#tagging this on ao3 was kinda hard because

[fallen6253]

The Stars Have Fallen to Earth, Can You Imagine That?

Tanned skin.  White hair.  Dark eyes. Their gaze moves slow, steady, makes its way to the window of a subway car.  In the brief moment it passes by, a small head with black hair peeks through. 

There was no eye contact.  But they knew the other was there. On some subconscious level, as if their very essence were attuned to one another.  

A rumble.  The car trembles.  Then it shakes.  Suddenly it's been thrown off the course of eternity and into a place of being known.

The subway crashes into solid ground.

A dreaming boy wakes up.

Miles away, a priestess known for denying god staggered in her footsteps.  Another migraine.  Another message.

Accompanied, for the first time, by an earthquake.

Huh. New.

The priestess picks up a pen and paper and rushes to a place hidden in darkness.  

A young man, hair and eyes as dim as night alight with stars, is waiting for her at the door to a beautiful home.  He walks her to a sitting room, tables set to the tone of a business meeting as if that was what this was.

Business as usual.

Of course.  It is.

He has a message about this world’s newest arrival.  And…a request.

She says this looking towards a man known for his wit and wile.  Brown eyes saturated to a dulcet red.  Blood red hair.  Clothes fitting and comfortable.  

He was on vacation.

Was.

The note warned first and foremost that nobody would hear from the god for a while.  Apparently bringing stars down from the sky costs quite a bit.  Well, that was what the note said, but the one reading it did not know its meaning yet.

The note then told them that the epicenter of that earthquake was near his home, and the damage to the forest should not be too drastic, since the cause was made of stardust and dream remnants and memories far too old to recall anymore.  It should fade with time, as all memories do.  By then it will return to creation and merge with the forest.  Again, the reader did not know what that meant.  He could only guess some things.

But the last lines caught his attention.  For two reasons.

The first being the mention of a child.  Far too young and far too ancient for all that it has seen.  The second reason being that this god made a request.  Not some mission with a reward.  Not some threat or warning with a clue as to how these mortals would react.  A genuine request he could choose to ignore completely without consequence since the god was indisposed. A sincere gesture for help that does not involve favors or world-blaming calamities.  

This being known for death asked a single mortal to save a helpless existence.

And for once the person reading it did not think about rejecting it at all.

He could be annoyed about it, something crashlanding into his forest, but…

There’s a kid that needs help first, we can yell at god for throwing him here later.

Do you think the plotting protagonist kept a library with stories of others like him?  Of dying worlds and forgotten names and tired heroes who made too many mistakes?

Edited, bc I have had a title for it and I just didn't change the post for some reason.

[takes1]

Hi theree!! If you dont mind, can you write iwa, kuroo, akaashi having a major crush on cool reader who is very good in hiding her feeling

kuroo x hard to get!reader p. 1

hey!! thanks for the request! this was originally meant to be all one part, but had to split it because of word count/pacing. nsfw to follow, reply to be tagged in next part pls!

warnings. lite!nsfw, minors DNI

details. kuroo crushing on reader / player!kuroo / hard to get!reader / kinda fuckboy!kuroo / kuroo pining / cool!reader / karasuno manager!reader / flirty!kuroo / future smut / a dash of whiny kuroo / vague feelings / noncommunicative!reader / failed?courtship / 2.2k words - reply to be tagged in next part

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. part two here. part three here. requests OPEN.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing at a training camp?"

That was yet another version of a weak line you heard often. Emphasis on weak. The Nekoma captain lost your attention before he could even begin; made plain as day in a quiet sigh and the way you squeezed your clipboard closer to you.

All Kuroo noticed was how it pressed your chest up, real pretty in that tank top. It was the first time in days he felt an ounce of gratitude for the still heat of this summer, the lack of circulation in the gymnasium.

"What's the matter?" He chuckled, puffing his collar to get some air on his warm skin, "You shy?"

Guys that drooled over you, obsessive but ultimately bitter, made it so hard for themselves. There was nothing more attractive to you than a guy who just told you straight up what he wanted, what he liked about you, how it made him feel. But they always found it necessary to add extra steps.

You didn't have the time.

He followed your eyeline for a second, towards your team warming up, and threw a glance at his own. When he first saw you, he thought this would be quicker. The game would start soon and he needed your number, fast.

"That's alright if you are," Kuroo kept at this line of reasoning -surely the only reason you wouldn't look or speak to him- and leaned closer, "I'm into that."

The assumption was a little ridiculous.

You turned your chin away from him as if he wasn't there, then took a step forward, closer to the court, with a resigned hum.

A surprised, breathy laugh at the action. His brow furrowed a moment, not at all used to navigating around this kind of reaction, and finally understood that something was off. Yet, it still didn't occur to him that it was disinterest that motivated your avoidance.

A squeakity-squeak of shoes approaching, quick but heavy, didn't help at thawing your icy demeanor. He did notice that you at least looked at the captain of Karasuno.

Kuroo straightened up to his full height, shoulders squared at his mirrored rival.

"Kuroo."

"Sawamura."

"Is there a problem over here?" The subtle squint in his eyes let Kuroo know that he was suspicious of this bullshit right away.

They were a step away from whipping the measuring tape out. You rolled your eyes but it went vastly ignored.

"Don't know- you should go ask your team." Kuroo tilted his head, eyes low- threatening.

He didn't have the patience here to keep up appearances. Rival school was enough. Now he was cockblocking? There was simply no time to waste when he could already tell you wouldn't be so easy to crack. He liked your challenge, not Daichi's.

"Oh, okay-," Daichi's fake smile fell away to reveal a chilling scowl, "It's like that?"

Kuroo didn't miss a beat.

"Yeah, it's like that."

You cleared your throat, a successful interruption and deterrent: "He was trying to ask for my number."

His jaw almost hit the floor. He couldn't believe how blunt you were.

Daichi, delighted, laughed at Kuroo's shitty, rushed cover-up to hide how surprised he was.

He couldn't stay to keep throwing digs; there was a game to get to and he only had a minute to spare in the first place.

After you waved him goodbye, you turned around and walked towards the side wall for Karasuno's gear, all strewn about and disorganized. You began tidying up before the game.

Kuroo remained.

He stood still, dumbfounded that you walked away from him, at how easily you could speak, and shook his head full of growing doubts. He couldn't believe you didn't want him just yet.

Eyes locked on your pretty figure from behind, bent over while you gathered Karasuno's half-full bottles into the hefty carrier, he ran his fingers through his hair and prepared himself.

He was next to you, squatted down to help you collect every bottle.

For a minute he said nothing. He simply helped you clean up. You appreciated it only to an extent, because you knew it came with conditions.

One of the last bottles sported a message, scribbled in capital letters across some tape, 'DO NOT TOUCH' signed, 'TSUKIshima.'

The corners of your mouth tugged up at how quick he found the means to designate his own bottle. He really did hate it when the other guys drank from 'his' bottle. You sympathized with him, backing him up when he got uppity about the germs.

While they were supposed to share, part of that understanding was that they also shouldn't touch the mouth of the bottle with their lips (and most of them did, anyway).

As you placed it into the upper left corner of the carrier, where he often liked to put it, you smirked again at how the name scrunched up where he couldn't fit all the letters onto the tape.

"So you can smile."

You frowned. He was nothing if not persistent.

Sure, that alone was a turn-on, but it was obvious that he was ill-intentioned and misguided in his thought processes.

You didn't want him to feel like he won you over. You wanted a guy like him to beg a little. Step off the high-horse, get his hands dirty, work for something.

He clearly wasn't used to having to use his brain when it came to women. Guys like him pride themselves on how easy it is; they walk with a certain confidence, a coolness because there's no pressure to make accommodations in their behavior for girls they like. They can spend all their time playing shirtless sand volleyball and wait for girls to get in line.

When you stood, you slid the box of extra rags towards the water case with marked effort. He didn't help you with something so difficult- he was still reeling in the fact that you ignored him again, after he helped you.

If he chose not to chase after you, you could at least be the first time he got turned down so harshly. Both outcomes served in your favor.

He came to his senses a bit late. You both stood, and you had to dodge his unnecessary grab for your team's equipment.

"Let me help you with that, babe--,"

A scoff made him freeze again.

You shouldered the box of rags and balanced the heavy water case on your hip without so much as a word. You made your way outside to go fill the water case and dry out the rags in the sun.

His chest felt... tight.

Why did that hurt so bad? Fuck, what was he doing? Frustrated, he shook his head and walked back towards his team, at the end of their warm-up. He never had to work this hard for some chick's number, or even a laugh. In fact, since he never got turned down, he felt a sense of entitlement to -at the very least- your attention.

The fact that you wouldn't look at him was a unfamiliar mixture of sexy and cruel.

"Having some trouble?" Yaku's suggestive tone grated his nerves like nails on glass.

"Fuck off," Was a defeated sigh rolling off his tongue.

He sounded so gloomy that Yaku found the explicit discourtesy funny.

In your absence, he was able to focus on getting himself and his team ready-- he needed to worry about winning this game. He got the impression you didn't settle for losers.

They were all in position at the start. He took a breath to center himself.

"Let's go!" You shouted. Innocent, encouraging, with two thumbs up towards your team.

It was hardly audible over the constant noise level of the other games going on, but a sharp look still shot over to you.

He was able to dial back that momentary weakness by forcing himself to watch Suga instead, up to serve- literally anything, anyone else, but discovered his own unfortunate reality was that he could not tear his eyes off of you.

It made for a tough time. He had to balance his mind's bias (checking out just how soaked your little white tank top got from filling up the bottles outside) and the objectively greater value of keeping his head in the game.

Yet, his failure to stay focused didn't hinder his team's performance. He was able to translate his desire to an easier task; giving you a good performance.

You didn't have any distraction from it, the way he did.

So, the distance that the game called for made your heart grow fonder of him.

He couldn't keep digging his grave from so far away by opening his mouth, to put it simply. And more importantly, you could recognize how gorgeous he actually was.

Tall, tan, handsome- yeah sure, whatever. That tall, straight nose bridge? His high cheekbones? That dark, messy hair that just kept getting fucked up because he ran his hands through it when he was nervous? The way his jaw flexed, more defined, when the ball went back over the net? How the veins in his forearms grew plumper the longer the time ran? Anytime he touched the ball, really, and the sounds that left his mouth with each impact?

It got hot, pretty fast.

As you scribbled notes for your team's plays, the observations about how an opponent like Nekoma operated became increasingly more impressive. Kuroo wasn't the peacock-superstar you had assumed him to be.

He made room for his little blond friend, and facilitated his team with a kind of responsibility and restraint that you found yourself getting absorbed in. Your clipboard was the only presence grounding you for the last round, usually pulled towards your chest or covering half of your face.

Pearls of hot, dripping sweat made little wet spots on his shirt as he waited for the ball to come to him, completely immersed in the game. God, was he good.

It wasn't the most groundbreaking realization of all time, but it helped your opinion of him shift favorably. Your vendetta against his sly confidence began to chip and crack with every save, every slam, every hasty wipe of perspiration from his face.

The ball once seemed to find its way to you close to the end of the match, in a sneaky curve around the antennae.

You stutter-stepped back as three Nekoma players chased after it. Kuroo dove for it, slamming onto his side-- right where you were standing seconds ago.

He hit the ground with a loud and labored groan.

You watched the ball as it soared through the air, still in play thanks to his sacrifice. He scampered back up and joined the court again all too fast- it made you wish the ball had hit you so he would've stayed for longer.

The final score wasn't even close. Karasuno lost the second round 15 to 25. They were too scattered, trying out too many new things at once.

It didn't even feel like a real win to Kuroo, until he spared his thousandth passing glance to the sidelines.

And there you were. Finally looking at him.

A big grin overtook his face and he had to displace his excitement by running both of his hands through his sweaty hair. It's not like you were obvious, shit you still looked at him like he was the dirt beneath your shoe, but at least you noticed him.

It was brief, but it was enough.

You understood your slip-up just as much and broke away, growing warm at how one tiny moment could be so telling. You moved towards your team.

It took your knowledge of where Karasuno came from to understand that it wasn't a genuine loss, it was only an investment; getting the chance to work out these kinks with real competitors would serve them in the future. That's why you weren't upset with any of your guys when they jogged off-court. You held out their bottles and spoke only to the seniors when they looked like they wanted your commentary.

"You're all getting better. Hang in there," You patted Asahi on the back, who needed the extra reassurance, and nodded to Suga, who barely needed it at all.

Daichi clapped and rounded up the rest of the guys with a motivational shout, the third-years leading the way for their drills, but he made a brief stop to skim your notes.

"Keep your head up," You muttered, focused on the trouble you found in his expression.

He quickly grinned and thanked you- as he faced the exit, the concern was back almost right away. It didn't help having to move past Nekoma's huddle on the way out.

"Oooh, shocker!" Kuroo snickered, still giddy with pride, as Daichi walked by.

He wiggled his fingers at him with a jovial smile. They were almost nose-to-nose for a moment.

Your keen eyes caught Kuroo mouth a sweet and saccharine 'Bye-bye.'

Evil, silly sounding giggles under a bitten lip amused you, but you didn't make it known.

He was funny, quick-witted, and so pretty. You wanted to see how long you could drag this out. Ideally you'd string a guy like him along for the whole camp, if possible. Or break him. Whatever came first- all you knew at the moment was that you were down to entertain this.

☆VIP☆

@integers @yuchacco

please send: requests!

*i'm bout to crash out if i don't get something new in my inbox (aka; pack up and move to my ao3)

*reply to be added for next part

my masterlist

[sencrose]

— 1004

pairing: yukimiya kenyu x f!reader

tags: established relationship, pwp, dry humping, cunnilingus, pet name (pretty girl), honestly the most vanilla thing i’ll ever write probably tbh

wc: 2.4k

summary: your boyfriend is adamant on showing just how much he loves you.

a/n: yeehaw first time writing for blue lock! vanilla and like... romance is not my usual thing so hope it's ok lol. dividers by @/adornedwithlight

ao3 link here

Everything’s great with your boyfriend.

For the most part.

He’s perfect on paper: kind, treats you well, adored by friends and family members alike. Never fails to bring a smile to your face whenever you see him. But that’s what makes it all the more frustrating when his hands grab your thighs with an ironclad grip, begging you to stop straddling him.

It’s not the first time this has happened, far from it. Maybe you were a bit foolish in knowingly dating someone so chaste, thinking you’d be able to convince him otherwise. But every time he rejects your advances, you can’t help but wonder why he’s still with you. Still, you heed his request, getting off him to take a seat next to him on the couch.

“Yukki…” you trail off, huddling into yourself as you find the words to say next, “do you like me?”

Kenyu’s eyes widen, his expression full of concern, as if you kicked a puppy right in front of him. “Huh? Where’s that coming from?”

“I mean…” you mumble, resting your face on top of your knees, “we never do anything more than kissing.”

Once you start, it’s hard to stop. The ball in your throat grows, the words spilling from your mouth, like water from a dam that’s been compromised.

“I know you want to wait ‘til marriage but, sometimes it feels like you don’t like me when that’s all we do,” you pause, looking over at him when a twang of guilt strikes your chest before looking down again, “I-I mean we don’t have to go all the way or anything like that.”

“I-It’s nothing like that,” he sighs, pinching his temple before continuing, “I like you, a lot. You could even say that I love you.” The confession makes your skin run hot, even though you’ve heard it plenty of times before.

“It’s not that I don’t want to do it, I’m just scared.” Kenyu shifts again, attempting to face you before continuing, but the second his eyes meet yours, he looks away. “When you get on top of me like that…” Now it’s his turn to be flustered, his skin blooming a pretty shade of pink as he struggles to thread his words together. “I don’t think I can last long.”

You sit up properly, tilting your head quizzically. He has your full attention now. “Huh?”

“It feels crazy good,” Kenyu continues, struggling to meet your gaze, “good enough to make me… You know.” He stops himself short of the word, but you both know what he means. He won’t say it out loud because he won’t know what to do with himself. Though if you’re being honest, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself either.

The silence is deafening. It’s as if the room is waiting for a response. The realization strikes you like lightning, sudden and bright. It’s not that your boyfriend doesn’t like you, quite the opposite in fact. He might like you a little too much.

“Ah, but that’s kinda embarrassing, isn’t it?” he asks sheepishly, breaking the silence first and brandishing a forced smile to hide his insecurity.

“Yukki,” you say before putting your hands on either side of his face before pressing, “look at me.”

“I’m looking,” he mumbles through his squished lips.

“I don’t mind. Actually…” you look off to the side even though you’re the one who forced this intimate display of eye contact, “I think it’s really hot.”

His eyebrows manage to shoot up in shock, even in this position. “You sure?”

“You think I’d lie to you?”

He chuckles, and you can hear the relief in his voice. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Then will you let me do the honors?” you ask, looking up at him doe-eyed and fluttering your lashes.

“S-Sure. But can we take it slow?”

“Whatever you want, Yukki,” you say softly, voice honeyed with affection as you get on top of him again. Kenyu shifts, his hands wrapping around your thighs softer this time.

It’s as if something’s shifted. You’ve kissed each other plenty of times before, but now that the intention to go further lies in the air, it’s like your first time again. Awkward, flustered, apologetic as you try to kiss him and accidentally bump foreheads together.

Kenyu laughs, because no matter what you do, he always finds you adorable. He decides to take his hands off your thighs and place them on the back of your head, gently bringing you in for a kiss that puts romance movies to shame. He’s in no rush, savoring the taste of you on his lips as he always does.

Kenyu always knows how to bring you back to Earth. He cherishes you–holds and kisses you like you’re the most delicate piece of china in a glass cabinet. And while this is nice enough on its own, you have other things you’ve been wanting to try. You keep his preferences in mind, taking it slow with a lazy roll of your hips. Even with that, you can hear his voice catching in his throat.

You use the opportunity to take it a bit further and slip your tongue in, which he welcomes. Every time you take it a bit further–whether it’s biting his lip or playing with his tongue–his self control chips a little more, whispered moans filling your mouth.

With every kiss, every roll of your hips, you can feel his length growing, getting hotter even when it’s confined by the fabric of his pants. It makes you want to work just a little harder, get yourself a little closer to cumming with him. The fabric is frustrating, an annoying reminder of just how close yet far you are from him. Though, that frustration starts to melt when Kenyu follows the rhythm of your hips.

It’s getting harder to keep your promise when he’s this cute. When you wrap your arms around his neck, you can feel just how hot and bothered he is, as if his soft whimpers weren’t enough of a testament already. What was once a soft grasp behind your head grows into something more primal and unrefined, desperation running through his fingertips as he grabs whatever he can to bring you closer to him.

You’re not any better, the speed of your hips picking up, desperate to hear him so needy. It’s the first time you’ve heard him like this.

As you lose your control and composure, your hips grind against him harder. Kenyu can’t keep his voice back any longer, desperate groans leaving his mouth with a quiver of his lips. Every sound he gives you goes straight to your pussy, making you warm and greedy for more.

You can feel the wet spot on your panties grow as you rub against him and wonder if he can feel it too. It might be pushing it, but the thought of freeing his cock shoots through your head. It feels and looks so tight against the fabric, it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“Yukki,” you pause and give a glance at his zipper, “can I?”

“I thought we weren’t going all the way,” he replies, breathless as he looks up at you.

“We aren’t… I just wanna feel you more,” you say meekly, “that’s ok, right?”

His eyes widen like saucers before nodding. “Y-Yeah, go for it.”

So you do, unzipping his pants like you’re unwrapping a present—it might as well be one. You adjust and place yourself right on top and start again, though the sensation is much better this time around for both of you. You see it in the way Yuuki immediately throws his head back and moans, feel it in the way your cunt slides against his heat with only two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart.

All of it’s just too much for you–the pre that’s smeared on his boxers, the warmth of his cock against your clothed folds. It’s the closest you’ve been to him, to going all the way. Everything about it makes you more desperate to see him cum, so you focus all your attention on his leaky tip, just to see how sticky you can make it.

The sight of you proves to be too much for Kenyu, as he brings up his arm to shield his eyes. You’re quick to move it out of the way, a silent plea for him to look at you, look at where you’re nearly connected.

“Getting close?” you ask, sweet as sugar. Just the sound of your voice is enough to send him over the edge, but he wants to hold out, even if it’s just for a moment longer.

“You gotta look at me when you cum,” you plead.

Kenyu bites his lip and groans before shakily nodding.

You wrap your arms around his neck, bring your face closer to his until you’re touching forehead to forehead–close enough to feel every pant, every tremor of his voice.

“You love me?” you moan, digging your hips into him deeper.

“God, I love you so much,” he moans back, eyes lined with tears that are one blink from falling.

Kenyu’s desperately rutting his hips into you, and you swear you can feel him prodding at your entrance.

You feel it when Kenyu cums with a gravelly groan, his chest rattling as he cries. Even more so when you keep humping him, as his boxers get stickier and mix with your slick.

“W-Wait, too much,” he gasps, muscles visibly tightening in his neck as he throws his head back.

You can’t take your eyes off of the point where your undergarments meet, fabric soaked and darkened from the fluids.

“You really love me, huh?” you ask with a smile.

“Of course,” he sighs contentedly before giving you a soft peck on the cheek. It makes it all too easy to snuggle into him and lie your head on his chest. Before you can get too comfortable, Kenyu shifts his body and you’re suddenly far too aware of the sticky patch touching your underwear.

“Um… Should we clean up?” you ask, preparing yourself to dismount before Kenyu shifts his weight to push you back down on the couch, his hands around your wrists. Determination lights a fire in his eyes.

“You gotta let me return the favor.”

“H-Huh?”

“Let you…” he glances down at the wet spot of your panties before looking back at you, “you know?”

Oh.

“N-No, this is enough for me Yukki, I don’t wanna do anything you don’t wanna do.”

“But I do want this,” he assures you before kissing your cheek, his hands carefully tracing the curve of your hips, “I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?”

“I mean,” you pause, shuffling a bit and adjusting your gaze away from him, “if you’re okay with it.”

That’s all the approval he needs to kiss you, drawing a trail down your body.

Kenyu’s careful and meticulous, savoring every press of his lips against your skin. Whether it’s your neck, chest, waist, he lingers as if he doesn’t want to leave it behind. Every opened mouth kiss, flick of his tongue filled with adoration.

Whatever ritual he has going on, it doesn’t fail to make you shiver in anticipation, have butterflies blooming in your stomach. It makes you shy, being so exposed in front of him. In a way, it’s a little nostalgic—reminds you of the first time he dropped you off at your apartment and said his goodbyes with a kiss.

But then you’re brought back to the moment when Kenyu adjusts and shifts you to lie down on your back. His hands are there every step of the way, a silent plea to let him take care of everything.

He takes his time with you, slowly kissing a path up your leg. With each kiss, he lingers a moment longer. A playful bite here, a hint of tongue there. It keeps you on edge, just a little. Every hushed gasp or squeal earns a huff and a smile out of him.

“My pretty girl,” he sighs, adoration laced in his breath.

Carefully, he tests the waters with a delicate kiss before going in with a drag of his tongue as soon as a moan slips from your lips. From there, he uses his tongue with a determination you usually only see on the field from afar, like he’s trying to tear a hole in your underwear. The cotton gets wetter with every stroke of his tongue, sticky fabric clinging to your lips.

With his enthusiasm, it’s as if the underwear isn’t even there. All you can feel is Kenyu’s tongue, hot and heavy, incessantly drawing circles around your clit. It’s too much, looking down and seeing his head disappear under the fabric of your skirt. When you instinctively shut your legs out of embarrassment, his hands hook around your thighs and bring you closer. It brings a newly lit passion out of him, has him pressing his face even harder into your pussy.

The noises he makes while sucking on the fabric is too much for your ears, too much for a first time. It’s messy, unrefined, and nothing you would expect from your prim and proper boyfriend. Something about seeing him like this, so desperate and eager to serve, only adds to your arousal.

Despite how laser focused he is on your clit, on making you reach the apex of pleasure, he brings his hand to yours, your fingers intertwining. His thumb rubs circles into your skin, something he always does to comfort you. Maybe he feels it coming before you, with the way your breathing intensifies, the way your moans get louder and all the more cuter.

“You love me too, don’t you?” he asks, hushed and panting.

“L-Love you so, mmh, much Kenyu,” you cry back, biting your lip.

“Wanna show me how much?” he asks before going back into you, passion woven in each stroke of his tongue.

“Yes, yes, yes-” you cry before your climax finally hits you like a wave. Even though you barely recognize the sounds pouring from your lips, you wonder if Yuuki does. All stuttered moans and hushed pants as he guides you through it. His pace starts to slow as you come down from your high, before sealing it with a kiss on your clit.

“Next time you think I don’t love you,” he pauses to meet you face to face before pressing his lips onto yours, “I hope you’ll remember this.”

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hello I was wondering if you could do Jackson ellie x bestfreind reader and like they have had a crush on eachother for a while and have a sleepover where they smoke or drink maybe or play some type of game like truth or dare and find out they like eachother and get kinda freaky idk. Thank you!

EEE I am so excited for this one watch me cook on this request. This is a rlly good request and I wanna write something just as good!! Also I want to recommend you an ao3 fic with this EXACT plot it's tagged here actually my favorite Ellie fic ever.

Content: 4k words, bestfriend reader, Jackson setting, pent-up feelings, nipple-play (r! receiving), fingering (r! receiving), tribbing, Ellie puts a finger into your mouth how fun!, a lot of dialogue before the actual sex sorry but I loved writing Ellie to be funny, reader likes pink a lot (couldn't help myself) and is afab, reader and Ellie 18+, NOT PROOFREAD LMAO

You're far from safe from liking people you shouldn't like.

That doesn't even cover the multitude of feelings! Like doesn't cover it. You're pretty sure you love Ellie.

Maybe in another lifetime, you and Ellie could've met and went on a date. You could've loved her freely. In this universe, she is your childhood best friend.

You know it could ruin the best thing that has ever happened to you if you tell her, or if she finds out in some way, but fuck; when she looks at you, it's like you forget how to breathe. You just wanna breathe her in, you want to share the same air and feel her lips on yours.

Ellie is unlike anyone you've ever known. She's sweet for you. She's impulsive to others, and honestly sometimes an asshole. That only makes you fall more and more in love for her. You didn't know it was possible to be attracted to someone's flaws, but you want every piece of her, even the bits that others in Jackson label as "annoying."

Ellie has always been there for you since you were just 15 and she moved to Jackson right by Joel's side. You just seemed to click. She was brash, foul-mouthed, and told ironically funny dad jokes. You were the type of person who liked having adventures and never shut up. Ellie always listened. She held you while you cried, let you borrow her book of puns, and volunteered to do patrols with you just so she could have fun adventures with you.

You couldn't ruin a good thing. You don't know what you would even do without Ellie in your life. You didn't wanna freak her out or make things weird. You feel like such a coward, but even thinking about Ellie distancing herself from you because of your stupid crush on her? It just makes your stomach churn with dread.

Little did you know Ellie was equally obsessed with you.

You're like a fucking ball of sunshine to the girl, always there laughing at the stupid things she says, defending her when she gets in trouble for something minor, and your smile should be considered warfare for how easily it could kill her. She tries to keep her feelings to herself, but it is so hard to when you look at her with bright eyes and the sweetest smile like you're trying to give her a toothache.

It's a recipe for a bomb, and it only takes one game to set it off.

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You're sitting criss-cross on your bed and Ellie is in your floor. It's a Saturday, which means both of you get to have a sleepover. No patrol, and no major chores to be done around Jackson.

Ellie just got back from a multiple day lasting patrol and she missed you so much while she was gone, it's not even funny. Seattle is beautiful, but boring when there isn't a sunshine girl in awe about how the verdure clings to the buildings. But at least now she is here, back in your bedroom which she loves so much.

Ellie's room is vastly different from yours. Well, her garage is. Her bedsheets are grey and minimalistic, and her make-shift kitchen is lined with posters. Her favorite is the one with the punk green-haired man holding a guitar. Her closet, however, it quite impressive. Her shelves are lined with comics and space movies, and her hangers are lined with flannels, of course.

Your bedroom, in contrast, has white bedsheets and a cozy pink blanket. You have a few raggedy plushies from scavenging around and your shelves are filled with lighter-colored clothing. White curtains decorate your windows and frilly pillowcases (that end up in the floor most of the time) compliment your bed. You have a full-length mirror in the corner of your room and a shelf of DVDs you usually just bring over to Ellie's garage, since she has a much nicer tv than you do. Ellie glances up at you from the floor, squiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm so fucking bored!" You groan, making Ellie laugh in the process.

"And how is that my problem?"

You flip her off and she clutches her stomach.

"Seriously, Ellie. I wanna actually do something and not just eat grilled cheeses and read your nerdy comics."

She scoffs.

"Excuse me? It's not my fault you have bad taste in literature."

You snort at that. "Starlight Savage and Raven Mouse are not literature."

"Oh, then what are they, huh?" She stands up, amusingly offended.

"Comics!"

Ellie grabs one of your pillows and pretends to suffocate you with it. You're laughing and trying to pry it off of your face.

"Hey, quit! You're actually gonna kill me!" You giggle, your voice muffled from the cushioning.

Ellie finally relents, laughing along with you.

"Better think twice before disrespecting Starlight Savage." She is wearing her signature shit-eating grin.

"Oh, whatever.. Hey!- You got me off topic." You groaned.

Ellie laughs at that. "And what was the topic?"

"I am bored out of my fucking mind," you complain, your voice rising in pitch to sound whiny, which she pretends to absolutely hate.

Really, she just hates that it makes her stomach clench when she hears your cute complains, and the tone of your whines only makes it worse.

"Okay, okay, fine. We can do something fun." She feigns reluctance, setting down on the bed beside you.

"Great!! So, what should we do?"

"Seriously? You don't even know what you wanna do and you gave me whiplash bitching about being bored?"

You scoff, jumping to your own defense. "I was tryin' to get you to come up with something," and then you add to complete your argument, "I wouldn't be bored if I knew what we could do."

Ellie sighs, and you smile because you know that means she has had enough of your bullshit and she just wants to throw in the towel.

"Fine. Well, we can play a game perhaps?"

You groan in protest at the suggestion. "You're a dirty cheater when it comes to Monopoly!"

Ellie only lets out a sheepish laugh at that, because she knows that you're being 100% truthful. "That is what makes the game fun!" When she sees your glare, she sighs once more. "Fine. How 'bout Truth or Dare?"

That sounds intriguing; the game begins.

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You and Ellie sit across from each other, and the game has been going on for around 10 minutes now. It's getting quite boring - always questions like "What's a secret you haven't told me?" or Ellie dares you to do something she knows you won't do, like lick the toilet bowl.

Then, she asks a question that brings the game onto another level.

"What's your favorite sex position?"

You stare at her, your jaw practically in your lap. You don't wanna talk sex positions with the girl you secretly wanna do sex positions with.

"What the fuck, Ellie?!"

She looks a bit guilty, but shrugs with a smirk that doesn't go unnoticed.

"What? I wanted to spice things up. C'mon, don't be a pussy."

You think it over, but finally, with a heated face, you say fuck it and give into her bullshit. "Missionary."

Ellie bursts out laughing.

You're sitting there not knowing what to do! She is laughing like a hyena at this point, tears in the corners of her eyes. She slaps her knee. What the fuck?!

"What's so funny?!"

Ellie just laughs, falling over and she is snorting like a pig now before she finally settles down. "It's just.." she tries to stifle a giggle, "that is the most boring thing you could've possibly said.”

You know that, but you're keen on defending your word. Ellie loves that about you, how you're always quick to stand up for yourself. "It's romantic!"

"Okay, okay," she shrugs. "Enlighten me on how missionary is more romantic than any other position that actually feels good."

You don't hesitate to list off the facts. "First of all, it does feel good! You just haven't tried the pillow method. Second of all, you can kiss your partner and actually talk to them." You sigh, getting a bit flustered (and turned on) by the conversation at hand. "Imagine fucking someone and getting to kiss all over their face while doing so, or on their neck or their tits. It's about the intimacy."

Ellie looks just as flustered as you now. She is silent for a moment before giving you the benefit of the doubt. "Okay, I guess you can rest your case now. But there is much more intimate positions than missionary, you know. You're just thinking vanilla ones like riding the strap-on, or from behind."

You raise an eyebrow at that. "Okay, I'll bite. What's more intimate than looking into someone's eyes while they cum?"

Ellie laughs at your vulgar question, pink tinting her freckled cheeks. "Tribbing." Her voice is more quiet, and that only makes you more aware of the slight tension.

You quickly brush it off with a laugh.

"Of course your gay ass would say that."

She grins and sits up at that, quick to defend herself. "Hey, you have no room to be talking, little miss 'my gay awakening is Rose from Titanic.'"

Your jaw drops and you look at her like she has said something crazy. "Hey, Rose is hot!"

She giggles. "Yeah, Sherlock, thanks for pointing out the obvious."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, okay. Can we get back to the game?"

She nods, and it continues.

As time passes, the questions grow more and more...uncomfortable to answer. You're still asking her the more casual things, but Ellie is daring you to do stupid, impossible stuff, or to answer questions like "what was your first time like?", "do you have a friends with benefits situation with anyone in Jackson?", and "if you could kiss anyone in Jackson, who would it be?" (which you brushed off jokingly by saying old man Eugene. She didn't press any further, only mocking you).

Then, she leans forward after you choose truth, and she whispers something you can't really brush off.

"Who do you like?"

You're fucked. If she asked "do you like someone?", you could answer without revealing who it is. She knows she has you trapped. Sneaky cunt.

You don't answer right away. Ellie is so close, your knees touching. The air in the room is insanely hot, and you want to leave your own house, you want to hide under your blankets or cover your face, but you can't.

Ellie doesn't wait for you to answer.

"I know you like someone, I can tell when my best friend is in love. Who is it?"

"That's way too personal, I.."

She scoffs, but it's not a rude sound. Just shocked, maybe slightly hurt. "You have always told me your crushes. Why won't you tell me now?"

You feel guilty now because she doesn't understand. She doesn't get why you won't tell her. She can't understand that it's because you like her. You want to scream it: I'm in love with you, Ellie! But those words won't be the next you utter.

"I just...I feel like this time it should be private." You know that your reasoning is weak, for once in your life, the defense is slipping and it's ugly. You internally wince.

She just stares in silence, not really meeting your eyes. It makes you panic, and then, then the words slip from your mouth seeing the hurt on Ellie's pretty face.

"It's you."

She stares at you like she didn't quite hear what you said, even though it was shaky, nevertheless loud and coherent.

"What...?"

"I..I'm in love with you, Ellie." You repeat yourself.

She leans into you. "Fuck.." Her breath hitches. "You better not be fucking around with me, I swear to-"

"No!", you shout loudly and quickly try to compose yourself. "I mean..I'm not joking. I like you. I hope this doesn't fuck with our friendship, or like.." You trail off, not wanting to think about what could happen now.

"I'm in love with you, too." There, now Ellie has gotten it out too.

Ellie didn't even fully understand why she asked you that. She knew she could've gotten her feelings hurt, that you could've liked someone else or that it would definitely mean you did like her, and then she had to be vulnerable and confess it back. Still, she was so exhausted, so fucking tired of pretending like hugs and casual touches were enough. They were never enough.

"Can I kiss you?" She doesn't even give you the proper time to react to her shared confession before she springs that onto you. You don't complain, only nodding quickly.

Her breath is warm against yours, and you can tell how shaky it is. You've never seen her so nervous, it makes your own stomach flutter with butterflies. Then, Ellie's grasping onto your face and smashing her lips against yours. Her mouth is warm, and the kiss doesn't even start out gentle. It's all devouring, all need and passon.

You quickly move into her lap, thighs on either sides of hers, and both of you are desperately pulling each other closer, finally sharing the same air. She tastes like everything natural, something so unique it can't be described but you immediately know you need more of it. Her tongue moves inside of your mouth, devouring you just like how she has been dreaming of for who knows how long, and when you're forced to pull away for a breath, her lips are sloppily trailing down your jaw to your throat, her hands grasping your hips to pull you closer.

"I've wanted you for so long, you know that?" Her voice is warm against your sensitive skin, and you think you could just burst with how it feels to be practically intertwined with her.

"Show me how it feels, Els.." You gasp and tilt your head back for more, but Ellie pulls away to look at you.

"How what feels?' She doesn't sound rude, only confused with her lips swollen and wet.

"The intimacy..the intimacy you talked about.." Oh, that.

She nods quickly, and her mouth is all over your shoulders, leaving soft pecks between words, "We can do that, but I wanna do something first..is that okay?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

With that, she pulls your shirt over your head and stares at you like she has never seen a pair of boobs before. Her eyes are wide and she takes you in before her.

"You're so pretty," she mumbles with conviction, kneading your tits through your bra. You can only moan when she sticks a hand into your bra and rubs her palm over your nipples, her other hand deftly undoing the clasp of the fabric.

That was the hottest thing you could do for a woman, Williams..

Her lips quickly find a nipple, pulling it into her mouth to swirl her tongue around the bud. Your fingers tug at her hair, begging for more. You need her closer. She reluctantly pulls her mouth off off of its new favorite place and leans back up to face you, planting an affectionate kiss on your cheek before smiling sheepishly.

"I'm gonna say something I want to do to you, but you can't laugh.."

That makes you already giggle, despite the heat building between your thighs. That is something you love about Ellie, the way she can make you laugh even when you aren't supposed to be.

"I'll try my best. What is it?" You ask, and she fiddles with her fingers nervously.

"I wanna use my fingers on you," she says it so quietly, voice nervous but filled with hunger before she quickly adds, "if you want me to. It's okay if you don't wanna go any further-"

"I want you to finger me, Els."

That was easier than she thought it would be.

She nods now, slowly unbuttoning your jeans and watching with an intense gaze as you hop off of her lap to shimmy them off. Now you're in nothing but a cotton pair of panties and you look so gorgeous.

Ellie has always found you to be beautiful. During patrols and on lookout, your hair had a shine to it that most people wouldn't care to think too much about, but Ellie always noticed it. Ellie always noticed the way your lips parted when you were zoned out, or how you walked like you always knew where you were going even on the paths that were mainly uncharted. You were so lovely-looking.

Now, nearly naked for her, she doesn't know if she can bare to blink even for a second. She is currently having a never-ending starting contest with your body, and she has to stop herself from pouncing on you. She wants to love you, not just fuck you.

Ellie is on her knees between your legs, hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear. Her eyes flicker over your body before looking to yours for confirmation.

"You sure you want this?"

"Please, Ellie. I want you." You know you sound desperate for her, but it can't be helped. You were soaked through your underwear, clit beating with need, and Ellie is just eyeing you like she wanted to devour you. She probably would, but she wants to save your clit for later.

She nods and slips your underwear down your legs, pulling them off of your ankles and throwing them behind her. The action made you giggle, but Ellie quickly squashed your outburst.

"Somethin' funny?" She asks, slipping a finger through your slick folds. You gasp and jolt.

"Hey, where the fuck is the warning, you cunt?"

She has to stifle her own laugh at your outburst, but she is growing tired of the cute giggles; if you laughed one more time, she'd be fucking you until you were limping-

"Sorry, pretty. I'm gettin' impatient." Her tone mkes you involuntarily clench. You rarely hear that tone, the serious one when she is either around someone she doesn't know and is keeping it professional or just not in the mood to joke. Now, you discover it's her horny tone, too.

You nod, tilting your head back to rest it on your frilly pillow. Finally, she slips two digits past your lips and you resist the urge to let a whorish whine slip past your lips. When she easily slides into your heat, you then can't resist.

Ellie's eyes are glued to your pussy like it's magic, watching your hips try to rise for more, feeling the way your walls tighten around her intrusion.

It's too much for her poor, fucked head to bare.

She is already as wrecked as you are. She wants to taunt you for the way you already look like you're going to cum from her barely brushing at your spongey g-spot, but she can't. She is probably in rougher shape right now.

"You feel so warm." It's all she can manage to get out, and she curls her fingers inside of you into upward, making you moan.

"I wanna cum, Els..please, more. Give me more." Ellie has never seen you this dumb for pleasure before, but who is she to deny you?

Her fingers aren't thrusting in and out or finger-banging you, just slowly sliding through your cunt, her fingertips stroking where you need them to. You feel so full, so complete. You hope she does this every single day from here on out.

It doesn't take long to get you into a state of complete bliss, and you haven't even climaxed yet. Your legs aren't clamping down, rather spreading wider as if you're begging for her to take you in the most obscene ways possible, fill you up with more than just her fingers. If only she you two were currently at her house, she has that unopened strap-on box... maybe for another day.

The knot that builds in your stomach, the temperature of it overheating your insides is about to snap. You're begging as if Ellie is teasing you or something. You're whining, and you look like you're about to start sobbing if she pauses her pace even for a nanosecond. She just wants to gives you everything, thinks you deserve the whole world, so she leans forward and intertwines her fingers with yours as her other fingers pump deep inside you, and you swear it's rearranging your guts. You wanna be wrecked so damn badly.

"You keep fluttering around me, gonna cum?" She asks, and you whine and nod.

Your orgasm soon hits you like a tsunami, once in a crash and then it simmers throughout you in waves. This is probably the hardest you have ever came. You gasp onto her hand tight, squeezing her fingers. You can't even speak or you'd be howling her name. It feels so euphoric and you wonder how it can get any better than this.

When you come down from the peak, she eases her fingers out of your tender insides and licks her ring finger clean. Then, she settles her hips between your legs, bringing her soaking middle finger to your lips.

"Open up."

You do so without question, tasting yourself on her digit before she swiftly pulls her finger away with a "pop!"

"I taste weird," you mumble and she rolls her eyes, mumbling a little "fuck you" before sitting up to strip out of her flannel.

You feel maybe a little nervous before. Something about the thought of feeling her in such an intimate way makes you feel even more fluttery inside. You've been with women before, you are far from a virgin, but you've never clashed clits before (omfg what). Most girls thought it was just a porn thing.

"You okay?" Ellie pauses, her flannel on the bed and a black t-shirt layer underneath it.

"Yeah," you mean it, "just a little nervous."

Her eyes soften, and she takes your hand and squeezes it. "I promise I'll be slow with you. I'm not gonna rush you into this, and if you want, we can always stop."

You feel more assured now, and you smile. "Okay."

When she finally strips out of her clothing, you take her in. She is breath-takingly beautiful. Her body is pale but covered in tan freckles, and her nipples are perky with arousal. Her shoulders and collarbone look so fucking kissable. You're still in a daze as she hooks a leg over yours, her warm cunt only an inch or two away from yours. She hovers.

"You ready?"

"I want you, so yes."

That makes her smile, and she slowly eases down onto you, her folds rubbing up against yours and both of your neglected clits finally getting the attention they deserve. Both of you are already moaning and Ellie leans down onto you, her tits brushing against yours as she kisses you deeply.

This kiss is slower than the first, less desperate but just as emotional. It's hungry and consumes you in a sensual way. Her hips grind against yours, her slick mixing with your soaked pussy to make you only whine into her mouth.

Now you understand how intimate this is. You feel so connected to Ellie in a way you hope you never get to feel with anyone else. You wanna always be this close. You think that even after this ends, you'll feel that tie to her body and heart, always leading you back to her.

When you both cum together, it's much different than what she gave you before. You can feel her tense up with you, hear her shaky breaths and moans, and you feel a warmth inside of you reminding you that she feels this way because of your pussy, because of her feelings for you. It's making you obsessive to feel this way.

When the high fades, she collapses on top you. You're both breathing heavily for a few minutes. Her breath is against your neck and it feels like a kiss. Your brain is thinking of something stupid now that the horniness is over.

"Isn't it obvious that I'm your girlfriend now?"

Ellie laughs and squeezes you tightly.

"Yeah. You're my girlfriend now, and I'm not letting you go."

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[runninriot]

keep your pretty face out of trouble

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 20

prompt: "I didn't know where else to go." | rated: T | wc: 2.596 | cw: mentions of blood, injuries, homophobia | tags: Steve Harrington is a mess, and so is his face, Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friends to Lovers | also on ao3

Eddie didn’t really know what to expect when he entered the Henderson’s home. Dustin had been quite vague on the phone, didn’t say much at all to be honest, nothing of substance at least. Nothing that could’ve prepared Eddie for what he finds when he steps into the living room where, next to his little pal, he finds none other than Steve Harrington sitting on the couch.

And as if that isn’t confusing enough, what’s really concerning is the way he looks.

His face is fucked. Beaten, bruised, mush. There is blood on his lower lip and dripping out from his nose into a tissue that’s already soaked.

Dustin is sitting by his side, holding what seems to be a bag of frozen peas against the older boy’s neck.

   “Dustin, what the fu-“

He doesn’t get to finish his question because Steve suddenly looks up, eyes wide in shock like he’s just now becoming aware of Eddie’s presence, before turning to Dustin with an expression that isn’t at all hard to read.

    What’s he doing here?

Dustin lets go of the frozen goods in order to hold both hands up defensively.

   “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I didn’t know what to do, so I called Eddie.”

   “You shouldn’t have done that. I’m fine.”

   “You are very clearly not fine, Steve!”

They’re doing this weird but kinda adorable staring competition they often do when they’re arguing and it would be amusing to watch if it weren’t for whatever the fuck is going on with Steve’s face.

Dustin doesn’t waver, holds Steve’s disapproving gaze seemingly unimpressed but Eddie could hear the tremble in his voice, knows Dustin is only barely keeping it together.

Always trying to keep up a brave face, Dustin is, but Eddie knows his vulnerable side, too. Maybe that’s why Dustin called him instead of Wheeler or any of the other Gremlins when Steve- what? Appeared on his doorstep all beat-up? Or where they out together when it happened? Is Dustin hurt, too?

Eddie shakes himself out of his thoughts, lets his eyes wander between the two, both hands on his hips like he’s seen Steve do whenever he’s trying to make a point.

   “Alright, enough! Can someone please tell me what happened?” Eddie asks as he steps closer, watching Steve’s shoulders tense immediately.

   “I told you, I’m fine. I just- I didn’t know where else to go! Robin’s not home and-”

Okay, ouch! Eddie feels slightly offended. Steve could’ve come to him instead of-

Nevermind. There are bigger problems at hand.

   “It was stupid, I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your hair.”

Steve makes an attempt to stand up but his body betrays him as soon as he’s on his feet, swaying slightly into Eddie’s direction, who catches him instinctively, steadies him with a hand on his arm.

   “Woah there, big boy! You’re gonna sit your ass back down for me, okay?”

Eddie can sense that Steve wants to put up a fight but thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, he lets Eddie guide him back down.

   “Some assholes did this to him,” Dustin finally says. “I don’t know who but Steve said he got into a fight.”

   “I only came here because it was closer than my place,” Steve grumbles, obviously regretting his decision now.

   “You scared the shit out of me, Steve! So I called Eddie because- well, I don’t know. I thought maybe he could help talk some sense into you. You need to go to the hospital! Or a doctor, I don’t care but someone’s gotta take care of that.” Dustin says, pointing at the mess that is Steve’s face.

   “I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine, really. See, it already stopped bleeding.”

Steve retrieves the once-white-now-red tissue to prove that the bleeding has stopped, which it has. But Eddie can see in Dustin’s eyes that the boy is still not convinced enough to let him off the hook.

   “Let me have a look?” Eddie gently takes hold of Steve’s chin to tilt his head up, feels his courage falter for a split-second when Steve’s pupils suddenly dilate and he can see by the bob of his Adam’s apple, that he has to swallow down hard.

    God, even with his face bloody and bruised Steve is fucking gorgeous. It’s really not fair, if you asked Eddie. That guy is beyond anything he could ever wish to-

    No, no. Focus, Munson.

   “Let’s see if we gotta be worried about your pretty face being blemished by a broken nose, ey?” Eddie jokes just to cover his own nervousness.

   “How would you know if it’s broken? You’re not a doctor.” Dustin protests, rightfully sceptical about Eddie’s ability to come up with a valid diagnosis.

   “Ah, see, when you’ve had your nose broken several times, you kinda know what to look for,” Eddie replies nonchalantly as he examines the swelling around Steve’s nose, ignoring the sad, kind of pitying look in Steve’s eyes at his statement.

   “I think you’re good, Harrington. Still straight and beautiful as ever. It’ll hurt for a few days but you’ll live,” Eddie says with a wink, hesitating to let go of his face even if there’s no need to hold him still anymore.

For a moment, their eyes are locked in on each other, both staring wide-eyed and kind of lost in some spellbound haze that makes it impossible for either of them to look away.

Unfortunately – or rather, lucky for him – Dustin’s voice breaks through the static crackling in Eddie’s ears and brings him back to reality.

   “I don’t know Eddie. Are you sure it’s not broken?”

Eddie finally lets go of Steve, not without an instant feeling of regret at the loss of contact, and turns to the younger boy.

   “I’m sure, Dusty. Believe me, when you’ve been beat up as often as I have, you quickly learn to know the difference between injuries that’ll hurt like a bitch but are otherwise harmless, and injuries that need medical attention.”

It does look worse than it is, thankfully. And with a bit of ice and some rest, Steve will be back on his feet in no time.

This, however, brings Eddie back to wondering what even got Steve in the state he’s currently in.

   “Wanna tell me who did this? What happened?”

Steve looks down at his hands, fumbling with an invisible thread on his neat jeans.

   “I, uh- got into a fight with some guys because they were talking shit about, uh-“

His eyes dart up to Eddie, just for the flicker of a moment, looking almost ashamed with that light blush creeping up from his cheeks to his ears, before he finds his voice again.

“About someone I care a lot about. They were being mean, called them some disgusting shit, made assumptions about them without knowing them. They-“ Steve looks at Dustin, obviously contemplating whether to say out loud what’s on his mind.

   “They said these things like, how someone should teach them a lesson. To, uh, to set them straight.”

Steve swallows thickly, and the shuddering inhale tells Eddie that he’s trying his best not to break. That whatever it is he’s trying to say really gets to him.

Eddie is confused; he has a feeling that there’s more to Steve’s words. Like, maybe he doesn’t want to alert Dustin with the harsh reality of what they really meant.

