn’t say anything. Byakuya stared at me with the same unnerving judgemental gaze he held for everyone. “Stop circle jerking with yourself and get with the fucking program. People’s lives are at stake here, Byakuya. Take a drill and screw that into your head. I’ll even do it for you if you need help, because obviously you can’t see that we’re all hurting. I know you don’t give a rat’s ass, but you are a fucking asshole. And I hope one day that big ass ego dildo falls out of your gaping rectum.” I spat at him, turning and exiting the trial room. He looked disgusted by the time I turned to walk away, the silence failing to fall again as I walked out, tears streaming down my face and the pain in my chest and throat from the stress of this all finally settling in. I began to sob as I walked out and straight to my dorm. Chihiro was a good friend. He didn’t deserve this bullshit. I felt bad that Mondo died and his trauma or whatever, but Chihiro was just an innocent boy in a killing game that he didn’t deserve to be in. None of us deserved this. I found myself in my room eventually, the hallway down to my room seeming smaller than normal. I swing my door open, slamming it shut behind me and locking it. I quickly approach my bed, my body breaking down as I fall onto the mattress. My chest hurts from the sobbing, tired and exhausted from the excuses. My hearing diminishes and I relax, falling into a deep sleep.

“Y/N? … Y/N.” I hear a soft voice calling out to me. I slowly come-to and my eyes flutter open. A soft hand is on my back. My eyes fix to the figure standing in front of me. Hina. “Hey, you’re awake! Thank goodness, I’ve been standing here for like 10 minutes trying to wake you up.”

“Oh.. hey, Hina. Sorry, I guess I was just really tired.” I slowly sit up, looking up to her. She shrugs with a big smile on her face.

“No biggy. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. New floor opened up and we were all waiting for you, but no one wanted to check… just, you know.” She shrugs.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Sorry, again. I’ve just been stressed lately.” Pain settles in my throat, a hand raising to rub my neck.

“Will you plebians please hurry up?” A familiar voice sounds from behind Hina. I notice my door is open now, my eyes shooting up and Hina turning to see… Byakuya. We stand in tense silence for a few moments. “Don’t stare at me like dead fish, hurry the Hell up so we can get this done and stop being lazy.” He calls out to us again from my door, staring me down with an intense gaze before turning to leave us alone again. Hina turns back to me.

“Jeeze, I hate him so much.. Why is he always like this? Can’t he just be a team player for once?” She huffs. “Anyway, let’s hurry up so you can eat something. Not good to explore on an empty stomach!” She holds a hand towards me with a smile. I nod, reaching up to her and helping myself up, still in my clothes from yesterday and not bothering to change. Doesn’t seem to bother either of us.

--

After getting something to eat, I walk up to the next floor, reassuring Hina that I’ll be fine on my own after several minutes, watching her leave with Sakura. I began to walk out on my own, looking around and passing a random hallway I’ve yet to explore as I feel someone grab my arm and pull me aside, putting a hand over my mouth and nose, holding me close to them in silence. I struggle, and feel a hand grab onto my hips. My cheeks heat up.

“Quit struggling. It’s only me.” A calm, yet annoyingly familiar voice sounds out again. Byakuya. I quickly stop, my heart still racing. He can’t kill me now.. Way too early. He peels off his hands from my body. I quickly turn around with rage.

“What the Hell was that for, asshole?!” I retaliate. He chuckles a bit, only making me angrier.

“Keep that vulgar language out of your mouth. It doesn’t suit you, ruins your face.” He teases. I’m so confused, why is he acting like this? “My motivations for doing that isn’t important. What we should be doing is exploring the rest of the floor.” He nods, walking away as if nothing happened. I shake my head, trying to make some sort of excuse, turning the corner to give him a piece of my mind. But before that happens, he’s already too far gone for the effort to be worth it. I sigh to myself, just continuing forward and searching. I mean, what… what? Why? Suddenly he’s being all handsy with me, giving me no reason? Wonder what happened the last time he said that. Whatever.

--

Another body. Another trial. Jesus. My heart drops to my stomach. I was never really close with the two of them, but you can’t help but feel bad that after all that chasing and that fiasco that this is the outcome. A frown finds its way to my face. I feel someone tap on my shoulder. 

“Y/N. You will be accompanying me on my investigation.” Byakuya spoke behind me. I could feel his presence suddenly get closer to me, instinctively turning and backing away. He has a smirk on his face. “I’m not taking no for an answer, so wipe that petty look off of your face, Y/N. Please.” I immediately shake my head a little in disbelief.

