#these took way longer than they should have

[mariespen]

Breaking Trust. ˚➶ ｡˚

protective!Rafe Cameron x reader warnings: swearing, guns and firing into the air/ground, aggressive anger, anger issues, MDNI: fingering, p in v, praise summary: "You only noticed Rafe when he was storming down to the sandy bonfire, gun in hand." based on this request! thank you so much!

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You were perched like a porcelain doll on Rafe’s lap as the two of you watched a new movie on the TV. His hands were massaging the back of your head softly as his eyes were glued between your thighs and the screen itself. You were squinting at the captions, trying to not ask too many questions. It was your fault, anyways. You let Rafe put on a boring war movie that was three hours long. That alone should show how much you love him.

After thirty minutes into the movie, your phone subtly pings on the spot it was laying on the coffee table. You peered down casually, not drawing Rafe’s attention. The message on the dim screen was from the pouge’s group chat that you had just recently been added to. Without Rafe’s knowledge, of course. Your boyfriend, king of the kooks, had it out for any pouge that came within a mile of his perfect girlfriend. If it was up to Rafe, you would be in your own museum and displayed in a pretty box, for him and only him. In his words, 

“I don’t want the dirt on my shoes touching my pretty girl.”

Of course, this phrase was only spurred on because you got shoulder checked by a guy from the cut. You barely blinked before Rafe made sure he couldn’t move to get in your way again. That being said, if your boyfriend found out you were in a group chat with pouges, he just might lose it.

“I gotta pee baby.” You said softly, faking a squirm as you got up quickly and grabbed your phone. You looked down, seeing Rafe’s small pout. You giggled, kissing his cheek, “I’ll be back, promise.” Rafe nodded and watched your ass sway as you walked into the bathroom, his eyes glued to something new now. You closed the door quickly, scrolling through the messages.

JJ: Beach?

JB: when

JJ: idk like 11

Kie!: kk

Pope: Sounds good.

You felt nervous and a little out of place, but you still wanted to go. Hanging out with the pouges gives you the sense of adrenaline that you’ve been craving for longer than you realized. Your thumbs were shaking and your body was quick with nerves as you typed out your third ever message in the chat.

Me: perf!

Maybe it was too girlie or too kook-y. Were they even talking to you? What if they forgot they added you? Before you could come up with another scenario in your head;

*JJ liked your message*

A sigh of relief left your body and a wave of excitement stuck to your chest. All that was left was figuring out a way to avoid Rafe and make sure he’s not suspicious of you leaving so suddenly.

“Baby, are you okay?” His voice gently yells across Tannyhill.

“Yeah!” You replied, trying to not sound as frantic as you felt.

With a forged sense of causality, you walked back into the living room. The sound of your feet against the hardwood spurred Rafe’s attention and he turned over his shoulder to see you.

“What took so long?” He asked, a slight concern in his tone. “My girlfriends texted, they want to hang out!” You said, coming up with the obvious lie on the spot.

“Which ones?” Rafe asked, cocking his head.

“You know.. Kenna and Eliza!” A smile plastered on your face. You’ve never been good at lying.

Something about Rafe felt different as he shrugged and told you to have fun. Thinking you made it out, you ran up to his room to re-apply some makeup and grab a change of clothes to wear at the beach. A bikini was in your sights and you grabbed it, along with a draped skirt and one of Rafe’s sweaters. Shoving everything into a beach bag, you headed back downstairs.

“Where ya goin?” Rafe asked, towering over you now.

“Beach!” You replied, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“It’s 10:30 at night baby, are you sure?” He gently pushed, his arms coming up to hold your shoulders with concern.

“Yeah, I promise!” You kissed his cheek and brushed past him, “I love you!”

“I love you too.” Rafe sighed, obviously stressed about the abrupt change in plans.

With a surprising lack of resistance from your boyfriend, you got into your car and began to drive down to the cut, meeting the pouges at their normal spot on the beach. You grinned as cheers were heard when you showed up, a bonfire already being started. Kiera met you in the sand, a beer in her hand as she slurred her laughter. 

“Hi Kie!” You giggled with her, beginning your walk down to the fire.

JJ and John B met you with a beer and marshmallows, encouraging you to make s’mores. The fire grew throughout the night and you drunkenly ran around with them. The sand kicked at your feet as you ran from JJ after stealing his knife and the water drenching you and Kie when she convinced you to run into the waves. Pope talked to you with the others, and you mindlessly listened to his rants as you traced drawings in the sand, John B’s towel wrapped around you. Your lack of observance was a weakness. Throughout the excitement and exhilaration, you failed to notice Rafe’s truck parked at an overlook, with your boyfriend inside. His eyes were on you as you drank and forgot about anything besides what was keeping your attention that second.

When you had left the house originally, Rafe was concerned. He had his original suspicions, so he reluctantly let you leave. Topper and Kelce had invited themselves into Tannyhill once they realized your car wasn’t there anymore, but they instead found Rafe watching your location intently. After some comically deep discussions, Topper had convinced Rafe to follow you. Admittedly, this was an easy thing to convince him of. Rafe’s keys were in his pocket the moment you left. He drove with urgency, seeking you out. Rafe told himself that he was just worried about your safety. At the beach this late, the sneaker waves could grab you in a second. Deep down, he knew that there was a lack of trust, and he needed to talk to you about it. You only noticed Rafe when he was storming down to the sandy bonfire, gun in hand.

“Get away from my fucking girl!” He yelled, firing a warning shot into the air.

Confrontation sparked instantly as you tried to beg Rafe to not do anything he would regret while the pouges taunted him like it was a game. Your heart broke on the betrayal from either side. Rafe’s constant threat through the bullets in his gun and the lack of protection or awareness from the others was giving you anxiety. Your boyfriend didn’t play pretend when it came to you.

“Rafe.. Rafe please! Put it down!” You begged, tugging on his bicep.

“You brought them this.” He responded, firing a shot into the sand.

“Fuck you Rafe!” JJ spat on the dent the bullet made.

Tears flooded your eyes as neither group let up. You felt utterly hopeless and all to blame. The only thing to divert the attention of everyone was the soft sound of sirens and the illumination of quick-approaching lights. Rafe pulled you along with him, forcing you into his passenger seat with a subtle undertone of gentleness, not wanting to hurt you badly. The tires dragged through the sand as your boyfriend sped away, driving back to Tannyhill.

The air in his truck was thick with anger and anxiety. Rafe’s lack of words were enough to speak for themselves. You stared out the window in disbelief, trying to push everything away.

The truck parked at Tannyhill and Rafe got out, slamming his door before coming to the other side, picking you up from the car and carrying you into the house with a sense of annoyance. Rafe took you up to his room with little protest and sat you down on the bed.

“What the fuck?” He asked, obviously hurt by your lies.

“Rafe m’so sorry baby I-“ You began the apology rant you prepared in the car, but he cut you off.

“I trusted you. Why the fuck did you lie?” He said, scoffing at your tears, “Don’t start with me. Tell me.” “You hate them!” The words flew from your mouth, “They are my friends and I still want to hang out with them but you hate pouges! For no reason!” Your voice was rising without you realizing.

Rafe groaned in anger, “That’s a good enough reason on its own!”

“Not to bring a gun!” You yelled, emotions running high.

In an instant, he shoved your makeup off the dresser and onto the floor, shattering the pretty pink Miss Dior bottle he bought for your anniversary.

“Stop!” You sobbed, crumpling into the bed.

“I’m fucking done! You can’t keep pulling this shit!” Rafe yelled back, storming out of the room.

The strong scent of the perfume gave you a pounding headache. You crawled off of the bed and staggered into the bathroom, laying in the empty bathtub to escape the scent. You fell asleep quickly, the emotional and physical exhaustion sweeping your feet. There was no signs of Rafe as your eyelids became heavy and protested the bright bathroom light. The curled position you had pulled yourself into was the same one you fell into a deep sleep in.

Soft mutters and shaking movements awakened you slightly, hours later. Rafe cradled you in his arms, kissing your forehead. The bedroom no longer smelled like the shattered bottle of perfume, implying that he had come back in and cleaned up the mess he had made.

The blankets were a glorious feeling as he helped you into bed, wrapping his arms around you.

“M’sorry.” Rafe whispered, falling asleep with you in his arms. You were quick to follow, escaping reality to sleep.

The sun shined through your window, just as bright as the moon was the night before. Your boyfriend laid next to you, kissing your arms softly. The gentle movements woke you up, and once he realized this, he began to apologize.

“Baby I’m so sorry.” He whispered, holding your chin to lock your gaze on him, “I overreacted.” “I’m sorry too.” You responded, tearing up and collapsing into his arms, “I broke your trust. I should’ve just talked to you.” “Shh.. s’okay.” Rafe reassured, his hands playing with your hair subconsciously, “I let my anger get the best of me. I shouldn’t have.”

 You laid in his arms, feeling more alive than you did with the pouges the night before. “Let me make it up to you?” Rafe whispered, pulling you up and kissing your neck gently. You giggled before gasping at his cautious hickeys.

His hand wandered to the hem of your panties, playing with them to tease you. Your anticipatory moans lead him forward, getting on top of your desperate body.

“Rafe.. please..” You mumbled, grabbing out for him.

“Be patient, love.” He whispered, kissing down your legs after stripping you of your panties and top.

Your lips met one last time before you felt his fingers softly rub circles into your clit. You moaned out for him, holding onto his bicep for any kind of stability. 

“R-rafe..” You whimpered.

“So wet f’me.. swear you get sexier every day. Just don’t wanna share my girl.” He mumbled, kissing your neck.

“Close..” Your eyes rolled back, dumb on his fingers alone.

“No baby..” Rafe chuckled as you whined at the loss of his hand, “You’re going to cum on me, yeah?” The moan you cried out was pornographic as he slowly dragged his hard cock through your walls.

“Always so fuckin’ tight.” He groaned, fucking you slowly and deep. Rafe felt your every clench and spasm, speeding his pace up with ease.

“Too- too much..!” You cried, drunk off of pleasure as he fucked you on his cock.

“No baby.. you got it. Be good.” He whispered, feeling you coming closer and closer to edge, “So perfect.. like you were fuckin’ made f’me.” 

“Close!” You cried out, the rest of your mind consumed with the pleasure he was fucking into you. Your body trembled as you came, shaking underneath him and clenching around his cock. He groaned, gripping your hair and burying his face into the crook of your neck as he came inside of you.

Rolling off of you, Rafe laid lazily beside you. He turned his head after a few minutes, kissing you on the cheek and getting up from the bed, despite your lazy protests.

“Gotta get you cleaned up..” He said, his tone soft and careful as he wiped you down with a warm cloth.

Rafe showered your spent body in kisses before pulling you up and carrying you downstairs to the couch, kicking the forgotten cap of your broken perfume bottle under the dresser.

“Gotta get you new perfume, hm?” He said, kissing your cheek and letting you snuggle into his lap on the couch.

Rafe turned on the TV, resuming the same movie from last night. You groaned, rolling your eyes and burying your face in his bare chest.

“You love me.” Rafe said with a chuckle, kissing the top of your head.

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[ariestrxsh]

🍕 content warning: smut, praise, jealousy, masturbation, oral (f! & m!receiving), edging, begging, unprotected sex, light choking, sub!pizzaboy!chris, dom!boss!reader

🍕 author's note: this series follows sub!pizzaboy!chris and his tendency to mix business and pleasure. in part one, he sleeps with a customer after delivering pizza to her. in part two, he sleeps with a cop that pulls him over for speeding. now he must use his magnetic charm to seduce his boss to avoid getting in trouble for coming back late from a delivery.

🍕 summary: you can't help but get a little jealous when you find out your favorite employee, chris, has been sharing his meat with everyone but you.

pizza guy part three

"That delivery should have only taken twenty minutes. Why did it take you an hour and a half?" You inquired, peering up from the nightly paperwork at Chris, who had just walked through the front door of the otherwise empty pizza shop.

He could immediately feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. The last thing he wanted to do was upset you.

Chris was your best employee when he wanted to be, but he was constantly pushing the boundaries with you and taking advantage of how much you let him get away with. You could never fire him, though, and he knew that.

He had too many redeeming qualities. He was always covering shifts, bringing in good reviews, and working without complaining. He was also extremely polite and had a lot of respect for authority, always calling you ma'am and asking what you needed from him.

Chris' only downfall was that he couldn't help but mix business and pleasure - always getting high on the job and entertaining the women who were metaphorically lined up for him in between deliveries and sometimes on deliveries.

He always had a good excuse, though. And when he didn't have an excuse, he'd turn on the charm. He saw the way you looked at him, your hungry gaze that would linger for a few seconds too long, and he recognized the need in your voice, every word coated with lust. He knew that in your eyes, he could do no wrong. He had you wrapped around his finger, and he wasn't above using that to his benefit.

"Chris. Where the hell have you been?" You repeated, interrogating him. "Sorry, ma'am.." he apologized, forcing a pout. "I got pulled over," which wasn't technically a lie. "Oh, Chris. You poor thing," you responded, your tone immediately changing as you walked over to him, giving the sweet boy a hug.

"Did you get a ticket?" You wondered, cradling his flushed face. "No, ma'am. Almost. I think the police officer has a little bit of a crush on me," Chris said, his blue eyes flickering back up at yours as he tried to hold back a smirk. Can't blame her, you thought, studying his handsome features as his seemingly innocent smile stared back at you.

You detected a scent on Chris, one you could recognize anywhere and one you'd already addressed with him. "Chris. Are you stoned right now?" You glared at him, looking at the redness in the whites of his eyes, dropping your hand from his face. "What?! No!" He objected defensively, avoiding eye contact.

"There's no way you just got pulled over. If a cop looked at you for longer than two seconds, you'd be in the back of the cop car in cuffs right now. I bet you were at your dealer's house," you accused him, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I'm not lying, ma'am. She did put me in cuffs," Chris responded, his cock stirring in his jeans as he recounted the events that took place earlier in the night. "You mean to tell me, you went from being cuffed to walking away without even getting a ticket?" You shot him a skeptical look.

He showed you his wrists, pointing out the red marks left behind from the metal that dug into them under the weight of himself and the cop while she riding him. "Don't worry about how I got off, ma'am. All's that matters is that I did," Chris responded, his gaze locked on yours.

You bit down on your lip, imagining Chris in restraints, offering to do anything to keep a clean driving record. You knew it was wrong. After all, he was your subordinate, but that was another reason you could never fire him.

He was so hot, and he knew it. He had this way of looking at you and talking to you when he knew he was about to get into trouble that immediately made you melt. You couldn't stay mad at him. Not even if you wanted to.

"Chris, you gotta be careful. I don't care you if you smoke weed, but you can't keep doing it on the job! You could have gotten yourself into big trouble tonight!" You jabbed your finger into his chest, giving him a serious look.

The truth was, you'd bail him out of jail if you could, but as much as you wanted to protect Chris from the consequences of his actions, you could only do so much when it came to the law. "I'm only hard on you because I care about you," you whispered, caressing his cheek.

"I know, but it makes me feel so good. Don't you like things that make you feel good, ma'am?" Chris asked, a bit of seduction seeping into his tone. You stood in silence for a moment, studying his pretty blue eyes and his pouty lips as he looked you up and down. You avoided his question.

"You know, Chris. I read a really interesting review someone left a while back about you while you were gone," you smirked, sauntering back over to your desk and pulling up the review on the computer. "Was it a good one?" He wondered, his facial features softening as he hoped you were about to start praising him.