    ‘Teach them a lesson’, the words echo in Eddie’s mind, ‘Set them straight.’

And suddenly, it dawns on him.

Suddenly, he understands what Steve is trying to say.

Did they- this is about Robin, right? Steve said they were talking shit about someone he cares a lot about.

Did these fuckers, whoever they might be, threaten to harm her for being... a lesbian? Is that it? It must be, right? It’s the only thing that makes sense, would explain why he’s all choked-up about it because everyone knows how deep their friendship is. How much Steve cares for Robin.

Fucking small-minded small-town dickheads and their outdated view on how things should be. God, Eddie hates it. Hates everything about them being stuck in a town where people still have to be afraid of openly showing who they are and who they love.

It’s why he never had a relationship. Why he flees to Indy and beyond on the weekends, whenever he’s desperate enough. He’ll never find love as long as he’s stuck here – for multiple reasons.

Robin is so much braver than him. Said fuck it a few weeks ago when she finally found the courage to ask out that girl she’s had a crush on forever. It was the talk of town the next day – ‘Did you hear that? Someone saw that Buckley girl kiss another girl! Can you believe that? What a disgrace. Displaying this filthy behaviour without any shame.’

Fucking assholes.

Thankfully, like with most gossip, people eventually lost interest and moved on to whatever next thing it was they found to deflect from their own miserable lives. But the damage had already been done. Ever since, Robin has been walking around with a big, fat, neon sign on her forehead, saying ‘I’m queer and proud’ – which should be liberating, a cause for celebration, but it’s not.

Not here, anyway.

   “Eddie?”

The warmth of Steve’s palm on his arm brings him back.

   “Huh? What? What is it?”

   “You, uh... kinda zoned out there for a moment. Are you okay?”

This startles a laugh out of him. Of course, Steve would ask him if he’s okay, when he’s the one with a swollen face. Typical.

   “Yeah, sorry. It’s just- tell me who.”

   “What?”

   “Who where those guys. I’m feeling petty and I haven’t been in a fight for a while.”

Eddie wiggles his brows at Steve and grins, makes it sound like a joke. But Steve must see the rage in his eyes, must sense that he means it because there’s suddenly so much worry in his eyes, the kind of honest concern that makes Eddie’s heart melt.

   “I don’t- No, Eddie. I won’t tell you. You need to stay away from those guys! That’s what they’d want and I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

Steve seems frantic, like the mere thought of Eddie getting into a fight with them is making him panic.

But why would he-

      “They’re a bunch of assholes! And I told them, if they ever dare to lay a hand on you, they’ll wish they’d finish what they started today. I will not let some intolerant bigots hurt you!”

    Oh.

This has never been about Robin, has it?

They’ve been talking shit about Eddie.

And Steve-

   “Why would you get into a fight over me?!”

Eddie jumps off the sofa, both hands in his hair, tugging roughly at his own curls.

   “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?” Steve replies sounding perplexed. “I care about you, Eddie! And it’s not okay that these- these fuckers think that only because you’re- only because you are who you are, it’s okay to treat you like that. Doesn’t matter if it’s behind your back or to your face!”

Steve takes a deep breath trying to calm his voice.

“To say shit like they’re going to do- bad things to you? How can I stand there and listen to that and do nothing?”

This is too much for Eddie. It’s too much for so many reasons, most of which he’s not ready to explain.

The worst and most important one, though, is that Steve’s face is covered in bruises because he was protecting Eddie. Steve got into a fight because someone threatened to hurt Eddie and in return, got hurt because of him.

   “Well, look where that got you! You don’t have to always be the hero, Steve.” It’s not meant as an insult, although it must sound like one.

“I’m used to people talking shit about me. I can live with that.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something but Eddie beats him to it.

   “What I can’t live with, is knowing that you could’ve gotten seriously injured because you were trying to defend me.”

Dustin stays uncharacteristically quiet the whole time, just alternates his gaze between Steve and Eddie, stunned into silence by whatever weird scene it is that’s unravelling before his eyes.

Eddie can’t blame him, can’t really wrap his head around any of it himself.

Why are they shouting? What are they even arguing about? And why the fuck is Steve suddenly so close? Why is he holding his hands? And why does he look at him like he-

   “Steve, I really appreciate you looking out for me, okay? But I can’t take it to see you get hurt. You’re face is too pretty to be covered in blood.”

Eddie huffs out a tentative laugh and to his relief, Steve does too, but not without rolling his eyes in fake annoyance at Eddie’s cheesy line.

   “Are you guys gonna make out now?”

They both turn around only to find Dustin standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face.

   “Because as much I love you, I think there are some things my innocent eyes do not have to see.”

   “Shut up you little shit!” Eddie scolds him but does so with a smile on his lips because-

Because Dustin might be onto something here. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Because Steve still hasn’t let go of his hands. And while Eddie is trying his best not to completely drown in Steve’s eyes by looking at Dustin instead, he can still feel Steve’s eyes on him.

And when he turns back, Steve has this fond, almost loving look on his face; an expression so soft not even the swollen nose or the dried blood can take away from the beauty of it.

Just for a moment, Eddie allows himself to dream. To wonder if maybe he can find love in this godforsaken town after all. Thinks, foolishly, that if Robin can have her happy ending, maybe he can, too.

   “For real, guys. The tension is killing me. Can you either speed this up or take it somewhere else because I can’t take it.”

   “Get used to it, shithead,” Steve says without looking at him, eyes still trained on Eddie.

   “Yeah, Dusty. Get used to it because I’m gonna be so annoying once your babysitter’s face is all healed up,” Eddie teasingly agrees, ignoring Dustin’s defeated sigh.

   “Does that mean you want to kiss me?” Steve asks a little breathless.

Eddie leans closer to him and whispers “Want nothing more. But I wouldn’t want our first kiss to hurt so it’s gotta wait. And you need to keep your pretty face out of trouble. Understood?”

He doesn’t know where this sudden rush of bravery is coming from but he takes it, needs it because-

   “I might be a little bit in love with you, Stevie. So I need you take better care of yourself, okay? I can’t let you get hurt.”

Somewhere in the room, Dustin is making fake gagging noises but Eddie’s focus is set on Steve who looks like he’s in trance, like he can’t believe what Eddie just told him.

   “I will, promise,” he finally says and sure, Eddie might have hoped for a little love confession in return for his own but he doesn’t need Steve to say it to know that this isn’t a one-sided crush.

And he’ll make damn sure Steve keeps his promise because he really wants that kiss as soon as possible.

[0wlettie]

⏾⋆.˚─── rafayel x fem!reader

⏾⋆.˚─── synopsis: rafayel just sees you as a good friend, and even though you want more than that, you're perfectly content staying by his side in whatever way he wants you. but when you go out drinking with a few friends and he decides to crash the party, you discover that your original assumption might be a little off…

⏾⋆.˚─── tags: 20.9k, light angst, pining, pining, PINING, pet names (cutie, beautiful, pretty girl), possessiveness, really leaning into the eldritch/monster merman vibe w/rafayel here, light alcohol consumption (reader gets a little tipsy but it's nothing crazy), frottage, coming in pants, fingerfucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dirty talk (but in a needy sorta way), under-negotiated kink, unprotected sex, mating press, biting

⏾⋆.˚─── ao3 if you prefer ^^

⏾⋆.˚─── a/n: hello ~ hello ~ i'm back again with ANOTHER monster length fic. i'd just recently unlocked the bond lvl 55 with him, and inspiration just smacked me in the face and i immediately started working on this baby. beta'd by me so any mistakes are mine entirely; title comes from Bambi by BAEKHYUN because not only is the song good, but idk baekhyun just gives off raf vibes to me and it kinda fit so why not? this is nsfw so Minors Do Not Interact (ageless blogs who follow will be blocked)

You’re in the middle of shopping on your day off when you get a phone call.

You work as an assistant. It’s mostly a freelance job, as you often take on multiple clients a year rather than just stick to one. It also helps that you have as many connections as you do, so you’re in a fortunate position where you have a choice in who you decide to take up on offers. Months earlier a friend of yours from college, Estella, offered you a position to work with Rafayel Qi—a notoriously reclusive and aloof painter. Her fiancé worked closely with him, and seeing as how they were scheduled to go on a trip together soon, someone needed to be there to fill in for Thomas.

Curious, and always willing to help out a friend, you agreed.

It was a relatively normal time for you, all things considered. Rafayel was surprisingly easy to work with, something you weren’t exactly expecting based on all of the rumors surrounding his personality. You were also well versed in working with eccentric kinds of people, so maybe you were unconsciously gearing up for more of that. Instead, you got a pleasantly easy experience. Sure, it was a bit awkward and a little stilted because woah, you weren’t exactly ready for the inhuman beauty awaiting you in that bright and clear studio room. And yeah, you were having a bit of a hard time focusing on Thomas’s introductions when Rafayel kept staring at you like that—something strangely intense in those pretty sunset-hues of his. 

Like he was trying to peel back all of your layers with his eyes alone.

All that intensity vanished, however, as soon as you started working for him. You thought you saw glimpses of that emotion when you caught Rafayel staring at you a little too long, but it always flickered away before you could really be sure. Thankfully, there really wasn’t much you had to do besides answer a few emails on Thomas’s behalf and cater to whatever little whim Rafayel felt like indulging on that day—whether that meant visiting a faraway town for ‘inspiration’ or spending a day inside, helping him sort out the various boxes of junk he bought online in a shopping frenzy. It was nice, you can admit, getting to know your client.

Bratty and with a smart mouth that often makes you bust a gut laughing at the sheer audacity of his retorts. Needy for your time and attention—childishly so, calling you over no matter the hour for help in solving the easiest of problems. But there was a sweetness to him. A gentle sort of kindness that he showed when he noticed things about you. When he bought you cute little trinkets or went out of his way to send you good morning or goodnight texts; things that he knows cheers you up working as hard as you do.

Even as the original three weeks you planned to be employed morphed into five, due to the young couple encountering a freak storm that left their pleasure cruise stranded on an island while the cruise line company sent another to rescue them and the others on the trip. Even as Thomas and Estella made it safely back and you were free to take on other clients. Rafayel stayed in contact, and clearly you two had built up a bond, evident by the various phone calls and texts filling up your previous empty and dry inbox. But meeting up in person was difficult compared to before. Conflicting schedules kept you both missing each other by a hair—either you were too booked by the multiple clients you had, or Rafayel too busy with deadlines and art galleries demanding his presence. 

It was draining, to think about. Silly, really. You were an adult with an adult life—of course you would sometimes go long stretches of time without being able to see others, even those you consider good friends. But once you absently checked the date and noticed it’d been over nine months since you’ve seen his pretty smile without the barrier of a phone screen, a deep seated weariness weighed heavily on your chest. Dramatic of you to feel so unsettled by someone you’ve only just met, but you feel as if you’ve known Rafayel for a lifetime. Like some part of you recognized him from a past life of yours, and it’s now missing, held within the palms of his elegantly beautiful hands. It’s not something you’ve ever felt for a friend before, and no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that you do only see him as a friend, nothing seems to stick.

It makes you scoff thinking about it. Whether or not you considered yourself friends wasn’t important—all that mattered was Rafayel’s view, and clearly he sees you as friends. You sure as hell chatted like them, and while you slightly resented the platonic undertones to your conversations, you still cherished the fact that you both talk everyday if either of you could help it. 

Just a few hours ago you both were on the phone and you listened while he ranted about the piece he was making for an upcoming client of his. All the art speak flew over your head a bit, but from what you could gather, it had something to do with who the commission was for rather than the commission itself. An older gentleman who royally pissed Rafayel off with his attitude and demands. Just remembering the angry rapid-fire insults has you cracking a smile—he was positively ruthless when talking about his client.

The thought momentarily lifts your spirits, but no matter how hard you try to deny how you feel, it doesn’t make the ache go away. Phone calls and texts aren’t enough for you; you feel almost…greedy, with how desperately you want to see him in person. How you crave to hear the teasing lilt to his voice, to see the embers of something he refuses to name flicker in his eyes, in his expression when he thinks you don’t see. How you want to feel the lingering heat in his fingers when they brush against yours by accident, or when he playfully tugs at your bangs, or any part of your clothes to get your attention. But you can’t. The universe seems hellbent on making sure of that.

So here you are, trying to drown out this lingering sadness by filling your freezer with all sorts of sweet treats. Eating always helps you feel better, even if it doesn’t necessarily help your waistline. And it’s here, while you decide between getting either a pint of brownie batter or a pint chocolate chip cookie dough that you get a phone call. You jolt, nearly dropping both pints in your hands as the familiar ringtone of Estella blares out from your pocket.

‘Fuck it.’ Your cheeks redden when you catch a few bewildered stares thrown your way, and you chuck both pints into your basket before hurriedly fumbling for your phone.

“You couldn’t have texted me, Stella.” You whisper-yell, ducking your head and hurrying into another aisle. You still had to snag a few bags of chips before leaving—that and maybe something fizzy to drink. She laughs, and you realize that she’s gotta at least be a little tipsy to sound that chipper on a dreary Wednesday night. Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear her hiccup a giggle, the sound of another voice faintly echoing through the line before she turns her attention back to you.

“[✦]! Are you free say....this Saturday?” You blink, mentally tracking your week. For once in a long time, you’re free from any of your clients, at least until the end of the month. You were intending to surprise Rafayel with a visit, but he told you that he had some kind of exhibit to attend, so you were just going to spend the night by yourself. Pitifully watching another drama you had lined up while you gorged on ice cream and take-out.

“I should be…why’re you asking?” You reach out and grab a few bags of chips, eyeing the stack of cookies next to them before shaking your head and heading off to the front to checkout. You already had plenty of sweets in your basket, and it was already bad enough that you were getting two pints instead of one. ‘At least I got the water in my basket.’ You soothe yourself, ignoring the other unhealthy snacks sitting next to the giant bottle of water nestled at the bottom as you toss the chips on top. 

“It’s been forever since I saw you! Me and Thomas were thinkin’ about going out. I was thinking of inviting a few friends from college since it's been forever since we last saw each other. You should totally come!” You wince at her volume, giving a polite smile to the lady checking you out before dumping all of your items onto the conveyor belt.

“Ah, I don’t know…I’m not really the ‘going out’ type, you know…” You nervously chew on your bottom lip, paying for your food and quickly escaping the slightly judgmental look on your cashier’s face as you balance your phone in one hand and the heavy bags in your other. You didn’t care at all for the way she was eyeing your bags, but that feeling soon vanishes when Estella whines in your ear—effectively distracting you from the embarrassment.

“Don’t be like that, I promise it’s just to get a few drinks, that’s all! Nothin’ super clubby or anything like that!” You feel yourself begin to waver. You’ve never been one to really say no to your friends, or really anyone coming to you for help like this. It’s why you’ve kept people out, and it’s also why you think you attract the people you do. Whiny, pushy and all around bossy folks who have no trouble bullying you into doing what they want or think is best for you. Not that you’re complaining necessarily, you’ve been given the gift of having such a caring friend like Estella and now Rafayel too. Bratty as they are, they’re also extremely loyal and will go to bat for you without question.

So really, what’s going out for a few hours of drinks in exchange?

As if sensing your hesitation, she pushes just a little harder.

“C’mon, I swear on my dead granny that you’ll have an amazing time! It’ll just be me ‘n’ Thomas and prolly a few of us from the old study group—Jessica and Randy, maybe even Lyrica if she’s got the time too. Ooh, and Jazzy will totally wanna come, it’s been ages since he’s met us!” 

You make a face at the name ‘Randy’, and it almost convinces you to bail out right then and there. However, you can already see the stupidly effective puppy dog eyes Estella is giving you through the phone, and the long suffering groan you let out underneath your breath is more telling than you’d like to admit. Something that Estella hears through the phone because she squeals and smacks her hand into a…table maybe? Whatever it is, it hurts her enough for her to hiss out a few swears so fierce that it makes you snort.

“Fuck, stupid fucking table…attacking me like that…”

“More like you attacked the table, sweetheart.” You hear Thomas’s voice get closer to the phone, and Estella’s voice goes all gooey and soft. 

“But babycakes, it was the table’s fault that my hand hurts now. Who cares if I gave it a little love tap, make it apologize to me for being mean!” Thomas laughs and you smile when you hear him, momentarily choosing to ignore the slight discomfort of her inviting…Randy. Your chest warms from their obvious love as they mutter sweet nonsense to each other too low for you to understand, but jealousy follows quicker than you expect, turning the whole interaction into something sour in your mouth. You want what she has desperately; a little too desperately, if you’re feeling like this over barely there PDA. ‘Get a grip, girl. Jeez.’ You huff, exasperated with yourself, and do your best to swallow back all of the ugly, nasty feelings threatening to spill from your mouth.

“Just text me the details and I’ll see if I can work something out, yeah? I’ll leave you two alone for now.” You plaster a smile onto your face, thankful when your voice comes out steady and normal. Estella cheers, but it's faint sounding and Thomas answers before you can ask.

“Sorry about this—you know how she gets when she gets her hands on a bottle of Rosé. I’ll make sure that she gives you the time and place before then.” 

“Ah, that makes sense. She could never resist a glass of that when she’s off work.” You chuckle as a thought pops into your mind. You ask before you can chicken out.

“Rafayel’s not coming, is he?” 

“Ah, I thought he would’ve told you about that art exhibit? I’m not even blackmailing him to go to this one, surprisingly—he chose to go himself!” 

You deflate, cursing yourself in your mind. Of fucking course he wouldn’t go, you knew he wasn’t going to he already told you about it! ‘Stupid.’ Your cheeks flush from the embarrassment and you quickly breeze past your utter failure with as much nonchalance you can muster. 

“Y-yeah. It slipped my mind, sorry.” Thomas hums, a little unconvincingly, but his attention is clearly drawn away by the loud call of his name just barely out of range from the phone.

“I’ve gotta go, but we’ll see you Saturday?”

“Yeah, have a goodnight you two!” The call disconnects moments after, and you’re left with an oily sort of feeling squirming in your gut. You hate being so sour over your friend and her beautiful relationship, but you can’t help it. Not when you want so badly to have that kind of love yourself. When it feels like your whole life you’ve craved that kind of love. Distant from the world around you, you never connect to people easily—even now, when all you do is interact with people on a daily basis. Your parents feel a bit alienated too, evident by the sparse calls you share all these years later. Estella was the first person in a long time that you formed a strong relationship with, and you were content with that. At least, you were before you met Rafayel.

Now all you can think about is him. 

His voice and the musical cadence of it, gentle and sweet and everything that makes your brain go fuzzy and warm, willing to do whatever he asks if he just keeps talking to you like that. His gorgeous eyes and how they sparkle underneath the sun’s rays like a kaleidoscope of blue and pink, mixing together in an almost hypnotizing way, leaving you breathless and flushed whenever you meet them. The constellation of moles you can spot when he’s close to you on his nose, underneath his eye, on his cheek—even the one you noticed on his chest one afternoon after he decided to let his white button up dangle open scandalously. The thin, long delicate shape of his fingers when he holds a paint brush; the prominent and strong lines of the tendons you can see when he handles his phone, his sketchbook, a glass or anything round or big enough to make them flex. Everything about him drives you crazy, and it takes all of your self control not to throw yourself at him whenever he gives you his full attention. You think you’d feel even worse if you could, but he’s like an addiction to you. As much as it hurts to be on the receiving end of his focus in a purely platonic way, you’ll also take any scrap he gives—happily.

You blow out a sigh.

Pathetic you may be, you still would rather have Rafayel in your life than out of it. Which means that you need to get a handle on that little green monster rolling around in your belly—and quickly since the little get-together is only a handful of days away. You’re a grown ass woman, you can totally handle your emotions and keep them to yourself. Even if you’ll be surrounded by couples, as you know for a fact that Jessica and Lyrica have partners. Randy and Jasper, aka Jazzy, you have no clue about though. Which, if they don’t then you won’t be the only one feeling like an outcast in a sea of couples.

“Yeah, this totally won’t blow up in my face at all.” You mutter to yourself, hurrying up the stairs to your apartment complex. You can only hope that, for once, the universe works in your favor here.

It’s Saturday, and you find yourself stuck between two options laying flat out on your bed.

On the one hand, you could go with this dress you’ve had for forever—your go to dress when going out somewhere nice. It’s a midi halter dress with a low v-neck that shows off a decent amount of your cleavage. Colored a warm coffee brown and with the edges flared out, it’s cute and it works well on your figure. Even with the extra weight you’ve put on, you know it’ll compliment you still. 

However…

Your eyes slide over to the left. The dress sitting there is a new purchase of yours, one you got a while back when you and Estella were out shopping one day. You’ve never worn it before and feeling a little bold, you want to try it out now. It’s a gorgeous shade of deep burgundy and strapless. Midi in length and made out of a comfortable stretchy fabric, it would hug you closely; and with two daring slits up the side, ruffles lining the open edges, it carries a different vibe than your other dress. You have no idea what to choose! With your hair—tied up in twintails and braided—and makeup—a layered glittery plum-red toned eyeshadow look combined with thick eyeliner and a matching plum-red lip—done, all you have to do now is just pick one but you can’t. 

“Ugh, this shouldn’t be this difficult, I mean, it’s only gonna be a few friends—”

A loud ‘ping’ interrupts your rant and a lightbulb goes off over your head. Of course! Why not just get Rafayel to choose for you? He’s an artist—he’s got an eye for these kinds of things. You hurry over to snatch your phone from your vanity. You and Rafayel were just playing phone games at the moment, so you know that he can’t be doing something super important. There’s still a few hours before he has to make it to the exhibit, anyway. And, since you were currently losing this round of pool, you weren’t exactly chomping at the bit to get back to it.

fishie princess ♓

hey you mind helping me real quick ?

how suspicious that you need my help now that you’re losing terribly to me

how very suspicious…(¬‿¬ )

raaaaaaaaf 

stop it im serious

(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)

fine fine

what’s up?

image sent

image sent

what do you think is better on me ?

if i’m say, going out for drinks ?

oooh both are pretty

going out for drinks? hmmm

the first one is fine, but the second one is the prettiest between the two

the burgundy will emphasize the color of your skin, as well as bring out the darkness of your eyes more

depending on how you do your makeup, it’ll do great with attracting all sorts of attention

Your cheeks flush and your tummy goes warm at the thought of his voice saying all of that. Second dress it is, then. Happy and floating high off the indirect praise just given to you, you’re about to type back a quick ‘thank you’ when dots appear on your screen. You pause, and watch as they disappear and reappear again for a few moments before a text comes through.

fishie princess ♓

what’s the occasion though?

i dun remember you mentioning a party or anything

oh thomas didn’t tell you ?

tell me what

uhh

about how he and stella are gonna go out for drinks tonight ?

with some of our old college buddies

she invited me a few days ago

i guess since you were busy tonight they didn’t bother…

and you’re going out in that dress?

yea ?

hm

okay

one sec （＾ｖ＾）

You blink at the screen. That little smile feels…ominous, somehow. But you cannot for the life of you figure out why. Is he upset that he wasn’t invited? Maybe, but, if he was busy, then why would Thomas even bother mentioning it to him? Or maybe he’s mad at you for not telling him until now? Well…honestly, you didn’t forget about it, it just kind of fell to the wayside a bit when the end of the week rush happened and you had to get the last of your clerical work in before going on break.

Before you can wonder more, however, your phone jumps with another sharp ‘ping’.

fishie princess ♓

hey so what’s the address for that place you’re goin to?

and what time

umm okay the address is

[link sent]

and we’re supposed to be meeting there at eight

why ???

well when someone asks you the address and time of an event

one would think they’d be going to that event, right? 

The text sends your gut swooping in a mix of delight and trepidation. What—but the exhibit? Did he just cancel on something he’s been talking about for the past couple days at the drop of a hat?! Even Thomas was surprised by how enthusiastic Rafayel was, so why…?

fishie princess ♓

but your exhibit ???

don’t tell me you just CANCELLED

rafayel you’ve been so excited for it

so why did you just call it off ??

there will be other exhibits like that one trust

that particular lady does all sorts of pop ups around the country

but i haven’t seen you in months, [✦]

you think i won’t show up for that?

i miss you

you have to know that i do

you miss me too, right?

His surprising candor stops your breath for a moment. You…you know that. You know he misses you just as much as you miss him, but to see it so plain to see in black and white, well. What else could you do in the face of that? Sighing, defeated but still so very excited at the prospect of seeing him again in person—of being able to hug him and hear the bright, sharp bark of his laughter in your ears, you find that you’re incapable of being too upset. If you even were to begin with, when it became clear to you that he was planning on joining your group for drinks.

fishie princess ♓

yea of course i miss you

and even tho its hella RUDE of you to cancel so close to the time

im still glad i get to see you tonight

but that means you have to show me what you’re wearing !!

nuh uh

since you wanted to sneak behind my back with thomas and stella

im afraid you’ll have to wait until eight tonight before you see

it wasn’t on purpose

no wait don’t be mean lemme seeeeeee

(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)(╥﹏╥)

nope.

gasp

not the period

noooo it’s not fair

rafaaayeeel !!!

life is never fair

now suffer

≧◠◡◠≦✌

You groan as you toss your phone back onto your vanity, but the wide smile pulling at the corners of your mouth gives away how thrilled you are. Your heart races as you scoop up the dress from your bed, and you give your makeup and hair one last lookover in the mirror before wiggling your way into the dress. You know that, despite being secretly jealous over the various couples surrounding you, Rafayel will make a perfect distraction. He makes you laugh, and even though you’re stupidly and deeply in love with him and it drives you just a little more insane as each day passes, he makes the world just a bit brighter for you regardless.

Even if he is an utter brat.

Nervously, you check yourself out again in the wide glass window in front of you. You decided to go with a darker lip color to better match your dress, as well as apply a liberal amount of dress tape to keep the damn thing from falling off. You’ve got a…bigger bust than some girls, so the tape was necessary since you really couldn’t wear a bra and be cute with a strapless dress. You’re just thankful that the area surrounding the top of the dress was thick enough to hide your nipples and the piercings you’ve got.

‘Never lose a bet with Stella when you’re drunk.’ You think a little wryly, taking in a deep breath before glancing at the time on your phone. 8:05. While it was a few minutes past the agreed upon time, you knew that not everyone showed up yet. Estella and Thomas are already inside, as well as Lyrica and her boyfriend. Jessica and her girlfriend were stuck in traffic, and Randy was on his way too. Jazzy couldn't make it because of a family emergency, so the only person you’re missing is…

Rafayel.

Your entire body lights up; your heart thumping harshly and your face getting so hot that you feel as if you’re about to pass out. Your cold hands come up to cup your cheeks, and you duck your wide-eyed face away from the glass window to stare down at your strappy black heels, the purse dangling from the crook of your arm gently swaying in the corner of your vision. The night air is cool against your burning skin, but even that doesn’t feel like enough to calm you down as Rafayel floods to the front of your mind again.

It was easy, on your way to the cozy but warm atmosphere of the little bar Estella picked out, to focus on touching up your make up and double checking with Thomas on the correct address for the cab you called. Easy to train your attention on climbing up the long stone staircase leading into the city plaza, amazed by the various lights and flashing signs of DownTown Linkon City nightlife you’ve never really experienced before. Easy to take your time in strolling down the clean and bright marble lining the sidewalk, shyly ignoring the few catcalls you got and pulling your cropped black bomber jacket closer to shield your body and purse.

But now, all your mind can think about is what the hell Rafayel plans to wear?!

Look, you’ve seen that man’s wardrobe. It was a bit of a necessity working as his assistant to cart him off to galleries and his exhibits. You had to make him look presentable to his fans and potential clientele! And, once you became closer, he would often show off the new pieces he added to his ever-growing collection of clothes; whether they be designer so expensive that the amount of zeroes made you want to vomit, or a thrift so cheap that it was basically given away for free. No matter the price though, whatever he got was absolutely stunning on him. 

You’re basically royally fucked because whatever the hell he shows up in, you just know that you’re gonna lose it. Especially being that close after all this time away from him. Just imagining him now sends a little thrill up your spine, even as your gut rolls with a strange mix of anxiety and excitement. You blow out a harsh breath, lightly slapping your cheeks before straightening up. Well, best to confront him before you go inside. Then, at least, you can try and get your bearings before you get around other people. That’s if you manage to catch him before the others.

You grimace.

‘Especially before Randy shows up…’ Mean of you to think when he was a close friend of yours during college, but that’s just the problem. He was a super close friend; one you’d been trying your damndest to avoid like the fucking plague. You weren’t mad at Estella for inviting him, it was your fault that she never knew things got physical between you two the last year and a half of college. In fact, you made it a point to hide it from her because you knew she would just give you that look if she found out. Not because Randy was a bad guy, per se. More like…he was a bad match for you.

It was supposed to be a purely casual, no strings attached kinda deal. But Randy was always a little too emotional for that. A little too clingy, but not in an endearing way at all. Clingy in a way that crossed your boundaries in massively inappropriate ways—and coming from a guy who you made abundantly clear to that you were never going to want him in a serious manner. Suffice to say, the whole silent ordeal left a bad taste in your mouth, and you quickly cut contact after graduating. Hopefully, you’re able to slip inside and set yourself up between Estella and Rafayel to block him from ever interacting with you more than he has too.

But it seems the universe doesn’t care to listen to your feeble wish, as not even a full minute later, a voice calls out to you with way too much enthusiasm.

“[✦]!”

Thankfully, your back is facing Randy, so he doesn’t get to see the utter disgust and defeat on your face as you stare off into the distance. You idly wonder just what the fuck you did to piss the universe off so much as you readjust your sagging purse. Signing deeply and finding that inner sense of calm that’s almost nonexistent with all of the anxiety and anticipation rolling away at your nerves, you spin around with your practiced and utterly fake ‘I’m-bullshitting’ smile.

“Randy! It’s been a while.” Your voice is level as you greet him, trying hard not to allow your displeasure to show when the taller man shoots you a smile and opens his arms wide for a hug. Gritting your teeth you politely return his hug. His arms snap around you and he gives you a hearty squeeze that makes you want to instantly recoil out of his embrace.

“It sure has! And you look beautiful dressed up like that, by the way.” You gently pat his arm, but when he still doesn’t break away, you take a step back and get as far as you politely can.

“Thanks, you look great too.” And while Randy isn’t an unattractive guy—six feet even with a large build and a neatly trimmed beard and moustache, bright eyes and an even brighter smile—he’s just not your type. He never has been and he never will be. If only he could understand that fact, because even now after all these years later, his gaze still rakes over you with a kindling heat brewing in his cobalt blue irises. Your smile threatens to fall when he bridges that gap between you two, and it takes all of your willpower not to move back when his hand comes up to lightly rest on the small of your back.

“ I’m assuming Stella and her man are already starting without us. Jessica and Cindy should be here soon enough, too. Why don’t we head inside, then, instead of standing out in the cold?” 

‘There’s barely a breeze right now.’ You can’t help but think snarkily. With the summer heat at an all time high, the cooler nights are a refreshing taste to your palette. That, and you want to wait for Rafayel to show before you head inside. Honestly, you kind of want to see the look on Thomas’s face when he realizes Rafayel ditched another gallery date to attend one of his gatherings. 

“Actually—”

“Before you do that—,” You breath hitches, and you eagerly turn towards that wonderfully familiar voice, “She’s gotta give me something first. Isn’t that right, cutie?” 

“Rafayel!” The visible excitement in your voice surprises Randy, and he recoils away from you when the man—Rafayel—glances at him with so much venom that it feels as if he’s been burned from the barely there contact. You, of course, couldn't care less what Randy’s up to, as a bright smile stretches your lips wide enough to reveal your teeth.

Rafayel stands there, just a few paces away, with that smug grin of his that never fails to send your heart racing. The little nickname he tacks on just makes the organ inside of your chest beat even faster. You take in his outfit as your body moves instinctively towards him in a totally silly looking half-shuffle, half-run in your heels, gripping onto your purse for dear life in order not to drop it.

A faded crimson colors the shiny and smooth silk shirt draped over his chest, intricate designs in the shape of what looks to be branches spreading across in wide patterns. Delicate and faintly glimmering jewelry in the shape of ruby red leaves dangle over the wings of his shoulder, strings of delicate gold, pearl and onyx hanging down the sway gently in the breeze. The shirt is tucked into a pair of brown-tan ombre slacks, a wide sash and a belt buckle held snugly against the sinfully tight shape of his waist. Paired with the long strip of black fabric tied around his neck like a choker, the indecent gape of his top and the artfully tousled spikes of his mullet, he looks like he’d be more suited going out to a nightclub rather than a simple bar.

He’s absolutely gorgeous.

You can admit that you do fully stumble in the face of his beauty, and you see that smug grin grow wider when you just barely catch yourself. Embarrassment churns a hearty rhythm within your belly once you finally get within range of him, and though you kind of want to bury yourself in a hole for the rest of your life, you also don’t hesitate to give him an enthusiastic hug. Your chin lightly rests on his chest as your arms wrap around his lower back, and you both stagger a bit from the force of your unexpectedly weak knees.

You have actually worn heels before—it’s just hard to find your footing when Rafayel looks criminally and unfairly pretty in that little outfit of his.

“Wo-ah, take it easy. You know I’m fragile goods. Gotta be gentle there, cutie.” His words ride out on a murmured laugh, the long, wide palms of his hands curling around your shoulders to steady you. The golden lights of the streetlamps scattered about cast a warm glow over his broad shoulders and the planes of his handsome face. The color of his eyes are slightly darker than normal, the length of his lashes long and soft looking as he ducks his head a little to meet your stare directly with a teasing quirk to his brow. You watch mutely as his eyes flick over your face, lingering on the soft line of your mouth before making eye contact again. 

“Sorry–I just…” You bite the inside of your lip, feeling the familiar burn in the corners of your eyes as it finally sets in that he’s here in front of you. The playful tilt to his expression softens, the smile on his face easing into a gentle, fond line.

“You missed me that much, hm?” You nod, blinking rapidly to try and save your makeup. It’s difficult, though, when the tears you push back try even harder to fall. Rafayel chuckles softly seeing your struggle, but with one pleading look, he agrees to help.

“Alright, lemme get it.” From seemingly out of nowhere, Rafayel deftly pulls out a faintly tinted pink handkerchief. You snort at his dramatics, but dutifully allow him to cup your chin and hold you still while he delicately dabs at the corners of your eyes. You’re trying not to stare too hard at him, but it’s useless to deny that you aren’t doing just that. Being this close, everything about him that captivates you is now overwhelming all of your senses. 

The scent of his cologne that surrounds you in an invisible shroud, reminding you of warm sand, the salty brine of the sea and cool moonlit nights. The delicate hold of his fingers as they gently grip your chin, their blazing heat sinking beneath your skin and leaving what feels like an invisible mark. The beautiful sight of him as he’s haloed by the twinkling lights behind him, eyes focused on the sensitive area of your eyes as he wipes the last of your emotional tears. The sound of that warm, musical cadence that’s grown a tad bit lower in your close proximity, softly poking fun at your silly tears. You let him get away with teasing you, however. If only because it makes the little twinkle within his eyes shine brighter than the lights of the city combined. 

“Aaaand there we go. All better now.” He shoots you a wink and does another complicated trick with his fingers, the handkerchief disappearing faster than you can track. His other hand still lingers on your shoulder, even after he straightens up to his full height and ushers you towards the bar doors.

“Show off.” You giggle and lightly push his face away, sniffling a little before looking down and adjusting your coat. He pouts, conveniently placing himself in your direct line of sight once you turn your face up again.

“Is this the thanks I get for saving your makeup from getting all runny? How cruel.” 

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face gives away the humor you feel. You give in, though, not even a moment later, and you play along.

“My apologies, my wonderful, amazing and generous knight in shining armor. Thank you so much for saving me from a fate worse than death; runny makeup.” The sarcasm within your words is heavy enough for an idiot to catch, but Rafayel ignores the bite and beams at you. 

“You’re welcome, my fair lady. But my services aren’t cheap.” He leans closer to you, and your breath halts to a complete stop when you feel the warmth of his breath puff against your cheek.

“So much for being a knight, charging an innocent maiden like this.” You retort weakly, face growing hotter when Rafayel smirks.

“Lunch, tomorrow afternoon. At whatever place I pick. Your treat, of course, cutie.” You barely even hear the words as they echo in your ears, too entranced by the raspy, intimate tone of his voice as he tilts his head slightly. His eyes carry that same intensity you see from time to time, too many fragments of different emotions buried within for you to parse through. You nod, of course. Anything he asks of you, you’ll give without question—no matter what it is.

“Great.” He suddenly perks up, eyes catching on the side of your head. The hand on your shoulder slides up to lightly tug at one of your braids, trailing the edge of his knuckle down the middle with a thoughtful hum. His fingers brush against the side of your neck by accident, and despite trying, you can’t stop the full body shiver that runs up your spine from the feeling of his fingers against your skin. Again, it’s like some sort of invisible mark stains the skin he touched; the spot somehow growing more sensitive as a gentle breeze blows across it.

“S’cute, by the way. You should do more braided styles like this.”

You blush furiously, averting your eyes as you nod your head once again. It’s like your ability to speak suddenly shriveled up and died, and you’re struck dumb in the face of his overt skinship. Rafayel had been a little closer to you then most. Tugging at your clothes or even snatching things out of your hands wasn’t out of the ordinary. But nicknames? Being this close to your face? Touching you purposefully careless? It’s all so fucking confusing to your poor little overloaded brain.

So in you two go; Rafayel humming quietly to himself, arm now slung over your shoulder as he leads you deeper into the bar while you absently lean into his side, a dazed and flushed look on your face as one of your hands grips the fabric of his shirt.

You don’t notice, in your frazzled state, the chilling glare he shoots over his shoulder at the man rooted to the ground outside. 

You also don’t realize the kind of picture you two made in front of poor Randy, who’s suddenly regretting his life choices when faced with that dark, almost inhumanly possessive gleam in that terrifying man’s eyes.

Rafayel grips the glass in his hand tightly, fighting the urge to lean down and inhale that intoxicatingly sweet scent emanating from you. The week before the tides switch directions is always a test of self-restraint; flashes of hunger tainting his thoughts, urging him to indulge in his deepest desires. His body burns with a fever that can only be soothed by the touch of his person…and he’s finally found you, after all these lifetimes, you’re here in front of him. It’s an exquisite kind of torture, being so close yet so far. Everything about you naturally draws him in.

The smell of you beneath the artificial perfumes and soaps you use—rose hips, spring water and sunlight. The soft give of your stomach, hips and thighs that show beneath the skin tight dress you’re wearing. Those wide, dark eyes that twinkle with humor and a tender affection you think he doesn’t see when you stare at him. The slim coolness of your finger; the bright sound of your laughter; the way your gummy smile curves your eyes into crescents—all of you drives him to near madness every time you interact, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Would suffer throughout it all if only he can have you that much closer to him, how you are now.

Leaning against him and pressed shoulder to shoulder, your head rests on his bicep as you scroll through your phone. You two were debating on lunch options for tomorrow, but he’d gotten lost in the soft cadence of your voice, eyes glued to your lips as one of your hands idly played with the long strip of his choker. You weren’t even doing it consciously, but every so often you’d lightly tug at it to get his attention. As if he wasn’t already hanging onto every word that fell past your painted lips. It was slowly chipping away at the little strength he had left, and he was so close to just finally pulling you away to a dark corner when someone from the group—Isaiah, he thinks—pulled him into the wider conversation. Rafayel eagerly threw himself into it, doing anything he could possibly do to avoid the thoughts flying through his mind, each of them more depraved than the last.

But you still play with his choker and occasionally tug it, so despite his best efforts, his thoughts always stray back to you. His fault alone, he knows, but it doesn’t make any of it easy to control when you look like that.

When he saw the kind of dress you were planning to wear, he knew that he couldn’t just leave you to go out like that alone. Nevermind that you were going out with Estella and Thomas. It didn’t matter that the people you were hanging out with were old college buddies. You were still going outside to a bar. You were going to be drinking, dressed up all fancy and pretty. Guys would be approaching you nonstop, no matter if you were surrounded by your friends or not. And like hell he was gonna let some random, unworthy man see you like that when he hasn’t even gotten the chance yet.

‘Though, one managed to slip through the cracks anyway.’ Rafayel glances at the tall man sitting on the other side of the booth. Randy’s too busy arguing with Lyrica to notice his stare at first, but maybe the idiot has some kinda sixth sense, because he casually flicks his eyes around the table. When they land on Rafayel, he does a slight double take and he flinches a bit, before directing his gaze back to Lyrica. Albeit, a little paler than he was before.

He snickers to himself at the flash of fear on the man’s face. Good, he should know better than to touch someone when they clearly don’t want it. Should know better than to lay hands on who doesn’t belong to him.

It had been a rather infuriating sight, coming across you two the way he did. Randy, towering over you with clear lust in his eyes, hand audaciously pressed to your back as he tried to guide you into the bar. You with that uncomfortable smile on your face, your eyes just barely hiding the exasperation and disgust at him touching you. It was only the familiarity between you two that saved Randy from losing that hand. But only just barely. Clearly, the man got the message, because even now he doesn’t so much as look in your direction anymore.

The smirk that curls his lips forms instinctively, an act that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“What devious plans are you coming up with to look like that, huh?”

Your cheek squishes against his forearm, lips forming a slight pout as you lower your phone and stare at him, half-amused and half-suspicious. It’s a dangerously cute expression on your pretty face, and he has the sudden urge to lean over and kiss that tempting pout away. He’s halfway to doing it before he even realizes, the shadow of his torso falling over you startling him out of his daze. 

You only blink up at him with dark, wide glossy eyes, puzzled. Entirely too trusting and too open; so different than how he’s used to seeing you in person. Cold and professional with a perfect smile that conveys nothing but an empty politeness, it had been a challenge to get to you to crack that infallible expression of yours. It took a week of him burdening you with all sorts of pointless tasks, hoping that annoying you would be the way to go, before you did. And not because you were angry—no, it happened because he made some snide comment about the old lady at the supermarket who cut him in line sometime prior to you two meeting. He doesn’t even remember exactly what he said, but whatever he did say was mean and rude and it made you laugh.

A real laugh too; a deep, guttural hiccup that sounded like absolute perfection to his ears. Mouth opened in a wide smile, eyes scrunched into crescents as the sunlight from his windows streamed in. You looked like something holy, in that light. The sheer white curtains billowing around your figure casting you in dappled shadows, the scent of the sea breeze rich in the air. He had known you were special when he saw you—but this? This was something far, far beyond that.

And now here he is; helplessly drawn to your side, eagerly craving whatever scrap of attention you can afford to give him. Begging, demanding more that you so easily give to him. Even when it meant badgering you constantly with messages, surprising you with phone calls, crashing intimate parties with your friends. Whatever he asks you willingly let him have. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. A game with the vast eldritch beast that lurks in the abyss of his soul. Old as the seas and the moon and stars; always searching, always moving, always hungry. 

Always.

Rafayel forces out a normal sounding laugh, setting down his drink and turning his body to give you his full attention. He makes sure to keep you exactly where you are though, sliding his arm around until it cushions the delicate curve of your neck, leaving his hand to grip the back of the booth. The dimmed lights do a good job of blurring out the more finite details of your expressions, but his eyes are sharp, and they notice the flush darkening your cheeks. The rapid stutter of your chest and the nervous way you flick your eyes back down to your phone. The pout morphs into a shy little smile as you peek up at him from underneath your eyelashes, the ends of your nails clicking against the case of your phone.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

His fingers twitch with the need for a pencil. He wants to sketch that look on your face, and he thinks pencil is one of the better mediums to fully grasp the finer details of your expressions. The little dimples that form above your lips when you purse them. The faint freckles he can see scattered across the bridge of your nose. He wants to sit in his studio for hours just sketching you; could probably do it from memory alone if given the chance. Honestly, though, he would prefer to have you there in front of him. You’d do it, too. He knows you would. Even if he asked in the brattiest, most roundabout way, you would agree without hesitation. The thought sends a pulse of heat through his body, and he has to swallow back the hiss that threatens to fall past his lips.

Those damn flashes.

“So, you gonna answer me or not?”

Rafayel quirks a brow, pretending to think on the question as he glances away from you. Just—he needs a moment to calm down. To get a handle on the want quickly filling him with indecent thoughts. Thoughts of you spread out in his studio on his couch, in the bath, on his bed. Bare and open. Trusting him to handle you, take care of you the way he knows he can. Satisfy that empty feeling in your chest that throbs within his own. It’d be so easy too. To just, ask you to come over. To pull you into his arms and rest his hands against your cheeks. To tilt your head back and finally sink his teeth into your neck—

“I think I’m gonna pass on that. Did you find where you’re taking me tomorrow?” He swings his eyes back to focus on you, smiling like he isn’t thinking of devouring you, in every sense of the word.

You huff out a tiny breath, but you open your darkened phone screen and show him a few places you think are good. Your voice goes a little quiet when you realize how intensely he’s staring at you, that blush getting brighter when he casually leans down to look at your phone. It would’ve been easy for him to just snatch the phone from your hand, but he’s weak. Any excuse to get closer to you is a valid one.

He stares hard at your phone screen, biting back a groan when he gets another whiff of your scent. Your little hot puffs of breath at his cheek and the slight tremble of your hands as you take in his proximity almost do him in, but he refrains. Barely.

“So?” The wine riding on the scent of your breath is sweet and slightly tangy; a Moscato Sangria, if he’s remembering correctly.

“Hmm, okay tell you what, cutie.” Rafayel grins when he audibly hears the little stutter of your heartbeat. This close, he’s sure that he could see your pulse through the thin skin of your throat, but if he continues down that trail of thought, he’ll really snap. So, once again, he calls on what little self-restraint he has.

“I’ll be gracious enough and let you choose where we go. But, if the food sucks then I’m gonna tease you about it forever, deal?” He tilts his head and glances at you from the corner of his eye. You sigh, an exasperated yet fond look in your eyes as you poke his cheek with your finger.

“Fine, fine. Gosh, you’re such a menace, I swear.” He carefully doesn’t breathe as you continue to jokingly poke at his face. He wants to lean into your touch, and he begins to when his senses snap back to him. Slowly but still as natural as anything, he straightens up, using his other hand to playfully swat yours away. He waits until your attention shifts away from him, and even though his knee-jerk reaction is to force it back, instead he uses this time to try and relax. The warmth of your touch still lingers against his skin like a brand, and it makes the already pounding bass of his heart beat that much faster.

Thankfully, since the room is dark, no one can really see the blush rushing across his nose and ears. And if they do, well, then it’s because of his drink rather than his pretty little assistant pressed close to him.

“Are you sure this is okay? I know you were worried about it being too much for you…” Estella asks for the third time, looking at you through the bathroom mirror. She completely ignores the girl half-passed out in the sink, as well as the other two girls making out against the bathroom stall behind you. There’s another in a closed stall, vomiting her guts out by the sound of it. Even with the faint thump from the powerful base outside, it still echoes out wetly and you grimace. Estella doesn’t even blink, watching for your response with worried eyes. You shoot her a reassuring smile, fighting back an incredulous snort as Estella absently makes sure the faucet is off for the girl in the sink. 

The evening at the bar you were at passed by within the blink of an eye, and before you realized, your three long hour reservation ended. By that time, you were pleasantly tipsy and not quite ready to go back home. Randy, Lyrica and her boyfriend Isaiah had all called it quits, but the rest of you still wanted to be outside and enjoy the summer night. Even Rafayel seemed game, despite the man being as much of a recluse as you, so you all agreed to go to a nearby nightclub to keep the party going a bit. ‘I do wonder why Randy didn’t join though. It’s usually his kind of scene.’ You brush it off once Estella gives you a look and you rush to answer it.

“I think I can handle just a little bit of club action. It’s been years since everyone’s been together, why not, right?”

She raises a skeptical brow.

“And it totally has nothing to do with the six foot tall hottie of a painter currently bothering Thomas outside, hm?” 

You ignore her shit-eating grin and fiddle with your bangs, shying away from her fingers when they reach out to lightly poke your side.

“Oooh, you’ve got it bad, dontcha girl?”

“You’ve got no fucking idea.” You mumble underneath your breath, flushing when she lets out an excited squeal that shocks the girl in the sink awake and splits apart the couple behind you. Quickly, before a fight can break out because one half of the couple looks drunk enough to try your friend, you usher Estella out of the bathroom and back into the club.

It’s packed, of course. A Saturday night in DownTown Linkon means that any and all nightclubs are full. It’s a little suffocating, for you, as Estella grips your wrist and yanks you through the throng of girls waiting outside the bathroom doors in various states of drunkenness. You two have to cut through the side of the main dance floor to get back to the others, and while it definitely is less busy than being directly in the middle, it still is a lot for you to handle regardless.

Strobes of green, pink and white flare out from the cluster of rotating lights scattered along the rafters above you, dancing across the crowd in hypnotizing patterns that make you dizzy. Smoke curls in the air, drifting like clouds across the night sky as they cover some of the overhead bundles of lights. Beams refract at even stranger angles as the smoke passes, the lights filling your eyes with after images of color as the bass to the current song drops. The fast-paced ‘thump-thump-thump’ switches over into something slower. A deeper, sensual rhythm that has the bodies surrounding you packing even tighter together. 

Stray hands and fingers glide over you as she pulls you forward, and you have to close your eyes to keep your mind from getting lost in the kaleidoscope of colors filling your vision. The smell of cigarettes and vape smoke becomes even stronger once you do, and your eyes pop open against your will when a hand boldly grabs your ass before Estella hauls you even further. Being tipsy yourself—drinking about two cups of wine and having a sip or two of Rafayel’s fruity margarita—you feel a little sick being thrown around like a fucking pizza. Just as you’re about to tell Estella to slow the hell down, you’re momentarily blinded by a stray strobe light to your eyes. Because of that, you don’t see the person in front of you when Estella suddenly lets go of your hand.

“Baby! C’mon, Jessica and her girl are already on the floor and we’ve gotta show ‘em how it's done.”

“Must we.” You barely hear the dry edge to Thomas’s words before you fall face first into someone’s chest. You swear, one day, you’re gonna toss Estella around like that in a sea of gross bodies and see how she fucking likes it. Running into random people at a club is not something you find entertaining in the slightest.

