#perhaps I used the word groan too much oh well

[little-diable]

The Agreement - Rafe Cameron (smut)

So, this is a new one. But I am so deep down the Rafe and Drew rabbit hole, I just had to write something. This has potentional for more parts, but I will settle on that once I get your reactions on this part 1. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: The reader is new to the area, but it didn't taken long for Sarah's and her ways to cross. But life in the area is expensive, so the reader is in desperate need for someone to support her, perhaps Rafe Cameron, the guy everybody warned her about, is the right guy to help her out. But Rafe Cameron isn't a guy with a soft heart, the devil doesn't make one sided deals.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), sex with a stranger somewhat, sex in an unfamiliar room, spitting, slight choking, degrading, talks about the reader working as a sugar baby

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (3.1k words)

I LIVE for this gif. Jesus.

“Honestly, I am so ready to marry rich and forget about all these payments. Who can even afford to pay for all these things?” A groan left (y/n), head rolling back while she pressed herself further against the mattress of her bed. For a moment she was met with silence, waiting for Sarah to reply, but her friend kept quiet, seemingly deep in thought. 

“Well, maybe it’s time we finally find you someone good. I bet you’d easily find someone fitting at the Country Club.” (Y/n) had to fight against the urge to roll her eyes, Sarah was all too aware of her distaste for all these rich people who only cared about themselves. She was still relatively new to the area but had instantly picked up on the struggles between the pogues and kooks, fights (y/n) desperately wanted to stay away from. 

“Thank you, but I’d rather sell my soul than step a foot into that place.” Sarah’s giggles forced a smile to widen on (y/n)’s lips, knowing that her new friend wouldn’t back down from this discussion.

“Oh c’mon, live a little. But you could also just try to mingle at a party, I guess.” It took (y/n) a moment to think through the idea, especially since she knew she’d feel by far more comfortable at a party rather than at the country club. The hum leaving her drew another giggle from Sarah, already excited about whatever (y/n) may stumble upon.

“I guess I could but only if you join me to figure out if there are any parties worth joining.” She had interacted quite a lot with Sarah Cameron so far, a friendly face she had crossed paths with every now and then when she had first moved here. Something seemed to connect the two of them, something (y/n) couldn’t pinpoint yet but was insanely grateful for nevertheless. 

“Absolutely I’ll text you in a few!”

…

She should have stayed at home, away from all these unfamiliar faces, the alcohol which would undoubtedly leave her massively hungover, and the horrible music she couldn’t endure much longer. So far she still hadn’t crossed paths with Sarah, clinging to the promise that she’d eventually show up with some friends in tow - people (y/n) could click with, according to Sarah at least.

The distaste clung to her face as (y/n) pushed through the crowd of sweaty bodies, trying to stay away from those who looked at her for a few seconds too long. Her feet carried her towards the kitchen, set on pouring herself another drink to at least endure another hour of this party.

With her eyes set on the open cabinet, (y/n) tried to reach for one of the almost empty bottles, weight shifted onto her toes to grasp it - though miserably failing. The exhausted huff clawing through her was swallowed by the sound of a raspy laugh filling the kitchen, forcing her eyes to find a pair of bright ones. 

“C’mon, you almost had it, don’t stop the show now.” The smirk clinging to his lips left her scowling, instantly recognising him, Rafe Cameron, Sarah’s brother. Even though (y/n) hadn’t been around for long, she had picked up on numerous warnings, telling her to stay away from the guy who was followed around by trouble. 

“Fuck off.” Her words made him laugh again, letting the sound ring in her ears while he pushed himself closer. Rafe’s cologne wrapped itself around her, making her heavily swallow the second she felt his front pressed against her back. With one hand finding her waist, he held her close while reaching for the bottle she had tried to grasp. Wordlessly he poured her some of the liquid, letting go of her seconds later, but she stayed quiet, not saying a single word to the smirking guy.

“Where’s my thank you? Or is cursing the only thing you can do?” Rafe leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed in front of his chest. Her eyes couldn’t help but find his bulging muscles, hating that he was that handsome while she had promised others she’d stay away from him. 

“I don’t want to further inflate your ego, Cameron.” (Y/n) tried to push past Rafe, though without any luck. His bright eyes wandered over her features, grinning down on the frowning girl. His hands kept holding onto her, settling on her waist as if they had crossed paths numerous times before, more familiar with one another than they let on. 

“I can see why you haven’t found many new friends so far, (y/n).” A scoff left her as she tried to push him away, though without any luck. Anger began to bubble deep inside of her, wondering how she could get rid of the devilish handsome guy. But Rafe seemed all too comfortable with their closeness, looking at her like a predator ready to snap, already high on her blood he’d feast from any second now. “What’s your problem with me, huh?” “I have no problem with you, Rafe. Let me go.” He clicked his tongue before letting it run along his lower lip, a motion she couldn’t help but stare at, eyes following his every movement. 

“What did my sister tell you about me?” His thumb began to move, softly stroking along the silver of skin her top showed off. Goosebumps covered her arms, something (y/n) could only curse at, hating her body for feeling that drawn towards him. Sarah had told her all those gruesome stories about him, a psychotic guy she should desperately try to stay away from – and yet something intrigued (y/n), something she couldn’t shake.

“Drugs, guns, whoring around, the list is long, and I really don’t want to catch anything from you.” She shot him a sickly sweet smile before finally pulling herself free. Without giving Rafe the chance to stop her, (y/n) managed to disappear from his sight, finding shelter in another spot of the mansion. Her heart was racing in her chest, beating faster than probably ever before. 

Sarah’s words kept hallowing in her mind, sharply reminding her of the bad news following Rafe Cameron around, words that began to lose their importance when her eyes were drawn back to his bright ones. They held contact as she drowned her drink in one go, still feeling his hands on her body as if he had burned his touch into her skin. Her breath got hitched in her chest as Rafe began to move, seemingly set on speaking to her again – and yet he didn’t get far, forced to watch his sister find (y/n) first, pulling her outside. 

“I was looking for you, I want to introduce you to some people.” Sarah clung to (y/n)’s side as she led her to the pool area, introducing her to people whose names she didn’t pick up on, still thinking of Rafe. Sarah’s words from this morning reached her again, overthinking their plan of (y/n) finding a guy to keep around at a party like this, a plan she had to scoff at now.

“Sarah told us you’re currently working as a surf instructor around here, would you want to go surfing with us tomorrow morning?” A blonde guy smiled at her, forcing her to focus for a second. The cap he wore only showed off a few of his strands, enough for her to pick up on how cute he looked. She was close to denying, wanting to spend the morning sleeping in, but the way Sarah squeezed her wrist forced a soft “Sure” out of (y/n). 

She didn’t listen to the other things the group shared, feeling a pair of eyes on her. Slowly, (y/n) let her gaze wander, finding Rafe looking at her from one of the windows. He raised his brows in an almost mocking manner, taking a sip of his drink as if he was daring her to find her way back to him. She rolled her eyes at him, and yet she stepped away from Sarah a moment later, murmuring something about having to find the bathroom. 

Rafe was back at her side the second she stepped into the house, pulled through the room by the hand finding hers. The loud music momentarily managed to drown out her racing thoughts, thoughts that were completely silenced the second she found herself pushed into a dark room, front pressed against Rafe’s.

“Is this one of your famous tactics? Pulling girls you don’t know into dark ro-,” she didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence, interrupted by the feeling of Rafe’s lips finding hers. Even though her first instinct was to push him away, she didn’t find the want to do it, instead (y/n) chased his lips, swallowing the raspy chuckle leaving Rafe.

She was all too aware of the way Rafe’s eyes had followed her around for the past weeks, trying to find the right moment to speak to her whenever he was at the beach with his friends or when she met friends near the club. Late at night he’d stroke his cock to the thought of her, painting the screen of his phone white while looking at her pictures, only further fuelling his obsession with her. Something about (y/n) stuck to Rafe, perhaps it was the fact that she was all too oblivious to the struggles they all had faced for the past months, perhaps it was the fact that she didn’t seem to give a shit about him, whatever it was, he needed to get his hands on her. 

Without breaking the kiss, Rafe led her to the bed, plopping down on it with her falling into his lap. Their tongues got tangled, brushing together while his warm hands found their way underneath her shirt, feeling her tremble in his grasp. His name rolled off her tongue as (y/n) needed a second to breathe, high on the feeling of him kissing his way down her throat.

Her mind screamed at her, asking her what the hell she was doing, and yet her body didn’t seem to care. Rafe Cameron had pulled her into his trap, unable to rip herself free while slowly letting him in. She didn’t protest as he pulled her shirt over her head, didn’t protest as his lips found her right nipple, softly biting and sucking on the soft skin before finding the other. 

“Fuck, we shouldn’t do this.” For a second he froze at her slightly panicked words, waiting for her to say something else, to push him away. But (y/n) didn’t find the strength to pull herself free, tugging on his golden strands to reconnect their lips, allowing him to shift them around to press (y/n) against the mattress. It felt as if her body was on fire, set ablaze by his touch, by the way he towered over her and looked at her as if she was the prettiest sight he had ever set his eyes on. 

“Breathe, sweetheart, let me do this.” Rafe kissed his way down her stomach, pulling her shorts and soaked panties down her legs to settle between her thighs. The moan that left him the second he brushed his tongue through her slit made her arch her back, pushing herself further against his mouth. Rafe’s eyes were set on her pleasure-drunken features, watching her get lost in the sensation. 

“Fuck, Rafe.” (Y/n) squeezed her eyes shut, hands finding his hair to hold him close. It had been a while since she had last been with someone, no longer used to feeling this alive. His thumb circled her pulsing bundle, tongue slowly fucking into her tightness to push her further towards the edge. No longer was her mind racing, no longer did (y/n) find herself overthinking this situation, solemnly focused on Rafe’s skilled touch.

“Look at you, pretty girl, at the mercy of a guy you claim not to like.” It was clear that he enjoyed this all too much, smirking up at (y/n) who couldn’t reply to his teasing words. She was desperate to cum, to let go with his name rolling off her tongue like a prayer spoken in a need of guidance. 

He put his mouth back on her heat, sucking on her clit while he pushed two of his long fingers into her, fucking her with his fingers curled against her swollen spot. Another moan clawed its way out of (y/n), reverberating through the dark room, a sound so sweet Rafe couldn’t help but groan against her skin. The sound was enough to push her over the edge, cumming on his tongue with a call of his name. 

Rafe’s fingers fucked her through her high, enjoying the sight of her trembling body, watching her fall apart with his bright eyes that had slowly adjusted to the darkness. Only when she loosened her grip on his hair did Rafe move up her body again, pressing a kiss to her slightly swollen lips which allowed (y/n) to taste herself on his tongue.

“Will you let me fuck you, (y/n)?” She was spaced out, and yet her mind was still clear enough to pick up on his words. A moan left her before she could stop the sound from making it past her lips, set on the same goal as Rafe. His ringed fingers rested on her throat, keeping a tight grasp on her, “Gonna need you to speak up, use your words.” 

“Fuck me, Rafe, please.” It was all he needed to hear, momentarily letting go of her to pull his shirt over his head, to free his hard cock from the confines of his trousers, and to pull a condom down his length. She forced herself up on her forearms, resting her weight on them to watch him tower over her. Their eyes held contact as Rafe pushed into her, letting his cock spread her tight walls.

For a second, neither of them moved, allowing their bodies to adjust before Rafe began to fuck her with a faster growing rythm. With one hand resting on the pillow next to her head, he kept himself balanced while the other found its way back to her throat. She stared up at him, fully at his mercy as if the devil himself was fucking her, forcing her to accept that she had just gambled with her soul and lost it to him. 

His thrusts were ferocious, hips meeting hers with every movement, drawing sinful sounds from the both of them. Rafe’s thumb tapped against her lip, forcing (y/n) to open her mouth – seemingly understanding what he was about to do. He stared down at her as he spat onto her tongue, making her swallow his saliva without protesting once, finding the way he was claiming her too hot to fight against it. 

“I should have fucked that tight cunt of yours the first time I laid my eyes on you.” Rafe’s rasped out words left her gasping, eyes rolling back into her head for a second. His words had an instant effect on (y/n), letting her stuttering breaths break out of her as if she hadn’t been allowed to inhale any air for the past minutes. “Such a pathetic little slut, letting the guy others warned you about fuck you. But you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” 

“I am, fuck, you’re so good at this, Rafe.” She no longer cared about his way too big ego, didn’t care about how desperate she sounded, solemnly focused on her second nearing orgasm. One of her hands found her pulsing bundle, circling it while her free hand moved up his naked back, feeling his muscles tense beneath it.

“Beg for it, baby, let me hear how desperate you are to cum on my cock.” Another moan left her, and another as his thrusts met the spot that made her choke. It took (y/n) a second to find her voice, blabbering a few incoherent begging words before finding her strength.

“Please, let me cum, fuck, I need it, Rafe.” He chuckled against her lips, once again picking up his speed before a raspy “Cum” found its way to her. She choked on her moans, sobbing his name while he followed her down the edge seconds later, moaning into their kiss. 

Heavy breaths left them both, clinging to one another without speaking for a moment or two. Only slowly did he let go of her, pulling away to throw the condom into the trash. (Y/n) watched him move around, redressing while he seemed deep in thought, no longer wearing that arrogant smirk she secretly loved. 

“I heard what you talked about with Sarah this morning.” Rafe had his eyes focused on her, eyebrows furrowed as if he struggled to find the right words. She didn’t say anything at first, dressing herself before plopping back down on the bed. “About bills and payments and all that shit.” 

“Mhm, what about it?” Her tone had something almost bored to it, not daring to let him in on the panic that slowly began to simmer inside of her. She shouldn’t care about what he was thinking of her, even though he had just fucked her better than any other guy she had been with so far. 

“I have a proposition for you, an arrangement if you want. You need someone to help with your bills and I need someone I can trust by my side for all these galas and events I need to show up at, someone to fool partners with.” A humourless laugh left (y/n) at his words, not daring to believe the words Rafe had just spoken. 

“I knew you were an asshole, but I don’t need you to fuck with me like that, Cameron.” She rose to her feet, set on fleeing from this room, but Rafe didn’t let her, hand snapping down on her wrist like it had back in the kitchen. 

“It’s the truth, Sarah seems to like you for whatever reason, and even though her people skills are fucked, I fear she may be right with this one.” His words had a strange undertone to them, a desperation that made her halt for a second. (Y/n) let her eyes wander over his features, studying Rafe who stared at her with an unreadable expression. 

“Do you really mean that? You’d pay me for making you, what? Look good at events? Would I be like a sugar baby?”

[howlingday]

I freaking love alabastards so much! Its like vol 1 Weiss and Jaune who got tired of taking shit for being too nice!

I so need more!

Would it be too much to ask for Alabastards on winter break or something?

"Hello, Arc."

"Weiss."

"How is your winter break?"

"Good. Yours?"

"My winter break is also going well." Weiss turned away. "Not that you'd know anything about proper grammar anyways."

"Oh, really? Is that because I'm too poor to talk good, or is it because you're so bad at being a good person you have to make up for it?"

"Bite me, Arc."

"Make me, Schnee."

The two sneered at each other until they noticed they were getting looks from their teams. Reeling back, the two parted. How and why the two were always found at odds, no one was truly certain. Maybe one had said something to offend the other, or perhaps there was a meeting they had before Beacon that soured their relationship long before it could begin? It was difficult to say.

Regardless, today was Non-Descript Winter Holiday and the two had promised to bury the hatchet, if only for the day. Weiss had bought gifts for each of her friends on Team JNPR, and Jaune, while Jaune used his skills to craft personal gifts for his friends on Team RWBY, and Weiss. As the two sat down with their friends, gifts were exchanged between each of them.

Weiss gifted Pyrrha jacket with a liner, both skillfully embroidered with her name. Nora got a quirky device that allowed her poor syrup through a glass tube onto her pancakes, like some kind of breakfast alchemist. Ren received a new apron to wear should his other need to be washed, this one featuring the words "I'm Not On The Menu". Jaune didn't open his gift.

"And why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Excuse me?"

"Knowing you, you probably put a cheap gag gift in here to spite me."

"Do you really think so low of me?"

"Do you?"

"...Fine. Then I refuse to open mine."

"Fine by me."

The rest of the party sighed, choosing to move on to other gifts. Jaune's gifts were hand-crafted with love... or friendship, if love was too much of a stretch. Yang got a bag for her boxing gloves that had "Chorld Wamp" stitched into them, making her giggle. Blake was given a couple sheets of paper with personal poems written front and back, some in haiku. Ruby got a coffee mug cozy, yarned and darned with black and red. Weiss, much like Jaune, refused to open hers.

"I don't care."

"Neither do I."

"I'll just open mine later."

"Or never." She scowled at her gift in disgust. "Knowing you, you probably put something disgusting in here, like a photo of yourself."

"Ha ha." Jaune groaned, standing up. "I'm going to call it a night."

"Oh, did I hurt your feelings by not opening your shitty gift?"

"No, I'm just tired. Not everything is about you, Weiss." Before Weiss could retort, Jaune had already left out of the room, gift in hand.

"Weiss, that was really mean." Ruby whined.

"Very mean." Pyrrha added. "You were both supposed to not be hostile this evening."

"Why am I the bad guy?" Weiss gestured to where her foe made his exit. "He was ruder than I ever was!"

"You were both rude." Yang answered, pointing a finger at the heiress. "You both promised to play nice during winter break, and you both broke that promise on the most important day of the entire break. You ruined it for everyone."

"I did not ruin Non-Decript Winter Holiday." Weiss rolled her eyes. "He ruined it."

"I'm gonna hit her." Nora said.

"Please don't." Ren replied.

"The least you could do is open his gift." Blake offered.

"It it'll make you guys feel better, then fine!" Weiss opened her present. "But do you really think anything he got me will make me say... Oh my god..."

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

Jaune held his present in his hand, fully unwrapped and, begrudgingly, impressed. Inside the box was a camera. High quality, too. He fiddled with the buttons, the zoom, the lighting, the timer. Everything was so smooth and easy to play with. He didn't want to admit, but this was probably the best gift he'd ever.

"Jaune, open up." Jaune looked up to the knocking at his door. Opening it, he found Weiss holding his gift to her. "What the hell is this?"

"Your present." Jaune answered, making Weiss scowl.

"You know what I meant." She shoved past him and set the binder on his desk, pushing the gift box to the side. The binder was pure white and decorated with a single sticker of Beacon Tower, something purchased in the school store as a memento. Opening the binder and flipping through the pages, each of which were decorated with printed photos from Jaune's scroll. "You have every single person we've known in this binder."

"Yeah?" Jaune said with a raised brow. "That's how photo albums work, don't they?"

"Everyone we've known EXCEPT for the two of us! Why?"

Jaune blinked, looking at her like she'd suddenly turned into a creature of Grimm. "Because you hate me?"

"I don't- I never-" She groaned. "Just because I don't like you doesn't mean I hate you."

"No," Jaune agreed, "but you insulting me at every turn and being an overall bitch to me does."

"Only because you're an asshole to me." Weiss growled before sighing. "Look. Here's what's going to happen. We are going to fix this. You are going to take a picture of us and put it in this binder."

"Why should I listen to you?"

"Because if you don't, I'm going to kick your ass before the others do."

"The others?" Jaune blinked. "Why are they going to kick my ass?"

"Because they think we ruined the winter break for them."

Jaune was quiet for a moment. "I mean, we did."

"Yes, we did, and exactly the point. So take that fancy camera I got you and take my pic-" CLICK! Weiss blinked a couple of times as her vision was still blurred from the sudden flash. "Argh! You asshole!"

"What? I took your picture." Jaune showed off the photo on his camera with a shit-eating grin. "See?"

"Delete that." Weiss ordered.

"No." Jaune refused without dropping his smile.

Weiss opened her mouth to say something, then heaved a sigh. "Fine. Just... don't do anything weird with it. That's all I ask."

"Okay?" Jaune looked to his camera and pressed a button. "There, I deleted it."

"Oh." Weiss then watched Jaune turn on the light and pulled the chair to the center of the room. "What are you doing?"

"Setting up the shot." Jaune said off-handedly. "You want our picture taken, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts, except yours in this chair." Jaune chuckled.

"Ugh, you're worse than Xiao Long." She seated herself in the chair.

"I doubt it." Jaune lifted and lowered the camera repeatedly while crouched next to the desk before he grabbed a textbook and set the camera on top of it. "Okay..." He ran up to Weiss, taking place behind her. "Smile."

"Why?"

"It's your picture."

"Are you smiling?"

"Yeah."

"Bull."

"I am."

"...Fine." Weiss smiled and the camera flashed as she did. Jaune ran up to the camera and looked it over. He grinned. "What?"

"Nothing. I just look really good in this."

"Let me see." Weiss looked at the photo and immediately frowned. "You made a stupid face."

"I was smiling."

"You were making a stupid face while smiling."

"Well, do you want to take another one?"

Weiss thought for a moment, then nodded. "No stupid pictures this time."

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

Weiss opened her photo album, much time had passed since she'd opened it. Many more memories were captured in time and held in place right there inside her book. Her favorite page was the one with all of her favorite photos. The ones filled with her making goofy faces with her husband, Jaune Arc.

Happy Non-Descript Winter Holiday

[deeranon]

Chip and Tail | Aventurine X mer! Reader

Warnings: characters may be ooc, blood, body disfigurement(kinda?), implied killing, mention of Jade(who is a warning in and of herself), weapons,wounds, may contain grammar mistakes, use of it/it’s for living being(reader) leave if you don’t like or are uncomfortable with it, implied slavery, implied wars

Read at your own risk!

Despite use of it/it’s and they/their pronouns used for mer reader is whatever gender you wish

Mermaid, siren, and sea-daughter are seen as gender neutral terms—not gender specific in this story

The Showman swayed with the waves, creaking and groaning as foam crashed against the hull. The crew shifted restlessly, bodies tense as they shuffled around deck, waiting for even a word from within the Captain’s quarters. Never before had they stayed in one place on the ocean surface for so long, the pause casting unease within their ranks.