"I don't know, you tell me. 'Their driver, Chris, has the best Italian sausage in town. He always goes the extra mile to please the customer,'" you read it word-for-word. "What could she have meant by that, huh?" You wondered with a bit of jealousy lingering on the tip of your tongue.

"I think she just really liked my meat, ma'am. I mean, the shop's meat," he corrected himself, giving you another sultry smile. "Is it the shop's meat? Because I certainly haven't been getting any," you remarked, glancing down at the outline of his half-hard cock in his jeans.

"Oh, ma'am. It would be so wrong," Chris purred, secretly enticed by the moral complexity of the idea of sleeping with his boss. His eyes dropped to your figure as his imagination took over, picturing how certain parts of your body would jiggle while riding him.

"Makes it even hotter, doesn't it? How wrong it is? What do I have to do to get a taste of your meat, huh?" You asked, getting up from your desk and slowly making your way towards him again. "All's you have to do is ask, ma'am," Chris responded with allure in his tone, taking a step closer to you.

"Well, I finished everything while you were getting pulled over," you smirked. "Why don't you come home with me, sweetie? It's the least you could do. I'll take really good care of you," you flirtatiously responded, leaning in and kissing his neck. You took both his hands and placed them on your waist.

"Oh, yes, ma'am. Please take me home with you. Take good care of me," he whimpered as he tilted his head to the side to give you better access, immediately giving into your advances.

Your lips were so soft, and Chris couldn't get enough of the way they felt on the sensitive nerve endings on his neck, sending blood rushing to the tip of his cock as a few luscious moans escaped.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" You cooed, running your fingers along the bulge in his pants as your kisses grew slower, deeper, and more passionate. "Yes, ma'am," Chris mewled, grinding against your palm.

"Down, boy," you said, smiling and petting his package through his jeans as you retreated from kissing his neck. He nearly sobbed when you pulled away. "Oh, ma'am. You're so cruel. Getting me all riled up when we still have a long drive ahead of us," he whispered, already feeling lightheaded from the way you handled him.

"You were cruel first. Leaving me here all alone while you entertain other women. Don't you know how bad I need you here with me, Chris?" You wondered, your words drenched in envy as you delicately ran your hand across his chest.

Of course, you meant it in a professional sense, needing him at the store to help you close up, but you also meant it in a much more primal sense, and he did know. He'd known for a while now, but Chris wasn't the type to make the first move. He'd been waiting for you to finally say it. He nodded.

"Show me how bad you need me," he seductively whispered, tempting you. "Let's lock up, shall we?" You said, taking Chris by the hand, leading him towards the front door, and shutting off all the lights on your way out.

The two of you stepped out into the dark, chilly night, the breeze biting at your nose and stinging your lungs as you inhaled. You slipped the key into the lock, turning it until it clicked, and you tugged on the freezing cold handle for good measure.

Chris followed you to your nice, shiny, black SUV and climbed into your passenger seat. You started the ignition, your engine roaring as it turned over. You turned on the heat, placing your palm in front of the fan, waiting for the air to warm up.

Chris was still rock hard, his eager cock straining against the denim fabric he wore and his mind swirling with the possibilities of what you were going to do with him once the two of you made it back to your place.

"So, what really happened with that cop?" You deviously wondered, glaring at him before looking back at the road you started down. Chris blushed. "She handcuffed me and put me in the back of her car. Then whatever you think happened is probably what happened next," Chris smugly suggested.

You bit your lip, letting your imagination run wild. "And the customer, Chris? You naughty boy," you clicked your tongue at him, shaking your head. His head fell lazily against the headrest as he peered over at you with a submissive expression.

"Ma'am. I promise I'm a good boy. I don't have a naughty bone in my body," Chris lustfully responded, his cock beginning to twitch in his pants as his eyes danced over your lips, imagining how they'd feel wrapped around him. "Well, maybe one," he quietly admitted, shifting around, trying to adjust his aching erection.

"Take it out for me, Chris," you demanded. "Right now?" He asked, an upward inflection in his voice as his brows flew up. "Yes. Show me that pretty cock that the girls can't get enough of, hmm?" You hissed, placing your hand on his thigh and making it jump again. "Yes, ma'am," he nodded, unclasping his belt, undoing his button, and lowering his zipper.

Your eyes shifted between the road and his dick, favoring one more than the other as he started to pull it out. Your eyes widened and your jaw fell slightly open at the sight. "You like what you see, ma'am?"

You couldn't find the words to describe just how much you did, so you settled for a subtle nod. Its size was intimidating and intriguing all at the same time. He went to wrap his long fingers around his veiny shaft, but you swatted his hand away.

"Ah, ah, ah. I didn't say you could play with it," you teased him. He gave you a pout, his brows turning up in a look of anguish. "But I need it," Chris whined.

"I thought you said you were a good boy, hmm? Don't good boys listen and do what they're told?" You purred, playing upon Chris' praise kink and his need for your approval. He hesitantly nodded. "Then behave, Chris." You lightly patted his thigh again, driving him mad with your touch. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled.

"Why don't we play a game? And if you're a good boy and play the game correctly, then I'll let you touch with it," You suggested, running your tongue along the inside of your teeth. "What kind of game?" Chris wondered, eager to let his hands wander below his waist.

"The kind of game where you tell me what happened with that customer who left that review while you stroke yourself, but you have to do exactly as I say. And you better listen and tell me exactly what happened or else you're in big trouble," you told him.

"But ma'am, I'm gonna get in trouble with you anyway," Chris quietly pouted, worried you were going to fire him for lying about his slashed tires that night.

"Oh, Chris. You could never be in trouble with me as long as you tell the truth," you cooed, softly running the back of your hand along his cheek. "You promise?" He timidly asked. "I promise," you replied, and you meant it.

"Go ahead, Chris. Start touching it," you voiced, giving him permission. His hand moved towards his cock, firmly gripping it, and he let out a relieved sigh as he started slowly stroking.

"So, tell me, Chris. Who instigated the interaction? You or her?" You interrogated him, glancing between the road and his swollen head, a wet patch forming on the front of your panties. "She did, ma'am," Chris told you.

"Did you go inside her house?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "I know I'm not supposed to, but.." Chris started to say. "But what? Answer me, Chris."

"Yes, ma'am. I did go into her house," Chris whimpered, his gaze meeting yours. "How'd she get you to stay, hmm?" You purred, watching Chris' facial features soften as he relaxed into his pleasure.

"She made me a cup of hot cocoa and started kissing my neck. She told me to call you and give you an excuse as to why I couldn't come back to work. Told me she'd make it worth it," Chris admitted, looking nervously at you with his blue eyes.

You gasped. "You naughty boy," you narrowed your gaze at him, a little annoyed that he had faked an excuse to get out of work but a little turned on by the fact that he'd done it to get his dick wet. "She made me call you while she was sucking me off," Chris replied, a smirk forming in the corner of his pink lips.

"You called me while she sucked you off?" You repeated what he just told you to make sure you heard him correctly. You squeezed your thighs together as you pictured him on the phone with you while he had his cock in another woman's mouth. "Mhmm," Chris nodded, pumping his length faster as it quivered against his palm.

"Slow down, Chris. You're gonna have to make yourself last a long time, so don't get too carried away," you smirked at him, thinking about how long you were gonna make him wait to finish. He took a deep breath and slowed the pace. "That's very naughty of you, sweetie," you responded in a voice just above a whisper.

The rest of the drive to your destination, you teased Chris, trying to extract information from him about his most recent sexual encounters, and he spilled the details to you relunctantly. Despite his hesitancy, his cock gave him away, jerking at every word you spoke that jogged his memory.

"Did she ride you, Chris?" You provocatively asked, and you watched it twitch again, listening closely as a soft whine passed through his lips. "I think she did.." you answered your own question, giving him a playful smile.

"You like it when the girl's in charge, don't you? You love to be bossed around in bed," you insinuated, and you watched Chris blush and nod in response as he ran the tip of his thumb through his precum, spreading it around on his sensitive head.

The banter between you and Chris was enticing to say the least, and the whole time you were soaking wet, buzzing with excitement about what Chris would be like in bed and how good his pretty dick would feel lodged inside of you while you bounce up and down on it.

You saw how close he was getting as you turned onto your street, and before he could finish, you stopped him. "Be a good boy, Chris. Put it away for a second. His eyes were filled with hurt and desperation, but he nodded and did as he was told.

Once you pulled into your garage, you turned to Chris, gently grabbing onto his hair and pulling his face just a few inches from yours as you locked your hungry gaze onto his.

"Look. Normally, I'd invite you in, give you something to drink, offer you something to eat, show you around. I don't have the fucking patience for that right now, Chris. What we're gonna do is go straight to my room, and you're gonna be a good boy for me and let me use you however I want for as long as I want. Got it?" You demanded.

Chris obediently nodded, his face conveying desire. You took Chris' hand, leading him in through your warm and cozy house that smelled like apple cinammon. You guided him up your stairs and into your bedroom.

You pulled him into a passionate kiss, your mouth crashing into his as the sexual tension between the two of you built to an all-time high. His pretty moans vibrated against your lips as you reached under his shirt, your fingertips brushing against his hip bones as you hooked them onto the hem of the material.

You pulled away long enough to pull his uniform off over his head, and you quickly dropped to your knees. Chris looked down at you, wetting his lips as he silently begged you with his eyes to do what he thought you were going to do. You unbuttoned his jeans, slid the zipper down, and pulled down his pants and his underwear.

You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue as if you were getting ready to please his cock, but you couldn't let him finish without a little more teasing. Instead, you retreated, standing to your feet as a look of disappointment seeped into Chris' expression.

It was just as hard for you as it was for him. You'd imagined this scenario a hundred times, and you couldn't wait to hear the pretty sounds he'd make while you suck on it, but the fact that you'd been waiting so long for it, made you want to savor every moment, every kiss, every touch..

You gently pushed him back onto your bed, and his eyes danced over you while he propped himself up on his elbows as you shed off your own layers, letting them fall to your feet. You climbed on top of him, pulling him into another passionate kiss as the two of you rolled around on your silky soft sheets.

"Be a good boy for me, Chris. Let me sit on your pretty face," you demanded from him, but it didn't take much persuasion. "Oh, yes, ma'am. You don't have to tell me twice," Chris eagerly replied as you gently pushed him down, guiding him to lie flat on his back.

You straddled his face, placing your knees on either side of his head and lowering your pussy onto his mouth. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you as close to him as possible as his tongue explored your folds, flickering back and forth over your sensitive clit.

You entangled your fingers in his messy hair, and you gently tugged on it, causing him to moan against you while his eyes rolled back in his head. The vibration that passed through his lips reverberated against your vulva, pleasure rushing through you.

You gently rocked your hips back and forth, riding Chris' face and grinding against his silky, wet tongue. You peered down into his gorgeous blue eyes as you combed through his brown locks. "You're such a good boy, Chris," you whispered, enjoying the feeling of his lips as he wrapped them around your bundle of nerves and started tenderly sucking on it.

"Yes, sweetheart. Just like that," you encouraged him. He nuzzled into your heat, relishing in the lovely sounds that left your lips and the way you rutted against his face, all testaments to how good he was making you feel. He could eat you for hours.

He reached up and grabbed your breasts, gently rolling your nipples between the pads of his fingers. He moaned against your clit a few more times as he delicately sucked on it, rapidly flicking his tongue against it. You felt pressure building in your lower stomach as you tightened the grip of your thighs around Chris' head.

"Good boy," you whimpered again, your body beginning to shiver as your pleasure reached a crescendo. His cock twitched at your praises, and his hands moved to your waist, stabilizing you as he admired the way you looked from this angle.

He took your clit between his lips and gently tugged on it until you were coming undone. You threw your head back and started fervently grinding against his face, losing yourself in your orgasm as you released onto his tongue.

He lapped up every last bit of your wetness, savoring the sweetness that filled his senses. Once you were completely satisfied, he removed his mouth from your pussy. "Did I do a good job, ma'am?" Chris asked, his big, blue eyes staring back at yours with his chin covered in your juices.

"Oh, sweetheart. You always do. You were perfect. Such a good boy," you purred breathlessly as you ruffled his hair once more, starting to lift yourself off of him. "Get comfortable, sweetie. Let me take care of you," you cooed.

"Yes, please," he politely answered, nestling among your mess of pillows and propping himself up against your headboard. He loved it when you took charge. He kept his eyes locked on yours as you placed yourself between his legs.

He'd been hard for the past hour, desperate for you to take it into your mouth, but you were still savoring every moment, and he secretly adored all the teasing. You drew a line from the base of his dick all the way up his length with your soft tongue, and it twitched in response.

You gently kissed his tip, slurping up the shiny, clear fluid that was slowly leaking out as you slowly stroked his dick. He let out a soft, pleasured sound as your tongue made contact with all his sensitive nerve endings, and you started delicately flicking it across his swollen, pink head.

"How's that?" You asked in a soft voice. "So good," he whined as you started combining the two techniques, sucking on it while your tongue got to work, fluttering around in the best-feeling places. Pretty noises poured from his lips as you took him into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down slowly on his length and learning every vein with your tongue.

He smiled down at you and tenderly placed his hand on the back of your head, silently asking you to take more of him. You listened by sliding your lips all the way down his shaft until he was hitting the back of your throat. He gasped as you took it all so effortlessly. "How'd you learn to do that, ma'am?" He whimpered, peering down at you wide-eyed and breathing heavily as you chuckled, humming around the base.

You sped up your movements, sloppily drooling and making a mess all over his cock. "Please let me cum. Please," Chris moaned, his luscious voice spilling into the air. Despite how politely he asked, you took him out of your mouth long enough to give him a smirk and shake your head no.

"Please, please, please," his jagged breaths becoming whiny and needy. You ignored his begging and continued your pace, bringing him dangerously close to the edge before withdrawing all stimulation. He let out a few strangled moans as his cock twitched some more, begging to be sucked on again.

You loved how responsive he was and how his body language reacted to every subtle touch. You wrapped your lips around him again, and a stream of lustful noises flowed from him. You looked into his blue eyes that were silently pleading with you. You could see how desperate he was, which made you want to edge him even more.

"Please," he whispered again as if you didn't hear him the first half a dozen times he asked for you to let him finish. "You're going to have to be a good boy and wait," you teased him, removing your mouth again and shifting around on the bed. He responded with a subtle nod.

You began to straddle him, guiding his rod towards your entrance, and you let out a delighted hum as you lowered yourself down onto him. Chris' head gently fell back and tapped the headboard as you squelched around him.

"Oh, Chris. You're so big," you moaned. "So I've been told," Chris chuckled. He couldn't help how much that compliment stroked his ego. You started to ride him, your breasts bouncing in his face as he latched onto your nipples, tenderly sucking on each one. His hands wandered towards your ass, and he squeezed your soft flesh, whimpering against your chest.

"Good boy," you praised him as you ran your fingers through his hair, massaging his head. You leaned down and started sucking on a sensitive place on his neck, and he whined into your ear as he tried to hold on while you were actively working against him. "Please let me cum," he asked again patiently and politely with desire in his expression.

"Not yet, pretty boy," you cooed into the crook of his neck as you continued lightly sucking on it. Whimpers escaped his mouth as you picked up the pace, your strides becoming faster and rougher. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, but he tried to hold on to please you.