“Oh–shit, I’m sorry.” You blink away the spots from your vision, looking up to apologize to the stranger, except it’s someone a lot more familiar and a lot more welcome.

“You’ve got a bad habit of running into me, cutie.” Rafayel leans down real close in order for you to hear him properly, his lips just barely touching the shell of your ear as his hands fall on your body to steady you; one on your bare shoulder, the other falling to your waist. Jessica was whining about being cold earlier, so you had offered your jacket out of concern. Now…now you don’t know if you regret it or not. Not when the heat seeping into your skin is making your already fuzzy mind all the more hazy. You shiver, blinking as a line of neon green flares over Rafayel, momentarily lighting your way in the dark, crowded room.

Your face is level with his neck, and here, that sea-breeze-hot-sand-moonlight blend of his scent is stronger. You can physically feel the way your body automatically relaxes as you breathe him in deeply, your own hands coming up to rest on the criminally smooth silk of his shirt.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be in my way all the time.” You mumble out, swallowing back a groan when you can feel the muscles beneath his shirt twitch as the sudden heat of your breath hits his ear. Another flash of light slants over him, and you notice that his ears are turning a dark shade of pink. Your stomach swoops at the realization, and you have the sudden urge to look at his face; to see if that blush goes any further. You go to pull back, to try and get a glimpse of his expression, but you’re stopped by his hands pulling you in closer; until your bodies are flush against each other.

 “And where do you think you’re going, hm?” The low rasp of his voice strikes you like a lightning bolt, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to swallow back the sound you almost let out because of it. It takes you a few tries of opening and closing your mouth, but eventually you get out the words.

“T-to maybe sit down..? Or…” You pause, your whole head dizzy from the mixture of alcohol and desperate want lighting you up inside like a firecracker. 

“Or..?” He drawls out, and maybe it's the alcohol talking, but you swear you feel his teeth graze your ear slightly. You shake within the hold he’s got on you, and you feel the low rumble of his laugh through the vibrations racing through your hands before it barks out close to your ear.

“Oh, c’mon, beautiful. You can tell me what you want, right?” Your hands curl up where they rest on his chest, and you press your forehead into his neck to try and muffle the loud moan that nickname causes you to let out, thighs unconsciously squeezing to try and offer yourself a bit of friction to your suddenly achy clit. God, you feel as if you’re gonna shake out of your skin if he keeps talking to you like that. The hand on your shoulder slides down to join its twin on your waist, and you literally can’t keep the sounds from exiting your mouth even if you tried. A trail of fire follows the path of his hand, and it slowly sinks past the stretchy fabric of your dress to meet the sensitive, twitching center of your cunt. Rafayel trembles underneath your hold slightly, the grip around your waist getting tighter.

“Tell me.” It’s a surprise to hear his words, half-demand, half-plea as he breathes hotly into your ear. You blink away the stray amount of tears forming at the corners of your eyes. It honestly has been years since you’ve last been intimate with anyone, so maybe that’s why you feel this sensitive? Who knows, because you can certainly say that you don’t—not when your entire body feels like its housing magma within your veins.

But Rafayel needs something from you, yeah?

“...Do you? Wanna go dance with me?” You gasp out, your loud sound of surprise being drowned out by the heavy beat as Rafayel bodily picks you up. His hands rest on the soft pudge of your waist, the tip of his nose finding the crook of your neck as he blindly pushes his way through the crowd. You cling onto his back with your nails, and you feel the vibrations of his groan as they cut a little deeper than you intended in your shock.

You open your mouth to apologize maybe? But your entire focus falls onto the way Rafayel changes his grip from your waist to your thighs, sliding in between the slits on either side of your body. Your eyes roll slightly when that searing heat gets even closer to where you really want it, mouth falling open when he presses light, barely there kisses along the side of your neck. You dig your nails into his back again, making these whiny, soft little noises into the side of his throat near his ear. You can’t help it—it’s all just too much for you. Every time he touches you like this, skin on skin, it feels like he’s igniting all of these little embers inside of you. Like he’s trying to fan them into a full blown blaze. Your mind is in a haze of sensation, the lights around you pulling you deeper into that floaty, barely there feeling.

You’re suddenly being let down, and you make an upset noise, keeping your arms wrapped around Rafayel’s neck as he sets your feet back on the ground. Your hold forces his forehead to knock against yours, and through your slightly blurry vision, you can spot the darker tint to his cheeks, the slack part to his mouth, the long length of his lashes as his lids fall to half mast. His hands travel back up to the low dip of your waist, gripping so tightly to the fabric of your dress that it slightly bunches. He exhales in and out, and your breaths mingle as you stare helplessly into his eyes.

Fuck, those eyes of his.

Normally, they’re so bright they almost blind you; reminding you of sunsets on the beach or the polychromatic colors found in bubbles of seafoam. Underneath the darkness of the club, though, they’re a deep and unfathomable black. Flat and without an eyeshine to them, it’s like looking into the ocean in the dead of night. Still waters hiding the dangers underneath an empty void. A shark smelling blood in the water. A hungry predator lying in wait.

Those predator eyes of his combined with the calmness of his expression is a terrifying mix. You know you should be afraid. It’s the normal reaction—the correct reaction in the face of the all consuming hunger you can see reflected in his eyes. But all that look makes you feel excitement so potent and vast that it makes you gush heavily into the cotton of your panties.

God, there’s something fucking wrong with you.

His parted lips suddenly split into a wide, off kilter smile. You think you see a flash of serrated teeth before he ducks his head and presses his lips against your jugular. Your breath stops in your chest as your body easily bends to his whims, your back arching to accommodate the new position he fixes himself in. You’re utterly frozen as he drags his mouth over the sensitive, delicate skin of your throat; breath hot and raising goosebumps across your skin.

“You said you wanted to dance.” The dark murmur makes your thighs twitch, and you start to breathe again when he readjusts your dress. He spins you around without another word, plastering himself against your back. His hands fall to your hips, the curve of your ass settling in the cradle of his pelvis as he leans his head against yours. His mouth levels with your ear again.

“So let’s dance, yeah, cutie?”

An order more than a plea; clearly, he wasn’t asking you. 

That deep, sensual rhythm still plays around you. Slow and reverberating through your entire body, you can do nothing but obey. So you move; hesitantly, nervously, until the beat settles within your bones. Side to side, back and forth, rotate your hips and repeat until it becomes second nature to you. Until the hypnotic sound becomes as easy as breathing. Time slows to a crawl as you sway to the steady ‘boom-boom-boom’, breath hitching when you feel Rafayel join in on the motion.

Pressed so close together, you can feel everything. The heaving of his muscled chest, the sweat from his hair dripping down the slope of your neck, the strong grip of his hands holding onto your hips, the bulge in his slacks insistently poking at the round flesh of your ass. You’re trembling, you discover, when he starts to move against you. Shaking with so much pent up need that it feels like you’re going to explode from the pressure of it all.

Your hands lay against his, and though his moves don’t falter, his breath does catch. You can’t see him from the angle you’re facing—all you can see is an ocean of shadows, all flickering eerily in and out of focus with the strobe lights and smoke. Breathing heavily, you slowly inch his hands down to the wide slits of your dress. That hitching becomes a loud groan, desperate and frenzied all at once. It makes your legs quake, but you don’t slow your hands until you can feel every inch of his palms on your bare flesh. His fingers immediately sink into the plush fat, his hips roughly rolling forward. Your cunt clenches at the feeling, a pathetic mewl that’s eaten up by the pounding bass falling from your panting mouth.

Somehow, he hears it anyway.

He hisses something in a deep and foreign language you’ve never heard before in your ear. It sends a jolt through you listening to that guttural, inhuman sound. Despite that, however, the pace from before continues. Deliberate and unhurried. It makes you want to scream; you want more. Want to feel him against you without the layers. Want to feel that steady grind so deep inside of you that you’ll feel it for days after. 

You whine again at the thought, hands coming up to cover your mouth. For lack of anything better to do with them, really. Any of the noises you make are swallowed up by the surging crowd and music. You choke out another moan when his fingers slightly knead the supple flesh of your thighs, his harsh pants breathed out against you. Over and over and over again. Dragging his thick, clothed cock against your ass. Gripping your bare skin with his strong, nimble fingers. Breathing heavily into the shell of your ear, little murmurs of compliments and that strange language echoing deep within your mind.

Fog and lights draw you deeper into that haze clouding up your brain, your eyes glazing over as you get lost in the darkness of the club. You hardly even notice when you reach your peak, the only indicator being the way you fall limp in his grasp; eyes rolling to the back of your head, lips parting in a silent scream.

You quickly sink into unconsciousness after that. The last thing you feel is Rafayel shuddering against you, the echo of his low groan following you into your dreams.

fishie princess ♓

hey so about those lunch plans…

it looks like i can’t go

sorry

You immediately call him moments later, not even hesitating when you see that string of texts after you wake up. Fear and shame clog your throat, and you’re about two seconds away from breaking down if what happened last night just ruined your friendship with Rafayel.

It felt almost like a dream, remembering the end to your night out. And you would have thought it was, if you hadn’t woken up back in your apartment still dressed from the night before. A blanket had been tucked around you, and your makeup was wiped off. Barefoot but clothed in your exact same outfit—hair included. You were still reeling from that revelation of truth, because you were tipsy at most and not drunk, so you basically remembered everything before you came so hard that you passed the fuck out. Which makes the dread swirling around your belly all the more potent as you anxiously wait for Rafayel to pick up.

The call rings three times before it connects.

You open your mouth, but your mind completely blanks on what you can possibly say. You blink, and a few tears drip down your cheeks, and you have to bite down on your lip hard to stop the sob from coming out. 

“...[✦]?”

You pause when you hear his voice. Low and raspy. Did he just wake up? Is that why he took so long to answer? It hadn’t been very long at all since he sent the texts, so maybe. You grip your phone tightly, fingers aching from the strain. You know you’ve got to say something, but it’s just so hard when it feels like your entire world is crashing down around your ears. Does he regret it? Is that why he doesn’t want to see you?

Just the thought jabs into your heart like a blade, and it's the threat of not knowing that drives you to finally speak.

“Are…are we okay? Are—did you cancel on me because of last night…?” Barely louder than a whisper, your voice rings out in the silence of your apartment like a gunshot. Saying it out loud makes it real to you, and more tears fall from your eyes as you squeeze them shut. There’s a shaky note to your voice that you’re sure gives you away, and you wish you had a semblance of a poker face when it comes to Rafayel. It’s embarrassing how easily you break at the thought of him distancing himself from you after last night. But there was something there, between you two yesterday. A palpable tension lurking behind every look given. Every word spoken. Every touch you two shared.

You thought so, at least. But if he really thinks that moment at the club was a mistake…you think it would shatter you. No, you know for a fact it would. The longer he doesn’t speak, the more the pain in your chest spreads until you're folded over, forehead touching your knees as you try and keep your tears quiet. Fuck, did you just destroy this? Did you really just throw away the chance at having him in your life because you were too weak to deny that greedy little thing buried deep inside of you?

“Rafayel…?” You croak out, needing him to say something already.

“Are you…crying?” 

“No.” Your lie isn’t even convincing enough to fool a baby. It’s so fucking obvious that you’re crying, you feel ashamed for even lying about it. What hurts you more is the pained sound Rafayel lets out after.

“Why–?” But you can’t let him finish. You refuse to think about anything else until he answers you.

“Do you regret it? What happened between us last night.”

“...” You can hear the sound of him breathing heavily on the other end, and despite the pain you feel, you also can’t help but get a bit worried. He doesn't sound okay, panting that hard.

“..of course I don’t. I could never. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to–urk!” His ragged voice cuts out with a grunt, and you jump when something crashes to the ground in the background. 

“Rafayel?! Are you alright?”

“Yeah…just fell out of my bed.” He wheezes and you sigh with relief. Then, the weight of his words hits you, and your face burns hot. Does that mean he wanted last night too? That…that it wasn’t a mistake? Silence falls again and neither of you seem willing to break the awkward stalemate. You chew on your lip, tugging on one of your messy braids as you wait for Rafayel to speak up first. He was the last one talking after all…

“I’m not cancelling on you because of last night. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

You flop onto your back with a low sigh, using one of your hands to wipe away your tears. Relief replaces the pain, and you nod your head even though he can’t see it.

“No, no you wouldn’t. I’m sorry, just—you gotta know how scary it is to wake up with that sorta text after…” You trail off with a strangled whine, and the last of your anxiety is wiped away by the tired, yet bright laugh that rumbles in your ear.

“You’re right. I’m sorry about that, beautiful. Didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“D-don’t worry about it, it’s fine! But, why are you quitting on me? Did something come up?” You hear the sounds of shuffling come from the other end of the phone, and you frown when you hear a distant groan. Did he hurt himself falling?

“...I’m a little…under the weather. I woke up and didn’t feel so good, and I didn’t want to go eat when I felt like this, sooo…”

Well. Now you feel like a moron. He’s fucking sick, why the hell would he want to go outside when he’s feeling like shit? And it wasn’t like he said he didn’t want to see you—just that he couldn’t go. ‘Wow, that’s gotta be a new low.’ You press your palm to your face hard. You want to scream with how embarrassed you feel. But your emotional freakout can wait for a later time. Rafayel is sick, maybe he caught something from last night, or maybe it was from days prior. Whatever he’s got, it’s keeping him locked inside of his home.

Only one thing to do, then.

“Hmm, yeah that makes sense. Have you taken anything for it? Or have you just been rolling around in your bed whining at the pain?” 

“How mean!” 

“So that’s a yes then. Alright, well give me a few hours and let me put together a bag. If you’re sick, I can take care of you until you’re better. I’m off work for the next two weeks, so I should be able to—”

“No you don’t! I’m not risking you getting the ick too. I’ll have some stuff delivered, so you don’t need to come all the way over.”

You pause. Rafayel…doesn’t want you to take care of him like this? When every other time he’s damn near demanded you baby him until he heals up?

“You…don’t want to see me…?” Doubt begins to creep back in, but before its roots can fully take hold, Rafayel stops them.

“I always wanna see you, cutie. Never doubt me on that.” Your tense shoulders relax when you hear the sincerity and conviction in his voice. Then why…?

“Is it that bad?”

He sighs.

“It definitely feels a lot different than just a common cold. I don’t wanna accidentally give it to you, so I’ll heal up on my own this time.” The exhaustion in his tone makes your heart ache.

“Are you sure? You know I wouldn’t mind helping out if you need me to, Rafayel.” He groans through the phone, and the worry in your chest ratchets up in its intensity. You’re already standing and about to put on your shoes before his voice stops your movements.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll just have to go out when I get better, that’s all. I’ll be good as new in a few days, trust me, alright?” The strained, heavy breathing dictates otherwise, but you allow him his privacy. He’s asking you to give him some time to heal, so that’s exactly what you’ll do.

“...Fine. But I’m going to at least call you to check up on you! If you don’t answer, I’m marching right over and helping you out. And I mean it, Rafayel. You’ve got me worried, sounding that pitiful.” You try to inject a bit of humor to lighten up the mood, but you think the concern in your voice just cancels it out. Rafayel gives you a weak little chuckle.

“I’m sick right now and you attack me like this? Striking a man while he’s down is a low blow, you know.”

“Well then get better so it’ll be a more even match.”

He laughs again, this time with a little more energy.

“Yes ma’am. Now shoo and lemme rest up some more.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just, let me know if you need anything, okay, Rafayel?

“You got it, cutie.” 

“You promise?” Maybe you’re being too pushy, but you can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that he’s hiding something else from you. He’s still sick, and you believe him when he says that he wasn’t regretting last night. But still…something about his tone doesn’t feel like the whole truth of the matter. It bugs you that he isn’t telling you. Itches at your skin that you aren’t able to make him feel better—that he’s not allowing you to make him feel better. So you need to hear him say that he’ll come to you when he’s ready. If you don’t, you might just hop on a train to Mo Art Studio and give your help to him whether he wants it or not.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll let you know when I need you.” You shiver at the strange tone you hear at the end of his words, but before you can even begin to ask about it, his voice chimes in with a much lighter tone.

“Bye, bye, cutie. We’ll talk later, m’kay?”

“...Bye Rafayel.”

One click and the call disconnects.

Days pass slowly for you.

True to your word, you call Rafayel everyday for a checkup. Even if you two still text when he’s not resting, even if you’re texting before the appointed time for the call. You never fail to hit that little phone button. And he never fails to pick up; that low rasp of his meeting your ears and soothing the worry somewhat.

You breathe a lot easier whenever you get to hear him speak. It feels as if you’re actively doing something instead of just sitting around and waiting for him to get better. However, you do feel a little bad at making him talk with a sore throat. At least, you think he has a sore throat. That’s really the only explanation for the lower register he now uses. It would even explain the strange sounds that interrupt him when he speaks sometimes. Noises akin to a bastardized mix of a dog’s growl and a dolphin’s clicking. It’s usually cleared away when he coughs, and even though it worries the absolute fuck out of you, he always waves them away with a laugh that’s beginning to sound a lot more forced as time flies by.

Because those strange noises never go away. If anything, they get more frequent, and as much as he tries to downplay it, you know for a fact that sounding like some kind of fucking scary sea monster isn’t normal.

It doesn’t help that you also just plain miss him.

Yes, you two talk on the phone and text and even share a few video calls if he feels up to it. But it isn’t enough for you anymore. You want to physically be around him now. That one night out has spoiled you rotten and you can’t stand that you aren’t within his personal bubble anymore. He was so close to you that entire night, whether it was a hand on your arm, tossed over your shoulder or gripping your waist. It’s driving you crazy reliving those sensations in your mind, but that’s all you can do now. Replay that night over and over again inside your head; reliving the things you remembered feeling. 

How it felt to be pressed against him, his muscled chest to your back, his body heat seeping into your skin as his hips rocked against you. You now know what his hands feel like against your face, tugging at your hair, gripping onto your thighs and waist—lifting you like you weighed nothing to him. You know what hunger looks like painted on the pretty angles of his face; pink lips parted, eyelids lowered over those dark, dark voids that threatened to suck you in like a whirlpool, eagerly waiting to drown you in their unknowable depths. You know what he sounds like when he’s desperate and panting in your ear, when he’s giving you an order in that dark tone of his, when he’s hissing out praises too garbled and low for you to truly hear. 

And, every time you go to sleep, deep inside of your dreams, you think you hear the noise he made just before you passed out. That hitching groan that tapered off into a pretty little whimper as his hips jerked against you in uneven patterns, so different from the slow and methodical rhythm seen before. You don’t know if it really happened or if you made up that last part, but it still haunts you regardless. Makes your heart race in your chest, makes your cunt clench and your mouth water at the thought of causing him to sound like that again.

You want it more than anything. You want him more than anything you’ve ever wanted in your life.  And you’re only human. A weak, weak human whose patience finally runs out after a week of not seeing him. You manage to last until the late afternoon after your usual call with Rafayel before you finally snap, and you should at least be commended for that, you think.

You don’t tell him you’re coming over—you already know what he’ll say—and he told you he’d be taking a nap after your call, so it really is the perfect time to sneak over there. If you get there late enough, you’ll also have a decent excuse of staying over, even if it’d be only for the night. Just one night to watch over him would be enough for you.

He’s sick, so you cover yourself up in comfortable clothes you don’t mind messing up, tying your hair up in a quick ponytail. A baggy pair of black sweatpants and a normal white tee that’s thin enough to keep you from overheating underneath the hoodie you zip over it. You take your keys and phone, only the essentials because your hands need to be free when you stop at the pharmacy to pick up the appropriate supplies. After double checking that you’ve locked your door, you head to the train station and make the trip.

One hour later and arms filled with bags from the pharmacy as well as some extra easy to digest snacks and drinks from the convenience store, you’re looking at the outside gate of Mo Art Studio. Swallowing, nerves bubble and pop in your belly, your heavy breaths warming up the space covered by the light blue surgical mask pulled to the bridge of your nose. The sun is going down now, and while a part of you is a bit worried about that, an even bigger part is stuck on the thought of you being in his home at night after everything.

Shaking your head, you push your way through the open gates, slowly walking up the path into the building. 

Rafayel gave you a key back when you were working for him, so when you get to his studio door, you fumble your way through your pockets. Your hand is shaking, and it takes you a few tries before you get the door to open. You exhale sharply when it swings past you, and you peek your head in to view the room inside.

“Rafayel, are you awake? I brought you some things I think will help…” Your voice is tentatively low as you inch your way into the dark studio. The curtains are open, so while there’s no lights turned on, the rays of the setting sun light your path enough for you to see. It’s then that you notice the body sprawled out on the ground in front of the sofa, back facing the cushions and arms stretched out in front of him. The only thing stopping you from rushing over is the rise and fall of his chest, as labored as his breathing is. Sweat glints underneath the sun's rays as it beads on his cheeks and neck, so you stop dawdling and quickly enter his home.

You close the door quietly behind you, setting down the bags and rummaging through them for a towel and the large bottle of water you bought. A cold compress should help with the very clear fever he’s got, and the extra water can be used to hydrate him. Rafayel tends to dry easily, so you know he couldn’t complain too much if you woke him up for something to drink.

It takes you no time at all to find the things you need, and soon enough, you’re sitting on your knees beside the awkwardly laying Rafayel, positioned directly in front of him. The ends of his hair are damp and stick to his forehead and the base of his neck, an alarming shade of pink covering his cheeks and the top of his chest you can see beneath his partly open button up. What you mistook as sweat from afar actually turns out to be little blue scales. They dot along the tops of his cheekbones, leading a sparse trail down to the side of his throat. His already pale skin looks even paler mingling with the shining blue, and the pained grimace furrowing his brow makes your chest ache. You have no idea what those scales can possibly mean, even though something tickles at the back of your mind with a vague sense of knowing. You ignore it, focusing on what you came here to do and not the odd new additions to Rafayel’s handsome face.

After folding and wetting the towel, you gently press it to his forehead, smiling when he sleepily groans and turns his face towards your hands. His eyes squint, and he grumbles nonsense before settling again. You almost don’t want to wake him, but with how much he’s sweating, you want to get some fluids in him as quickly as you can. With another intake of breath, you do your best to wake him.

“Hey…hey, wake up, Rafayel.” You shake his shoulder, trying again and again until he finally squirms and starts to wake. The last of the sun’s rays lay a thick stripe over his eyes, and when he opens them, they look like blazing flames. Your breath hitches when those unfocused flames land on your face and you get a strange image layered over his prone form. It’s gone between one blink and the next, but it leaves you shaken regardless—that niggling of knowing getting the slightest bit louder in your head. He blinks and the last of the sun’s light dies out, leaving you both in the cool tones of the evening sky.

“You up now?” You ask, watching as confusion fills Rafayel’s face. His eyes track up to his forehead where the compress is and then back to your face. He stays silent for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words; maybe for the first time in his life. You give him a smile and carefully help him sit up against the bottom of the couch.

“...Cutie?” You wince at the scratchy sound of his voice and hurriedly bring the bottle of water to his lips. Sluggishly, he drinks the water, eyes never leaving you as the confusion clears and something else takes its place. You ignore the burning of your cheeks and keep helping him drink, avoiding the growing heat in Rafayel’s lidded eyes as they stare deeply at you.

“Better?” You ask after he finishes the whole bottle. He hums out something non-committal, the hazy darkness of his eyes highlighted by the sudden moonlight bleeding in from the windows. You reach up to adjust the compress on his forehead when he doesn’t say anything. Your fingers accidentally graze the side of his nose, and you go to apologize, but it dies on your lips when Rafayel’s eyes flutter shut and he eagerly leans towards your palm.

You can only watch, mute, as one of his hands grabs onto your wrist, sliding underneath the loose sleeve of your hoodie. His skin is hot to the touch, maybe even a little too hot as the drag of his fingers leaves a scorching path across your skin. It hurts, the burning left behind by his dexterous fingers, but if anything you lean into that pain; eyes glued to the expression on his face as he nuzzles into your captured palm.

Blissful is the only word to come to your mind as he presses his mouth to your hand, layering gentle nips to the fleshy part of your palm before rubbing his cheek over your knuckles. You clench your other hand in the fabric of your sweatpants, biting down on your lip to keep in the noises threatening to escape. The heat from his hands and mouth is dizzying, leaving your head a complete mess while you watch him press close to your open hand. He seems to…worship your hand, dragging his nose along the slender curve of your digits, cupping his cheek with your palm, inhaling the thin skin of your wrist like he’s some kind of hunting dog.

It all makes your belly tingle with excitement, but when his hazy eyes open to meet yours, it’s like a cold bucket of water is thrown on you. Unfocused and completely incoherent—Rafayel doesn’t really know what he’s doing right now. The arousal quickly dies out after that, replaced with concern and disgust aimed at yourself.

He’s sick and feverish, you can’t take anything that he’s doing now seriously whatsoever. The last thing you want to do is take advantage of the man you love in such a despicable way. Gently, you begin to pull away your hand, the ache in your heart growing when he makes a low, forlorn sound. He sounds like a little puppy when he whines like that, and he does try to keep your hand in his grip, but it just isn’t right of you to allow this to continue.

“Rafayel, you’ve gotta let me go, okay? You’re still sick, so I want you to try and lay down on the couch.” You have to use your other hand to properly disentangle the first, but you do free yourself. Rafayel looks sad for about six seconds before a startling sense of clarity enters his eyes. He jerks back, an irritated frown forming on his face as he glares at you.

‘There he goes.’ You smile as best you can, hoping that it’s conveyed despite the mask.

“Hey, Rafayel.” It’s lame and awkward as hell, but that doesn’t stop you from trying regardless.

“What are you doing here—I told you to stay away from me until I get better.” It hurts you to be on the receiving end of that pissed off look, but at least you can finally see him in person, hear him without the tinny filer of a phone and the limited specs of a camera. The hurt in your chest spreads when his anger doesn’t abate, and the emotions you’ve been grappling at for the past week suddenly come to the forefront of your mind. The worry, the fear, the longing—all of it.

“And when exactly was that going to happen, huh? It’s been a week and you haven’t gotten any better. You didn’t sound like you did during our phone calls either, if anything your fever got worse! A week may not seem like a long time to you, but it is to me and I fucking missed you, you ass—,” You hate that your voice cracks on the word. You hate even more when Rafayel’s eyes widen and then grow concerned at the sight of your teary eyes. This isn’t supposed to be about you at all, it’s supposed to be about him. But you also can’t deny that you had a selfish ulterior motive. You angrily sigh, more upset at yourself than him.

You reach up to wipe the tears in your eyes, but feverishly warm fingers beat you to it. Between one blink and the next, Rafayel is all up in your face, gazing down at you with a visibly conflicted expression as he gently clears the tears away from your waterline. You sniffle a little and blink at him, eyes going from the dark pool swirling within the sunset-hues if his irises to the gleaming blue scales sitting pretty on his cheeks.

“...You’re crying again.” He states quietly, and you honestly don’t know how to respond to that, so you keep silent, your gaze moving down to look at the scales on his neck. 

Rafayel clearly has more secrets than you ever realized. Carries more than he ever wanted to share with you. Is he really sick? Or…or was he trying to keep the scales a secret from you. Maybe he doesn’t trust you enough to tell you? Or maybe he’s been betrayed before and he can’t trust you no matter how much he wants to? Is this a new thing or has he always been this way? Is this why he’s so reclusive? The various questions cross your mind so fast you almost grow dizzy. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

“Do you want me to leave?” You whisper, eyes resolutely locked onto the side of his throat. You can feel the weight of his stare as it bores into you, but you just can’t look at his face. If he rejects you outright and you see it, you’ll definitely cry and you really don’t want to do that. You were being selfish, if he’s upset and wants to send you away then that’s completely his right. Rafayel sighs heavily, and you wilt underneath the weight of that pressure. You’re just about to move away when one of his hands anchors to your waist, freezing you in your tracks.

“Silly girl, don’t you remember what I told you before?” His fingers softly land underneath your chin, tipping your head up so that you’re meeting his eyes. His brows are furrowed slightly, but it's more frustration than real anger anymore. And it seems to be aimed more at himself than you. He gently taps your chin with the pads of his forefinger, giving you an expectant look when you keep quiet.

You flush.

“Th…that you’ll always wanna see me. N-never doubt that.”

“Exactly. So you already know the answer to that question you asked, hm?” You nod, a bit shy in the face of his candid words. But they do help you feel better, and the tense line to your shoulders relaxes. His lips faintly quirk into a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks down at you, softly rubbing the edge of his fingers against the slight pudge of your chin. When they catch on the end of the mask, he scoffs a bit then removes it. You want to offer a protest because you really don’t want to get sick too, but they don’t pass your lips when you see that unfathomable look in his eyes.

“As much as I want you here, though, you shouldn’t be here. S’dangerous for you, cutie.” The low tone sends chills down your spine. Dangerous? Your gaze flicks to the scales, and you think back to his behavior at the nightclub. The empty blackness of his eyes, the predatory edge to his face, the flash of serrated teeth you thought you imagined. A picture is beginning to paint itself in your mind, but you won’t make any assumptions until he confirms it for you himself.

“You can’t hurt me.” You state plainly, and you can see the argument start on his face, but you interrupt before he can say a thing.

“I’m serious, Rafayel. You cannot hurt me. I won’t let you think that you will.” Swallowing down your nerves, you lean closer to him. His eyes widen and he instinctively leans back, knocking the cold compress off his forehead in his rush. You ignore the wet ‘splat’ as it falls to the ground next to you, following him until he’s back in his original spot against the couch. But this time, you’re poised over his lap, resting high up on your knees above him. The furious blush to his cheeks grows even darker as he looks up at you, and you slowly bring your hands up to cradle his face. He sharply inhales, eyelids fluttering closed even as his hands wrap around your wrists as if to pull you off. But they merely rest there, as if looking for something to hold. As if looking for an anchor.

“You don’t understand, [✦]—!”

“Then help me, Rafayel. Because from where I’m at, there’s nothing you can do that could ever hurt me.” You gently brush your thumbs along the edges of his scales; lips quirking when Rafayel’s eyes slip nearly closed. They’re wickedly sharp and cold to the touch, like stainless steel. But prettier, in your opinion. Granted, everything about Rafayel is pretty in a deadly way, so it's easy for you to accept the scales as yet another part of him. A part that you want to know about desperately. The hands around your wrist tighten and you see Rafayel’s teeth grit so hard that a vein nearly pops in his jaw. 

His eyes snap open, the normal color of his eyes now resembling that flat black from the nightclub. He bares his teeth in a snarl, an angry hiss falling vibrating up his throat. It’s unlike any expression you’ve seen on his face before, yet it does very little to frighten you. Even when you feel the prick of too-sharp nails bite into the sensitive flesh of your wrist. Even when the ends of his teeth grow the slightest bit sharper, the color of his scales glowing even brighter underneath the moonlight.

He’s stunning. And as all the puzzle pieces click in your mind, you finally understand what he is.

“I’m a Lemurian, [✦]. I’m a vicious, angry monster that snaps up humans and whatever else I can sink my claws into. I’m fucking dangerous and you need to leave if you want to stay safe.” He says, as if he isn’t gripping your wrists tight enough to bruise. As if every cell in his body doesn’t want you even closer. You don’t say anything to that, just stare down at him with the sweetest and softest smile you have and keep the hold on his face easy and gentle.

You can see him fighting against your touch, but it's clearly a losing battle when he so eagerly leans into your hands, mouth parted as heavy breaths wet the skin of your wrist. You bite your lip at the expression on his face, watching as his eyelashes fan over the tops of his cheeks when he nuzzles into your hands, all that faux aggression from before melting off him. Rafayel is hungry for your touch—starved for it, really. It makes your chest burn when you finally realize that he aches for you the way you do him. It’s in the way his entire body can’t help but open up to you, the way he held your hand earlier, the nicknames and the intensity—all of it begins to make sense now.

You duck your head to touch his forehead with yours, smiling slightly when he lets out a breathy little sigh that blows across your face. Eyes open and already watching, you witness the change in his irises when his eyelids lift. The final shift from his human guise to a glimpse of his real one. A blue so clear and bright that it rivals the sky itself glows from within the ring of his irises, the black vertical slits for his pupils growing fat and wide when they lock onto you. It’s surprisingly cute, and it reminds you of how a cat’s pupils expand when it locks onto something they really like.

“Oh Rafayel…you’re so beautiful.” You coo, brushing your nose against his. He visibly looks startled and the comical expression makes you burst into a fit of giggles. You don’t surprise him often, so when you do, it always fills you with a childish kind of delight.

“You think I’m gonna be afraid of you because…what, you’ll hurt me with your claws? Bite me with those teeth of yours? Cut me on the edges of your scales? Rafayel–,” You lean back a bit, biting back a grin when he follows you. Gently, you push him back with the grip you have on his cheeks, lowering your head down to his ears, which have gained a slightly pointed edge. He goes ramrod still when he feels your breath on his ear.

“What you don’t seem to realize,” You murmur against the cartilage, lightly squeezing his face in your hands, “is that I’m not scared of you. How could I be when I can see that you aren’t dangerous to me? There have been plenty of times before where it would’ve been so easy for you to do something. But you haven’t, and that’s why I trust you. That’s why I’ll do anything for you, anything you need me to do.”

“You don’t—you can’t mean that.” He spits, like you can’t feel the restraint in his tense body. Like you don’t see just how much he’s holding himself back. You pull away to stare into his eyes, dragging your thumbs down the flushed skin of his cheeks. God, the look he’s giving you—a fine haze swirling through that brilliant shade of blue; an angry little furrow between his brow as his lips slightly purse into a pout. Sexy and cute all at once, the sight alone makes you want to give him anything and everything he wants ever.

“I mean every single word. Whatever it is that you’re going through, you clearly need my help. Just let me, please? I just wanna make you feel better. Hate seeing you like this.” Slowly, you lower yourself to sit in his lap. He watches you back, and you can see the fight start to leave him, the grip on your wrists loosening their tight hold.

“You don’t even know what’s wrong with me. How can you be so sure that you’ll even help?” He sneers, but he doesn’t stop you when you settle on his lap. You ignore the bulge you can feel pressing against you, sliding one of your hands down to rest on his chest. The grip on your wrist breaks easily, the other falling from your hand soon after.

“Then tell me.” You push yourself even closer, dragging across his lap to settle against him, chest to chest. His hips jerk when you do, his hands falling to your waist as if to stop you. But they just rest there instead, kneading the soft skin held in his slim fingers. 

“Help me understand you, Rafayel. I promise you, all I want to do is help.” There’s a desperate edge in your voice that you can’t hide, the grip you have on his cheek growing tighter as you slightly shake his face. As if you can physically get him to understand that you’re serious—that you’d love nothing more than to serve him. To make that pained grimace disappear.

He stares at you, and you can feel the rapid pounding of his heartbeat through his warm and sweaty chest. Which means that he can feel how fast your heart is racing despite how calm you’re trying to be. And you can see when he finally gives up; the tenseness to his expression going lax in defeat. While you don’t grin in victory, you also don’t bother hiding your happiness.

“You don’t get to run away from me after this. I won’t let you go, even if you beg me to.” He warns, low and serious.

“Don’t you remember what I said earlier?” You retort back, and a quicksilver flash of amusement flickers through his eyes before he ducks his head down. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, and you end up tossing both of your arms over his shoulders in order to sit more comfortably. You run your fingers through the strands of his hair, shivering when you feel his lips gently brush against your pulse point. The coolness of his scales press into your skin, but surprisingly, they don’t cut you.

“...Once a year, the ocean’s tide lowers and pulls in the opposite direction.” His hands slip underneath your hoodie and your t-shirt to touch your bare skin. Your eyelids flutter shut when he rests one of his hands on your stomach, sliding the other around to rub along the small of your back.

“Lemurians grow weak during that time. Vulnerability equals death when you live the way we do. As our body physically weakens…our instincts get stronger in response. Grow so intense that they help us stay alive. Stay safe against those that would use us—those who we don’t consider ours.” You gasp when you feel his teeth nibble on your skin, kicking your hips forward when the hand on your stomach dips lower.

“Around those we feel safest by, those who we can trust, our instincts latch onto that. They fuel our desires and cause them to become almost uncontrollable.” Your heart thumps painfully in your chest. ‘He trusts you. He trusts you so much that he..’ But you have to be sure. You can’t—you need to hear him say it out loud.

“Wh-what do you desire, then? What do you need?” You squirm when his hand stops at the waistband of your sweatpants, his other slowly trailing up your spine; dragging the tips of his nails up each individual knob. 

“...You. I need you so bad that it’s driving me wild. Fuck, but you already feel what you do to me, right?” The laugh he lets out is derisive, but it does nothing to hide the utter desperation coloring his words. The pound of his heart ticks up where his chest is pressed against yours, and the breathing against your throat gets even heavier. You cunt clenches when he admits it. You almost wouldn’t believe it, if not for the fervent kisses he’s placing against your neck. As if a damn breaks, the hands on your skin feel you up with an urgency that causes your veins to flow with an uncontrollable heat.

“Need you so bad right now, cutie, you’ve got no idea. Wanna rip these stupid clothes off and see all of you. I’ve thought about it, you know? What I'd do to you if I had the chance. How pretty you’d scream; how tight and perfect you’d feel wrapped around me.” You shake in his hold, biting your lip when you feel him jerk his hips against you, nails leaving the barest of scratches against your skin as he licks a strip up the side of your throat.

“I’d fill you up so nicely, too. Whatever you wanted—my fingers, my mouth, my cock.  Do anything to make you feel good. Have you come so many times that you’d be thinking of nothing but me the same way I think of nothing but you. Need you, need you, please, need you so bad—”

“You have me, Rafayel. Whatever you need from me it’s yours. I’m yours.” Your voice breaks when he groans into your neck, the sound sending a bolt of heat down your spine as he bucks up even faster against you. You grip his hair in one hand, anchoring the other on his shoulder to get more leverage as you try and match the rhythm of his hips; rutting against his clothed cock. Even through your clothes, you can feel it, and it’s hard to stay focused with the noises his voice is whining at you in your ear.

“Again. Say that—say it again. Please.” 

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“I-I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Rafayel, I’m yours.”

You two gravitate towards each other, foreheads knocked together, breaths mingling as you gaze at one another. The frenzied light in his eyes makes your whole body run hot, and it takes all of your strength to keep that eye contact as you go around and around in circles. Mumbling into each other’s mouths, but never quite kissing, you rock against each other. 

The friction shouldn’t be enough for you; but you’ve wanted him for so long that it feels like you get to that precipice in no time at all. Your eyelids flutter, your mouth drops open and your brows furrow. You’re so close to it, you just need that extra push and you’ll be there, but you can’t seem to find it. The hand in his hair tightens into a fist in your frustration, and you accidentally yank on those fluffy strands when you jerk forward too hard. Rafayel’s eyes squeeze tight as his hips stutter up, a low, broken moan falling from his lips as he leans forward.

“Fuck, fuck, shit—” His whole body shudders, and you can only watch as he comes undone beneath you; satisfaction drowning out your previous frustration. You just made him come. You did that, and you haven’t even gotten your hands on him really. He pants against your mouth, sweat dripping down the side of his face and hands gently rubbing over your skin. You hum at the feeling, nuzzling your nose against his as you pet through his hair, rubbing his shoulder with your other hand.

You watch as his eyes slit open, not at all surprised to see the heat in his eyes burning just as strongly as before. They drop to your mouth, and you don’t even have to think before you move. It hardly takes a lot, but it still feels like something momentous as your lips finally meet.

His lips are soft when you kiss; scorching you to the bone when he molds them to yours. You both moan in each other's mouths, his hands reaching up to cup your face while you pull him in closer by his hair. There’s nothing slow about the way you two kiss. A frenzied passion settles in the air between you, the noises from your lips loud as it echoes out into the quiet air.

Rafayel licks over your bottom lip, and you don’t hesitate to slide it open wider. You meet his tongue with yours, and maybe you should find it gross that it quickly dissolves into a messy and wet affair; spit from both of your mouths sliding down your chin. But you actually like how slutty it makes you feel, the spit drying on your skin only fanning the embers burning low in your gut. 

Soon, though, his lips trail down; teeth scraping against your skin as his fingers fumble with the zipper of your hoodie. You quickly help him unzip it, shrugging it off while he licks and sucks marks into your neck. You instinctively bare more of your throat to him, shivering when his hands waste no time in cupping the heavy sag of your breasts. He’s open-mouth panting into the side of your neck, gently squeezing the soft flesh in his hands before he rubs his thumbs over your nipples. They run over the barbells pierced through them, and you moan when they harden underneath his touch.

He freezes.

He rolls your nipples between his thumbs again, and you can feel his skin get even hotter somehow.

“Off. Your clothes—fuck, I need to see you.” He rasps, letting go of your chest to grab your waist. You nod, and he watches you with lust-blown eyes as you reach down and pull off your shirt. He taps your waist, and without thinking, you leverage yourself up onto your knees. 

“Perfect.” The low inhuman trill he lets out after sighing those words startles you and you jump a bit, but the sound soon leaves your mind when you feel his mouth wrap around one of your nipples. His fingers pinch and roll the other one, his second hand slipping beneath your sweatpants. His long, dexterous fingers glide over your mound before delving into the tight, wet heat of your cunt.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, nails digging crescents into his shoulder as you rock down on his fingers. The noise you let out is high-pitched and loud, but you don’t have the mind to be shy about how you sound when all you can think about are the things he’s doing to you. The warmth of his mouth as it toys with your nipple; the heat of his hand as it squeezes your breast; the stretch of his fingers as they glide in and out of you, easy and slick from how embarrassingly wet you are. 

“So good, so fucking good, Rafayel–ah!” You tremble when his fingers tug at the little golden barbel piercing glinting in the moonlight, the vibrations from his low moan causing you to squeeze down tightly on his fingers. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you continue to bounce on his hand, crying out and squeezing your eyes shut when he presses down on the one spot that makes you see stars. The coil forming in your belly is tightening tighter and tighter the faster her fucks his fingers into you, purposefully aiming at the spongey nerve inside of you. That peak you were aiming for earlier is fast approaching, and you’re helpless to stop it from careening into you like a truck.

“You close, pretty girl?” 

“Yeah. M’so close, Rafayel. Please, please—” Your body sways forward and your eyes fall to his mouth. Glossy with spit and red, you have the sudden urge to kiss him. Using the grip you have on his hair, you gently tug him away from your chest. You tilt his head up and lean down, wrapping your arms around his neck as you close your eyes and press your lips together. He kisses back without hesitation, his free hand sliding around to support your back as he drills his fingers in and out of you. You can feel how close you’re getting, how your muscles twitch and spasm, how the heat from your bodies burns you from the inside out. 

“Come on my fingers. C’mon, wanna feel you squeeze around me. Lemme feel it, cutie, I know you’re already there, just need a little more—” You have no idea how he manages it with the awkward angle of his fingers, but you feel a sudden stimulation to your clit and suddenly, you’re gone. Your eyes roll behind your closed lids as tears drip down your cheeks, your body jerking violently in his hold as you cream all over his fingers. Rafayel growls low and deep in his chest, keeping the momentum of his fingers even after it's clear that you’re getting overstimulated.

“Rafa–s’too much, wait…” You shake when his fingers don’t stop, his mouth kissing away the moisture on your face.

“I need to feel you. Please, need to be inside you; need to be in so deep that you never get rid of me.” He begs, and even though your body is still shaking from the aftermath of your orgasm; even though every touch to your throbbing cunt aches; even though you feel like you’re about to float away with all the endorphins rushing through your mind, you easily fold.

He pulls his fingers out of you with a ‘squelch’, quickly maneuvering you until you’re spread out on the floor in front of him, sweatpants tossed off and leaving you completely bare beneath the moonlight streaming in through the open windows. You watch as he quickly undresses himself, eyes trailing down the lean but strong lines of his muscular frame. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the space in between his legs when he drops back to his knees and shuffles towards you. Long and flushed a deep pink, he’s easily the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. Decently thick with a slight left lean, you know that he’s going to fill you so well—your cunt aches at the thought.

“So pretty…” He mumbles, long fingers sliding underneath your thighs. He lifts them until they rest on his shoulders, spreading your pussy out with one hand while he grips the base of his cock with the other. He leans forward, dragging the length of his cock through the messy wet folds of your cunt. You shake uncontrollably while he coats his dick in your fluids, biting your lip when you feel the soft drag of his balls touch where your ass meets your thigh.

“I’m gonna paint you like this, one day. Capture how perfect you look; spread out and waiting for me to fuck you. To fill you with me.  You’re mine for life and forever beyond that. Gonna make it so that you’re never whole without me; so that you’re never full if I’m not next to you. M’never gonna let you go now, cutie. But, I think you already know that, yea?” The way he’s staring at you has you reaching out for him; something he easily gives you when he bends down and lets you hook your hands around his neck, your legs falling to either side of his hips.

“You gonna keep me? Split me open and fill me with you?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your eyes half-lidded and your body aching. But you love the feeling it leaves you with; love the hungry, desperate look in Rafayel’s eyes as he ruts his cock against your cunt. Your breaths mix as he brushes his nose against yours, placing a gentle peck to the corner of your eye.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m gonna give you whatever you want. Everything that you want.” He promises, before raising himself slightly. Chest heaving, you train your eyes back down and watch as he uses your slick to coat himself with the hand on his cock, groaning low in his chest when he squeezes the sensitive skin of his head on the upstroke. He angles the tip down, and you feel the insane amount of heat emanating from his dick right before it pierces you. Your entire body trembles in shock as you take him in. Despite being loose from your orgasm, you still find it to be a bit of stretch to fit his girth inside of you. Your mouth drops open in a silent wheeze as that empty feeling inside of you is slowly filled by every inch you take.

Rafayel isn't faring much better above you, sweat dripping down the sculpted planes of his chest as he pants for air, the red flush traveling down his shoulders to his pecs. His eyes are wide opened and locked onto the space where you two are connected, one hand still guiding his shaft, the other digging into the meat of your thigh.

Before long, you feel him bottom out. A hurt little sound punches out of your chest when you feel the tip bump into your cervix. Your hands are scratching at Rafayel’s back, whimpering cries leaving your mouth as he leans back over you. His mouth is slack, eyes hazy and cloudy as his hands fold you over until your feet dangle by your ears. You can barely breath in that position, but the deeper his cock goes more than makes up for it.

The time for words is long gone, evident by the way Rafayel just begins thrusting into you without waiting any longer. Folded in half as you are, all you can do is lie there and take the brutal and sharp jerks of his hips; the sound of your wet skin slapping against his as it echoes out into the otherwise silent room. The only thing you hear is his voice—continuously mumbling out desperate little pleas and praises that you can just barely hear above the blood rushing to your ears. Your own voice comes out as no more than a breathy wheeze from the angle you're positioned at.

You can barely think past the rhythmic clap of his thighs against your ass, eyes blank and glossy. Nothing else matters at that moment; nothing but the stretch of his cock bullying your cunt open; the sharp hit against your cervix that make your cunt clench even tighter; the whimpering, guttural moans of his echoing in your ears; the bruising grip he has on your thighs, nails drawing bloody crescents into your skin; the overwhelming pleasure as becoming one with Rafayel, getting as physically close as two people can possibly get. You barely even notice when Rafayel suddenly sinks his teeth into your neck; you do notice the searing pain that begins to form where he bit, however, and you cry out. The pain and pleasure of it all mixes into an intoxicating blend. It becomes your favorite taste when Rafayel’s scales litter your shoulders and chest with cuts, the nails on his fingers doing much the same to the backs of your thighs.

Rafayel moans into the skin of your neck where his teeth are still buried, the pace of his thrusts speeding up so quickly that you realize what’s about to happen. The thought of him coming inside of you brings you back to your senses, and your hands weakly begin to pull him in even closer. You need to feel him release inside of you; need it so badly you could cry. 

You don’t have the breath to plead any longer, but Rafayel seems to just know anyway, because he easily scoops you up, settling in between your legs and pressing you flat to the floor. Your shaking thighs wrap around his waist, and he comes exactly like that; smothering you with the bulk of his body as he marks you on the outside and the inside. Your own orgasm follows, and you come with a hoarse whimper.

Your cunt pulses around his spent cock, and though you can hear the tiny little whines he lets out around the teeth buried in your neck, he refuses to pull out. If anything, he gently rocks his hips against you, as if encouraging your pussy in her plight to milk him dry. Sweat cools sticky against your skin, and you feel the edges of unconsciousness tickle your mind. Before you can fight against it, you find that it already has you under and you lose yourself to the warm, dark embrace of sleep as Rafayel cradles you close; a low, rhythmic humming vibrating his chest.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Lego still not sponsoring me (dark!Konig x fem!Reader)

Konig is a nerd who needs to get sprayed with water for being a fucking creep. You're an adorable cashier at the Lego Store in Berlin who doesn't know any better and is too nice to lose. He will have you. Mostly because he wants someone to do his Lego sets with.

Details count: 2922 AO3 TW and Tags: Dub-con/Non-con, age gap, size difference, kidnapping, awkward colonel Konig, nerd Konig, hurt/comfort, Konig's POV(mostly), awkward German, yandere Konig.

You didn’t want to build Millenium Falcon with him. 

You didn’t want to shower or eat, you didn’t want to do anything besides crying, and even though your tears, as he expected, were beautiful and adorable, it was kinda hard for König to take care of your mental and physical needs while he was rock hard from watching you cry so sweetly. 

König is patient, kind, and a model citizen through and through. Why are you upset? He is doing everything he can, just to make you smile! Seriously, Schatzi, the desire to make him as miserable as you possibly can doesn’t make you pretty or cute or even the least bit adorable. Good thing that he is used to feeling sad and kinda of bullied – you’re lucky he doesn’t even try to feel good anymore. Not in his destiny book to live a good life. — I brought food. 