Gulls cried as they circled overhead, uncaring for what was going on within the heart of the ship.

“Did you shoot down an albatross or are you simply very unlucky?” Aventurine cooed as he shuffled his deck. Rings of gold and silver lined every other finger, shining haughtily underneath the sunlight as his black silk gloved hands shuffled the deck for the final round.

The captain of The Showman, a wiry and tall man with a full black beard seethed from on his plush velvet seat, face red with rage. “I ain’t unlucky. Yr’ just a cheater! Trying to trick me inta repayin’ my debt! I repaid you blithering sea-snakes ages ago!” He thundered, furiously slamming a scarred hand on the wooden table. Trinkets and pearly jewelry in the place of betting chips laid on the table trembled at the crash, falling to the floorboards miserably.

Aventurine gave no reaction to the man’s whining, smile only widening as he eyed the dark green coat his pirate opponent had obviously stolen from some unfortunate noble. “I’m afraid that’s where you are wrong. You simply think you repaid us.” Aventurine started with a casual shrug of his shoulders “Two years ago, you reached out to us—The Medusa, claiming you had enough money to rid you of your debt. A colleague of mine agreed to meet you at Sargentine’s one and only port city casino, yet when she got there…you were drunk beyond comprehension. You had gambled all of your savings away, just months before your payment was due. So close to freedom, too.” Aventurine gave the quaking captain a faux sympathetic look, tutting like a disappointed parent while dealing cards with practiced ease.

“Blasphemy! I worked my crew half to death getting all that precious cargo—I wouldn’t let it all go t’ some silly landfolk game!” He shrieked. The grip on his cards was paper white.

“You were quite drunk, I heard. Spent too much time at the brothel, perhaps?” Aventurine said with a chuckle. “But let’s get back to the point. I’m here because no matter how you spin it, you have payments to us that are overdue.” He straightened in his chair, smoothing out his perfectly pressed white silk shirt as the air grew thick with tension. “Now, you can try your hand at a game with higher stakes than your stolen jewelry and attempt to win your freedom, or I can simply evict you here and now for the murder of Cassidy White: late father of the Prince of Sargentine.”

The captain paled at Aventurine’s words, the hand of cards falling from his grasp in a shower of inked paper. His brown leather eyes widened with fear, staring down at him in shock.

Aventurine laughed heartily at the stupefied look, head thrown back from laughter as his eyes crinkled with mirth. “You think I didn’t recognize the embroidery on your fancy jacket? Cassidy White was a lover of the sea before he settled and married the current Queen of Sargentine. He had that coat custom made and wouldn’t go anywhere without it. It’s a shame you killed him on his ship, he sounded like the kind of guy I could talk with. Oh well, no crying over spilled milk I suppose.”

The captain paled even further if possible, gripping at his coat’s cuffs like a lifeline as realization dawned on him. The coat was a brilliant dark greenish-black color with blue leather cuffs and lapels patterned with golden ripples like the sea. Fancy gold trimming accompanied by a single thick rope covered the shoulder pads. Within the collar of the coat was the cursive signature of Cassidy White with the royal insignia of Sargentine emblazoned next to it. Aventurine would have had to be a complete fool to not recognize it immediately.

“Fortunately, you ended up with me: the Aventurine stoneheart to the Medusa. The Monetary Evaluation Department Underseers of Seaside Altercations if you didn’t know. I would say I’m a very generous man, so I will repeat to you your two options.” Aventurine raised a single finger “One, you win my game of Roulette and drop this sorry betting game with cards,” he raised another “Two, I kill you now and throw your entire crew into company custody for first degree murder on multiple occasions while on a ship given to you by Medusa. Taking all possessions to repay your debt. What do you say, captain?”

The boat groaned, singing with the waves as it swayed in place, the sound filling the vast room stuffed with stolen goods and currencies like music. Aventurine waited silently with a smile, one hand on the holster of his gun as the wiry man contemplated his choices.

That was the wonderful thing about the mother ocean. A man could only run the length of his ship before he could be caught. No land to hide behind, no trees or buildings to protect him. Only the vast ocean filled with more horrors than any sane man or pirate would dare to take a chance against. Trapping him with his own monsters until he touched earth.

After another moment of thinking, The Showman’s captain looked Aventurine in his glaring pink and blue eyes with steeled nerves and gave a grim nod. “One. I’ll win yer’ damn game.” He growled.

Grinning, Aventurine couldn’t help but disagree. “We’ll see about that. Fate works in mysterious ways.”

Taking his silver revolver from its holster, Aventurine loaded three bullets into the chambers before spinning the cylinder round and round until there was no possible way to know what it would shoot. “Any last words before we begin?”

The man spat at Aventurine’s face, a scowl forming on his dry lips. “Yeah. B’fore the loser dies, they reveal valuable information no one knows but themselves to the other. One less secret for you t’ take to yer grave when I shoot you where ya sit.”

“I can agree with that. But I highly doubt you’ve got a secret I think is good enough to spill on your deathbed.” The stoneheart said nonchalantly, twirling the gun in his hands with unnecessary flare before gripping it tight.

The captain, topped with the iconic pirate hat and a gnarly scar running down half of his bearded face stared at the gun as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

Aventurine never let his eyes leave the pirate, staring into the damned man’s soul for what would probably be the last time.

Bowing dramatically, one hand behind his back and the other cradling the gun, Aventurine rose and said “Got a coin we could flip? Winner shoots first.”

The ocean hissed at the pensive crew, water dark and stormy brewing. Twitching with unused power, the pirates grew antsy as time passed overhead, their leader yet to return or give them a single word of new news.

Paul, a stout man with one eye and a torn lip leaned against the heavy oak door. Ear pressed against the wood, he strained to hear anything through the door. He waited and waited for any sound, but it was dead silent on the other side.

Paul was ready to push away from the door when there was a muffled bang that echoed through the wood. A gunshot. It had to be. Paul knew that sound by heart.

Heart light, a grin broke out on his face as he turned to his crew mates. Jamming a thumb behind him, Paul mimed a gun firing with his other hand.

Hobbling away from the door, Paul snickered to himself as smiles and proud sneers broke out on everybody’s faces. Some even managed to let out chortles or snorts of sadistic laughter. The tension broke like a fickle stick to be added to the fire.

The captain of The Showman was not to be messed with. They had plundered and pillaged hundreds of ships and towns, a single man was nowhere near enough to stop him.

“Well, I’m glad that’s over.”

The crew froze, smiles shifting to frowns as they all stared in confusion at the blond man before them.

Aventurine gave a languid smile, waving a gloved hand covered in jingling bracelets and rings in greetings as he casually carried a long greenish-black coat over his shoulder.

“You’re not the captain.” Paul spat venomously, staring at the coat in Aventurine’s possession with disdain. The other crew members grumbled and hissed in agreement behind him, hands inching for their weapons.

“No, but his ship is mine now. And you lucky lot are under arrest. My sincerest apologies.” Aventurine said, unaffected by the crew drawing their swords and guns. Shoving a hand in a black pocket stitched into his pants, he withdrew a small pile of silvery blue dust.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The blond warned.

The rebellious crew froze immediately at the sight of the powder: Ground siren’s scales. A single sniff could knock a grown man out for weeks, and could even cause death and permanent paralysis in more serious cases. Aventurine had enough dust in his hand to kill the entire crew and then some.

The ocean crashed violently against the ship, as if sensing the presence of one of its lost children. Sea froth stained the floor of the vessel as it rocked back and forth violently. Aventurine adjusted his stance with ease while the seasoned crew struggled to gain their footing. The sea longed for the dust, calling for it desperately.

“Now, if you don’t want to end up with immovable limbs for the rest of your lives I suggest you stop resisting. The ocean is the perfect place to dump bodies and I’d prefer it if you didn’t make more work for me. Though if you’d like to jump now I’ll allow it, the ocean seems pretty finicky today. Maybe a nice snack will calm her.” Aventurine warned, holding the ground scales closer to the ocean and causing the ship to lurch so hard half of the crew fell onto their backs.

The few that remained standing sheathed their weapons, knowing well when they were outsmarted. Aventurine grinned, pocketing a good portion of the dust before reaching for the flare gun strapped to his right leg. With a single click, the flare sailed into the air for as long as it possibly could.

Like a cheetah suddenly leaping from the grassy savanna, a ship so large it made The Showman look miniature appeared in the distance. It fought against the crashing waves as it slowly approached, growing larger and larger the closer it came. The crew watched with slack jaws as the grandiose ship neared.

“Ah! There she is! The mighty Sigonius, my favorite ship.” Aventurine crowed, chest puffing with pride like a peacock flaunting it’s feathers. “Be thankful that you get to board the Sigonius before you are thrown in jail, ladies and gentlemen. It is a privilege indeed.”

The crew felt both annoyed and awed at Aventurine’s words. Annoyed at his flaunting, and dumbstruck that he could ever captain such a large ship. The Sigonius approached much faster than one would expect of a ship of such large size. Slowing to a stop, the gargantuan teal ship sent out a large metal bridge to connect both sea vessels together.

“Sorry, but lowly scum like yourselves aren’t allowed to see the insides of Medusa ships.” Taking his chance, Aventurine blew the dust straight into the heart of the Showman crew. One by one, they all crumpled to the deck like puppets freed of their strings.

In perfectly aligned rows, troops marched down the bridge and began casing the groaning ship. Weapons were confiscated and jewelry was gathered into crates labeled “perishables”. The workers swarmed the smaller ship like bees drawn to flowers, buzzing with activity wherever they went.

Deciding that his job was finished, Aventurine started to make his way to the bridge when the ship shook violently.

Dulled by the wood, a horrific spine crawling sound echoed from beneath the floorboards of The Showman. Workers paused to listen to the wail-like scream, stunned with shock and hit with unease as the sound continued.

Aventurine frowned, hairs standing on end and goosebumps rising along his arms. His heartbeat spiked the more the sound continued.

Suddenly it stopped, as if it had never happened in the first place.

Was that part of the secret the now deceased captain had told him about?

Turning to the nearest worker, Aventurine flashed a charming smile barbed with tebsion. “Take a team below deck and find out what made that noise, okay?”

“Yes sir.” The soldier nodded, saluting before marching off to rally a team.

With nothing left for him on the ship, Aventurine stepped foot on the Sigonius once again, heading straight for his private sleeping quarters. The ocean continued to riot against the small Showman, pummeling its sides and swaying it violently. At that rate, the ship only had a few hours until the tides capsized it. Hopefully the ship could be cleaned out before then.

As Aventurine was about to open the door to the hall, a keen shrill broke through the air and made the sailors cover their ears in pain. Quick to cover his own ringing ears, Aventurine staggered over to the railing of the ship—desperate to find out what was making the horrid noise. Even with both hands clamped tightly to the side of his head, his ears still dribbled with blood from the nauseating noise.

Searching with pain filled eyes, Aventurine scanned the waters between the ship for signs of monstrous life. Instead of finding a six headed beast or a pack of agitated Cyclas, Aventurine spotted a sizable hole torn through the wooden side of The Showman’s hull. Wood splinters drifted in the raging ocean along with thick fisherman netting twined with red string. An incredibly bad omen.

Oily black liquid stained the surface of deep blue sea, spreading out from the hole now starting to fill with sea water. The liquid dripped from the hull like wet paint, giving off such an intoxicating smell Aventurine was ready to believe that The Showman had raided a perfume store.

Holding his breath, Aventurine waited for the wail to sound out once again. Like clockwork, the piercing shriek pounded away at his ears determined to turn him deaf. Mind racing, Aventurine carded through his internal library of sea creatures at lightning speed.

Ink black liquid, enchanting smell, angry ocean, horrific screams, enough strength to bust through the hull of a Medusa ship, red string intertwined with fisherman netting: it was a mermaid. Possibly even a siren.

As if confirming his suspicion, another sorrowful scream shook the ocean and rocked even the mighty Sigonius. The netting Aventurine had thought to be simply drifting in the water now thrashed violently, the thick rope was black with the same oil colored liquid in the ocean. Furious waves crashed against both ships as the black substance continued to increase with each jerk of the hook and seal infested netting.

Blood. It was all blood.

“I want all men off The Showman immediately! There is a breach in the hull!” Aventurine roared when the scream trembled to a long whale like whine. “And get that mermaid out of the damn netting! They’ll drown us all if they don’t stop!”

Men still aboard the Showman scrambled to cross the shaking bridge while Aventurine ran for the lifeboat closest to the blood stained water. With no patience to wait for fellow sailors, he dropped the boat into the thrashing sea. It was never a good idea to stay between two large ships that could knock together and crush you at any time, but Aventurine was willing to take the risk if it meant stopping the siren from killing them all by accident.

Letting the water bring him closer to the net, Aventurine reached out and began to draw in the bloody rope as he sawed away with his hunting knife bit by bit. It tugged and jerked in his hands, threatening to send him beneath the waves multiple times, but Aventurine sat firm in the small boat.

The nets were endless as they were large, Aventurine cut as much as he could but more net seemed to replace it each time. Either this was a siren, or Aventurine was dealing with a very young and unhappy whale.

Sailors grouped in the other boats dropped into the sea around him, grabbing at the net and heaving with all their might. It was no use trying to cut the sea creature free, there was simply too much net to get through before the sea creature drowned them in a tidal wave.

They had to bring it aboard the ship.

The ocean raged endlessly, transpiring with the ravenous storm from above. Together both elements made even the Sigonius ship feel like it was capable of tipping.

To take a sea-daughter away from the water invoked the mother’s most powerful protective measures to ensure its child’s safe return.

The only way to calm the mother ocean was to return its daughter back to water. Every sailor and pirate worth their salt knew that one thing before agreeing to a life on the ocean. Himself included.

Aventurine only had one problem: there was no place to set the net swaddled mermaid on the Sigonius. Not naturally, at least.

Riffling through the previously locked drawers of the dresser planted against the wall of his sleeping quarters, Aventurine searched for his Favour. A magical sand-dollar that would build you a single non-living object if you set the evil or troublesome soul trapped inside of it free. Aventurine had come across it while strolling through the port market in a different country. A lucky find.

Since that day, he had kept the Favour tucked away for a moment like this one.

Having finally found the pitch black sand dollar, Aventurine made his way through the groaning ship to his office. A group of ten men kneeled before the mass of red twined netting covering the deck, wax muffles stuffed deep in their ears as the beast let out softer yet still ear rupturing cries. The group worked tirelessly to slice through the thick hook infested ropes, trying their best to not accidentally stab the hidden siren with their knives or dig the arsenal of hooks into its skin.

Aventurine paused, his head aching from the pain of the continuous crying. Raising his voice as loud as it could go, Aventurine yelled “Have the mer brought to my office when most of the nets are gone! I will take it from there.”

Only two men seemed to realize he had spoken over the shrill whale like noise the mer let out when a stray hook supposedly caught onto its body. They nodded, squinting at his lips but giving him two thumbs up before returning to their work. With the hope that the crew mates actually knew what Aventurine asked of them, he made his way to the office reserved for the captain of The Sigonius.

Pushing the heavy furniture around until it all stood grouped together in the middle of the room, Aventurine crushed the Favour without hesitation as the Sigonius rocked uncomfortably.

Red mist arose from the sand dollar, curling in the air like incense before it transformed into a giant angry cloud that whirled around the room. It writhed and shrieked, the horrifically deformed finned face pressing against the cloud harmonizing with the beast outside before coating the entire room in a thick scarlet mist.

Aventurine held his breath, elbow over his face as the red filling his vision deepened to a color reminiscent of dried blood.

The spirit gave a final wail from within the mist before throwing itself through the wooden walls to the ocean outside. A siren’s soul had been trapped inside, now free to drown sailors from beyond the grave of it so wished. Though Aventurine saw the trade as necessity as he stared at the object before him.

In place of the mist was a great tank that nearly reached the roof of the room, a rolling ladder made of iron connected to black railings attached along the outermost glass wall. The entire tank spanned three of the four walls, edges perfectly curved and inside wide enough for Aventurine to lay flat on his back and still not touch the walls. A kind of cement or rubber like object protected the wooden floorboards beneath, capable of protecting the room from leaks. Water a perfect blue hue filled the dull and empty tank, saving Aventurine a great deal of time.

With the addition of the tank using up a chunk of the office, Aventurine got to rearranging his desk and other equipment out of the way to the ladder before opening the door and waiting for the sailors to arrive.

It seemed like his words hadn’t been lost to the crew mates, now dragging a still entangled mermaid behind them. It’s screeching was like metal grating against clay, thrashing weakly as hooks poked through the now few layers of netting encasing it.

Aventurine nodded at the exhausted crew members. “Good. Help me get it in the tank, and then you’re free to rest.”

“Of course, captain.” One of the sailors agreed, bowing their head.

As a team, the tall and hulking sailors hoisted the mermaid, now limp from exhaustion or merely accepting its fate, into the water with a loud splash. Aventurine waved for the crew to leave from his position on the ladder, watching as the sea creature within started to squirm the moment it hit water. The ocean outside immediately started to calm, the rocking waves growing weaker by the minute.

The door closed with a satisfactory click as the last of the group left the room now colored in a blue light from the water blocking the stained glass window. The sun, now peeking out from the dying storm started to fall below the horizon.

Aventurine stared, waiting with bated breath for the creature to reveal itself. Tendrils of black blood spreading in the once pristine seawater thanks to its wounds. Except, there was no further movement. The mer did not slip out from the nets in a dramatic reveal of beauty like Aventurine thought it might. Nor did it leap out from the tank and tear his throat out in the span of a few seconds. It laid hidden within the blankets of bloody black fishnets, unmoving aside from the small rise and fall of (supposedly) its chest.

The mer had fallen asleep. Or was dying slowly from blood loss.

Either way, it would be pointless staying up to watch the (hopefully)sleeping mermaid. Aventurine had a ship to captain and a meeting to attend on land. Letting out a sigh, Aventurine left the messily arranged office locked behind him as he started a search for the night crew.

The Sigonius was now docked at a port owned by Medusa in the land of Pleyr-Tor. A merchant hub where only the wealthiest families of all species thrived. The ship was silent save for the grumbling crew as they heaved heavy boxes of food up the bridge and repaired injuries sustained by the Sigonius on their voyage.

Three days had passed since Aventurine stepped on solid land for the first time in four months. The sun was readying to descend when the captain finally returned to his ship.

Crew members watched silently as Aventurine stalked up the bridge with a lax smile, knowing full well what would happen if they disturbed him. Sailors parted like the blond was radioactive, forming a path for Aventurine to walk through all the way to the thick wooden door protecting the Captain’s office. The door opened and closed with a normal click that might as well have been a slam to the oldest members of the crew. If there were seasoned crew members left, that is. All had been lost to sea or let go to some other ship before they could ever form true bonds with their captain.

Locking the door behind him, Aventurine sank into his overly comfortable desk chair. The cedar wood table was littered with betting chips and papers for navigation and myths, debts to collect and which land to “assist” next. A single oil lamp placed in the top left corner, his only source of light on late nights. It needed replacing soon as it was having trouble lighting for the past few days. Aventurine made a note to himself to buy a better oil lamp while in Pleyr-Tor.

Hours passed in the blink of an eye as Aventurine worked away at the papers on his desk. His head ached from the constant smell of seawater, distracting him from any further work. Breathing out a sigh, Aventurine turned his chair around until it faced the large tank holding his underwater guest.

Madam Jade’s words rang in his ears, increasing the pain of his headache tenfold and causing the grip on his chair to increase.

Everything had a cost. Even freedom. No matter the race or situation. All debts must be repaid. Accidental or not.

Aventurine was not allowed to let the mermaid go.

Staring through the crystal clear glass, Aventurine watched as the sun slowly inched away from its low post in the sky. Down and down it went, painting the sky in yellows and pinks. Closing his eyes and letting himself soak in the fading sunlight until the sky turned a gentle purple, Aventurine did not catch when the once still mess of nets moved just slightly to the left.

“What should I do…” Aventurine muttered into his hand, glancing at the hidden mer within the still empty tank.

Perhaps that would soon change. If the mer lived, maybe sand and rocks of every color would brighten the dull cage. Seaweed could be taken from the ocean and planted for the slightest increase in privacy. Small fish to fill the void. Would the mermaid eat the fish? Hmm, maybe the fish could wait. Would the mer care if Aventurine added incense burners in the room to get rid of the seawater smell?

The nets, only two or four left, started to move. Aventurine snapped to attention, pushing away all his thoughts of decorating as he stood from his chair, knocking it over with a crash.

The ink black nets, large enough to easily capture Killer Whales, were jerked and pulled in every direction. Ropes started snapping one by one. Red twine floated in the water like bloody seaweed as the frayed strings broke apart.

Aventurine saw a faint flash of scales and a shadow of a hand slicing through rope from within. The creature, now awake and furious writhed underneath the netting. Blood matching the color of the night sky graced the dark blue water once again as hooks dug into flesh and scales. Water leapt out from the tank and onto the creaking floorboards below, staining them a dark brown.

The final rays of sunlight flickered below the window line and engulfed the room in almost total darkness. Slowly, Aventurine’s eyes adjusted to the dim setting. Blinking rapidly, Aventurine never let his gaze wander from the cloak of blood crusted fisherman netting even as his largest source of light sank beyond his vision.

There came a skin crawling trill from within the tank. It was clearer this time, the mer’s disorienting melodic voice humming with the water instead of its painful cries when above water. Goosebumps arose on his flesh in waves, hair standing on end the longer the call continued. The air, once warm and comforting was now colder than the winter ocean.

A clawed hand broke free from the nets.