“What?”

“What do you mean what? You’re going to be conducting the investigation with me. Now.” He refused to explain further, as always. I’ve gotten used to this, but him saying the word please. I never knew it was part of his vocabulary voluntarily. I follow behind towards the first body, my heart beating in a way I never knew it could before. At least, not for someone like this. I must be going crazy. I must be hearing things. Someone pinch me. “Hello? Must you be incompetent right now? We have a case on our hands and we need to finish it, L/N.” He almost snarls at me. I roll my eyes and join him, a smirk taking over his face for a split second only he and I could see. I feel the same invasive heat flooding my cheeks, unable to stop the red blush filling my face afterward. I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay? You look really…. Red.” I hear Aoi speak behind me. “Are you hot-”

“No, Asahina, they’re coming with me. Thank you very much, I can assure you that they are fine.” Byakuya interrupts her. She huffs towards him, puffing her chest out with dominance.

“Whatever. Please stay safe around him, Y/N. He can be… dangerous. I don’t trust him that much.” Hina looks to me with a concerned expression.

“I can handle myself, don’t worry. I won’t let him do anything.” I reassure her. She smiles and nods, as I return to Byakuya’s side. I feel like a damn puppy, walking by his side and coming to his beck and call.

“Well? Get to work. I don’t want to be here long.” He speaks softly to me. My body stiffens, nodding as I go down and begin my investigation. The rest of this goes on in silence, his eyes burning holes into the back of my head. It sent chills down my spine when I would look up to him from the ground, which he actually made me do, but was completely unnecessary. He just looked me up and down, and shrugged, every single time I asked if I was done. He physically would not let me leave. I never understood why he did that, and I don’t think I ever will, but eventually, we had succeeded, a wide smile on my face from finishing.

“Finally! God, I thought I’d be on the floor all day.” I sighed, joining Aoi and Sakura’s side, which I had made good friends with by now, being a kind of trio at this point since the first trial. But before I could join them, to our collective dismay, Byakuya cleared his throat.

“I didn’t say you could leave.” He kept his eyes off of us, refusing to look at me, having this long look of betrayal on his face. I sighed.

“Sorry, Hina; Sorry, Sakura, he’s been like this since the investigation.” I apologized profusely, the two looking at Byakuya intensely as I joined his side. He looks over at me one last time before we all went onto the elevator, going down to the trial room.

--

The trial was long, and the execution was brutal. Kinda funny, but brutal. I quickly join Aoi and Sakura after, Byakuya giving me a dirty look. I shrug it off, joining the girls for some quick after-execution down time, Aoi quickly suggesting donuts and tea,  Sakura making sure she doesn’t go overboard, knowing how she can get with this stuff. We laugh at each other, and I swear I see someone out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head, and in a split second they’re gone. But I’m used to seeing things after stuff like this, just my brain messing with me.

... Right?

Later that night, I returned to my room after about an hour of talking out our feelings with the other two. I’m just hanging out, resting my eyes until I drifted off, only to be interrupted by my doorbell ringing. I sat up, stretching a little, scratching my head and approaching the door. I open the door, and it’s suddenly flung open, which makes me step back in defense.

“Don’t fret, it’s only me. You should really be more careful of who you open the door for, I could have been a wild maniac coming to rip your throat open.” He makes his way into my room, without even asking. Which for him is in character, of course. I groan, rolling my eyes all the way back into my head, hoping they’d stay there. “Oh come now, don’t act like you aren’t surprised.”

“Trust me, Byakuya, I’m not, now what do you want?” I close the door behind him, staring at him with intense fury. 

“I’m here to propose something.” He turns to me, arms crossed against his broad chest. I sigh, shifting my weight to one leg, my eyes now being washed over with exhaustion.

“What.” The words fell out of my mouth carelessly.

“I wish to form an alliance with you.” My eyes widen. The same smirk returns from before. He knows how to get under my skin. He began to approach me, slowly. I back up at the same pace.

“An alliance?” I tilt my head a little. He nods.