You groan lightly, whimpering somewhere in the corner of his basement. To your justification, his basement is a bit dirty. He forgot to visit the house for months after deployment, which was never enough to fill out the blanks of loneliness in the empty rooms. His dogshits methods of choosing decorations also made the mere existence in the house a hard mission even in itself. He looked at the anime posters in the guest rooms, which made him want to sell the property to anyone willing to pay 50 Euros for the processing fees. The posters(Sword Art Online because why the hell not, he likes cool swords and a power fantasy about a loser getting the chick) and artwork of his queen and savior, The Busty Blond Lady From Fate because, unlike those waifu-obsessed freaks, he did have a life and not enough time to actually remember her name. Something about light sabers. Or cats. — Are you going to kill me? 

He sighs because you sound like a broken record. All the time – the questions about his intentions, like you can’t see the tent in his pants every time you open your eyes, about letting you go, about at least allowing you to text your family that you decided to change your country of residence and would need to revoke your German visa. You’re way more soft than he thought you’d initially be – no fighting, no arguing, just pure terror and desire to die every time his hands brush over you. König is a sweet guy, as sweet as someone like him can be – but he only has a few weeks until his next mission, and even a few days of your moping around is bound to make him not just blue-balled, but also very, extremely, offensively hot-headed. 

He spent two days with you chained up in his basement and, he thinks, that should be enough for foreplay. He is extremely generous and kind – usually, at this point, he’d already start breaking the fingers of whoever poor fuck is his torture victim for the mission. 

— I don’t want to kill you. 

You whimper – somehow, his answer didn’t calm you down. Fucking women and their inability to talk to their kidnappers – he considers spiking your food just this once, so he could have a nice session with your little drunk self and some roofies but, of course, he is a nice guy who brought you takeout in a reheatable container, with a cute plastic fork and some sparkling water in a glass, just so you won’t feel like he is making you eat some garbage. It’s good food, too – he’d love to cook like this, but the heights of his skills are runny eggs and burnt coffee. He hopes you like the Italian because it’s the most inoffensive stuff he could have brought you without resorting to pizza and cup noodles. He will never let you eat cup noodles on his watch. 

— Are you going to rape me? 

He can’t exactly say no because, as a matter of fact, pulling your cute body under his is one of his intentions. He wanted to do it since he was you in this fucking store, but, of course. saying this to a pretty girl is lame. And completely counter-productive. And would make him a villain in your eyes, even though he tries so fucking hard to be a hero. He can make you feel good if you were to just open your pretty legs for him and moan under his tongue – god knows, he wants to make you feel good. He wonders what would it take for him to please you. If he could have a full-time job at this. 

— Nein. Thought I told you already. 

— I don’t…I shouldn’t believe you. 

He shook his head, pushing the plate(he had to go out of his way to actually put the pasta from the tray to a proper plate, enjoy this, woman) towards you. You’re adorable like this – naked, trembling, a bit too weak to actually fight him over not eating anything for the past two days – you’re repeating the same conversation over and over again and König wouldn’t mind living in a groundhog day if the loop would end with his fucking you on that thin mattress each time. 

Speaking of mattresses – he needs to get you a thicker one. 

Speaking of thicker mattresses – he needs to relocate you into his bedroom as soon as possible. 

Speaking of his bedroom – he is fucking bricked. 

— If you don’t trust me, why do you ask? 

You bite your lips. He can see you’re hungry and thirsty – he doesn’t want to forcefully feed you, so, yeah, you better be very hungry very soon. He pushes the plate towards you, hoping you won’t launch it on his head. He survived worse, a 6’4 British dude in a ski mask falling on him with the speed of Brexit, but getting hit by a plate when your angry girlfriend is being an angry girlfriend is…the best thing that could ever happen to him, actually. Gott, he is miserable. 

— I…I don’t know. Don’t want to get killed. 

— I won’t kill you. 

— But you will hurt me. 

— I don’t have to do that, Liebling. 

No, he doesn’t. 

But he sees the way your plushy thighs are squeezing into that tiny corner where your mat is, your squishy body getting all shaky and trembly, your lips in a tight line with tiny blood droplets from biting on them too much – and, by his fucking god, you’re beautiful. He wants to make you wet, to make you squirm, to make you beg and cry for mercy as he pounds into the sweetness of your cunt. He wants to try you on the inside and out, lick you all over from the inside, and then make you lick your love juices from his lips. 

König knows he is hard and can’t really hide it – it’s useless now, really, he is being very nice and considerate to you. Changing your life is hard, especially with how quickly you moved to his place – like a good boyfriend, he should help you adjust. And aid you in recognizing that he is, in fact, your boyfriend and future husband. The perfect partner to ever exist. — What is it? 

— Pasta. It’s…it’s good. Should be good. He is nervous, anxious. Seeing a pretty girl in her natural habitat – a Lego store – is one thing. He was barely able to talk to you properly, especially right after his deployment, where the only female attention he ever got was Roze asking to cover her or additional female soldiers groaning in pain as he stomped them. But you…he shouldn’t be colonel around you – absolutely not. You’re soft and civilian, you’re as polite as a girl in a basement could be, and you deserve to have something nice for once in your life. Licking his lips, König gently picks up a fork and presses a small amount of pasta – rich, creamy, with some nice cheese that smells divine - -against your lips. 

You refuse.

A smart move, he could have poisoned it – so he thinks for a few seconds, staring at you like a smart girlie you are, and then – lifts his hood. If only barely, revealing his scarred chin and bruised lips. The initial swelling after getting his head bumped by a guy who was speaking like an edgy teenager in the Counter-Strike lobby was already gone by the time he managed to get you into his basement – but no amount of rest could hide all other marks from his job. 

Despite being a seasoned mercenary with hundreds of killed targets and completed objectives, he feels…insecure. You’re a nice girl, a good girl, the type that used to look at him with hatred while he was bullied at school. Hatred or pity – but you only look at him with fear, and it cements his understanding that you’re not going to give in to loving him so easily.

König sighs deeply, his lips, curved into that awkward, boyish smile that creeps on his face every time he as much as thinks about you, now transforming into a scowl as you proceed to whimper and try to get lost in the wall behind you. Like he wouldn’t be able to track your scent if you would disappear. He slowly presses his fork towards his mouth, chewing on the food – showing you that it’s not poisoned. 

He smiles again when he sees you slowly parting your lips, expecting him to feed you with less of a fuss. He’d propose something else – maybe even untying your hands and allowing you to actually for yourself, but something in your helpless state made his cock throb in his pants. God, König knows he isn’t his strongest soldier, but could he please make you less adorable? He doesn’t want to push you on your knees and make you suck on him until he whimpers, but the way you lick all of the cheese from your lips and try your best to look presentable in front of him… The process of feeding someone shouldn’t really be sexual, but König gently pushes the hair away from your face and lifts up the fork over and over, sometimes only changing to bring a glass of water to your lips. He can do this all day. Every day. Pleasing you already becomes second nature – and he spends most of his life thinking that the only thing he can take care of is his rifle and a few tortured enemies that need their teeth extracted. You require gentle handling – and he wants nothing more but to give you that. Just…a bit later. Preferably after the already came in your pussy at least two or three times and made you choke on his dick as a little thank-you gift. 

You finish eating after a short while, thanking him for bringing you a napkin to clean your lips. König gently caresses your head, enjoying the sensation of your hair under his palm – it’s like petting a cat. A soft little pet just for him and no one else – if only he could actually bring you to like him. He has a few bond activities in mind, though. — You liked it, ja? 

You lick your lips again, and his breath hitches. This is going to be hard, this is going to be impossible, it’s worse than having to work with high Krueger on a ship that made everyone feel like they were the ones doing crack in the backroom of their makeshift base. 

— I…I did. 

He pets your head again like you’re his pet – and you gently move your head to lean into his touch. Perhaps you’re dumber than he thinks. Or way smarter – a clever strategy to make him relax and nice to you without making him too suspicious. You slowly get back into your corner, but König wouldn’t have any of it – he drags you back by your arm, making you whimper and sob in his hold. It’s bad, he doesn’t want you to squirm from under him as much as you do, but…if you don’t want to be a good girl, he might as well force you to. 

You cry as he pushes you deep into the corner, his hands roaming over your body. Thank god he ripped your clothes before you woke up – now there isn’t anything protecting you from his hands, not even that adorable bra he ripped in pieces because, as much as he loved wearing a uniform with straps and buttons everywhere, he could not figure out how to take this thing off you without breaking it. The last time he was sleeping with a woman, she wore a sports bra that could be taken off easily. It’s your fault that you decided to be more girly, really. Not his. 

His hands cup your breasts roughly. Tugs and twists your nipples, a few shaky moans telling him exactly how sensitive you are – he might not have a girl in a hot minute, too busy with being the best freaking mercenary in the world, but even he knows how to take care of a pretty thing like you. Your tits fit in his hands perfectly, even more, reasons to believe you were just made for him. Not for some lame job at a Lego store counter – you should be waiting on your knees in his bedroom, with your mouth open wide and neat to fit his cock right in. With some sweet things lingering on your tongue as he bullies himself right in, getting what he deserves for protecting peace – and installing violence – while doing his job. He might not be the best freaking guy around, but he deserves something nice. 

He pinches your nipples until they’re firm and swollen, every little cry escaping from your lips is only encouraging him to proceed. Licks on the open skin of your neck until his eneve stubble makes you whimper from how sensitive you are – it should be painful, he thinks, with how bloody the little bite marks from his teeth have become. 

König marks you as thoroughly as possible, smiling each time you cry and beg for him to stop. You’re changing between bad German and good English, between loud cries and small whimpers, which he can’t determine from pleasure to pain. Not like he cares, too determined to make you cry his name – even though you probably don’t know it. All of his desires to claim you taking full power now, not listening to the way you plead with him. Whimper for him. Your skin is a clear canvas, allowing him to paint you with hickeys and marks, enjoying the little blood droplets covering your collarbones. 

— Quiet, please. Don’t…don’t move, Schatzi. I don’t want to hurt you. 

— Please, please, just…anything but… — Won’t take long. Promise. 

— I don’t want to- — Quiet. I know you don’t, Liebling. Just…Scheisse, you…fuck. 

— Stop! — Can’t. I apologize, Schatzen. Relax for me, ja?

He whispers, he whimpers, he is almost out of his mind when he can finally put his tongue on your swollen nipples. For some weird, depraved reason, he almost expects the milk to start flowing from your chest, allowing him to drink up as much as he wants. If he could get you pregnant, he might enjoy it for a few months – although having a kid on his hip isn’t as fun as it could have. He tried to babysit Hutch kids once when he brought them to base – and it was the worst fucking day of his life. Besides, little children can’t be around Legos – it's already a deal breaker for someone like him. 

Speaking of legos…

You wiggle in his grasp, as good as you can with your hands still in the handcuffs – he should give you that one, at least you aren’t just laying lifelessly in front of him. At least you’re putting up a fight. At least he doesn’t feel too bad about restraining you without proper reasoning. You lick your lips again, that cute tongue of yours going over all the bite marks. You take a deep breath, shaking in his hold. God, he can just look in your face the whole day – barely knows how to handle himself around you. — I…I thought you wanted to…build this set with me? Smart girl. Way smarter than he gave you credit for – you know how to make him stop in his tracks and finally look at you differently. Maybe, you’re too good for him. Maybe, he doesn’t really care about that. Millennium Falcon, still sitting in the box – König hoped you’d start slowly putting it together but, seemingly, you need a bit of encouragement. The only thing that could tug him away from your breasts is the expensive set sitting just next to him. 

Might start bonding with you as well. He tugs away from your nipples with a loud pop, an obnoxiously wet sound emerging as a thin line of saliva connects your breasts and his tongue. You whimper when he smiles, that scarred face of his twisting in a huge grin. Knows he’s not the most charming person around, but it’s not like you have any choice now – not with the limited options he gave you. Like a good girl, you’d probably pick doing Lego Sets with him than taking his cock in that tight pussy of yours. He’d be satisfied with any outcome. — J…ja. I’d like that.  He has to give this one to you – you really know how to get a man going.

Bu building this insane set with him, that is.

[arcanewhoosh]

hiii how are you? I hope ur doing well!

I dont know if your requests are open or not so if they aren’t feel free to just ignore this :)

i was wondering if you could write a jinx X female reader (if not female gn is totally alright whatever you’re comfortable with) a soulmate au with jinx where it’s the reader who goes to the alternative universe instead of ekko, but instead of just going to one universe, the reader ends up going to multiple ones. she/they find out that jinx is her/their partner in every universe, in every timeline, in every possibility, making them soulmates.

I actually made a post about this idea, asking if anyone could write it, but I also wanted to ask you as well because I just adore your writing so so sooo much. I could honestly read your work for hours without getting bored or tired.

I Think We're Kind of Made for Each Other

This work will be posted (with an additional scene) on AO3 here. Please note that the work posted there will be tagged as Explicit

24.3k words

Proofread? Y/N

Relevant Tags: JinxXReader, Female Reader, Soulmates AU, Multiple timelines, Violence, Major character death, Suicide, Self-Harm, Alcohol consumption, Original side character, Canon compliant, LoL characters

When the anomaly at the Hex Gate transports you and your friends across realities, you're forced to confront the different lives you live in each one. But will you be able to accept a hard truth when you face the only constant thing in every timeline?

A/N: I just wanted to say, that this has to be my magnum opus. I don't think I can write another oneshot this long. To be fair, the idea had been floating in my head for a while, so when the request came, I kinda went crazy. And to think I thought I could write this in a day lol.

Nevertheless, I had a lot of fun writing. I highly encourage you to read some of my other stuff, purely because there are a few references in this story.

Please enjoy. And if you like it, feel free to share with your friends.

One

The feeling of wetness on the side of your face wakes you up—your entire left side, actually—as a dull ache starts to throb in your head. Barely registering the rain pelting down on you, you open your eyes and try to catch your bearings.

There's a loud ringing in your ears, but you can make out muffled shouting and gunfire, the sizzling in the air followed by a boom. It triggers the fight or flight response in you, but everything is hurting and you can't remember how you even ended up here. You should be doing something right now, but for the life of you, you can't figure out what.

Your hand wipes at your ear as you open your eyes to inspect it, an unsurprising streak of red on your fingers is starting to smear as the rain continues to pour. Your vision swims for a few seconds, and you figure a concussion is going to be added along with the possible ruptured eardrum in your list of injuries.

Thankfully, your gaze focuses on the sight ahead of you. The familiar bridge dividing Piltover and Zaun, cracked and blown off at sections. There are armed people hiding behind a barricade on your side of the bridge, shooting at enforcers at the other end.

You plant your hands on the concrete and try to push yourself up, getting to about knee level before a sharp pain in your foot knocks the wind out of you and fall back down. It only occurs to you now to look down and inspect the rest of you. Banged up, caked in dirt and blood—Whose blood was that?—and your clothes torn at odd places. Your foot is still there, and it's not dangling off at an awkward angle, at least. You grit your teeth and try to move the injured limb. The pain wracks through your body, but your foot moves nonetheless. Sprained, not broken; good.

An explosion next to you pulls you back into reality and starts up your sense of urgency as you crawl your way over to cover. Hiding behind a fallen pillar, you take a second to breathe and get your bearings. A number of people run past you, all carrying guns and explosives from what you can make out—Why are we in a gun fight with the Pilties?—all ignoring you as they erect more barricades and set their weapons up. It might be the adrenaline, but you can't for the life of you remember how you ended up in this situation. What the hell were you doing here?

You close your eyes and try to block out the pain from your head and ankle, willing yourself to recall the events prior this firefight.

This was all planned. Carefully planned over the course of years.

The painstaking effort it took to build weapon factories in the fissures to stay out of Piltover's radar.

the underground hand-to-hand combat classes.

"You know, you say we should feel like we're all one people—"

Expanding Zaun southwards to facilitate growth for the future.

"Is that a wild rune?"

"I have no idea what that is."

Noxus antagonizing you for trying to build a better city for your people.

"No, don't touch it!"

"Ekko—"

Your thoughts are interrupted when a pair of hands grab you by your shoulders. Your eyes snap open at the figure in front of you, her pink eyes all too familiar. She looks worried—about you, no less—and affection blooms in your chest the same time a feeling of repulsion comes over you. Jinx, you try to say, but you're still reeling from your injuries and your attempt to recall what had just happened, that you're not able to utter a word. She's speaking, but you can barely make out what she's saying because of the ringing in your ears. You try to read her lips, but your mind is too hazy to make sense of her words.

She realizes that you're not understanding her at all, and she spots the blood still coming out of your ear. As she moves to gingerly wipe off some of it with a gloved hand, you instinctively—instinctively??—lean into her touch. She pulls out a small vial with a needle at the end of it. The pink glow of its contents immediately tells you that it's shimmer, as Jinx takes off the cover with her mouth and spits it out to the side.

"No." You say. At least you think you do, you can't really hear yourself. You hand grabs her wrist holding the needle, but she's faster and leans her hand away just out of reach from you. She grabs your own with her free hand, and gives you an apologetic look. You're not sure why, but you can almost tell that she's trying to say this'll help, I promise.

The smile alone is enough to make you relent, and a part of you is bewildered at the fact. Still, you put your hand down and let her stab the needle into your thigh, its contents seeping through.

You lurch forward at the sensation, but she catches you and holds you as you tense up from the high that shimmer delivers with it. You grab onto her as you wait for the effects to subside.

"It's okay, you're okay, I've got you." She whispers into your hair. You relax, slowly but surely. Besides the fogginess you still feel, you're a million gold coins. You gently push yourself away, taking a look around, your sense suddenly heightened. A short side effect of shimmer, if you remember right.

"Jinx." You finally manage. "Are you okay?"

She scoffs, but you know that it's not out of hostility. "Don't you think I should be asking you that?"

She has a point. A part of you wants to contradict her for the fun of it, but this isn't the place, or time. You peek over the side of the pillar, the barricades are holding strong, even gaining ground over Piltover. The momentary safety provided by cover is enough for you pull Jinx and yourself on your feet.

Her face if covered in dirt and grease. She was supposed to be working on Fishbones, away from the front lines. "You're supposed to be on higher ground."

"I'm not gonna sit on my ass while you're all here risking your lives. Besides—" She pushes a rifle onto you. "Fishbones is ready. Once the Noxian's ship is even an inch within range, they're done for."

You shake your head. "You're better if you're—"

"No." She starts. She has a determined look in her eye, the same one she sports when she wants you to drop an argument. And you drop it, every single time.

"I'm just as good as a shot as you. And we're winning." She gestures toward the bridge, where the line of enforcers and Noxians troops are slowly but surely backing away. "We'll need as many boots here as we can. You said it yourself, the hardest part is gonna be holding the line once they call for negotiations."

Your grip tightens on the rifle. You were so close to freeing Zaun. Wait what?

Freeing Zaun? No, you needed to save your tree, with the firelights, and all the refugees. You needed to find Ekko, and Heimerdinger, and Jayce. Jinx… Jinx was the enemy. She killed your friends before, blown up your safehouses, let Silco flood the streets with shimmer—

"The Noxians ships are here!"

You both turn to the east side of the bridge, and spot the fleet approaching. Their pace glacial because of the narrow path on the water. They start deploying smaller boats filled with their soldiers, headed for the small docks on your side of the bridge. You turn back to Jinx, her eyes are still trained on you. She takes a breath, and opens her mouth to say something—

"Cap! We're armed and ready!" A blob of pink hair catches your attention; it's Vi, waving over to you from a distance away. "Give the signal!" You look up to the rooftops above her, a group of people rolling three launchers forward, all trained on the large vessels in the water. The blue glow coming from the HexTech gemstone running through lines on the launchers they were all hauling. One for each ship.

"This is it." You say as you grab Jinx's arm. "Go take cover."

"And leave you here? Fat chance."

"Jinx."

"I'm staying." This stubborn little—You sigh, now was not the time for a petty argument. You were about to give the go signal for a possible war-ending—or war escalating—attack. You settle for pulling Jinx with you as you zigzag towards where Vi is, bullets flying everywhere.

"We're armed and ready." She says as she crouches next to you. You know you can't delay the command, but a pit settles in your stomach as the weight of your decisions starts to sink in. The number of lives that'll be lost from this.

But you don't have the luxury in time, not in war. All you have is the culmination of your split second decisions and the consequences that follow.

"Tell them to fire." You state it with such calmness that it surprises the three of you. Vi nods, nonetheless, and gives the signal to the fighters on the rooftop.

In the few seconds that the high pitched screech of the launchers resonate through the air, the battlefields becomes silent. All eyes trained on the rooftops of Zaun, then the Noxian ships.

The first rocket hits a ship. A loud bang is heard as it makes contact, followed by a muffled explosion as smoke starts to billow out of the ship. The vessel groans and slows to a stop, as a line of soldiers dressed in red start abandoning ship as fires start erupting out of doors and windows. The other two ships follow the same fate. A loud bang, an explosion, the smoke, and people desperately trying to get away.

You stare at the horrific sight in front of you. There are no sounds from the guns firing from each side, no bangs from projectiles being launched from mini Hex gates. Everyone has stopped whatever they were doing and were now watching people on ships, trying to escape the inferno quickly building up.

Your head throbs, and you stumble as you try to walk towards the bridge. Jinx catches you as you fall to your knees, your head suddenly as heavy as lead, the ringing in your ears returning, louder this time. Jinx is trying to tell you something, but your vision begins to blur, and you feel like you need to just… shut your eyes for a few moments.

-----

Two

"Hey, Ms. Port Master extraordinaire? Hello?"

The snap of fingers brings you out of your stupor. You blink a few times before clearing your throat.

"Sorry." You try to flash a smile to the woman in front of you. Her eyes scrutinize you for a brief moment, seemingly trying to figure out what was going on in your mind, before her infuriatingly attractive smirk adorns her face.

"Didn't peg you for a lightweight."

You snort as you take a sip from your glass. "I'm not a lightweight."

"The zoning out is kind of a dead giveaway."

"I wasn't zoning out. I was lost in your eyes."

"You weren't even looking at me."

"I had to look away cause I was getting lost in your eyes?"

She lightly punches your arm—damn she's strong—before leaning against the counter of the busy bar. You sit close to each other, citing the noisy atmosphere and the hindrance that would cause during your conversation, but you both know better. You wanted to sit close because she was, pardon your French, too fucking attractive. Hers, you weren't sure yet, but you'd be able to find out eventually.

"I'm guessing you don't get lost in all of your customers' eyes, too?"

"Just yours." You’re not a lightweight, that much you’re certain. Tipsy, however, you very much are. If the brazen flirting wasn’t making it obvious enough.

"And you weren't out last night with some poor girl who also had engine troubles?" You put a hand over your chest.

"You're breaking my heart here, blue." The feigned hurt in your voice does little to deter the eye roll that Powder gives you. You let out a laugh as you put your hands up as a mock sign of peace. "Hey, I swear I was trying my best to be professional earlier, but I'm off the clock now, so I can flirt as much as I want."

"Oh, we're flirting?" You furrow your brows at her.

"Was that not clear?"

"Nah, not really."

"Do you platonically get lost in people's eyes?"

"Maybe. How do I know you don't take girls here every night? I could ask the bartender."

"Go ahead, he's an unbiased party. Besides," You shrug. "Even if I did, I'm a regular here so he wouldn't snitch on me."

"Don't put words in my mouth you muppet." the burly man working behind the bar walks towards the two of you, refilling your drinks. He winks at Powder. "Don't worry love, I'd sell this one for a sack of potatoes—"

"Hey!"

"But." He says, a thick eyebrow raised at you. "Lil' missy here isn't a revolving door of lovers. In fact, I don't reckon' she's ever brought someone here. Or landed a date, actually—" Powder snorts into her drink, and you take it as a sign that it's time to usher the barkeep away.

"Okay, thank you Ed, for the refills. I think there's some people asking for you over there." Ed laughs as he lumbers over to the other side of the bar. You keep your eyes on him until you're sure that he's occupied, before turning back to Powder. "I do in fact, get dates. For the record."

"Oh, of course, I totally believe you."

"I mean it."

"Completely believe you."

"Okay, now you're just messing me." Your ego is a bit bruised at Ed's interruption, the shit eating grin on Powder's face isn't helping either. But she's smiling, and for some ungodly reason, you consider it as a win. You shake your head and take a longer sip from your drink, why the hell were you so sappy all of a sudden?

"Okay, okay. Sorry, toots." She nudges you with her shoulder. "No more teasing."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "No more bruising my ego?" She shakes her head and crosses over her heart.

"Nope. Serious questions only, from this point forward."

"Oh? Like what?" You turn to her and prop your chin on your hand.

"Like…" She bites her lip and looks at a random spot on the wall of drinks across from you, momentarily in thought. At this point, you're not even trying to hide your staring. She doesn't call you out on it when she looks back at you, but a small smirk plays at her face. “You’re drunk.”

“Just as drunk as you are.”

“I’m not drunk yet.”

“You’re literally slurring your words right now.”

“…I’m tipsy.”

You do your best to hold back a chuckle. “Hi tipsy—“

“Gods, please don’t.” She groans and hides her face in her hands. “I was just starting to find you attractive.”

“I thought we were done bruising my ego?”

“The dad jokes make you free real estate.”

“Okay, alright.” You laugh. Gently prying her hands away from her face. “Just ask me your question.“

She relents, but doesn’t let go of your hand as she sets her hand down the counter. “Hmm…”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Here? No, I only came here about five years ago. Looking for my great perhaps and all.” A momentary ring in your ear causes your breath to hitch, but Powder doesn’t seem to notice.

“Where are you from?” She continues, her eyes slightly glazed but reflecting her curiosity.

“I’m from—“

The Free Nation of Zaun

The Undercity

Why the hell would I tell you?

“Hey.” Jinx gives your hand a gentle squeeze. You do your damn best not to yank your hand away. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to tell me.”

Bilgewater, you’re from Bilgewater.

“No, it’s okay.” You squeeze her hand back before she has the chance to pull away. "Could you give me a second?"

You wait for her to nod before you push yourself off the stool and make your way to the bathroom. You quickly lock the door and rest your head against it. The ringing in your ears returns, and your breathing becomes ragged. "Where the hell am I?" You look over to the bathroom mirror, and you're surprised to see the figure standing in front of you.

Your hair is different; your face—you look healthier? Not someone who grew up in the Undercity. You walk over to the sink, planting both hands on either side, scrutinizing your features further. It's you alright, somehow. Only it's also not.

Born in Bilgewater, left for adventure, ended up here working at the port.

"No." You shut your eyes as you shake your head. "I was born in the Undercity, I'm a firelight, we came across a wild rune and… now I'm here. I need to find Ekko, and Jayce, and Heimerdinger." You repeat the words a few more times, just to make sure you don't forget. The sound of water flowing out of the faucet as you turn a knob offers little comfort, but the cold sensation of the water when you splash your face helps.

You're about to turn and exit the bathroom when you spot something on your arm.  A small thing, peeking out of your sleeve. You gasp as you pull your sleeve back, the web-like patterns of the wild rune threading a line over your forearm.

You needed to find out what was happening, and why you've already encountered Jinx twice, every time you did whatever you were doing. Were you hallucinating? Did you just hit your head and was currently having a really trippy dream? You decide to think this over once you shake off Jinx, Powder, whoever she is. Easier said than done, since you kept acting like some lovesick fool.

When you return to the bar, Jinx is still there. Her back is turned to you, but her shoulders are slumped in a way that you can immediately tell that she's not in a good mood.

"Oi." Ed flicks your ear, ignoring your protest. "What the hell are you doing, making that sweet lass upset?"

I wouldn't use sweet to describe her.

"Sorry, I—uh, I'll fix it."

"Damn right you will. You come across someone like that once every lifetime." He pushes you toward the bar, before going back to clear a table.

"Sorry about that." Her head whips up in surprise, clearly not expecting you to be back. "Lost myself for a bit there."

"I…I thought you snuck out, honestly. It's no big deal, happens sometimes." She shrugs, her shoulders tense. She's trying to be nonchalant about you suddenly excusing yourself, but she was still slurring her words, and her gestures were becoming uncoordinated, so it wasn't really working. She looked more upset the more she tried to play it off.

You reach over the bar and grab a pitcher of water and a glass, filling it up and handing it over to her. "I'm really sorry about that."

She glares at the glass before reluctantly downing its contents "S'fine." A few beats of silence pass, and you unexpectedly feel guilt start to bubble up in your chest. No. No. No.

“I grew up in Bilgewater.”

"Huh?"

"You asked earlier, where I was from? Bilgewater. Terrible place, really." 

She folds her arms on the counter and rests her head on them, closing her eyes. “Why’d you leave?”

“You get sick of the smelly pirates? Though, I do have to give them credit, their wild stories of adventure and conquest is what made me leave in the first place.”

"You didn't just join some random ship?"

You chuckle. "And get myself killed for some dumb mistake? No thanks." You refill her glass with water, before picking up your own and swirling the brown liquid around. You recall working in a bar, up in the higher levels of Bilgewater, where adventurers spent the coin that they made from their exploits, before begrudgingly having to go back down and gather a crew to earn more. A vicious that kept repeating itself. Sometimes, if they were lucky, the whole crew would survive, but those instances were few and far in between.

Memories. You realize. These are all your memories, or, whoever you are here, at least.

A properly functioning Hex Gate was capable of transporting ships across continents in a split second. Does this mean a magically screwed up one could transport you to a different life entirely? Was it because of the remnants of the anomaly on your arm?

You shake your head, this was stuff that Ekko was good at, not you. You needed to find him, fast.

But first, take care of this one.

As if on cue, you hear a light snore come from next to you. Jinx is knocked out, clearly not bothered by how she's awkwardly hunched over the counter. You sigh, you have no idea how to get back home, but you decide to handle that issue tomorrow. Right now, you had a drunk Jinx to take care of.

Thankfully, you remember where you live, because having to haul around a drunk Jinx was difficult enough. Small victories though, as you realize that this is better than being stuck in the middle of a battle field. You settle yourself on your bay window, looking over to Jinx's sleeping form on your bed. Tomorrow, you'd start figuring out a way to get home. For now, you'll try to get your first wink of sleep in Gods know how long.

-----

Twenty-eight

In the indiscernible amount of time that has passed—for you, at least—you've come to realize the following things: 

You are not hallucinating, nor did you hit your head, you are, in fact, jumping through universes and different versions of yourself.

The first hurdle you had to get through was getting your bearings when you'd get thrown into another universe. It took a few tries, but eventually, you were able to come to your senses immediately after jumping to the next plane of existence you were in. You always repeated the mantra you made back in the second jump you did, the last thing you needed was to forget where you came from. The thought of aimlessly wandering through universes, feeling like you've lost your mind, you can't even imagine how terrible that would be. You needed to find the others as soon as you could.

The length of stay always varied and timelines can repeat, but there are always miniscule variations.

This was still a working theory. You've only repeated a timeline once, but you had enough wits about you to realize that some objects were a different color to their preceding counterpart, or that instead of Ekko explaining something to you, it was Scar. With how long you'd stay, there were a few instances when you'd only stay for a few minutes, but the rest spanned to about a week at the longest.

Somehow, some way, you and Jinx are connected in some way, shape, or form. In every. Single. One.

The last one was especially jarring, considering you had never even met Jinx officially back in your universe. Sure, you’ve had run-ins with her because the Firelights would frequently be trying to intercept shimmer routes, but you don't think barely surviving one of her chompers counted as an introduction. On top of that, she was your enemy back home, but in every single jump you've had so far, the two of you had a somewhat established relationship. This was good, in a way, because at least you didn't have to be on your guard constantly while you tried to figure out a way to get home.

"I can hear you thinking from over here."

Speak of the devil.

You ignore the comment from your friend. Emphasis on friend. In this universe it seemed, the both of you were Academy students in Piltover, mercifully platonic. You decided to do your best to study wild runes and HexTech when you could, but it proved to be difficult when you were distracted by that Other You's feelings for Jinx. At least this place gave you access to a literal sea of books and a clear enough mind.

"Hey, don't ignore me." Jinx opts to lightly tug at the top half of the book you're reading, and you can see her blue eyes peek through the space. That's right, no shimmer exposure in this universe.

"I'm studying." You deadpan, hoping she'll leave you alone. You get a mock imitation of your words, instead.

"No you're not, none of our classes are even looking into dusty old books about runes." She has a point. Truth be told, you're supposed to be studying about ethical practices in the field of body modification for utility uses. Which was close to nothing, really. But you can't really tell Jinx why you're reading about runes, now, can you?

"Have you ever heard of this thing called supplementary reading?" You shake the book off of her fingers, and go back to your futile attempt to learn about magic. Not that this book was any use, there wasn't even a list of runes and their definitions on here. The girl in front of you leans back on her chair and lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Ugh, you're boring. Let's go do something fun!" Her foot kicks at your shoe from under the table, and you have to lift both feet up to avoid her kicks.

"Hey! Not everyone can sleep through every class and still get high marks, Jinx." You scoot your chair out from under the table to put distance between the two of you. "Some of us have to actually study."

"What's studying without any field experience?"

"Pipe down. The librarian is gonna kick us both out, again."

She sticks her tongue out at you, but lowers her voice. "Come on, I'm dying of boredom here!" She splays out her upper half on the table, arms toppling over some of the papers and books you—Very neatly!—stacked for reference.

Your mouth forms a thin line, her rowdy, and playful personality had become apparent to you once you went through a few more universes. She'd get pissed if you ignored her for too long, but the structured environment of the Academy hindered a her from having any outbursts. So you opt to continue reading your books instead of taking the bait, quashing any urge from the You of this universe to make a side comment about her behavior.

She continues with her ranting about you not having any fun or having a stick up your ass. Her jabs get progressively more offensive, but that's how her and the Other You here interact. It's not fun for you yourself, because you didn't have the patience to make a jab at her without losing your cool.

You rub an eyebrow with one your hands, before gripping the book, willing yourself to focus on the next few pages in case they provide any useful information. You try to tune out the other girl, who has thankfully gone quiet.

You move book to book, thankful that this version of you could read and absorb information so fast. Sadly, you couldn't find anything about wild runes. Looks like Piltover was strict about distancing itself from magic as much as they could.

You don't look up from your book until you hear a grumbling from in front of you.

"What was that?" You close your book and pile it onto the Useless pile—which was all of them, really—and raise an eyebrow at Jinx, whose arms are crossed and is looking off to the side.

"doyouwannageticecream" You blink.

"Jinx, I'm not gonna understand a word you say if you keep grumbling like that."

She rolls her eyes. "I said, do you wanna get ice cream? or something."

Huh, how random.

"I made you upset earlier, and ice cream makes people feel better so..."

"I wasn't upset" You were.

"Yeah you were."

"I was annoyed."

"I know your annoyed face from your upset face."

"There's a difference?"

"So you were!" She slams her hand on the table, and is met by an irate librarian shushing her. You're once again taken aback by how different each Jinx behaves from the others. Where you were sure your universe's Jinx would have shot that poor woman, this one sheepishly rubs the back of her neck and throws a peace sign at her. If you weren't exposed to your universe's Jinx, you would have found her behavior cute. But you were exposed, so it absolutely isn't, and you're not going to play along with her to make her feel better.

"Thank for the offer jinx, but I'm not really in the mood to get ice cream." Good. "...and I'm not mad at you, or anything." You swear the last part was added in by Other You. Nonetheless, this seems to work as Jinx relaxes, resigning to making paper airplanes with the notes you had made while you went back to reading.

"Wanna break into Giopara's lab?" She starts.

"No."

"I think you'd want to—"

"No."

"If you say so." the singsong tone in her voice and the nonchalant shrug sets off alarm bells in your head. She's baiting you again.

Your eyes narrow at her. "You're being weird."

"No I'm not. I just thought—seeing as you're all interested in runes all of a sudden—you'd want to look at Giopara's vast  book collection on that very subject."

"How the hell would you even know that?"

"Cause," She shrugs again. "He keeps saying I'm not living up to my potential and tries to make me read more Hex Tech origin stuff."

Your mouth hangs open, but you manage to close it before Jinx calls you a blubbering fish. "Wait a second. You're saying you've been reading about runes and Hex Tech?"

"Yup."

"So you know that the books here in the library are useless?"

"Mhm."

"And you've been letting me waste my time reading through them like an idiot?" 

She sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. "They're not useless. They're just... Not useful."

"You're such a dick sometimes." Your remark is loud enough that the librarian to shush you as well. You whisper a sorry before turning back to Jinx.

"And you always have a stick up your ass." She whispers loudly.

"Yeah cause someone has to keep you from getting yourself killed, or worse, expelled!"

She snorts. "Really toots? Getting expelled is worse than getting killed?"

"The chances of getting expelled are higher with you, unfortunately."

She leans forward conspiratorially, a grin on her face. You don't notice yourself mirror her. "So come with me to break into his office, so I don't get expelled. Don't you want to read all those rune books? He doesn't even keep track of what gets taken out of there."

"Then why don't you just borrow them during lab hours?"

"What fun is that?"

"Jinx!"

"We'll be quick, five minutes, tops. And you'll have your dumb rune books." You grit your teeth. On one hand, You could just ask her to teach you what she knows. But you've known her—Other You!—your whole life, so you're a hundred percent sure that you'd have to pry that information out of her cold, dead, hands. On the other, Jayce's head was so far up in his own ass that Jinx was probably correct in saying he wouldn't notice any missing books.

I also don't know when I'll be yanked into another universe. There was also that.

"How sure are you that you can get us in and out that fast?"

"A million percent. Dude forgets to lock the door sometimes." She's already standing up and shoving all of your notes into your book bag, your eye twitches just the tiniest bit, before your head snaps up to look at her.

"How do you know that?" You ask as you start carrying the books to the book trolley.

"You're asking too many questions here. Less talking, more walking. Go, go, go." She ushers you out into the hallway, and the both of you start walking towards the east wing of the academy. The sun had already set, so there were much less students loitering. Still, the both of you err on the side of caution and stick to the lesser used hallways where the custodians had already turned off the lights.

You eventually find your way to the front of Jayce's lab, and Jinx wastes no time kneeling on front of the door and pulling out what looked like tools and shoving them into the door knob. This is definitely not her first breaking and entering.

"Where the hell did you get lockpicks?!" You do your best to keep your voice down, the allure of learning about runes slowly dissipating, panic replacing it.

"What did I say about less talking?" She whips around and raises her eyebrows at you, right as she turns the doorknob and opens the previously locked door.

"We're so fucked."

"You know, if we weren't stretched for time, I'd be celebrating you breaking your curse word quota for the day." She yanks her tools out of the door knob, and pushes you into the lab.

The room is nearly pitch black. Thankfully, the unlit hallways were enough for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. The low light from the moon streaming through the windows the only thing helping with your vision. Somehow, Jinx is able to navigate just fine.

"Okay, how often do you actually break in here?"

"How often is underground robot fight club again?" Robot fight club. The only thing Jinx is willing to wake up early for. Wait a second—

"Jinx!" You don't bother lowering your voice. Hoping that the closed room would be enough to muffle any sounds from coming into the hallway.

"What?"

"That's twice a week!"

"Where did you think we were getting our parts?"

"You said you knew a guy!"

"Clearly." She gestures around the room, where there were plenty of scattered machinery parts. Your face pales slightly; this Jinx was going to get You expelled, surely.

"You made me an accessory!"

"And now you're committing the crime. Congratulations, you've been promoted." She opens another door and theatrically gestures at the room. "Your little rune books await, oh great stuck-up one."

You roll your eyes at her and enter the room without any fanfare. Immediately you see that the all four walls of the room are lined with bookshelves as high as the ceiling. In the middle, a large wooden table with charts and books scattered across. Jinx stops next to you and nudges you with her shoulders. "Told 'ya. Worth the risk, right?"

"That's still up in the air."

She scoffs. "You totally think it is."

You don't want to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, but you don't even notice that you're grinning back at her until she puts an arm around your shoulders and waves her hand flippantly at the shelves. Other You's stomach does a backflip.

No. Absolutely not.

"So what are we looking for?"

You once again quash whatever physical reaction you're having. Now was definitely not the time. You walk out of her arm's reach and resort to looking around the spines of the books, already trying to spot their titles. "Wild runes."

There's a beat of silence before you hear her walking around the carpeted floor. "Wild runes huh? Yeah, I think I've seen a few of those around. Don't think I read them, though."

"That's fine." You start rifling around the shelves. Reading through anything that looked promising.

Jinx is the first to break the silence. She usually is. "So what are these books for, again?"

"I told you, supplementary reading. Also there isn't much to read on out ethics class so might as well fill my time with something fun."

Jinx doesn't reply, and you're happy to keep on reading through your books until you get a nagging feeling that you've just done something wrong.

You turn around to look at Jinx, who was plopped down on the floor and half-heartedly pulling books out, before seemingly placing them somewhere else at random. You mentally kick yourself when you notice that her shoulders are slumped. Opting to put the book search on hold, you walk over to her, hesitating for a moment before sitting down next to her.

"You know you can tell me stuff, right?" Her voice is quiet, and it's unsettling that you have the sudden urge to comfort her.

Yes, yes of course. This version of you felt completely at ease with Jinx. But you can't afford to be distracted by affection that wasn't even yours to begin with. If only you could explain that you've been universe-hopping and that in every single one of them you were in love or falling in love with her, and that you were trying to at least stall in this one so you could get as much information as you could before you got dragged into a different timeline again.

You can't, not really. But you know better than to try to lie to her.

"I think there might be another side to Hex Tech that we haven't discovered yet."

She stops rearranging the books and turns to you slightly. "What do you mean?"

"Like... Equal and opposite reactions."

"You think Hex Tech might have negative effects?" You feel your guilt lift at the curious glint in her eyes as you nod.

"Something like that. It's just a theory, though. I don't have anything to back it up."

"Well," She stands up and heads over to a shelf at the far wall. Pulling out an old looking tome. "I think this is just the book you're looking for." She blows off dust from the cover, coughing lightly from the cloud that forms. You quickly stand up and walk toward her, looking over the tome.

My ticket home—

"I don't care if they think I'm hogging too many testing hours, my methods actually work."

The door in the other room slams shut, you and Jinx immediately crouch down and move to turn the light off. Your eyes barely have time to adjust before Jinx pulls you over to the window.

"Are you crazy? We're on the second floor!" You whisper as she tries to pry it open.

"Less talking, more helping." As if on cue, you hear ruffling near the door. Less talking, more helping.

You help Jinx open the window, one hand still clutching the tome. You pray to every god out there that Jayce actually won't realize he's missing a book. The both of you swing your legs over the edge, and you grab onto the wall, suddenly feeling very nauseous. Jinx on the other hand, is grinning like a maniac.

"Aim for the bushes."

"Aim for the wha—"

You're unable to finish your sentence as Jinx pushes you out the window. You were wrong, the chances of getting killed might actually be higher than getting expelled.

While this was the first time Other You was getting pushed out of a window, this was fortunately—and sadly—not your first. Your instincts kick in and you're able to land on your feet, using the momentum to tuck and roll safely on the ground. All with the tome still clutched on one hand.

You're about to give Jinx a piece of your mind when she mouths catch me and you panic and free up your hands, just in time for her to land right into your arms. Sadly, however, strength doesn't carry over between universes as well as technique. Your knees buckle and you fall backwards. You barely have time to recover before Jinx is tucking the tome under her arm and pulling you up to your feet, already running away from the building.

You follow suit, quickly discovering that cardio was also not transferrable between timelines. Still, you keep running until your legs are burning and you see the dorms come into view, only stopping once you're both safely hidden at its side entrance.

You somehow beat Jinx to the door, your hands on your knees as your chest heaves. She comes to a stop right next to you. Planting a hand on your shoulder and using you for support.

"That was—"

"Fucking stupid."

She slaps your shoulder and laughs, commenting about how she likes this new, cussing, version of you. You take a second to compose yourself, huffing before standing to your full height, ready to give her a piece of your mind. Instead you stop short, your faces only a few inches apart. Thankfully, she seems just as surprised at the proximity, enough that she drops the infuriating grin on her face.

Her eyes flit to your lips, then to your eyes. A pointed look in hers. A challenge more than an invitation, really.

Your mind goes haywire.

There are many, many—actually so many—reasons why you should not, at all, kiss Jinx. Different timeline or not, you, specifically you, cannot do it. It would be the greatest betrayal to your people, your friends, everyone you know and love, your moral code, your promise to take down Silco's empire and clean the Undercity, Ekko, Heimerdinger and Jayce; have you mentioned your friends?

A tug at the front of your shirt, her biting her lip to stop a smile that reaches her eyes anyway, and your resolve begins to slip.

You can feel her breath on your lips.

"Stop thinking."

You will swear on your grave that it's the Other You that grabs her and closes the gap.

-----

Ninety-five

Timelines can have profound disparities from each other, but they could also have nearly miniscule, insignificant ones as well. This means that you could jump from one timeline where you were wearing a blue shirt, then a red one in the next, with everything else staying the same. Be a firelight in one, and next thing you know, you're an enforcer.

Sometimes, the big and small changes can mix things up. While they haven't been a huge inconvenience to you in the past—present, future?—they sure as hell were now.

Exhibit A: You're an enforcer.

Exhibit B: You're thrown into the mix on the day of the bridge explosion.

Exhibit C: Instead using a chomper to blow herself up, Jinx rigs the underside of the middle of the bridge with explosives.

At this point, ninety-five jumps in, you should really learn to be more vigilant when it comes to tackling unpredictable situations. Not that you can fully put yourself at fault, of course. You just wanted to make sure Ekko and his friends survived.

…And arrest Jinx so she didn't blow herself up. Then nothing else!

So why the hell am I lugging an unconscious Jinx into my apartment? You wonder as you set Jinx down on your bed. The panic and anxiety of the Other You understandably building up, seeing as she and Jinx haven't met yet. That and you're an enforcer harboring a wanted fugitive. And she killed Other You's friends, so the grief and anger are really making things confusing.

You roll Jinx onto her back, checking to see if she has any injuries. There's a deep cut on her side—courtesy of you while you were fighting—but nothing you couldn't stitch up yourself. Granted she doesn't wake up and shoot you, first.

Lumbering over to your bathroom where you kept your first aid kit, you flip the lights on. There's a semi-concerning pool of red on the front of your jacket, and your undershirt. You turn to the mirror, and spot what looks like a gash right under your breast. No big deal, it'll stop bleeding on its own. Must've been a sharp part of the bridge that nicked you as it collapsed, or maybe you cut yourself while fishing yourself and Jinx out of the harbor. Something I can fix later.

You grab a chair and settle on the side of your bed, taking out your suturing kit and disinfecting your hands. This shouldn't take too long, but that was never the problem. The problem was what would happen after Jinx wakes up.

You initially thought of just taking her to her hideout, but you ran the risk of running into Silco's people. While you could've just left at the docks—well, you don't really have a reason to not have left her at the docks, now do you?

You shake the thought out of your mind and get to work on closing the cut. It wasn't bleeding as much, but leaving it alone could get it infected, plus it would take forever to close.

Not that I care. You futilely tell yourself. As if saving her from dying, carrying her back to your home, and stitching up her wounds were normal activities between an enforcer and a fugitive—a fugitive of your creation!—on any given day. You weren't even originally planning on stopping her from dying. You know she comes back, pumped full of shimmer and allegedly a thousand times faster. Your only concern was getting Ekko to safety, but then one thing led to another, and you had your gun pointed at her as you were telling her she was under arrest. Everything should have worked out fine, if only the bridge didn't blow up.

Once her cut's been stitched up, and you change the bandage on an injury on her leg. You do a once over to check if she has any other life-threatening ailments. Once you deem that there are none, you decide change into a clean set of clothing. After slapping on a bandage over your cut—also bleeding a lot less—and putting on a sweater, your eye catches the mark the wild rune left on your forearm. You're reminded about another discovery you made: The mark was slowly fading.

You hypothesize that it had something to do with the number of times you were jumping through timelines. Did that make it a timer? Or was it a limited number of lives that was counting down to zero? And what does that mean when it runs out? Will you be stuck in that timeline forever? Or will it return you back home?

Learning about Hex Tech and runes was proving to be difficult jumping around to different timelines every few days. You'd have to pick up right where you left off every jump, and even then your access to resources was limited depending on the timeline. Not that you were making any progress, anyway. You were convinced that you needed to be a proper magic user before you could make sense of what you were learning.

You put your first aid kit away and head back into your room. It's not without difficulty, as you feel the adrenaline rush you had back at the bridge slowly ebb away; you're surprised it even lasted this long in the first place. But now you needed to rest a hand against your dresser for support, a feeling of lightheadedness starting to take over. Staying steady was actually becoming a bit difficult.

The hand you're using for support shifts to the side, as you struggle with your balance, and tips over a small container. The familiar rattling of pills catches your attention. You pick up the bottle and rattle it again before reading the label. A nagging feeling at the back of your mind is telling you that you've forgotten about something.

...Iron supplements. It read.

Uh oh.

"Fuck"

You suddenly feel like the best course of action is to close your eyes for a bit and sit on the floor to collect yourself, as you vaguely register the pill bottle clattering onto the ground.

Five seconds. That's all you need and you'll be back in tip top shape.

One.

Two.

Three.

A weight on your stomach, pushing out all the air you're trying to breathe in.

Four--

Click.

Your eyes open blearily, barely registering the barrel of a gun right in front of your eyes. Your gun, in fact. Panic and dread start to fill your senses, and for the first time since you hopped into this plane of existence, you agree with Other You's

feelings. If this was any of the preceding timelines, you would've been confident that Jinx wouldn't harm a hair on your head.

But not in this one.

You look past your gun and spot blue eyes staring at you. Some of the panic you feel dwindle when you see the curious look in her eyes—you can read her like a book at this point—and the slack of her grip on the gun. At least she isn't planning on shooting you immediately.

"Hello." You croak out, your voice hoarse from sleep. Oh no, were you a mouth breather in this timeline too?

Her hold on the gun straightens; your attention is immediately rapt and trained only on her. "Silco got you in his pocket, or something?"

You hesitantly swallow. Saying yes to buy yourself time was certainly one way to do it, but on the off chance that this was a test, that was a one way ticket to getting a bullet in your cranium.

"No."

The tip of the gun leaves your vision for a second, but you're spared no relief when you feel it jammed under your jaw. Wrong answer, then.