Backing away on shaky feet, Aventurine turned to snatch the oil lamp from his desk while his heart started to beat louder than a drum in his ears. There was the muffled sound of nets continuing to snap and break from behind, the being writhing just beneath the surface. Water stained black fell to the floor around him, no less different than human blood when drying into wood.

Aventurine fumbled to light the lamp, pausing when there was a flash of blue light from behind. His heart went still and his mind raced, wondering if he truly had brought a killer siren onto his ship.

Face instinctually morphing into a calm smile, Aventurine turned around, lamp forgotten.

Eyes deeper than the midnight zone stared into his soul with pupils blown so wide the irises were barely visible. Fins flared with a rattling quiver as their lower body looped and coiled throughout the enclosure that almost seemed too small to fit their massive size. Lights flashed continuously along their skin and long, flowing tail. Aventurine couldn’t tell where one bioluminescent fin ended and another began in the darkness filled only by the light of the mer.

Claws sharp enough to pierce bone reached up and up and up until they touched the edge of the glass tank, unblinking eyes never leaving his form for even a moment.

Lips parting to let out a deep warble, Aventurine saw two sets of razor sharp canines peeking past their lips. The creature lifted itself up with only its arms until it reached out of the tank. Tail still curling in an endless spiral in the water as their upper half touched the wooden floorboards.

Instead of backing away for showing fear, Aventurine gave his best smile as he stepped forward, watching at their water logged hair splayed on the ground around them. “Y’know, you caused a lot of trouble for me. Sinking a ship I just finished taking over and having me loose valuable artifacts was quite rude of you. I deserve an apology, don’t you think?”

Their lips pulled back further than should be possible for a human, the flesh of their cheeks tearing in bloody strips until their rows upon rows of pointed teeth were revealed. Torn frills all along their body quivered angrily. Scales flashed in warning, a clear message to stay away or risk death. Letting out a chitter-like sound, the mermaid’s eyes narrowed as they continued to stare at Aventurine.

In the dark of night, Aventurine only had the dim glow of the mer’s scales to make out their towering figure. His mind more than happy to fill in the details he could not see.

He stepped closer, hands stuffed in his new coat pockets. Aventurine never was one to play safe. “Breaking through the hull of a ship like that must have caused some serious damage. I’m surprised you’re even standing right now. Tough cookie, aren’t you?” He said, tilting his head to the side as he willed his eyes to adjust better to the lack of light.

“You are quite the beauty, as well! What’s your secret? Let me guess…the flesh of sailors?” While laughing at his own joke, the mer continued to watch him with their hundred yard stare. The fins in place of human ears flicked at the sound of his voice, trembling softly.

“Oh it’s nothing, just an old pirate joke. You really are lucky that I was the one who came across that ship you were in and not one of the other Stonehearts. I doubt Topaz would find you cute enough to rescue.” Aventurine hummed, watching as the mer drew more of its body from the water. The sea-daughter was long—so long Aventurine couldn’t tell the length of their tail with how it had to circle around the entire tank and then some just to fit. Definitely more than a meter or two, that he was sure.

The mermaid’s clawed hand twitched as their smile widened. Tilting their own head to the side as their large eyes bored into Aventurine’s soul, a pale film covered them for a brief second as they blinked without proper eyelids. A clicking sound reminiscent of dolphins left their mouth instead of the horrific screech Aventurine was haunted by on the day he saved its life. Dagger sharp nails tapped against the bloodied and groaning wood rhythmically as the raspy clicking continued.

Aventurine paused as he listened to the mer’s clicks and taps, watching as they repeated the action over and over again. Clearly, they had yet to murder him via siren song or rip his arm off and use it as a snack to munch on after showing how easy it was to lift their own body over the glass wall like it was nothing.

What were they trying to say? Or were they saying anything at all?

“Can you even understand me?” Aventurine questioned, shifting on his feet. The mermaid, to its credit, looked thoroughly confused on it’s part. They let out a growlish “Buwerr?” And tilted their head further than should be safe for something that looked so human.

“I’ll take that as a no. A language barrier, huh? This is going to be interesting.” Aventurine muttered to himself, though he was sure the mermaid heard with how it’s fins twitched. It had good hearing.

The mer towered over Aventurine, face still broken and showing a concerning number of teeth with eyes eclipsed to a near completely black state. It was incredibly unnerving, especially since the only light was from their fluorescent fins and blinking scales. Not to mention they were covered in their own blood.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. All that dried blood can’t be comfortable, can it? We can discuss other matters later,” Aventurine said with a grin. His body easily fell into its masked routine, hiding the fear and uncertainty he felt and replacing it with confidence.

Fins flicking and scales blinking, Aventurine’s newest bet nodded. The mer shifted, jaw re-hinging and skin weaving back together over their cheeks until their face looked exactly like a human. Blinking with those filmy white eyelids, their pupils shrank and morphed into perfect replicas of human eyes—no, Aventurine’s eyes. He shivered involuntarily at the sight of eyes that mirrored his own as the mermaid changed itself to look like a deity among men for his own comfort. Or for it’s own comfort, which is more likely.

The mermaid chittered in a chipper tone, lips curling into a toothy smile. It had horrifyingly sharp teeth.

Yep, still a mermaid.

Holding out a now dainty hand the same colors as the sand, the mer waited with an expectant look. It’s tail swayed playfully in the water, sloshing seawater over the edge and onto the already soaked floor. When Aventurine did not take their hand, the mer made a tutting noise and retracted their arm back to their side. Their frills trembled and glowing scales blinked to a deep green before shifting to scarlet red, and finally a bright fuchsia.

They made a strangled animal sound, like an elk with a frog in its throat. Their lips obviously weren’t used to moving properly. They paused, scowling and fluttering their fins moodily before letting out an unidentifiable sound.

“Gr….grr..greetings.” Aventurine’s own distorted voice echoed back at him from the mermaid’s mouth. It huffed with pride, fins flicking in waves.

Ah, so it could mimic as well. How dandy.

Holding its hand out once again, the mermaid repeated the word twice over with lips un-synced from Aventurine’s copied voice.

Ah, so it wanted a handshake.

Chuckling, Aventurine said “Ah, I suppose we did skip over pleasantries,” he cleared his throat “I am Aventurine, a stoneheart of Medusa. Pleased to meet you. Use me as you wish, you can even stab me in the back if you want to—but I don’t make bets that don’t pay off.” Reaching out, Aventurine twined his fingers together with the mermaid’s. Hands palm to palm.

The mer stared down at him, gazing at their intertwined hand as their webbed ears twitched and titled, finely tuned to the pitch and exact tone of his words to break the barrier between their languages.

Shaking their held hand, the mermaid nodded with a smile.

Clicking and trilling, the mer drew words from the air to repeat a word still unintelligible to Aventurine even with the mimicry of his voice.

“Ah, the language barrier strikes again. How about I just give you a nickname instead? Just until we can find a middle ground.” Aventurine suggested with a shake of his head. His conscience weighing too heavily on his shoulders to handle a shrug.

“Yes…yes!” They sang, pulling Aventurine close to their chest as they circled around him like a boa. The mer nodded merrily, lights flaring to a rosy pink. Aventurine pulled his hand away, adjusting his glove as he pondered.

“Well, it has to be fitting—but not too odd. Since we’ll be together for quite a while it should have some kind of meaning behind it, don’t you think?” Aventurine went on as he craned his head upwards to look into the mermaid’s curious eyes. They nodded sagely, fins attentive as they licked their salty lips.

Aventurine slowly listed name after name, watching for a change in the mer’s expression. Eventually the mermaid returned to the water from pure disinterest in the names, holding him steady as they forced him to sit on the highest stair of the ladder.

The mer looked ready to drift underneath the water by the time Aventurine was starting to run out of names. Grasping at his last few ideas, Aventurine hesitantly listed the last name that came to mind. Your name.

Erupting from the water, your hands grabbed at Aventurine’s shoulders as you both fell back into the water like whales breaking from the ocean for air.

“Perfect!….YES! YES!NAME! YES, NAME!” You shrieked joyfully, tail crashing in the water as you literally lit up with glee. “MY NAME NOW! EVER!”

“Alright! Alright! That’s your name now! Glad you like it.” Aventurine sputtered, dragging his soppy wet blond hair away from his wide eyes as he floated in your tank. You circled around him in a never ending spiral, chittering and trilling with a smile so large Aventurine thought your mouth might just split open again.

Swimming to the edge, Aventurine stared into your bright eyes when you met him at the rim.

You reminded him a lot of himself when he was young. Aventurine didn’t know how much he liked that fact as he watched you twirl in the water without a care in the world.

Aventurine called your name and you paused, eyes a carbon copy of his own staring back into his soul and touching something he thought was buried the day he lost his family during the tribal wars. “…Don’t ever let Medusa tie you down, okay? This stupid organization doesn’t need to ruin any more races.”

Your fins twitched at his words, blinking to a deep blue lighting. “Stoneheart…Medusa,” You parroted with worry. “Aventurine…tie..”

“Hmm, no—forget I said anything. We can talk about all that later. If you’ve already forgotten, you are still pretty injured. So let’s focus on you getting better for now. We’ll have all the time in the world to talk later.” Aventurine huffed, patting your head with a bare hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither are you, is what Aventurine chose to leave unsaid.

@idkfitememate merry Christmas!! 🎁🎄 here’s your present!

@kaitsawamura made the scale divider! Thank you!!

[raven-dor]

close to you

in which fred weasley and his best friend are oblivious to each other's feelings

PAIRING: fred weasley ii x gryffindor!reader, fred weasley ii x fem!reader

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, obliviousness!!, arguing, misunderstanding, poor theodore nott jr

WORD COUNT: 3.0k

“Godric.” James groaned, holding his head between his hands. “They’ve been arguing for hours.” 

Roxanne laughed. “You think we’d be used to it by now.” She crossed her arms. “What are they arguing about this time?” 

James scoffed, leaning back into the plush Gryffindor common room couch. “Oh, you weren’t listening?” Roxanne shook her head. He smirked, sighing as if he was disappointed. “Allow me to enlighten you. Your darling brother brought up the fact that Ophelia Scamander was going alone to the Yule Ball.” 

“Alright?” 

“I’m almost certain he brought that up to get a reaction from Y/N.”

Roxanne laughed. “Is that what started this then?” 

James shook his head, thoroughly entertained that Roxanne hadn’t caught on yet. “What started this was that Y/N brought up she already had a date.” 

Roxanne’s jaw dropped. “You’re joking.” 

“I wish I was. Your brother overreacted…” 

“Typical.” 

“Hence the argument we’ve been spectators to for roughly-” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes.” 

“That’s it!” 

They looked over, surprised that steam wasn’t hissing from Y/N’s ears. Her voice was shrill, ringing through the otherwise empty common room. “Come find me when you become an adult.” She stormed off, her gaze fixed on the exit. 

Fred scoffed, yelling after her. “Jokes on you. I already am!” 

The portrait door slammed shut, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. James coughed. “Trouble in paradise?” 

Fred glared, plopping on the couch beside him. “Shut it, you.” 

Roxanne sighed. “Freddie, why do you think you were so upset about this?” 

“I assumed we were going together.”

James grinned. “And why’s that?” 

“I know where this is going, James. We’re best friends.” Fred almost looked dejected as he said it. “Nothing more.” 

Roxanne laughed. Godric, it was a miracle he survived day to day with how thick he could be. “Do you ever stop and think that perhaps the reason you and dear Y/N/N argue so often is because you fancy each other?”

“Rox…”

James sighed, looking at his cousin guiltily. “She’s not wrong, Fred.” 

Fred groaned. “Not you too.” He stood up, his hands on his hips. “I’m off to find Y/N.” 

“Have fun!”

“Bugger off, James!” 

The library was quieter than the Gryffindor Common Room, that much was evident. The majority of the student body could be found there at any time of day staring at textbooks, committing their information to memory. She smiled to herself, it was nice to have the solitude the library offered compared to the chaos her home brought contained. It almost made her laugh: Fred had no right to be that upset, but she couldn’t help but feel butterflies erupt in her stomach whenever he had an overprotective stint. He was gorgeous, anyone with eyes knew, the way his eyes lit up when he was passionate about something. And the fact he was so annoyed with her choice of date made her dare to think that-

“Y/N.” 

“Fredrick.” 

He sat down, carrying a look that mirrored that of a kicked puppy. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It wasn’t fair.” 

Ah. She felt disappointed. “That’s very… responsible of you.” 

“Do you, do you have anything to say?” 

“Do I?” She scoffed, setting down her quill to see if he was being serious. “Am I supposed to be apologizing as well?” 

He sighed. “I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. I just-” 

“What?” She snapped. “What did you just-” 

“I can’t stand you being mad at me.” He hissed. “I know it’s my fault, love.” He reached out, holding her hand and rubbing the back with his thumb. “You’re my best friend, and we can’t be mad at each other forever.” 

It was like a bucket of cold water thrown on her face. Why had he always felt the need to break her heart? “I don’t know what gave you the impression I was mad at you Fred.” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” He laughed. “The fact that you stormed off and have been avoiding eye contact this entire conversation.”

She stuck her tongue out. “You’re my best friend too. And trust me, I could never be mad at you.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Have you found a dress yet?” 

She shook her head. “I haven’t, actually. Would you want to come along? Roxie already got hers, and the rest of the girls had them shipped in.” 

“Sounds like you've already planned my Saturday.” 

She shoved his arm, glaring. “Oh, because you had such compelling plans.” 

“Godric, woman, stop pulling me,” Fred whined.

She rolled her eyes, pushing open the door of Gladrags. “Would you rather have frozen? Really, you should be thanking me.” She let go of his hand to remove her coat, and Fred almost outwardly whined from the loss of touch. “It’s not my fault you walk slower than a flobberworm.” 

They strolled through the aisles, and every so often Y/N handed Fred a dress to hold. “Are you excited?” 

“To watch you play dress up for two hours?” He smiled sarcastically. “Ecstatic.” 

“Guard my room will you.” She yelled through the curtain. “Do you swear?”

He nodded, smiling to himself. “I solemnly swear.”  

She rolled her eyes, laughing to herself. “Is that a reference to that stupid map?” 

“Love, they’re all starting to look the same.” 

Y/N glared, visibly defeated by the many hours of trying on dress after dress after dress. “If I knew you would be so unhelpful I wouldn’t have brought you.” 

He held his hands up in surrender. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do.” 

Fred stood up, and she naturally followed after him. “You need something different. Not something you find at first glance.” She smacked his arm, obviously taking offense. “I wasn’t saying you have bad taste, I’m just-” Her eyebrow raised impatiently. “Getting to the point.” He stopped, pulling out the most stunning dress she’d ever seen in her life. “I know that I don’t have the best taste-” 

“It’s perfect.” She squealed, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re perfect.” 

He laughed, handing her the dress. “Go on, then.” 

She ran to the dressing rooms. The dress he'd picked was white, with (what looked like) a thousand layers of tule, all coming to an end at an empire waistline. Jewels had been expertly sewn in, and as she looked closer, she realized they were snowflakes.

The back would prove to be an issue, she thought as she closed the curtain. She could lace most of it herself, but- Godric, she would need someone else to help her. “Fred.” 

A beat of silence. “Everything alright, love?” 

She took a deep breath. “I need your help.” 

“With?” His voice sounded tight. 

“I can’t-” She huffed, picked up the front of the dress, and walked out of the dressing room. “The lacing...” Fred stared, and her heart skipped a beat, there was that look again. “Stop looking at me like that.” He stepped forward, whispering gently.

“Turn around.” 

“Excuse me?” She tilted her head. 

“The lacing.” He reminded her why she'd even called for his help. “Turn around.” 

She obliged, smiling to herself as his fingers grazed her back. “You picked the perfect dress, Freddie.” 

His cheeks felt like they were on fire, tightening the laces once more before tying a bow. “It’s nothing…” She turned around, and he realized how serious this moment really was. “You know, you look like the moon itself.”

She laughed, actually laughed. He almost glared, here he was complimenting her, and she laughed at him. “What’s so funny?” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just that you looked so serious when you said it.” 

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow, a smile creeping on his face. “Well, remind me to never compliment you again.” 

“No!” She begged. “Please, don’t.” 

“Fine, fine.” Somehow his arm had found its way around her waist, and time seemed to stand still. It felt natural almost, like her waist had been made for his arm to be draped around it. “You’ve convinced me.” 

“What are we doing? This is-” 

“Y/N." He swallowed, his mouth felt dry. "I need to kiss you now. Is that- okay?” 

She nodded, her eyelids lulling in anticipation. “Yes.” 

“I- I’m going to-” 

“Fred, just kiss me!” Her voice was ruder than she intended, her eyes widening. “Sorry, I-” 

“I don’t think we should.” He whispered. “It would only-” 

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt like she could die right there. Her voice broke as she spoke. “Can you undo the laces please?” 

He nodded. “I’m sorry-” 

“Fred, just do it.” Her voice was harsh, and his fingers fumbled with the strings. “Don’t apologize to me. We both wanted to, just…” The dress was loose, and she crossed her arms, barely holding it up as she turned around. Her eyes were glassy, and Fred had never felt this guilty in her life. Tears were steadily streaming down her face. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone about this.” 

“I-”

“Promise me!”

“I promise.” 

She shoved past him, pulling the curtain shut. “I think you should leave.” 

“Y/N…” 

“Fred, go away.” 

Her tone dripped with venom. He’d never heard her sound that betrayed, more angry, and it made him want to stay even more, to help her and make up for his cowardice. “Love, let me-” 

“Just stop!” She screamed. “I think it’s best if we take a break.” 

“A break?” His voice sounded nervous. Good, she wanted him to squirm like she just had. “From what?” 

“Whatever this is Fred. I’m tired of it. You- You coward.” She walked out of the dressing room, glaring at her best friend. “I have feelings for you and I can’t- I can’t be around you like this. So please just don’t talk to me.” 

She stormed out of the shop, leaving Fred alone with his thoughts. He was empty, he realized. It was stupid: honestly, the most foolish thing he’d ever done, backing out of something he knew he'd wanted to do for ages.

She was right, he was a coward. How many, he asked himself, could stand in the face of perfection itself and not crumble? He pushed open the curtain, frowning at the dress that had been thrown on the ground. 

“Excuse me?” He stood up, turning around to see an older witch looking at him with blatant concern. “Is everything alright, dear?” 

“I’d-” He took a deep breath, folding the dress delicately. “I’d like to buy this dress please.” 

The older witch nodded, leading him to the register. “She’s very lucky.” 

He laughed, shaking his head. “I’m the lucky one.” 

“Y/N!” Roxanne called out from the bottom of the stairs. “There’s a package for you.” 

Her mother wasn’t due to send her a care package for another week. Her eyebrows furrowed as she climbed out of bed. She’d wanted to sleep as long as she could before getting ready for the ball, but the universe had other plans for her. “Who’s it from?” 

Roxanne shrugged. “Don't know.” 

Y/N laughed. “A lot of help you are. There’s no note?” 

She shook her head. “It’s a pretty big box.” 

Y/N nodded. “Thanks, Rox.” 

“Can I-” Roxanne smiled. “Can I come with you?” 

“Do you even need to ask?” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows, racing up the stairs, with Roxanne hot on her tail. They jumped onto Y/N’s bed, ripping the box open eagerly. 

“A note!” Roxanne grinned. “Any idea who could be your secret admirer?” 

“Not a clue.” She was lying through her teeth of course, but she couldn’t tell Roxanne this secret. This one had to be just for her and Fred. Taking the note from her friend's hand, she carefully opened it, her cheeks flushing at its words. 

“You were right?” Roxanne murmured. Y/N turned around, glaring. “Sorry. It’s just so interesting.” She pulled the dress out of the box, smiling softly. “It’s a beautiful dress.” 

“It is.” Y/N stood up, holding it against herself as she looked in the mirror. “It really is.” 

“I’ll see you down there, yeah?” Roxanne squeezed her hand. “You look radiant, truly.” 

“Thanks, Rox.” Y/N squeezed back, taking a deep breath. “I’ll see you soon.” 

It was a few moments later before she felt brave enough to walk down the grand stone steps. She could hardly breathe, and wearing this dress- Merlin, she hoped tonight was perfect. She rounded the corner, gripping the railing with all of her strength. The crowd at the bottom of the stairs hadn’t turned around in awe, which did wonders for her nerves. She would have hated for people to fuss over her. 

What had made her nervous was the fact that ever since she’d stepped out from behind the corner, Fred had been staring at her so intensely, that she thought she would burst into flames.

Behind Fred, was her date, Theodore Nott. Much like his father, he was stoic and knew what he wanted. When he’d asked her, she thought it had been a joke. But he'd proven to be a kind man underneath it all, and she knew she would have a nice time with him.

Now, she was dreading seeing his face; there was no way that he'd see past her evident feelings for her best friend.

When she finally reached the bottom of the stairs, they was practically standing face to face. Her heart lept, frozen in time. Fred was just standing there, staring at her as intently as before. She quickly stepped around him, making her way to Theo before she would do something she'd regret. 

Her date was rather cheery, which made her cheery as well. He bowed, taking her hand and kissing the back gently. “Your beauty rivals that of a veela, Y/L/N.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” She grinned, standing on her tiptoes so that she could kiss his cheek. “But thank you.” 

He smiled, extending his arm. “Shall we?” 

“We shall.” 

“She looks perfect,” Fred murmured, watching her walk into the ballroom. 

Roxanne nodded. “She does.” 

“I’m an idiot, Rox.” 

The girl smiled. “We all make mistakes, Freddie.” 

“I should’ve kissed her.” He whispered so quietly she almost hadn’t heard him. “Has she-” 

She shook her head, and Fred laughed. “How did you know?"

“She’s my best friend, and you're my brother. I know you two better than I know anyone." She smiled, hooking her arm through his. "I knew something was wrong the minute she came back without you."

“I love her.” He practically whined. “Do you know what it feels like to not be with the person you love?” 