“You help me in my every day life, like an assistant, and you help me during investigations,” He continues towards me, me not paying attention as I suddenly feel the heel of my foot against the door. We were already at a distance, him continuing his approach silently, and soon getting close enough to where he places a hand next to my head. “, and then I’ll gift you with certain information and grace you with my presence and willing conversation.” He speaks in a lower tone now, a rasp in his voice and rumble in his chest I’ve never heard before brushes against my ears. The unwelcome yet obscenely familiar warmth comes to my cheeks. He chuckles, bringing a hand and brushing some hair that’s sitting in front of my face. “Do you think you can do that for me, Y/N?” I squint up at him, trying to think of a way to escape. He looks at me with some tone under his eyes that I can’t read. After a few passing moments, I finally answer.

“Fine. Yes, whatever, can you leave me and take your weird antics with you?” I spat. He squints.

“Be ready to get up earlier. When you serve me, you must address me as Mr. Togami. Otherwise, you can just call me Byakuya. Please present yourself nicely, you are beginning to represent me, now, so your expectations are even higher coming from me.” He assures me, finally letting me go, backing up so I can step away from the door. I quickly grab the handle, opening the door oh-so-graciously for him. “Be up by 7, at least. And be in the cafeteria by 8 to 8:30. Sharp. I don’t tolerate tardiness.” He nods, exiting finally. I slam the door behind him, grunting loudly to myself. Thank whatever God is watching over me that these walls are soundproof.

--

8 a.m. came faster than I wanted it to. I was up by 7, out of the shower by 7:15, ready by 7:45. I arrived earlier than expected, Byakuya looking up to me in the cafeteria from the open book in his hands, us being the only ones in the room. I approach nervously, hoping this is up to his expectations. Why is my heart beating so fast for a man that doesn’t give half a damn?

“Good morning.” I fill the open air. He looks back down to his book. I squint at him. “Good morning.” I repeat. I’m confused. I stand staring down at him, and after a good while I finally realize what I’m missing. “Good morning, Mr. Togami.” I force, rolling my eyes. He frowns into a disappointed look.

“Finally. Good morning to you, too. Watch your tone next time.” He snaps back at me. “Do you know how to make coffee?”

“Kinda.” I shrug. He sighs.

“Thank God they are competent enough to give us the proper technology for it to be easy. Go and figure it out. Keep it plain black. No creamer, no sugar.” He doesn’t look back at me. I make myself keep up the tolerating demeanor. I approach the kitchen and finally manage to make something. I bring it back and hand it to him. I see him mumble something before he takes a sip. I cross my fingers, not wanting to deal with his whining.

“Not bad. Go fix something, the others will be here in about an hour and I don’t want to be here for it. We’ll be off after we eat.”

I make myself some breakfast and finally get to sit and eat, finishing before the others get here as to not piss Byakuya off more than he already is this morning. I put our dishes away and return to him, as we retreat to the library.

“Mr. Togami?” I decided to comply to his commands for now, it’s easier for him to respond to me. Ego.

“Yes?” I hear a pleased twang in his voice. It strikes me surprised.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“Doing what?” He doesn’t look back at me as I walk behind him.

“This whole thing. Getting up at 7 in the morning, dressing up all nice, addressing you as Mr. Togami, being your servant? Is this really all necessary for an alliance if all you’re going to do is sit there.”

“I know things you do not, being the head of the Togami Corporation. You will sit there and be pretty for me and do as I say,” The pretty part made my heart skip a beat. God, we’re barely two hours into this and I’m already catching feelings for a spoiled brat. “, and I will assist you during investigations and let you in on bits of information.” He nods, swinging the library door open, failing to hold it open for me as I catch the door before it closes on me. I quickly follow behind, as he reaches down for a book sitting neatly next to a chair already pulled out by a random desk. “Glad we’re on the same page now. You’re free to do as you wish in here.” He looks up to me for a split second as he sits in the chair, crossing his leg and the air around us is still with silence much more. I sigh quietly, rolling my eyes internally as we spend a majority of our day in the library.

--

The next days are mostly the same. I started to read new books and would run small errands for him. I would try to make small conversation, but not a lot worked. He’d smirk at some of my jokes (that he tried to mask), and reply sometimes, but he wasn’t a very social person anyway. Another body discovery passed, and it was heart wrenching. This investigation was more painful than the others, seeing one of my close friends pass away right under my nose. And for Aoi for be lying for her? Behind my back? I get she’s as upset as me, and we don’t have to experience another execution, but it… gets under my skin more than I expected. Aoi looks to me with sorrow after the trial, but I just shake my head as I exit the room with teary eyes. I’m backstabbed… again? Twice, in the same day? They explicitly kept it a secret from me. Why? I shut out Aoi’s voice behind me. I stormed to my room, slamming and locking the door behind me as I enter. It’s been a long day. Byakuya’s been giving me shit all day for not being fast enough. Sorry I didn’t know Sakura killed herself, asshole. I flopped onto my bed. The only thing that kept me safe during these times. I had a moment or two to relax and let myself cry before I heard my doorbell ring.