He was always able to hold the different perspectives of you in his mind, both the professional view he had of you and the sexual desire he felt toward you. He couldn't help but delight in the way the two versions of you merged in front of him. He'd always loved how bossy you were, but the way you were ordering him around in bed gave your bossy nature a whole new meaning to him, and he adored it.

He loved the way you bounced on him, your moans becoming louder and more urgent. He could feel you clenching around his cock, which made it even harder for him to fend off his long-awaited orgasm.

"Please, please, please," he begged some more, losing his composure. "Please let me cum, ma'am," he sweetly requested, his dick already beginning to throb inside of you. He wasn't exactly asking for your permission but more or less warning you that he couldn't hold off anymore.

"Yeah? You wanna cum?" You asked, peering into his bedroom eyes and examining his flushed, pink cheeks and the way he kept licking his lips. "More than anything, ma'am," he whimpered, his eyelids growing heavy and his mouth falling open.

"Only because you've been such a good boy," you commented, caressing his jawline with your thumb and moving your hand to his throat. You gripped his neck, lightly choking him which sent him over the edge.

A few strangled moans passed through his lips as his eyes rolled back and his head gently thumped against the headboard again. His climax hit him like a freight train, barreling through him and sending a jolt of pleasure through his whole body.

He shot his load up into you as you finished onto him, the room filling with both of your satisfied sounds. You involuntarily dug your nails into the flesh of his neck, intensifying how good it felt for him. You slumped forward, pulling him into a warm embrace as you throbbed around him.

"Chris, I've been wanting to do that forever," you breathlessly whispered into his ear. "Maybe I should make you jealous more often, huh? It really seems to get your attention," Chris smugly remarked, smirking at you. "Oh, sweetie. You don't have to try to get my attention. You just always have it."

taglist: @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @sturniolosweets @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova @stellarsturns @lelesturniolo @sturniolodoll @ilovemattsturn @blahbel668 @fratboychrisera

[lunajay33]

My Princess

•🪽🦇💙•

Summary: You are Feyres sister and have always been shy but when everything happens and you and your sisters become Fae, you find yourself falling in love with the mysterious shadow brother

Pairing: Azriel x Feyres sister

Content: Sneaking around, fluff, smut, getting caught

•Masterlist•

I never thought much about how my life would turn out, living in a run down home with my three sisters and father gave me no hope for what could come, I thought I would die young of either illness or starvation, I always tried to help Feyre when I could just to help and get away from Nesta and Elain, they never liked me much, I am I second youngest and they liked to point out every flaw of mine

But then one day everything changed when we were kidnapped and thrown into a cauldron changing out forms, from human to far, Nesta took an immense amount of power, Elain could feel the future and me, well I haven’t shown anyone what I’ve discovered, I can morphe into the shadows, dissapear whenever I want, it came in hand when Nesta would get in one of her fits with who ever dared step up to her

But then one night as I was slipping into the shadows I met the most adorable little tendrils of shadow that seemed were alive, they were all over me swirling around with what I assumed was joy as they led me to Azriel, he was quiet like me and I found comfort in that silence but never had the never to approach him until the shadows brought me right into his room, as I’m in the shadow of his book shelf

Noticing him straighten up and peer around as his shadows spoke to him

“I know you’re here” my heart leapt, I shifted back into my fae solid form and stood before him nervously

“So you are gifted after all” he stood infront of me, shirtless showing his broad shoulders and ripped body

“Ummm yeah, please don’t tell the others”

“And why not?” I shrugged unsure of why I had to explain my reasonings only making him smirk

“You’re not like your sisters, you’re…….different”

“Different bad?”

“No different good, you’re intriguing and mysterious, you don’t put everyone out there”

•

From that day forward we kept our nightly meetings between eachother and it was sooooo easy, sneaking through the shadows right to his room, we started just talking and getting to know eachother but along the way I fell for him, how could I not he’s so beautiful inside and out and one night when all the others were busy getting drunk at a bar I felt my soul meld with his and his mine

That night we accepted the bond and we haven’t been able to stop, it’s been a week and our hunger for eachother hasn’t been quenched and it’s getting harder to hide this relationship

“Do you think we should tell the others?” I ask him as we catch our breathes, my head resting in his shoulder, his hand dragging up and down my back

“If that’s what you want my angel, but I can’t say sneaking around doesn’t make things more hot” he smirks as he grips my hip

“Maybe just a little longer” I giggle as I turn and straddle his legs laying forward on his chest

“Ready for more already?” His voice got deeper sending shivers down my spine

“Are you able to” I love to tease him knowing he has taken me multiple times in one night

“Please woman” he grabs my hips and grinds them up and down his hardening dick, I’ve heard about the girls talking about the comparison between wingspans but there is absolutely no way Rhys or Cassian could be bigger than my man, he nearly splits me apart

“I love you Azriel” I moan as he slowly stretches me out

“Not as much as I love you Angel, fuck you feel so good” at this angle he was just hitting every part just right it was impossible to keep quiet

“Oh god more I want more” I scream when he thrusts up into me faster and faster

“OH AZRIEL YES RIGHT THERE” I scream not even caring right now who here’s

“So good, mother above I’ll never get enough of you” right as I’m about to be in heaven the door bursts open and everyone in the group is standing there wide eyed and mouths hanging

“Ummmm what the hell is going on” Nesta shouts anger written all over her face

Azriel sits up and holds me closer covering my body

“Can we have a moment to get decent” he groans his shadows pushing the others out and slamming the door

“I’m nervous, did you see the way Nesta and Elain were looking at me?” He pulled out and helped put his shirt on me as he pulled on his own sweatpants

“Don’t worry it’ll be fine come on!” He took my hand and led me downstairs to where everyone was sat around in the living room

“Congrats brother!” Cassian congratulated Azriel patting him on the back

“How long has this been going on?” Feyre asks with a little smile as she sat next to Rhys

“Well we’ve been talking for a while at night but then last week our mating bond happened and we accepted immediately” I say holding his hand tighter

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Rhys asked

“Obviously she knows she’s not good enough to be with him I mean look at her” Nesta laughed, I hung my head low before Azriel pulled me in at the waist

“Watch your mouth, don’t think I can’t destroy your life just because you’re the high ladies sister

“She’s not wrong” Elain whispered but we all heard

“That’s enough they had their reasons and it’s their relationship, Nesta and Elain you need to leave her alone I’ve had enough of you two always bashing on her just because you know she’s better than you, I’m happy for you sister” Feyre smiles

“You can go to the family cabin if you wish while still in your mating faze” Rhys adds looking happy for his brother the next instant in standing in the cabin Azriel holding me tight from behind

“You know they’re not right, your as pretty as the stars” he says placing kisses up my neck

“Thank you Az, now how about we get back to what we started”

“Don’t have to ask me twice”

[mocha-crexm]

kunizai week day 1 — first snow ❄️

—————

knkdz week is hosted on twt (x) !!

please go check it out under the #KnkdzWeek2024 tag

or through @/KnkdzWeek2024 !! https://x.com/knkdzweek2024?s=21&t=fPQo78-AgU7vbA_KfjpOtw

[rose-bunny-28]

Mama's boy...

[bagopucks]

J. Hughes - Joe Cool

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): fighting, brief mention of physical abuse, aggressive cussing, angst

The comeback fic long as fuck so I’m not proofreading more than once :)

—————————————

Halloween was my favorite holiday. A time for spooky movies and fall decor. Fun candies and dressing up to party. Nothing was better, especially when the leaves began to change and fall from the trees. And in New Jersey, it was one of the most beautiful times of the year. At least I thought.

The leaves bad barely begun to change before I could feel my season turning sour. Will, my boyfriend, had never been a great guy, but the last slivers of hope I’d been clinging to were beginning to slip from my hands. He insulted me in front of his friends, called me names, grabbed me too hard. I kept telling myself it was just the way he was. That we played hard. That he’d learned it from his father. He just needed time to fix himself. But the longer I stayed the worse it got.

Our last argument was over Halloween costumes. I’d given him weeks, and countless ideas to choose from. I couldn’t say why it was the straw that broke the camels back, but when he kept saying nothing sounded good, I had finally lost it. We fought long and hard the night we broke up, before I had finally kicked him out of my apartment. Will was an awful human anyhow. My best friend had always told me as much. I just never listened.

Weeks passed, and I kept myself distracted with the friends I had close. A few of my girls came over, as well as Jack, from time to time. Well… especially Jack.

“So, I know it’s still a little early and stuff but..” Jack paused as he picked up a slice of pizza and set it on his plate, swiftly returning to my living room. “You plan on going out for Halloween?”

I shrugged at the question.

“All my girl friends already coordinated their costumes. I don’t wanna fifth wheel any of them.” I really wasn’t too worried. The breakup had killed my excitement for the holiday anyhow. I waited for Jack to sit before I stretched my legs across his lap. “What are you going as?”

“Haven’t decided. I was gonna go with Luke but he got sick so.. I’m solo this year.” A soft chuckle fell from the boy’s lips. “And Nico is doing some weird thing with Timo.”

“Poor Jackie,” I teased, earning a playfully scolding look from him. We’d put on some Disney Halloween movie, but neither of us had paid much attention to it. We sat in silence for a moment before Jack looked up from his plate, watching me.

“You know Nico said you could come to the Devils party.” He offered.

“Jack-“

“The girls miss you. They haven’t seen you since you got with that Asshole. And I miss partying with you too.” The mention of Will made my eyes fall back to my plate.

“I don’t have anyone to dress up with.” I gasped as Jack pinched my ankle in response. I leaned forward and swatted at him in retaliation.

“Me!” He shouted through laughter, trying to shield himself. Once his words registered, I relaxed. “Me! You can dress up with me.” His concerned expression shifted into peace once he realized I was done attacking him.

“I don’t know.”

“Look, you don’t have to go, but I’d love to see you there. Everyone would.”

I sat in silence and mulled over the idea. What if it was too early? What if I ended up crying halfway through the night? How would I find a costume?

“Jack.. what would we even go as?”

“Easy.” His quick response surprised me. “Your favorite Halloween movie.”

“Huh?”

“Snoopy and Woodstock.” He spoke as if it was obvious. “Charlie brown?” I felt guilty about how quickly my eyes lit up. Like I wasn’t even grieving the loss of a dear lover.

“I have always wanted to do that.”

“I know.” Jack knew. Of course he did. He always did.

“God. I should have dated you instead.” The words slipped from my mouth as a joke, and my eyes fell back to my plate, completely missing the sad look in Jack’s eyes. I took a small bite of pizza, still considering the idea. “If I did go, I’d get to be Woodstock.” I laid out my only condition, half expecting Jack to say no. As if he was anything like my ex.

“I like snoopy.” His easy agreement took me by shock once again.

“You’d really let me be Woodstock?”

“Yes, of course.” Jack smiled. “You’ve got me all excited now, which means you have to go.”

“Okay, but-“

“Nope. You’re going.”

And just like that it was decided.

——

Jesper’s girlfriend had joined me in my apartment to get ready for the party. She was busy doing her makeup to be Jewel from Rio, while I dusted on a light layer of yellow eyeshadow with some bright blush. We’d had a bottle of wine open somewhere, though I couldn’t remember where we left it. Our glasses were more than full, and our hearts were just the same.

“The boys will be here soon. Are you ready to get dressed?” Nicole questioned as she dug through her various lipstick options.

“Yeah. I’ll run into my room and do that now.”

Over the week, I’d gone shopping different times to find the perfect Woodstock outfit. Jack and I had agreed to surprise one another, which only added to the excitement of actually going out. I shut my bedroom door the minute I was inside, rushing to my dresser to pull out the pieces of the costume I had laid out the night before. A yellow body suit, and a matching yellow mini skirt with layers of frills. I had bought a pair of yellow socks as well. I had never imagined myself wearing so much of the color, but once I got the outfit on and peeked in the mirror, I had to admit, I looked cute.

I rummaged through my room to find my white converses, sliding them on and grabbing a pair of sunglasses and the yellow boa I’d bought. It was a simple look, but it worked well. I performed any small adjustments on my hair in the mirror before stepping out. Nicole had already been dressed, though she wore a robe to get ready considering there wasn’t much to her outfit. Not that I blamed her. Jesper would be drooling all night, and that’s exactly what she was going for.

“Nikky!” I called as I walked down the hall into the living room. The woman quickly emerged from the kitchen, the half empty bottle of wine in her hands.

“Oh. My. God.” Her lazy grin turned into a wide smile. “You’re adorable! Jack is gonna love this!”

“Yeah?” Her reaction fueled my confidence. “You think so?”

“I know so.” She took a swig from the bottle before placing it on the coffee table. She walked over to ruffle the boa around my neck, laughing.

“Birds of a feather we must be.” She smirked at her own joke, plucking a yellow feather from my boa and a blue one from her own costume. She laid them on the table together. “A keepsake. It’s cute.” I had to agree, it was. Our phones both went off within moments of each other. Our cue to get moving. I sat on the couch to lace my shoes while Nicole ran off to find her own. We met in the kitchen to take a quick shot before rushing out the door and out of the apartment.

When we got to the car, I found Jack standing outside with a wide grin. And I must admit, his costume brought a grin to my lips as well. Big black puppy ears hung from either side of his head, connected by a small headband barely noticeable through his thick ruffles of hair. He wore a white t-shirt with a little red choker as a collar. And someone, god knows who, had drawn the black nose on for him.

“You look- adorable.” I couldn’t help but reach out for a hug. Jack met me halfway, wrapping his arms tightly around my midsection and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Thanks. Nico’s girl helped me.” Jack giggled, holding on for a second longer than anticipated. When we parted, I couldn’t help but stare. He was so cute like this.

“Come on! In the car!” Nicole opened the passenger side door, climbing in the front with Jesper.

Jack was kind enough to open the back door for me, allowing me to climb in before he did.

“Someone smells like alcohol.” Jesper commented as Nicole shut the door. She and I laughed softly.

“Nothing wrong with a little pregame.” Nicole reasoned. “Now step on it sexy.”

——

When we arrived, my nerves went through the roof. I had sobered up fairly quickly. I hadn’t seen the Devils or any of the girls in so long. I didn’t know where to start conversation, or how to even fill anyone in. But when I stepped out of the car, Jack grabbed my hand, and every single worry flew out the window.

“Everyone is gonna be so excited.” Those were the last words I remember before we walked around the house into the back yard. Then it became a blur for a while. People asked how I was, what I was up to these days, where I had been. It was all a lot. So much so that I’d felt myself slip into autopilot at some point. Though I quickly fell out of it when the excitement of my arrival calmed down and I was able to join Jack at the pong table.

“Snoopy!” I heard the familiar voice of Nico call, both Jack and I turning for only a moment to see the Swiss man approaching. Drunk off his ass.

“Hey, Nico!” Jack had been fairly tipsy as well. Hell, we all were. The only difference was Jack and I could keep our clothes on when we had alcohol in our systems. The same couldn’t be said for Nico or Timo.

After much consideration, Jack and I had agreed that we were certain they’d gone as dumb and dumber. It was only hard to tell because all they had on were the blue and orange pants. All of their other clothes were missing.

“Timo and I play you next!” Nico called, earning a nod from Jack.

The music was loud, and people were yelling louder. A never ending issue of noise. Couples ran in and out of the house, some were in the pool, others at the small homemade bar, and others around the food table. But Jack and I hadn’t moved from the pong table in around 15 minutes. We were the best. We had been since high school.