She shook her head once more. “I don't. But I can imagine that it’s painful, and it hurts. But then you realize that you would go through it all again…” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Just for the chance to be with them.” 

“Are you having a good time?” Theo felt helpless as he watched his date stare at another man. “I’m sorry if I-” 

“What?” She shook her head. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Are you having a good time?” 

“I should ask you that.” She frowned. Theodore hated it when she frowned, she was too beautiful for that. “I haven’t been a proper Yule Ball date.” 

He smiled, murmuring to himself. “I should have known.”

“I’m sorry?” Her heart stopped. 

“I never should have asked you.” 

“I’m confused.”

“Well, it’s obvious you wanted Weasley to ask you. Right?”

“I-” She looked out at the dance floor, smiling faintly at his horrible dancing. “Unfortunately.” 

He nodded, standing up. “You won’t mind if I-” 

She shook her head,  “I’m really sorry, Teddy.” 

He laughed. “You’re the only person that calls me Teddy.”

“Go talk to her.” Roxanne nudged her brother. “If you keep staring at her from across the room she’s going to think you’re obsessed with her.” 

“I am.” He corrected. “Obsessed with her.” He looked back, tilting his head. “You think I should?” 

“Freddie…” James groaned. “Go talk to her before I do. I’m getting sick of this back and forth. OW!” 

Fred looked over, laughing as Roxanne smacked their cousin over the head. “Fine, fine. I’ll go. Just stop fighting.”

“She’s waiting for you.” Fred tensed at the familiar voice. “Nott.” 

“Weasley,” Theodore responded. “I need you to swear to me that you won’t hurt her.” 

“What are you-” 

The Slytherin’s eyes looked dark, and a chill ran down his spine. Theodore stepped forward, whispering. “Swear it, Weasley.” 

“I swear.”

Theo smiled, not bothering to address Fred any longer, and waved goodbye to the two spectators. “Roxanne, Potter.” 

James glared at their peer as he walked away. “What an odd bloke.” 

She looked radiant. The wind elegantly blew what hair had fallen out of her updo. She looked straight out of that muggle film she’d forced him to watch.

The dress was glowing in the moonlight, she looked like pure magic, but he knew there was no way she wasn’t cold. She always had a shiver, even if it was bright and humid outside. He shrugged his suit jacket off, walking beside her and draping it over her shoulders. 

“Thank you, Freddie.” 

Merlin, her voice was like music to his ears. “Anytime, love.” 

She hadn’t bothered to look over, and it brought comfort to him that she knew it was him without looking. He took a side step closer to her, whispering so that only they could hear. “You wore the dress.” 

She nodded. “You have great taste.” 

“I do, don’t I?” She rolled her eyes, finally looking at him, and he smiled, even if her look was a glare. He held his hands up in surrender, which seemed to be a common theme between them. “All jokes, love.” 

“Did I-” She sighed, turning toward him. “Did I read it wrong?” 

He shook his head. “No.” 

“And if I want to kiss you again-” 

He lunged forward, he couldn’t help himself any longer. He was a coward then, but Godric help him if he was a coward now. Their lips were still touching when he spoke next. “I love you.”

Her eyes were teary. “Fred…” 

“I know you love me too.” He smiled, kissing her again lightly. “In my soul, I know it.” Grabbing her hand, he pulled it up to his chest, placing it directly over his thumping heart. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, I’m sorry that I ignored it, but I’m here now, and I-” He grinned, kissing her again. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

“Yeah?” He nudged his nose against hers. “You do know you’re stuck with me, right?” 

“Freddie…” She laughed. “We've been stuck together for eighteen years. The chance to lose me has passed."

"I have never..." He whispered. "And will never want to lose you."

Her heart fluttered, caressing his cheek gently. “It’s snowing.”

He nodded, placing his arm around her waist, swaying back and forth. “It is.”

She giggled. “My, you’re smooth.”

“I pride myself on my charm.” He whispered, leaning down.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “As you should.”

He smiled, their lips barely touching. “You know, you really do look like the moon.”

taglist: @beebeechaos

[wildflowerspollinator]

Between Confusion and Clarity

I published a new chapter of my fanfic. It’s smutty but sweet, and it could also work as a standalone piece. The whole story is fluff and smut with a bit of angst.

Chapter 18

Colin confidently steps down from the carriage, the sounds of bustling London streets muffled by the cool night air. Reaching into his coat pocket, he carefully withdraws a small, unlit candle. The coachman adjusts the carriage lantern.

"A candle in your pocket? I thought you were just happy to see me?" Penelope teases. 

Leaning in close, Colin grins. "Upon closer inspection, my dear, you'll find that I am very happy indeed."

Stepping away from Penelope momentarily, he touches the wick of his candle to the carriage light. The flame catches quickly, casting a soft glow that illuminates his face. Satisfied, he turns to Penelope and offers her his arm with a warm smile. "Shall we?" he asks, the flickering candle casting light on the stairs leading to the townhouse.

Penelope takes his arm, her eyes reflecting the light as she gazes at him. "Thank you, Colin," she replies.

As they step inside, the interior is cloaked in darkness, save for Colin's candle's soft, solitary glow. He turns to Penelope, his expression warm and reassuring. "Stay close; it won't take long to light the place up."

Guiding her inside, he moves to the nearest sconce on the wall, gently tipping the candle to light a larger one in the wall-mounted holder. The flame catches, spreading a warm light across the entryway. Colin moves quickly, repeating the process with a few more sconces and a lantern, casting a welcoming glow throughout the room.

Penelope admires him and appreciates how he cares for her comfort, even in the smallest gestures. "There," he says with a satisfied smile. It's much better."

She nods, her smile widening as she takes in the sight of the townhouse's entryway. "Much better indeed," she agrees.

Colin sets the now mostly melted candle on a nearby table, its purpose served. Extending his hand to Penelope, his expression softens. "Shall we find somewhere more comfortable?"

"We could," she replies, pressing him against the wall and unbuttoning the first two buttons of his vest. "Give me a tour."

"A tour, you say?" His voice drops, "I think I can manage that."

"I should hope so," she says, her fingers lingering on his vest before slowly stepping back, giving him just enough space to move.

Taking her hand, Colin threads his fingers through hers and leads her down the hallway. "This is the drawing-room," he says softly, pride evident in his voice. "I thought it would be a good place for us to entertain guests or just relax with a good book. I've already moved some of my books and added a few decorative trinkets as placeholders, but we can work on building the collection together."

Penelope's eyes scan the room, taking in the cozy furniture arrangement and thoughtful touches. "It's perfect, Colin," she says sincerely, her voice filled with admiration. "I love it."

He turns to her, a tender expression on his face. "And I love you."

"Penelope," he begins, her name a question on his lips as if searching for the right words. "Before I lead you into every room, know it's a promise."

"A promise?" she echoes.

He nods. "A promise that this is our home."

Tears well up in her eyes. "Colin…"

He takes a deep breath, his voice softening even more. "Marry me, Penelope. I want to spend my life discovering you slowly, day by day. I want to learn every story and cherish every moment with you. I want every part of you. The bold, the shy, the playful, and the serious. I want it all, and I want us to fill this home with memories of a well-lived and well-loved life."

"Yes, Colin," she says, a radiant smile breaking through her tears. "Yes, I will marry you."

He leans down, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. When they finally pull apart, his eyes sparkle with joy. "Well, good," he says with a grin. "Then the tour can commence."

Retaking her hand, he leads her further into the townhouse. "We'll send an invitation to your house in a couple of days' time. Once Anthony and Kate have settled in, we'll have your mother over to decide on the wedding details. I told Anthony a dowry wasn't necessary—between my funds and, well…" He lowers his voice conspiratorially, "And he doesn't know about your Lady Whistledown earnings, but I think we'll have more than enough."

Penelope squeezes his hand, "So, Anthony is back?"

"Yes, that's why I was finally able to ask. But I've been working on getting everything set in motion since I told your mother I intended to court you," Colin explains, his eyes shining with pride.

"Hence the home," Penelope says, her voice soft with understanding.

"But now that it will be official, you must act somewhat surprised when you see the home again in full light when you return with Rae to settle on everything you'll need to run the household."

"Colin!" she exclaims, her voice catching with laughter and tears.

"Yes?" he asks, turning to her slightly worriedly. “Is it… is it not…”

"No!" Penelope quickly interrupts, shaking her head. "It's not that. I've always wanted you."

He steps closer, his thumb brushing away a tear that escapes down her cheek. "You have me, Pen," he says gently. "You've got me forever."

"I know," she whispers, her voice trembling. "But I wanted you and this for so long. And to discover that you've been putting it in motion, making our future turnkey ready, it's… it's…"

He looks at her expectantly, his heart thudding in his chest. "Yes?"

"It's the most attractive thing you could ever do," she finishes.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across Colin's face. "I'm glad you think so," he says. He pulls her into his arms again, holding her tightly against him.

"Because there's nothing I want more than to make you happy. To build this life with you."

She hesitates for a moment, then whispers, "I…"

"Yes?" he prompts, his eyes searching hers.

"I intend to ravage you, Mr. Bridgerton."

His eyebrows lift in surprise and delight. "Oh? And where might you have in mind for such an endeavor?"

"Upstairs?" she suggests.

Without hesitation, Colin takes her hand, his grip firm and reassuring.

"Upstairs it is," he replies, reaching for the lantern. Its soft light flickers in the dim hallway and leads her toward the staircase. "I think you're going to love what I have in store for you," he proclaims as they ascend, their steps quick and eager.

"Wait," Penelope asks, her voice soft but insistent.

Colin pauses, looking down at her with a curious expression. "You don't want to go upstairs?" 

She steps ahead of him, turning to face him on the stairwell, "It's not that," she declares, smiling. "I just never had the chance to kiss you on a stairwell... to kiss you at your level."

Colin pauses, his eyes flicking between her and the steps. His heart quickens at her boldness, "Then, by all means, Penelope," he says with anticipation as he leans toward her, tilting his head ever so slightly. "Kiss me."

Her smile deepens, and without hesitation, she leans in, her hands finding their way to the collar of his jacket as she pulls him closer.  She brushes her lips against his, slow and teasing at first, savoring the novelty of being on equal footing.

Colin breaks away momentarily, breathless, his forehead resting against hers. "You know," he begins, "if I get you out of this dress and you sit in my lap like you did that night in the garden, we'll nearly be at the same level."

Penelope presses her hand gently to his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. Her eyes lock onto his with a softness that holds him in place. "Okay," she whispers.

With that, Colin begins walking her backward, his steps slow and deliberate, guiding her up the stairs one step at a time. His mouth doesn't leave her skin as they ascend; his lower lip drags lazily up her neck as his lips find her earlobe, his teeth grazing it lightly before he sucks on it. She lets out a small, quiet gasp, her hand tightening its grip on his shoulder. His tongue flicks over her ear. 

He pulls back slightly, taking her hand in his. His thumb brushes soothing circles into her skin, a gentle, grounding touch as they move down the hallway toward the main bedroom.

Once inside, Colin releases her hand momentarily and moves the lantern by the bedside. He lifts it carefully, using the flame to light a few candles scattered around the room, bathing them in a golden light.

As soon as Colin is done lighting the room, Penelope moves on him, fingers tugging swiftly at the buttons, so many buttons. Colin's gaze is intense, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as he watches her undress him. His hands twitch at his sides, yearning to touch her, to return the favor and undress her just as urgently—but Colin waits, allowing her to take control at this moment. He waits because he loves the way her fingers move with confidence, her brows furrow in concentration, and her lips part slightly in anticipation. The hunger in her face drives him wild with need.

"Like my own Greek statue," Penelope whispers in awe. Her eyes sweep over Colin, admiring every line of his body, and her hands sweep over his abs.

Colin's lips twitch as he steps closer, "You know," he begins, "the nice thing about not having staff around yet is that you don't have to whisper." He leans closer, "We can be as loud as we want."

Penelope's cheeks flush a soft pink, but she grins, straightening her posture. With exaggerated enthusiasm, she repeats, "My own Greek statue!"

Colin laughs, the sound rich and full, as his hands slip around her waist, "And my goddess!" he declares, his lips brushing against her forehead.

His laughter subsides, and with a new intensity in his eyes, his hands move to undress her. His fingers work with care. Her dress falls in a soft heap at her feet, leaving her standing before him, exposed and vulnerable but powerful in how she looks up at him.

Colin's eyes trace her form before his hands slide to her waist in one smooth motion; he bends slightly, scooping her up effortlessly as Penelope lets out a surprised gasp. As he lifts, Penelope instinctively wraps her legs around his hips. His arms move to cradle her under her thighs, holding her securely against his chest. She grasps his shoulders for balance, feeling the warmth of his body and the strength in his embrace. 

With a grin, he moves toward the ensuite door, nudging it open with his shoulder. "You know, we never completed the tour," he says.

Penelope laughs softly, her arms wrapped around his neck as she leans close. "Well, I'll have plenty to be surprised by in the light of day," she says, kissing his shoulder. 

Colin smiles as he steps inside the room. "I know we have the sitting room downstairs," he begins, his tone thoughtful, "but I thought a smaller, more private library would be nice. With a writing desk..."

Penelope listens, her fingers trailing through his hair. Colin pauses, and he gently lowers her onto the desk, her body settling against the smooth surface.

"Are you going to read me more excerpts from your journal?"

"Not now."

"No?" Penelope's fingers trail down Colin's chest as he sits in the desk chair, facing her. His hands move to her thighs. "I'm going to write the next chapter."

"Now?" she manages to ask.

"With my tongue," as he slowly spreads her legs. 

Penelope's eyes widen, "Oh," she gasps softly, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. "Do you plan on writing many chapters this way?"

Colin grins, his hands kneading her thighs as he moves in closer, his lips hovering just above her skin. "I'd like a reminder of this memory every time I sit at this desk," his voice a low, "to remind myself how best to use my talents, whether it's the stroke of a pen, the stroke of a finger, or..."

As his lips descend, Colin's tongue traces a slow, deliberate path; Penelope gasps again, her head tilting back as the intensity of his touch overwhelms her senses. Colin's hands continue along her sides, steady and firm as if savoring every inch of her.

Although a faint light poured in from the open door, it wasn't enough to reveal all the details of each other. Instead, their eyes remained veiled in shadow, amplifying the sensitivity of every other sense. Penelope's skin tingled as Colin's fingertips skimmed across it, the feel of his tongue, each touch electric in the darkness, making her hyper-aware of every movement and brazen by the darkness.

For Colin, the taste of her was intoxicating, her scent, her wetness dripping on him. The way Penelope didn't hold back, the moans spilling from her lips, drove him to the edge. Her voice filled the room, his name on her lips like a mantra. 

In the afterglow, Penelope moves from where she's perched on the edge of the desk, her bare feet softly padding against the wooden floor as she shifts onto Colin's lap. She nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, and a gentle rock of her hips follows; Colin's hands instinctively grip her, his fingers splayed firmly over the curve of her ass, holding her securely in place.

"I want..." Penelope's voice is a breathy whisper, her lips brushing against his ear as she speaks.

Colin's head tilts back slightly, his eyes half-lidded as he looks at her, barely able to make out her face. "What is it that you want?" he asks, his voice rough with desire, his hands tightening their hold.

"The feel of you... on top," she murmurs, her voice dripping with want. As she says this, her hand moves between their bodies, fingers trailing lower until they brush against him. And then, taking some of her own wetness in her hand, slowly, deliberately, she takes the palm of her hand and rubs it against his tip.

Colin lets out a guttural moan, the sound deep and primal, his head falling back as his body reacts to her touch. His grip on her tightens, fingers digging into her skin with a barely controlled need. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his heart pounding against hers. "Penelope," he groans, his voice ragged, barely holding onto the last threads of restraint.

She leans in, pressing her lips to the pulse point at his neck, feeling it race under her kiss. Her body shifts again, her hips rocking slightly.

Colin's body responds immediately. His hands slide up her back, tracing the curve of her spine with a possessive touch. His breaths come in short, ragged bursts as he struggles to keep in control, her teasing touch unraveling him with each passing second. "Yes," he growls, his voice low and filled with heat. Let's do that."

Penelope shifts, her body slipping from his lap as he stands. Her fingers reach out to graze him one last time, but instead, he props her back up on top of the desk; he steps between her legs, his body moving forward as though drawn by a force he can't resist.

He enters her in one swift, fluid motion, making her gasp in surprise and pleasure. She arches her back, curving to meet him. "I said I want you on top," she breathes, the words half teasing, half commanding.

Colin's face twists into a smirk, his eyes filled with unrestrained hunger. "I need fuel for the walk over to the bed," he replies, his tone ragged and filled with a desperate need for control. 

With a low moan, he thrusts deeper, the sensation making them both shudder. Colin's hands grip her hips, pulling her closer; the desire to lose himself in her is overwhelming. He can still taste her as he licks his lips.

She could feel the strength in his arms, the steady beat of his heart against her palm when she rested her hand on his chest. The softness of his hair, the roughness of his stubble, the firm lines of his shoulders—everything.

"I dreamt about you last night, and it was incredible, but then I woke up, and you weren't there beside me," Colin admits like a confession. His face hovers near her chest, the warmth from her skin beckoning him closer.

"I dreamt about you last night and woke up dripping wet," Penelope replies, her voice a sultry whisper as she wraps her legs around him.  

Colin lets out a soft grunt, overwhelmed by the admission. His fingers tangle in her hair as he frees one hand from her hip, brushing back the damp strands clinging to her forehead.

"God, Pen," he gasps.

"Give it a tug," she instructs the words sending a thrill through him. He complies, gently tugging her hair, feeling the way it elicits a soft gasp from her lips.

"You're unbelievable… you feel–" he mutters. 

"How do I feel?" she asks, her mouth brushing against his throat, her fingers tracing paths through the hair on his chest. 

"Soft," as his grip on her hips tightens, "and moist," as he grinds against her, "and hot and…breathy," as his mouth lingers near hers.

Colin starts to pull out, but Penelope digs her heels into the back of his thighs, pushing against him. "No, don't stop."

"I thought you wanted me on top," he murmurs, his voice teasing. "To feel the weight of me on you…"

"I do, but—"

He thrusts back into her, cutting her off. "You want everything," he rasps, one hand pressing just above her pelvic bone with his palm. 

"I want everything," she whispers back, her voice catching on a breath.

He begins to move again, slow and deliberate, savoring every gasp and tremor from her body. His hand, still on her lower abdomen, feels every flutter and pulse beneath his touch, driving him to the edge.

"God, Pen," he murmurs, "You drive me mad."

Her nails dig into his back, urging him on,  "Then go mad," she breathes against his lips, "Show me."

With a growl, Colin complies, his rhythm quickening. His mouth finds hers, capturing her moans as their kisses grow frantic, desperate. He feels her tighten around him, her body arching into his as he shifts slightly, angling his hips to find that perfect spot within her.

Her head falls back, a choked cry escaping her lips as he hits it just right. "Colin!" she gasps her voice a broken plea, her hands clutching at his shoulders.

"That's it," he encourages, his own control fraying. "I've got you." 

"Colin," she mumbles.

"Pen," driving into her one last time, sending them both spiraling over the edge.

Colin pulls back, slipping out of her with a slow, deliberate movement that makes Penelope gasp softly. He takes her hand, his grip firm but tender, and gently tugs her forward. "Come with me," his voice low, "I want to be able to see you." He leads her toward the bedroom, the soft glow of the lantern casting light across the room.

As they reach the edge of the bed, Colin turns to face her, his hands moving to her waist as he slowly guides her back onto the sheets.

Penelope watches him, a flush rising to her cheeks as he positions her in the center of the bed, his eyes tracing over her body. Before joining her, they lay on their side facing each other.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft and warm. One hand props up his head as the other caresses her back, trailing slowly down to her hips and lower, lingering as if savoring every curve. Meanwhile, one of Penelope's arms rests under a pillow, and the other settles on Colin's waist, fingers gently gripping as she leans into his touch.

"What books are in our private library instead of downstairs?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.

"Works deemed a bit too… daring for polite society. The ones I deem inappropriate for anyone but your eyes," he replies.

"Oh? Such as?" she presses.

"Well, there's some of the classical works. Ovid's Ars Amatoria , for instance. It's poetry, technically," he says, his eyes locking onto hers with a knowing look, "but it's far from the kind of poetry you'd read to your mother."

Penelope lets out a soft laugh.

Colin shifts, thinking for a moment. "I have a translation of The Decameron by Boccaccio. Scandalous in parts. It's... an exploration of human nature, let's say."

"There's more, of course," he continues, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "I managed to get my hands on an old copy of Fanny Hill —don't ask how. And then there are a few manuscripts that were never officially published.

"Will the travel journals of a Mr. Colin Bridgerton be amongst the collection?"

"Perhaps," he replies thoughtfully, "although they may need some revisions. I plan to ask my muse for guidance and be my editor."

"And who might that be?" she asks, a smile forming.

"You," he says simply, his gaze intense as it meets hers.

"Not your French—"

He cuts her off, his voice firm and unwavering. "Nothing compares to this. Nothing is like the inspiration you provide me. I've been quite the prolific writer since our first kiss. You should revisit the journal, take a peek anytime you want, into my endless thoughts of you, my desire for you, how you spur my imagination, both mystical and here on earth."

"Can you read me the passage of our first kiss?" she asks softly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

"Okay," he agrees, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Colin climbs out of bed and walks over to the private library. He opens the drawer of his desk and retrieves his journal, feeling a surge of warmth as he runs his fingers over its worn cover. Turning back, he heads toward the bed, crawling in beside Penelope. This time, Colin sits up with the journal in one hand, while Penelope shifts, resting her head on his chest as her makeshift pillow, her eyes glancing up at him expectantly.

Using his right hand, Colin carefully flips through the pages, finding the entry. As he settles on the right spot, his thumb grazes Penelope's cheek, his fingers trailing gently along her skin. She closes her eyes briefly before looking up at him again.