“What.” I call out carelessly.

“Do you think you should be talking to me like that?” Byakuya speaks from behind my door. I know that tone, so I push myself up and open the door for him and let him into my room, but he stands there. “Well?”

“Do you think you should be talking to me like that?” Byakuya speaks from behind my door. I know that tone, so I push myself up and open the door for him and let him into my room, but he stands there. “Well?”

“No. Sorry, Mr. Togami.” I mock. He shrugs and enters.

“Good enough. Sit.” He pulls up a chair and places it next to my bed. He sits on the chair, waiting for me. I sit on my bed, looking up to him with puffy and teary eyes.

“Why are you here.” I stress.

“Because Aoi is whining to me about how bad she feels for lying to you. She begged me to come in here and convince you since I’m the only person I’ve let you see. She said I’m your friend for whatever reason.” He shakes his head. I keep my eyes on him as he speaks. “Anyways, can you please take care of her? She’s pacing all throughout the hallway for no reason. I’ll be waiting in here.” He leans back, waiting for my departure. I stare at the door, slowly pressing myself towards it and opening it, looking past it to find Aoi. She turns to me with a broken smile, tears falling down her tan cheeks. She sniffles.

“Hey.” She speaks to me silently. Almost in a whisper.

“Hey.” I return it.

“I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t tell you. I promised her. And I know it would have gotten us killed and you all would have suffered, but she was hurting being here. I hope you can forgive me.” She looks at me with glassy eyes, puffy from crying. I stand there for a moment.

“Yeah, sure. I’m sorry for flipping out on you instead of listening to you.”

“Hug?” Aoi began to open her arms for a hug. I nod, walking to her and hugging her tight. She whispered into my ear lowly. “You know, I think Byakuya has a crush on you or something. Or maybe he’s obsessed.” She giggles. The same nervous feeling returned to my heart. I shake my head.

“Absolutely not. What makes you even think-”

“Maybe the fact that he treats you nicer than the rest of us. Has more patience with you. Speaks to you in a less serious tone. Actually talks to you for more than 5 words without insulting you. Wants to spend time with you a lot. I don’t know, I’m just saying, maybe you should think about it being a possibility.” She shrugs, pulling back to look at me with a glint of hope in her eyes.

“Hmmm, let me think about it; a big ego-centric dude with daddy’s money and balls big enough to lie to his classmates whos lives are in danger. No thank you.” I pull away completely now, smiling. She smiles back.

“Oh come on. I don’t like the dude that much, sure, but it’s super obvious. The way he looks at you, it’s insane. Now go on, your prince charming is waiting, Y/N~” Hina winks, turning and walking back off to her room. I shake my head, returning to Byakuya in my room. He’s sitting in the same position as last time.

“Welcome back. I’m assuming it went well.” He stood, approaching me. Maybe too close. Hina can’t be serious..

“Yeah. We made up and stuff.” I nodded, crossing my arms.

“I’m sure you did. Same time tomorrow, Y/N. And please, call me Byakuya now. You’ve graduated from Mr. Togami.” He walks by me to the door. My jaw drops, turning to watch him.

“Oh wow, thank you so much, Mr. Togami, how can I ever repay you for such a lovely promotion. I have been training so hard for this my entire life. I am eternally grateful.” I stare into the back of his head. I swear I hear a chuckle before he walks out of the door, softly closing it behind him… that’s new. I shake off the thought by moving before it could even come to me. Exhaustion catches up to me, and I yawn as I sleep to the next day.

--

A.N.// I got really lazy. I’ve been writing this for weeks and I’m exhausted. So sorry I didn’t write more friendship content but I wanna keep this moving so here we go.

--

The biggest trial of our lives come. Junko Enoshima herself has revealed herself to us. She’s even more egotistical than Byakuya, and that’s saying something. She parades herself around like her shit doesn’t stink and basically blames this killing game on us. Which is entirely untrue, no matter how she words it. But after a good while of debating, looking between all of my friends, and determination to survive, we persevere through her antics and take her down, leaving us only to leave to the outside world that awaits us, no matter how fucked it may be.