“You know you look really good tonight?” I called toward Jack, fishing a ping pong ball out of a solo cup.

“Huh? Oh! Thanks! You look pretty too!” We went silent.

“Pretty?” I asked.

“Of course, beautiful.” Jack downed the shot from the cup I’d taken the ball from. I stared at him, surprised. Shocked?

“You don’t mean that.” I brushed the comment off nonchalantly, though Jack quickly looked at me and smirked.

“Yes I do. Of course I do.”

“Jack, stop.” I shook my head, trying to act dumb. Trying to ignore how my heart fluttered. As if I hadn’t crushed on him since high school.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeming to realize finally what he was saying. After the exchange, I threw the game, and Nico threw a fit because now he wouldn’t get to play Snoopy.

I was quick to step back from the table, announcing my need for water before I rushed toward the back door to the house. Compared to the coldness of the night air, the indoors was much warmer. As I shut the door behind myself, I let out a soft sigh, hearing voices in the living room. The girls.

I followed the sounds right to the culprits, all curled up with pillows and blankets in a circle on the floor, chatting their lives away.

“Everything okay?” Timo’s girlfriend questioned. Did I still look distressed?

“I’m alright. Just.. Jack-“ I paused. They didn’t need to know. And yet somehow the looks on each of their faces said they already did.

“Sit down. It’s chaotic outside.” Timo’s girlfriend opened a spot on the floor for me, and I made myself at home in the safety of the women.

“It’s still early.” Nicole commented. “Jack just doesn’t get that.”

“What?” I asked, incredulous.

“Nico tells me.” Anna, Nico’s girlfriend spoke up. “Jack just doesn’t wanna lose his chance that’s all.”

Lose his chance? I felt overwhelmed.

“Just don’t rush into anything you’re not ready for.” Timo’s girlfriend reasoned.

What was happening. I had been staring at the floor so long I didn’t even realize I had a room full of eyes on me. Until I looked up.

“He likes me?” I earned a nod. “And you guys knew?” Another nod.

“He hated seeing how Will treated you.” Anna spoke softly, as if that would ease my stress.

“All this time?” I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. I needed time to think. To process. To- fuck. Anything. I had waited so long for Jack only to assume he didn’t see me the same way. So I moved on with another man, only to be told he did feel the same.

A knock on the wall brought me from my thoughts. I sat up slightly and spun around only to spot Jack in the doorway. He looked stressed, and his body was swaying back and forth in the slightest.

“Hey can we talk? Upstairs?” Jack’s soft voice broke the silence. I don’t know why but I nodded, stood, and followed him up the steps. Into what I assumed was a guest room. Jack shut the door. “I’m sorry-“

“Why did you wait so fucking long?” I asked, exasperated. My tone caught Jack off guard.

“What?”

“You! You waited!” I raised my voice. “I went through all of that shit because of you!” I didn’t want to be angry. Why was I angry?

I stopped in my tracks the moment I saw the look in Jack’s eyes. Hurt. Betrayal. Shock. Then it fueled my anger, my bitterness.

“That’s not my fault..” his soft voice pushed out.

“If you would have said something I would have fucking dated you! Instead of fucking around with that asshole!” I snapped. “God damnit! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“That’s not my fault and you know it! What the fuck is wrong with you? I was there for you through everything! Every time he yelled at you and called you names! When he didn’t come home some nights or when you needed a place to stay!” Jack raised his voice, “and somehow it’s my fault?! How about it was your bad judgment!”

A mutually hurt silence fell between us. Snoopy wasn’t supposed to yell at Woodstock. They were best friends. But Woodstock had never blamed Snoopy for his hardships and suffering. I felt every emotion in my system come crashing down to sadness. Heartbreak. My body seized up, muscles so tense my arms went numb. My eyes turned glassy and I drew my lip so hard between my teeth that I tasted blood.

“Jack,” his name came out in a whisper.

“No. Fuck it. No. You said what you said. If that’s how you feel then forget it.” Jack took a backwards step toward the door. “Go home.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I ever did shit for you.” He swung the door open, almost running face first into Nicole, giving her a sideways glance before he stormed off down the steps. The tension in my body released in that very moment, my shoulders falling with a broken sob.

What had I done?

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[kingofbodyrolls]

REMMY—😭😭😭When you told me to check Tumblr because you’d left a review, I was NOT prepared for this emotional ambush 😭 The fact that you took the time to write something so thoughtful? For me?? ME??? 😭 Days have passed, and I’m still sitting here sniffling into my tea.

I’m absolutely over the moon that you’re enjoying your birthday gift so far! (Though my ignorant European ass did forget about those pesky Freedom Units again… 😂). It’s cozy without feeling cramped, right? ✨ And the way you called it a WHOLE ASS WORLD? 😭 I’m sobbing. I didn’t even think I did that much world-building for this one—I purposefully kept it light because I didn’t want to bog down the story with scene explanations and accidentally double its length. (Though let’s be real, you know I love doing that).

And yes! I normally don’t write Yoongi like this, but I decided to mix it up this time. He’s quieter, more reserved, but his actions? Oh, his actions. They’re practically shouting with love and warmth! He’s going to be there for Y/N in ways that feel so steady and genuine (don’t worry—no big bad angst! The only backstory drama is Jimin’s past, which… maybe was a spoiler? Whoops 😬).

His daughter? Adorable. Sweet, polite, playful—she’s everything 🥹 You’ll see (or should I say read). And oh, the location details! As I told you on Discord, this place is pretty far out—like five hours from the big city by car (even longer by public transport). It’s a poorer neighborhood, which is why everything is so affordable—Y/N’s house is dirt cheap compared to her city apartment.

AND JIMIN—😭😭😭 I’m actually tearing up again because this Jimin owns my entire heart. I’ve never met the man (obviously), but I poured so much of what I imagine him to be into this story. He feels so authentic to me, and I hope that comes across for you too! He’s warm, welcoming, and OH, you’re going to get so much more of him 😏

As for Y/N—YOU are Y/N! (Or not—you do you. Personally, I dissociate completely 😂 I write Y/N as someone totally different from myself.) But yes, the tea she’s drinking? Absolutely your favorite 🥰

THE BEST PRESENT YOU’VE EVER HAD??? 🥹 Now I’m straight-up bawling. I hope that’s just a sweet exaggeration, though, because surely you’ve received something better than this silly little story! Either way, I’m over the moon that it made you so happy. I was low-key terrified you might not like it 🫣Thank you so much for reading and leaving that incredible review, @remmykinsff 🫂 You know I absolutely adore you. And for the love of Jimin, don’t forget to eat! (Did you enjoy them, by the way?) Sending you all my love and a billion hugs 💜

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 1: rebirth

Having just settled into a small house on the outskirts of the bustling city, you’re drawn into the haunting melodies of your neighbor’s sad love songs, echoing through the quiet walls day after day. Concerned, you finally gather the courage to knock on his door, unsure of what to expect—only to be face-to-face with Park Jimin, the renowned singer-songwriter whose voice has touched millions. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness soon unravels into something far more complex, as the melodies of his heart beckon you closer.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.6k → Warnings + triggers: nothing much, just heartache and small misunderstandings 🤭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Hi!!! How are you doing?? 😄 I hope you’re as excited about this new series as I am (and I really, truly mean it when I say this might be my last series for a long while… so buckle up, it’s going to be a ride!). Now, before you go thinking I’m just setting myself up for failure, let me be real with you: my last Jimin series didn’t exactly set the world on fire—sigh. But I adore it, like, adore it. (I know, I’m biased, but can you blame me?) Soooo, this time, we’re going for a more “mainstream” vibe. Think heavily inspired by Jimin’s album Muse (seriously, his whole vibe in that is chef’s kiss), sprinkled with some Face flavor, and, honestly, just Jimin being Jimin. Because, let’s face it—he’s my bias, and I’m OBSESSED. Like, full-on crush mode. So, yeah, it’s basically me writing about my ultimate crush 😳 Now, let’s clear the air about the smut—I’m not going all-out with it here (though there will be some spicy moments, don’t worry 😉). Why? Well, I have a sneaky feeling this series is going to do okay (I mean, I adore these characters so much already 🥹, but engagement might be a different story). So, I’m going to save my energy for what really matters to me—the heart and soul of the story, instead of focusing too much on the smut (which, honestly, I’m not as into writing as I used to be). Okay, okay—back on track. I’m super excited to share this story with you, and I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don’t forget to tell me your thoughts—whether you love it, hate it, or just want to fangirl over Jimin with me ✨ This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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“Why the hell do you have so many boxes?” Yoongi groans, his voice slicing through the quiet winter air as he hefts a particularly heavy one—something he clearly should have let Namjoon handle. His breath fogs up like ghostly clouds, a silent testament to the biting cold.

You stand by the moving truck, arms crossed, the chill curling around you like an unwelcome scarf. The streetlamp above flickers weakly, casting long shadows over the small gathering of your life in boxes. You shiver, not just from the cold but from the weight of this moment—watching your brother Yoongi and your best friend Namjoon haul the sum of your memories into the truck, piece by piece, bound for a new beginning.

It wasn’t your choice to leave; the landlord had pulled the rug out from under you with a sudden hike in rent you couldn’t possibly manage. But this wasn’t just an ending. There was a glimmer of hope in the move—a small house on the outskirts of the city with a garden that you could already see yourself tending, sunlight warming your face. Perfect wasn’t something you’d often dared to dream of, but this felt close enough to touch.

Namjoon heaves the final box into the truck and straightens with a satisfied grin. “That’s the last of it. We managed to fit everything,” he says, his breath visible in the frost-tipped air.

Yoongi, less triumphant, leans against the truck, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened by exhaustion. “Not a lot of stuff, huh? Then why does everything weigh as much as a small planet?”

You roll your eyes at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Tiny apartments don’t leave room for a lot of stuff,” you murmur, thinking of your now-abandoned shoebox of a home. What you own might not fill much space, but every piece carries its own story, its own weight. To them, it’s just heavy. To you, it’s everything.

“Yoon, you should really hit the gym more,” you tease, your voice laced with playful scorn, though the grin on your face betrays your fondness. The sibling bond—a language of its own, fluent in jabs and unspoken affection.

“Are you calling me weak?” Yoongi snaps, his tone sharp, but the flicker of indignation in his eyes is almost theatrical. He knows the answer. You know he knows. It’s part of the game.

You laugh, the sound light and unbothered, a knowing glint in your eyes as you glance at his slender arms. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

Before the exchange can escalate, Namjoon steps between you with a calm authority that feels as solid as the ground beneath your feet. “Alright, easy, you two. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting. Yoongi, you drive.”

Yoongi scoffs, letting your remark go as he shoots you a withering look that doesn’t quite land. He climbs into the driver’s seat with a practiced air of resignation, his fingers brushing over the steering wheel as Namjoon closes the back of the truck with a satisfying clunk.

The three of you settle inside the truck, and silence slips in, gentle and familiar, as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. The radio crackles to life, filling the space with the soft strains of a slow love song. The melody spills out like liquid silver, sad yet hopeful, and the singer’s voice—a perfect blend of sweetness and longing—wraps around you like a blanket against the cold.

Your chest tightens as the words begin to take root, burrowing into the quiet corners of your heart: “Even though I was pitch black, I can’t stop thinking about you all day long. Without you knowing, I want to take one step, then another, closer to you. Stay with you. I will be your reason. I hope this feeling reaches you.”

You stare out the frosted window, the aching beauty of the lyrics mingling with the soft glow of the late afternoon light. The world outside shifts and transforms as Yoongi steers the truck with steady hands, the city’s sprawling chaos giving way to the calm, snow-dusted edges of the outskirts. Frost clings to the barren trees and lonely streetlamps, their icy shimmer catching the fading sunlight like quiet promises.

There it is—your new beginning, cradled in the quiet of the outskirts. The small house stands modestly, embraced by a low, whispering hedge that frames its quaint charm. A tiny terrace juts out at the front, its stone surface dappled with the faint traces of winter frost. You remember the cozy backyard from the last time you visited—a patch of earth waiting patiently for spring to bring it to life.

Yoongi eases the truck to a stop in front of the house, the engine humming briefly before falling silent. The three of you step out, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted gravel. Your heart thuds louder with each step as you approach the door. It’s a humble thing—made of frosted glass that blurs the world on the other side, catching the dim afternoon light and casting it gently inside. You know that when the sun graces it, the whole entrance will glow like a promise.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you fit the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door creaks open, and you step over the threshold into your new home. It greets you with its smallness—barely 80 square meters—but it feels vast compared to the cramped city apartment you left behind. Here, there’s space to breathe, to begin again. And the rent, blissfully lower than what the city demanded, makes it all the sweeter.

You glance at the neighboring house—a touch larger, its lot sprawling wider—but you don’t feel envy. This space is yours. Yours to fill with laughter, with quiet mornings, with life.

Flipping the light switch, the warm glow floods the entranceway. The layout unfolds before you in inviting simplicity. The entrance flows seamlessly into a snug living room, its openness spilling into the compact kitchen. The single bedroom feels intimate but holds a delightful surprise: a small walk-in closet that sets your heart alight with possibility. The bathroom, unexpectedly spacious, feels almost indulgent—a small luxury you hadn’t dared to imagine.

You stand in the quiet warmth of the space, letting it envelop you. Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s simple. But it’s yours. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just standing in a house. You’re home.

Namjoon brushes past you with a box in hand, his footsteps purposeful. “Where should I put this?” he asks, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of settling dust.

“In the bedroom, please,” you reply, recognizing your own messy scrawl on the side of the box. He nods, disappearing down the short hallway. Moments later, Yoongi follows, arms burdened with lighter boxes this time, his silent stare speaking louder than words. You’re not sure if it’s disapproval or exhaustion—or maybe a mix of both.

Together, the three of you move with practiced rhythm, unloading the truck, the occasional grunt of effort punctuating the soft winter stillness. One by one, your belongings find their way inside, until finally, after an hour and a half, the truck stands empty. Inside, your life now lies in disarray—boxes scattered like misplaced puzzle pieces across the small living room. Thankfully, the heavier furniture already sits snug in its designated spots, thanks to Namjoon’s methodical eye for order.

You all collapse onto the sofa, a symphony of sighs and tired exhales filling the room. The cushions envelop you like a long-awaited embrace, and you lean back, the ache in your muscles giving way to a fleeting moment of peace.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Yoongi asks, his tone more dutiful than eager. You catch the subtext immediately: he’s ready to leave, and who could blame him?

“No, I’m good,” you reply with a grateful smile, sinking further into the plush comfort of your sofa.

But Namjoon isn’t done yet. “Can we make dinner for you before we go?” he offers, sitting up straight as if a second wind has just hit him. You wave him off, declining politely, but he shakes his head, determined. “I saw a grocery store just down the street. Yoongi and I will grab a few things, and then he’ll cook for you.” He’s already on his feet, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Yoongi remains rooted to the sofa, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between incredulous and annoyed. “You think I’m going to cook for my baby sister?” he scoffs, throwing you a pointed look.

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes like an exasperated parent. “What, are you planning to let your family starve?”

Yoongi’s brows twitch as he fires back, “She’s over thirty. She’s a grown-ass adult. She can take care of herself.”