"Here it is," he murmurs, his gaze flicking to hers before dropping to the words he had so carefully penned.

I still cannot fathom what happened last night. I write this now with a hand that trembles, still feeling the warmth of her lips on mine, the taste of her lingering in my soul. Penelope.  We were in the garden—of all places, that damned garden I've walked through a hundred times, thinking it mundane. But not last night. Last night, it became enchanted, a place beyond time. The moon hung low, casting a soft glow on the roses, and there she stood, more radiant than I had ever allowed myself to notice. Her eyes, wide and uncertain, drew me in. And for the first time, I allowed myself to see her fully—the depth, the beauty, the quiet strength. One moment, we were speaking, her voice like honey in the night air, and then she asks for a kiss and I was reaching for her. My hand cupped her cheek, and she looked up at me with such surprise and hope that I swear it nearly broke me. I could feel the tremor of her shoulders, the way her eyes searched mine as if seeking some answer I could only give in one way. It was soft at first, barely a brush of lips. And that was it. I was lost. I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, needing to show her everything I'd held back for so long. Her lips parted under mine, and she sighed, a sound so beautiful I felt it echo in my bones. I can still hear that tiny gasp of breath, like a secret shared in the dark. She tasted of tea and something sweet, something that was wholly Penelope. I paused for a moment, intending to kiss her again, but something made me stop. I wanted to look into her eyes to see if she was just as affected by this kiss as I was. Was this shattering her as it was shattering me? When I finally drew back, I took her face in, flushed and radiant. Her cheeks were a deep pink, her eyes glazed. And I... I was undone. But then, she did something I hadn't expected. She blinked at me, her lips still parted, and whispered, "Thank you." Before I could respond and decipher the meaning behind her words, she turned and ran. Ran. I stood there, dazed, my heart still pounding as I watched her disappear.  It took me a full moment to process what had just happened, to register the emptiness left in her wake. Thank you? For what? For making me crave more than I had ever allowed myself to dream of? She was gone, and I was left alone, I don't know how long I stood there, wrapped in that moment, but it felt endless and all too fleeting. I've kissed before, or so I thought, but nothing compares to this. To her. I walked away last night, my mind spinning and now, here I sit, trying to put what feels impossible to capture into words.

"You're astonishing, Colin," Penelope breathes, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at him. A hint of vulnerability flickers across her face as she looks down, biting her lip. "I ran because I was embarrassed," she admits softly.

"Embarrassed?" Colin echoes, tilting his head, his eyes searching her face for an answer.

"That I asked for a kiss," she confesses, her cheeks warming under his gaze.

He shakes his head, a gentle smile curving his lips. "Braver than me," he murmurs, lifting her chin with a tender touch so their eyes meet.

"I felt foolish," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you still feel foolish?” he asks softly, his thumb gently caressing her chin. “Knowing how it affected me?”

She shakes her head, a small smile forming on her lips. "No."

"That warms my heart," Colin responds, his voice softening.

"I'll keep your cock warm, too," she responds boldly.

"Penelope Featherington!" he exclaims, shock evident on his face. But almost instantly, the surprise melts into an awestruck grin. He grabs her, pulling her close for a kiss, his lips hovering just a breath away. Then, he pauses, his eyes gleaming with something more profound, "Penelope Bridgerton," he settles on, kissing her with all the tenderness and passion she inspires.

Penelope's fingers brush along his arm as she settles in, whispering in his ear, "I want you."

Colin kneels on the bed, positioning himself between her legs once more. His hands move to her thighs, gently parting them as he leans down, his lips brushing against her skin in a series of slow, teasing kisses as Colin moves to claim her once more. 

He enters her slowly this time, his eyes locked on hers as he watches her react to every movement, every sensation. The rhythm they find is different now—unhurried. Colin's gaze flickers over her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, and how her body moves beneath his. 

He watches her face, captivated by every expression that crosses it—the pleasure, the need, the trust.

[feyascorner]

Okay perhaps this sounds odd but imagine Astarion starts to disassociate while intimate with Tav and so he uses their established safe word, only to be bewildered when Tav actually listens to him and stops and asks if he’s okay and tries to comfort him because nobody has cared that much before 😢

OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME (i love it) warning for suggestive content :)

For as long as Astarion's been genuinely intimate with you, for no other reasons but simply because of the affection the two of you hold for one another, he has always been in control.

It soothes him, in a way, to be on top. And as much as he enjoys watching you come undone beneath him, there's a more frustrating reason behind why he always feels the need to be the one to push you down onto whatever surface he deems decent enough at the time. From above you, he can see every little twitch in your body, every shift in your expression, and most of all, he can control what's happening, unlike his centuries spent as a seductive tool for Cazador's own needs.

He knows you're not like those fools. He knows you're different, and you're special to him. But the gnawing voice in the back of his head always forces him to pull you in, to hold you closer, to make love to you.

It's fucked up in so many ways.

"I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

But when you look up at him with those imploring, loving eyes, the voice seems to go quiet. He swallows the dryness of his throat, unable to think of anything but how wonderful your touch feels on his skin, and he thinks he could drown in this forever. He's putty in your hands, whether he wants to admit it or not.

"Well? Don't be a tease just standing there, darling."

In what feels like minutes, he's a mess. He's making sounds he shouldn't be making, fingertips digging into your hips as if they're the anchors keeping him from finishing too early. He breathes heavily into the crook of your neck, groaning when you caress the sharp tip of his ear between your fingers.

The only thing keeping him from spilling is the impending embarrassment he'd feel for doing so this early on in the night.

Then, everything stops.

"You're so beautiful," you whisper.

They're only words. They're not ones he's heard little of---in fact, he's heard it too much in the past two hundred years. In an instant, memories of the nights he spent under strangers, forced to shove his mind into its darkest corners just to get through their own pleasures, flood his consciousness. The sickening taste in his mouth afterward, and the need to rub his skin till it goes raw were not uncommon. It was routine. A sick part of his life that he'd rather forget.

You don't mean it the same way they did. They only said things like that because that's all they could say. They didn't know him as anything but the husk of a body he resided in. He knows you are saying the words to him. Not to his body but to the very person he is.

But the word comes spilling out his mouth, and immediately, you freeze.

You actually stopped.

Of course, you would. You're you.

"Are you okay? Did I do something?" you reach to cup either of his cheeks, and he stares at you as if you're a star that's fallen from the sky. He blinks, slowly.

"I don't know, I just---" he searches for words. "--you haven't done anything wrong, darling."

You wait for him to finish patiently. Gods, he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve you.

"I only remembered something I'd rather not," he plasters a crooked grin on his face. "It's quite alright. We can continue now if I haven't ruined the mood."

You pull away from him, and he fears you'll leave.

Moments later, you return with a glass of water. Wordlessly, you hand it to him, and he only stares at it, confused beyond belief. Only once he notices the way you gesture to the glass does he drink it, and you finally climb back into bed, lying down beside him.

"Come here," you open your arm, motioning him to come closer.

"Darling, as much as I'm all for experimenting, that's a strange position to have sex in."

You smile, shaking your head. You don't explain any further, only continuing to hold out your arm.

Hesitant though curious, he slowly lies down beside you, his head just above your chest and slotted between the space below your chin. With gentle hands, you pull him closer and toss the blanket over both of your bodies.

It's warm. Strange, but warm.

"You don't have to wear a mask with me," you whisper.

His eyes grow wide, and his chest stills. He doesn't have many tears left after 239 years, but there's an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest that tells him if he were still 39 and alive, he might have. Astarion wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into where he can hear the steady beating of your heart.

Later, when your eyes begin to droop, he mumbles.

"Tell me I'm beautiful again."

"You're beautiful," you say softly. "With or without your pretty face."

You might be imagining it, but you feel him smile against your skin.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part sixteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"I can't believe I woke up early for this."

You loosen your muscles, turning to dead weight in Ghost's arms, before using the awkward position to slip away. 

"No one said you had to be here," Ghost throws over his shoulder before his gaze fleets back to yours. "Good. Again."

Blue groans as you reposition yourself for the basic defense maneuver. You can see why she'd find this boring— Ghost started you off with a move so basic it was almost insulting when he explained it. But you quickly realized his reasoning. Each time you do it, your pulse tampers down less and less while in his arms. He's had to remind you a few times to "Breathe, Twix"— the order so quietly uttered into the shell of your ear that Blue likely didn't even notice. Perhaps you have grown used to taking orders from him, or maybe having Blue close by is helping, because you've been able to ward off the threat of panic so far.

"Fine, I'm out of here," Blue rolls her eyes the second you've finished the move again. "Let me know when you—" she jabs a finger at Ghost, "—decide to make things more interesting." As she leaps off the log she'd been perched upon, she adds: "Oh, and don't get too close, Ghost. She might bite."

"So I've heard."

Heat rises to your cheeks. And then— you're alone with him. You take a swig of water from the canister Blue lent you to ignore the awkward feeling in your chest. "Again?" You wipe your mouth. "Or have I passed your test?"

"Test?" he repeats, the gravel in his voice rolling over the word as his brow lifts in question.

"Well, I haven't... had a repeat of last time, and it's been an hour. I think I've proved that I'm ready for something a little more..."

"More what?" 

More interesting.

"Hand-to-hand, I guess. Something harder."

He rubs his jaw, as if to feign consideration. "Right, then. Let's try another one."

The next one he shows you is still simple, except you fail every other time. Basically, he gets behind you and you have to sidestep to avoid the trap of his arms. Somehow, Ghost's movements are light as a feather even though he's built like a rock. 

But then you get better at it. The next two days pass in much the same manner until you start to react a bit faster. He teaches you a few more basic tactics. How to wriggle your wrist out of someone's hold. How to avoid being grabbed from the front by rolling to the ground. All defense. After hours spent with him, he doesn't even have to remind you to breathe anymore. Chopping wood in the evenings helps, too. You go to bed exhausted and wake up ready to practice before Ghost even touches your shoulder.

On the third day, he gets you up even earlier. You cram your wool-covered toes into boots, confine your hair in a hasty bun, and follow him to the clearing that has become your makeshift training ground. It takes you a moment to register that some things are different: his boots have been replaced by sneakers, and his jeans by loose, black gym shorts. The exposed skin is strange, making your eyes widen. If Blue were awake, she'd certainly comment. 

His calves mirror the strength of the rest of him, and on the left leg, swirling ink catches your eye, reminiscent of the tattoos you discovered when tending to his wound. Skulls and a dagger; perhaps corny, but fitting for him.

"Have you tried it?" His voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Tried what?"

"The bow."

A white cloud forms around your mouth as you nod. "Needed some getting used to, like you said."

Yesterday you had a hard time shooting a chipmunk you wanted for lunch, so you spent the early afternoon firing arrows at oaks until the new bow started to feel like an extension of your limbs again.

"Let me know if I need to adjust the string."

"Will do," you say, almost mumbling.

When you reach the familiar circle of trees, you bounce once on your toes and crack your knuckles. Ghost retrieves something from his pocket. A roll of gauze. It is tossed at you without warning, and your hands fumble to grab it. 

"Wrap up," he commands. "Your hands will thank you for it."

You look up at him, brows raised, but begin covering your palms and knuckles. When you're done, you throw the roll back to him. Ghost stretches his arms above his head and splays his feet into a firm stance, jerking his chin at you in a go-ahead motion. Your brows furrow as you try to understand what the fuck he's doing.

"Go on. Get ready."

"Um. Ready for what?"

"A little hand-to-hand."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

He shrugs. "That's what you wanted, right? I think you're ready for it."

"That's not what I meant," you almost laugh, shaking your head. "I didn't mean I want to— to fight you. I just meant we don't have to stick to the basics."

"We won't." There is the slightest trace of amusement in his voice, so faint you wonder if it's even there. "You have ten seconds to get ready, Twix."

"I don't even—" you sputter, eyes flying open. If you weren't awake before, you are now. He seems completely serious, his hands in fists and his shoulders squared.

"Five."

"Oh, fuck me," you exhale, balling up your bandaged hands. Did he get you up at this hour so there was no chance of Blue joining? He didn't want her to watch him finally annihilate you? You don't think he would seriously hurt you, not after everything, but that doesn't mean your heart doesn't begin to thump wildly when the seconds are up. Neither of you makes the first move; you are focused on keeping yourself distant, and he is circling you like a predator, flicking his eyes along the length of you. 

"What the fuck is that stance? I could just tap you and you'd fall over." His amusement has faded. "Is that how I showed you to stand when chopping wood?"

You shake your head, teeth gritted, and fix it, spreading your boots against the soil. 

"Better."

Then, he's lunging. You forget everything about your stance and prance to the side like a skittish deer. There is a moment of relief when you successfully dodge him, only for it to abruptly end when he darts around your back and hooks an arm around your neck. Your heart skips over a beat. Holy shit is he fast. 

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times," he chastises against the top of your hair. His hold is not aiming to fully restrain you, so when you claw your nails into his arm, it loosens and you slip away, staggering three strides before facing him with your fists up.

"What's the point of raising your fists if you're not going to hit me?" Ghost circles you again, and you have to shift your feet to keep up with him. "Come on, nurse. Where should you aim?"

"You're too tall." Your chest heaves. "I... I can't reach your face or neck without you blocking."

"Use the height difference to your advantage. Reach places that I can't."

You pause to think about it, studying him.

Ghost almost growls. "Stop hesitating. I could have killed you by now."

A mix of annoyance and determination makes you leap forward, jabbing your knuckles at the part of him where you know his liver would be. He captures you by the elbow before the blow can land, and sends you stumbling to the side, a few wisps of hair cascading over your face.

"Liver. Not bad. I might've let you have it if you moved quicker."

A hiss leaves your lips as you whirl around and punch directly into his core this time. He allows the hit, but your knuckles ram into solid muscle instead of the vulnerable stomach you hoped for, and you recoil with a wave of your hand, cussing under your breath.

"You hurt yourself more than you hurt me."

"Well, should I just kick you in the dick then?" you retort without thinking, flexing your fingers. Luckily, the gauze absorbed most of the damage. 

"That's always an option."

His tone is serious, to the point that you almost give it a try, but then he's closing in on you again, sending you back to the defensive. He doesn't hold back. You run in circles and duck frantically, earning a few hits to your ribs. He doesn't use enough force to send you down to the ground, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Rapid breaths fire through your lungs and beads of sweat percolate your hairline. Ghost, on the other hand, appears unaffected.

"Fight back," he says in a mild voice; almost bored.

You nearly throw your arms up. "I would if you'd give me a fucking chance."

"You said not to coddle you."

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to—"

Your spine suddenly meets something hard. A tree. He's backed you into it without you even realizing. When Ghost takes another swipe, you dip your head down and then use his recovery time to grab onto a branch and hoist yourself up.

You're barely perched upon it when a hand grips your ankle and drags you back down, an audible gasp reverberating in your chest as you land flat on your back with Ghost on top. His hand quickly cradles the back of your skull before it can crack on a hard tree root, while his other hand captures both of your wrists.

"You good?" Although he is the one who has you effectively pinned, his tone seems sincere. He scans your face from your forehead to your parted lips. 

"Just... peachy." 

His brows furrow. "What was your plan once you got up there?"

Labored breathing splinters your voice. "I didn't have much of a plan, really."

He speaks flatly. "I can tell."

"You had me cornered," you point out.

"You should have been—"

"Aware of my surroundings," you finish for him, exhaling deep through your nose. "I know."

Your eyes shift around, from his covered face to where his chest just barely presses into yours. It's all so close. Uncomfortably close. You can feel the steady pace of his heart against your sternum, and make out the faintest flecks of green in his eyes.

An ounce of fear and something else you can't quite discern balls up in your stomach, making you swallow. You've been pinned like this before and nearly had your face eaten. Ghost simply stares at you, as if waiting for you to make a move, but when you tug on your wrists, his grip doesn't relent.

"Could you... could you maybe get off of me?"

He shifts some weight off you, if only by a little. "Relax and think," he murmurs. "What are your options here?" The curve of his lips tightens before he adds, "Besides biting my nose off. I'd like to keep that for now."

With a sigh, your eyes slide up to the awakening sky. Hues of violet and orange stare down at you. "Do I... do I even have any options? You must weigh like a ton." The words are past your lips before you can shut your mouth. 

"You always have options." 

"Doesn't mean any of them will be effective," you say.

His eyes darken, and the green disappears. "Why do you do that?" 

"Um... do what?"

"Doubt yourself. After all that you have survived." He sounds irritated. 

"As if you haven't doubted me?" You can't help it; you scoff. "You told her I wouldn't come back that time I went on my own. I mean, I'm still weak, remember? No amount of chopping wood will make me as strong as you or those men who almost killed us."

"It's not about strength," he replies.

"That's easy for you to say," you wiggle your wrists for emphasis. "You have nothing to be afraid of. You were cut out for this shit from the start."

"I have everything to be afraid of." His eyes narrow, but his voice softens. "And so were you."

"Me?" Your voice slightly elevates, and a lick of anger curls within you. "I should be in grad school right now, or maybe I would've quit nursing and gone into something useless and hate my life, but I was never meant to kill anyone, let alone fight them. I was meant to be young and stupid and make mistakes. Now, if I make a fucking mistake, it will cost me my life." Your nostrils flare as you huff, sending a piece of hair flying up into his face, and you writhe beneath him. "Get off of me, Ghost."

But he doesn't.

Beats of silence linger in the small gap between your bodies.

You should feel embarrassed for saying all those things, but instead, you think about what he said:

Don't hesitate.

The ball inside you is a fiery mix of emotions that you usually try your damn hardest to ignore and break and shove away.

But now you let it spread through your body like a sizzling tide, from the tips of your fingers down to your toes and... to your knee. Before you can change your mind, you slam it upward as hard as you can into the apex of his groin. 

"Fuck," Ghost mutters, the only sign of any pain aside from the brief moment that he closes his eyes.

His hold loosens only by a little, but it's enough for you to slip out from under him and find your way back to your feet, your chest rising and falling.

He clears his throat after a moment and rises.

"Good." The two of you share a stare-off for a few seconds before he shakes his head, saying again: "Good, Twix. More of that."

You rip your gaze away from him, cheeks hot, and say nothing as you snatch the canister and bring it to your lips, but the water does little to cool you down. 

You shiver in the bitterness of twilight, your fingers red and numb, wishing for a pair of gloves. The fireflies are coming out, dots of luminescence darting around you. You swing the axe down again, throat raw as you grunt, and then you add the broken logs to the growing stack. Sudden light footsteps announce the end of your alone time. 

"It's me," Blue greets kindly. 

You drop the axe, hands feeling stiff, and turn to face her with a breathless smile. "Hey. What are you doing out here?"

"Checking on you. Ghost went hard on you this morning, huh?" she says with a sigh. "I could hear you guys. You were a bit... loud. Made it hard to sleep."

"Not too hard. I'm… I'm good." 

If she is unconvinced, she doesn't comment on it. Rather, she hugs you. A warm one. You return the embrace before she pulls away.

"I also came because I wanted to invite you to a bonfire."

"Bonfire?"

"Well, with all your..." her eyes flicker to the pile of logs you've conjured over the past hour. "...special workouts, we have a lot of wood now. I told Ghost to make a big fire outside and we can cook dinner over it. It'll be fun, come on. Ghost is making tea, too."

Soon enough, your sore fingers are tingling, holding a warm, ceramic mug of tea. Ghost chucks another bundle of wood into the fire, spitting out smoke and embers, and sits on a tree stump while Blue takes the folding chair. Your hair is down, tucked behind your ears, and a patchwork quilt Blue grabbed from her room lays across your lap. The mug burns pleasantly against your lips when you take a sip, the herbal taste sliding down your throat. Whatever plants he used to make it work together perfectly. It reminds you of the tea your mom used to make when you were sick.

"Do you like it more well-done or is this okay?" Blue asks, meticulously spinning the skewered squirrel meat over the fire.

"That's good, thank you."

Ghost cooks their dinner, and the three of you eat and sip in a comforting silence. You avoid looking at him, opting for the starry sky above your head, where bold stars beam even brighter than the fireflies. It's quite nice. When you're done, you toss the bones into the fire and listen to them splinter.

Blue breaks the silence. "Would you rather be burned alive or be attacked by a bunch of squirrels with rabies?"

You take another sip of tea. "How many squirrels, exactly?"

She taps her chin. "One hundred."

"I think if it were fifty, I could handle them. One hundred, probably not. I'll choose being burned."

She makes a face. "That is a terrible death."

"Most deaths are terrible."

"Fair enough. Ghost?"

For the first time since this morning, you steal a glance. His elbows rest upon his splayed knees, and the orange flames reflect in his eyes as if they were twin black, mirrors. "I could handle the squirrels."

She snorts a laugh. "Even you can't survive rabies, though."

He shrugs. "Takes some time to kill you."

"Let's play a different game," you interject. "Maybe something a little less... morbid tonight."

"Like what?" Blue chimes. 

You shrug indifferently. "What other ones do you know?"

"Not that many. You tell us one, Twix."

"Well, I know one good one. You have to act something out and then we'll guess what it is. But you can't talk."

"Oh, that's easy."

"Try it, then," you nod at her.

She leaps up from the chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Without hesitation, she puts on a stoic expression and begins shooting finger guns. Quiet laughter shakes your shoulders.

"Are you, um... Ghost?" you guess, making her throw her arms up.

"How did you guess so quickly?"

"It was a bit obvious."

"Not to me," Ghost murmurs. "Terrible impression, kid."

Across the fire, you glance at him again, and his eyes meet yours, reminding you of the events that took place and the words that you spat. Emotions pulse against your ribs, like a swarm of flickering fireflies, but you fail to catch and examine any of them. 

A tug on your arm ends the shared look. Tea splatters around the rim of your mug as Blue ushers you up. "Your turn now."

"Alright, alright."

You decide not to feel humiliated with both pairs of eyes on you. They've both seen much stranger things than you act out a squirrel, which must be a good impression because Ghost guesses it right away.