“Finally, I never thought we’d make it this far..” Aoi sighs, the final seven of us approaching the gate.

“Seriously, I thought we were toast back there…” Yasuhiro’s still a little shaky from it all.

“Well, we’re here now and we’re finally escaping, so let’s focus on that first. Y/N, come, please.” Byakuya adds, only to look at me. Toko is giving me the death glare. If looks could kill. I turn to Byakuya and approach him. He’s looking back at me to someone. I try to look back, but before I can he grabs my chin and guides my face to his, pressing a kiss to my lips. A deep, unexpecting one, in fact. I can feel the smile on my lips, the same mischievous smile he’s always held. I slowly return it, and Toko’s now screaming up a storm as Aoi holds her back.

“Don’t worry! Totally not saving your guts right now! Just forget about me!” She sighed frustratedly, Toko crying her head off. We finally part, my chest pounding away like a heavy drum as he stares into my eyes.

Byakuya Togami, an ego-centric asshole who kisses people to overwhelm them when he has feelings for them he won’t admit to himself. What an enigma of a man.

//

OKAAAAYY OH MY GOD IT’S FINALLY DONE. thank you so much for your request!

[lesbian-deadpool]

Special Soul-mark

Part One Of Two: Family Matters

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Modern AU, Soulmate AU

Words: 2,398

Warnings: Referenced child-abuse, childhood teasing, detailed injures.

Request: For the Anon who donated to the Australian Bushfires.

Summary: How you finally met your soulmate.

A/N: Just an FYI, I’ve never seen Family Matters lol.

(Not my GIF)

***

“They’re a clumsy one.” You overheard your mother say behind you, to some of her friends, as you, at five-years-old, played in the grass with your own friends.

“Who is, mommy?” You turned around to ask, just as curious as every child, to the world around them.

“Your soulmate, honey.” She pointed to the marks littering your skin.

Looking down your eyes found a small scratch on the inside of your forearm.

You remembered the day you learned about soulmates. You had been in the bath, your mother washing the dirt from your face, after jumping around in muddy puddles with your father. You had been remembering how all the kids teased you at school, for having so many cuts and bruises covering your body. When you asked, “Why do I have these?” You drew your arms out in front of you, as to give your mother a better look at what you were talking about.

But she knew.

Of course, she knew.

She had, after all, been waiting for this moment for a long time.

They’re from your soulmate, Honey.” She tried to have a bright smile covering her face as she told you this. Knowing how confused you were by some of the children's teasing. But they, thankfully, had it all sorted out now, after going to the principle and complaining. “You have a very special “soul-mark” if they get a bruise or scratch. So do you.”

“It’s special?” you asked, voice full of wonder.

“Yes.” She nodded, overexcited for your sake.

It wasn’t special really. Just less common than the others. Most people have tattoos, timers, red strings around their pinkies, some even had the first place their soulmate would ever touch them.

One in one-hundred-thousand had the same soul-marks as you. So, nowhere near ‘special’. Just less likely.

But, you didn’t have to know that now, did you?

Not until you undoubtedly find out in your later years.

Right now? Yeah. You could think it was special.

“Why don’t they hurt?” was your next question.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “No one truly does. I’m sure there’s some scientist’s out there with an explanation to it all. But I like to think that it’s because your soulmate never wants to hurt you.”

“When will I meet them?”

“That I also don’t know,” she said, lifting you out of the dirty water, and rubbing you dry with a soft fluffy towel. “Everbody has their own time. You’ll have yours too, baby.”

“They must be very wobbly on their feet.” She pulled you out of your memories. Since that day, you had been excited to find your soulmate. But you remembered your father's words, that same night as he put you to bed.

“You’ve just got to wait for them. They’ll be worth it when you finally find them.”

So you were patient. And you would be for however long you needed.

“What if they’re not though?” One of her friends whispered, as you passed two of your tiny fingers over the small scratch on the inside of your forearm.

“I don’t want to think about it,” she whispered back. Obviously unknown to the face that you were still listening, “Because if that’s the case, there's nothing I can do to help.”

You didn’t understand what they had been talking about, until years later.

It had stopped a few weeks after that. Much to your parents' joy. But not so much to yours. You liked seeing the marks sometimes. It reminded you that your soulmate was out there, waiting for you, just as you were them.