Your lips part, ready to volley something back, but before you can, Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s arm, hauling him to his feet with an ease that speaks of strength and familiarity. “Come on, Mr. Grown-Ass-Adult,” he says dryly, shoving Yoongi’s coat into his hands while slipping into his own.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight it. As Namjoon steers him toward the door, he casts a helpless glance back at you, like a cat begrudgingly herded.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, his voice brimming with cheerful authority. “Relax. Or unpack. Your choice.”

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you in the stillness of your new home, the faint scent of winter air lingering. You let out a soft laugh, your heart warm despite the cold. Family might be exhausting, but they’re also everything.

Then the door closes, and for the first time today, you’re alone. The silence wraps around you like a fragile shell, amplifying the creak of settling walls and the faint hum of distant life. You sink into the sofa, letting the stillness settle, until your ears catch something unexpected—a faint thread of melody, a guitar’s quiet murmur drifting through the air.

Curiosity tugs you upright, your steps soft against the floor as you follow the sound. In your new bedroom, you pause, pressing your hand to the wall. The music is clearer now, gentle and raw, strings bending under someone’s practiced fingers. Your new neighbor, perhaps? The thought lingers as you drift back to the kitchen, the faint melody becoming a backdrop to the rustle of cardboard and clinking pans. You begin to unpack—the pans your brother will use to cook, the utensils that clatter together like an impromptu percussion. Cooking has always been his way of showing love, and you can’t wait to taste the comfort it brings.

As you move through the small kitchen, time slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You make progress—each box emptied feels like a small triumph. The living room is next, and though you didn’t bring much, your touch begins to transform the space into something warm, something yours.

The sharp chill of winter sweeps in as the front door swings open, announcing Namjoon and Yoongi’s return. Cold air rushes past them, carrying the earthy scent of snow and fresh groceries. Shoes and coats are shed in a flurry of motion, and Namjoon drags his bags to the counter, while Yoongi mumbles something under his breath—his version of commentary that you’ve long learned to ignore. Yoongi grumbles as he hauls two bags into the kitchen, while Namjoon shoulders four with ease, a playful smirk on his face as he shakes the cold from his hair. Your brother dives into the kitchen, already rifling through drawers to find the pans you just unpacked.

As you help Namjoon sort the groceries, you note their choices: fresh greens, vibrant vegetables, sturdy staples like rice, beans, and coconut milk. Practical and thoughtful, as always. Your brother doesn’t waste time, snapping orders your way to chop this and rinse that. Namjoon, wisely, steers clear of the chaos and retreats to the sofa, knowing better than to tempt fate near a knife.

You and Yoongi move seamlessly, a practiced rhythm born of years of shared meals and unspoken communication. The kitchen fills with the sizzling symphony of cooking: onions crackling, garlic blooming in fragrant waves, and the gentle stir of sauces melding together. The aroma wraps itself around you, warm and grounding, a promise of the meal to come.

When the food is done, the three of you gather at your small round dining table. The plates are filled with comfort—steaming rice, perfectly cooked vegetables, and savory flavors that speak of home. Yoongi hums faintly in approval as he eats, his silence a language of contentment. Namjoon, ever the conversationalist, smiles wide as he asks about the neighborhood. You don’t know much yet, but his enthusiasm fills the gaps.

The meal lingers, rich and satisfying, until the plates are empty and the room carries only the faint scent of what was. They stand to leave, hugs exchanged at the door, their warmth momentarily shielding you from the cold creeping back in. As they drive off, the truck rattling softly into the night, the quiet returns. But this time, it feels different. Not empty.

Your home, though still half-full of boxes, feels alive now, touched by their presence. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Silence settles again, fragile and heavy—except for that faint sound of a guitar, now joined by a man’s voice. It drifts through the stillness, soft and haunting, the kind of melody that reaches into places you didn’t know were aching. From the little you can hear, his voice holds a quiet sorrow, tinged with a beauty that seems almost too fragile for this world. Wrapped in the haze of a full belly and the gentle pull of exhaustion, you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. The music lulls you, and before you know it, sleep claims you.

When you wake, it’s to the sharp protest of stiff muscles, your body groaning in rebellion. You stretch, long and languid, wincing as you ease into movement. The living room light is still on, casting a warm but tired glow across the scattered boxes. Reaching for your phone, you blink at the screen: Saturday morning.

A sigh escapes you, accompanied by another stretch, your bones clicking softly in protest. As you yawn, the faint strands of music that lulled you to sleep the night before have grown bolder, louder, weaving through the quiet morning air. It’s coming from next door, a melody more insistent now, rising and falling like a tide against your walls.

You pause, half-annoyed, half-curious. Who plays music so loudly on a Saturday morning? Still, it isn’t unpleasant. The sound curls around you, melancholy and mesmerizing, coaxing goosebumps to bloom along your arms.

Shaking off the morning grogginess, you shuffle into the kitchen to make tea, the faint chill of the floor against your bare feet grounding you. As the kettle hums and hisses to life, your attention drifts back to the music. This song, like the one before, carries a sadness that pierces through its beauty, the kind of sorrow that feels personal yet strangely universal.

You sip your tea slowly, the warmth unfurling through your chest, and let the notes wrap around you. The lyrics, muffled but achingly tender, float into your thoughts. A sad love song, you think—heartache distilled into sound.

And then, for a fleeting moment, your mind wanders. Who is your neighbor, and what might they be feeling? It’s hard not to wonder. To play songs like this on a quiet Saturday morning—it speaks of longing, of loss, of someone trying to untangle the knots of their heart.

Exhaustion anchors you to the couch, your body heavy with the weight of weeks spent unpacking, working, and simply trying to adjust. The hours blur together as you let yourself drift, half-lost in the steady stream of music flowing from your neighbor’s house. Sad love songs, one after another, their melodies curling through the air like smoke, filling the silence with their ache. At least your neighbor has good taste; the voice is mesmerizing, familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory. And then it clicks: you’ve heard it before, floating from car radios or playing softly in cafes.  

Nearly two weeks slip by, the days stacked like unopened letters. Despite the proximity, you’ve yet to meet your enigmatic neighbor, though their music has become an unintentional soundtrack to your life. Namjoon, ever the social butterfly, has nudged you more than once to pay them a visit. “Just say hi,” he urged, grinning. But socializing hasn’t exactly been high on your list, not when there are boxes to unpack, deadlines to meet, and your energy drained to its dregs.  

Still, a seed of worry takes root. The songs haven’t changed—still steeped in longing, still carrying that unshakable sadness. Day after day, it’s as if the house next door is exhaling heartbreak. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, ask about the neighborhood, and gently check if everything’s okay.  

Which is how you find yourself walking up the snow-dusted path to your neighbor’s door, nerves prickling like the winter air against your skin. Their house looms larger than yours, its quiet elegance a subtle reminder of its age and stature. Even the door, frosted glass like your own, feels imposing—a pale barrier between curiosity and the answers waiting behind it.  

Your footsteps crunch softly on the frozen ground as you approach. You hesitate, your breath clouding in the cold, before raising a hand to knock. For good measure, you press the doorbell too, its chime echoing faintly into the stillness.  

And then you wait, heart thrumming in quiet anticipation.  

The music drifts out from the house, faint yet achingly persistent, wrapping around you like the winter chill. You shift on your feet, blowing warmth into your hands, impatient as the cold nips at your nose and fingers. Just as the thought of retreating crosses your mind, the door creaks open.

Your gaze lowers, meeting a pair of wide, brown curious eyes belonging to a little girl. She’s impossibly small, bundled in a sweater too big for her, her dark hair a gentle mess. Her smile, shy but sweet, carries a warmth that momentarily pushes back the frost.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through snow-covered trees. She studies you carefully, her head tilting as though trying to puzzle you out.

You return her smile, bending slightly to her level. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in next door.” A pause, then a gentle laugh. “I was getting a little worried with all the sad music coming from here. Are your parents home?”

Her smile falters, her gaze flickering downward before rising to meet yours again. There’s something heavy in her small expression, far too much for a child her age. “It’s just me and my dad,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite name.

Your heart clenches at her words, though you don’t fully understand why. She’s so young, so sweet, and yet there’s a fragility to her presence that stirs something protective in you. For a moment, you wonder about her mother, where she might be, what might have happened.

“Is your dad home?” you ask gently, your tone as soft as your smile.

She nods, stepping back into the warm glow of the house. “I’ll go get him. Please wait here,” she says, her words so polite they make you smile again. She scurries off, leaving you at the threshold with the frosty air swirling in around your feet.

As you stand there, you catch glimpses of the house’s interior: the dim light casting long shadows, the faint smell of wood and something floral, and always that music—a bittersweet tune that seeps into every corner.

When she returns, she isn’t alone. A man follows her, his presence filling the doorway.

Your breath catches, your jaw slack as your mind struggles to process the sight before you. You’d expected the father of the sweet little girl to be ordinary, unassuming. But this? This man? He’s a vision pulled straight from the realm of angels.

The first thing you notice is his presence—tall, confident, yet carrying a quiet weariness that tugs at the edges of his posture. He’s dressed simply, but somehow that makes him all the more striking. A plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled just enough to bare sinewy arms, and on his wrist, a faint tattoo peeks out like a secret. His black dress pants sit high on his impossibly small waist, falling loosely down his legs in elegant folds, a sharp contrast to the effortless way he carries himself.

And then there’s his face—soft yet devastatingly sharp, a contradiction of beauty. His jawline is so defined, it looks as if it could carve through stone, and yet his full lips, slightly parted as if mid-thought, ground him in warmth. His eyes—soft brown, tender, and framed by glasses and sleeplessness—pull you in, speaking of long nights and untold stories.

His hair, warm blonde kissed with streaks of brown at the roots, falls in uneven waves, longer in the back. It looks as if it was tousled by the wind or restless fingers, and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how effortlessly beautiful he is. A few faint birthmarks dot his skin, adding something human to a face that feels otherworldly. As he steps closer, his features soften even more, and your pulse quickens.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, soothing melody that sinks into your bones. It’s angelic yet grounded, the kind of sound that lingers, reverberating long after the words are spoken. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to exist. All your intentions, your purpose, your very reason for knocking on his door dissolve under the weight of his gaze. You can only stare, unmoored, helplessly captivated.

“This lady said she’s our new neighbor,” the girl chirps beside him, her bright voice cutting through your daze like sunlight through clouds. She looks up at her father with a grin, and he nods, clearing his throat.

He steps closer, extending a hand toward you, the motion deliberate and polite. His hand is warm when it meets yours, soft in a way that belies the calluses at his fingertips—marks of labor, of skill, of a life lived. 

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he says with a gentle smile, and you realize your heart is racing, thundering in your chest like it’s trying to escape.

“My name is Jimin, and this is my daughter, Hwa-Young,” he says, his voice soft yet resonant, like the distant hum of a melody that refuses to be forgotten. It’s only then that you realize—mortifyingly—that you’re still holding his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you far too much. With a jolt, you release it, your cheeks burning like embers, the sting of your foolishness wrapping itself around you. This is why you don’t talk to people, you scold yourself silently. You’re a mess. A fool.

The moment blurs, and you barely register Jimin’s words as he politely repeats something—was it your name? Before you can respond, Hwa-Young steps in, her voice clear and chiming with youthful certainty. “Her name is Y/N,” she declares with the pride of someone who’s solved a puzzle.

Jimin smiles, his expression warm enough to melt the frost clinging to your thoughts, and opens the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, Y/N?”

You nod mutely, words lodged somewhere between your heart and throat. Speaking feels too dangerous; your silence, you hope, can’t betray how tangled your thoughts have become.

Inside, the house welcomes you with a kind of quiet charm. You peel off your coat and shoes, swapping them for a pair of slippers left by the entryway. The hallway leads you into a living room bathed in soft, creamy tones, its minimalist style broken only by the unmistakable fingerprint of family. Children’s drawings hang on the walls in uneven rows, their vibrant colors a stark but beautiful contrast to the muted decor. A small clay sculpture, wobbling slightly on its base, sits proudly on a side table. It feels like stepping into a story—a place where every corner holds a piece of life lived and loved.

Jimin gestures toward the sofa, and you sink into its inviting cushions, the fabric soft against your fingers. Hwa-Young follows, nestling beside you with a quiet familiarity, her presence grounding. From the nearby kitchen, the faint clatter of porcelain and the rustling of tea packets signal Jimin’s quiet movements.

The room feels alive with warmth, not just from the home itself but from the gentle energy of its inhabitants. You take it all in—the way the light filters through the curtains in golden streaks, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the hum of boiling water, and the soft chatter of a child’s imagination as Hwa-Young shows you a paper star she made.

You glance toward the kitchen, where Jimin moves with unhurried grace, and a strange calm settles over you. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected meeting wasn’t such a mistake after all.

“Are you from the city?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice bright with curiosity, her smile tugging at the corners of her youthful face. You nod, mirroring her smile with one of your own.

“Yes, I just moved in about two weeks ago,” you reply, the words tumbling out like snowflakes in the quiet. “How old are you?”

“I just turned ten!” she exclaims, her voice brimming with pride, her grin wide and unrestrained. Somehow, the innocence in her joy stirs something deep within you, a warmth that begins to thaw the cold edges of your weary heart.

“Congratulations,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap as if to hold the fragile moment still.

Jimin enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sets them gently on the coffee table, the soft clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence. With effortless grace, he disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water for his daughter. As he takes his seat in a plush chair opposite you, his presence feels both calming and grounding, like the steady rhythm of a familiar song.

“How are you liking the town so far?” he asks, his voice carrying a soothing cadence, as if he’s accustomed to drawing out answers with kindness alone.

Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow softly on the surface of the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward like a wisp of memory. “I like it so far,” you say, your tone reflective, as though you’re still making sense of this new chapter in your life.

The faintest flicker of realization ignites, and you remember the reason for your visit. You set the mug down, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. Between work and unpacking, I’ve barely had a chance to explore. But, actually…”

He takes another sip of his tea, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. The delicate curve of his lashes, impossibly long and casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, draws your attention. His lips—pink, full, and unassuming—meet the edge of the mug, and for a brief, absurd moment, you find yourself wondering how something so simple could be so captivating.

What are you even thinking? You shake off the thought, clearing your throat.

“Ah, yes,” you stammer, a little too loudly. “I couldn’t help but notice…” You trail off, grappling for the right words. “I’ve heard a lot of sad songs coming from your house since I moved in, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Like, not…heartbroken or anything?”

Your words hang in the air, an awkward tangle of concern and curiosity, and you silently curse yourself for blurting them out. Was that a question or a statement? Even you aren’t sure.

But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile—and for a split second, his eyes vanish into crescents of warmth. His teeth peek out, slightly crooked, but so charming it nearly takes your breath away. Running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, he chuckles softly, his laugh like a melody in itself.

“Oh, that’s me. I’m the one guilty of all the sad music,” he admits, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that makes you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness.

Your brow furrows in thought as you tap your pointer finger against your lips, the name of the voice eluding you. “What’s the name of the artist? I know I’ve heard him on the radio, but I just can’t place it…”

His smile blooms, radiant and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling into crescents of pure light. “That’s me,” he says, a giggle escaping his lips, soft and melodic like the hum of a lullaby.

You blink at him, utterly perplexed, your mind spinning as you try to piece together what he could mean. “Sorry?” you venture hesitantly, hoping for clarity, your confusion painted plainly across your face.