A sudden crack of lightning in the distance puts an end to the game before Ghost can have a turn, which you suspect he is pleased about. He puts out the fire just before clouds roll in, blocking out the stars, and a drizzle of rain begins. Back inside, you kick off your boots and sink to the sofa as Blue says goodnight. Once she’s in her room, Ghost pauses in the threshold of the hall and speaks over his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow, even if it's raining.”

[rizsu]

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.

[n109hunter]

Snippet Sunday - "cat nap"

pairing: sylus x mc word count: 1,043 summary: Still settling into the comfort of this new relationship, a certain kitten seeks a nice warm spot to nap when a rain storm comes rolling in. tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, early relationship, "wip" (see authors note), a/n: A wip of mine I started back at the start of October that, woefully, I kind of forgot where I was going with it. Well, I know where, but I forgot the specifics and it's making me smad. 😔 However! As it is right now, I think it's a fine, "fade-to-black" fluffy little one-shot. I intend to come back and finish it eventually, once I can herd those thoughts back, but for now I think it's good enough to share.

It was three in the afternoon in the N109 zone, which meant almost nothing at all under its perpetual darkness - except that Sylus was sleeping. 

Since they’d more or less ‘officially’ started dating, (and admittedly, before that too), she had gotten used to spending her free time around the Onychinus base - at least, as much as she could without raising too many suspicions. Maneuvering around each other's work and sleep schedules could get a little lonesome at times, but she did take a pleasant contentment in simply being near him. 

He’d said before he slept easier when she was around, and while it was perhaps a bit of a strange dynamic, she took pride in the thought she might offer him some peace of mind - that she could protect him when he was ‘at his most vulnerable’, as the twins had told her once.

…Lied, actually, but sentiments were sentiments. 

“Here comes the rain.” Kieran said with a tired sigh, looking out the window as he played his number card. 

Luke tsk'ed at the play, and put down an assist card. “Thought we’d get through the day without it.” 

From where she sat on the sofa across the room from them, she tilted her head back to glance at the window behind her. A few raindrops quietly began to pelt the reinforced, one-way glass, heralding the coming ‘will it or won’t it’ storm that had been hanging heavy over the N109 zone all day. She blinked slowly, eyes feeling slightly heavy.

She felt so at ease and content, it wasn’t that she was tired exactly, but curling up under some blankets just sounded so good. Sometimes she begrudgingly had to acknowledge maybe Sylus was right all along, maybe she was a kitten. One who wanted nothing more right now than to go crawl in a warm bed next to her favorite person for a little cat nap on a rainy afternoon. 

Dog earring her page she set her book down and climbed up from where she’d been sitting overlong, stretching her arms high above her head.

“I’m gonna go take a nap,” she said, making her way across the room, “don’t get carried away when you lose, Luke.”

“Hey! I’m still in the lead!” 

“Not anymore, you aren’t!” Kieran laughed, slapping down another card, soon followed by Luke’s frustrated groaning. 

Now, she didn’t particularly want to disturb Sylus’s sleep, but she didn’t think he’d mind if she just… crawled into bed with him, right? She would be oh-so-quiet, and felt like she could comfortably doze off with ease. 

Smiling to herself she recalled the multitude of times she’d snuck into this room before. Not terribly long ago, but how different those days had been. Back then she’d been appalled by him, now here she was eager to tuck herself against him and listen to the sound of his breathing and the distant rain as she fell asleep. 

Practically tip-toeing over to his bedside, she tried not to indulge herself in watching him sleep too much, lest he ‘sense eyes on him’ and wake abruptly. Augh but how couldn’t she? He was so impossibly handsome, and honestly pretty adorable when he was sleeping. The soft curl of his eyelashes against his cheeks, his slightly parted lips… No, no, she just needed to climb in and join him.

Though come to think of it… Just crawling into bed was quite possibly a risk, too, wasn’t it? 

Eh, she knew what she was getting into. Worst case scenario she’d be suspended in the air by his evol for a few seconds, and she was well accustomed to that by now. 

Steadying her breathing she gently lifted the covers and started inching her way onto the bed beneath them. And then stopped short, slowly looking up to see a pair of sleepy red eyes looking straight at her. Funny -and somehow comforting- how she was beginning to be able to simply sense the weight of his gaze when it was on her. 

Biting her lip briefly and feigning her best ‘oopsy’ expression, she lifted a finger to her mouth: “Shh.” and scooted closer. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was sleepy, words slurring slightly together, but there was no dissatisfaction in his tone, instead it was filled with warm amusement.

“Don’t wake up.” She told him, unable to restrain the big smile on her face as she started making herself comfy. “I wanna take a nap with you.”

‘Obedient’ was not a word she would ever use to describe Sylus, but nevertheless he… rather obediently stretched his arm out for her to lay her head on.

“Isn’t it a bit early for you to be sleeping?” He yawned, snaking his other arm around her waist and pulling her in closer to him. Her heart skipped a beat, and a shiver ran through her, but then she happily eased against him, letting her arm slide around him in turn.

“It’s a nap- shh, listen.” Curling her other arm up between them she tapped her finger against his mouth to shush him. He gave a small mumble in the back of his throat, but otherwise fell quiet. The sound of rain against his window filled in the silence, joined by an occasional rumble of distant thunder. 

“Mm, it’s raining.” He said matter-of-factly, as if unsure if there was some meaning behind her pointing it out. He brought his hand up to wrap around hers, thumb brushing over her outstretched finger to fold it into a fist as he kissed her knuckles. “I didn’t think you were scared of the thunder, kitten.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, but her breath caught in her lungs at that impossibly sweet gesture. 

“I just felt… like the atmosphere was perfect to come take a nap with you.”

“The atmosphere will always be perfect for that no matter what.”

Laughing softly, she wiggled herself a little closer, knees bumping his. “Shh, go back to sleep, I didn’t come here to bother you.” 

“Mmm,” he hummed and closed his eyes again. “You couldn’t anyway.” Tilting his head down, his forehead softly pressed against hers, and one of his legs snaked over hers pulling it between his knees. “Besides, I’m not tired anymore.”

[avtrbee]

safe

✢ summary: just like everyone else, sometimes megumi just wants his mom.

✢ tags: mentions of the death of a pet, implied satoru x reader

✢ a/n: my friend has psychoanalyzed me with a diagnosis of mommy issues and i have always denied them. then i caught myself reflecting on what type of fanfics i write. especially this one.

Ever since Megumi had started school in Tokyo, he was barely home. Of course, he comes home every now and then, and living within the school's dormitories is part of the high school experience- hell, even you stayed in the school when you were a student- but the house is quiet without him, too quiet, which is probably why he does not go home as often as you'd like- that, among other things.

Everyone in your household knew that Tsumiki was what made your house into a home. Your girl always greeted you with a smile and volunteered to make hot meals for the family when you and Satoru didn't feel like cooking. She was warmth, she was energy, she was life. Until she wasn't.

The house became cold without its fire. You couldn't blame Megumi for wanting an escape from the halls that still echo her memory. Which was why you were surprised to see him sitting on the couch with his arms resting on his thighs, hands buried in his face.

"Megumi?" You call. "I didn't hear you come in."

His head lifts up and looks at you. "Liar," he accuses. "You can sense my cursed energy miles away. You knew I was coming home as soon as you felt it ."

His words were harsh but his tone was not off of his usual deadpan manner of speaking. You can't help but smile. He is still the same child who refused to sleep unless he clung to his divine dogs, Tsumiki, you, or Satoru (reluctantly, of course) in some way. He claimed it was for "warmth."

But he knows you as much as you know him. As he made his way to the house, you noticed something- his cursed energy was off. It was more powerful than usual. Of course, it could be a good thing- perhaps he was doing really well in school, but his downcast eyes and even broodier vibe are telling you otherwise. "What's wrong?"

Megumi leans back on the couch, sighs, and contemplates. He stares at your wall that is decorated with framed pictures and pictures you memories from his childhood. You've even framed pictures of his drawings- usually doodles of his shikigami.

He stands abruptly. "Never mind," he dismisses. "I don't wanna- I don't want to talk about it. It's childish and stupid-"

"Stupid enough to make you retreat back home?" You ask. You watch as your question sinks in through Megumi. Slowly, he sits back down. You sit on the other end of the couch.

"What's wrong, 'Gumi?" You ask again. "Tell me." I can fix it. Whatever it is, if I can fix it, I will shouts your inner thoughts.

"I lost one of them," Megumi whispers.

“Oh, Megumi, I-” you say, racking your brain for something to say. Deaths in the jujutsu world is so common that when you’re within the industry for too long you get used to it. “Losing a colleague- this won’t be the first time, baby. Nor will it be the last.”

“No,” Megumi groans out frustrated. There are tears streaming down his cheeks that he angrily wipes away. “My dogs. I lost one. I- Yuki died.”

Your heart breaks at Megumi’s childhood name for his white demon dog. “‘Gumi, I’m so sorry-”

You move to his side of the couch, wide arms open. Megumi falls in, just like he did when he was small. Megumi feels himself melt in your hold, his walls and defenses crumbling away like ash.

Megumi refuses to cry at all times but when you have his arms wrapped around him he finds himself not caring at all. It was like his heart recognized you too.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you pretend not to feel his tears.

You hold him until he lets you. Megumi is the one to pull away, and you never do. This boy js fickle with touch, and you always leave the duration of your hugs to his discretion.

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs swiping away the tear tracks. You’ve never seen Megumi this heartbroken before.

“I told him to scout the area and I just left him for a second- and he-” Megumi hiccups. “His head was on the wall. The curse threw his head so hard it made the pavement crack.”

You do not pretend to know his pain for you will never feel it. Megumi’s divine dogs were his first achievement. He smiled the first time he summoned them, even as Satoru threw him in the air in joy. Those dogs would trail after him in the house, obeying his command. You would turn a blind eye to the spare pieces of meat Megumi throws under the table just so they could taste cooked beef.

Megumi would refuse to let them go even when he slept, and was upset that they would disappear when he rested or lowered his guard. As a present, Satoru gifted him customized stuffed animals of the dogs that he never slept without. You were sure he packed those toys with him in the dorm.

When Tsumiki volunteers to run errands, Megumi would summon a dog and follow her. Just in case. They both always came back safe.

“He just did what I commanded, he was good, he was a good boy.” Megumi said, in a quieter voice.

“The best,” you agreed. “But didn’t Yuki merge with the other one? Isn’t that how your technique works when one of them dies?”

“It’s stupid-” A glare from you was all it took. “It’s not the same,” he admits. “I just want my dogs back.”

You give him a sad smile. You pull him close for another hug, and he melts in your arms once again but this time, he does not pull away. You hold him until his tears have dried, until his breaths slowed down, and until his eyes closed for a well deserved rest.

extra note: yuki apparently means snow in japanese. get it? snow=white demon dog (im not creative at all yall)

[little-diable]

Wishes do come true - Dean Winchester (smut)

I’d give a lot to spend Christmas with Dean, and I’m sure y’all feel that on a deeper level. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: It’s the first Christmas Dean and the reader are spending as a couple. Naturally, they end up at a bar with Sam, but while the younger brother finds other people to spend the evening with, Dean and his girlfriend get lost in each other.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, public, bathroom, dom!Dean

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (1.3k words)

Snow was falling from the dark sky, resting on Baby’s windshield as Dean, Sam, and (y/n) drove through the small town. Silence filled the car as each one of them was stuck in their own thoughts, relishing in the quiet Christmas spirit.

They had decided to find a bar for the night, grabbing a few drinks. It was the first Christmas they got to spend together, finding back together like they had as young adults.

“I’ll grab some drinks.” Sam was out of the car within seconds, rushing across the cold parking lot to step foot into the bar first. Bright Christmas lights were greeting them, flickering down on Dean and (y/n) as they watched Sam disappear.

“Is he fleeing from us or just excited about the girls he’ll get to chat up tonight?” Her question left Dean chuckling, allowing (y/n) to soak up the raspy sound she loved oh so much. Things between her and Dean were unfamiliar to say the least, they had been dating for a few weeks by now, finally giving in to the longings they hadn’t been able to shake for the past years, and yet both still needed time to adjust.

His calloused fingertips brushed against her wrist as he found her hand, interlacing their fingers to pull her towards the warm bar. Loud music greeted them as they stepped inside, it smelled of beer and harder liquors, an all too familiar mixture by now. (Y/n) easily spotted the taller Winchester brother at the bar, grinning down on two girls wearing Christmas dresses, “Well, I guess we’ll have the room to ourselves tonight.”

“Perhaps Christmas wishes do come true after all.” Dean’s mumbled reply forced a laugh out of (y/n), loud enough to momentarily draw Sam’s eyes towards the couple. She watched him say something to the girls before making his way across the bar, carrying two bottles of beer. (Y/n) took her bottle with a grateful smile, letting the beer wash down her throat while her eyes began to wander.

“I’ll see you guys later, or tomorrow.” Sam disappeared from their side again, pushing through the crowd to find his way back to the girls. Dean mumbled something (y/n) couldn’t understand, letting him pull her towards one of the few empty tables.

For a moment or two, neither of them spoke, letting the warm atmosphere wash over them. Their hands were still clinging to one another, silently grateful that they didn’t have to worry about any supernatural creatures for tonight, fully focused on the celebrations.

“I,” Dean cleared his throat, he took a sip of his beer before allowing his green eyes to find her curious ones again. “I was always wishing for this to come true, you, spending Christmas with us.”

She could tell that Dean struggled to speak the words, watching his cheeks turn into an almost rosy colour. His words made her heart skip a beat, letting the muscle clench in her chest. (Y/n) leaned closer to press her lips against his, tasting the beer on him as he pulled her further against him.

“I was always hoping for the same thing, and I am eternally grateful for you, Dean.” Another kiss was shared between them, and another, forcing a soft groan out of Dean the second she parted from him.

“Let’s get out of here, sweetheart, let’s make the most of our room for the night.” Dean finished his beer in one go - all while (y/n) watched him with lust-blown pupils. His Adam’s apple bobbed with every sip he forced down his throat, making her shift impatiently in her seat.

“I don’t want to wait that long.” She mumbled the words with a smirk tugging on her lips, eyes flickering towards the bathroom. Dean followed her gaze with a grin, rising to his feet to tug her along. (Y/n)’s excited giggles spurred him on, a sound that echoed through the empty hallway leading towards the bathrooms.

He pushed her into one of the small rooms, locking the door before finding her lips again. Dean moved her against the sink, hands placed on (y/n)’s waist to keep her pressed against him. She could feel his cock growing harder, pressing against his jeans as she rocked herself against him, “We’ve got enough time tonight, but for now, I want to watch myself fuck you.”

Dean rasped out the words, making her breath hitch in her chest. The words dripped with something darker, something shooting sparks down her spine in anticipation. She allowed Dean to turn her around, eyes finding their reflection in the mirror. Even though (y/n) tried to keep her eyes open, they instantly fluttered close the second he kissed his way down her throat.

“Fuck, you smell so good, I could drown in you.” Her heart kept racing in her chest, spurred on by Dean’s overly affectionate words. She could only moan out his name, feeling his fingers undo her trousers before they disappeared in her panties. His calloused fingertips caressed her pulsing bundle, groaning at the feeling of her arousal covering her folds.

“You’re ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart? Always so ready for my cock.” Another moan left (y/n), followed by a whine the second he pulled away. Her wide eyes studied his concentrated expression while Dean freed his cock. Within seconds he had repositioned her, pushing down on her back to move her further towards the sink.

Dean brushed his cock through her folds for a few seconds, making both moan in anticipation before pushing into her just like he had done this very morning as Sam had left for his jog. Her whimpers filled the bathroom, eyes struggling to stay open even as his hand found her throat, keeping her locked in place.

“Watch yourself taking my cock, look at you, you’re already drunk on me.” Pride dripped from his words, making her shudder in agreement. Dean fucked her from behind, hips meeting her with every ferocious thrust. He wasn’t wasting any time, and wasn't set on dragging this out. All both could focus on was the feeling of being connected so intimately, not leaving any space between them.

“Dean,” (y/n) sobbed his name, blinking a few times to clear her blurred vision. Her knuckles grew a shade lighter from the tight grip she had on the cold sink, desperately trying to ground herself. “God, I love how you fuck me.”

Another raspy chuckle left Dean, perfectly understanding what she was trying to voice out. He was just as addicted to her, knowing that he could never be with another woman again, fully in love with all that (y/n) was to him.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s like we were made for one another.” His lips found the back of her neck, nibbling on the skin while his thrust grew even faster. Both would cum any moment now, unable to stop some more moans from leaving them. She let go of the sink with one hand, circling her clit to give herself one last push.

Dean had to tighten his grip on her, watching her come undone in the mirror with trembling limbs. He gave it some more thrusts before following her down the edge. His moans rang in her ears, louder than any Christmas carol she knew by heart, a sound so familiar and sweet she’d give her all to hear it every single day.

“I love you, Dean.” He pulled out of her with a smile, turning (y/n) back towards him for a breathless kiss.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Merry Christmas.”

[escapisttt]

a lot of this was supposed to be posted for redacted kinktober but. college got in the way. i’m ovulating let me have this. it’s very long OOPS WHO LET ME OUT OF MY CAGE.

NSFW LMAO

lasko has a puppy kink. he likes being told he’s a good boy and craves to be of service to dear. would do anything to please them and do it well; it’s what turns him on the most. leash and collar. god, he’d lick the fucking dirt from their shoes if it made them smile down at him. yeah perhaps him and ash could bond over this. the difference between them though is that during those moments, lasko will never goof off or make jokes meanwhile ash is a bit of a brat. lasko would never disobey dear, but ash likes to push baabe’s buttons so that they “force” him into submission.

milo uses “good girl/good boy/good pet” hnnnngghh. as well as “pretty girl/pretty boy/pretty thing” oh my god. he’s so good at praise.

milo is usually pretty physically rough with it, going fast and deep, but you wouldn’t know that if you were just listening to his voice. sometimes while he’s absolutely fucking sweetheart’s brains out, he’s right in their ear speaking so softly and encouragingly with soooo much praise. “that’s right baby, ‘m i doin’ it right?” when he KNOWS he’s doing it right, he just wants to hear their confirmation. “yeah, lemme touch you, you like that? tell me you like that.” he looooves making sweetheart tell him how they’re feeling, and when they inevitably confirm that it feels good, he nods and doubles down. he craves good feedback, it’s his praise kink. “awwww i know it feels good baby, ‘m gonna make it feel even better.” it’s not condescending, it’s confidence. he knows what he’s good at, and he wants to get better. he’s a huge pleaser.

this is self indulgent if you aren’t into daddy kinks don’t read this one lmao. but daddy milo is soooo real to me. “was that too much? aw ‘m sorry baby, daddy’ll make it feel better. shh shh it’s okay, daddy’s sorry…” OUUUGGHHHH. “daddy wants what you want baby, tell‘im what you want. c’mon, be good and use your words, daddy wants to hear you,” i can’t do this anymore RELEASEEE MEEEEEEE. milo does it tastefully okay he’s not one of the weird ones TRUST ME.

milo who subs occasionally. to put a number on it, about 10% of the time. it may not be his natural default, but when the time is right, it’s so right. it happens one of two ways: either milo had a really rough, tiring day and needs to be coaxed into being cared for, or his sweetheart had been relentlessly teasing him. he’s such a brat at first, rejecting every dominant advance from sweetheart with a performative cocky demeanor, but it breaks down quickly enough when they touch him in the right places.

porter is such a masochist, but not in a traditionally submissive way. god, he loves when treasure slaps his face, yanks his hair, and scratches his back deeply on purpose. he likes being choked a little sometimes as well. but when all of these things are enacted on him, he smiles. he’s got a cocky grin and he’s nodding emphatically, his hips pistoning, almost twitching, even if he’s not inside of treasure. he’s groaning and his eyes are rolling back, but he’s not submitting. he’s daring them to do more, knowing that the only one whose limits being tested are theirs: how much are they able to take of porter when he’s losing himself to the pain? the more intense the pain, the harder he fucks treasure. basically porter is saying without saying, “the more you hurt me, the more i’ll pleasure you.” treasure essentially controls their own pleasure through him; if they want him to go faster, they dig their nails into his back or his scalp or his hips. and as soon as they let go, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and eases back down to a slower pace. and porter knows what they’re doing. he likes it. he likes that they have that level of control over him, but he’s absolutely not a whimpering mess like lasko.

david does not like using toys or bondage material. that’s his job. he’s very animalistic in the sense that he does not want anything, even objects, interfering with his time with his mate. he’s the type to get jealous of a vibrator or any sex toy. not because he’s worried about it doing a better job than him, but because it was the thing pleasuring his mate and not him. if his angel is in the mood, he wants to know so he can take care of it. an unspoken rule in the shaw house is that neither of them are allowed to touch themselves. david sticks to this rule through and through, but if angel is caught in the action, the punishment is pretty intense, meaning overstimulation. david is usually quite rough and is already a lot to take even when he’s going slow, so him when he’s angry can be… a lot. he’s got angel on their tummy in the prone bone position and is absolutely laying into them, growling in their ear with genuine irritation. “you should’ve told me… why didn’t you tell me? is this not cutting it for you? you had enough of this cock? i thought you liked it. thought you liked being full of me, not a piece of fucking plastic.” yeah he’s angy. and he’s not being mean to them, he just wants to prove to them and remind them how good he makes them feel. they shouldn’t want anything else. and when angel does it because they think david is too busy for them? yeah he would stay up during all hours of the night to prove them wrong. “how do you think like that, hm? you think i’d put work above this? god angel, i do everything to come home to you, give my time to you. you don’t get that? let me keep showin’ you….”

azmidi who literally nuts on a lot of phone call role plays with sweetie (it’s canon yall hear the way his breath shakes all the time). just hearing their pretty voice, god he feels his pants getting tighter (if he wears those lol). he demands they tell him about their day even though they know he knows exactly how their day went. it feeds into that delicious fear of stalking, the idea that their every movement is being tracked and scrutinized and constantly mulled over. he wants to listen to them talk while he palms himself, nodding along with their version of events, happy that they’re being obedient and not lying to him. he doesn’t have to take himself out of his pants, though he likes to most times. he can come without that, just dry humping into his hand and pressing the phone to his ear, letting out the occasional moan. he knows sweetie can hear him, and if they show signs of getting flustered, it only makes him harder. “you know what you’re doing to me, right? you—you know… oh god…. hey, don’t stop. don’t stop talking. you’ve been doing such a good job, sweetie. let me hear you.”

william “eye contact” solaire. hngggnhnnhg. let’s imagine he’s got a long term partner, right? he is suuuuuuch a gentle lover. he’s not about rough sex very much, he’s too sophisticated lol. no, the actual reason he isn’t too keen on rough sex is because to him, his lover is a deity; an angel that walks the earth, the image of divine perfection. he isn’t going to treat them like a ragdoll, he worships the air they breathe for gods sake. he doesn’t see himself nearly worthy enough to be their companion, their equal. he gives them everything and then apologizes because it just isn’t enough. when he gave them their crown? “i hope you like it. the jewels are the finest i could find of course, for you. i—i perhaps could have gotten larger ones… i apologize. oh, but the weight may be a bit much for your neck… oh dear.” yeah this man is rich but he fucking won’t be if his partner doesn’t stop him from spoiling them. but i’m ranting, this is supposed to be about sex lmfao please ask me to make a post ab william i will do it so fast. this aspect of himself shows especially when he and his partner are intimate. he’s on his knees a lot of the time, staring up at his lover with worshipful reverence. he pleads in his soft spoken voice, his eyes fluttering shut as they put their hand on his cheek. “my love, what would you have me do for you? ask me anything.” and he means anything.