But you were glad that they were “Being less clumsy and hurting themselves.”

***

It wasn't until years later that something to that extent had happened.

Not to say that your soulmate never got hurt, during that time. Just like you did.

A paper-cut here. Cat scratch there. The random bruise somewhere. Grazed knees, and palms. A bump on the head. The normal injuries that kids tended to inflict on themselves.

You were fourteen, and intently finishing your homework, at the kitchen table. When your father, who sat across from you, started calling out, after randomly glancing up at you.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"

"What's wrong, honey?" your mom called through from the hallway to your father. As you looked up at him curiously, only to see him pointing directly at your face.

"What?" you asked him confused.

"Your nose."

"My. What?" You were still confused, as you reached your hand up to wipe the side of your forefinger under your nose. Pulling it back to see it covered with blood. Said red liquid pouring down your hand, and dripping profusely onto your homework, that you had been working so hard on.

"Holy shit!" you exclaimed, pushing your chair back and away from your work.

"Language," your mother chided, a smile in her voice, as she walked through the kitchen door, your baby brother in her arms. Before her voice grew scared and frantic, once she had noticed all of the blood now soaking the floor, as your father moved around the table to get a better look at you, "What happened?!"

"Her nose just started bleeding."

You raised your head to peer at your mother.

"Fuck!" It was her turn to exclaim.

Your dad whispering, "Christ." With his hand upon your shoulder.

"What?" you asked almost scared to know the answer.

Raising to your feet you walked through your open plan home, towards the mirror hanging in the living room.

"Mother of God!" you said, finally seeing your appearance.

Blood coated the bottom of your face, very clearly coming from your nose, it still bleeding as it seeped into your, now ruined, white shirt. The bridge of your nose dark grey, with the intensity of the bruise. Eyes black and blue. Right cheek cut open, along with a bruise on your left temple. And to finish it all off, your lips were busted in many places.

And all you could utter at the view of yourself, while your father came up behind you, holding your shoulders comfortingly, was, "What happened to them?"

***

You were sixteen the next time it happened.

You were at school, sitting at the lunch table. Smiling and chatting away, when your friends pointed it out.

You removed your hand from where you were leaning your face against it. Peering down at your knuckles.

They were beat up. Scratched and bruised. Red-raw, and bleeding slightly.

You checked to see if your other hand was the same.

It was.

"Huh," you said, upper body jostling as you did, "They mush have gotten into a fight."

"It looks like they've beaten the shit out of whoever they were fighting."

"Yeah." You smiled. Memories of two years ago flashing in your mind. And you couldn't help but feel immensely proud to see them fighting back. And winning, considering your friends hadn't pointed out any injuries adorning your face. "Hey, if you think this is bad, you should see my feet."

"What?" your friend that sat beside you asked, incredulously.

"Yeah." You nodded. "They're fucked up. Have been for years. I think they do ballet."

"Damn, you're gonna marry a Ballet Dancer one day," a third friend said, his booming laugh coming out, as he continued, "Be careful. They could choke you with the strength of their thighs."

"If I'm lucky." You smirked, as your friends laughed at your joke.

***

"Hey, Y/N/N?"

Looking up, you spotted your six-year-old brother as your door. A plate of Christmas themed cookies held in his small hands.

You smiled at him, as he beamed at you.

"Hey, buddy. What's up?" you asked as he came into your room, haphazardly climbing onto your bed. You moving the plat from where he had set it down on your bed, so that the goodies on top didn't end up everywhere, and was easier for the small boy to find a seat on your bed.

He moved to sit closer to you, almost directly in front of where you lounged on your side, where you were finishing off one of your college assignments. You placed the plate in front of him. So he could help himself to them. Knowing that your parents had probably sent him up with the home-baked cookies, to give to you. But knowing even better, that he definitely wanted some of them.

"Nothing," he finally replied. Picking up a Christmas tree cookie, handing you a Santa one.

You thanked him softly.

Taking a bite out of Ol' St Nicks face, you asked, "Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

You could read the kid like an open book. He was your brother, you were his best friend, as he had proclaimed on many occations. And he, of course, was one of yours.

So, you obviously knew when he wanted to talk to you about something.

Hastily shoving the rest of his cookie into his mouth, as you chuckled at the boy's antics. Watching as he pulled up the arm of his sweater. Showing you the scribbles there. Thrusting his arm excitedly in front of your face, almost like you had with your mother, many years ago.