She comes into full view, sitting on your stomach—so that's why you couldn't breathe—boots on either side of your chest. "So what, you some kind of sicko? Saving poor 'ol me, patching me up? Or are you one of those delusional Pilties that think you can save some misunderstood girl from the Undercity?" Her head tilts to the side, a lilt in her voice as she says the last part.

"No." You struggle to get the next words out. "I swear." Your hand ball into fists as she jams the gun in deeper. Wait a second, my hands are free. I can take her do—no. No. I am not going to escalate the situation.

An oversight, or a challenge?

"You had a clear shot at me, you didn't shoot. I try to blow you up, you fish me out of the harbor and stitch up my wounds." Your eyes flit to her bandaged side She leans her face closer to yours. "Why?"

Well you see, I think we're kind of made for each other. You're tempted to say, but you doubt she's in any state to believe you. In any case, you'll actually come across as some sicko. Not that Other You would have shot her, either. You could feel the hesitation on her end when you had the gun trained on Jinx. If Marcus hadn't pulled his gun on Kiramman, she might have, but she thankfully had some sense of justice, and seeing the sheriff's true colors come out was enough to view everything with more scrutiny.

You have an inkling feeling that Other You would still end in the situation you're currently in. One way or another.

"I…I don't kno—"

"Liar!" The butt of your pistol connects with your temple, and you're nearly knocked out again. The room spins, and you're barely able to focus on Jinx again before her nails are digging into the skin on your cheeks, forcing you to face her. There's frustration written all over her face, but you know that she's just trying to make sense of the situation, if her shaking hand is any indication. Your fault, really, Other You is confused as hell, too.

She moves a foot back, and shifts so that her knee is carrying her weight—you're half thankful that it's not on your stomach anymore—as she leans forward. Her face closer now.

Your eyes focus back on hers. A mix of emotions swimming on those pools of blue; frustration, hostility, anger. But you also see panic, vulnerability, regret, and confusion. Her grip on you face loosens marginally. And then it hits you.

She didn't want to hurt you.

One thing constant in every timeline that you've been to, is the almost magnetic pull you felt towards her; the need to always have her in near proximity, and the sense of calm that would come over you if she was. And try as you might, you couldn't ignore the wave of affection that you would feel while you were with her.

Is it possible she feels this as well?

It's a risky thing to test, especially since you didn't know what would happen to you if Other You died. But it is kind of your own doing at this point.

You say nothing, hoping that she'll fill in the silence.

Her hand continues to shake, but you can tell that her anger is already wavering. You almost miss her asking you why again, she probably meant to keep it to herself.

"I don't want to hurt you either."

Risky. But you don't have a lot of options left.

She lets out a breath at your words, the gun retracts.

"Who are you?" Her voice is quiet, unsure.

Your soulmate, apparently. "Nobody." You answer semi-honestly. You were, technically, she hasn't had the chance to know you in this timeline yet.

She shakes her head and looks away. "No you're not." The softness of her tone catches you off guard. Her hand moving away from your cheek to clutch the collar of your sweater, doubly so. "You…you're familiar."

"Like we already know each other." Her eyes meet yours again, the surprise in them evident. She said those same words to you in a few past timelines. You always thought they were just little variations in those particular versions of her, but now…this just supports your hypothesis that she also cycles through the same sensations you do.

Your eye catches a faint streak of light manages to slip through your closed curtains, providing a miniscule amount of light into your dark room. "It's morning." You muse out loud, looking back at the still speechless girl on top of you. "Enforcers are going to be everywhere. You need to get out of here."

Her sense of urgency is seemingly stirred by your words, and she pulls you up along with her. Confusion still litters her features, you hope the smile you offer her is enough for comfort.

"Can you walk okay?" her mouth opens and closes a few times, still at a loss for words. You decide to push your luck, slowly reaching a hand over to touch her free arm. "Jinx."

Her brows furrow. The question of your knowledge of her name accusingly reflected in her eyes.

"I heard Kiramman say it, at the bridge." Thank goodness she actually did. Otherwise, this would've been very confusing for Other You in the future.

"I—" She starts. "I have to go."

You nod. "There's a fire escape out the bathroom window. Hold on—" You go to your dresser and pull out a hooded coat, moving to drape it over her, only to stop short when her shoulder tenses. Her eyes are trained on you, a slight air of hostility between them. You don't push to put on the coat, but you don't lower your arm either; waiting for her make the decision for you.

Her eyes flit around the room, seemingly trying to find her words around your home. She lets out a sigh, her shoulders drooping slightly. You take this as a positive sign, and gently place the coat over her shoulders. You see her hand tense around your gun, not in a threatening way, instinctively.

You slowly back away from her to give her space. She looks away from you as she slips her free hand into one of the sleeves, before grabbing the gun and slipper her other arm into the remaining sleeve. It's a little big on her, but the size and the addition of the hood is enough to hide anything that could immediately identify her.

There's uncertainty in her eyes when she looks back at you; she hesitantly lifts the hand holding the gun, the barrel clutched in her hand. "This is yours."

You shake your head. "As much as I hate to say this, you might need it."

She mutters an oh before holstering the gun in her hip. You gesture to an open door and lead her into the bathroom, pulling the window open and checking if there was anyone in the alley below. The sun was slowly but surely rising, it's rays already illuminating the dim streets in the main road.

"Coast is clear, stick to the alleys and you should be fine." You stand aside and let her climb out, her hand resting on the windowsill. The look she gives you tells you that she's trying to find an ounce of deception in your features. But she won't find any, not when it concerns her, not ever.

"I'll…I'll get you your gun back."

"Don't worry about it." You shrug. "I'll find you."

You see the ghost of a smile on her lips as she turns around and climbs down the ladder, disappearing into an adjacent alleyway.

"I always seem to find you." You mutter to yourself.

-----

One Hundred Sixty-Eight

The familiar smell of grease and burnt metal fills your nose as you enter your old workshop. Jayce had been kind enough to hand you the keys after you had asked if you could see the old place. Don't go too crazy he said. You rolled your eyes at his comment, of course. It wasn't as if you were going to steal anything as a souvenir; maybe draw something inappropriate on a whiteboard, sure. But as you drew closer to the lab, you spotted Jinx's car, and well, now you were going there for two reasons. You should have just turned around and not indulged Other You's—not yours!—thoughts. The length of time you spent in each timeline was getting longer on average, and you had to make the best of it while you could, especially with the mark slowly fading with each pass.

You walk towards the wall of the shared space, everything was still as messy as you—Other You—remembered. Diagrams and papers still littered table tops, probably permanent coffee stains on tables. But the hanging photos were new.

The first one was of Viktor and Jayce when they first started working on Hextech, just two young adults that barely knew what they were doing. The second one was of you three right after they had officially hired you. The third one was Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, and Jinx. Your eyes stray back to the middle photo, the one with you in it. The moment felt like lifetimes ago.

It's strange, looking at the person cheekily smiling back at you, already older than you in your original timeline. This body felt terribly tired, like the Other You here went through the ringer trying to get here.

The sound of a chair screeching and shuffling around one of the rooms grabs your attention. Your eyebrows furrow. Jayce didn't say anything about someone else being here, especially nearing midnight. You cautiously make your way to the room, trying not to make too much noise in case they'll think you're an intruder. The door is ajar, letting light seep through the darker main floor. There's a pull in your chest again, and you're reminded of your second objective here. Other You had wanted to speak to Jinx earlier, but couldn't because there was a line of other people that wanted your attention. By the time you broke free from the others, Jinx had already left.

A familiar warmth fills your chest. It looked like she had gone straight back to work after the party, still in her dress, heels discarded on the side, twirling a pencil as she looked over notes. Her headphones were on, and the couch she was lounging on was turned away from the door, so you doubt she'd hear or see you moving around.

You open the door fully and lean against the frame, deciding to wait until she notices you standing there. Not like you'd go unnoticed long, she probably felt the tugging too.

It's not even a minute before she stops what she's doing and turns around. There's a split second where surprise crosses her features, but she quickly recovers, raising an eyebrow at you instead.

"Come crawling back to the slums have we?" She says as she takes off her headphones and leaves it at her neck. She wears her hair down nowadays. It's also shorter here, only reaching the middle of her back. It's refreshing to see, and you find yourself brushing off the question of whether or not the older Jinx in your timeline would cut her hair the same one day.

"Something like that."

She scoffs, turning back to look at her work. Her words are friendly, but there's tension in the air. You're not sure if you should move into the room, or leave.

"Don't stand there like a creep, come sit." She pats the space next to her. There's no edge to her words either, so maybe the tension is coming from you. You're aware that there's a significant amount of history between her and Other You, but you're not sure whether this is the time or place to be settling past issues. What you do know, is that you shouldn't wait any longer before sitting down next to her.

There's a metal box in the coffee table in front of you, next to where Jinx has propped up her legs. "It's a prototype for a gemstone case." She says before you can ask. She takes the small box and twirls it in her hand, small prongs are protruding on the inside. "The goal is to make sure the gemstones only work if they're in these. So we can start using them for the more dangerous jobs around here; stop people from stealing them, since you have to break the case to get the stone."

You take the box when she offers it, testing the weight of it in your hands. "Did you go straight here after the party?"

"Not much to do there for me." She shrugs. "I'd rather work on this. Besides, you went here after the party, too."

"Fair point." You set the case back down on the table, and watch Jinx place it on a small stand to the side. "You work until midnight often?"

The corners of her lips quirk into a smile. "Talis is drowning in debt with the amount of overtime he has to pay me." You're about to laugh along with her, till you remember Jayce's comment earlier. Jayce you little—

She nudges you with her shoulder. "You're thinking again, that can't be good."

"Jayce."

"What about him?"

"Some dumb comment he said earlier when he gave me the keys to here."

"Oh?" A mischievous look in her eyes. "What did my boss say, exactly?" You grimace. This isn't fair, she fully knows Jayce said something completely out of pocket.

"Nothing."

"Bull. Tell me so I can take it out of context and bully him into giving me a raise." At this comment you actually laugh. You don't doubt that Jinx has probably done that at least once already. Jayce's tendency to say things without thinking is the worst thing to have when working with someone like Jinx.

"Tell me." She nudges you again, this time with a little more force. "Or else."

"Or else what?"

"I'll kick your ass." Just like that, the tension in the air lifts. You remember the times this version of yourself was at odds with Jinx, only to make up after spending a few minutes together. It's terrifyingly so easy, how fast she can disarm you—literally and figuratively—like it's nothing. How she beckons you over and you oblige with desperate speed. But Other You isn't as experienced in resisting Jinx's charms—ie your souls being tied together, apparently—so you still have the audacity to push her buttons.

"Aren't you too old to be threatening to kick people's asses?" She leans back, mouth agape, you snort at her expression, but the entertainment is short lived as a throw pillow connects with your face. You huff, genuinely surprised that she'd hit you. She throws her head back and barks out a laugh at your expression.

"Can't believe you're still a brat at thirty."

"Watch it, buster. You're the same age as me."

"You know what they say about growing up being a choice." You duck this time when she swings, grabbing the throw pillow next to you and decking her in the face with it. For a second you think that you hit her too hard—and these throw pillows were notorious for being harder than regular pillows—but the second you drop the one in your hand, she tackles you.

You're momentarily disoriented as your back lands on the seat. Jinx hits you a few more times, before she pins you down with the pillow, legs on either side of your waist, chest heaving. You sink further into the couch as she leans in close.

"Take that back."

The logical side of you knows that you should just say sorry, but the prideful side of you refuses to relent. "Which part? Growing up being a choice, or you being a bra—" The pillow thuds against your face. "Ow! Hey! Those things hurt."

You sit up to grab her wrists before she can land another blow. She pushes you in response, getting herself pulled down with you in the process. You lean a bit to side to stop your heads from hitting each other, Jinx pressing flush against you. The last thing Jayce needed was one of his employees getting a concussion because of a pillow fight. Though, you could use that as an excuse to get rid of the old throw pillows, but that would come with the price humiliation for you and Jinx. Not to mention relentless teasing from your other friends.

You shake your head at the train of thought. You were thinking too much about this, you really should have just turned around earlier.

The sound of her laughter brings you out of your musings. The way her chest rumbled with each breath. She rests her head in the crook of your neck, it doesn't even occur to you that you've let go of her hands, instead moving your them to her back and keeping her close—so she doesn't roll off and hurt herself, of course.

You yourself were out of breath, and probably flushed—because you were getting older and tire easy, nothing else!—as you felt yourself laughing with her.

When she lifts her head to look at you, she makes sure that she's still close enough that her lips brush against your jaw. The both of you know it's a proven and effective way for your mind to go blank, for you to focus solely on her. You keep telling yourself you be able to resist it, eventually. You never do.

The logical part of your brain once again reminds you that it's not a good idea to be this close, to prolong the time you two are in close proximity to each other. That you need to prioritize finding a way home, that there are people that depend on you and that this is irresponsible behavior. But for some reason, you find yourself not wanting to listen for once.

Maybe it's just because your souls might be tied to each other. Maybe it's because you spent the last one hundred sixty-seven timelines watching other versions of yourself being in love or falling in love with her. Maybe it's because of the Other You here, and her relationship with this Jinx. The both of you are older in this timeline, you've known each other longer, know each other better, seen each other grow together and apart, only to find your way back to her, over and over again.

It's not just that, though.

It's the softness in her eyes whenever she looks at you, the way she brushes your hair out of your face. It's every time she checks on you if she senses that you're not alright. It's her knowing what you want to say before you say anything. How immersed she gets in her work, drowning out the rest of the world while she works on a project. Every morning that you've had to wake up next to her, watching her sleep peacefully. It's her temper, and how passionate she gets when arguing over something. It's finding her doodles and notes that she's left for you every single timeline. It's the urge to find her when you end up in a timeline where she isn't immediately by your side.

It's her, all one hundred sixty-eight versions of her, and every version after. Honestly, how many variations of yourself do you have to watch love this girl before you finally admit it to yourself?

Too many.

"Got something to say to me?" The corner of her eyes crinkle as she smirks at you.

It's how she knows you.

"I love you." You breathe out. She doesn't try to hide her surprise this time, or isn't able to. She blinks a few times, and you smile at the fact that it's her mind going haywire for once.

You take advantage of her being momentarily stunned, sitting up, keeping your hold on her so she actually doesn't fall over.  She instinctively grabs onto your shoulders for support.

"It's getting late." Her eyebrows furrow at your words.

"You just told me you love me, and now you're dipping?"

"I mean…You haven't answered, and I'm getting sleepy. Plus, the bed at the hotel I got is really ni—"

She doesn't let you finish as she yanks you into a kiss. You happily oblige, sighing and pulling her closer. Sadly, it doesn't last long as she breaks the kiss with a start, pushing your shoulders back when you try to chase after her lips.

"You really need to learn when to shut up sometimes." You take the hint and stay quiet, trying to bite back the smile already forming on your face. She rolls her eyes at your expression, having trouble hiding her own smile.

She doesn't need to say it back, not really. You understand that she hasn't seen Other You in a long time, and although the latter felt the same, your confession was more of a selfish move for yourself, really.

You can wait. As long as she wants, as long as she needs.

Her eyes flit back to your lips, before returning to your eyes. The mischievous glint returning.

"What's this about your hotel room having a nice bed?"

---

Two Hundred Fourteen

Meetings at the Firelight hideout weren't unusual.

In fact, a lot of your meetings with the group were often held here. Especially once Jinx had found out where you lived. So when you received a message from Ekko asking you to head over there because they had gotten a tip about a shipment of Shimmer, there were no alarm bells ringing in your head. A rookie mistake on your part, really.

To be completely fair, you had taken advantage of the two months you were here. You've never stayed anywhere over ten days, and the fact that you still had some semblance of the mark on your forearm meant that you were still going to get pulled into a different timeline at some point. But in the meantime, you started tinkering with equipment you could use to build your own Hex gate. The only thing missing was a gemstone.

Also in order to be completely fair. You were busy with Jinx, who you were slowly trying to convince to leave Silco's employ entirely. Which was a complicated thing to tackle, because you were an independent contractor that often worked with the Firelights. This meant that when she started showing up to your home unannounced, you had to switch up your dead drops and meet up points with the group, if only to keep the peace while maintaining your most consistent client.

And now you're in this predicament.

Surrounded by Firelights, plus Vi and Caitlyn.

You had hoped, foolishly, that this was as similar to your timeline as it was gonna get, at least with the limited amount of jumps you probably had left. You were lucky enough that Other You here and Jinx had met previously, and already kickstarted the inevitable chain of events that would have brought them together. You thought you had time before Vi and Jinx would meet, which was due in a few days from now.

You thought a lot of things, but at the end of the day, that was all they were. Two Hundred timelines in, and you still had trouble dealing with unpredictable situations.

"Piltover is one bad day away from sending enforcers to find Jinx."

"Damn, I hope they find her, then." Ekko groans, clearly not in the mood for the clueless act. Caitlyn steps forward a bit too abruptly, you draw your gun, everybody draws their weapons. Caitlyn glares at you, daring you to make the first move. You're a good shot yourself, but you know from past experience that there was no way you'd beat her in a gunfight.

"Hey—hey! Easy!" Vi gets between all of you, arms up, trying to lessen the tension. Ekko nods at his people—your people—and they lower their weapons. You shake your head for a second, before lowering yours. Other You was being protective and reckless, you had to control yourself. The last thing you want to do is hurt your people.

Caitlyn keeps her rifle trained on you, you maintain your glare towards her until she puts her gun down. "This is pointless." She looks towards Vi. "I say arrest her, and lure Jinx out."

"Can't arrest me if you're out of a job." Caitlyn narrows her eyes at your response. Fuck, wasn't supposed to know that.

"What, you think I don't have eyes and ears topside?" You're fairly sure that she'll buy your bluff, purely because there's no other explanation for you to know that. Thankfully Vi calls for everyone's attention.

"Look, we won't get anywhere arguing." She looks over to you, a silent plea in her eyes. You feel terrible about all of this, of course. You know she's just trying to find her sister after years of being locked up unfairly, in Stillwater no less!

"I know you care about her, and that you're the reason she's been quiet the last few months." It takes a bit of effort to keep your face neutral, your mind already working to figure out just how exactly they knew about you and Jinx. Had you become careless these past few months? Was she careless?

She moves a bit closer to you, arms in a placating gesture. "But if she doesn't return the gemstone, or worse, Silco gets his grimy hands on it, then Piltover will flood the streets with enforcers, and it'll be another civil war."

You wish you could tell them that Piltover wouldn't be able to handle the Undercity now, not with shimmer already being weaponized.

"I don't know where she is." You answer truthfully. As close as you two were these last couple of months, you didn't make it a point to know her whereabouts at every single hour of the day.

Caitlyn interjects. "Six enforcers are dead because of her, even more people wounded. Are you really going to protect someone who was willing to kill so many people in cold blood?" She makes a move to grab you, but Vi holds her back. Your jaw clenches. You thought you had swayed her enough that she wouldn't have gone through with the Progress Day attack.

Vi looks over to Ekko, who has mercifully stayed quiet. There's a disappointed look on his face, either for your involvement with Jinx, or your indirect betrayal on the Firelights, you're not sure. He nods over to the other FIrelights, who all lunge at you.

You try to fight back, easily sidestepping to avoid the first person to lunge, then using their momentum to launch them into the next person. A third person tries to hit you with their club, and you narrowly duck under their swing, springing to push them off their feet, and make your way to the door. On any other day, this would've been a fun sparring session, but sadly it wasn't any other day. And this was quickly becoming a one-on-seven fight.

Ekko grabs you from behind and bear hugs you. You feel the air being pushed out of your lungs as you struggle out of his grip. You drop to your knees, using his temporary loss of balance as leverage, and swing your body forward, he stumbles enough that his grip loosens, and you throw the rest of him over your shoulders. You turn around to make your way to the door again, before a fist connects right on your jaw. That's right, Vi is here, too

You quickly fall to your knees, the room is already spinning. you pitifully try to maintain your balance while on all fours, hanging onto a nearby chair for support. Two people grab you by the arms and begin to drag you away, you try to pull your arms free, but are met with a kick to the gut. You relent, letting them drag you into a dark room.

Their version of a holding cell, tying you down and taking your holsters and your coat. You're still a bit disoriented, but you're lucid enough to recognize Ekko's shadow when he approaches you.

"I'm sorry it has to come to this," He starts. "But if Silco gets his hands on Hextech, the Undercity will lose a lot more people. Good people."

You feel your chest ache at his words. You've been fighting for the Undercity your entire life, that's the last thing you want. But never in a million lifetimes would you betray Jinx. "You have to let me find her, Ekko." You plead.

"I can't trust your judgment on this."

"Try." He purses his lips, for a second you think he'll let you go. You weren't as close her as you were in your timeline, but you hope that your reliability in this one is enough to convince him.

He sighs, and the spark of hope you have is snuffed out. "This is for the best." He stands up and leaves the room, two guards replacing him.

Normally, you would be flattered. Two people guarding you even though you were already unarmed, and it doesn't even look like they're changing shifts soon. They don't take your eyes off of you either, so you pass the time counting the seconds. They probably already left to go find Jinx, which meant you had to give them at least a half hour head start before you could try to escape.

The minutes pass by quickly, and once you're nearing the thirty minute mark, you start prepping your escape plan.

They took away your coat and your holster with your weapons, but they didn't take away your belt. Which was a good thing because you actually needed it to pull your baggy pants up, but also because you had jammed a blade in between the leather. A knife was also welded into the buckle, built to quick release with the push of a button.

You carefully start to pry the blade out of the leather, being mindful not to cut yourself. You successfully get your knife out, quietly cutting your hands free. your next order of business was your feet. You'd have to time it with taking out both guards, who were both about six steps away from you. If you were lucky, you'd be fast enough to cut your feet loose and take them down at the same time.

You hedge your bets on yourself, and quickly lunge forward, cutting your feet loose in one swift motion. Both guards stand up, and you toss your knife just close enough to one of them that they freeze. You grab your other knife from your buckle, meeting the one still running towards you halfway. You slide downwards, jamming the butt of the knife into his knee, then following up by clocking him in the jaw with it as soon as he falls down. The one that was momentarily stunned launches himself at you, but you expertly roll out of the way and jump from behind him, putting him in a headlock. You tighten your hold, hoping to knock him out quickly. He struggles for a few moments, before his arms go limp, and you let him fall to the floor.

"Not bad." You say to yourself, impressed. You take the keys off of them and their mask, hoping it'll help you sneak out. Thankfully, you find that your stuff is just in the next room, and you hastily put your gear back on before sneaking out to find Jinx.

She wasn't in any of her usual haunts, or any of your haunts for that matter. You realized halfway through your search that she was avoiding you as well. It made sense; you had gotten her to stop with the over the top antics for Silco, and you were sure she knew that you didn't want her to continue working for him anymore. So this… whatever this was, you were probably not supposed to find out. Unfortunately for her, you're keenly aware of at least some of the events about to transpire. Which meant you didn't have a lot of time left; maybe the timeline of events was sped up somehow? The butterfly effect tended to go crazy, who knows what got kicked into gear when you showed up here?

You're halfway to giving up and going straight to Silco when you catch sight of blue smoke come off of one of the taller buildings in The Lanes. A flare?

"She told me that if I lit this up, she'd find me."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere. She promised."

Your feet are already kicking the ground before you even register it.

She had to have heard about Vi being back. How the hell did you forget? The most important thing you didn't take into consideration before running around the Undercity like a headless chicken. Of course she would find out. If they had met Ekko this soon, that would've meant that this timeline had an entirely different flow from yours.

So much for considering variations in the timelines.

The entrance to the old building is bolted shut, so you start climb up pipes and rooftops, anything to get there before the others did. Your arms were burning, but you sure as hell preferred that than having to fend off Vi and the others if they got there first. From the last time this happened, Jinx did not have the best reaction.

You're barely able to shout her name once you get half onto the roof, but you push yourself up and run towards her, swatting the flare out of her hands. Her shock lasts only a second before she rams you in the stomach with Pow-pow. It only occurs to you now that you're still wearing a firelight mask.

"It's me, it's me!" She recognizes your voice before you can even take off the mask. Her hostility quickly dissipates, before being replaces with hesitation.

"I—What are you doing here?" Her tone is accusatory, but it's only half meant. You know she's nervous because she thinks you haven't heard about the Progress Day explosion. You pull her into a hug, hoping to provide some comfort, if any, to make sure she doesn't have a panic attack.

"I'll explain later, okay?" You say as you pull back, cupping her cheeks. "We need to get out of here."

There's a smidgen of doubt at the back of your mind that she'll go with you, but thankfully, she nods as you lead her off of the roof.

The both of you head to her hideout. Not the safest place to go to, but your house was definitely the worse option. You're not even there for a minute before you start questioning her.

"Did Silco ask you to do this?" You say as you set down Pow-Pow on a table. She looks away from you, the shame on her face evident. Your gaze softens at the sight, and you remind yourself that this is Silco's fault, not hers.

"Hey," You walk over to her and gently turn her chin to look at you. "You don't have to go through with what he has planned, alright? I'll return the gemstone, Tell them I found it rolling around in an alleyway."

Fear flashes across her features. "I can't." She pushes herself away from you. "I need to finish what he asked me to do. Then we can…"

You're tempted to reach out a hand and hold her, but you stop yourself short, afraid that you'll scare her away. "What is he asking you to do? I'll do it, just…don't go back to doing the dirty work."

She smiles at you sadly. "He wants me to build something with it." Her launcher.

"Jinx." There's a sudden urgency in your voice that catches her off guard. She doesn't know what'll happen if she makes it, but you do. You know who dies, and what happens because of it.

It's instant, how she recognizes what you want to say, just by looking at you. She walks back over to you and pulls you close, until your foreheads are touching. "It'll be okay."

There's a sincerity in her eyes that nearly convinces you. If you hadn't brought with you the knowledge from your own timeline. Your chest aches for her, how sure she is that things will be fine. "We can just drop this, Jinx." You say softly. She shakes her head.

"No. I can't."

"Why not?" There's a storm brewing behind her eyes. You know she doesn't want to do this. Maybe if you just—

"You just have to trust me."

"I do trust you." You pull away from her, ignoring the instant guilt you feel when you see the hurt flash across her face. You run a hand through your hair in frustration, your hand rubbing the side of your brow. "It's Silco I don't trust! We can just toss the stone into the harbor and call it quits—"

"I told you, I can't!"

"Why?!"

"Because I can't risk it!" Tears prickle at the corners of her eyes. It takes you a few seconds, silence stretching between the both of you, before it dawns on you.

She was doing this for you.

You shake your head. "No. You are not going to do something you don't want to because of me."

She smiles at you sadly. She wasn't going to budge.

A lightheadedness starts to come over you, and you grab onto the desk for support. All of those timeline you had to go through, only for you to cause one to go through the same path yours did. No, you can't let it happen here. There has to be some way to stop all of this.

A pair of arms grab onto yours, grounding you. "Easy there, jelly legs."

You look up at concerned blue eyes, and a thought occurs to you.

"What if we leave?"

She blinks, taken aback by your question. "What?"

"Leave. Start over. Away from the undercity, from Piltover, everything."

"We can't just leave." She tries to look away from you, but you lean towards her.

"What's stopping us? I can get us an airship. Didn't you say you always wanted to ride one of those things?" For a second, you see hope in her eyes. You want to think that she's imagining a simpler life with you—Other You, you quickly remind yourself—away from everything that's ever caused the both of you pain.

And then It's gone, and she backs away from you. "You should go." She turns away from you, idly looking at her notes.

Anything she wants, anything she needs. Your jaw clenches, but you're dead set on this solution. It's the only way to keep everyone alive in this.

"Tomorrow, at the docks. I'll have an airship ready."  

Tomorrow couldn't come sooner.

It could, actually. Because the time between you leaving Jinx's hideout and waiting on your newly acquired airship seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye. And now you were pacing around the outside, waiting for her to show up.

You shouldn't be this nervous, you know she'll show up. It's nearly guaranteed that she'll show up, nothing's stronger than the bond between the two of you. There's a slight pang of guilt as you consider that you took advantage of this, eliminating her choice in the matter entirely. But it'll be fine, this was the best way to avoid a war.

It isn't long before she shows up. She always does, but you feel the weight of the world lift off of your shoulders anyway. You waste no time running towards her and enveloping her in a hug. She holds you just as tight. You know how much she's leaving behind by agreeing to this, her whole life, her memories of her family, everything.

"We'll be okay." She whispers into your ear. You will be forever thankful for how well she can read you.

You pull away just far enough so you can plant a kiss on her forehead. "As much as I want hold you like this." You start. "You'd best get on the ship so I can untie it."

She chuckles a bit before pulling away—not before placing a chaste kiss on your lips—and disappears through the door. You move to hurriedly untie the cleats for the ship.

This is it. You're almost out.

"Stop!"

Almost out.

You whip around and see Ekko, along with some of your Firelight friends. You pull out your gun, absolutely loathing the possibility of having to use it on your own people. The thought of them harming Jinx does little to quell your inner turmoil.

"Just let us go, Ekko." You plead, pride thrown aside. "You and I both know it was Silco who put her up to it."

He shakes his head. "We can't do that. Not when Piltover is threatening to knock down our doors."

"So you're giving up one of your own?!"

"You think I don't understand what that means?" He steps closer to you. "Everything I've done was to help our own. Do you have any idea what it's like having to give up someone you grew up with, to save hundreds more?!"

"So don't give her up, let us leave!"

"She killed half a dozen people—"

"She had no choice!"

"Everyone has a choice!"

"You would've blown up a hundred enforcers if one of them threatened someone you loved!"

"It doesn't change what she did!"

"She only did it because Silco forced her to! Why hell aren't you going after him?" You lift your gun and point it at Ekko, who doesn't back down. All of your Firelight friends lift their own weapons, and you notice some of them gliding around in their hoverboards.

You always wondered what would happen if you died in a timeline.

Maybe it was time to test it out.

"Don't do this." There's hesitation in Ekko's eyes, but the both of you know that there's only one way left for this to end.

His eyes pull away from yours, moving to look at something just behind you.

You hear her call out your name, and you turn, oblige, anything for her.

She smiles at you, The softness in her eyes only reserved for you.

"I love you."

Dread seeps into your bones. There's no reason for her to say it with such finality. You know she loves you, she always does, she always will. You say it back just so she knows that you'll love her in every one, too.

"Take care of Vi for me, okay?" You nod dumbly and she turns around, walking back towards the airship.

The sound of a gunshot echoes across the docks, you think it's you who's been hit, the way the air is knocked out of your lungs, the way your ears start ringing, and everything goes numb.

"It's okay, you're okay, I've got you."

But it isn't you who falls limp onto the floor. It isn't your gun that clatters to the ground. It isn't you who's no longer breathing—not in this timeline.

“I was just starting to find you attractive.”

You stumble towards her, all but falling to your knees.

"Stop thinking."

Tears start to blur your vision as you try to reach for her hand.

"It's like we already know each other."

Your breath catches in your throat, you gently pry the Hextech gemstone from her fingers.

"I love you."

A sob escapes your lips. You can't let anyone see her like this.

"We'll be okay."

Your hands shake as you pull off your coat, draping it over her like a blanket.

You don't hear Ekko tell the Firelights to stand down. You don't hear him tell the Firelights to swear to silence.

You found Jinx before she could escape. You were the one who shot her. That was what they were going to tell everyone.

And you—you sit there, holding her hand, as everything else around you falls apart.

-----

Two hundred fifteen

"You need a top up for that, love?"

"No—" A shaky breath escapes your lips. "No, thank you."

How cruel must the gods be,

"Okay, you need anything else?"

To drag you through hell, then bring you back to the start?

"Love? You alright?"

The tears register a bit late, and you quickly wipe your eyes, meeting the concerned gaze of the man behind the bar.

Vander.

"Allergies." You blurt out. "They get pretty bad this time of year."

An eyebrow is raised, clearly doubting your poor excuse. You place your hands on your lap, safely out of his view, just so he doesn't see how much they're shaking.

"That so?"

You let out a nervous chuckle. It's taking everything you've got not to randomly break down at The Last Drop in the middle of the day.

"Yeah, yeah. I uh—I think I'll go blow my nose outside, actually."

"Hold on now—"

Whatever Vander says falls on deaf ears as you slide out of your chair, heading for the side door.

A wave of nausea starts blankets over you as you reach for the door and quickly step outside. You try to take a steadying breath, but there's a painful tightness in your chest, and all you can manage are a few stuttered gasps. Your vision starts to swim, legs collapsing from underneath you—the image of her blood spraying in the air replays in your mind—and you lean against the wall for support. Try as you might, a choked sob forces its way out of you. You clamp your hand over your mouth to keep your cries quiet, as your shoulders violently shake.

She died. Because of me. Because I was brash and reckless.

I shouldn't have tried to run.

I should have waited for things to die down.

I fucked up.

If I hadn't interfered, she would still be alive.

It's my fault.

"We'll be okay."

Your fist connects with the wall. The blooming pain in your knuckles provide a welcome distraction from your thoughts. So you punch the wall again, then again, and again, until red starts to coat the once grey cement. Anything to block out the image of her dying. Anything so you don't see her lifeless body when you close your eyes.

You only stop when you can no longer close your hand into a fist.

You hear the door open behind you, someone stepping out to puking on the side. Poor sap.

There's no way to make any coherent conversation with whoever this drunk person is. So instead, you gingerly cover your injured hand with the uninjured one, and push yourself off the ground.

You stiffen when you see who's throwing up in the corner.

Ekko.

What you'd do just so you could speak to him again. You miss your home, your friends, your people, your tree. Hell, even the grimy smell of the tunnels headed there.

When he's done heaving his guts out, he turns around and flops onto the floor, looking up when he notices you, and you lock eyes.

There's a disoriented look in his eyes, one you're extremely familiar with.

The door swings open again.

"One can't go shouting from the rooftops about being thrust into parallel dimensions without—Oh!" Heimerdinger shuts his mouth when he catches sight of you. He tucks the book he was about to hand Ekko under his armpit. "Hello there miss!" He chuckles nervously. "Quite a day we're having, isn't it?"

No.

No way.

"Ekko? Professor?"

It's Heimerdinger who recovers first. "Oh how wonderful!" He exclaims as recognition flashes in his eyes. "It seems the anomaly which dislodged us from our proverbial reality, also scattered us throughout time!" He throws his hands up, dropping Ekko's book to the ground. "But we're all here now, so everything is fine."

Ekko lets out a sigh of relief, before standing up and dusting himself off. "Man, I thought I was going crazy." Heimerdinger shuts the door again and begins explaining what happened to him while he was in this timeline.

Their conversation barely registers with you; tears once again well in your eyes. You walk forward, barely trying to contain the sob that comes out of your mouth as grab Ekko and pull him into a hug. You don't even try to stop yourself from shaking while you're crying into his shoulder.

The Firelights were a tightknit group, but you were always the less emotional, sometimes cynical one. So Ekko is understandably surprised and concerned when you're clutching onto him for dear life and bawling your eyes out. He holds you and rubs circles on your back either way, and lets you cry.

The door swings open a third time. Heimerdinger lets out a surprised squeal.

"Oh—uh sorry."

You flinch at the sound of her voice. Quickly pulling away from Ekko, you step back a few paces, and wipe your eyes. Your eyes stay glued to the ground, you can't bring yourself to look at her. Jinx's final words start replaying again in your head. There's not much you can do to distract yourself but to try and move your injured hand. It works, and the immediate pain keeps your grieving mind at bay.

"Hey, your hand." She speaks up again.

Fuck.

"It's nothing." You put your injured hand behind your back, grimacing as the pain shoots through you. "I…slipped."

A poor excuse, really. You're sure all three of them can see the blood stain on the wall, but you're not looking at any of them. So who knows, maybe they didn't see it.

"I uh—have something to do with Ekko and Professor." You keep your eyes low as you send a pointed look to Heimerdinger. He shrugs in response. "So we should really go—" 

Ekko thankfully mutters in agreement with you, but Powder doesn't budge. "Ekko! Your friend's hurt, and we have a perfectly stocked first aid kit here."

As if on cue, you hiss as pain shoots up from your hand.

"See?"

"Perhaps it would be better if you allowed Ms. Powder to take a look at your hand." You let out a defeated sigh. Not like you can blame either of them—they don't know what happened to you.

Powder tries to reach for you, but you step away and start walking to the door. She thankfully takes the hint and guides you all through the bar.

------

You're all ushered into the back room that serves as a storage area for the staff, which just meant Vander's children. Powder sets you down on a chair, while Ekko and Heimerdinger whisper in hushed tones in the opposite corner of the room.

Against your request, it's Powder who cleans your hand, and dress it in bandages. She's also the one to put a bag of ice on it to help with the swelling. You're the one blinking back tears or wiping your eyes, claiming it to be pain from your hand.

She's the one to make small conversations, that you give curt replies to.

She's the one to ask you about yourself, that you shut down immediately, claiming to be uncomfortable with personal questions.

She's the one that reaches out, you're the one to pull away.

You still can't look at her, so you settle on staring at whatever interesting item is off to the side or on the ground.

Eventually she gives up, and leaves you with Ekko and Heimerdinger while she goes back to work, claiming she'll be back in a bit.

"What happened to you?" Ekko rushes over to you as soon as the door closes, concern written all over his face. He gestures to your bandages. "And what happened to your hand?"

You shrug tiredly. You could really use a nap right now. "I jumped through one too many realities."

Heimerdinger pipes up. "One too many?"

"Yeah, like, multiple ones…" Your eyebrows knit at his question. "Have neither of you…"

"No." Ekko shakes his head. Moving his chair to sit next to you. "How many realities have you been to, exactly?"

You blink. "This is two hundred and fifteen."

"Two hundred and fifteen?" Heimerdinger drops his banjo and rushes towards you. "And you're still mentally intact?" He drags a chair towards you and hoists himself up onto the table. Pulling out a pen light, he starts shining it on your eyes. "Your pupils looks normal, and I don't see any burst blood vessels…" He continues ramble to you until Ekko steps in.

"Professor, give her some breathing room."

"Oh right, my apologies." Heimerdinger scratches the back of his head sheepishly as he puts away the pen light.

"Okay then." Ekko sits back in his chair, leaning a bit toward you. "So, does jumping through different realities make you beat up a wall and cry?"

Fuck.

"I…I'm fine."

A sigh escapes your friend's lips as he crosses his arms, a frown on his face. "I've never seen you cry, then suddenly you're a sobbing mess."

You let out a shaky breath at his words, muttering a complaint.

"Look, I can't imagine what could have happened to you in over two hundred timelines. I can't even imagine how much time passed for you—"

"Five years, and a few months?" Ekko's eyes widen at the revelation.

"Five years? No wonder you're acting different." He puts a hand on your shoulder. "I can't help you if you won't talk to me—"

"Yeah, well maybe I don't need help." You quip, shrugging his hand off your shoulder. The expression on his face doesn't turn sour. If any, it becomes sympathetic.

"A friend to listen to you, then." He sends you a small smile, and you immediately regret snapping at him.

You tear your eyes at him to stare at the door Powder went through. "It's…illogical and kind of absurd if we're being honest."

"If I may, my dear. We're in an alternate reality where our lives are drastically different."  Heimerdinger says as he picks up his banjo. "I think we've long departed the realms of logic and coherence."

You're hit with a sudden appreciation for your two companions. The familiarity, and the fact that you finally have people to speak with about your timeline jumping, makes you feel less alone after so long. And Heimerdinger is right, you're long past logic, so why not explain to them that you think you're meant to be with one person for eternity?

You run your uninjured hand down your face. "Do either of you believe in soulmates?" Ekko and Heimerdinger exchange looks, before turning back to you with puzzled expressions.

"Soulmates are a thing?" Your friend asks.

You sigh, trying to find the best way to explain. "I'm not exactly sure." A lie, and you know it. "No, wait, I'm sure. Soulmates are a thing, at least for me. I can't confirm for anyone else."

A look of realization hits Ekko. "Jinx... Wait, Jinx?"

"Yeah, that was my reaction too." You say as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"So you're saying, you're soulmates with one of the Firelight's biggest enemies?" His eyes are wide, you can almost see the gears in his head move.

"You know, enemies to lovers stories are usually a huge hit."

"You don't even read."

"A lot can happen in five years."

"Alright, children, settle down!" Heimerdinger puts his hands up in a placating manner. "I for one, would like to know how you came to find this out. How fascinating! To know your soul is tied to someone." Yeah, fascinating.

"So, how did you find out?" Ekko nudges you with his elbow. You throw him a scowl in response, before rolling your eyes and looking over to Heimerdinger.

"Every timeline. It was always her." You think back to the first time you jumped. "I remember the first jump I did. I was hurt, and she came running over. I remember feeling safe around her; I was only there for a few minutes before I got dragged somewhere else. And then, every jump after, I was either with her already, or at some point headed there. There was never anyone else."

"Was that all? Relationships that kept spanning across timelines?" The professor asks.

"No, not just that. I felt—" Feel. "—this pull towards her. There were times that I'd know where she was if we were close enough to each other."

"How intriguing." Heimerdinger starts pacing the room. "Never in my long life would I have guessed the existence of soulmates. And I've lived a very long life!"

"So something happened in the last one, then?" Ekko cuts in. Your jaw clenches, the reminder hitting you like a bucket of cold water.

"She died, in the last one. Shot herself, to protect me." His mouth falls open at your words, eyes widening slightly.

A heavy silence falls over the three of you; Heimerdinger sighs and walks over, giving you a pat on your knee. "Loss is already such a confounding and jarring experience. I can't imagine it what it felt like to lose one you're destined to be with."

"I didn't even have time to deal with it. I got pulled here right after it happened." Your run your good hand through your hair. "I feel the grief, but I also feel how happy the me in this timeline is when she sees Jinx."

"You coexist with the version of you in this reality?" The professor cocks a bushy eyebrow. You nod.

"Yes, it took a while to get used to. Even longer to manage."

"Well, if that isn't a shining example of your mental fortitude, then I don't know what is!" His enthusiasm softens as he gives you another pat. "You'll make it through your grief, I promise you that." He throws you a reassuring smile. And you feel your spirits lift a bit.

"You and Jinx, huh?" Ekko rubs his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I could see it." He yelps as you punch him in the shoulder with your good hand. "What? I'm trying to be helpful."

"Well you're not."

Heimerdinger ignores yours and Ekko's antics, curious eyes looking at you in anticipation. "So dear, tell me about these realities. Were all two hundred of them different from each other?" You shake your head.

"Not all of them were different, some timelines have very miniscule variations from each other, but are still the same with everything else that's there." You look up around the room. "I've been to this reality at least thrice."

"Incredible!" Heimerdinger exclaims, jumping up from his seat. "And how many unique realities have you been to?"

"Seventy-one, I think?"

"Was there a pattern you followed?"

"No, I just got jumped from one to another."

"How long were you in each reality?"

"I—usually a little over a week."

"Were there consistent behaviors between timelines?"

"I can hear you thinking from over there."

"Got something to say to me?"

You wince, shaking the memory away. "How big did the variations get?"

"Okay, jelly legs."

"Easy there, jelly legs."

"I don’t—"

"Oh, what about the people! How different were we from ourselves?"

"Okay, professor! Breathing room?" Ekko cuts in. Heimerdinger mutters an apology for his excitement. You pinch the bridge of your nose with your uninjured hand and sigh. So much for a distraction. "You okay?"

You nod despite obviously feeling the opposite—if Ekko of Heimerdinger notice, they mercifully don't bring it up—and sink a little further into your chair.

"Let's take a step back from the reality hopping, alright? We still need to figure out how to get home." He looks towards Heimerdinger, who's taken to plucking a tune on his banjo. "Professor, you said that Hextech doesn't exist here, which means there's no anomaly?"

"Precisely."

"Which just means we need to figure out a way to make our own Hextech." The both of them turn to you.

"I'm afraid once just can't go about creating their own Hextech, my dear. Without Jayce's notes, and the crystals—"

"Powder has a stash of them."

"—Excuse me?!"

"—A stash?"

The corner of your lip twitches, and you almost smile. But the crushing reminder that comes with Powder's name quickly grounds you. "She has them at her hideout."

Ekko's eyebrows furrow. "And you know this because…"

You shrug. "She told me, in the other timelines."

"Even so!" The professor gets in between you and Ekko. "Tampering with the Arcane is the reason we're in this very predicament! Who knows what mayhem we'll cause if we try to do it on purpose." Heimerdinger nods over to you. "It's a miracle we didn't have any physical side effects from changing realities."

"Well…" You say before you can stop yourself, causing Heimerdinger's eyebrows shoot up. "I had this thing on my arm." You pull the sleeve of your shirt up, revealing only the faded outline of the mark. "When I first noticed it, it was only my second jump—it was the same pattern as the one on our tree. But now," You run your hand over the faded outline. "It's just this. It was fading every jump I had."

Heimerdinger walks over and pulls out a magnifying glass. "Incredible. To think that the anomaly attached itself to you… Did you take note of any side effects?"

"There weren't any. I was disoriented the first few jumps, but eventually I got used to them."

"Well, if anything. This is a damning reason for us not to further meddle with the Arcane." He pockets the magnifying glass and huffs, Ekko and yourself understandably in disagreement. The latter stands up from his chair, frustrated with the professor.

"We don't belong here, professor. We have people who need us!" Heimerdinger tuts at Ekko and picks up his banjo, idly plucking the strings.

"You two just need to give it time."

"I've been jumping around timelines for five years, I've had more than enough time. I want to go home." The chair you're sitting on screeches as you push yourself off of it, and you start pacing the room. "Besides, I don't know if losing the mark means I stop jumping. I have a little over a week at most. The least I can do is get the both of you out of here."

A frown tugs at Ekko's mouth. "Wait. You mean there's a chance you can't come home with us?"

You sigh. "The conservative answer is yes. Look, we can recreate the anomaly here. We just need the—"

"Am I interrupting smart people discourse?"

You jump at Powder's words, and quickly retreat beside Ekko, eyes glued again to the ground. You don't miss the concerned look your friend gives you.

"Of course not, Ms. Powder." Heimerdinger starts walking to the door, much to yours and Ekko's chagrin. "You two take some time to get situated, clear your minds, and come find me afterwards."

Ekko shrugs from the corner of your eye. "I should get going."

You whip your head around to stare at your friend. "What?"

He puts his hands up. "I have to go uh—look at that thing you told me to check out."

You narrow your eyes at him. Did you miss some code word that was agreed upon? Ekko sighs as he walks behind Powder, you abandoning your quest to avoid looking at the girl in favor of figuring out what the hell your friend is saying.

"You get the thing you told us you needed, and then we can meet back with the professor."

"What?" Ekko looks at you pointedly, then at Powder.

Oh. The Gemstones.

Realization seemingly crosses your features, as Ekko promptly says his goodbye and shuts the door.

Leaving you with Powder. Did they not listen to your grief-filled monologue?

"Well, at least you're finally looking at me." She lets out an awkward chuckle. "Or at least, my general direction."

It's unfair, really; seeing the love of your life die in front of you one second, only for her to stand in front of you—alive and breathing—in the next. Her eyes still alight, curious, inviting.

And you, the mess of you. With your confusion, shock, grief, guilt; melding with relief, and the urge to hold her. The self-conscious look on her face already tearing down the walls you had just put up to protect what was left of your sanity. You couldn't even get away if you tried—and you've tried—because she'd follow you somehow, or you'd inevitably find your way back to her.

The bond of your souls demands to stay intertwined.

"So, do you need help with whatever you were getting?"

You blink. "Huh?"

Her lips curl into an amused smile. "Ekko said you had a thing you needed, that I totally believe exists by the way."

The easiness of how she speaks to you feels like a pair of hands wrapping around your throat. But it was between the friendly approach, or the concerned approach. The latter meant she'd ask why you were crying, so you'll just have to take this one and run with it.

"Uh, yeah." The words come out scratchy, there's an ever-present heaviness in your chest as you look at her, smiling at you. You clear your throat in an attempt to collect yourself. You found Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you have a week to get them—and hopefully yourself—home. You just need to push down the grief until then.

"You know anything about intradimensional travel?"

------

"So let me get this straight. You think you can create a way to transport anything from point A to B at light speed?"

"Not light speed, that's an entirely different can of worms." Powder rolls her eyes at you, leaning back into her bean bag chair.

It surprisingly took no effort for her to take you to her hideout; she even introduced you to Vi. A part of you wonders if this is because she felt sorry for you, but you can't really complain if it brings you closer to the energy crystals.

"Alright hotshot, what is it then?"

"It's more like—" You wince as you try to gesture with your injured hand. "—teleportation." You slouch into your own chair, resting your hand carefully on your stomach. "With magic."

She scoffs. "Can you do magic?"

"Nope."

"Pfft. Get a load of this guy, sis." Your eyes flit to Vi, sitting in her corner. "Sorry." There's a hint of embarrassment in Powder's eyes when you look back at her scratching the back of her neck. Only a second of confusion before you remember that you're a stranger to her here. "You must think I'm weird, talking to a plush of my dead sister. Which I'm not—I mean, I am talking to her. I meant the weird part, but if you ask my brothers they'd probably say I am weird—"

"I don’t think it's weird."

Another roll of her eyes. "Sure you don't."

"I think it helps." You say firmly, sitting up as best you can in a bean bag chair. "Talking to someone who's died, it keeps their memory alive, keeps me sane. Makes me feel like…everything's still normal, even though it's not."

Her eyes soften at your words; an expression you've seen thousands of times. One that used to give you comfort, now also draping you with the blanket of grief and guilt.

"You lost someone."

You tear your gaze away from her, choosing to stare at the drawer you know the energy crystals are stored. "I got her killed."

There's a shifting from Powder's side, and you turn to find her dragging her bean bag next to you, before flopping down and sighing. A few beats of silence pass before she speaks.

"When my sister died, I blamed myself for a really long time." Her eyes glisten as she looks at the altar she made for Vi, distant. "Back when things were harder for us down here, we did odd jobs from tips we'd get from Ekko."

A story you've heard hundreds of times, every version a bit different than the one before, but you'd listen every single time.