[roosterr]

only you

note: him. that is all.

pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x gn!reader

wc: 1.8k

summary: you and soap get to talking about your love life. gaz gets jealous.

warnings: little bit of miscommunication, jealousy, you and gaz make out, the mildest of spice

ao3

sleepless nights were not a rarity for you. it comes with the territory in this line of work, unfortunately, something you and your fellow sergeants have in common. it also wasn't out of place for the three of you to find each other in the rec room well into the early hours of the morning, which is exactly where you'd ended up tonight.

perhaps it was the result of the insomnia that had kept you up far later than your mind could handle, but you'd foolishly divulged that you hadn't been on an actual date in a depressingly long time – soap seemed to find that far more amusing than you would've liked, and quickly took it upon himself to demonstrate his unique ability to make you wish you'd kept your mouth shut.

"c'mon, you cannae be serious," soap wears a shit-eating grin as he leans forward in the armchair, leaning his elbows on his knees as you roll your eyes. gaz stays quiet beside you, which you're silently grateful for, but you do feel his eyes on the side of your head.

"i just don't have the time for it," you sigh, resting your elbow on the arm of the sofa and dropping your hand into your palm.

it's true, your job didn't allow room for much of a social life, what with being sent all over the world for months at a time– really, it was a miracle you did anything except work.

that wasn't the main reason, he was sitting on your other side, but you'd be damned before you revealed that to soap,  of all people.

"well, if you can't get any, then there's nae hope for the rest of us." soap chuckles, reaching over and playfully nudging your arm.

you let out a groan, shoving his hand away and dragging your own down your face. "shut up, soap, that's not how it is…"

he laughs again at your reaction, still showing no signs of relenting. "maybe i'll have to take you out, then."

"on what? a pipe-bomb masterclass?" you scoff, the grin on your lips betraying your attempt at looking unimpressed. both of them laugh at that, soap raising his hands in a gesture that says 'so what?'.

"dinnae try'n tell me that wouldn't be an excitin' date." he reasons, tilting his head and quirking his brow at you. you narrow your eyes, humming in faux-consideration and playfully tapping a finger on your chin.

"for a pyromaniac, maybe…" gaz grumbles from beside you. the sofa moves under you as he shifts his weight around, and if you weren't so tired you would've noticed the way his voice trailed off in such an uncharacteristic manner.

"maybe," you laugh, shaking your head at the very idea of it, and the fact that soap definitely would if he could convince someone to go along with it. "that's if i don't wind up dead by the end of it."

"i wouldn't let anythin' happen to ya, bonnie, cross my heart." he grins, making an x over his chest with one finger.

"but you'd still make a homemade bomb right in front of me?" you lift an eyebrow at his teasing expression.

"my two favourite things; a good explosive  and a good view,"

"oh god, shut the fuck up." you groan, reaching to swat the back of his head as you stand up. "that's enough for tonight, i need sleep."

"think i'll call it a night too." gaz mumbles half-heartedly from his spot beside you, quickly standing and making his way to the door without another word. you frown, confused by his sudden coldness, waving to soap and calling a quiet 'goodnight' before you step out into the hallway after him.

"night, bonnie, i'll pick you up at eight!" soap calls, loud enough for you to hear in the corridor, earning a soft chuckle and another shake of your head as you catch up to gaz.

he doesn’t even spare you a glance as you trail behind him, marching ahead with a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. his abrupt switch in attitude concerned you; he was fine not even five minutes ago, what could’ve happened to change that? 

"you okay, gaz?" you ask with a hesitance that feels strange directed at him, someone you’re usually so confident around. for a moment there's no response, but he does slow down slightly, taking a right into a corner of the building with the lights shut off. you follow still, growing more concerned with every second that passes.

you’re about to ask again, but a few paces into the shadows gaz turns sharply on his heel, catching you off guard with how suddenly he stops walking and causing you to bump into his chest. 

"gaz…?" you utter, your quiet voice a ripple in the stillness of the empty corridor. he meets your eye as you look quizzically back at him, a conflicted expression taking over his features.

you open your mouth to say something more, but before you can get the words out he's laying a hand on your shoulder and gently pushing you against the wall. the hand on you shifts to rest in the crook of your neck and shoulder, while he leans the other on the wall with his hand next to your head.

your breath catches in your throat, and your previous exhaustion is completely forgotten. the way he's looking at you, staring straight through you with that deep brown gaze and right into your soul, it's like a spell has fallen over you.

kyle leans even closer, caging you in with his broad shoulders and blocking out the world around him, so he's the only thing you can focus on– as if you could possibly think about anything else when he's touching you so tenderly.

"don't go out with him…" he utters, his eyes flickering back and forth as they search yours. the pause between you hangs heavy in the air. when your questioning expression doesn't change, he takes his bottom lip between his teeth and drops his gaze, letting his eyes fall shut as he continues. "don't fuckin' go out with him, please…"

"wh…" you stutter, trailing off as you wonder inwardly what the hell he's talking about; and then it hits you.

there's another pause, and you swallow thickly at the realisation that he was talking about your earlier conversation with soap; that he was reacting like this because he thought you would actually take johnny seriously. "kyle… he was joking."

"i'm not." he mutters in response, shifting closer again by resting his forearm against the wall instead of his hand. he's looking at you again, with heavy eyes that keep you entranced by him. you can't help the uneven breath that escapes you under his intense gaze and the way his thumb begins to stroke your jaw. "let me take you out, i'll give you anything you want if you'll have me, love."

it's hard to concentrate on anything other than the sparks his touch creates as he caresses your skin. you're sure he can feel the way your pulse is racing under his fingertips. there's no one but him in this moment, the minimal distance between you still somehow feeling too great as you subconsciously lean your face closer to his.

the silence and your heartbeat are so loud in your ears, you almost don’t hear his next words.

"can i kiss you?" he asks, little more than a whisper, tilting his head so his lips ghost over yours. you breath another shuddering sigh, letting your eyes flutter closed as you nod almost imperceptibly.

"please."

time seems to slow as the word hangs in the air, the warmth radiating from him seeps into your skin as he closes the final distance and presses his lips against yours.

the hand on your neck travels up to your face, cradling your cheek with a touch so soft, almost disbelieving, like he expected you to disappear at any moment.

"i'm yours, love," he mumbles against you, never straying too far from your lips as he caresses your cheek, "i'm all yours…"

you loop your arms around his neck, knocking his hat loose in the process, but neither of you pay it any mind as it lands on the floor at your feet – too lost in yourselves to care. in the brief moment you part for air, a breathy whisper of his name escapes you, and as if a switch has flipped, his mouth is back against yours with a fervour that you struggle to keep up with.

he's running his hand up and down the length of your waist, your hip, hiking your leg up and around his side, dragging his touch over your thigh, like he can't get enough of you. it's intoxicating, the way you pant into each other, flush against one another yet still itching to get closer.

your lungs burn as he pulls away again, just enough to whisper, his voice low and needy, "god– the things you do to me, sweetheart,"

his touch is reverent as he takes you in; your touch, your skin, your taste, the sounds he pulls from you as he kneads the flesh of your waist under your shirt. it sends your head spinning, the blood rushing in your ears stopping you from thinking about anything other than the feel of his lips on yours.

you trail one of your hands down his body, over his chest and down to the hem of his shirt, where you slip your fingers under to rest against his toned stomach. his skin is hot under your hand, drawing another groan of your name from him, and he slowly moves his hands up your own abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his fingers–

"awh, c'mon!"

the sound of soap's voice startles you into knocking your head against the wall behind you, both yours and kyle's hands darting back from their less than appropriate positions.

you look over to the scott, a sheepish grin on your face at his disapproving face. kyle buries his face into your shoulder, a groan of both embarrassment and annoyance escaping his chest. you resist the urge to laugh, instead running your hands up and down his back in an attempt to comfort him.

"fucks sake, soap…" kyle grumbles, wrapping his arms back around your waist. he doesn't look up at your friend, opting to keep his undoubtedly embarrassed expression hidden by your neck.

"think i'll have to cancel that date after all." you cant keep the amusement off your face when you speak, earning a dramatic eye roll from soap.

"too right, ye animals…" he mutters, shaking his head in exasperation as he disappears around the corner again. neither of you move as you listen to his footsteps retreating down the corridor, staying frozen in place until it's quiet once more.

only once you're sure johnny's gone does the laugh you've been stifling bubble up from your chest, escaping into the otherwise quiet night as kyle finally lifts his head to meet your gaze.

he eyes the bashful smile pulling at your lips and lets out a laugh of his own, pressing his forehead back to yours and letting his eyes fall closed again.

killing soap could wait until tomorrow; right now, it was just you and him, and that's how you want to keep it.

[freedomfireflies]

SnakeBite*

Summary: The third part to 404*

The one where Harry is good for more than a good time.

But he's still good at that, too.

Word Count: 5.2k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Oh, come on…please. Please, don’t do this. Not right now. Not today…please.”

With a deep breath, you stick the key back into the ignition and try again. Waiting anxiously for the sound of the engine roaring to life. A sound you desperately need to hear more than anything.

Instead, all that follows is that familiar clunking of something heavy before there’s a rather shrill buzzing you can’t quite place.

Fuck.

Exasperated and woefully defeated, you take the key back out, groan, and drop your forehead onto the steering wheel. “This is not happening.”

Truth be told, you should have seen this coming. This isn’t the first time your poor car has made this unsettling noise, and perhaps it’s your fault for ignoring it for so long. You hadn’t meant to; you just didn’t realize it was this bad. Or that your car was this old.

Now, you’re trapped in the Juno Incorporated parking lot on a Friday afternoon with no way of getting you or your car home.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t even bother to lift your head as Harry’s voice carries in through the window. “Nothing. Go away.”

You hear the sound of his boots scraping across the concrete before they stop, and you feel a large shadow fall over your side of the vehicle. “Can I assume that god awful noise came from this hunk of shit you call a car?”

Leaning back, you huff as you look over. “I’m sorry, do you want something?”

Harry smirks, arms crossing over his chest as he juts his chin toward you. “Pop the hood, let me see.”

“Yeah…no.”

“Come on,” he pushes, a few curls dancing across his forehead from a soft gust of wind. You realize he looks different outside of the lab. Normal, almost. It’s unsettling. “You wanna leave, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but knowing you, you’d probably cut my breaks.”

“If I were gonna take you out, I would have done it by now.”

“Oh. Wow. You’re really instilling me with a lot of confidence, thanks.”

He steps back and motions toward the front of your car. “Fucking relax, Tinkerbell, and just pop the goddamn hood.”

Regretfully, you do as instructed before leaning out the open window to watch him walk toward your engine. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“I know enough,” he replies, using the back of his hand to push on his glasses before bending down.

“That…is not helpful.”

“Well, I’m your only shot. Everyone else is gone.”

“I can call a repair guy.”

He shakes his head once. “Won’t get here in time. It’s rush hour on a Friday. You’ll be here for hours if they even show at all. And chances are, they won’t be able to schedule you in till next week. So, unless you’re planning to sleep here, in your car, can you please shut the fuck up, and let me focus?”

You feel your expression morph into a scowl as you unclick your seatbelt and step out. “I’d rather sleep in my car than trust you to fix my engine.”

You notice his eyes roll, but he’s amused. “Well, I can’t fix it. Not here. I think it’s your spark plugs. They tend to wear out faster in older cars. You’ll probably have to get them replaced.”

Scurrying to stand beside him, you glance over your engine and the internal workings of the car with a heavy sigh.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble beneath another strained groan. “And let me guess, it’s gonna be expensive.”

“Probably,” he agrees, glancing over. “But it’s not like you can’t afford it.”

Your eyes narrow. “I know I can afford it, I just don’t like dropping thousands of dollars on something so dumb.”

“Spark plugs aren’t dumb,” he retorts while reaching for your hood to slam it shut. “You need them to fucking drive.”

“Yeah, but having to pay for a rental car, manual labor, and a tow truck is dumb,” you point out. “And this is the last thing I need right now.”

His eyebrow lifts but he doesn’t ask for elaboration. Instead, he begins to stride across the lot toward a dark, black Harley, leaving you and your crisis behind.

In turn, you reach for your cellphone to look up local tow trucks and mechanics that might be able to help you out.

To your dismay, most shops are already closed for the weekend, except for one. And after a very lengthy and frustrated discussion, you learn that they won’t be able to come by until much later tonight. Which means that all your hopes of having a nice, relaxing evening are for naught. 

Once again defeated, you slump back against the side of your car and drop your head. “Well…great.”

Harry’s smirk returns as he glances over and straddles his bike. “What?”

“I’m stuck here until midnight,” you mumble, running a palm down the side of your cheek. “You were right, everyone is booked.”

“Shit,” is about all he offers while pulling his helmet over his head. “That sucks.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Welcome.” He revs the engine, and just like that, the bike roars to life. The loud and somewhat startling sound echoing across the parking lot as you flinch.. “So, what’s the plan, Princess? You gonna call an Uber and come back later?”

“I can’t,” you shout over the noise. “I have to be here in case they come early, or they’ll leave.”

Through the open visor, you see him frown. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

He studies you for a moment more, and you feel your skin grow warm under such a scrutinous gaze. Like he’s looking for something written between the lines of your face. “Well…make sure you lock your doors.”

“No shit.”

He smiles again before flipping the visor shut and steadying the bike with his leg. You stand back, ready to watch him speed out of the lot and onto the street, but to your surprise…he simply sits there.

In fact, a good sixty seconds pass before he suddenly slips the helmet off his head, sighs, and thrusts it toward you. “Get on.”

You blink. “What?”

“Get on the fucking bike, Tink,” he repeats. “I know a bar we can hang out in till they get here.”

“I…I just told you, I can’t leave—”

“You can see the parking lot from inside,” he interrupts. “If they show, we can just run back over.”

You step closer, drawn to his proposition, although still wildly confused. “Uh…okay. Why, though? I’m fine to just wait here.”

He looks at you, the grassy green behind his glasses somehow softer in this natural lighting. “S’not safe,” he says simply, shrugging one shoulder up. “Be better to wait somewhere public, and I don’t really want your death on my conscience.”

 And you aren’t exactly sure what to say. Because you think this may be the nicest thing he’s ever done for you – even if it’s still a little odd – and you don’t want to spook him by doing the wrong thing.

But as you debate a response, he shakes the helmet at you again, rather aggressively. “Tink, get on the goddamn bike, please. I’m wasting gas here.”

With a huff, you snatch it from his hand and join him on the Harley. The helmet slips on rather easily, and once you’re sure it’s snug and secure, your eyes trail down his back, unsure of how to proceed. 

You don’t exactly want to…hold him. Or touch him or straddle him. At least, not outside of the way you do in secret. In broad daylight. Where people could see.

In fact, you already feel as though you’re grinding against his ass from how small this goddamn seat is. Almost too close for comfort as you catch a subtle trace of his cologne and feel the warmth from his body.

But motorcycles don’t exactly come with seatbelts, and if he were to take a sharp corner, you might end up pancaked on the cement.

“Tinkerbell,” you suddenly hear him call over his shoulder, voice raised to carry over the growl of the engine. “Just fucking grab me, it’s fine.”

You glare at his curls, despite knowing he can’t see you. “I’m good.”

He snorts again before he’s suddenly reaching back, grabbing onto your wrists, and hoisting your arms around his middle.

You’re tugged forward, your chest pressing to his spine rather forcefully as he glances back.

“Pussy,” he murmurs, releasing the clutch until the bike jolts forward and takes off through the parking lot.

With a rather shrill squeal, you tighten your hold on his broad frame, and bury yourself between his shoulder blades. The sensation is exhilarating and frightening all in the same moment. The rush of wind, adrenaline, and the way he leans around the corner before taking off down the street.

You think you feel his chest vibrate with laughter, perhaps from the way your nails are scraping down his shirt. And despite your increasing terror, you find that you feel oddly…safe with him at the handles.

Not even two minutes later, he’s pulling into another parking spot on the other side of the street, right in front of the aforementioned bar. It’s a bar you recognize, one that a few of your other coworkers often frequent from time to time.

In fact, this is the exact same bar you and Harry first hooked up in all those months ago.

The memory makes you smile.

“What?” Harry asks as swings his leg over the side and stands up. “Why are you grinning like that?”

You quickly wipe the smirk from your face while wrestling the helmet off to hand back. “Like what? I’m just smiling, calm down.”

“I don’t like when you smile. It freaks me out.”

“You’re really rude, you know that?”

“What? I’m just being honest. You have a lot of teeth. It’s weird.”

You glower at him, swatting his chest as you brush by. “Bite me, Harold.”

“With what? Your teeth?”

You feign a snubbed gasp – to which he chuckles – before striding into the bar, leaving him to follow behind.

The large room is loud and crowded with people, the smell of alcohol and bad decisions clinging to the air. You make a beeline for the counter, exhausted and overworked and already annoyed by Harry’s future comments before he can even make them.

Like—

“Really? An appletini?” 

With a deep breath, you look over while the bartender turns around to begin prepping your drink. “Yes, really. I like apples. And it’s delicious. And the color is fun.”

He rests an arm on the edge of the marble bar and leans in. “How incredibly boring of you.”

Once again, your expression falls flat. “Are you gonna be this fucking annoying the whole time? Because I’d rather wait by my car and get murdered.”

“I make no promises.”

“Clearly. And let me guess, you’re gonna order something cool and manly like a scotch on the rocks.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirks up before he smugly turns toward the bartender and calls, “I’ll have a SnakeBite.”

You can actually feel your eyes roll all the way into the back of your head. “God, you’re fucking pretentious.”

“Thank you,” he says with a smile, and you grit your teeth. “Will you relax? I haven’t even had a drink yet and you’re killing my buzz.”

“I’m not killing anything, I just can’t stand you.”

“No? Ouch. I thought we were friends.”

The sarcasm is evident, but you huff, nevertheless. “For the love of god, shut up.”

“What?” He nods his chin at you. “S’just a drink, don’t be so sensitive.”

“I’m sensitive because you’re annoying.”

“No, you’re sensitive because you’re wound up,” he retorts, eyeing you closely. It makes your skin crawl. “When’s the last time you got off, Tink?”

The inquiry makes you step back, almost as though trying to avoid his judgment. “None of your business.”

“So…couple weeks ago? In the closet, with me?” He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “That’s a long fucking time, Princess. No wonder you’re so uptight.”

Your mouth drops open, ready to scoff your resentment and perhaps a quippy remark before he suddenly steps forward and lowers his voice.

“Bet it’s achy, huh?” he coos, and the slight air condescension and sympathy makes your head spin. “Bet you hump your little pillow every night trying to get it done, yeah? But it never works, does it?”

Stunned and left without much remark, your lashes flutter.

He moves closer. “See, if we were friends…I’d offer to take you into the bathroom and help you out. But since you think you can do better…go ahead.”

He leans back while you gape at him. “I’m sorry…go ahead and do what?”

“Find someone,” he answers, glancing around the packed bar. “Take ‘em into the bathroom and let them bend you over the sink.”

“You can’t be serious—”

“Why not?” His eyebrow raises. “That’s the whole reason people come to bars. To get drunk and fuck.”

“Well…that’s not why I’m here.”

“It could be.”

“Harry…no—”

“Why? Seriously, why not? You need it.”

“I don’t…you’re so fucking rude, I don’t need to get off—”

“Coming is good for your health. And for your unfavorable attitude—”

“Oh, you are so fucking—”

“Rude? Annoying? Doesn’t make me any less right.”

You clamp your mouth shut and step closer, letting your gaze travel the expanse of his face. “Come on, Harry,” you murmur softly – salaciously – as his breath seems to catch. “Do you really think…you could watch me with some other guy?”

His expression twists, his mouth already forming around something else snappy and crude.

But it seems to get stuck on his tongue when you suddenly reach out and trail your fingers down his chest. Moving in until there’s only a single breath between you.

“Do you really think…you could watch me touch them?” you whisper, glancing down to your hand as it grazes over his pec. “Or know that they had me dripping down their cock…the way I always drip for you?”