“The artist,” he explains, his voice effortlessly calm and sure, “is Park Jimin. And I’m Park Jimin.”

The name lands in your ears, but it takes a second longer for the meaning to sink in. His daughter bursts into delighted laughter, while you sit frozen, your expression surely something straight out of a cartoon—wide eyes, jaw unhinged, disbelief written all over you.

Your thoughts race, chasing one another in circles. His voice, angelic and hauntingly beautiful, had felt familiar from the moment you heard it. And suddenly, the puzzle clicks into place. The songs—the ones that wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace—were his. His.

Your eyes dart toward one of the rooms down the hall, where the music had been flowing endlessly up until the moment he greeted you. But now, the silence is palpable, a stillness that confirms your dawning realization. It wasn’t the stereo at all. It was him.

“Daddy, show her a song!” Hwa-Young pipes up, her small voice brimming with excitement as she hops off the couch and scampers toward a room. The door is ajar, revealing a glimpse of equipment and scattered papers.

Jimin’s smile softens, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle invitation. Without a word, he rises and gestures for you to follow. And as though caught in a spell, you do, your curiosity pulling you forward.

His studio is a world unto itself—a symphony of black and white, sleek lines, and personal chaos. Guitars in all shapes and sizes line the walls, their polished bodies gleaming under soft light. A microphone stands at attention, its cable curling like a lifeline to the scattered pages of sheet music littering the desk and floor.

It’s not just a room; it’s a glimpse into his soul, a sanctuary of sound and vulnerability. You can’t help but let your gaze linger, taking in the effortless beauty of it all.

Hwa-Young leaps onto the couch with a boundless energy that only a child can muster, the cushions bouncing under her weight. She pats the spot beside her, a silent invitation laced with an innocent warmth. You accept, settling in as Jimin crosses the room with a quiet confidence, his every movement purposeful yet unassuming. He retrieves an acoustic guitar, its wood glowing faintly under the soft overhead light, and perches on a nearby stool.

“Play her that new song, dad,” Hwa-Young beams, her voice lilting with pride and affection. She leans back into the couch, her tiny frame dwarfed by its embrace, but her presence fills the room.

Jimin nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and then his fingers meet the strings. A single strum reverberates, low and tender, a sound that seems to dissolve the walls and pull you into a different world. 

And then he sings.

His voice flows like a stream over smooth stones—gentle, searching, yet laced with a fragile ache. Feather-light and haunting, it brushes against you, delicate as a whisper yet powerful enough to root you in place. “We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world,And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?If every day I think about her,Yeah, every day of my life.Then tell me why I haven’t found her.”

Each note hangs in the air like a secret meant only for this moment, for you, for the stillness that has settled over the room. Your mind empties, swept clean by the sheer beauty of his voice, each syllable carrying raw emotion that you can’t help but feel, though it’s not your story to claim.

You watch him, this man who pours his heart so freely before a stranger, as if vulnerability were as natural as breathing. His fingers dance over the strings with practiced ease, but it’s the weight in his voice—the yearning, the quiet pain—that lingers in your chest.

A flicker of a question rises, unbidden, as you take in the scene—a renowned singer-songwriter, his talent unmistakable, living humbly in this crappy and cheap neighborhood. Why here? Why this place, when his voice alone could carry him anywhere? But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms, lost in the tide of his music. At this moment, none of it matters.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: soooo?? Tell me everything! What do you think about Jimin? Is he stealing your heart yet, or is it his adorable daughter who’s totally got you wrapped around her tiny finger? 👀💜 And don’t even get me started on what’s coming next... are you excited? Nervous? Ready to cry?? Because trust me, the next chapter has all the feels™. Let’s hear your thoughts—I’m dying to know!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[susiekern]

7. the one with a challenge

a/n: I've been fighting with tumblr for TWO DAMN DAYS to post it, so I really hope you enjoy

warnings: swearing, suggestive ig

word count: 1.227

lyrics from: The Apparition & Jaws - Sleep Token

masterlist

“No way.”

“Way.”

The face that Megumi makes rips a laugh from you. It was your classic evening meeting, but since the weather was tragic for the past few days, you’ve ditched the rooftop, settling in your room instead. Lying on your bed with a couple of snacks and a respectful distance between you, you’ve spent the last hour catching up. With how busy Megumi was in the past few weeks, your talks were usually short, and there were fewer of them. Somehow you only now told him about the DM from Zenin, but the amount of strength it took not to scream about it as soon as he stepped into your apartment? You deserve a medal.

“Maybe it’s some sort of ‘be kind to your lamest fan’ charity event. You know, like make a wish.” He says, and you flip him off.

“Maybe I’m just cool as fuck and someone finally appreciates that?” You counter.

“Nah, I’d bet on the charity.” Fushiguro laughs a little when you groan and shove a pillow towards him. For a moment you close your eyes and enjoy the peaceful atmosphere, something you lacked in the past days. Working on a new collaboration, streaming, and maintaining your life at the same time was a bit tiring and mostly overwhelming. That’s why you appreciate the calm evening more than usual. You and Megumi talking about the events of this week, the room illuminated just by the fairy lights, music playing in the background from your PC… it’s nice and relaxing. Very much needed for probably both of you. Mr. Guitarist was close to being done with recording the songs for his job, so he stopped spending almost every waking hour of the day in the studio. You can clearly see that he’s tired, but when you commented on it, he shrugged and said it was more important for him to create something he’d be proud of than sleep for healthy 8 hours.

“What’s with the aggression?” Sudden question silences the thoughts in your head, but you keep your eyes closed still.

“What do you mean, aggression?”

“That’s the fourth time you hit me with a pillow. I got two kicks to my shins and a mean fist in the arm.” He counts all of your attacks, and you peer at him.

“I’ll never believe that this fist hurt you in the slightest. For someone who barely eats and locks himself in the studio, your biceps are crazy. But okay, I suppose I’m a bit more aggressive than usual.” Megumi looks shocked, although you’re not sure if that’s because of your aggression or how easily you’ve admitted it. “It’s been a busy week, and I have a bit too much energy. And I haven’t gotten my normal dose of annoying you and Yuji.”

“Damn, first of all, I still train even when I’m working, thank you very much. And second... I don’t even know how to comment on that. You should just punch Yuji, not someone who spends time with you, and bring snacks.” With that statement, he lies back, with his arms behind his head. It’s not weird that you looked at his flexed muscles and a sliver of abs revealed by his shirt rolling up, right? God, this man is fine. Does he have to be so fine?

“Yuji just whines when I do that, though. You flex. Easy choice.” You sigh and close your eyes again, pretending like it was just a normal thing. Yes, you both sometimes threw a flirty comment here and there, never directly referring to your night together, but it was a little different.

When you were on the rooftop, it gave you the freedom of saying shit in an open space. Here, in your room, you are almost painfully aware of how close he is lying. You can feel the heat from his body and smell his perfume. And you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t doing things to you. But Megumi is no better. You’ve noticed how he eyed you up after coming, taking in your shorts, simple t-shirt, and messy hair. Or how his eyes lingered on your face for a little longer than they should.

“So, you like what you see, huh?” He turns on his side, leaning his head on one hand, his elbow keeping him up. If your eyes were open, you would see how his own trace your body, ending their path on your lips. He just needs to lean forward a little… “That makes sense, I’m the hot neighbor after all.”

“Huh?” That brings you to open your eyes and look at him with shock. Only now do you realize that the snack barrier between you two did close to nothing, given how close his face is to yours. And you do not miss how his gaze moves from your lips, but after another second or two. It’s a dangerous game, but neither of you seemed to care.

“I’ve seen your stream. Well, a part of it. How did you put it? ‘I can’t say he’s bad-looking." You’re blushing at this point. You had no idea he watched any of it, especially since he saw how you answered a question about him.

“Don’t let it get to your head. I was just entertaining the chat.” He smirks, knowing very well that’s a lie, and leans a little closer. Your heart seems to be beating to the rhythm of the Fallen song that’s playing in the background, your eyes peeking at his lips on their own.

‘And I'm not here to be

The saviour you long for’

“Sure.” His voice goes down to a whisper. The seconds go by, and you seem to be frozen, both calculating how bad it would be to take the next step.

“Megumi…” You’re whispering too, hypnotized by how intense his gaze is. You want to tell him you shouldn’t. You really do. But the amount of time you’ve spent thinking about him, about his kisses and touch, keeps you from doing it. Would it really be that bad? Doing this one more time?

“Tell me you don’t want it.” There’s a hint of a challenge in how he says it. And since when are you one to hide from a challenge?

You’re the one to kiss him first this time. His reaction is immediate; the hand that was lying on the mattress cups your cheek as Megumi tastes your lips, and you need to hold back a moan. How much you’ve missed that feeling. His touch is gentle, yet reassuring, when he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss. He moves to hover over your body, holding his weight on one arm.

‘Show me those pretty white jaws

Show me where the delicate stops’

“Fuck. I’ve wanted to do that ever since you stepped on that damn roof.” Whispering, he lowers his lips down to your jaw and neck, and your hands now move to his sides and back.

“You should’ve.” You whisper back. You don’t need to see his face to know he has that irritating smirk on, you can feel it on your skin. His hands make their way under your shirt, and he pulls himself from kissing your neck to look in your eyes. “Just one more time?”

“One more time.”

‘Show me what wounds you've got

Show me love’

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115

[renatogpadilla]

The One Where She Comes Clean.

It took Lux a full 3 seconds to process what she had just heard.

She had wondered, despite her best intentions what could her friend have possibly seen in that harrowing vision that had made her break the way she had...

Losing a daughter would do it.

Isha... Not-Isha kept going.

"She wasn't mine," She sobbed out between tired tears "but... But she was mine, you know...? She came... into my life at my lowest p-point... And for seven m-months... S-seven beautiful months, she... she made it so... so b-bright! My Isha.... my.... my p-perfect, beautiful baby girl!"

She couldn't hold it in any longer. Lux hugged her friend, both of their eyes filled with tears, as she sobbed into her arms.

They didn't know how long they'd stayed like that. It didn't matter. Eventually, the tears stopped... slowly. Her eyes were burning. Everything hurt.

Jinx managed to talk. "I... Listen, Lux. You saved me too. In more ways than one... And I want to be honest with you. If anyone knows, I want it to be you... but...." How do you even start?

"If you're not there yet, I understand. I won't push. When you're ready, I'll be here." Jinx wondered if Lux was this sincere all the time or if she just put on a pretty face for her... Either way, she couldn't have asked for a better friend right now.

"I think I genuinely don't deserve a friend like you." Jinx meant that. She really didn't deserve her.

"Well, suck it up, Firework." Lux had to push that out of her throat. She just told you about her dead daughter and you're trying out nicknames?! "You're stuck with me. And I don't plan on leaving you alone."

"...Firework?" She could not let Lux know how much she actually liked that. She had an image, dammit!

"Hey, you call me 'Flashlight'!" It wasn't a chuckle so much as a sputtered breath that left her mouth, but the feeling came across.

"Okay, fine. That's fair." Something in her still feared telling Lux everything...

She didn't know where to go from here... Lux was staying the night. Should she offer tea? She didn't have cookies or anything. She should have had cookies! What kind of witch didn't have cookies to lure children into the woods with?! She had to step her game up when she stopped feeling so depressed...

"But... If not your birth name" Which was a shame, because Lux found 'Powder' really cute "and not your other name... What do I call you?"

And here she had to take a gamble... In her mind, she was praying to Janna or whatever other spirit could hear that the name of the most wanted criminal in Piltover-Zaun hadn't reached Demacia... Or at least not Lux.

She wanted to be honest. But she had to brace herself first. "I can be... completely truthful with you, right?"

"Always. I'm almost offended you even had to ask!"

"Heh... I know. Listen, Flashlight. There's a part of me that's terrified to tell you."

"...Why?" Oh, did Lux want an answer to that question?

"Because..." Just say it. She took a deep breath. "Because you've told me your story. And I'm afraid that... I'm scared that if I tell you..." You wouldn't come see me anymore? You would hate me?

"You'd have to take the first step for once?" Lux didn't mean for it to be a jab, but she wanted to get out of the depression, by whatever way she could, and this girl needed to get this out.

"I'm afraid that you'd be too... Familiar with me." She could think of no other word to describe it. She was kinda glad she couldn't. "You... Um..."

"Go on, friend." And she said it so sincerely that Jinx felt her heart grow a size... She swore those eyes got bigger the longer they stared at her. "I'm not leaving."

She dared to hope. "You promise...?"

Lux actually stood up from the couch. Jinx could tell she was sore from the fight still, but she didn't let it show. And then she took a knee and put one hand over hers and another over her heart.

"I," she said, and she put the weight of the world into her words "Luxanna Crownguard, swear on my honor as a Noble, as a servant of the Crown of Demacia, on my Knighthood and on my light as a Mage, that I will not desert you. I will not run from who you are. I will not judge or hate you for what you have been through. On our friendship and on the joy you've brought me... Lest I be struck dead by the gods themselves."

Tiny lights floated around them. Lux wanted to make sure she knew she meant business. What a dramatic little lady she'd let in her hut! Welp, she'd done it now... Fuck it.

"Whatever happens now, you asked for it."

Lux just nodded her head and smiled. One more deep breath.

"You know Piltover?" She started. Might as well match her dramatics if she was going to tell her.

"The City of Progress. I've heard of the place, but I've never been..."

"Well, you'll hear a lot of stories about it. About how they have the most beautiful skyline and how their technology is second to none... It's alright. They're good, I guess. But what they won't tell you is that their glorious city sits on top of another. One that breathes the refuse of their engines. The smog of their factories... The dust beneath their boot. This is the city of Zaun. And I used to call it home."

Lux was sitting fully cross-legged on the floor now, looking up at her like she was her favorite teacher... Or like a child, hearing a new story for the first time. Jinx realized she missed being a storyteller. She liked that the theatrics she could weave into stories didn't require several hours of explosive safety prep... Like she'd ever cared about the safety prep!

"And even in this veritable hive of scum and villainy, where the air was thick with smoke and drug lords named 'Chembarons' ran the streets, there was a still a little corner of light: A section of the city, marshalled by a man named Vander. My dad. This place was called The Lanes, and smack dab in the middle of them, there was a quaint little bar called The Last Drop... And in that bar lived Vander and a gang of kids. There were four of us: There was Mylo, Claggor... my sister Violet... 'Vi'. And me. Powder. And we spent our days gathering scrap for dad to sell and keep the bar afloat... Well, at least that's what we thought. Looking back, he probably just gave us that idea so we'd feel important. Petty heists here and there, nothing too crazy. Mylo could pick any lock, Claggor was big and smart, always a step ahead of everyone else and the one who always knew the getaway route... Vi could punch like hell and I had my little gadgets. None of them worked as intended, but I was getting somewhere." She nodded her head at Pow-Pow and Fishbones on the floor. "That's one thing I can proudly say I got much better at."

"Question!" Said Lux. She actually raised her hand, the darling! "If there were just those four of you, then... Where does Ekko come in?"

Leave it to Miss 'Repressed Fairytale Princess' to immediately ask about her crush. Good to know Lux had her priorities straight!