"There were these crystals. They looked valuable to me, so I took 'em. Didn't realize I dropped one and I guess it hit something." She sits up, hugging her knees towards her chest. "Next thing I know, half the apartment's blown up, and Vi…she put me under her so I'd be safe." You hear a sniffle as she suddenly looks away, not so subtly wiping her eyes. "We stopped doing jobs after that, focused on making things better here."

"I'm sorry." She snorts.

"Hey, I'm trying to comfort you, not the other way around." She puts her legs down, knocking her knee onto yours. "Anyway. My point is, she would've hated it if I spent the rest of my life blaming myself for what happened. If I just decided to be miserable all the time." A shrug, and she's standing up and stretching. "I sure as hell wouldn’t want her to blame herself, anyone of my family or friends really, if I was the one that died protecting them."

Forgiveness, handed out so nonchalantly. Completely unaware of the weight of her words. You almost hate feeling the weight lift off your shoulders; her forgiveness hadn't been earned, could never be earned. Not for Jinx.

But she still has the same soul.

"Alright, how exactly are we making your non-magic magic machine?" She says as she offers you a hand.

Still the same soul.

"We'll need to clear out some space." You say as you take her hand.

-----

Zero

"How fucking long were we gone?"

"Professor Heimerdinger…"

"There's Noxian's everywhere. What the hell's going on—Ekko!" You grab your friend by the shoulders, shaking him. "We won't have time to mourn the professor if we get sliced in half. We need to get home."

Ekko blinks a few times, before taking a deep breath and nodding. "You're right, you're right." He peeks his head out of the alleyway you're both hiding in, spotting Noxians soldiers pushing people out of their homes. "Why are they all here?"

"Beats me, but this can't be good." He ducks his head back in, unconsciously tucking the Z-Drive closer to him.

"We're you in any timelines where this happened?"

You nod. "Yes, but they were never in the Undercity. We were the ones taking the fight to them and Piltover."

The both of you stick to the wall as a group of Noxians soldiers march past, headed deeper into the Undercity. There was no way the both you could sneak back to the tunnel lines with that many eyes moving around. A curse is muttered at the thought, you needed to know how much time passed, and how much had changed in your absence.

"If only we could've gone back right after we left here." You rub your face in your hands. "I must've messed something up with the runes—"

"Hey, what happened to getting home being the top priority?" Ekko elbows you lightly on your side. "We can refine your rune work later," He points up to the roofs. "If we can't avoid getting to the tunnels from the ground, we'll have to cross the rooftops."

"Rooftops." You nod.

The both of you start climbing up pipes that are sticking out of the ground and around the buildings. Eventually making it onto a balcony, before jumping across the top of a smaller building. It provides you with a clearer view of the Undercity, still looking the same from where you are, despite the obvious changes occurring on the ground. The neon glow from various establishments, the ever present whir of the vents running through the streets, the gloomy allure atmosphere. Hell, even the smell was the same.

Ekko lands next to you, dusting himself off before surveying the skyline. "It's like nothing's changed from up here." He muses, reiterating your thoughts. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"We made it back...We actually did it." He looks over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder.

"Welcome back."

"Welcome back to you too, Ekko."  He snorts, giving your shoulder another squeeze before letting go.

"Alright, let's head home." Ekko starts moving towards the next roof, and you follow suit. Each step you take giving you more confidence. Son enough, the both of you are running and leaping across rooftops.

You greedily breathe in the air, not caring at all that most people would consider Undercity air to be polluted. This was home. After spending five years trying to find a way back, who the hell could judge you?

"Hurry up!" Ekko shouts from ahead of you. Grinning, you lean forward and start kicking the ground harder.

"I'm just giving you a head start!" You say as you easily speed past Ekko, who huffs and matches your speed.

For a moment, you forget about all of your worries. You forget about the two hundred and sixteen jumps you did, all of the panic you went through, all of the memories you made, the lives you lived. It's just you and once of your closest friends, running through the rooftops of your city—your city. Not a variation of it in some other timeline. It's the place where you grew up, the place you're trying to fix and make better for the people. You run past familiar stores and landmarks, feeling your nostalgia grow by the second. It's a freeing sensation; leaving for years, then coming back home. Seeing everything be both familiar and new at the same time.

There's a billowing of dark smoke from your periphery. You almost miss it, but you turn your head and spot the smoke growing steadily. Unconsciously, you turn and start heading to where the smoke is. Ekko calls out to you, but starts to follow when he sees it as well.

You stop dead in your tracks when you find the source of the smoke. Dread starts to build in your chest.

The Last Drop, engulfed in flames.

There's no thought process involved before you jump down and enter the burning building, telling Ekko you'll meet him back home. You don't even heed Ekko's calls as you slide through a doorway before it collapses behind you.

-----

Your hands feel around for your gas mask hidden inside your coat, a sigh of relief as your eyes stop watering and you're able to breathe. Navigating The Last Drop is easy enough, you've been here plenty of times in the other timelines. But the problem wasn't finding your way around, it was figuring out why you decided to jump in in the first place.

Was it the thought of someone being stuck inside and needing help? Or was it the feeling of dread creeping up on you?

The sound of crackling wood fills your ears as you look up, a supports beam starts to collapse. You quickly duck out of the way before it falls, having no choice but to push in deeper into the bar. You start to think—hope—that no one is inside, since you haven't seen a single soul as you went from one room to the next.

You feel the pull before you register that it's her.

But this one is different, stronger. Enough that you almost stumble forward, as if it's somehow physically pushing you closer. You feel it wrap around your heart, clutching it tight, almost painfully so. The feeling of longing rushes over you, not the small waves that you felt in the other timelines, but a raging current, crashing through you and sweeping you towards her.

You wonder briefly why the feeling was much more intense. Was it because you were in other timelines? Did your soul know that they were Jinx, but they weren't your Jinx? Will she also feel this when she sees you? If this is what every other version of you felt when they were with their Jinx, their Powder, no wonder they can't keep themselves away from her.

She hasn't even seen you yet.

She has her back turned to you, hands limply at her side. Her hair jaggedly cut short, just above her shoulders, which are slumped in defeat. An almost instinctive need to comfort her enters your mind, but you push it down. The first thing you need to do is get her out of here.

She doesn't react violently when you pull her towards you, telling her that you had to get out of there. Does nothing when you pick her up and bring her out the side of the building. The same alleyway where you two would sneak off to steal kisses in one timeline, and mourned the loss of her in another. She's too stunned to do anything really. Maybe she felt the pull, maybe she was just surprised that someone had gone in to fish her out. But she doesn't do anything as you set her down and take off your gas mask. Nothing when you look over her, covered in soot and grime, to search for any injuries.

The second you meet her eyes, you know, you're sure, that her soul is letting her know who you are. That she's suddenly fallen into that same raging river that you find yourself in right now.

The surprise in her eyes softens, the same look you've seen thousands of times, that you'd try to find wherever you are.

The pull makes itself known again, probably ecstatic that you've found her in your own timeline. Not that you wouldn't have, anyway. Not even the omnipotent force that created every timeline to ever exist can keep you from finding her.

CRACK

But maybe a broken nose will.

You stagger backward. A hand over your nose, eyes wide from shock and confusion. She's polite enough to not say anything after she punches you. She awkwardly stands there and watches you curse as you push your nose back into place, wiping off the blood with your gloved hand. Yup, definitely broken.

At this point, two hundred and sixteen jumps after, you should really learn to be more vigilant when it comes to tackling unpredictable situations.

You keep a hand on your nose, one hand up on surrender. She still has her hand closed into a fist, but there's a shocked look on her face.

She Blinks a few times, before a look of frustration is on her face. "Who the hell are you?!" Her eyebrows are knit together; if your nose wasn't broken, you would find her confused frustration adorable.

"I thought you needed help." Your voice comes out nasally, and you can almost feel the bruises start to form.

"I don't need your stupid help."

Stubborn.

"Well who just stands inside a burning building?!" She huffs crossing her arms over her chest. It's now that you notice she's missing a few things from her usual outfit; her choker, the string marking the X on her top, her gloves—and had she been crying?

"First of all, stop looking at me like that, you creep. Second, it's none of your business."

"I literally just saved your—" The sound of clanking armor, and boots hitting the ground cuts you off.

You grab her hand without thinking, and pull her farther into the alleyway, away from the fire and the soldiers that have started to gather. Again, she's surprised, but doesn't protest. She doesn't let go even after you've stopped running.

"We need to get out of here. I have a safe house but it's a bit far. If we start moving now—"

"My place is closer." She tugs at your hand to get your attention—your eyes flitting down the same time as her—and you both realize that they're still clasped together.

You wait for her to let go of you, throw your hand and call you a creep again. For a moment you think she actually will; you see the conflicting emotions in her eyes. But she still doesn't.

"Just... follow me." She says tiredly, nodding down a road and half dragging you to her hideout. She only lets go of your hand when there's a tight squeeze into a tunnel and it would be too awkward to walk in side by side.

Neither of you talk the entire way there. You don't ask her where her hideout is—not that you need to, you could get there with your eyes closed at this point. She doesn't ask you how you can easily navigate through tricky the walkways and hidden passages.

At first you think she's still processing how she's feeling, but you remember the tear streaks, and the way her shoulders sagged as she looked at The Last Drop burning down. You wonder again how long you've been gone, what had happened to her in the meantime. Even now, she has her head down as she walks. Her demeanor completely different from the last time you saw her.

"I can hear you thinking from over here." She says nonchalantly. She sounds tired, her irritation from earlier long gone. "I'm not leading you to some murder house, if that's what you're wondering."

You shrug out of habit. "I know, I trust you."

Her head tilts up just a bit as she stops walking. She turns her head slightly to the side, just enough that she can see you from the corner of her eye. "You shouldn't." She doesn't wait for an answer before she starts walking again, and you're left to follow her in silence the rest of the way.

There's a hesitation in her step once you reach her hideout, stopping right in front of her desk, hands balled into fists. She tries to take a steadying breath, but it comes out shaky and uneven.

You take a look around her space, noticing how brighter everything is. Not like the other timelines where you meet her as Jinx, not like Powder's either. The space was more cleared out, lights had been added, a makeshift fort had been put over her couch.

She picks up something small on the desk, you recognize it as a smaller version of the robots you two made in a few timelines. Her eyes are distant as she turns it over in her hand, before setting it back down on the table. She doesn't look back at you as she speaks.

"Why'd you help me back there?"

"I would've helped whoever was in there regardless."

She scoffs, turning to face you, leaning against her desk. "Figures with you people."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask as you walk closer to her.

"You're a Firelight." You halt in your tracks just a few steps away, a puzzled look on your face. She's never figured that part out in any of the other timelines, either. "I've seen you before." She adds. "You always have your stupid mask on, but," A shrug, as she looks off to the side. "I recognized your eyes."

It's almost funny.

You spent the last five years learning that your soul wanted to be with Jinx, and this entire time, she's probably known hers wanted you.

There's a myriad of questions that pop up in your head, but Jinx is still upset about something, and figuring that out was more important.

"Why'd you burn the place down?" She crosses her arms at your question, keeping her gaze on the ground.

"I was breaking the cycle, or whatever that means." She sits down on a chair, and starts tinkering with a chomper on the desk.

"What were you gonna do after?"

"Haven't figured that part out yet."

"What about—"

"Coast should be clear by now, you can leave if you want." Her tone maintains the same aloofness she's had this entire time, but her shoulders are tense, her movements as she works on the chomper almost robotic.

Even though you’re guaranteed that your souls are entwined in every possible timeline, you find yourself at a loss for words. All the bravado and confidence that you’d carried with you with every other version of her, gone out the window. You really shouldn’t be worried, you know she’ll love you, she always does, she always will. Even when she's kicking you out.

Only this wasn’t the Jinx fighting for Zaun’s liberation, wasn’t the mildly annoying Academy classmate that got you into trouble, nor was she the Jinx that waited for you for years to be ready to come back to her.

This was your Jinx. And you know something is wrong.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Her hands stop moving, but you can see that her grip on her tools has tightened, her knuckles going white.

She knows you. Longer than you've known her in your timeline. You're not leaving her knowing that. So instead, you finish walking the last few steps to get to her, your hand hesitating slightly before resting on her shoulder.

The dam breaks, as she drops her tools, hands closing into fists. "You're not safe here." Her voice cracks as she speaks. "Everyone around me—" She clamps her mouth shut and looks away.

Things start to fall into place. "You lost someone."

She lets out a bitter laugh. "I've lost a lot of someones." You see her blink a few times before she turns to you, shrugging off your hand in the process. "So you best get out of here, toots. I'm no good for you."

"I don't know, I think I've survived you enough times." She shakes her head, turning back to the abandoned chomper.

"You have no idea what you're saying." You sigh, getting down on a knee so your eyes are level with her. She's taken aback by your actions, her eyes reflecting a cautious but curious glint in them.

"I do, actually." A questioning look is the only response you get from her. "I'd explain, but I'll have to ask you to not to think I'm crazy."

Her gaze softens, just a pinch.

"Have you even met me?" Yes, you want to say. I've met you two hundred and sixteen times, and I'll gladly stay here until my knee is sore just so I can explain to you how.

"Not yet," You say instead, you extend your hand. "But I'd like to."

Destined souls or not, you're aware that you're pushing your luck. A smidgen of doubt starts to form in your mind, when she does nothing but stare at your outstretched hand. You can see the conflicting emotions in her eyes. Whoever she lost, it was enough that she doesn't want to keep anyone close to her anymore. A sentiment that you can understand, given that you wanted to stay away from any variation of her after you lost her once. But you don't want to leave her, not like this, not when there's a gnawing feeling in your gut that she's not okay enough to be left alone. So you hold your breath, standing by your decision.

Her eyes flit back to yours, and you hope the determined look in your eye is enough to sway her.

"You're gonna regret this." There's a pleading tone to her words, as if she's begging you to turn away and leave her. Fat chance, really.

A soft, reassuring smile. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

She searches your eyes for any trace of doubt, or deceit, but she will find none.

Her hand reaches out to yours, and you wonder if she feels the same spark of electricity that shoots through you when your hands touch.

"Grab a chair." She says, but inconveniently doesn't let go of your hand. "You down on a knee is too intimate."

You laugh, and for the first time since you've met her, you see her relax, a smile on her face.

"Fair enough."

And she listens. About Ekko seeing the anomaly on one of the leaves of your tree, the three of you breaking into Jayce's lab, heading to the Hex gate, you idiotically reaching out to the anomaly. You show her the faded outline that the anomaly left on you, and she gingerly traces the mark with her finger.

You tell her about your first jump, how your mind struggled with the Other You, as you crawled your way to cover. How you she came and saved you. You don't outright say that you're soulmates, simply because you don't want to scare her off. Not even if she probably already knows. She doesn't say anything when you first mention you two meeting, but you see her figure it out by the time you're telling her about your eighth jump. Her eyes narrow, but she lets you continue. Patiently listening as you explain, part by part, that in every reality, in every timeline, it's always you and her. It will always be you and her.

You're able to coax a laugh out of her when you tell her about your misadventures as academy students, she even teases you for being a stickler for the rules. She argues with you when you tell her that you always beat her in hand to hand combat "I could beat you any day, toots." Denies it when you tell her that she tended to sulk if you didn't give her attention, when she's be uncharacteristically thoughtful.

She holds your hand when you tell her how you lost her, how she sacrificed herself for your safety. Squeezes it when you tell her that the next version of herself is the one that pulls you out of your grief.

You explain the pull you feel when she's around, and how much stronger it feels when it's her. She interrupts you, then. Confirming that she had already known about it for a few years, right after she first saw you in a firefight. There's a blush on her cheeks as she confesses that she'd always tried to not hurt you after, and that she'd randomly seek you out to mess with you from time to time.

Eventually, she tells you how long you and your friends have been gone. What's happened to her since, about the attack at the Piltover Memorial, Vi and Caitlyn coming after her. How she met a little girl named Isha, and the strange little family she had formed with her and Sevika. You don't miss the sad, faraway look in her eyes when she recounts the adventures they had, their own little robot fight club, them making over her hideout. How they made a good situation out of everything, despite the Noxians and enforcers occupying Zaun.

You're surprised when she mentions Vander, and the short stint of happiness her and Vi had when their little family was able to reunite. She chokes up when she tells you how short lived it was, how she had been reckless in allowing Isha to come with them, that she finally understood why Vi told her to stay out of a fight all those years ago.

You hold her close to you when the tears come, and she shakes in your arms.

By the end of it all, you're both lying on her couch, and she's passed out on your chest. The physical and emotional exhaustion from the last few weeks finally catching up to her.

You spend the time processing all the information you learned; about the war, Viktor, Jayce. How there was a lot more weight now to the sacrifice Heimerdinger made for you and Ekko. You're sure he's already rallying people to join the fight, but from what Jinx had told you, Zaun won't fully unite until she's on board, too.

She's tired of it all, but she'll probably relent if you ask her. But that's an issue for tomorrow. Right now, you settle on holding her close.

And if only you hadn't asked her.

If only you had kept your mouth shut, and let her rest.

If only you hadn't put her in danger, again.

Your lungs burn as you run through smoke, not caring if your eyes can barely see anything, or that your legs are screaming for you to stop and take a break. You can't, not when you didn’t try hard enough to stop her, not when you could've asked her to stay instead. 

You make it to the Hex Gate, the smell of burnt metal and wiring fills your nose and brings you to a coughing fit. You still shout her name, at the top of your lungs, hoping that she'll hear you. You start to lift debris and stray slabs of concrete. There's only a numbness in your hands as you cut and burn them while digging our rubble. Not a care in the world that there could still be explosive hazards in the area. The only thing on your mind was Jinx.

The desperation starts to build with every passing minute, the pull in your chest is painful, screaming at you to find her. Even as the smoke slowly clears, the momentary reprieve from searching blind not stopping you from your erratic search. You continue to clear the rubble, your hands smearing blood on every piece of debris you touch. This does nothing to bother you, though. You'd paint every inch of this room red before you stop looking for her.

You collapse to your knees, grabbing onto a large piece of rubble for support. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Just when you find your way back, when you finally have her with you. Five years and hundreds of jumps, only for you to lose her again.

You lay your head against the concrete, as the tears start streaming down your face.

Then a cough, the sound of shifting debris and rock hits your ears.

You bolt upright, ears straining to listen. For a few seconds, there's nothing, and you almost thing that you're getting high from the fumes. But you hear a groan, then you're feet are already kicking the ground.

Smaller pieces of rubble start moving around, and you quickly claw away it, clearing everything away until you catch sight of a hand. You've never been happier to see chipped nail polish in your life.

You ignore the ache in your arms as you lift every piece of heavy rock, until Jinx has enough room to grab onto you and you pull her out.

There's a deep gash on her side, a few cuts, and bruises already forming. She starts coughing, but there's no blood. Good. She's breathing, alive.

"You regret meeting me, yet?" She manages a smile, and your heart soars.

"No, not yet, at least." You wipe your eyes with the back of your palms, sniffling.

"Hey, hey, easy." She puts a hand on your chest to stop you from picking her up. "Your hands are bleeding."

"You have a gash on your stomach."

"I heal quick, you don't." She shoots you a warning glare when you try to pick her up again, and you relent.

"I thought I lost you again." The tears well up in your eyes, and her glare softens. She pulls you closer until your foreheads are touching.

"Sorry to disappoint," She starts. "But you're stuck with me forever."

You fail at stifling your laughter. "Sounds like a good deal to me."

She cups your face in her hands, running a thumb across your cheek, and you instinctively lean into her touch.

"Help me up, yeah?"

You oblige. You always do. You always will.

[eyelessfaces]

ahead, ahead

poe dameron x reader

summary: “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

or; your fear of the future forces you to reject the man you love.

warnings: rejecting poe but we're not actually truly rejecting him (who, in their right mind would reject this man), talks of the war, of being scared of the future, extremely brief mentions of an injury, death and grief

tags: gn!reader, idiots in love, angst, fluff, celebration, kissing, idk man I hate tagging this stuff you'll see

word count: 2.9k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

lmao hey I'm back ig if this fic doesn't hit ten thousand notes in 48hrs I'm dipping again

The night is fairly quiet, save for the occasional crackle over the comms. You and Poe are tucked away in an observation post, overlooking a seemingly endless empty desert; it feels like you've been here for hours, time blending now that the only light around is the shining stars and the small dots of your devices. 

Poe lightly clears his throat, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You can't go away from any conversation right now, so,” 

You shouldn’t even be surprised that he can not keep his mouth shut for longer than three minutes. “Why won't you let me take you out on a date?”

You sigh. “Poe, not now.” 

You can feel his eyes burning holes through you, knowing exactly what gaze he’s using on you, knowing his big, warm, pleading brown eyes will have the exact effect he intends to cast over you if you happen to turn to him.

You keep watching ahead, trying your best to ignore his too obvious firm gaze over you in your peripheral vision, feigning focus on trying to notice anything unusual in the broad land of sand ahead of you. He makes it really hard.

“What? Perfect situation to talk about this” he says, his gaze on you unwavering. “For me” he shrugs with a teasing smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping that your silence will make him drop it. But he’s Poe Dameron. 

“Tell me. Tell me why. I genuinely want to know your reasons.” he says, leaning back into his seat. “Hurt my feelings if you have to. I just wanna know”

You can feel the pressure starting to pull down on you. You know he won’t let it go, but you also don’t want to hurt your friend while you’re stuck with him for what could be hours.

“So what, because no one ever says no to you you can’t take someone rejecting you?” you scoff, turning to him before you check the comms again though you know there’s nothing new. 

He laughs, a choked, startled laugh. “We both know it’s not that. You kissed me”

You sigh, tension coiling tight and your heart leaping in your chest as you set the comms down again, at this point begging the maker for something to happen, maybe even for a First Order ambush just to get you out of this conversation. “Maybe I was just pitying you.” you mutter under your breath, busying yourself out of it by picking the underside of your nails.

“Oh, you were shitting your pants at the idea of losing me. That's why you kissed me. You were so scared I might be dead you ran to kiss me when you found out I wasn't.” 

Your eyes close wearily. He’s on point. 

“And you almost could have chipped my teeth with how hard our mouths clashed, so,” he trails off. “Come on. Why won’t you tell me? I really just wanna know. I can handle it.” he murmurs, more softly this time. Your head shakes as you tut impatiently. His gentle tone doesn’t make it less painful to be in this situation. “I promise you won’t hurt my feelings, you already kinda did anyway, so I guess I’m not really–” Poe stops when you suddenly grab his arm and hold a finger up, your eyes widening as you freeze.

“Listen”

Poe halts and goes silent, alert to any sound around, any faint wind breeze, any footstep, anything. 

“...I’m not hearing anything” he declares after a while, eyebrows furrowed.

You recline into your seat, releasing your grip on him. “Exactly. How peaceful”

He lets out a soft, bitter chuckle and looks away, into the waves of sand, pretending to get his focus back onto the task at hand. 

He finally, as you wished, lets the tight space be silent again, but after a while, you come to admit that the heavy silence is arguably more agonizing than having Poe run his mouth about something you don’t really want to talk about.

“You'll always care about the Resistance more than you could care about me.”

“What?” Poe scoffs and glances back over you, eyebrows raised. You give him a small shrug. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

Your gaze darts to him before you look back out the window at your side. “It’s not even a bad thing, it’s who you are, and that’s why people follow you, that’s why I follow you, but–”

He stares at you, his gaze burning through you again, caught somewhere between confusion and frustration. “But what? What makes you think that?” 

You can hear the startled hurt in his tone, the clear bewilderment, the clear need and urge in him to argue.

“You're a busy man. You're always on the run–” 

“So are you” he cuts you off.

“That's what I mean. We’re both so busy with this– this endless fight. We barely have time to sleep, let alone,” you gesture vaguely between the both of you, catching the pleading gaze you were desperately trying to avoid earlier, hoping he will get what you mean without you having to say it out loud, without having to stab him right through the heart once again.

“So what?” he insists, his tone firmer. “We both know that. That’s part of the deal. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it work”

You shake your head, sensing it will only keep going down from there. “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

The thick silence painfully grips at your throat, and just when it feels Poe might start to speak again, the comms crackle with a signal, alerting a presence on the grounds. 

You stand up and gather the stuff you need, the mission you let aside needing your full focus again, and as you take your blaster out of your holster, you can still feel Poe’s lingering gaze over you, your chest tightening in a sense of guilt you’ve never felt before.

—

It’s spontaneous and unconstrained when you fall into Poe’s embrace, but you do, and it’s like nothing ever happened in that observation post a few weeks ago. Your hands fist tightly into the fabric of his flight suit while you're still careful not to press yourself too close against his wounded arm. The general hubbub of celebration is rumbling on the ground of Ajan Kloss, thrumming through the air, and you can only feel relief as Poe’s hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer into the embrace. For a brief moment, you just stay here, mingling with each other, breathing him in like you didn't completely push him away the last time you faced him.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you pull back slightly, looking you up and down, eyes raking through as he searches for any sign of injury.

“Are you?” you ask back, eyeing his arm wrapped in a cloth and held against his chest by a sling. 

He shrugs, grimacing as he quickly waves it off, trying to downplay it. “That's fine. Nothing I've never seen before. I got things to celebrate before I start whining about this” he grins. 

He smiles wider when he sees your smile, your cheeks warming up as his gaze lingers over you, taking in every detail of your face. You have barely been able to catch each other for longer than two minutes outside of missions these past few weeks, so knowing he will now be able to see you for maybe three minutes longer now that the galaxy isn’t at stake anymore brings another layer to the wider sense of relief of this war being over. “I’m glad you made it out alright” he says quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the noise. 

“Couldn’t have done it without such an amazing leader” you tease, and he lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head, but your own laughter fades as he gets cornered by his fellow squadron pilots, pulling him away from you.

You smile when you see his eyes crinkle as they cheer with him, and you give him another smile and nod when he mouths you a quick apology as they drag him away.

—

You stare off into the distance, a small smile tugging at your lips when from afar, you notice Finn being swirled around by Rose, all smiles. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling to this, all of this. It’s supposedly all over, but you also have no idea what to expect for tomorrow, and the next day, and all the ones after that, and the idea is terrifying. 

You put your glass down beside you on the crate that serves you as a bench, turning when you feel a presence approaching.

“Hey” Poe smiles, sitting by your side on the wide crate.

“Hey,” you reply, a hint of tiredness in your voice though his presence lifts you up a little.

“Overwhelmed?” 

You scoff, giving him a half nod, barely a tilt of the head. “Yeah, you could say that”

He gives you a nod of comprehension, staring off at the loud, joyful celebration in the distance. 

Puffs of dirt are flowing off the ground from being beaten by dancing feet, the particles visible from the strings and poles of lanterns set up for the occasion, revealing the figures of people overflowing with energy though that layer will peel off and reveal the true exhaustion stemming from the battle soon enough.

The night is warm, making sweat cling to skins, making tears of all kinds short-lived, visual proofs of joy and grief drying and disappearing quickly.

Poe’s gaze turns back to you, his hand settling over yours. “You should join us. You shouldn’t be staying by yourself at a time like this” he prompts, lightly nudging your side, a gentle smile on his face.

“I will, eventually” you nod, glancing at a couple linking foreheads, swaying side by side. “Just having a moment,” you chuckle softly, bringing your glass back to your lips.

“Ouh, okay” he teases, begrudgingly removing his hand. “Mind if I have this moment with you?”

“Sure,” you scoff, silently offering to share your glass with Poe, disposing of it again when he silently declines.

“So, what now?” he questions, a renewed brightness filling his voice. “What are your plans now that this war’s over?” he asks, eyes roaming along your figure.

You take a deep breath, clearing yourself of a discomfort you barely realized had been smothering your chest. “I don’t know. That’s what’s terrifying” you admit. He hums in agreement, nodding. “But maybe I’m gonna apologize to a certain pilot I pushed away first” you grin, glancing at him, meeting his eyes that crinkle in the corners as he smiles. “I wanted to apologize earlier. Before they snatched you away to worship you for your feats” you tease.

He scoffs. “Sorry. Busy man as you said”

“Yeah” you exhale, taking a sip of your drink. You lick the liquid off your lips, before looking back at Poe. “I was too harsh on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you” 

He gives you a single nod and a forgiving smile. “I know. We don’t have to talk about that”

You shrug softly, averting your gaze from him again. All those people cheering and laughing and kissing could have been you and Poe instead of that slightly awkward tension between you, in a parallel reality where you hadn’t pushed your pride to the first plan, leaving your feelings behind. 

You glance at him, at the way his brown eyes catch the warm glow of the lanterns. “I wanted to kiss you again” you admit, in a faint murmur. “When we came back winning.”

Your gaze falls to your lap, your fingers drumming against your glass as you feel the weight of Poe’s gaze over you, attentive to your every word. “But I didn’t want you to think I was playing with your feelings and being cruel again, just the way I was in the observation post”

Poe’s gaze softens, his hand closing as he tries to keep himself from reaching for you again. He nods in understanding, unsure how to go on from this admission. 

“It’s not about cruelty,” he mutters, still looking at you. “It hurt because I knew you were scared. And I didn’t know how to make you not be.”

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage, your eyes briefly closing at his words. You nod, having to admit he is probably right. Scared of losing any more people you love, for the cause that has already taken so much from you.

Scared of losing him when your feelings already weighed enough on you.

“Hey,” he calls, tearing you out of your knot of blooming thoughts, nudging your knee with his own. “That’s why we’re here tonight. Because we made it” he nods. “We're all supposed to be less scared now, to enjoy the celebration and to properly take time to process our griefs.”

A faint smile grows over his face when you rest your head against his shoulder. You try to ignore the tears threatening your eyes.

“So things are supposed to be quieter now, right?” you question quietly, feeling his arm wrap around your back.

He hums in reflection. “There’s still a lot to do but, yeah, supposedly”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always”

You let out a small, vulnerable sigh. “I never thought this day would actually happen. It was just a distant vision” you confess. “And now that it’s here I don’t know what to do”

He slightly tilts his head, glancing at you without dislodging your head from his shoulder. “You’ve never fantasized about what your life would be like after the war?”

You stay quiet for a bit, thinking about it. “Not really. Not seriously. Mostly because it didn’t really feel like this day would come, and now everyone knows what they want for themselves and I feel completely lost”

He nods. “You don't have to figure it all out now. The Resistance still has lots to sort out” he affirms, his thumb idly caressing your arm. “But you can think about it differently. You have every option now. You can start again” You pull your head away from his shoulder, considering this point of view as you grab your drink to finish it. You hum softly, rubbing your eyes when you let go of your drink, trying to chase the lingering doubts away.

“Come on, we should join the others” he clutches your shoulder before standing up. “And you need a refill”

You nod, looking back at your empty glass, propping yourself onto your feet. “Poe, wait” he turns back to you, an expectant curiosity painted over his face, watching as you step closer to him. 

“If you asked me out again,” you say, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “I’d say yes. It’d be part of my new life”

His grin widens as he fully turns to you. “Oh yeah?” he asks, an eyebrow raised and a teasing edge to his voice. 

His eyes roam over your face, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you nod. “Yeah”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his hand brushes yours before he holds it again, this time more deliberately and more confidently. “You should have. Kissed me” he murmurs as your gaze darts to your linked hands then back to him, unable to repress the smile growing onto your face.

“I know,” you chuckle, watching him let his fingers intertwine with yours when you don’t pull away, his touch firm, grounding you with a peacefulness you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages. “But who says it's too late?”

“If I was that petty, I would” he grins, a teasing glint in his eyes, but the warmth in them conveys the playfulness of his words. 

You lean in to kiss him before either of you can overthink it, your free hand instinctively grabbing at the back of his neck like he can somehow still slip away from you, your fingers burying in his mass of hair damp from the heavy atmosphere.

His hand slides out of yours to cup your face and the kiss lingers, warm and unhurried, neither of you caring about the laughter and music of the celebration in the background. When you finally pull back, your foreheads touch, and you see the playful grin on his face that makes your chest ache with fondness. “Took you long enough” he teases.

“You’re so desperate” you shoot back, your tone lacking any real bite, significantly softened by the smile that refuses to leave your face. 

“You were hard to get.”

“Alright, okay” you scoff, your hand sliding to rest against his torso, adjusting the collar of his shirt on the way. 

The teasing slowly fades from his face, his hand reaching up to cover yours over the rise and fall of his torso, gently closing around your fingers

“I’ll make time for you.” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Between work, flying, building everything we’ve lost and our lives again… I’ll make time for us. I promise”

You find yourself nodding, swallowing his every word, blindly trusting him; because if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that Poe Dameron never makes empty promises.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, and for the first time in what feels forever, moving forward doesn’t seem as terrifying.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

star wars taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

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@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25

[gdinthehouseee]

Gentle: CHOI SEUNG-HYUN x READER

summary: you come home after a long day of work and seung-hyun takes care of you

word count: 1432

tags: fluff; extremely self-indulgent (you work as a film production assistant) kinda basic but i wrote this half-asleep

ao3 link

Another day at work meant another night of crashing as soon as the front door to your home shut behind you for the night—not after discarding your stuffy, professional clothes as soon as possible, of course. Today had been particularly difficult. 

Being a production assistant meant the director felt entitled to bark orders at you left and right, the assistant directors acting all high and mighty, not to mention the producers with their ‘holier-than-thou’ attitudes. Your body weighed down by hours of standing, lifting, running back and forth under the harsh glare of the lighting rig; your muscles throb with a dull ache, your head foggy from the endless problem-solving and last-minute changes thrown your way. It was too much. All you want is to collapse—to let go of the tension gripping your shoulders, to shut your eyes and forget how long today dragged on.

The moment you step through the door, you feel like you’ll get your wish—to collapse. Every muscle in your body protests as you force yourself to toe off your shoes, your movements sluggish and drained. Before you can take another step, a warm hand catches your wrist.

“Hey.” Seung-hyun’s voice is soft but firm, his brows knitting together as he studies your face. “You look exhausted.”

You manage a small nod, but words feel like too much effort. Instead, you just let out a quiet sigh, your shoulders sagging. He doesn’t push for a response. Instead, he gently tugs you forward, wrapping his arms around you without hesitation. His hold is steady, grounding—one arm around your waist, the other smoothing up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes.

It breaks him a little to see you like this—to watch the way you barely manage to nod, too drained to even form words. He has always admired your dedication, your ability to push through anything, but right now, all he can see is how much it’s costing you. The dark circles under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders, the way you just melt into his arms as if you don’t have the strength to hold yourself up anymore. It isn’t fair. You work so hard, give so much, and yet, no one seems to notice how much it takes from you. But he notices. And he hates that he can’t take that exhaustion away, that all he can do is hold you and hope you’ll let him ease even a little of the weight pressing down on you.

“You’re overworking yourself again, aren’t you?” He murmurs, his voice low, laced with quiet concern. “You need to slow down, aein.”

You nod again against his chest, unable to argue—not because you don’t agree, but because you’re too tired to say anything at all. He exhales, his grip tightening just a little as if trying to absorb the weight you’re carrying.

“Alright,” he whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head. “No more talking, no more thinking. Just let me take care of you tonight.”

And for the first time all day, you let yourself lean into the comfort he offers, too exhausted to do anything else.

He doesn’t say anything as he leads you into the bathroom, but his hand stays firm around yours, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. The sound of rushing water fills the space as he leans over the tub, adjusting the temperature with practiced ease. Steam curls into the air, carrying the faint scent of lavender—calming, warm, inviting.

“You don’t have to do this,” you murmur, trying not to get emotional about how gentle he’s being with you.

He glances at you over his shoulder, his expression soft but unwavering. “I know,” he says simply. “But I want to.”

Once the bath is full, he turns back to you, his fingers moving to the hem of your shirt. He undresses you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache—not rushed, not expectant, just careful, making sure you move as little as possible. When you finally sink into the water, a long sigh slips from your lips, the warmth wrapping around your aching muscles like a promise. Then, he kneels beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before reaching for the washcloth. He runs it over your skin with slow, deliberate strokes, tracing over your shoulders, your arms, down to your hands, his touch reverent. Every movement is delicate, as if he’s afraid of pressing too hard, of adding even the smallest bit of strain to your already exhausted body.

He reaches for the shampoo and tilts your head back slightly, his fingers threading through your hair with delicate attention. As he massages your scalp, working the lather in slow, rhythmic circles, warmth seeps into your bones, lulling you into a haze of exhaustion and comfort. His touch is so gentle, so methodical, that your eyelids grow heavy before you even realize it. Your breathing slows, your body sinking deeper into the water, and just as you start to drift off—

“Are you seriously falling asleep right now?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you blink up at him, still dazed. “…No.”

Seung-hyun smirks, clearly unconvinced. “Mhm, sure. That cute little head tilt? The way you just sighed? You were definitely about to pass out on me.” His fingers keep massaging slow circles against your scalp, his voice filled with quiet amusement. “Am I that relaxing?”

You groan, embarrassed, and attempt to sit up, but he gently presses you back into place. “Stay still,” he chides, still grinning. “I’m almost done.”

The moment you step out of the tub, he’s already waiting with a soft, oversized towel, wrapping it around you before you can even shiver. His hands move with quiet care, gently patting away the droplets clinging to your skin. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push—just takes his time, making sure you’re warm and comfortable.

“You’re like a sleepy kitten,” he murmurs with a small smile, watching as you sway slightly in exhaustion. “Barely standing on your own.”

You hum in response, too tired to argue, and he chuckles, wrapping an arm around you to steady you. “Alright, let’s get you dressed before you collapse on me.”

He then leads you to the bedroom, where a set of warm pajamas is already laid out on the bed—your softest pair, the one you always reach for when you need comfort. He helps you into them with the same quiet attentiveness, guiding your arms through the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your shoulders, making sure you don’t have to lift a finger.

Once you’re dressed, he sits you down on the edge of the bed, positioning himself behind you as he grabs a towel and starts drying your hair. His fingers comb through the damp strands with gentle precision, his touch slow and methodical. Every now and then, he ruffles your hair playfully, just to hear you mumble a sleepy protest.

“You’re going to fall asleep on me again, aren’t you?” He teases, amusement lacing his voice.

“No,” you grumble, but your body betrays you, leaning into his touch, eyelids fluttering.

“Let’s get you comfy, then.”

Without another word, he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you over to the bed. He settles you beneath the blankets before climbing in beside you, pulling you against his chest as he reaches for the remote.

“Movie night,” he announces, keeping his voice low, soothing. 

“I’m not sure I even wanna think about movies right now,” you partially joked. 

“With the way you keep almost falling asleep, I bet you’ll barely last ten minutes.” He returned with a soft laugh. 

You try to huff in protest, but as the warmth of his embrace surrounds you and the soft glow of the screen flickers in the dimly lit room, you know he’s right. Honestly? Who could really blame you for falling asleep in your sweetheart-of-a-boyfriend’s arms after he’s taken such attentive care of you? He spent the entire night making sure you felt nothing but comfort, from the way he washed your hair to the way he dressed you in your coziest pajamas, to the way he’s holding you now—safe, cherished, adored. His fingers absentmindedly trace gentle patterns along your back, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. The exhaustion that once weighed you down now feels lighter, replaced by something softer, something sweeter. And as your lashes flutter shut, you swear you hear him murmur something against your temple—something tender, something that makes your heart melt even as sleep finally pulls you under.

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t @onyxmango @sherrayyyyy @seunghyunwifey

[captn-trex]

brightest in the dark

Crosshair x F!Reader

word count: 9.2k

description: when you get caught up in an inescapable cave-in, crosshair finds that some things are easier to confess when it feels like the end of the road

warnings/tags: angst for sure but not all the way through, crosshair is an angsty boy in a lot of ways, forced proximity, frenemies (?) to lovers — reader and cross have a strained relationship because of the aforementioned angstiness of the boy, perceived unrequited love, injury detail, blood & needles, jealous (and a bit insecure) crosshair, implied there might be something between hunter & reader (spoiler: there isn't), grumpy/sunshine kinda, reader is a medic (how original), reader is described as being a similar size to crosshair, some suggestive dialogue but nothing nsfw

a/n: I will make every clone yearn if it’s the last thing I do. sue me. also If anyone knows where I took the title from we can be best friends forever btw. and shoutout to @lonewolflupe for the ‘sky rodeo’ <3

masterlist | join my taglist | read on ao3

“Have you got your water bottle?”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, kicking off the side of the Marauder as you descended the ship’s stairs with an irritating pep in your step.

“Mm” he confirmed, taking a toothpick from his belt, already pre-empting a grinding jaw.

“Medkit?” you asked, stopping just next to him to secure the top of your knapsack.

Crosshair didn’t reply, he just gave you a sidelong glance of irritation, toothpick clenched between his teeth. You looked over to him, most likely upon realising he wasn’t going to answer, and deflated slightly at his expression.

“Crosshair, have you got your medkit?” you asked more pointedly, an edge of exasperation that made the edges of his lips quirk up marginally.

“Yes, I have” he mumbled out, turning away from you and catching Hunter’s glare as he walked in his direction.

Crosshair had to fight the urge to roll his eyes again, he already knew what he was going to say.

“She’s only trying to help” Hunter scolded him, “if I hear that you've given her a hard time—”

“Alright, I get it” Crosshair snapped, his gaze as sharp as his tongue.

Hunter gave him an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised and a sigh escaping his lips, “alright, try not to take too long, report back as soon as you've got a visual”

Crosshair didn't try to suppress his eye roll this time, “this isn’t my first sky rodeo, Hunter”

“I know, but—”

“You ready, Cross?”

Crosshair's head twinged to the side slightly as his eyes fluttered closed, his jaw grinding and teeth clamped together at the nickname. He'd pretend it was because he hated it, as he always did.

He didn't reply, instead stalking away from the two of you and off in the direction of your mission objective. He could hear the way your feet scurried to catch up with his long strides and huffed, gripping his helmet tightly at his side. He felt your eyes on him, running them over his armour, and it took everything within him to keep from meeting your gaze.

“How did you sleep last night?” you asked, making his jaw tick noticeably.

He knew you had recognised his poor sleeping habits of late, but he wasn't really in the mood to speak about it, especially as it had something to do with the fact that you'd started sleeping in Hunter's bunk. He wasn't sure why, but that was somehow even more torturous than knowing.

“Fine” he replied coldly, keeping his eyes ahead as the two of you followed the trail that lead down into the valley below.

You sighed, “Cross…”

“Don't call me that” he grumbled, no real bite behind the demand, “and I said fine, so drop it”

He saw your shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye and shook his head, disappointed in himself once again.

Truth be told, Crosshair was painfully enamoured by you. Smitten was a more appropriate description really. He certainly felt as if he had been smited by some cruel deity who deemed that his life was worth being made difficult. He bore it like an open wound that he tried to ignore, a mess that wasn't given the proper amount of care and attention, and bled into the way he treated you.

You’d always been too kind to Crosshair, far kinder than he deserved. As much as it was your job as a medic, you always took care of him in the same way as the others, even though they always treated you with a level of respect that he didn't. He wished everyday that he could take it all back, go back to the beginning and start over, let you know how much he appreciated you and your efforts, how his feelings had grown for you to the point where his chest ached every time your smile was directed at someone who wasn't him.

It made little sense, he knew that. He acted as if he didn't care whether you lived or died, but it was the fact that you didn't seem to care that made him continue to act that way. So he couldn't take it back after all, and maybe he wouldn't want to anyway, because how else could he get close to you? He knew that made little sense too, but very few things were clear to him when it came to you.

In any case, he'd go on suffering in silence, a suffering of his own making that he cursed himself everyday for.

You did have a friendship, of sorts. He wouldn't call it that, and would certainly never admit it, but you were insistent in trying to get him talking. The way it would play out often went along the lines of him teasing you, making fun of you, to see how far he could push you as a juvenile way of coping with the magnitude of his affections. It was the closest thing to affection he would allow himself. You often rebutted his teasing remarks with ones of your own, and as much as he appreciated you matching his attitude, he mostly wished that you wouldn't allow him to get away with it, that you would give him a reason to show how he truly felt about you.

Safe to say the opportunity hadn't arisen, and he wasn't crossing his fingers either.

This mission's objective was simple; go and scout ahead, and comm the others when it was safe for them to move out. Since your joining the group eight months ago, Crosshair had often been lumbered with you in situations such as this. As the sniper, he wasn't made for nor enjoyed close combat fighting, and as the medic with little combat training, it suited you to hang back until you were needed.

Thankfully, the terrain that you were traversing this time was straightforward, a narrow valley that brought you right up to a ridge that overlooked a separatist outpost. Although the area was simple to cut across, it only made the silence that stretched between you even more tense, with no buffer to distract either of you.

You kicked up dust into the air with the way you were dragging your feet, and Crosshair was half of the mind to replace his backpack with you just so he wouldn't have to hear the grating noise. Holding a datapad in hand, you tapped the screen, tracking the direction that the two of you were heading in.

“Two more klicks” you mumbled, cutting through the tension with all the effectiveness of a butter knife.

Crosshair grunted in reply, casting his eyes across the top of the valley as the two of you descended to the very bottom. His hand shot out, slamming against your abdomen and stopping you in your place.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice low as you saw the way his gaze skimmed the top of the valley.

Crosshair slowly reached back and took his firepuncher from his backpack, “we're being watched”

The moment the first blaster bolt flew, Crosshair grabbed your waist and pushed you behind him, bringing his blaster into position and picking off the sniper droids he could see. Each bolt found its mark, piercing the droids between their eyes.

“Find us some cover” he ordered as he shoved his helmet over his head, looking for incoming droids. He turned back the way you had come, blaster raised as he walked backwards. It was silent for a moment, the only thing he could hear being the gentle padding of your feet against the ground behind him.

“Crosshair, in here” he heard you call from not far away, and he gave one last look around the edge of the valley before turning and making his way towards your voice.

There was a small cavern at the base of the cliff, a hideaway cut from the rock, and it looked to have been used for shelter before. A small pile of logs indicated a fire, with stones outlining a pit of ashes, only just visible with the way the afternoon light shone in through the opening of the cave.

Crosshair squared himself with the wall of the cave to look outside, his back pressed against it as he followed the line of the cliff through his scope. He felt your presence next to him, your chin knocking against his spaulder as you peered over his shoulder. Your breath wafted over the sliver of skin between the top of his blacks and his helmet, and his breath hitched as the heat of it made his skin prickle.

“Stay” he muttered, stepping forwards to put some distance between you, and to make sure that it was safe to move again. He stepped out into the valley once more, his rifle raised and ready should he meet more adversaries.

It was eerily quiet, the whistling of the wind the most audible sound, carrying no others on it. Crosshair stalked around the base of the valley, making sure that no other droids were in the vicinity, and called for you to join him when he was sure.

“One moment” you muttered, “I think there's a stone in my boot”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, lifting his weapon to look through the scope and make extra sure that it was safe. He wandered around as he waited, his own boots softly crumbling the dirt beneath them, then came to a stop next to you after a few moments, watching as you buckled up your boot again.

You looked up at him and a small smile crossed your lips, but almost instantly dropped, as if you'd done something wrong, “let's go”

Crosshair felt his heart fall from his chest at the subtle action. The fact that you wouldn't even allow yourself to smile at him left a gaping hole through the middle of him, and he felt completely and utterly ashamed. He knew it was his own fault, he'd blame himself even if it wasn't, but he wasn't prepared for how the simple motion would bring his mettle to its knees.

As he was caught up in staring at you with an inscrutible expression, one that didn't give away even one ounce of the anguish he felt, a blast flew straight past him, and narrowly missed your arm. He pushed you back inside the cave on instinct, and whipped around to deal with the incoming attack, but upon seeing the increased amount of firepower now gunning for the two of you, he quickly followed you inside, picking off the droids towards the front of the formation as he walked backwards.

As the droids continued firing down at you, a blast lodged itself in the ledge above the opening to the cave. When the rocks there crumbled away, they seemed to focus all their fire above you. Crosshair didn't think about the immediate implications of it, he just kept knocking down what droids he could, but when you called out his name and grabbed his arm to pull him backwards, he understood.

The rocks came down almost in slow motion, but quick enough that the pair of you couldn't have made it out in time. Crosshair fell backwards as you tugged on his arm, stumbling and trying to find his footing before he was taken to the ground. In the scramble to get away, a rock snagged his shoulder, just between his cuirass and spaulder, and he released a deep grunt as it brought him to his knees with the impact.

For a moment it was quiet again, only the heavy sound of breathing being heard in the darkness of the cave. Crosshair kept his head down, trying to keep his breath even and cut out the pain from his wound, though it was quickly becoming apparent to him that his shoulder was not in any sort of good condition. He could feel blood tricking down his side, soaking through his blacks, and he felt himself becoming feint, his mind fuzzy and unfocused.

A light flicked on, shining directly at him, and he groaned again, the hand of his uninjured arm lifting to cover his eyes.

“Crosshair” your voice was a hoarse whisper, as if it had got caught in your throat, and it wasn't hard to guess why.

He slumped forwards slightly, his back hunching as he dug his knees further into the ground to distract from the pain.

“I know” he said quietly, not even having looked at the damage yet. He was far too concentrated on trying to ignore it.

The light flicked off with the click of a button, and he heard you shuffling around, your knapsack hitting the ground with a thud that told him you were moving quickly, your actions rushed. Soon after, a warmer light started growing, and Crosshair realised you had taken out a lamp, and were now dragging it over to him with a medkit in hand.

He looked up, the softer light not invading his vision in such a piercing way, and he could now see the worry in your eyes. His gut twisted, the uncomfortable feeling of guilt spreading through his body and only making his wound ache more. You knelt in front of him, ripping off his helmet before your hand gripped his spaulder and pulled it aside to get a proper look at the injury. The both of you sucked a breath through your teeth, Crosshair in pain and you no doubt because of how bad the damage was.

You got to work quickly, silently, and unclipped the top half of his armour to get better access. Crosshair was glad that you weren't talking, he was already embarassed enough, feeling infantile, crumpled to his knees and completely weak in front of you. He was powerless to do anything else, his head pounding and vision hazy as blood gushed from his wound.

“Hold this here” you said firmly, pushing a cloth into the wound and bringing him back to the present harshly, another pained noise leaving him.