He wants to fight you. Wants to snort and look away.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. He’s mesmerized by the power you so easily stole from him. Undone by the sound of your voice taunting him with an idea he can’t seem to stomach.

“Wanna know I’m whimpering their name the way I always whimper yours?” you continue, smoothing your other palm up the back of his neck. Squeezing just hard enough to make him straighten up. “Wanna see the marks on my throat from where they held me—”

“Easy,” he warns lowly, reaching up to snatch your wrist. But he doesn’t move you. “Not here—”

“Why?” You push up onto your tiptoes and let your lips ghost over his. “Who’s gonna see, hm? Who’s gonna care?”

His lashes flutter, eyes traveling down to your mouth. “Are you this desperate for it, Princess? Wanna fuck me right here in the middle of the bar? Make them watch?”

You smile, head tilting until the tip of your nose dances across his cheek. “Maybe,” you nearly purr. “Bet you like to be watched. You always like watching me.”

And maybe he knows you’re merely playing a game. Teasing him just to throw him off track and test his patience.

But he plays along, eager to see where it might lead. “Can’t help it,” he replies calmly, smirking himself. “Y’just always look so pretty when you’re three fingers deep in your cunt.”

“Yeah?” Your nails scratch at the soft curls near the nape of his neck. “Funny how I can make myself squirt better than you can.”

He exhales a rather sadistic chuckle while his arm reaches to loop around your waist, pulling your chest flush with his. “I wasn’t trying to make you squirt.”

“No?”

His head shakes once. “No. Trust me, Tink. If I wanted to…I would.”

“Then maybe you should.”

His lips part just enough to tease you with a taste. “Maybe I will.”

“Yeah? Right here? In front of everybody?”

Another grin. “I could. Be so fucking easy, too. Bend you over the bar, pull your soaked little panties down…spread you open so they can see how much of a dirty little cumslut you are.”

And perhaps this started as a ruse, but just the thought and the tantalizing way he speaks breeds a new inspiration.

“Cause you are, aren’t you?” he asks quietly, large hand pressing hard against your spine. “My dirty, fucking Princess? Get all wet and weepy from just a couple words?”

You swallow a whimper trying desperately to come free.

“Should I check?” he whispers, now subtly moving you over until your back meets the counter. “Hm? See if you’re as wound up as I think you are?”

You rifle through your list of responses but find that you have none to offer as his fingers delicately begin to trace the edge of your jeans. Provoking you further.

You reckon you should probably stop him. Point out what an idiotic idea this is and remind him that he’s still very much in public, surrounded by people.

But his body blocks you from most of the crowd, and nobody else is close enough to notice. And you suppose that even if they did look over, they wouldn’t exactly be able to see or understand.

His eyes flick to yours, looking for hesitation. But when he finds none, the corner of his mouth twitches up into a pleased smile.

“Dirty Princess,” he teases, sliding his hand into your pants as subtly as he can while you quickly glance around for prying eyes. “That’s right, Tink. Look at them.”

 The feel of his cold fingers against your warm skin is like ecstasy, sending a rush of adrenaline straight down to your toes.

You gasp quietly to mask a whine, vision going hazy as you watch him study you. 

“Oh, sweetie,” he tsks, smoothing his touch through your folds. Spreading and stroking as you reel. “Poor fucking thing. Did’ya get yourself all wet for me?”

“No,” you manage to reply, heart hammering against your rib cage when he smirks. “I was watching TikTok’s of Andrew Garfield earlier. This is for him.”

“Ah,” he hums, but he’s wildly amused, hand still cupping you gently before he swiftly pulls out and leaves you to wilt. “Well, in that case…”

He steps away, fingers tucked between his lips as he pretends to turn around.

However, before he can get far, you manage to capture a fistful of his shirt and yank him back to you. 

And you kiss him. Without reluctance or fear. You kiss him, and you sigh against his mouth, and swallow his surprised but greedy moan.

His hands are on your hips, squeezing and pulling, desperate to tug you further into his frame. 

You go willingly, becoming pliable in his hands. A few people cheer from beside you, raising their glasses and whistling like drunken animals. 

But it makes you both smile, suddenly unencumbered by the ideas of what people might think or who might see.

And it’s strange to feel so at peace in his arms. Unnatural almost to find relief in his lips or safety in his presence. Because this is still the same Harry that would let you drown before he jumped in after you. That would rather tell you off than tell you he likes you – even as an acquaintance. 

You’re not enemies, per se. You imagine you’re both too old for such childish rivalries. But he’s cruel and rude and blunt. His ego rivals the size of the moon, and his lack of care and inhibitions is proof that he could never be who you’d need him to be.

But that’s okay, you realize. You find serenity in the sadistic, strange behavior. Because it means you don’t have to commit to giving him anything more than what he deserves.

His tongue leaves a quick lick to yours before he pulls back and studies you from behind the dark frames of his glasses. “I need to fuck you.”

And you almost laugh at the frank way he speaks. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” His palm slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing it one, twice, three times. “Meet me in the bathroom.”

“Ew, no. I’m not fucking you in a crusty ass bathroom in a sketchy bar,” you retaliate with a scrunch of your nose. “Pick somewhere else.”

“There isn’t anywhere else,” he huffs. “Unless you really do want me to fuck right here in front of everybody.”

“That’s not funny.”

“M’not trying to be funny. I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Well…try harder.”

His eyes narrow. “Fine, you wanna fuck me on my bike?”

You blink. “Okay, that’s really not funny.”

“What?” He’s grinning again, and you hate the way his dimples pop out. Hate how charming they make him look. “Come on, I ride the bike, you ride me.”

You snort as you turn around to take a sip of your drink. “I’d rather get herpes.”

“Wow. Classy. Real fucking classy—”

“Admit it, you’ve had it before—”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“Well, you can’t. Remember?”

He scoffs. “Then where the fuck do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Literally anywhere else?”

“Well, I’m not taking you back to mine.”

“No? You don’t want me to see the bridge you live under?”

“Troll jokes. Funny.”

“Thank you, I thought so. It’s very fitting.”

His expression falls flat before he sighs and steps closer again. “Meet me in the fucking bathroom,” he repeats quietly, “and let me fuck you. Let me make it better.”

You want to remind him – again – that a dirty bathroom in a crowded bar isn’t exactly the best place. You’d never get a moment of privacy, and the position would most likely be wildly uncomfortable.

But suddenly, none of your reasons seem to matter. Because it hurts to be away from him. Actually aches between your thighs, forcing you to swallow thickly.

So, instead of responding with an actual answer, you simply take his hand, and drag him through the crowd.

You catch his smug smile – and resist the urge to slap the glasses off his face – before yanking him into the hall and toward the bathroom.

You both stumble through the door, already back on each other’s lips. Kissing, and groping, and groaning as you work to get the lock flipped.

You pause for only a moment to make sure the single stall restroom is in fact empty while Harry uses this as encouragement to begin nipping down the side of your neck. 

Your nails scratch down his scalp and he moans against the heat of your skin, exhaling his relief and lust all in the same breath.

His touch is firm – pointed and almost painful – as he pushes you back toward the wall. You gasp when you meet the cold, hard cement, lashes fluttering from the force and the sound of his belt coming undone.

He nods his chin at you, entertained by your fascination. “Come on, Princess. You’ve seen my cock before.”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you murmur, swallowing thickly when he pulls himself out. “Before I change my mind and find somebody else."

He scoffs with a smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

He gives himself a few pumps, growing harder in his palm before he lets go and moves his attention to your jeans. He’s got them down your legs and pooled around your ankles in under thirty seconds flat, your panties soon following suit.

But he teases you for just a moment. Because of course he does, the sadistic fucker. Needing to hear you beg for him before he actually gives you what you both want.

“Harry,” you huff, glancing down as he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “We don’t have time, and the floor is dirty. Just do it.”

“Just do it? How romantic,” he snorts before obliging and straightening back up. “Thought girls liked foreplay.”

“We do, but not in gross, dirty bathrooms.”

“Fine. Next time.”

And for some reason, the casual way he refers to the future makes your head spin. You always assume the two of you will continue from time to time. But hearing him promise to take care of you again…

It’s almost…nice? 

Pushing the thought aside, you begin to turn around, hands pressing into the wall to brace yourself in preparation for what comes next.

But just as you’re getting comfortable, he suddenly grabs onto your hips, and spins you forward once again.

“No,” he murmurs softly, pretty green eyes trailing down your face. “No, I wanna see you this time.”

“Oh,” you whisper, skin growing hot as he steps between your legs. “Okay…?”

He grins lightly before reaching up to trail his thumb along your bottom lip. “I like watching you get all sappy when I fuck you. The way you grin when it feels good.”

Suddenly, your pulse starts to stagger. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like your smile.”

You suck in quiet breath. “I thought it creeped you out. That I had too many teeth.”

He chuckles to himself before taking hold of his cock and bringing it closer, trailing it between your legs. “You do. But that’s what makes you so beautiful.”

You think he must be out of his mind. Lost on the idea of sex and pleasure and SnakeBite’s. Tipsy and not all there. Because the Harry you know would never say something like that to you.

But you suppose you don’t really know Harry at all.

With that final thought, he hoists your leg over his hip, and begins to push in. It’s slow at first. You’re tense from the surroundings, from the loud sounds of the bar just on the other side of the wall, and from his admission.

But he loves it, cursing through gritted teeth before surging forward to kiss you. “Tink, you gotta fucking relax. Y’know I can’t do it if you don’t let me in.”

“Try…trying,” you pant, head falling back against the wall with a thud. “Sorry. Just go.”

He frowns, eyes rolling as his glasses begin to slip down the bridge of his nose. “M’not gonna go if you’re not stretched, Princess. I’m not trying to hurt you—”

“I don’t care,” you argue with a soft whine. “Really, I don’t care. Just go. Make it hurt.”

He releases your leg to slip his fingers just below your jaw, forcing your eyes on him. “Stop. M’not gonna do that, just relax.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your mouth. “Come on, sweetie. Know you can do it. Know you always take me so well, don’t you?”

You nod fervently. “Yes…yeah, yes—”

“Then take me,” he whispers, his free fingers finding your clit. He rubs, and presses, and pinches until he feels you begin to unwind. “There you go…there she is, that’s my girl. S’better, isn’t it? Yeah? Gonna let me in now?”

You can’t exactly speak, already lost in the pleasure and the fullness his thick cock provides as it pushes past your walls and settles nearly in your belly.

The sound you make is depraved and eager, and it makes him smile. “That good, huh? So fucking cute how cockdrunk you get.”

“Shut…up,” you huff before reaching for his hair. “Faster.”

“Faster,” he repeats to himself, hips pulling back just to snap forward. “Always want it fast, don’t you? Never want me to take my time.”

“Cause I don’t want your dick in me longer than it needs to be,” you retort, but you both know that’s not true. “Fucking hurry—”

With a sharp and sudden thrust, he changes the pace. Obeying your command for fast and hard as your bodies shake with pleasure and force. 

And you imagine it should feel quite strange to be so enamored by one man – one cock. But here you are, panting, and gasping, and whimpering as he fucks you against this bathroom wall. Ignoring the pounding of the fists against the door from people wanting to be let in.

He kisses you. Kisses all of you. Your lips, your cheek, your chin, your nose, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Tugs on your skin with his teeth before flattening his tongue against the tortured flesh. 

His hand dances underneath your shirt. Palm smoothing up your stomach and over the cup of your bra. Slipping just far enough inside to knead you in his grasp. Make you whimper and push closer.

And he’s so warm. All of him is warm and soft and strong. He smells like mahogany and sex, and he feels like ecstasy.

You love his hands. The veins in his arms, the bulge of his muscles. The tan of his skin and the way he holds you. 

He might be infuriating, but my god is he fun to look at. 

“Fucking shit,” he snaps, readjusting his angle to make sure he’s fucking into you just right. “So fucking good, Tink. You’re shaking, sweetie. You close already?”

You can’t respond with words, instead clenching around him in an effort to prove his point.

He smirks, quickly reaching up to push his glasses back into place. “Good. Want you to come all over my cock, baby. Want you to soak me. Can y’do that for me, Princess? Can you soak my cock?”

You think you know what he means, but truth be told, you aren’t sure if you can. You’ve only done it twice before – by your own hand, not his – and you wonder if you’d even be able to like this.

But the question is answered for you when he moves just enough to find that sweet, spongy spot that unravels you faster than lightning. 

He hits it over and over and over – perhaps without even realizing – and when you suddenly begin to cry out his name…he understands.

He watches as it happens, aiding in your pleasure by spitting on his fingers and bringing them down to your clit. 

The ministrations are ruthless and beautiful, and it almost distracts you from the gushing between your legs, and the way you soak his thighs.

“Shit,” you think you hear him groan, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. “So fucking good, Tink. Yeah, just like that. That’s good, baby, keep going. Give me all of it. Fucking all of it, sweetie, yeah.”

And just before you can go sliding down the wall out of pure exhaustion…he follows. Pressing his chest into yours to keep you upright as he spills inside your pussy, creating a bigger mess than before. 

Everything is wet and sticky and warm. He’s breathing into your neck, holding onto your body so tight, you imagine you’ll see memories of him tomorrow. 

And you stay, just for a moment. Learning how to take in air again and waiting for the feeling to return to your muscles.

“You okay?” he finally asks, exhaling the question into the sweaty skin of your throat. “Didn’t break you, did I?”

Your smile is lazy as you shake your head. “It would take a lot more than you to break me.”

And he laughs. In the kind of way that makes you clench around him again.

Which only makes him laugh harder.

“I fucking hope so.”

Next Part:

~ Jealous*

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~ Off the Shelf*

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[munson-blurbs]

Hey sweetheart! You take requests at the moment? I'm currently healing from surgery (ow) and I just want some fluffy Eddie fussing over me/reader

One fluffy blurb, coming right up! I hope you get well soon 🥰

Warnings: Reader is recovering from surgery, mention of prescribed medication, mention of spicy activities, Eddie is a big ol' mush of a boyfriend

WC: 750

--

The sound of a handbell clanging has Eddie up from the sofa in a heartbeat. He’s learned your communication system over the last few days: one ring means you want some company, two means you’re hungry or need to use the bathroom, and three indicates an emergency. 

This was a three-ring. 

“Sweetheart?” There’s no camouflaging the alarm in his voice as he pushes into the bedroom. He finds you propped up against the pillows, book in hand. “What’s the matter? Are you dizzy again?”

You shake your head. “Could you get me a snack?” The doctor advised against taking the pain medication on an empty stomach, and you had no intention of breaking that rule. “Maybe some pretzels? Or a slice of toast with jelly?”

Eddie’s shoulders sag with relief. “You rang the bell three times,” he explains, soft irritation clipping his words. “I thought something was wrong.”

Glancing at the bell tucked against your thigh, you frown. “No, I only rang it twice. Or, wait…shit, I did ring it three times.” You exhale, sliding your bookmark between the pages and offering an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“S’okay.” He plops down onto the bed, careful not to jostle your elevated leg. “Just…give me a sec to get my heartrate back down to normal.” Hand to his chest, he takes deep, exaggerated breaths that have you giggling. 

“I mean, I could find something urgent,” you tease. “Maybe I’ll try walking without the crutches, or I can take out my stitches…”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles in a combination of disbelief and disgust. “Bullshit,” he counters. 

“Bullshit?”

“Bull. Shit.” He grins, gently poking your bicep. “You got all queasy that time you had to pull out a splinter, and you expect me to believe you can remove your own stitches?”

You let out a defeated groan. “Ugh, fine.” He knows you too well, and you love him for it. 

He gives you a triumphant kiss on the cheek and starts towards the kitchen. “Anything else the fair maiden needs while I’m up? More water? Ginger ale? Perhaps some champagne and caviar?” His eyes light up mischievously at the last suggestion. 

“I’m not supposed to drink on these meds,” you quip, playing right into his charade. 

“We’ll take a raincheck on the champagne, then.”

You shift back slightly, wincing as pain shoots through your leg. The surgery hurt more than the injury, and part of you wishes you had just muddled through and hobbled around instead of getting it fixed. 

Eddie returns a few minutes later with toast that’s just the right shade of burnt and slathered in strawberry jelly. He has a glass of water in his other hand, though you hadn’t asked for any. 

He places both on the snack table he’s set up next to the bed before reaching over and grabbing the bell. He rings it one time, loud and purposeful. 

“Can I help you?”

Nodding, he sits down. “I’m bored and need someone to talk to.” He rests his head on his pillow and pouts. “Entertain me?”

“There’s not much going on here.” You shrug, scanning the room for a conversation topic. He’s been taking care of you nonstop, and surgery recovery doesn’t exactly make for riveting discussions. Your eyes land on a magazine. “I read some interesting articles in Cosmo, I guess.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie waggles his brows. “Anything spicy?”

You flip to an article that provides explicit details on giving the perfect blowjob and point to the page. “This one was pretty raunchy.”

He studies it just long enough to read the headline before tossing it aside. “You don’t need any help with that. Trust me.” He smirks knowingly. “You probably could’ve written that article yourself.”

“Good to know.” Exhaling, you look over at him. “You can go hang out with the guys if you want. Or they can come over here, as long as they’re not too loud.”

You expect him to jump at the offer; anything to cure his bout of boredom, but he declines. “Nah, I’m good right here.” He snatches up the magazine once more and thumbs through it. “Besides, I need to find out what color palette matches my skin tone.”

“Eddie—”

He cuts you off with his pointer finger. “Shhh. This is life-changing stuff, Sweetheart. I mean, what if I’m…an ‘autumn,’ but I’ve been wearing ‘winter’ this whole time?” His face contorts in mock horror. “Talk about tacky.” 

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

You absolutely do. 

--

[tojisth3rdwife]

Toji wasnt much of a gossip, but you being his girlfriend, he made the occasional exception. He could listen to you rant and ramble all day if it meant being close to you. Even if he barely registered half of what you were saying.

“That bitch waits until the end of the day to call me in her office, talking bout some ‘I wanted to discuss something schedule related before you head out’..As if she couldn’t have said something that morning or sent an email.” You grumbled as you dunked the large plate into the sudsy water.

Day dreaming.

Mindless.

Dazed.

Fixated.

Words that would be used to describe the way Toji watched you.

He’d been sitting at the kitchen island on a bar stool for the last few minutes as you washed dishes in your old cheer shorts and tight cropped camisole, giving him an unobstructed view of your ass.

Heart shaped and heavy at the bottom with little dimples of cellulite you used to be self conscious about dotting your skin. If anything, that was his favorite part of your booty. He’d say it gave it character.

Not so distant memories of him burying his face between them with his tongue prodding at your hole, inhaling the scent of your pussy has him shifting in his seat. Moaning his name against the pillows and deepening your arch. Massive hands spreading your cheeks further apart while he ate you from behind, groaning in ecstasy at your taste. Something like that wouldnt be hard to do right now. All he’d have to do is get on his knees behind you and slide your shorts down just enough for him to…

“Toji.”

He blinks at the sound of his name.

“Hmm?” He grunts, head lifting from his palm.

His eyes snap up to your face when you glance at him over your shoulder, a curious brow lifted.

“Are you listening to me?” You smirk at his lazy expression and Toji’s lips tucked against eachother as he nodded, humming affirmatively so that you’d continue.

“Yeah! Of course.. your PTO thing.” He adds in confirmation that he was indeed listening. Somewhat. Despite him being slightly bricked up but you wouldn’t know it since you were too busy running your damn mouth.

You squint at him incredulously but turn away to resume scrubbing.

“Mmhm. So anyway. Then she tells me that Im not approved for the PTO I requested for my birthday trip. And I just laughed because jokes on her. I wasn’t gonna be there whether she approved it or not.”

Water ran loudly as you rinsed a large pot, and you shift your weight to favor your left leg, bringing Toji’s gaze right back to your dimpled cheeks. His tongue runs over his top lip, his eyes climbing the line your spine the way his tongue would on its way up your body after making you cum on it. Toji loved the way you’d shiver and tremble underneath him, making his dick rock hard and ready to slide inside of you. And he knew it would be easy with how wet you got.

“I told her that my request was really just for her benefit. If she doesn't approve it, Im still going.”

“Right..right..” Toji mutters, his attention effectively dividing between what you were saying at the way your cheeks jiggled slightly with even the slightest movements caused by you scraping the decrepit scrub daddy over the skillet.

He wanted to bite it.

Hell, he planned to.

As soon as you finished those dishes. Or perhaps as soon as you shut the hell up.

Whichever happened first.

“..talking about some..’oh well we’re very short staffed so I cant guarantee that I’ll be able to let you off that week’..let. Like she’s my mama or something. Bitch. I’ll call out and have her looking crazy. Anyway, what you thinking about for dinner?”

At his lack of engagement, you spare Toji another look over your shoulder. You find his hooded gaze fixed on you but nowhere near your face and you thoughtlessly glance down at yourself as if you already didn’t know what he was looking at.

“Toji….TOJI!” You laugh, and your boyfriend looks up at you again, blinking dumbly.

“Huh?” He frowns and you roll your eyes.

“Yo ass didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” You turn around to face him, rubbing your damp hands over a dry dish towel. Toji rolls his eyes with a grumpy sigh to accompany it.

“I said I was listening. Your PTO didn’t get approved but you’re taking off anyway. Fuck whatever Lauren says..”

“Lori.” You correct him.

“Lori. Laura. Whoever the fuck. Point is I’ve been listening and waiting on you to stop talking so I can bend you over.” He states shamelessly, reaching down out of your view to readjust himself in his pants.

Your brows shoot up in surprise, but his words make your womanhood jump in excitement and anticipation.

“Aw yeah?” You smirk, only for Toji to mirror you. In seconds, he’s on his feet and rounding the kitchen island to stand in front you. His cool green gaze pins you against the counter as he pressed up against you, his fingers already teasing at the elastic band of your shorts.

“Yeah, so hurry up and finish the story...”