"He hung around on occasion. He was more Benzo's kid than Vander's. He usually tipped us off to jobs the gang and I could pull. He was small and could get in anywhere if you stopped paying attention to him... He did stay with us for some time, learning how to fight with Vi... Dancing to the jukebox with me..." She had to take a moment. "You know, I don't think I ever noticed how much Ekko made me feel like a kid until you made me bring him up." He really had been there the whole time... Looking back, that crush he'd had on her was so incredibly obvious that she should have noticed, kid or not. That boy was smitten!

"Sounds like you were getting there by yourself already."

"I might've been, Flashlight... Anyhow, it was Ekko that tipped us off to the biggest heist of all. Some big-shot academy nerd over at Piltover had gotten his hands on something incredibly valuable, and now we were going to strike it rich..."

She told her about the heist on Jayce's house in detail, and while she did so, it occurred to Jinx in this moment of retrospection, that she had never actually met Jayce Talis!

The Man of Progress himself! The Father of HexTech! She'd just... stolen his marbles (and his sandwich) and ran! He made Vi those overdesigned bitch-mittens and she'd never even seen the guy outside of a couple posters or ostentatious mugs!

She wondered where he was now and if he had made it out of the scuffle with Noxus alive. After all, if he hadn't dabbled with the Arcane, she wouldn't be who she was...

Lux was completely enamoured by the story. The little band of ruffians braving the top of society to put food on the table... It was inspiring! It made her think of the struggle Mages faced now in Demacia. And Powder (she'd call her that for now, until she got a name.) had been a fighter since the beginning! And now what a woman she'd become! She could make gadgets that could bring down demons from actual Hell and explosions that outshined the moon! As far as she was concerned, she could have been anything but chose to live as a witch of the woods for the vibes!

She admired her more with every bit of her story she learned...

Little by little, Jinx told her overenthusiastic Demacian friend how everything had been downhill from the moment they'd robbed Jayce's place. The Piltie Enforcers that had killed her and Vi's biological parents now flooded the underground, looking to make an example of the undercity for what they had finally perceived to be an excuse...

She slowed down on the details after a while... And eventually, she told her about the night the rest told her to stay behind...

"I should have stayed behind... Looking back I notice that Vi was just trying her best to keep me safe. But then, I just wanted to be useful. So I went anyway... And I took a new toy with me. Filled to the brim with those magic marbles we stole. It was my biggest bomb ever. And it was gonna get them all out."

Lux could tell by her tone that it was not gonna go that way. She got up and sat on the couch with her. She'd put some tea on after she got done with this part. If she wasn't in shambles by then.

"I got there to see my friends, my sister and my dad pinned down through a small window. They'd run rampant and clobbered everyone that got in their way... Now it was my turn to help. Well... I set the little bomb through the window and let it walk off into the fray." Jinx had to stop for a moment. Lux could see in her eyes that what happened next would be heavy... Maybe she should do it now.

"Tea, friend?" She offered.

"Yes. Please. A lot. I... I think I'm going to need it..." Fuck, she missed coffee sometimes.

Lux put the kettle on. If you could call that ramshackle mechanical contraption a 'kettle'.

"If you need to stop, I understand."

"I think if I don't get it out now, I never will." Jinx owed her the truth after tonight. "I... Be patient with me? Please?"

"Of course. You don't have to ask."

Careful, Jinx. She's about to make you believe in kindness again...

While the water boiled, Lux sat down next to her friend. She made some little light balls float around them and dance a little. Nothing too crazy... It was nice that she'd managed to control her powers to the point of making little magic lanterns, but she wanted to try something new now. Something simple, for her.

"You know." Lux started "When I blasted that monster today, I felt something I'd never felt before. Like, I connected to light in a way I'd never understood... Like I could almost talk to it."

"Now who's got voices in her head?" Oh, good. Powder was making jokes now! That was great! A bit of the gloom of the night was starting to dissipate at last...

Lux shot her a playful glare and continued. "Anyways, now that I see it in that light, heh, I was wondering what would happen if I just... Asked nicely."

As she said that, she waved her hand in front of one of the little light motes she'd made... And a few seconds later, it slowly changed. From yellow, to green, to a lighter tone. A red... A purple... Until finally, a light, magical blue floated in front of them. Slowly, all the little lights changed, one by one, lighting up the hut in a blue hue that reminded her of her friend's beautiful fireworks.

She turned to look at the not-a-witch... and she saw tear roll down her face.

"It's beautiful, Flashlight." Jinx had had pretty lights lit for her before (albeit more dangerous and rebellious ones) but this was so... soft. So caring and genuinely precious... This was a gift. "I'm proud of you, for what it's worth. And I'm glad you're here."

"It's worth the world, mon ami." She leaned in close to the little sphere of light. "Thank you!" She whispered. And the little lantern glowed a little brighter. Jinx knew it was just Lux making it 'answer', but she still let herself get lost in the magic for a moment...

She drank her tea slowly... Calm your nerves. Eventually, she put her cup down and resumed her story, the new mood lighting actually calming her down a bit more than she thought. "Well, I was right about one thing: That really was the best bomb I'd ever made. So much so that even I didn't expect it to go off so... effectively. The blast sent me flying onto the street... As well as the entire building."

She'd expected, deep down, that a blue glow would make it harder to tell Lux how the bomb she'd used had killed two of her friends and her father, made her sister hate her for a decade and taken down the entire building with gods-know-how-many people still inside, but if anything, it was comforting to see a blue glow that didn't mean somebody wouldn't see tomorrow for once...

As she continued telling Lux what she'd done, she felt a pain growing on her chest. "This is it!" she thought. "If she can still care for you after she finds out you blew up children then she's sticking around for good."

"There were five of us when that explosion went off... but when the smoke cleared, it was just Vi and me." She lamented. Some days she wondered what Mylo and Claggor would have said about the life she'd led. Would they have come with her? Would they have fought against her? Would they have joined Ekko's Firelights and stayed out of it until it was their problem? Whatever the outcome, a part of her would have still cared. She'd always care. That was her own jinx. "I killed them all, Lux. I killed Mylo and Claggor and dad... And when Violet realized what happened, she... she said something. She called me something that would shape who I'd be forever. A name I took for myself the day... the night 'Powder' died. And she did die in that blast. I just didn't know it until my sister told me to my face."

She was too afraid to look at Lux. She wasn't saying anything, so maybe she was trying to process just who she'd been friends with this whole time... Jinx continued before one of them got cold feet.

"Shortly after, she was sent to jail. Pilties needed someone to blame and I was in the wind. My other dad had found me and taken me in after Vi and I fought. A crime lord named 'Silco'. The man who kept the Chembarons in check. He nurtured my curiosity. Kept me safe from the gangs... From myself. He never blamed me for what I'd done. He'd been Vander's friend before everything. I'd killed his friend, and he didn't blame me! Eventually, I grew up to be his number one closer. His little Boogeyman that exploded his enemies. And he had enemies, Lux! After Vander was gone he practically ran The Lanes, if not all of Zaun! He was a force to be reckoned with... And I was the little monster he had to make sure people stayed in line. I spent years killing my way out of facing my trauma, hearing the voices of my dead friends in my head, building my gadgets, blowing people up without a shred of remorse... Seeing my sister's face in the people I gunned down. I hated her, Lux. For years, I thought she'd left me to rot... I didn't know she'd been taken... I didn't know she still loved me. And, to be honest... Outside of Silco trying his best to be a crime lord and a part-time dad... I..." This was something she had never admitted to anyone. People who knew her could see it, of course, but she'd never said it out loud... "I didn't think I could be loved. I didn't think I deserved to be loved." And some days, when things get really rough, I still don't.

Warmth was the first feeling. Like a loving little oven had started microwaving her from the side. And when she turned, Lux was holding her tight. Her hands were glowing. Her face too! Her whole skin, dimly lit, warming up Jinx's body... She hadn't noticed she was cold. Lux just held her. And something about it melted in her heart.

"It wasn't your fault."

Those were the first words that came out of Lux's mouth.

It was words Powder had wanted to hear her entire life.

She held her back. The warmth in her chest felt like a knot that had strangled her soul for ages had finally been undone. She allowed herself to sob as Lux kept talking, and she couldn't see her face, but she knew she was crying too. The lights turned yellow again. Warm and welcoming. Like a hug. Like a home.

"You were a child. You tried to help. You didn't know. It wasn't your fault, Powder. That night, that life, will never be your fault! Okay? And if anyone ever blames you for it, I'll light them up myself!"

And for the first time, she believed it.

Her eyes were dry at this point... She was out of tears. And that was okay. It was her that kissed Lux's cheek this time. She'd never really been known to be tender, but her Flashlight had earned it. She could be soft for one person, she thought. As a treat. For both of us.

They pulled apart.

"Thank you, Flashlight. But... Not 'Powder'." She'd made up her mind now. If anything happened to Lux, she would burn Demacia to the ground. "And... not 'Isha' either."

"Alright then." Lux wiped her eyes and stretched out a hand. She wanted to know everything about this person now. "Hello, miss. I'm Luxanna. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jinx chuckled. She took her hand in hers. "Believe me, the pleasure is absolutely all mine, Luxanna." And she meant that with her whole heart...

"My name is Jinx."

[frannyzooey]

On The Green: 5

Ezra Prospect x f!reader

Rating: M — some prospecting violence

A/N: I cannot even tell you how much this chapter kicked my rear end — it would have never been finished without the love and care and hand holding of @the-scandalorian and @the-ginger-hedge-witch ❤️ Both extremely insightful in their own ways, I am eternally grateful to each of them ❤️ Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

—

All morning he’s been watching you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

The weight of his gaze on your back every time you turn around, logic argues it’s because he’s guiding you into something he knows you’re nervous about. But in the end, shame wins out. It tells you that he knows what you were doing last night while he was in the shower. You contemplate just asking him directly, if only to relieve the feeling, to get it out in the open.

Instead, you keep your mouth closed and decide to put your focus where it should be in the first place.

“Go over it again,” you ask him.

He nods underneath the dome of his helmet, carefully picking his way along a nearly invisible path.

“It’s a wreck. Been one for a while. I came across it a few cycles back, but once I saw that she was no longer functional, I cut my losses. Went through her innards, took what I could – which,” he looks back at you, “mind you, wasn’t much.”

He faces forward again, holding a branch to the side for you to pass. You step carefully over a thick root, accepting the hand that he holds out for help.

“She had been long abandoned even then, so I don’t think we’ll encounter any unsavory protectors today.”

You can tell from the state of the path that he must be telling the truth. The indentation made by long ago steps is covered by overgrowth, a trench you can only feel rather than see. The ground slopes underneath the creeping vines, the crooked line of it hidden by lush leaves. You follow his yellow suit like a beacon, the color a distinct contrast against all the green.

With each step, nerves unfurl in your stomach at the idea that he might be wrong. That there might be another person there, just as eager to keep what’s theirs as you are to take it. The feeling creeps through your veins like the thick vines that crawl over the soil, and keeping your eyes on the familiar yellow in front of you, you squash down the nervousness with every break of one under your boot.

“Slow now. She’s close.”

He holds a gloved hand out to the side, and you peek around the curve of his shoulder. Just beyond the trees, there’s a pod covered in overgrowth, a relic left behind. The windows are yellowed with age, mildew growing over their oval openings.

The hatch is closed, and the area is silent and still.

He takes careful, scouting steps and you follow close behind him.

“Weapon out, Birdie.”

Your thrower already in your grasp, you tighten your hold on it.

You focus on his breathing for a moment, slow and steady through the speaker in your helmet.

“You good?” His voice crackles over the comm link.

When you look up, he meets your gaze with a level one of his own. Patient, checking in.

At the hesitation you can feel in your expression, he reassures. “I promise you, any occupants are long gone.” Reaching out, he lifts the barrel of your thrower. “Still though, can’t be too careful.”

You nod, and he takes the lead, shielding you.

The hatch takes some strength to pry open, and though you should be more nervous about what – or who — you might find inside, you’re temporarily distracted by the sound coming through your commlink. Heavy exhales, low grunts. A low groan of exertion as he pulls, followed by a breathless sound of relief.

The crux of your thighs throbs, and as he disappears into the hatch, you scramble up behind him, right on his heels. There is a tense moment as he rounds the corner, but when he gives you the all clear, your shoulders drop their pressured weight. Relaxed, you both study the disarray in front of you.

Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust: the shards of broken monitor glass scattered on the floor, the torn seats with stuffing spilling out, the stripped panels from the wall. It’s easy to find the compartment you’re looking for: a gaping hole in the middle of the floor, wires spilling from its depths.

You curse silently. “Someone’s been in there.”

“They take everything?” he asks. Using the tip of his pistol, he nudges the lid off the top of a storage compartment and peers inside.

“I’m not sure.”

Setting your thrower and gloves to the side, you get down on all fours and reach into the open compartment. A tangle of wires obstructs your view and your fingers sift through them all, searching by touch alone.

Your arm disappears all the way up to the shoulder before you locate the sharp edge of the circuit board. Grasping it, you lift it free with a sharp tug. It takes forever to ease it out, but when you do, a grin breaks over your face.

Two converters. Worse for wear, but it’s something. Not near what you need, but it still feels like a victory nonetheless. Carefully detaching them from the board, you hold them out for his inspection, cradled in your palm.

“Look at you, my little channel rat.”

His levity sucks all of the remaining tension from the room.

You grimace. “What did you call me?”

“A channel rat. Your little scavenging fingers, digging through the depths of a ship for a treat.”

Dismissing his teasing smile, you shake your head. “Didn’t you tell me once that those things reeked of piss?”

He chuckles. “I did indeed.”

Going back to the hole in the floor, you study the wires left behind for possible scavenging. “If you call me that even one more time, I’ll shoot you in the back.”

His grin widens at your deadpan delivery.

“Deal.”

–

Back in the safety of your own pod, you pull in deep inhales of fresh air as soon as you lift your helmet off. There is a certain sort of pleasure to it, feeling the recycled air hit your cheeks. Inside the helmet, it’s humid and sticky, the blower pack in your suit not enough to combat the heat from your body. It’s built to keep you cool, but under the helmet, your hair sticks to your nape and your forehead with sweat. Under the helmet, your stale breath blows back into your face. Under the helmet, you feel like you can’t breathe sometimes - which is ironic, given the reason for it in the first place.

Ezra stands close, tossing his helmet down to fumble with the zipper of his suit.

That sound. You can hear it in your sleep. No different than the sound of your own zipper being tugged down, and yet, somehow, it is. You envision the entire scene with startling clarity every night: his bare fingers working the clasp, his suit falling away from his body, the sound underneath it all.

“You good?” He checks on you, and when you nod your head but don’t say anything, he bends his gaze to your level. The stark lighting of the pod makes his eyes look even darker, and his hand comes to rest on your shoulder. Right at the edge of your neckline, the heat of his palm brushes against your skin. “You sure?”

“Yea,” you reassure him, trying to ignore the weight behind your navel his touch brings. “It went good. Really good.”

“I think so,” he replies. “I’m impressed. Our first job as a duo, gone off without a hitch.”

He winks, squeezing your shoulder for a brief moment. When his hand slides away, you stop your body from chasing it.

“Here.” His voice pulls you from your reverie, a cleaning kit held outwards towards you. “You do this, and I’ll do dinner?”

Nodding, you take it from him.

Cross-legged on your cot, you enjoy the sounds of domesticity filling the pod: the gentle scrub of your steel cleaning brush, the clink of a metal pan on the stove, a spoon swirling along the bottom of the pan as Ezra stirs. His humming joins the din, and you glance up at him.