He followed your instruction without much thought, and when he took the fabric from you to hold in place, he felt the way your hand was shaking. His eyes snapped up to yours, and the distress he saw written into your expression was enough to shock him back into full consciousness.

Crosshair watched your movements carefully, his keen eyes noticing every twitch and shiver as you fumbled with the syringe. He wanted to comfort you in any way he could, but truthfully, he didn't know how. It wasn't something he'd ever sought to do, and now faced with the challenge, he didn't know what would be the right thing to say.

“It's just a scratch” he mumbled, a small chuckle passing his lips in an attempt to at least alleviate some of the tension.

“A scratch?” you huffed, your voice disbelieving as you shot him a unimpressed look, “this isn't funny, Crosshair”

“Hey—”

“If I hadn't pulled you away you'd still be there. You'd be de—”

Crosshair called your name sternly, and you stopped your fiddling with the syringe to look up at him, “it's going to be fine, do you hear me?”

His voice was grave, and while he knew it wasn't necessarily a comforting tone, it was the best thing he could muster up with the panic steadily growing within him. Your eyes flicked between his, your shoulders relaxing slightly after a few seconds.

“Okay” you breathed out deeply, pressing your hand over his to hold the cloth tighter to the wound, “look to your right”

Crosshair could feel his pulse throbbing all over his body, the blood rushing through him and towards his wound, towards the hand that covered his and brought about such a reaction. Your skin was warm through the fabric of his glove, and he'd been so distracted by the touch that he barely registered when you had administered the pain relief injection into his neck.

You took your hand from his as you placed down the syringe, and then found the hem of his blacks, your fingers skimming along the edge, “I need to take this off, is that okay?”

“It's fine” Crosshair replied, taking the cloth away from his wound to allow you to continue.

You nodded once, and ran your palms across the skin of his abdomen as you peeled the body glove from him. Crosshair couldn't help the way his body shivered, the way his jaw clenched at the feel of your hands on his skin. His eyes locked with yours as you pulled the top up, warm knuckles brushing over him, and he let out a shuddering breath, trying to relax his mind. He groaned in pain, eyes screwing shut when he lifted his arm to help you take the shirt from his injured shoulder.

“I know, I know” you spoke soothingly, your voice measured and calm as you discarded the shirt, “I’m sorry”

“Don’t apologise” Crosshair hissed out, the pressure to his wound returning as you grabbed his hand once more and brought the cloth to his shoulder.

“Alright, here's what's going to happen now” you started, your hand still covering his as you held his attention, “I'm going to take this away and clean the wound first. It's going to hurt a lot, but it'll be over before you know it. Then I'm going to need to stitch it up”

“It's that bad huh?” Crosshair huffed a laugh, still not keen to look down at the wound, but he heard how strained his voice sounded in saying it.

“It's going to be fine” you assured him, and your fingers closed around his, gripping his hand tightly, “it'll only take a few minutes, and then it's just a matter of putting a bacta patch over it”

He breathed out deeply, his skin alight where yours was touching it, trying to remain as calm as possible.

“Alright, do it” he spoke, forcing his eyes away.

You gave his hand one last squeeze as you brought it away, and despite how it made his heart flutter, it wasn't enough to fight the stinging pain of the antiseptic spray.

As you cleaned out the gash, wiping away drying blood and dirt, you responded to Crosshairs groans and whimpers of pain with comforting words, telling him that it was almost over, and as much as he appreciated it, he only felt more embarrassed. In the lull between cleaning and stitches, he tried to take steadying breaths, but the antiseptic was still stinging at the open wound.

“Are you ready?” you asked quietly, and his eyes found yours again at the softness of your voice.

You held the curved needle in your hand, ready for whenever he said the word, and between his deep breaths and pounding head, he couldn't help but just sit and admire you for a moment too long.

“Do you want something to hold on to?”

“What?” he frowned.

“To grip, for the pain? or… something to bite down on?” you suggested.

“No, no” he dismissed, shaking his head.

“Okay, I'm going to start now” you informed him, and he nodded quickly.

As soon as the needle pierced his skin, Crosshair's hands shot out and gripped the fabric of your shirt, bunching it at your waist with the way his fingers tightened, his bones almost creaking beneath the pressure.

“Fuck” he breathed out, trying hard to keep himself in check, to distract himself by focusing on the rhythm of your breath.

“I know” you said gently, “you're doing well, just a couple more”

His head fell forwards, resting his forehead against your temple as you worked, and he instead found that he was losing himself in your presence. He could feel your breath against his cheek, steady and warm, where his was harsh and shallow. You continued to send comforting words his way, your sharp actions a direct contrast to your tone and sentiments. He focused on the sound on your voice, the scent of your hair, the soft fabric of your tunic between his fingers, and soon they began to loosen.

“There, all done” you pulled away from him as you put down the needle and peeled off the back of a bacta patch, and Crosshair had to catch himself from falling forward.

You placed the patch over the affected area, lightly running your fingers over the edges to press it into his skin, and he immediately felt the solution beginning to cool the flaming agony that stemmed from the gash. A breath left him, and he sat back on his heels more as his head tipped back in relief.

“Better?” you asked.

“Better” he replied, then looked down at you to see your worried expression taken over by something more unreadable.

You chuckled slightly as you tidied up the medkit, “don't worry, I'm not expecting a th—”

“Thank you" he spoke before you could finish, voice firm enough that your eyes snapped back up to his.

You cocked your head a little as you looked over his features, “well… you're welcome then”

Placing the medkit back in your knapsack, you produced a dark piece of fabric, handing it over to him. He looked at the black material clasped in your hand and realised you were offering him your spare blacks.

“That wont fit me” he nodded his head to the item of clothing, an unimpressed furrow in his brow.

He watched on as you frowned in return, then trailed your eyes down his chest and abdomen, no doubt sizing him up.

“We look about the same size”

Crosshair scoffed, “are you calling me skinny?”

“Are you calling me skinny?” you replied amusedly, one of your eyebrows raising in tandem with your lips.

He rolled his eyes, “whatever, hand them over”

He held out his hand, looking away from your irritatingly enraptured gaze, and you dropped the top into his hand. He threaded his arms through the top and the sleeves, going to pull it over his head until his shoulder cried out in protest, and another pained grunt escaped him. He tried again, but was met by the same results.

“Here, let me help y—”

“Don't touch me” he replied on instinct, his tone venomous in a way that made his insides coil tightly together with guilt. He could see the hurt in your eyes, a flicker of sadness that only made that nasty feeling inside of him pull taut.

Truthfully, he couldn't stand to have you touch him. If he hadn't been so woozy previously, he may have shrugged off your help with his wound as he usually did, telling you he could sort it himself. Now that he was in his right mind, there was no way he would let you anywhere near him. He didn't trust himself around you. He didn't think he could have you touch him and not do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Though, observing the hurt in your eyes, in the slight downturn of your lips, he felt he couldn't deny you anything in that moment. After a long silence, he sighed. “I'm sorry”

Without so much as a single word, your hands found the fabric of the top, and you gently pulled it over his head. Crosshair knew he didn't have to say anything, because as much as he wished you didn't, you knew him well, and could read him far more than he was comfortable with.

He kept his eyes trained on yours. So much of your emotions were given away by your eyes, and he felt that you didn't try very hard to hide them, not like he did. He admired you for that. You were so openly giving and sought connection with everyone, even him. Your eyes caught his as you pulled the top down over his chest.

A small smirk wound it's way onto your face, “don't worry, I won't tell the others you needed help dressing like a little boy”

Crosshair huffed, trying to disguise what was really a laugh as an unimpressed scoff.

“I'm going to try and contact them” you muttered, moving away from him to pull out your comm. “Hunter? Are you there?” you were met by static, nothing coming through the line.

You tried again a few more times, calling for Hunter to reply, and every time you said his name it was like a punch to the gut. The last time was so desperate, so soft and bordering on loving that Crosshair almost clamped his hands over his ears. He couldn't stand it.

He didn't want to feel resentful towards Hunter, he only had himself to blame for leaving the space for something to blossom between the two of you, and it didn't surprise him in the least. You were both generous in a similar way, looking out for others before yourself, and it made sense that you had gravitated towards each other.

He tried to push it from his mind, vaguely aware that you were sending a recorded message about what had happened. He was more focused on the intense need he had to escape this situation. He couldn't be trapped in here with you, it would be the end of him, he was sure.

You began trying to shift some rocks from the base of the mound they had fallen into, but it only caused a slide from the ones on top of it. You yelped as you sprang back, and a thin crack appeared, running along the ceiling of the cave. Crosshair just huffed and pushed himself off of the ground, going to continue on in your stead.

“I'm not sure that's—”

The same thing happened, the crack deepening and small rocks falling from the ceiling. Crosshair paid it no mind, but you insisted that he stopped, pleading with him when it only got worse, more rocks shifting unsteadily and falling down around you. Really, it was hurting him a lot, his shoulder calling out for him to stop much like you, but the prospect of being stuck in here struck him as far more painful.

You had always given back what Crosshair gave out for the most part, but with the tone of your voice, he could tell your patience was wearing thin. You were quickly losing your sense of humour, and you finally snapped.

“You know what Crosshair, I'm kriffing sick of you! If you want to go and get yourself killed, be my guest, I won't stop you”

Crosshair stopped what he was doing, turning to face you, “you don't mean that”

His tone was partly joking, partly serious, as he didn't know which end of the scale you were on at that point.

“I mean every word” you spat at him, far more angry than you'd ever been, and you grabbed the lamp, dragging it behind you as you walked away.

He watched you slide down the far wall of the cave, your arms wrapping around your knees as you brought them into your chest in a huff. For a moment Crosshair didn't know what to do, but he figured he wasn't going anywhere if you weren't onside, so he trudged over you slowly, not approaching quickly for how he didn't know what kind of reaction to expect.

“Go away” you muttered, your eyes staring ahead of you, hardened with a resolve to not engage with him.

“No” he replied petulantly.

“I'm not dealing with your shitty attitude right now” you gritted through your teeth, still not looking at him.

It seemed that his mistreatment of you had finally caught up to him, and made you snap, and Crosshair was almost scared of the uncharted territory that you were now in.

“Just get up and help me shift these rocks” he knocked his foot on yours, urging you to abide, but you didn’t move.

You were silent, and realised then that it looked as if you were shaking subtly, but it was hard to tell in the low light. He was worried about you, but he knew there wasn't anything he could say or do that would help. He crouched next to you with a small sigh.

“What's the matter with you?”

“The matter? Crosshair we're stuck in here!” you finally looked up at him, a scrunch in your nose that he couldn't help but find adorable, and he found himself wishing you would have snapped at him before.

“What? Are you scared?” he asked, his usual teasing tone making an appearance.

“Yes! I'm scared, alright?” you hissed, and he could see a flicker of fear in your stormy eyes, “I don't know why you aren't”

“I don't get scared” he replied quickly, a knee-jerk response.

You laughed humourlessly, rolling your eyes, “right, of course. I should've thought of that”

Crosshair could see he wasn't getting anywhere, so he took a seat next to you, his back to the wall, one knee bent to rest his forearm on.

“I can't believe I'm going to die trapped in here with you” you grumbled out.

A pang of hurt cut deep in Crosshair's chest, but he forced a dry chuckle past his lips, an instinctual reaction to deflect the pain. You didn't seem so amused.

“Hey” he said softly, and you turned your head to look over to him, “we're not going to die”

His voice was as soothing as he'd allow himself, and he hoped that it could bring you even a little reassurance. You seemed almost taken aback, your mouth hanging open a little as your eyebrows raised. You blinked at him, and then settled back into a frown.

“I'm not stupid Cross, there's no way to know whether we're going to get out of this or not” you spoke softly.

The nickname made his chest seize up, but he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall of the cave, “you're right”

He wasn't going to lie to you, you didn't need that, and it wouldn't fix anything about the predicament you found yourselves in.

For a little while, you sat in silence, save for a steady drip of water on the opposite side of the cave that Crosshair had failed to notice previously. Now, it was all he could focus on. It was a particularly grating noise, something irritatingly steadfast and unyielding about it, just existing in the same space as you, but doing a much better job at consistency than him. It felt like it was taunting him, mocking him, calling him a coward. Maybe he was already going crazy, but either way, he felt compelled to speak up, if only to try and drown it out.

“I'm sorry” he said quietly, almost a whisper.

You sighed deeply, deflating, “it's not your fault”

Crosshair shook his head though you didn't see it, “I mean, that you're stuck here with me. I know that you'd prefer if it was Hunter instead”

You looked over at him with a curious expression, one that he only saw for a split second before he had to turn away. He couldn't bring himself to look at you for whatever you were about to say.

“That's not exactly true” you said in a measured tone.

His gazed snapped up to you, and you were giving him one of those looks where you were trying to figure him out. He hated when you did that, you were so good at it after all. He sometimes felt that you could see right through him and into his very soul, but he sincerely hoped that wasn't the case, he couldn't think of anything more horrifying.

“I didn't mean what I said before” you murmured, turning your body towards him with a small smile, “you're a great end of the universe buddy really”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “so you don't actually want me to die?”

“Of course I don't” your face softened with your tone, and he couldn’t believe that such a tender look could be directed at him, he could only think that he didn’t deserve it, “you just drive me up the wall sometimes”

His lips quirked into a small smirk on instinct, and then it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“No one enjoys winding me up as much as you” you muttered, drawing your knees back to your chest as a shudder wracked your body.

Crosshair cast his eyes over you at the action, realising that your medics robes were not as warm as the blacks you had packed for situations exactly like this. He thought that maybe if he was a better man he'd give the top back to you. That's what Hunter would do. Instead, he looked across the cave, to where the previous dwellers had made a makeshift fire. There wasn't much wood, but it would be better than nothing.

“You have a lighter in there?” he asked, motioning his hand towards your knapsack.

“Uh… yeah” you replied.

Crosshair pushed himself from the ground, only a small grunt leaving his lips as the bacta had already began healing his wound. He grabbed the bag and crouched down by the pile of wood, rifling through it to find the lighter which was rattling around at the bottom.

As he arranged the remaining pieces of wood into his preferred shape, you stood and walked over to retake your seat in front of the soon-to-be fire. He got it going quickly enough, lighting one of the smaller pieces and placing it into the structure he had built, but it was weak at best. It wasn't going to keep for more than a few hours with the resources available, and Crosshair was already worrying about what would happen then.

He looked over to where the opening of the cave had been. In the dim light he could see the crack that had appeared in the ceiling, and he felt his stomach twist into a tight knot upon observing how much worse it was already. He blew a long breath out, making the fire ahead of him flicker slightly more, before it settled into its previous dance. Crosshair couldn't hear the dripping anymore, not above the crackle of the fire, and it was a strange relief. Thank the maker for small mercies, he thought, inwardly scoffing at the sarcastic thought.

“Why haven't you been sleeping?”

The question caught him off guard, so buried deep in his own thoughts that he had almost jumped when you spoke up.

“I don't want to talk about it” he mumbled in reply.

You nodded, seemingly satisfied with the assertion, but he could tell something lingered in your mind at the way you watched the flames before you both.

“You've been in my dreams the past few nights” you said absentmindedly, eyes almost glazed over as you stared into the fire, little regard for how it made Crosshair’s heart skip several beats. Your eyes flicked up and met his, and he lifted an eyebrow, not sure how else to react. You chuckled slightly before you continued, “they weren't great dreams, really. Nightmares, maybe”

Crosshair could feel his insides constrict at the idea of him featuring in your nightmares, his heart beating faster as he willed himself not to react in any way.

“Go on”

He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, “well, it always starts with me being chased by a fire-breathing lizard… creature”

Crosshair couldn’t help the way the edges of his lips lifted a little, and he brought his hand up to scratch at his stubble to try and hide it.

“I can see you laughing at me” you scoffed, “it was scary at the time”

“I'm sure” Crosshair replied, still fighting a smirk.

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes, uncrossing you legs to stretch them out ahead of you so you faced the far wall of the cave.

Crosshair’s curiosity quickly got the better of him, “what was I doing there?”

You looked back over to him before turning your face back down to your feet where you gently kicked your heel into the ground, “it's… silly, really. Far fetched”

He frowned, “I'm listening”

You huffed, and he could see your cheeks darken as you deliberated over your next words, “you were protecting me. You had a durasteel sword and you were trying to slay the creature”

Crosshair’s eyebrows raised, but quickly shot back down at your earlier insinuation, “why's that so far fetched?”

You tilted your head to look at him, your own frown creasing your brow, “I don't know, it's not something you'd do in real life”

A pang of hurt sent a sharp pain through his chest. He could feel it, like a real, physical thing, a knife piercing through his heart. You truly believed that he didn't care for you in any way shape or form, and as much as he knew he had no right to feel slighted by it, it cut deep within him.

“Nice to know you think so little of me” he grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest and tucking his chin behind them as he stared into the fire.

He could see your eyes go wide even as he refused to look at you, “I don't think little of you! I— I think you're… great, just—”

“Just what?” he snapped, eyes darting back up to yours.

“I don't know, I don't see you doing that for me”

Crosshair's frown only got deeper, and he forced himself to look away and into the fire again. All of the hurt and jealousy within him, every negative emotion he had brought upon himself by not being honest with you bubbled up to the surface, and he failed to keep it to himself.

“I feel like I've upset you” you said softly, but he just grunted in reply, “what is it?”

“You really think I wouldn't protect you?”

He knew that this was a path he didn't want to go down, one he wouldn't dare tread if both your lives didn't hang in the balance, but they did. He felt vulnerable, more vulnerable than he ever had or wanted to, and severely misjudged. Something about it made indignance rise up his throat and mingle with his words.

You paused, but spoke you mind after a moment, “not at the expense of yourself, no”

He grunted again, “well you're wrong”

“Why?”

“why?” he scoffed, shuffling his feet ucomfortably, “I'm not heartless, you know”

“I didn't say you were” you rebutted, and he finally looked up at you when you paused. You watched him carefully, “you would… put yourself in harm's way, for me?”

“Of course”

The shock was evident on your face, your mouth hanging open a little as you stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking, and he knew instantly that he'd said too much, and that you didn't feel the same way for him. The worst part was, he understood. He knew that he'd given no reason for you to care for him in any real way past doing your duties as a medic, and any kindness you had offered him had been purely from the goodness of your heart, with no ulterior motives in consideration. All the same, it was frustrating. He was frustrated at himself.

His gaze dropped to the fire once more, and it felt as if it were stinging his eyes, but he soon realised that the sensation was actually brought forth by the tears that had collected in his waterline. He blinked them away, knowing that he couldn't, shouldn't cry, even if he had just come to the realisation that you would never see him the way he saw you, never admire him like that, never adore him like he wanted you to. It made him feel like a cadet again, surrounded by people who were supposed to be his brothers, but only feeling like something was wrong with him, that he was unwanted and unlovable for a reason that would forever elude him.

It was his fault. All his fault. He knew it, he’d always known it, and he'd have to live with it for as long as he knew you. It didn't make it any better to know it, it only made it worse. He wished he could blame it on you, make it easier for himself, displace all the blame and take this crushing weight from his shoulders, but he wouldn't wish this weight upon anyone else, much less you.

He didnt dare look up at you again, especially as you hadn't said anything. If the ground opened up and swallowed him whole in that moment he wouldn't have cared, or probably noticed.

“Do you think the others will be looking for us by now?” you asked softly after a little while.

“Doesn't matter, they won't find us” he grumbled back.

You huffed, “that's not very reassuring”

“Reassurance does nothing”

“Maybe not to you”

“No, not to me”

“Right” he could tell you had rolled your eyes, “you don't get scared, how could I forget”

“I am scared, just not for myself” He snapped, his tone sharp as he glared at you. He was feeling annoyed now, and not in the mood for joking in the slightest.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffed, his tone not matching his sentiment, “I'm scared for you. I don't want anything to happen to you”

You watched him from across the fire, tilting your head, and he had to look away.

“Why aren't you scared for yourself?” you asked.

Crosshair was reluctant to say, but you had no teasing in your tone, and admitting to the truth felt easier knowing that he might not make it out of this cave. He decided that he'd find a way to say what he wanted in as few words as possible.

“Because… if I die, I don't have to live without you”

Your eyes widened slowly, and he watched your mind work around the meaning of the words, the gears turning behind your eyes. He could feel the embarrassment clawing at his throat, begging him to stop speaking forever more. He didn't know why he would have said that, beyond it being true. You didn't need to know, it wouldn't help you, and it certainly didn't help him.

Then, you did something that he didn't expect at all. You rose from your place on the opposite side of the fire slowly, as if not to scare him, not that it worked. His eyes followed you as you made your way around, and retook your seat in the spot right next to him, so close that if he shifted his arm he’d be touching you. Then you put your head on his shoulder, looking into the fire.

“I'm scared for you too” You said quietly.

Crosshair didn’t know what was going on. His heart was beating out of his chest, only just managing to keep a hold of the rhythm of his breath as he watched you from so close. You had never been affectionate with him like this, and he was too plagued by confused thoughts spilling into his brain that he couldn’t fully enjoy it — enjoy the fact that you were in this proximity to him willingly.

“You're too careless with your life, you treat it like it doesn't matter. I don't like it” you spoke up again.

He didn’t know what to say.

“How should I treat it?” he asked quietly, his voice low.

“Like it's precious”

Crosshair took soft breath in automatically, taken aback by the simple admission, by how easily you had said it. He could only find it within himself to deflect the comment,

“It isn't precious, clones are expendable”

You raised your head from his shoulder to give him a stern look, “I know you don't believe that”

He shrugged. He could feel his cheeks scorching and he hated it more than anything. He hoped that the low light would save him from you noticing how your touch made him act. Peering into your eyes as you did to him, searching, your frown softened.

“Your life means a lot to me" you confessed in a whisper. Crosshair’s heart was trying to escape him now, and even more so when your face returned to being serious, “and I wouldn’t want you to risk it for me”

Crosshair matched your frown, drawing his brows together as the dots, the pieces of what you’d said, starting connecting.

“Do you think that's why I would protect you? Because I don't value my own life?” he asked, an irritate edge that made you draw back from him marginally.

“Yeah? I mean, why else…?”

He could have laughed, but instead he shook his head, “that’s not it”

He knew what he wanted to say really, but his mind fought to come up with something else, struggling to find the words to express every unsaid thing in a way that didn’t make him want to curl up in a ball and never speak again.

“It’s— I…” he trailed off, uncertain, “I value your life… more than anyone else’s”

Your eyes widened, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the corners of your lips lifted almost imperceptibly, “what do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes and looked away, “must I explain?”

“I'd like you to” you sounded small, and he looked back over to see that your eyes were wide, shining with hope. It filled him with such an uncommonly warm feeling that he couldn't possibly deny you an answer now.

“I…” he's flicked his eyes across your features, landing on your lips before finding your eyes again and sending you a somewhat pained look, “I can't— I don't know how to—”

You took his hand, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles and leaving goosebumps in your wake, “take your time”

Crosshair sighed, suddenly struck by how poor of an idea this was. He couldn’t help but dwell on the simple fact that you were far too good for him. He didn’t deserve someone like you, and he knew it. You were took kind, too patient, too far superior in emotional maturity and every other thing besides shooting a blaster for that matter. He didn’t believe that perfect people existed, but if there was anyone who reached the closest to those heights, it would be you.

“I… the way I treat you, it's not… right. and it's not a reflection of how I truly feel” he admitted.

You hummed, nodding as you focused your gaze on his palm, drawing shapes with your first finger, “and how do you feel?”

Crosshair was thankful that you weren’t looking at him, and knowing you, it was probably intentional. You knew what he was like, who he really was, and it was as startling as it was comforting. “I feel… a lot. You make me feel a lot”

You smiled, your thumbs tracing over his, “a lot of what?”

An exasperation began creeping on his mind. He knew you understood, you were smart, but you just wanted him to be the one to admit it. He could respect that, however hard he was finding it; you were finally not accepting his half-arsed attempt at affection.

“Happiness” he said finally, “you make me… happy”

Your eyes finally raised to his, giving him a curious look, he felt the need to continue.

“I know that I don't act like it, and I know that I certainly don't make you feel that way, and that you're interested in Hunter, so I'm under no impression that—”

“What?” your head tilted to the side, your expression portraying all of your confusion, “I'm not interested in Hunter”

“Oh” Crosshair sat completely still, just staring at you. He was sure he looked as confused as you did in that moment, but his heart still leapt in his chest all the same, “but… you were sleeping with him…?”

“He was just… I don't know” you sighed, wrapping his hand with yours, “when I had nightmares as a kid it used to help if I slept beside someone else. He noticed I wasn't sleeping well and offered some… comfort, I suppose”

Crosshair nodded, looking away and into the fire anyway, because he knew that Hunter would always be your first choice, and not him, even if it wasn’t in the way he had originally thought.

“But it didn't really help anyway” you said, “I suppose maybe I was sleeping next to the… wrong person?”

When he glanced back to you, there was something more reserved about your demeanour. You were never usually shy, sometimes quiet, but this was something that he hadn’t seen from you before.

“You're right, by the way” you noted, and he raised an eyebrow, “you haven't always made me feel very happy”

He offered a pitiful look, “I'm sorry”

“I know you are, and I don't forgive you for all of it, but I know you, and I know that you don't really mean it. And— well, the reality is…” you rambled out, finally pausing for a breath, or to muster your courage, “you also make me feel alive”

Crosshair’s brows shot up.

The entire atmosphere around the two of you changed, the air between you charged with unspoken words, energy waiting, begging to dissipate. Your free hand reached for his face, and you ran your thumb along the lines of his tattoo that followed his cheekbone. His eyes closed momentarily, a shaky breath leaving his slightly parted lips, and he gave into the moment, focusing on the feel of your fingers caressing his face.

Allowing himself to revel in your touch, appreciate it rather than trying to avoid it, he was ready to crumble into nothing. He could have, and he would have died a happy man, his last moment being in the embrace of your calming presence. Your hand found its place on his jaw, and he opened his eyes once more. He copied you, his hand reaching for your face and taking it tentatively within his grasp. Your skin was soft, ever so soft, and his thumb slid across your cheek with ease.

He felt so vulnerable in that moment, but he just didn’t care anymore. He felt safe with you, and for once he didn’t want to act like a wounded child about his feelings for you. He wanted to show you how strongly he truly felt, the beginnings of making up for the way he had treated you in the past.

Without another second to spare, he tugged on the hand that still clutched his, pulling you towards him, and his lips met yours with an ardency that surprised even him. His arms wrapped around you as he kissed you deeply, holding your body tightly to his, unwilling to let you slip away from him. He was stealing the very air from your lungs, giving you everything he had to offer, and you were taking everything in kind. You were trying your best to keep up, mostly succeeding, but eventually you had to break the kiss, almost gasping for air.

Your breath was heavy against his lips as he kept you in close proximity, and when your eyes met his, a small chuckle left you, bordering on a giggle. He pulled you flush against him, so you rested in his lap, and your face lit up even more. Crosshair felt like he was walking on air, and when you kissed him again, leaning all of your weight into it, he couldn’t help but smile against your lips. The kiss grew more heated gradually, and before he knew it, you were tugging at the blacks you had given him.

He shook his head, pulling away before you could get the wrong impression, “not here”

“Why not?” you frowned playfully, your hands slipping beneath the top and brushing against his skin.

Crosshair growled quietly as you attached your lips to his neck, making his next sentence hard to get out, “because I have more respect for you than to take you on the dirty floor of a cave”

You chuckled against his skin, pulling back to give him a genuine smile, but then it faltered, and he watched a thousand emotions flick across your face in the space of a second. He gripped you tighter, about to ask what was wrong, but you beat him to it with your answer.

“What if this is the only time we have?”

Crosshair knew you meant more than something as fleeting as a shared intimacy, and with the look on your face, he immediacy began to understand why people lied to others in the name of sparing their feelings.

He pushed his forehead into yours gently, “the others will find us”

Your lips turned down in a dubious expression, “but how are they going to get us out?”

For that, he didn’t have an answer. He brought a hand to your face, taking your jaw and hoping his actions brought some comfort, “I don’t know, but I’m not letting you die in here”

“Even you don’t have that power” you huffed.

Even you. The words hung in Crosshair’s mind, front and centre, meaning a lot more to him than you probably realised. It seemed that you were saying, even him, someone who could do almost anything, couldn’t do this. He realised then that you must think a lot more of him than he ever knew, and his heart almost seized up in his chest.

He let a small grin wind it’s way onto his face, “sure I do”

You gave him a lopsided grin, rolling your eyes as you buried your face in his neck, “yeah, yeah. Whatever you say”

As it promised to be, getting out was difficult. The others eventually came for you and Crosshair, by which point he had almost accepted that this was it, that he’d shared his final moments with you. That wasn’t enough anymore, it wasn’t a sufficient amount of time spent with you, and when he heard Hunter call for him, his need to get out was stoked. Tech had found that the rock on the other side of the cavern held a cave system, Wrecker had set a number of charges with a limited blast radius, and they pulled the two of you out from the other side.

But all of it was inconsequential, unimportant in the face of what had happened while you were still trapped. Even more so now that Crosshair held your body tightly to his, his arm wrapped around your waist as the fresh scent of your soap invaded his senses and no doubt began clinging to his bedsheets. He hadn’t let the others ask why he was suddenly being so clingy to you, but something about their smirks and knowing looks told him that he had only been fooling himself in not telling you how he felt.

You laid on his chest, careful not to rest against his wound, which you had treated properly upon returning to the ship. You had insisted it was the first thing you did, before anything else, and he wasn’t going to argue with you then, not when you frowned at him in a way that made his chest tighten. The trade off was that he got to join you in the shower afterwards. It hadn’t taken too much convincing.

Now with you in his arms, your light breath fanning his bare chest, he knew he wasn’t ever going to let you go. He’d spent too long trying to push you away, but now that he had you, you weren’t going anywhere, he’d make sure of it.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @heidnspeak @burningnerdchild @orangez3st @clones-cyare

[4theluvofsapphos]

┊┊★ ⋆ PAYRAISE (NSFW) ⋆ ★┊ ┊

Mean Boss!Agatha x Personal Assistant!Reader

plot ~ you piss off your boss when you threaten to leave and she convinces you to stay the way she always does.

Ao3 Link: here!

AN: 300+ of you voted and some 30% of you guys wanted some Mean!Boss Agatha and Reader spiciness! I hope you guys enjoy. it will probably be kinda OOC I can't see Aggie being this mean in any other universe :,P tags: [[MDNI! 18+]] harsh/absuive language, Agatha basically committing work place harassment, degradation/praise, manhandling/rough, fingering (r receiving), mentions of drunk angry emailing, hair pulling (r receiving), choking (r receiving), titles 'mistress' (a receiving), blackmail(???) or coercion

"I'm leaving." You barked, slamming your resignation papers down on the table with a splayed hand.

You glared at your 'employer', if you could even call her that. She was your boss, but she was also your girlfriend, but she wasn't really. She took you out on dates, she let you borrow her coat. She fucked you.

God, did she fuck you.

But that wasn't enough to keep you around any longer. She had thrown you around since day one, pulling you in with her charm and her sweet smile, only to spit in your face and push you back out the second you got too close to her heart.

She was sat at her desk, arms folded as she stared at her computer screen, no doubt reading over the angry email you had sent her before coming into work the previous night while drunk off some cheap vodka. She made no move to look up, her glasses sliding down her nose as her irises flitted across the choice words you had sent to her.

"I said I'm-"

"You can't. You won't" She retorted, gaze flicking up to glare at you with a pointed expression. There it was...that malice. That disgustingly possessive glowering that she did when she wanted to make you do something. It made your stomach turn and flip with butterflies...or were they wasps?

"No, Agatha. You can't make me stay anymore. You treat me like shit, you work me to the bone. You abuse me, you've made my life a living hell just because you wanted to. Just because you'd rather die than be vulnerable with me."

The brunette's pointed gaze twisted into a snarl and she stood up, her chair sliding back with a loud rattle as its wheels hit the back of the room.

"You're naive, you know that?" She spat, her blue eyes drilling into you with so much hatred-- and something else. Hurt.

You leaned over the table, your index finger jabbing into her sternum as you spoke, emphasising each accusation with a painful poke.

"You're just hurt I don't want to deal with your bullshit anymore. You've finally run out of young girls in Westview to play around with and you're mad about it."

You scowled as she stood, grabbing your forearm and shoving you back. She wasn't that much taller than you, but you wore flats, where she wore heels, and she was able to-- like she always did- look down on you. Peering down over the bridge of her nose, she sneered at you.

"Hurt?" A sharp laugh, a laugh of condescension,"You're the one close to tears, y/n. Don't look at me like I'm the one who hurt you when you are the one who doesn't know when to fucking stop."

You felt your face heat up at the older woman's pointed observation, your lips pursing and brow furrowing as you tried to keep the squeeze in your throat from reaching your eyes. You blinked hard, the tears managing to disperse on your waterline so she didn't have the pleasure of seeing them fall.

"Whatever. I'm leaving." You mumbled, folding your arms to try and comfort yourself and turning on your heel. Before you could get even two steps in, a sharp pain tugged at your scalp, your head throwing back as your hair was forcefully tugged on.

"I can change your mind, y/n..." That honeyed voice oozed into your mind, enveloping all of you and dissolving your common sense. Logically, you knew how this would end. She would fuck you, apologise, and then kiss you and expect you back at the same time tomorrow. Maybe she'd even text you to ask you on a date that coming weekend.

You knew it was her tactic.

She knew it worked.

Those slender fingers moved to cradle the back of your neck, spinning you around so you were face to face again. You were both leaning over her desk, Agatha having pushed her laptop aside in the time that you two had bickered.

"Agatha." You warned, your tone low and shaky.

"Y/n..." She murmured back, her lips pulling into that mischievous little smirk that melted your resolve every time.

With a simple look to the desk, you knew what she was asking. You crawled up, legs coming to swing over and hang off the ledge of the large wooden desk as Agatha settled between your legs. You looked up at her with angry eyes, the annoyance in you clashing with the puppy love she knew you were always eager to give her. "I'm sorry...." She crooned, the hand on the back of your head coming to trace its knuckles along your jaw, rubbing affectionately against your warm cheeks.

Tears welled in your eyes at the apology, not because she meant it-- but because you knew how much of a fool you were being right now.

"...It- Just--" You wiped away your tears, grabbing Agatha's shoulders and crashing your lips against hers in an upset, messy kiss. She hummed against you, hand coming from your jaw to the small of your back, her other hand holding the nape of your neck so she could dip you lower. You felt her tongue forcing its way into your mouth, and you let it happen. The tears fell down your hot cheeks as she huffed and moaned quietly into your mouth. You let her take control. You always let her have control. With a whine that managed to squeeze from your throat, you wrapped your arms around her, fingers interlocked on the small of her back as she pulled you back to your seated position. The fire in your belly was stoked by the look she gave you, lipstick smudged and lips swollen as her hooded gaze caught on your sad eyes. "So you forgive me?" She teased, licking the excess saliva from her lower lip and raising a brow. You didn't reply, simply spreading your legs slightly and leaning back. With a little huff, you looked away, gaze falling to the floor-- feeling your entire body begin to heat up when those strong hands spread your legs wider, pushing your pencil skirt up over your thighs and revealing your panties. "Playing pouty, are you? I'll make you talk, angel." She hummed, one hand keeping the thigh that she wasn't leaning against open, while her other one came to brush her knuckles over your growing wetness. Embarrassment creeped up your neck and reddened your face even further as you whined and keened under her knowing hands. Her gaze flitted up to meet your reddened features,"Something wrong?" She wondered, the pads of her fingers pressing against your clothed clit, its sensitive and puffy state making your entire body stiffen and jolt at the touch.

"Please..." You gasped, thighs attempting to close around her hand but failing to do so. Her grip was iron clad on your thigh and you didn't mind one bit. "Please, who?" She purred, leaning in and pressing her chest to yours as you shied away from meeting her burning eyes.

Agatha didn't like that. Her hand flew up to grip your throat, squeezing firmly and getting your attention instantaneously. Your eyes widened and snapped to hers, fear prcikling up your spine-- pleasure following soon after.

You liked being handled roughly, but this was the first time Agatha had ever been this aggressive...though you couldn't say you disliked it.

"Please, who?" She asked again, the edge in her voice bordering on a growl as she squeezed ever harder. Your vision began to fuzz at the edges as she leaned in, her hot breath puffing against your face. Her other hand was still pressing firm against your clit, occasionally moving in a tight circle.

You keened at the feeling, back arching and pushing you further into her presence. Your gaze held hers, your voice croaky and trembling as you spoke.

"You-- fuh-- You, Mistress." You managed, whimpering when her fingers tightened, before loosening enough for oxygen to flood back into your body. You gasped for breath, ashamed when you felt yourself dripping. "God, look at you...such a little slut for everything I give you. You say you want to be treated better-- but look at the mess you make when I give you what you say you don't want?"

She hooked her fingers around your underwear, opting to pull them to the side instead of taking them off. Her other hand returned to your thigh, bottom lip pulling between her teeth as she revelled in the glistening cunt she knew belonged to her.

"Ag-- Mistress- please please...want you..." You mewled between pants and whines, trying to buck your hips up to meet her fingers. Agatha, ever the tease, pulled her hand back.

"You will take what I give you." She warned, eyes flashing with anger.

You whimpered, hips stilling almost immediately. "Yes, Mistress. I- I'm sorry..." Your response was automatic, pitifully so.

A satisfied smirk settled on Agatha's face at your response, chuckling as she gathered your slick onto her fingers. Holding it up to you, you felt your body flash with shame and embarrassment for the third time this evening.

"Eat." She commanded, and you immediately leaned forward, taking her dripping digits into your mouth with fervour. Agatha watched, satisfaction painted across her face as you lapped at her fingers, sucking them dry as if it wasn't your own mess. Anything to please her.

"Good girl." There it was, that scrap of praise you always longed for. You keened again, back arching as pleasure rolled up your spine and through your core, toes curling in your flats as you stared up at her with big eyes.

She tore her fingers away, the hand on your thigh coming up to wrap around your middle and pull you close as she thrust two fingers into your wanting hole.

"Miss--tress-!" You choked out, your voice breaking and your head falling against her shoulder as you felt her start up a relentlessly brutal pace.

"I'm sorry, baby..." She rasped between thrusts, her arm working in hard, heavy pumps as she pulled you against her, embracing you as she fucked you. "Fuhh-- Mmms'okay...." You gasped out between cries and moans of ecstasy filled pleasure. Agatha seemed to like this response, working a third finger into your leaking cunt. She groaned when she felt your walls fluttering around her hand, every possessive bone in her body flaring up when she heard your voice going breathy.

"Do you forgive me?" She asked, knowing you were in no position to be handing out forgiveness. She was manipulating you right here and now, but you couldn't find it in you to care. "Aggie..." You cried, drool pooling on her expensive blazer as she slammed her fingers into you, palm brushing your clit with every ministration. You felt your mind going blank and your body felt fuzzy and hot...you were going to cum, and she wouldn't let you unless you forgave her.

"I wouldn't want to ruin your orgasm..." She mused, the threat clear on her tongue. You whimpered in response whining and shaking your head. "N-No! Nonono...no, Aggie please please...lemme cum.." You whimpered and grabbed Agatha's wrist, squeezing your eyes shut. "Well, do you forgive me, y/n?" She asked, speeding up her thrusts and chuckling when your other hand dug into her back, nails scratching at the wool of her coat. You growled in frustration, forcing the words to form in your mind.

"Ohh-- fuh...nmmYES! Yes yes yes, yeah I- Oh fuck! I forgive you, ju-just please let me cum! Please!" You babbled, thighs twitching and snapping shut around Agatha's hand as she latched onto your neck, your orgasm crashing into you at the possessive gesture.

Your entire body went stiff and numb, pleasure pumping through your overworked veins as you struggled against Agatha's form, her hand still working you through your orgasm. The pleasure slowly passed, your body spasming and jumping with every brush of your boss's palm against your clit. "Mm-Aggie...'nuff.." You mumbled, weakly pushing her hand away and whining when she only slowed down. She continued to fuck you until your thighs were coated with your own slick, your body slumped against Agatha as you took whatever she gave you.

"I'm so glad we could come to an agreement." She purred, finally detaching from your neck. You were sure it was going to be the biggest, angriest bruise you had ever seen by the throbbing pain in your neck.

Your body stiffened at the comment, and you managed to lean back and glare at her with disapproval. "That wasn't a proper apology, Agatha. You know it." Agatha only smiled, pulling her fingers from you and wiping them off on her blazer, the sticky sheen glinting in the fluorescent light. "I guess I'll just have to keep apologising."

You furrowed your brows at her, hating the way you could feel the heat in your core rising again.

--

no happy ending sorry guys </3 hope you enjoyed! love, rhubarb <3!!

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 26: Overstimulation - Steve Rogers

Summary: It's the 1940's, and you're a dancer on the infamous USO tour showcasing Captain America. You're due on stage in 5 minutes, but Steve's too busy with his face between your legs.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, exhaustion, innocent!Steve (kinda)

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“We’re on in 5 minutes! I repeat, 5 minutes. Did you hear Mr Rogers?”

“Hmm? Yeah, 5 minutes, I heard!” Steve’s head perked up from between your legs, wetness coating his lips and chin as he shouted through the door to the stage hand.

Your body collapsed onto the desk, completely worn out. Eyes heavy, struggling to stay open, and lungs burning with how out of breath you were. “Please, I need to go and get ready; the girls will wonder where I am”.

Steve licked his lips and began to spread your thighs again, his hold hard enough to leave bruises behind as you sighed heavily, head falling back against the mirror. “Just one more; I know you can do it, then you’ll feel much better when you’re dancing baby”. His face descended to your cunt, tongue lapping at your already sensitive hole, his nose pushing and stroking against your engorged clit.

Steve had been at it for what felt like hours. You were one of the dancers on his USO tour across America, dancing and singing every night in a new city to sold-out crowds. You watched as the infamous Steve Rogers sold the bonds and punched fake Adolf Hilter in the face for the crowd's entertainment.

The tour had been going on for weeks as the war ravaged worldwide. Steve had kept to himself, appearing to be scared of any female that walked past him, let alone any of the dancers or singers on stage, even though he had hundreds of women ready to throw themselves at him.

You felt bad for him, the big superstar who sat lonely in his room every night, so you worked up the nerve to speak to him one day. He was sweet, attentive, and very innocent, and you quickly drew him out of his comfort zone. A few kisses and cuddles turned into more risque. He was a virgin when you first met him, and you were completely respectful of that, but after a few awkward fumbling, you decided to take charge and show him how to move, touch and feel, pleasuring both him and you.

The first time Steve made you cum, it was like a light bulb switched in his brain. He was obsessed. The more you taught him about your body, the more he would want to hear your sweet melodic sighs of euphoria, to the point that it was starting to interfere with your work.

Which brings you to today. You’d visited him in his little dressing room at the back of the theatre, intending to get his lunch and ended with your panties on the floor and skirt bunched around the waist and legs over his shoulders as he ate you out to perfection. Every suck and lick had your back bowing and fingers trembling to cover your mouth to stop those outside the door from hearing your multiple orgasms.

Your entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out. You were stuck between being wholly exhausted and wanting the moment never to end. Due to past experiences, you knew that Steve’s stamina was devastatingly good due to the super serum. Once, you’d fucked all night, and you couldn’t walk the following day and had to call in sick to the show, which Steve was pink-cheeked and apologetic for, forgetting just how fragile you were compared to him.

You were getting close to that point again, attempting to push against his shoulders weakly, knowing you should stop but not wanting him to because you were so close to your next orgasm. You weren’t sure how many you’d had; all you were aware of was that your pussy was plump from all the stimulation, your clit was throbbing to the point that Steve could feel your heartbeat against his tongue, and your hole ached from the number of times it had clenched and tightened.

“Just one more”, Steve had repeated so many times that you could hear him saying it in your lucid mind. Slumping back against the mirror, the pleasure built, his tongue lapping your juices and stroking your clit, plunging and twitching in your pussy as he held you down on his desk.

The waves of the orgasms throbbed through your entire body, your hands pulling at his hair to move him away from your pussy as you sat up, losing control for a second as your body tried to process the euphoria.

“You’re so beautiful, Doll. You’ve done so well for me”, Steve encouraged, his hands massaging your aching thighs as you tried to catch your breath. As the pulses in your cunt calmed, you leaned forward until your head rested against his shoulder, his arms moving around your hips as he cradled you close.

“I might need to cancel the show”, you say, trying to wiggle your toes but finding your limbs were slow in response.

Steve moved back slightly to look at your flushed face, “You know you can’t do that, Baby. You’re on your last warning. Sorry, I’ll try to stop doing this before shows; sometimes I just can’t help myself.”. He pecks your lips softly, and you lean into the touch and try to slow your breathing to calm your body.

A knock at the door disrupts the embrace, “We need you at the stage door in 1 minute!” The stagehand shouts through the door, and you refrain from groaning.

“Could you help me get dressed, please?”

“Of course!” Steve was as sweet as ever, finding your panties and shorts for your costume and helping to pull them back onto your trembling legs. When you tried to stand and straighten your skirt and top, your knees buckled, but thankfully, he caught you, holding you for a couple of seconds until you found your strength.

Looking in the mirror, you tried not to cringe at the streaks you’d left behind on the surface, and then there was your appearance, completely glazed-over expression, and hair a mess, but you didn’t have time to sort either. Rushing to the door, you cringed internally and how sensitive you felt between your legs and how uncomfortable it was to walk with your pussy slightly swollen.

Steve was behind you, opening the door to allow you to step out and rush to the curtain. Making sure no one else was around, you turned and leaned up to kiss him sweetly, “Break a leg.” you wished him luck before running to join the others, who all gave you exacerbated looks for nearly being late.

The show was nearly a disaster; your legs became heavy halfway through from exhaustion, but thankfully, Steve caught you, somehow managing to play it off as part of the play, catching the damsel before continuing with the show.

Your entire body was warm to the touch, and the bright overhead lights only worsened it. As you danced across the stage, you became increasingly more aware that your panties were drenched, your pussy still flowing with juices, to the point that you were worried it had leaked through your shorts for the audience to see.

By the end, your cheeks ached from fake smiling, and the muscles in your legs were burning to the point that you collapsed on the stairs as you exited the stage. You were exhausted, eyes hardly open as one of the girls asked if you were okay.

“Sweetheart? Are you coming down with something?” the show manager asked, but you waved everyone away.

“I’m fine; I just need to sleep”, you explained whilst thanking one of the other girls who had returned with a glass of water.

“What’s going on? Hey, are you okay?” Steve asked, pushing his way through the crowd. Your body heated even more as Steve’s eyes widened briefly before he tried to mask his reaction. It was evident in your contract that you were not allowed to form intimate relationships with the show's star, which of course was Steve, so whatever it was that you had with Steve had to stay hidden, even though you were sure everyone suspected it.

“Everything’s fine, Mr Rogers, she’s just cooling off”, the manager attempted to move his prize possession away, not wanting him to worry about any of the girls and push him back to his awaiting taxi.

“She doesn’t look fine; why don’t I take her to a doctor?” Steve suggested, lowering himself so that you were both eye to eye.

“She doesn’t need a doctor; she’s fine, aren’t you, sweetheart?” the manager tried to reassure, but you were too tired even to respond.

“Ok, let me rephrase this, I’m going to take her to a Doctor, now move out of my way”, Steve demanded, actually standing up to the manager for once as he slid one arm under your knee and the other supporting your back as he lifted you, your head rolling onto his shoulder.

You relaxed into the hold, the sway of it helping to lull you into a half-asleep state. Only when the two of you were alone in the taxi did you decide to speak finally. “I don’t need a doctor, I just need to sleep”.

“I know, baby. I just wanted to get you away from everyone. I’m sorry for going so hard earlier, and I’ll try and calm it down from now on”, Steve apologised, holding your body close to his as the taxi began to move towards the motel you were all staying at.

You grinned, tilting your face towards his, “I didn’t say you had to stop, Steve”.

His eyes flicked between your lips and eyes, a small smile forming on his handsome face. Giving you a quick kiss on your temple, the two of you relaxed into the embrace as you quietly fell asleep.

[steddieas-shegoes]

i wanna make your heartbeat run like roller coasters

for @subeddieweek day one with the prompts manhandling and accidental subspace

rated e | 3,520 words | please check ao3 for tags

⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕⭕

Eddie gets pushed against a lot of lockers.

It’s rarely accidental.

It’s always painful.

He doesn’t exactly have a lot of meat on his bones. Every hit leaves a bruise.

So when Steve fucking Harrington does his own dirty work for once, even though he graduated the way Eddie was supposed to, it’s just a bit embarrassing that it doesn’t hurt. It feels…kinda like he should be on his knees.

Which is really not something he wanted to think about when Steve’s got a hand on his shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise, and something like fear in his eyes. Why is he scared?

“Did you sell weed to Robin?” he asked, teeth clenched.

Jesus fucking Christ. Steve’s got himself a band nerd girlfriend. How the hell did that happen?

“No, I sold to her friend. She waited by the treeline talking to herself the entire time.”

Eddie could hear his own voice shaking, but he wouldn’t back down. Black eyes were kinda metal weren’t they?

“Which friend?”

“Dude, I don’t even know. Someone else in band.”

The hand on his shoulder tightened and he barely bit back a whimper.

Steve’s eyes were very pretty this close. They were pretty from far away, too. Honestly, having Steve this close was probably rewiring something already broken in his brain. Having Steve’s hand on him like this was making his brain do somersaults trying to stay focused.

And then his hand was gone.

Eddie breathed in, breathed out.

“Sorry. I-” Steve shook his hands out and backed away. “Sorry.”

Eddie ignored whatever the fuck was happening in his stomach. It shouldn’t be happening so it isn’t, simple as that.

“Maybe you should ask your girlfriend if you’re so worried about her buying drugs.” Eddie should learn to shut his mouth at some point. “I only sell to the people who come to me first.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I remember.” Steve wiped his hand down his face. “Sorry again.”