"My soulmate talked to me, for the first time!" he said excitedly, around a mouthful of cookie.

Studying the neat -well, as neat as it could be for a child- handwriting. You read the small conversation of them wishing each other a happy holidays.

"Oh my, God," you said happily, reaching over to squeeze lightly at his shoulder, "That's amazing, bud!"

He smiled excitedly, bouncing up and down lightly where he sat.

"Have you talked to your soulmate yet?"

"Not yet, kiddo." His face fell at your words, obviously wanting you to meet your soulmate just as much as you did. "Don't worry, though. It will happen when it's meant too."

"But how will you know it's them?"

"We'll have the same marks," you assured him, "Or one of us will get hurt in front of the other. Something like that."

He laughed. "That would be funny."

"Yeah, it sure would, kid." You nodded towards the plate, "You want another?" He nodded. "Yeah, well pass me another one while you're at it."

He threw one at your face, it hitting its mark, causing him to burst out in a loud giggle.

"Tell your soulmate I'm sorry."

"Why?" he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side, akin to a small puppy-dog.

"Because I'm gonna tickle their soulmate until they're begging for mercy."

"Wait- No, Y/N! Please!" he squealed. You picking him up and laying him below you, tickling at his sides, and blowing raspberries against his neck.

The sounds of his tortured laughter reverberating to where your parents sat downstairs, in the living room. Bright smiles tugging at their faces.

***

You had moved to New York not long after graduating university. Being lucky enough to have an immediate position at one of Stark Industry's many branches.

Six-months to the date, you've been working there. And in that time you've bonded with your co-workers, managed to get your bosses to love you. And met, and become friendly with Tony Stark, on one of his visits. Being pleasantly surprised by how nice he truly was.

Two weeks ago, he had given you two tickets to some ballet, because you had mentioned that your brother was involved in gymnastics.

It isn't the same thing. But he tried.

And now you got to drag your eleven-year-old brother to a ballet recital, under the false pretence of "If we don't go, my boss will fire me!" Ah... to torture your siblings over a two and a half-hour period.

Even at the expense of your own sanity.

Okay...

So, maybe you were wrong.

The ballet wasn't bad.

At. All.

You both enjoyed it immensely.

Your brother for the story. And you also for the story... amongst other things.

"Y/N's got a crush," your brother sing-songed to you, in a whisper, during the performance.

"Shut the fuck up," you sing-songed back.

He wasn't wrong.

The red-headed star of the show had taken you whole interest. Not only for the way she danced. She was graceful, of course. Talented. You could see how passionate she was, and how long she must have trained for this. But not only that, she was stunning beyond belief. You can't remember ever seeing someone half as gorgeous as her, she was the most beautiful woman you had ever, and were sure you would ever see.

"Oh. No, I was wrong," Will started, smugly, "You're in love with her."

You inhaled deeply through your nose as he smirked beside you, you began whispering to yourself, repeatedly, "If I leave him, my parents will kill me."

"They will."

"I'm gonna leave him."

***

"Isn't your soulmate a Ballerina?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as you entered your apartment.

"No," you said clearly, throwing your keys onto the coffee table, "They do ballet, has done for years, that's for sure. But that doesn't mean they're a Ballerina."

"But there's a big possibility that they are," Will continued, in that same teasing voice he had before at the ballet.

"And there's a big possibility that they aren't," you counteracted.

"Aww, c'mon, Y/N!" he whined, "You know you were making 'goo-goo' eyes at her."

"That means nothing-"

"Yes, it does!"

"That doesn't mean she's my soulmate," you corrected.

He wiggled his eyebrows at you once again. Being siblings you got to torment them. But, sadly, they also got to torment you, too.

"I should have left you at the ballet." You smiled, turning away from him as he laughed.

"Maybe you should, then I could have met your soulmate before you do."

You groaned flinging your head back.

***

You had seen your brother off two days ago, waving to him as he boarded the plane with your father. And now you were free from torture.

You were at work when Tony had called you into his office, a big smile on his face, as he stood up from his seat, gesturing to the red-headed woman stat before him. Who turned their attention to you, smiling slightly. You instantly recognising them as the Ballerina that had stolen your attention, only a few days ago.

"Y/N Y/L/N," Tony started, "I'd like to introduce you to Natasha Romanoff. You're soulmate."