Eddie looked him up and down, taking in the fact that he was genuinely apologizing. No one ever apologized for knocking him around, not even when it was on accident.

“You good?” He eventually asked.

“Yeah. Just, she’s been through a lot. I didn’t really want her to get pressured into buying something,” Steve sighed. “Has she come out of the band room yet? I’m supposed to bring her to work.”

“Uh, yeah man, everyone left an hour ago.”

Eddie watched Steve’s face fall as he checked his watch and must’ve realized the time.

“Shit. Okay. I must’ve lost track of time.”

Steve looked pitiful. Eddie’s seen dogs in alleys who looked less beaten down and neglected than Steve currently did.

“I can help you find her?” Eddie offered for some unknown reason.

Well, he knew the reason, but he was choosing to ignore it.

“She’s probably already at work. It’s my day off so I ended up getting distracted with something and didn’t realize it was so late,” Steve admitted, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. “Thanks, though.”

Wayne liked to tell Eddie he was too nice to undeserving people. Lord knows he gave his dad too many chances and got let down every time. He even tried to be friends with Tommy Hagan in middle school because he could sense something was going on with Tommy’s dad much like his own.

But Eddie liked to remind Wayne that Eddie is often considered undeserving and he took him in and gave him multiple chances regardless.

“You wanna smoke?” Eddie asked, despite knowing he barely has anything left after the long week of midterms for students. His busiest times of year were right before school breaks, midterms, finals, and graduation weekend. He usually stocked up, but with Rick being in prison again, he had to try to stretch what he had out.

“Uh…smoke what?”

“Weed.” Then it hit Eddie that maybe Steve was into harder stuff. But he hadn’t ever even bought from him in high school. Tommy had, Carol had, almost everyone at his parties had, but Steve never did. “I have regular old cigs too if you prefer.”

“Yeah, man, cool,” Steve sighed with relief.

“I got a spot behind the cafeteria if you wanna…”

“Sure, yep, let’s go,” Steve nodded, gesturing towards the double doors that led outside to the cafeteria and auditorium buildings.

As they walked, Eddie’s mind raced with thoughts of being alone with Steve, Steve’s arm brushing against his, Steve pushing him against the wall of the cafeteria, of Eddie dropping to his knees and unbuttoning Steve’s pants and-

“I’m really sorry about what happened back there.”

Steve’s voice shook him from his thoughts, but his dick didn’t quite get the memo. When did he even start getting hard?

“No worries, dude.” His face scrunched in disgust at calling Steve dude. What was next, the bro pat on the back? A fist bump? “Kinda jealous of how protective you are of your girlfriend.”

Okay, actually, what the fuck? Eddie needed to shut his fucking face, right the fuck now.

“She’s not my girlfriend, but uh, I don’t think you’re really her type either,” Steve gave him a look, one Eddie knew well and one he couldn’t quite believe he was seeing on Steve’s face right now.

“Right, right.” Eddie wouldn’t make him say it, especially if it was actually the look he thought it was, but maybe he could offer a little something in return. “Yeah, she’s not really my type either.”

Steve stopped just before they reached the hidden area behind the dumpster and picnic table for staff to smoke.

“Really?” Steve’s eyes were wide. “So you’re more into…someone like…me?”

Eddie was actually leaking into his goddamn boxers. Why was he getting turned on just talking to Steve?

“That would be one way of saying it,” Eddie said. Still easy enough to back out of it, at least. Could just say he likes women who wear polos and use more hairspray than Melvald’s has ever carried at any given time.

“Huh,” Steve continued walking to the picnic table, sitting on top of it and kicking some dirt off the bench by his legs for Eddie to sit. “So those rumors were true?”

“That depends on if I’m gonna make it back home to my very loving uncle if I say yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Obviously, I’m not gonna judge you about it when my best friend is-” He cut himself off and Eddie had to give him major credit. The Steve he used to know never would’ve cared if he outed someone, or at least never would have realized that was wrong. He coughed and then looked down at the bench. “You gonna sit?”

Eddie sat down on the bench, extremely close to Steve’s legs. Almost touching. Was that heat coming from his body or was Eddie just extremely warm?

“Did you actually wanna smoke or did you just wanna get out of the hall?” Steve asked after another minute of awkward silence.

“We can smoke.” Eddie reached into his pocket, hating how tight his jeans were in the front, and grabbed his lighter. His pack of cigarettes were usually stored in his van because he rarely smoked them, but luckily he’d brought them with him all week to sneak smokes between classes. He pulled one out and handed it to Steve.

He started to light his own when Steve leaned down, his face right next to Eddie’s, breath hot on his neck.

“You aren’t gonna light it for me?”

Eddie whimpered.

He would deny it a million times over if anyone asked. He almost had himself believing he imagined it.

But Steve laughed and backed away, pulling out his own lighter and giving Eddie a second to catch his breath.

What the fuck was that? Did Steve know he was making Eddie’s brain flatline?

He watched Steve take a long drag out of the corner of his eye, his mind shuffling between ‘what if he fucked me right here?’ and ‘get the hell away before your dick pops a hole in your jeans.’

Steve’s lips were so pink, and looked so soft, and just wet enough from licking his lips before taking the next drag, and Eddie was really going through it right now.

He’d gone through his Steve Harrington phase just like everyone else, thought it was over when he graduated. Had avoided the mall all summer when he heard he was working at Scoops so he didn’t have to see him in those tiny blue shorts. Had even gone so far as to avoid being around when the kids were being picked up from Hellfire because Dustin mentioned Steve was his ride.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Except for Eddie’s imagination was impressive, and his late night thoughts turned into very vivid scenes of Steve working him to the edge and making him beg, or pushing him against a locker and making him take his cock with barely any prep, or-

“Dude, anyone ever tell you you’re kinda space-y?” Steve’s voice once again lifted him from his thoughts, though he felt a bit hazy.

“Think I’m comin’ down with something,” Eddie squeaked out. All he was coming down with was a sickness deep in his chest: Harrington Heart-itis.

“Did you hit your head?” Steve sounded concerned now, setting his cigarette in the ashtray left on the table and moving so he had one leg on either side of Eddie. His fingers landed in Eddie’s hair, pulling his head closer and inspecting it for injury. “I didn’t think anything but your shoulders hit, but maybe-”

“No,” Eddie gulped. He should pull away. “Didn’t hit my head.”

Steve’s fingers tightened, not quite painfully, but enough of a bite to it that Eddie whimpered. Again.

Steve’s grip loosened, but his fingers stayed buried in his curls, and Eddie felt pressure guiding him to rest against Steve’s thigh.

“You eat today?” Steve asked, though his voice sounded kinda far away, like he was above the surface of the water and Eddie was sitting at the bottom of a pool looking up at the sun. “Eddie?”

“Hm?” Eddie blinked up at Steve. “I ate.”

“When?” Steve’s hand was cupping his cheek. “Lunch?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie shook his head, blinked. “Breakfast? Cereal.”

Steve cursed under his breath.

He was so pretty. Had he been told how pretty he was? Surely when Nancy was with him, she told him.

Even if Robin liked women, she had to at least notice how pretty he was, right?

Steve’s sharp intake of breath somewhat centered Eddie.

“I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Steve whispered, leaning down so his face was only inches away.

Eddie could kiss him. It would be the easiest thing in the world to lift his head the final two inches to make their lips meet.

“Eddie, eyes open,” Steve’s fingers tightened again, gaining Eddie’s full attention. “Should I call someone? Are you dynamic or something?”

Eddie’s brows furrowed. What did that even mean?

“Like the sugar thing?” Steve continued.

“Diabetic?” Eddie still felt a little hazy, but he was starting to come back to it with Steve’s hand migrating from his hair to his shoulder. “No, my sugar’s fine.”

“I’ve got some soda in my car. I can drive you home and then bring you to school in the morning. You probably shouldn’t drive like…this.”

It all came crashing down when Eddie realized how vulnerable he’d just been, how he’d actually lost track of time, not sure exactly how long he’d been sitting between Steve’s legs with his hands in his hair before he started coming back to earth. He stood up, maybe a bit too quickly, rocking a bit before finding his balance.

“Woah, take it easy.” Steve held his hands out, grasped his biceps to hold him steady. “You were pretty far out of it. Don’t rush it.”

How fucking embarrassing.

Eddie had only gone down that far one time with someone and they got freaked out when he was giggling and couldn’t walk on his own because his legs felt like jelly. But that had been on purpose. This was- Steve didn’t– Jesus Christ.

“I’m fine now.” Eddie was not fine. He knew what would happen if he left right now. Aftercare was a major part of this whether Steve was prepared for it or not. “Just, um, walk me to my van.”

Steve looked like a kicked puppy, but Eddie didn’t have the time to explain all of this to him.

Steve Harrington didn’t know how much of a freak Eddie was even if he did know he was gay. There’s no way Steve participated in any type of BDSM with the many girls he slept with in high school.

There was absolutely no fuckin’ way Nancy Wheeler let herself get tied to a bed and get fucked by Steve.

He shook his head at the thought.

“I’d feel a lot better if you let me drive you. I promise we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Steve sighed. “I just don’t know if you should drive when you went down so hard.”

“You have no idea what even happened,” Eddie argued, pacing back and forth. “I can drive. I just need to walk it off.”

“You don’t walk off subspace.”

Eddie froze. Steve was standing right in front of him now, concern in his big, stupid, adorable eyes.

“How do you even know about subspace?” Eddie whispered.

“I slept with half the high school and two guys in Indy. I know what subspace is, Eds.”

Eddie must still be in space. Or maybe another galaxy.

“Sorry, did you just say you slept with two guys in Indy?” Has Steve seriously fucked more guys than Eddie has? Eddie, the resident gay man of Hawkins, has only been with one man in his entire life and Steve has apparently slept with two?

“Well, I wasn’t gonna sleep with two men in Hawkins!” Steve threw his hands up before putting them on his hips. “I hit up a gay bar and didn’t realize it doubled as a BDSM club until I was already in it and then a nice guy showed me the ropes. Literally. There were ropes involved.”

Eddie snorted. Steve was pretty and funny. Great. Just what he needed.

“I have a quick recovery, so I’ll be fine to drive home,” Eddie tried, though even he could hear his voice still shaking.

“No one is that quick,” Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders, tugging him into a hug. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Not like that.”

“We should probably talk about it.”

The last thing Eddie wanted to do was talk about how someone playing with his hair and moving his head around while showing the bare minimum of care was enough to send him into subspace, but he had a feeling Steve wasn’t gonna give up easily.

“Fine. What should we talk about? How no one ever touches me gently so the moment someone did, I slipped? How I’ve been avoiding seeing you anywhere in public because I knew it would make my crush come back full force? Oh, I know!” Eddie laughed hysterically as he pulled away. “Let’s talk about how I still think about you in your stupid basketball shorts when I’m fucking myself on four fingers, which is never enough because I can never reach the spot I need to. Or how I once cut out your yearbook photo to keep for jerking off material because my mags weren’t enough. Could even talk about how earlier I wanted you to put your leg between mine so I could rub off on you. Or maybe the weather if you’d prefer that.”

Eddie was panting, could feel the heat on his face rising as he realized everything he’d just said, admitted, to Steve.

He’d never said any of that out loud. Shit, he’d barely said most of it in his own head.

Steve’s arms were pulling him in and Eddie let himself have it, let himself feel small for just a moment. If Steve wasn’t completely disgusted by what he said, then he would at least accept this offering of kindness for now.

They stayed like that for a while, long enough that Eddie started to wonder if he could just live here, right in Steve’s arms.

“It’s looking a little cloudy,” Steve said quietly, hands still rubbing Eddie’s back slowly.

“What?” Eddie still felt a little out of it, but that was entirely out of left field.

“You said we could talk about the weather.”

Eddie snorted. “Oh my God, you’re so-” Eddie looked up at Steve, who was smiling down at him. He felt off-kilter, being the object of that particular Steve look. “Stupid.”

It was fond, probably too fond for someone who needed to protect himself from whatever the hell was happening. He needed to shut this down.

“It’s been mentioned,” Steve’s eyes flickered down to Eddie’s lips, then back up to his eyes. “You good to head out?”

Eddie started to nod, but stopped.

This was his only chance. He wasn’t dumb enough to think he’d ever be alone with Steve again. If he was gonna kick start a spiral over feelings, he might as well go all out.

He stood at his full height, almost eye level with Steve, and leaned in.

The kiss was not even close to perfect. In fact, as far as kisses go, it was probably in the bottom three for Steve. Eddie chose not to think about how he screwed it all up.

But once the initial shock wore off, and Eddie put his teeth away, Steve’s hand cupped Eddie’s cheek and he licked past his lips.

Leave it to Steve to turn this around, make it something worth the risk.

Their lips moved in sync, both of them deepening the kiss without making it too wet, too filthy for a public space.

It was, dare he say, romantic.

Most kisses Eddie had managed to have were dirty and rough, hidden away in dark bars and alleyways, not exactly prime teen romance.

Of course Steve was good at this, of course he made Eddie melt against him, and of course Eddie was going to start writing hearts around Steve’s name in his notebook as if they were high school sweethearts.

When they pulled apart, it took him a minute to open his eyes. How stereotypical.

Steve was already looking at him, softer than he probably deserved.

“You’re pretty good at that,” Eddie breathed out.

“It’s been mentioned.” Steve’s lips turned up in a smirk before he pulled away completely. “Let’s go.”

They walked back through the school, stopping at Eddie’s locker to grab one of his textbooks as if he actually would use it. By now, he didn’t really need the textbooks to get his work done. And he was actually committed to getting it done this time around.

They were quiet as they continued out to the parking lot, only a few cars belonging to teachers left, maybe a few students stuck here for football or basketball practice. Steve’s car was towards the back, but Eddie’s was almost all the way in the grass field by the main road. It was less risky leaving it further away, less likely that anyone would slash the tires or key the side.

“You’re sure you can drive?” Steve asked as they stood outside his car.

“Yeah. Only five minutes to the trailer. It’ll be fine.” Eddie shrugged like it was nothing, but he was actually a little worried the kiss set him too off balance to focus on the road. Fuck the subspace, Steve’s lips were like discovering a new galaxy.

“Can I call you later? To check on you?” Steve seemed hesitant to ask.

“Uh, yeah? Do you…have my number?”

Steve shook his head, opening the door to his car and reaching into the glovebox to find a pen and an old receipt. As Eddie wrote down the number to the trailer, he thought about how much worse this would be tomorrow, how shitty it would be to have had this absolutely out of this world experience with the one person he never thought he could and then be left with scraps for the rest of his life.

“You uh, you don’t have to call, man. Don’t feel pressured. My uncle will be home so it’s not like I’ll be alone.”

Steve took the paper and pen back, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket and throwing the pen back into the car.

“I’m gonna call.” Steve moved a piece of Eddie’s hair from in front of his face. “You got a phone in your room?”

“No, but the one we have reaches to the bathroom?” Why the hell did he need one in his room?

“Good. Need you to be alone.”

“Steve, what the hell does that mean?”

“How else am I supposed to tell you what I wanna do to you?”

Well, fuck.

Day two: ao3 | tumblr

[inseobts]

Helloooooooo!!!!!!!! Idk know if you write for corazon but if you do could we please get a small imagine of a time traveler reader who went back in time to the moment corazon was dying (after law ran away) and takes him to Tsuru where they save his life before he dies? Maybe she came from an alternate timeline where she was a part of doffy crew by force and wanted to get out of there but couldn’t risk it cause he would kill her little sister or someone she cares about so when corazon pleads with her to run with him and law she refuses and he ends up dead in that timeline? So she uses her devil power to go to an alternate timeline to save him so that timeline reader can actually have a happy life with corazon. Anyway new timeline starts where he does live and he comes back 14 yrs later with strawhat and law to rescue reader and take down doffy? Sorry if it’s much you can change whatever you want with in it I just want a Cora lives au (I’m a sucker for those!) much thanks!!!

Timeless Devotion

donquixote rosinante/corazon × reader

you're trapped under doflamingo’s control with your little sister’s life on the line, but you won’t let it stop you from saving corazon and change the future, your future.

a/n: omg I love this idea so much akswk thank you for the request eheh I need more corazon requests please

words count: 3.5k

tags: corazon lives au, doflamingo annoying as always (I hate him sm sorry)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The night air is thick with gunpowder. Rain falls in thin sheets, mixing with the blood soaking Corazon’s coat. He lies on the cold ground, barely breathing.

You’ve seen this before. Lived it before. And this time, you refuse to let him die.

You drop to your knees, pressing a hand against his wound. His chest barely rises.

“Corazon,” you whisper, voice shaking “Stay with me.”

His eyes flutter open, hazy with pain. The second they land on you, they widen.

“…You?” His voice is weak, but the shock is clear “You—shouldn’t be—”

“I know,” you say quickly “But I’m here now. And I’m not letting you die again.”

He tries to push you away, but there’s no strength left in his movements “Law—”

“He got away,” you say, hands shaking as you press harder on the wound “thanks to you. But you don’t have to die for it.”

His breath shudders “That’s… how this ends.”

“Not this time.”

You press your palm against his chest, and the world bends. Time folds in on itself, distorting, twisting.

And then you hit the ground hard, Corazon’s limp body in your arms. The scent of antiseptic floods your senses.

“That was reckless.”

You look up. Vice Admiral Tsuru stands above you, arms crossed.

But you don’t care. You turn back to Corazon, your fingers trembling as you touch his face. His breathing is still wea but at least it’s still there.

He’s alive.

And this time, he’s going to stay that way.

You look at him one last time and then you turn to leave. Admiral Tsuru is kinda surprised by it “Where are you going now”

“I have to go back, I can’t stay here”

“Is this your choice?” she asks you in a very serious tone.

“It is. Just... please save him” you say and take your leave.

The ground shakes. The palace trembles with the force of an explosion. The screams of Doflamingo’s men echo in the distance.

It’s happening.

You stand in Doflamingo’s throne room, hands clenched at your sides. Your heart pounds in your chest. You’ve waited for this day.

And now that it’s here you don’t know what to do.

Doflamingo leans against his seat, watching the chaos outside with a lazy smirk “Took them long enough.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Because you can feel them. Him. They’re here.

The door slams open, and Corazon walks in.

Your breath catches in your throat.

He’s taller than you remember. Older. His hair is longer, golden eyes sharper than they used to be. He’s wearing that same ridiculous feathered coat, but... he’s here. Alive.

His gaze locks onto you, and for a moment, the rest of the world fades.

“You took your time” you say, actually shocking yourself for even speaking.

A slow grin tugs at his lips “You know me.”

Doflamingo laughs from his throne “Oh, this is rich.”

He tilts his head toward you “So? What now, Y/N? Are you going to betray me?”

You stiffen. Corazon extends a hand to you “Come with us.”

You swallow hard.

You want to. But your sister...

“I can’t” you whisper.

Corazon’s face twists.

Law steps forward, eyes burning with fury “Stop being an idiot.”

You glare at him “You don’t understand”

“Then make me understand... please y/n” Corazon says, voice low.

You bite your lip. Your hands shake.

Doflamingo hums “Oh, come on. This is fun. Why don’t we make things even more interesting?” His strings glint in the light “How about I just kill her right now?”

Your breath stops.

And then a fist slams into Doflamingo’s face.

You barely have time to register what’s happening before the ceiling caves in. The entire room collapses as Luffy comes crashing through it, sending Doflamingo flying.

Dust fills the air.

Your mind spins.

And then Corazon grabs your wrist.

“We’re getting your sister,” he says “Then we’re getting out.”

Your breath is shallow. Your mind spins.

“Do you really think she wants to leave?” Doflamingo says while getting up, furious about what just happened.

Corazon looks at you. The golden warmth of his eyes flickers with hope, but you don’t move because for fourteen years, you haven’t left.

For fourteen years, you’ve played your role at Doflamingo’s side, keeping your sister safe at the cost of your own freedom.

And for fourteen years, you have lived with the weight of your own cowardice.

Doflamingo smirks, watching your hesitation. He already knows your answer “That’s what I thought.”

Corazon tenses beside you. His body shifts like he wants to grab you and run.

But before he can move a blur of threads shoots toward you.

No—!

You barely have time to react before Doflamingo’s strings wrap around your throat and arms, yanking you backward. Your body slams to the ground, breath choking out of you.

Corazon lunges for you, but another string shoots out, slicing the air between you. He freezes.

“Ah-ah, Roci,” Doflamingo taunts, tightening his hold “You left her once already. What makes you think you get to take her now?”

The doors to the throne room burst open “Doffy!”

Luffy’s voice echoes through the palace as he crashes into the room, rubble flying in his wake. Law follows right behind, sword drawn, his expression dark with fury.

Doflamingo’s grip on you tightens “Well, well,” he muses “finally”

Luffy glares “Let her go.”

Doflamingo laughs, yanking you to your feet with his threads. His strings cut into your skin, but the real pain comes from the mocking amusement in his voice.

“Why should I? She’s been with me for fourteen years. Do you really think she wants to go with you?”

Law takes a slow step forward “She’s not yours.”

His voice is low, dangerous.

Doflamingo’s smirk widens “Oh? But she’s been mine for so long.”

He leans in, his breath hot against your ear “Haven’t you, darling?”

You flinch.

Corazon snaps.

He moves so fast you barely see him, before a fist slams into Doflamingo’s jaw, sending him staggering backward. The strings around your throat snap loose, and you gasp for air.

Corazon doesn’t let you fall. His hands are on you in an instant, steadying you, his touch warm and grounding.

“Are you okay?” he breathes.

You look up at him, at the raw fury in his golden eyes, fury not just for Doflamingo, but for himself. For not being there for you.

And suddenly, you know you want to leave, you need to leave.

You reach for his hand, but Doflamingo’s laughter stops you cold.

“Hah… Look at you.” He wipes blood from his mouth, still smirking “You really think you can just walk away?”

Corazon stiffens.

Doflamingo spreads his arms, looking past you at the crowd gathering in the destroyed palace, his top officers, his remaining family. He wants them to see this.

“Fourteen years, Y/N.” His voice drips with amusement “Fourteen years, and now you’re running off with your little secret lover? Hah! Maybe I should’ve killed you both back then.”

You feel their eyes on you. Trebol’s slimy grin. Pica’s unnerving gaze. Diamante’s smirk.

They all knew.

Of course they did.

You weren’t as subtle as you thought.

“Oh—You really thought we didn’t know about your secret love affair and the way you treated him too?” He adds pointing at Law.

Your face burns with shame, but them Corazon steps forward and laughs.

Not the clumsy, carefree laugh you remember from years ago.

This one is sharp. Bitter. And when he speaks, his voice is colder than you’ve ever heard it.

“Yeah,” he says “You should have killed me back then.”

He grins, baring his teeth “Because now, I’m taking her from you.”

Doflamingo’s smirk falters.

Luffy cracks his knuckles “Leave him to us,” he says, stepping forward “We’ll take care of this guy.”

Law nods, his sword gleaming “Go. Now.”

You hesitate, but Corazon takes your hand. His grip is warm. Steady. And you run.

Doflamingo tries to stop you again but Luffy doesn’t let him reach you in time.

Doflamingo’s roar of fury echoes behind you.

But for the first time in fourteen years, you’re free.

Your feet pound against the marble floors of the palace. Corazon’s grip on your wrist is tight, like he’s afraid to let go.

The halls shake with every explosion outside. Luffy and Law’s battle against Doflamingo rages, shockwaves tearing through the walls, sending rubble crashing around you.

You don’t stop running.

You can’t, not until you reach her.

“Where is she?” Corazon shouts over the chaos.

You grit your teeth “Underground. If Doflamingo thinks I’m running, he’ll make sure she doesn’t leave this island alive.”

Corazon’s eyes harden. He knows what that means. He already lost his own brother to this place. He won’t let you lose your sister, too.

“We’ll get to her,” he says “We have to move now.”

The underground tunnels are darker than you remember.

Your footsteps echo as you race down the stone corridor, Corazon at your side. The air is damp, thick with the scent of seawater and iron.

Your sister is down here. She has to be.

Corazon squeezes your hand “How much farther?”

“Not far,” you pant “Doflamingo built a bunker beneath the palace... his vault for things he wanted to keep hidden.”

His expression darkens. He already knows what that means.

You were never just a member of the Family. You were a possession. And your sister was control.

You push forward. You won’t let him win. Not again.

Then the air shifts.

Corazon moves instantly, shoving you behind him as a blade slices through the darkness—

CLANG!

You freeze.

The person blocking your path... Baby 5.

She lands gracefully, heels clicking against the stone. Her cigarette dangles from her lips, the ember glowing red in the dim light “You’re really leaving” she says, exhaling smoke.

Your throat tightens.

You and Baby 5 had never been close. Not really.

But you were both raised under Doflamingo’s thumb. Both played the roles he forced upon you. And now, she’s standing in your way.

“I have to” you say, voice steady.

Baby 5 studies you for a moment, then smiles “I figured.”

She moves.

Corazon barely blocks the second strike. You lunge forward, drawing your own weapon, but—

“Wait!”

A third figure lands between you, his arms outstretched.

“Enough!”

Your breath catches.

Sai.

He lands between Baby 5 and Corazon, his massive guandao held firmly in one hand. His expression is torn, like he knows this is a fight none of you want.

“Baby 5,” Sai says firmly “Let them go.”

Baby 5 narrows her eyes “I have my orders.”

Sai steps closer “And who gave them to you? Doflamingo?” He shakes his head “You don’t owe him anything.”

Baby 5’s fingers twitch.

You step forward “You’re free, Baby 5,” you say quietly “You don’t have to do this.”

For a moment, she hesitates, but then she sighs, flicking her cigarette to the ground “Tch. You’re lucky I’m getting married.”

She turns away.

You're confused but Corazon doesn’t wait. He grabs your wrist and runs.

As you disappear down the tunnel, you hear Sai’s voice behind you “Go! We’ll handle things here!”

You don’t look back.

You just run.

And for the first time in fourteen years you see light at the end of the tunnel.

The door to the underground vault creaks open with a faint groan.

Corazon pushes it wide, his gun still drawn, but his eyes flicker nervously. You’re both running on adrenaline, your hearts pounding in sync as you step into the dimly lit room.

There, sitting against the wall, is your sister. Her eyes widen when she sees you, tears welling up in her gaze as she jumps to her feet.

“Y/N!”

You rush toward her, pulling her into your arms, unable to stop the flood of emotion that rises in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, holding her tight “I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head, her voice breaking “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You close your eyes, squeezing her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent. Your heart feels lighter, but the weight of the past still presses heavily on you.

Corazon stands silently by the door, his face unreadable. He’s watching you both, a mixture of worry and confusion in his eyes.

After a long, quiet moment, you pull away from your sister and stand up. You take a deep breath, looking at Corazon “We need to get out of here.”

But as you turn to leave, you hesitate.

You’ve made your decision. It’s the only thing you can do to make up for the sins you’ve committed.

Your eyes meet Corazon’s, and you know what you have to say. You know what he needs to hear.

“You need to take her,” you say quietly, but the words feel like they’re strangling you “You and my sister, you need to leave. Get as far away from here as possible.”

Corazon stares at you, his brow furrowing in confusion “What do you mean?”

“You need to protect her.” You swallow hard, forcing the words out “I know you will. And you... you deserve to be happy. You can take her away from all of this, and you can live the life you deserve.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you, his eyes full of disbelief.

You turn away, closing your eyes “I’m no good for either of you. I’ve done too many terrible things, Corazon. I… I don’t deserve to live that life. I can’t just leave everything behind after all I’ve done.” You clutch your chest, fighting back tears “I don’t deserve to be happy. Not anymore.”

Your sister looks between the two of you, sensing the tension in the air, but it’s Corazon who speaks next.

“You’re wrong.”

His voice is quiet, firm. It cuts through the air like a blade, and you freeze.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he continues. His gaze locks onto yours, his voice thick with something you can’t quite read “I don’t care what you think you’ve done, Y/N. I don’t care about the past.”

You shake your head “You don’t understand. The things I had to do—”

“I know exactly what you had to do.” He steps closer, his hand reaching out, his touch gentle but insistent “I know what it means to be trapped by Doflamingo. I know what it means to do things you never wanted to do, to make choices you hate just to survive.”

You flinch at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than you expect.

Corazon moves in closer, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that’s threatening to spill “I’ve been there, Y/N,” he says softly “I’ve been where you are. But you don’t have to carry that burden anymore. Not alone.”

Your chest tightens “But—Corazon, I—”

“No.” His voice is more forceful this time “You don’t get to decide you’re not worthy of a second chance. I know you’ve done terrible things. But so have I. And yet I’m standing here, and I’m still alive. Because of you. You gave me a second chance to live, so why can't you give yourself a second chance too?”

Your breath catches, and you feel the weight of the years you’ve spent apart flooding back. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your gaze dropping to the floor.

“I couldn’t save you before. But I’m not going to let you walk away now.” His voice softens, the edge of pain lingering beneath his words “I love you, Y/N. I always have. I always will. And I’m not leaving you behind. Not again.”

You gasp, your hand trembling as you reach for him. His words hit you like a tidal wave, and you can’t breathe through the emotions crashing over you.

He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. You close your eyes, burying your face in his chest, letting his warmth and steadiness fill the empty spaces inside you.

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” he whispers “We’re in this together. Always.”

You tremble in his arms, the weight of the world lifting slightly with his promise.

You can’t shake the feeling that you’re tainted by the years of bloodshed, that you’ll never truly be good enough for him.

"Y/N please..." your sister says between her sobs "don't leave me."

“I keep hurting all of you...” you whisper, your voice muffled against his chest.

Corazon pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes piercing through your insecurities “That’s not true”

His hand gently cups your face, lifting your chin so you meet his eyes “Your sister loves you. You’re not alone. Not anymore. And you will get that happiness. I won’t let you give up on it.”

A choked sob escapes you. His love, his unwavering belief in you, it’s everything you’ve wanted. And yet, the guilt weighs heavily.

Corazon smiles gently, hugging you while your sister runs into the hug too “Let me love you, Y/N. Let me prove to you that we deserve this... deserve a future together.”

Tears spill from your eyes, but this time they’re not tears of sorrow.

You take a shaky breath, nodding slowly, lowering yourself to clean the tears off your sister's face.

“I’ll try,” you whisper “For you both… I’ll try.”

And for the first time in fourteen years, you allow yourself to believe it.

The battle is over.

The streets of Dressrosa are littered with the aftermath of war. The palace has crumbled, Doflamingo is defeated, and the dawn rises over a free kingdom.

You stand, watching the sun slowly rise over the ruined city. The golden light washes over the streets, and for the first time in fourteen years, you breathe.

Footsteps approach behind you. Warm hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

Corazon.

You close your eyes as he buries his face in your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin “It’s over” he murmurs.

You nod “It doesn’t feel real.”

He tightens his hold on you, as if grounding you in this reality “It is.”

A breeze rustles through the air, and for the first time, the wind doesn’t carry the weight of fear.

For the first time, you feel safe.

Anyway, later that night you find out the Straw Hats don’t do quiet celebrations.

Music fills the air, food and drinks are being passed around, and the night sky is alive with laughter.

You sit at the edge of the party, tucked against Corazon’s side, half-hidden in the shadows of the lantern light.

Not that it keeps you from being noticed.

“Oi, oi! Look at them!” Franky smirks, pointing in your direction “They’re all cuddled up like newlyweds.”

You flush, but Corazon only hums in amusement, resting his chin on your head.

Sanji exhales a dramatic puff of smoke “A beauty like Y/N deserves better than an ex-Marine with a death wish.”

Before Corazon can respond, you smirk “And I suppose I should go for a chain-smoking womanizer instead?”

The table erupts into laughter as Sanji chokes on his cigarette.

Across from you, Robin chuckles behind her wine glass “It is rather sweet. After all these years, love still finds a way.”

Nami grins “I do love a good tragic romance turned happy ending.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can retort you catch movement at the edge of the group.

Law is sitting nearby, sipping from his cup, trying very hard to look unbothered.

But you see it... the small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The way his eyes soften just a little as he glances at you and Corazon.

Your heart clenches.

Fourteen years ago, he watched Corazon die.

Tonight, he gets to watch him live, and it means everything.

You catch his gaze and smile knowingly.

Law scowls, looking away “Don’t look at me like that.”

You grin “Like what?”

“Like I’m about to start crying.”

You laugh, shaking your head “I wouldn’t dare.”

Corazon watches the exchange with a small, knowing smile. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the gratitude in his presence.

Tonight is proof of something impossible.

The past doesn’t have to define you.

And love, no matter how broken, can still find its way home.

As party winds down, and you find yourself in a quiet corner of the castle ruins, lying beneath the stars with Corazon.

His coat is draped over you both, his warmth keeping you grounded. His fingers lazily trace patterns along your back.

“Do you regret it?” you ask softly “Coming back for me?”

He exhales a quiet laugh “I regret not getting to you sooner.”

You press your forehead against his chest, letting his heartbeat lull you into comfort “We made it” you whisper.

His arms tighten around you “We did.”

The future is uncertain. But as long as he’s here you’re not afraid anymore.

For the first time in forever, you allow yourself to believe in tomorrow.

And for the first time in forever you allow yourself to be happy.

[bettystonewell]

SNICKERDOODLES & SPECIAL SAUCE

Story Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: ‘Twas the night of fake Christmas and all through the halls, creatures were stirring, eventually on all fours… or …Mrs Butters isn’t just messing with Dean’s underwear drawer. She’s messing with your love lives, too. 18+ only

Word Count: 3.4K words (multiple POV)

Tags/Warnings: friends to lovers, love potion, language, dubious consent, pining, eggnog, Mrs Butters is a terrible wingman, SMUT

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Read on AO3

Something else going on, huh? Well, you were right. There was definitely something else going on because Dean felt like shit. He’d dropped a load off twice, and still wasn’t faring much better. What with his insides rumbling and… squeaking, he could liken his stomach to a volcano or a geyser, ready to erupt.

It had to be that turkey. 

That bird was the most awesomest thing he’d ever eaten. Moist and meaty. And with those potatoes and the pumpkin and that cheese covered stuff on the side? Man. Who knew vegetables could be so delicious? He’d had two helpings of it, and… oh right. The dairy. 

Heh-heh. 

Eh. He’d slow down tomorrow. 

Mrs Butters had promised him apple pie, and he needed room for that if her cookies were anything to go by.

Or were they your cookies? 

Yeah, he still didn’t know what’d gone on there besides you having beef with Mrs Butters, and really? What else could be going on besides Christmas, monster radars and lactose causing him grief again? He could tie all of it back to Chuck, no doubt if you gave him a minute.

He sauntered back to his room, extra careful to not make a sound as he passed everyone else’s. The tips of his boots tip-toeing over the polished floors. But when those tips reached his door, he felt the first niggle of something being up other than his heels.

Pulses, tiny but strong, kinda like how it felt when he got his rocks off, strummed to the beat of his heart. It travelled from his queasy stomach to his now warm junk and had him looking down to find little Dean stirring.

Huh. 

Well, okay, nothing that unusual. Maybe for not seeing or thinking ‘bout anyone special, but it’d been a long day full of victories. The vamps, the nymph turned housemaid. A bit of sugar, even though forced and unexpected, was kinda nice. Stressful, but nice, and he figured he’d earned himself some time to rub one out.

Heh. Who was he kidding? He was wired, his gut issues weren’t about to let him sleep, and it was just another regular Tuesday night. He didn’t need an excuse to cook up his own batch of cookies.

Ever. 

So he shut his door, locking it behind him in case Mrs Butters let herself in again and went straight into getting everything he needed ready. Lube. Tissues, an old sock… okay, no on the sock... 

The even older wood nymph was a little too efficient, but no bother. He had plenty of tissues and a sink by the door. He’d make do with what he had. Just needed to pry open his favourite Miss January 1973 from his collector’s edition and he’d be in business. 

Thank god she hadn’t found that.

He ripped his clothes off, ‘cause who needed them anyway, and planted his ass with a wriggle, into the sweet memory foam on his bed. Comfort was key. Getting it hard, even more so, though, surprisingly (or maybe not), he was at full mast. Must’ve needed this more than he thought, and he shrugged and reached for the lube.

He squeezed out a decent dollop and wasted no time wrapping his hand around the base. Ho-ho, he really was in business. Slightly cool, but warming rapidly under his touch, his balls pulled tighter and his skin lit up. Seemed he really needed this. 

No, seriously. 

As he fisted himself, squeezing just the way he liked with a swipe over his head to boot, his slit was already leaking his own brand of special sauce. Warm and creamy.

Heh-heh. You and your stupid special sauce. His hand was on fucking fire, and you were… 

Shit. 

No. 

Why was he thinking of you when Miss January was right there in front of him? Yeah. He needed to dump whatever thought that was and bring his top head back to Miss January. 

Fuck. Miss January. 

His free hand spread the glossy pages further apart, and his eyes roamed over her body. She was lovely. A fine and upstanding citizen. With pretty titties he could rub it between, and a round ass he’d plough in and out of. Yeah. Bet she’d like that.

Bet you’d like it, too, and he grunted at the thought of touching. 

But, nope. Nuh-uh. He wasn’t going there, remember? He was looking at Miss January with her legs spread nice and wide for him. She had hair the same length as yours if he squinted just right and he squeezed his fingers tight. Dragging perfect pressure up the length of him and to the sensitive tip that twitched when he rubbed that reddened head.

Though wait. Fuck. If your drapes looked like hers, did that mean your carpets matched hers, too? Dean sped up his hand at that thought. And oh, oh, okay. He was doing this and picturing you? 

Apparently so. 

His hips were lifting off the mattress. His heels dug into the sheets and the plush foam beneath them to keep up momentum. He’d say he was going to hell for that, but he’d already been, and the pull in his stomach, hard to ignore. It was just… Too. Damn. Good.

What would you look like out on display like Miss January? he wondered. Would you let him touch you? Let him spread you open with his fingers?

“Oh shit.” The hand that’d held the mag open swept down to cup his sack and the base of his spine jolted. He was so close. His thumb on the other swiped over his slit, pulling out a large drop of more sauce that kept him wanting for more.

What would you taste like? Better than stupid cookies, no doubt. A little sour when you let him lap you up? Tangy if he spread your pussy open with his tongue and fucked you with it?

“C’mon, Deano,” you’d said under the mistletoe. “This sweet skin aint gonna kiss itself.”

No, it would not, and, yep. Oh, god. He was gonna… Yeah… He was gonna fucking burst. 

“Take it, baby,” he said, and his visual changed to you with your mouth wide open. A rim of eggnog ‘round your lips just to hit that sweet visual home. 

You’d take it alright. You’d take every last drop, as did his hand and stomach.

There was no time for tissues or socks. Warmth bubbled in his still queasy gut and his pelvis went rigid. His own freckled skin, taking it all as he moaned your name. 

That had to be a record time, but he didn’t fucking care up on cloud nine. His languid strokes drew more and more out of him until he was sure he was spent. Only little Dean didn’t go down as expected. Not even slight.

Nope. Dean even rested his wrist, but nothing was changing. There was no refractory period whatsoever. His dick, still straining in his hands, was hard, stiff and throbbing. And those pulses? Yeah, they still hadn’t stopped, either. No. His balls remained tight.

Of course, Dean saw it as a blessing. He still had it, and you… heh… you were kinda hot. 

He looked down at the mess and back at the mag, then back to his dick. May as well go again, right? Take his time, ‘cause he did deserve it. 

There was just one problem he hadn’t realised yet, and by the end of the night, less than a few hours really, you all would.

You see, you were also wired. And if you couldn’t get to sleep before, you certainly couldn’t get to sleep now. 

Not only was your head running through that peck and Dean’s last words to you over eggnog, but your stomach churned and the same, overthinking made it pound.

You and Dean? You and Dean? Fuck no, it’d never happen, but the pounding still didn’t let up. 

Your skin felt clammy, too. You’d say you had a fever, but touching the back of your hand to your forehead was no different from placing it anywhere else on your body. So, maybe you weren’t sick, but getting there? 

Had… had Mrs Butters given you food poisoning? The cookies? The ham? The cheese-covered cauliflower?

It was all plausible, and you were up outta bed again for the second time that night because lying there, tossing and turning, wasn’t helping. Neither had the eggnog.

Only difference was, last time you walked free and steady. This time you stumbled, tumbled and fell more than once. 

Through the halls, past Dean’s room, your hands fumbled over the tiles on the walls. It was a surprise no one woke up to the sound of your distress. The aches. The pangs. They were spreading all over, causing you to groan and gripe.

You’d say you were getting your period. Had it not been for it coming and going two weeks ago, though maybe it was ovulation cramps? That was a thing, right? 

Whatever it was, you needed aspirin. Or a hysterectomy, stat. But with only the former available to you, that’s what you sought, and you somehow found your way towards the infirmary. The smoke from a train still running in the war room, making you even more nauseous as you passed by it. 

Oh god. 

The pain.

You. Were. Going. To. Die.

But so was Dean a short while later, by Sam’s hands, no less, having been called out to, twice. God. Sam was not in the mood for his crap. 

No. His jaw tightened, but he held back the sigh that wanted to escape him as his brother’s voice thundered out his name once again. 

“Sammy!” 

What the hell had he done now? He sounded… pained? Panicked? The last time he’d called out like that, Kevin had been trying to communicate with them from beyond the veil, so Sam presumed it was urgent. At least it better be.

He turned back to his computer screen open on his bed and signed, “I’m sorry,” to Eileen’s confused face. “Can I call you back?” His hands added ‘jerk’ to the mix, and pointed to the door, knowing she’d get a kick out of it.

She giggled in that way that had her nose scrunching up, and Sam’s heart raced. All he could give her in return was an apologetic smile, and another, “Sorry.” This better be quick, he thought.

“No problem,” she said. “Don’t be long.” And with that, she waved and signed off.

Sam stood up, taking his time. There’d been no gunshots or screaming from anyone else, so it wasn’t a life or death situation. Yet. Just needed investigating.

Of course, Dean couldn’t come to him. Never in a million years. It was always Sam making the middle ground like now. 

He traipsed the far-enough-distance down the hall to Dean’s room, where he found the door locked. Great. The least he could’ve done was open the damn door.

“Dean?” He knocked, not bothering with being quiet, though he was rather surprised the rest of you weren’t up now, too. How could you not hear his brother’s cries? Your door was only three down. He’d think you’d have been the first to arrive, and he took a step back to check. Yours was open? 

Weird.

“Sammy?” Dean finally said, followed by shuffling, ruffling, and footsteps that stopped shy of the crack below the doorframe. “That you?”

“Who else would it be?” he asked.

Silence sounded back. 

“Are you going to let me in or not?” He jiggled the handle, but a force from the other side made him stop.

“Okay, okay,” Dean said with a defeated tone and a huff, clicking the door open by only a crack. 

Having had enough of his antics, Sam pushed it aside and marched in. He scanned the room the second he had, finding Dean and his purple nightgown with ease. 

It was hard not to miss.

As was his one-eyed-snake, reddened and sticking out from under it. 

“Dude.” He… He… “Would you put that thing away?”

Thank Chuck, Dean listened to that instruction. It was bad enough seeing it before in the kitchen, not hard. This was… This was… “What the hell do you want me for?” And what was he supposed to tell Eileen? 

“It’s stuck.”

It… “What do you mean it’s stuck? Just beat it out and go to sleep.”

“You don’t think I tried that already?” Dean said. “I’ve jacked off three times, man.” He raised his fingers in the air. “It won’t go down.” 

“Okay. That-that-that is way too much information.” They were brothers, they knew the drill. Knew all about what happened behind closed doors, but you didn’t talk about it. Not a word… unless you were Dean, and you got yourself into something like this. Whatever this was.

“Did you take something?” Sam dared to ask.

“No!”

To which he glared, and Dean grinned.

“Well. Not this time.” 

And Sam drew his hand down over his nose and chin, trying to adjust. Why was he always the one cleaning up Dean’s mess? Even just thinking about it like that had him shuddering. 

He could see how Dean was upset, though. He had some empathy if he really hadn’t done or taken anything because three times and still being up would probably be painful. 

But, “What’re we gonna do?” Dean asked. His hands were now on his thighs in a weird-ass brace. At least the tent was outta sight. 

“We? Dean, this is your problem.”

Except it wasn’t only him.

No matter the position you sat or stood in on the infirmary floor, the ache between your legs would not yield. It weighed your whole body down like a heavy period might, only there was no blood. Just wet upon wet that’d soaked through your pyjama bottoms.

Mrs Butters’ housecoat was looking mighty fine right now.

The satin finish with dainty embroidered flowers would cover the stain on your ass, assuming you could even make it back to your room without toppling over again.

The aspirin hadn’t kicked in yet, and your legs were like jelly. The pain, excruciating.

Pins and needles had travelled the back of your calves, and up your thighs to settle in your core and your wet, wet heat. It continued to throb in time to the pounding in your head, and it wouldn’t die down.

You were hot, burning up really. You were buzzing, and you were horny. It just took a minute for you to figure out what your body had been trying to tell you. You’d even tried to assist by flicking the bean. 

But then Dean had gone and yelled out to Sam and you’d removed your fingers from your panties quick smart on the off chance one of them came upon you. 

It was agony. Pure agony. 

Just when you thought you’d get some sleep, this shit had all gone down.

You needed to get off, but you were also desperate for the guys to find you ‘cause something wasn’t right here. Dean’s timbre was doing things to you, and Chuck, a part of you, hoped it would be him that did the finding.

His thick fingers could work wonders. Other parts, more so. And after that kiss earlier, those lips of his were welcome on any piece of skin of yours, inside and out.

“Oh. shit.” More heat gushed out of you, if that were even possible, and your legs clenched together on instinct. It felt way too damn good, and you did it again. And again.

Your ass cheeks were working the aerobic commercial circuit. One squeeze, two. Clench, release. Tighten, relax. Hips gyrated too, and oh fuck. Just a little more.

Screw the guys. Your middle finger was pushing back under the elastic as you spread your legs and got comfortable on the tiled floor like some bitch in heat. 

Of course, that’s when Sam found you, and he wasn’t pleased. 

You weren’t either.

“Not you, too?” he said, and you just stared back. You should’ve been ashamed… but you weren’t.

First Dean and now you? What the hell was going on and would Sam catch it? Yeah, he didn’t want to explain this to Eilleen.

Something was definitely up, besides Dean’s hard on, and you were no better. Wriggling in his arms, squeezing your thighs together like that.

Nope. Nope. He wasn’t going there.

“Would you stop fidgeting? I’m going to drop you,” he said, gripping you tighter. Though why he’d picked you up was still questionable. You weren’t running away. Quite the opposite, actually, and he needed to be careful. There was no way he was going down that road. Least not with you.

But then you said, “It hurts Sam,” and he had to hold back asking where.

So, the walk back to Dean was awkward, but nothing he’d seen could prepare Sam for what lay ahead. 

Seeing his brother’s junk twice was one thing. 

Seeing him flogging it was another. 

And feeling you squirm and then moan in his arms at the sight? Yeah. That was a whole other level of whack, and Sam wanted to call it quits. Now.

Yes. Something was up all right, though you could no longer see the tent in Dean’s nightgown from where you sat.

The library chair was worse than the ground. At least you’d had some wiggle room there. With only so much space to twist your hips in search of friction and your hands and torso tied up, there wasn’t much going for you on the wooden seat.

You should’ve considered yourself lucky Sam had used a scarf on you, whereas Dean had gotten the rope treatment.

“Why am I tied up when Dean is as well?” you asked, staring at the man in question from across the table. The coil inside wound so tight, you were about fit to burst. 

He looked better than you remembered. Pure sex on a stick. Those lips were the perfect weapon to counter your needy cunt, and he was looking at you just as wanton.

Okay. Hold up. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” You were a woman who had needs, but this was beyond ridiculous. No one was this… horny.

“You’re looking mighty fine from over here, darlin’.” Dean winked, and it sent tingles to your bits.

No one but Dean, god dammit. 

You pressed your thighs together as if your life depended on it. Heaved your chest out like an old-timey harlequin and pushed your pelvis into the chair. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Mm-hmm. Mrs Butters would not approve of this, but Dean sure did.

“Would you stop that!” 

“But it hurts, Sam.” You elongated his name as far as was possible. The whine you could produce when you wanted to, grating, even to you.

“Yeah, well… I got nothing,” he said, closing the fourth textbook he’d read so far, and scanning the shelves for another. “Something must’ve happened after I left ‘cause you’re the only ones affected. What did you do after Die Hard?”

You grinned at that. Dean did, too, though he had more of a smouldering smirk going on.

“It’s not a Christmas movie!” Sam said, but you both ignored him.

Your tongue swiped over your lower lip. Teeth grabbed it once it had to bite down. Hard. Dean’s jaw had tightened and his shoulders flinched, rippling the bone and muscle under his nightdress that spread taut across his chest. Tighter on account of his arms and the rope. Yes, Dean could rock just about anything. Would probably pick up, even at a bar wearing that thing, if he so dared. The purple brought out his eyes, and when yours met his, they widened as you remembered the last time you’d really looked at them.

“You know how you’re always going with your gut?” you’d said then, and, “Mrs Butters,” you said now.

The eggnog.

You knew it tasted funny, and as far as you were aware, only you and Dean had drunk it. But no. No, no. Maybe it was the mistletoe? You’d both kissed under that, too, and thank Chuck. Dean was also coming to your conclusion. 

His head tilted and his face grew pained as he went through the motions. “Dammit. Guess we can’t keep her now.” He pouted, and Sam’s face lit up in delight.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Read on AO3

Your white knuckles and sweaty palms held on too tight to the arms of the chair. Damn. That Pink song knew a thing or two, even if the lyrics and your body had differing opinions.

You didn’t want Dean to blow you one last kiss, though. No. Oh no. You’d settle for blowing him, or better yet, him blowing his warm breath over you because everything was on fire. The depths of your panties, the worst. The stiff wood under your ass and your pyjama shorts weren’t doing nothing for you. Neither were your knees rubbing together.

“Would you quit it?” Dean growled, and the echo went straight there.

A shiver. A trickle. A shock? Whatever it was, your cooch clenched tight to trap it and you had to stifle the moan you almost couldn’t.

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