If there was something that you’d never have expected from your first confrontation with the man, a scene like this would be at the top of the list. When your attraction initially began, it used to eat you up inside thinking about how you didn’t know him. You felt immature and foolish thinking about how the feelings were rooted in loneliness, sprouting from a life lacking attention and flourishing in close proximity. However, as scenes like the one in front of you became more common, it was easier to accept it.

The want that you feel coats the space like the dust that lingers in the air outside; ever present, in every breath you take. You try to ignore it, a small pocket of embarrassment bubbling up every time you think about approaching him, though he seems like the type who would be into whatever arrangement you’d propose. Especially given how long he’s been alone. Not only that, but the way in which he carries himself suggests he’s ever fluid, open for whatever comes his way. Adaptable, a side effect of his lifestyle you’re sure.

You know better though.

His carefree conversation is practiced, a facade. One meant to disarm and distract. You’re fairly certain he’s past that stage with you, given not only the amount of time you’ve spent together, but also the way he looks at you. Unguarded, in the morning after he wakes or in the evening, right before he goes to bed. Distracted, letting himself slip into thought, his eyes hooded as his tongue slides slowly across his bottom lip.

Sometimes though, sometimes you see him looking at you in the same way he looks at others: like they are something to study, his eyes keenly assessing.

That look always gives you pause. No matter how much you know he’d probably say yes, his motives are the question you’d really want answered.

Picturing the bare skin along his ribs that rippled in his stretch the other day when he emerged from the shower, you silently flex your hand, mentally fitting your fingers along the velvet skin. Safe in the secrecy of your own mind, you let your daydreams flourish – a bubble that pops when he approaches your cot.

“Not a feast, by any means,” he says, sitting down next to you. “But it’ll do.”

You accept the bowl gratefully, steam rising from its contents. He blows on his spoon, taking a bite. The motion makes his jaw work, and when he swallows, you watch through the fringe of your eyelashes.

“You did good today.”

His easy praise just slips off his tongue, and for someone who has spent so much time in the darkness, you keen under its light.

You smile over at him, and he returns it - but only for a fraction before it drops.

He looks away, down at his food. “The next one might be a touch harder.”

“How come?” you ask, your mouth full.

“Because it’s occupied.”

You stop chewing.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. “Unattended pods are a thing of rarity. Most are occupied, and their inhabitants can be…”

You raise your eyebrows when he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Can be…?”

“Protective of what’s theirs.”

His statement hangs in the air, his expression sober.

Swallowing hard, you sit with it for a minute. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Look,” he sighs, studying you. “I feel I should go alone, little bird.”

Frowning, you let your bowl rest in your lap. “What? Why? It’s too dangerous.”

He huffs in amusement. “You wound me with your lack of faith in my skills. I assure you, I’ve been navigating such situations alone for far longer than you’ve even been alive.”

The reminder of his age compared to yours should make you feel more at ease about his capabilities, but instead the statement temporarily distracts you. You take in his calloused hands, the lines that edge around the corners of his eyes, the grey flecks in his beard.

“I’ve taught you a lot,” he continues, “But letting the idea marinate, I believe it’s safer to keep you here.”

His suggestion catches you off guard. Everything about your arrangement has been with the word “partnership” in mind: he’s taught you how to dig, how to shoot, how to be aware of your surroundings. For him to want you to stay behind versus alongside him must mean there is something more dangerous about the situation than he’s letting on.

Not liking the idea of being separated from him, you press. “Trust me, I don’t doubt your skills. I’ve seen you in action.”

He sits up straighter, a proud smile stretching his cheeks, and you roll your eyes, undeterred.

“You’re the mechanic, I’m the muscle,” you mimic in his voice. “Weren’t those your words? If there is anyone there, you’ll deal with them so I can get the converters.”

“I’m afraid they won’t part with them as easily as your statement suggests.”

“I never thought they would.” You hold his gaze, searching. “Why don’t you want me there?”

He hesitates, and you can see a war within the depths of his eyes. Eventually, he answers, his voice softer. “I don’t want to subject you to…an avoidable confrontation. Not if I don’t have to.”

A beat of significant silence fills the space between you. Your dinners forgotten, the space around you shrinks to the size of the cot that you share. The urge to toss your bowl onto the ground and pull him to you builds the longer you sit with his statement, but there is something else about his words that tugs at the back of your mind.

You picture him walking into the Green alone, disappearing from your sight. Weeks with him at your side has you rejecting the mental image. Your stomach churns, your hand reaching out to cover his.

“If you go, I go.”

A grimace flashes over his features, the scar along his cheek highlighted for a moment. “I thought you’d say that.”

Rationally, you know he’s just trying to protect you, but you let your hand fall back, hurt. Busying yourself with your bowl again, you can feel him looking at you.

“Hey now,” he says, soft, but stern. “It’s not a lack of faith in your skills, trust me. It’s just that mercs out here are ruthless, raw. Their sensibilities have been swallowed whole by this place, and I don’t want you anywhere near them.”

His voice lowers even more, his tone gentle. “You remember what I said? About girls being rare in this place?”

You look up, and his gaze is fixed on yours, earnest and serious.

“I meant it.”

Apprehension flickers in your chest, but you remain firm in holding your ground. He can’t go alone.

“You really want to come with?” he asks.

You nod instantly. “Yes.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up, a hint of pride flashing through his eyes.

“Okay then, partner. Let’s talk about a plan.”

–

Ezra shifts on his cot, forcing his pillow into submission under his head.

“If you go, I go.”

Your words echo in his mind, your face appearing alongside. Your presence pulls at him from across the short distance between your cots, and he shifts again, rolling to face the wall.

He doesn’t want you to come with tomorrow.

He knows what this place is capable of, the way it carves out the morals of men to leave them shells of desperation. He himself has fallen victim to it, and though he hasn’t often found regret in his actions, he already regrets agreeing to let you come. He’s been here long enough to know that a partner is crucial to survival, but you…you’re unprecedented. You’re a girl. You’re something no one has seen in a long time, and he worries (an emotion he’s not used to) about how they’ll react when they see you.

If it’s anything like the way he reacts to you, you’re both in trouble.

You stir behind him, and he listens. You shift again, and he stills his breath.

The idea that you might be restless with the want you sated last night blossoms in his mind, heat pooling behind his navel. His fingers lightly scratch the wiry hair underneath it, just over where he aches. His cock twitches in interest, and distracting himself from the thought of everything that could go wrong tomorrow, he immerses himself in the thought of you.

You, right behind him, feet away.

You, trying to be quiet, slick need gathering between your thighs.

You, slipping your hand underneath the band of your leggings.

A phantom stickiness smears across the tips of his fingers, and they twitch against his skin. He teases at the band of his thermals, pretending his hand is yours. He moves it slowly, imagining your hesitation - eager, yet shy.

He thickens fully at the thought.

Unpracticed at hiding his attraction towards someone, he’s testing the limits of his self restraint with every minute spent in your presence. Constantly reminding himself of how vulnerable you are, the idea that you’d go along with any sort of proposition out of intimidation makes him sick. But you wanting it? You making the first move?

His hand (your hand) creeps a little lower, brushing against the base of his cock. It’s stiff to the touch, and he closes his eyes – only to be assaulted with the idea of someone else grabbing your hand to force it underneath their pants. His erection wanes, a series of images flashing through his mind: you screaming for help, you being forcibly dragged out of his sight, someone else taking from you what you never offered.

He softens.

His attachment to you is something like he’s never experienced before. This urge to keep you hidden from the world to protect you, while also helping you flourish. The need that coats him from the inside out, yet is forced to stay on a leash. It feels like a fever dream sometimes, the time he spends in the pod with you. A liminal place, a trapped sort of existence akin to hell itself in the way he wants you, but also something akin to heaven.

A companionship he’s missed, a presence he ached for and now has. Like you dropped from the sky, meant just for him.

He hears you shift again, and he frowns.

He should roll over and ask you if everything’s okay, but he knows it’s not. You’re probably worried about tomorrow and you should be. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be — as ready as this place will allow you to become before you’re thrown into the heat of the fire.

He also shouldn’t because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself. If he rolls over, he’ll see you — see your shadowed form in the darkness, the dips and curves of your body. He pictures himself being drawn to it, crawling the distance between your cots. Settling close to you, feeling the heat of your skin. Murmured, dulcet tones of soothing. His hands smoothing away your nerves.

His mouth being drawn to yours in the dark intimacy of the night.

He wants to tuck your face into the crook of his neck and tell you it will be fine.

But he doesn’t know if it will be, and so he stays still, guilt eating at his restless bones.

—

The pod stands alone in the clearing, silent and imposing.

Boot prints have tamped down the soil surrounding it, the greenery eaten away. The tracks are fresh, and they lead in every direction.

“How many do you think there are?”

Hidden in the green together, you speak lowly even though no one is tuned into your frequency but Ezra.

“Hard to say. I’d judge two, maybe three.” He shifts, trying to get a better view. “The size of their vessel doesn’t say much for numbers. Can’t be more than that.”

“Do you think they’re in there?”

Noting no sign of life surrounding the pod, you try to peer in the windows from afar to spot any movement.

He sighs, a heavy and resigned thing through your connection. He turns his head, and you do the same, facing each other.

“Unfortunately, Birdie, we won’t know until we open the door.”

He checks the charge on his pistol, flicking his eyes to your weapon in a motion for you to do the same. “You ready?”

Nodding, you grip your thrower. “Ready.”

Standing from your hidden spot, he takes an automatic lead in front of you. His slinking steps are careful, his breathing steady and measured. The dust motes surrounding you make the whole thing seem like a suspended dream, like you’re moving in slow motion along with them. For every step he takes, you do the same until you’re moving as mirror images, creeping closer and closer.

Anticipation and adrenaline have your entire body on high alert, yet the green around you remains eerily calm. There is no movement and no sound other than the gentle rustle of the trees, and while that would normally be muted underneath the dome of your helmet, your straining ears pick it up. A bead of sweat glides down the back of your neck, your eyes focused on Ezra’s back as he reaches the pod.

His gloved hand strokes down the smooth metal of the hatch, searching for an opening. When he finds it, you can hear a terse smile in his exhale of relief.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “You gonna open up for me?”

He works the latch open with force, and you spot check the edges of the clearing. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it in your chest, and in contrast, Ezra seems as calm as ever. You think about your own pod in the middle of a similar clearing, and how your role has reversed in your weeks here. Once the trapped person inside, now the intruder seeking what belongs to someone else.

The hatch opens, and you crawl in behind him.

It’s empty inside, though clearly in use. Two cots are pushed against the wall, blankets and pillows crumpled on top of them. Thermals litter the floor, metal dishes are stacked next to the small sink, and there is a station of cleaning tools left out, as if someone stopped mid-task.

“Speed is of the essence, little bird.”

His voice grounds you, your eyes immediately scanning the floor. It takes a minute to find the sealed compartment, but you catch the edge of it underneath one of the cots.

“Help me move this,” you ask him, picking your way over to the panel. While you’re careful with your steps, he stomps without care on anything in his way: discarded papers on the floor, a dirty shirt. He lifts the cot with a grunt, and you drop to your knees.

The panel springs open and sifting through the wires, you wish you stopped to take your helmet off. It’s hard to get close enough to the floor with the dome limiting how close you can get, and a small huff of frustration slips from your mouth as you stick your arm down, down, down, stretching it as much as you can.

Just when you’ve reached your limit, you feel the edge of the panel.

“Anything there?” He delivers the question calmly, though you can hear the slight tone of urgency that slips through.

“Got it,” you grit through your teeth, tugging it free.

The edges of it catch on the neat wiring that surrounds it, and impatiently, you tear through it all. Lifting it from the floor, your eyes widen.

“Ten. There are ten, Ez.”

You look up at him in awestruck wonder, and he returns a tight smile.

“Speedy now. Show me how you use those nimble fingers of yours.”

You click them off with practiced precision, trying to tamp down the elation that you feel at the added weight of each one in the pouch attached to your hip. When you have all ten, you toss the panel back into the nest of wires and slip the lid back into place. Standing to get out of his way, you watch as Ezra unceremoniously drops the cot back onto the floor.

He smiles at you, a genuine one this time. “You did so good, Birdie. So good.”

Relief floods your chest at his praise. Your stomach has been in knots all morning, worsening as you sat in the bush and waited, and though you know you’re not out of danger yet, you take a moment to let your victory wash over you. A sudden, fierce wish to be back in your own pod with him takes you by surprise, a burning need to throw your helmet off and have him do the same so you can kiss him. Your body subconsciously leans forward, drawn to the idea and to him and to the need to have his praise breathed directly into your mouth for you to swallow.

A similar look flashes across his own dark features, and there is a beat of weighted tension. It swirls in the space between you, filling it — and breaking, when he grabs your hand.

He gives it a squeeze, leading you back towards the hatch. “Come on. Before they get back.”

Following the back of his suit out of the pod, you notice the surroundings of the clearing seem brighter, less ominous. The dust that floats through the air no longer seems threatening and nightmarish, but more like a pleasant dream. You take in the details for the first time today, your eyes fixed where the tops of the trees brush the sky – disappearing when you’re ripped from behind with a sudden, forceful jerk backwards.

“Ezra!”

Your thrower gets tossed from your hand, and the air is pushed from your lungs as your back hits the ground with a thud. You kick wildly and try to scramble up, and a sharp kick from behind keeps you trapped in place, forcing you onto your front.

Coughing, you lift your head under the helmet, but the edges of the dome obstruct your view. Straining, you squirm underneath the heavy pressure of a boot on your back, fighting to see where Ezra is. You can see only his boots, toe to toe with a stranger’s.

The voice above you is grizzled and deep. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Looking for something we need,” Ezra drawls, and though you can’t see his face, you can picture it. The truthful admission comes out slow and confident. “We found it, so we’ll be on our way.”

You hear the charge of a thrower above you, and Ezra’s boots shift slightly. It’s a special sort of hell to hear him through the comm link without being able to see him.

“Go in there and see what the fuck they took,” orders the man pinning you to the ground.

You see his partner's boots walk out of your sight, and hear him climb the ramp to the pod.

“You stay right there,” he warns Ezra. “One move and I’ll shoot your partner here.”

Lifting your torso with a grunt, you shift just enough to get Ezra in your sights before the boot on your back forces you back down. Even though you’re prone and he’s being held at gunpoint—both at the mercy of a stranger—reassurance floods through you at just being able to see his face.

“That would be…regrettable.”

The shift in Ezra’s expression is cold and menacing, his fingers flexing slightly on the grip of his pistol.

“That so?” the man teases. His boot wiggles, shoving you deeper into the soil. “Feels kinda scrawny. Can’t imagine what use he is to you for someone so small.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ezra counters.

“Let’s see him.”

The words take you by surprise, just like the swift jerk of your shoulders. He flips you faster than you can react, his boots coming down to step on your arms and the tip of his thrower aims directly at your face – his eyes wide with surprise right above it.

“Is this – is this a girl?”

Your boot flies up to kick him in the back, and he grunts but doesn’t budge. You do it again, and he presses the muzzle of his thrower into your chest.

“Do it again and see what happens.” Antsy, he glances up in the direction of the pod and yells to his partner. “What the fuck is taking you so long?”

Taking advantage of his split second of distraction, you use every ounce of strength you have to bow your back off the ground just enough to catch him by surprise. His boots falter, taking the pressure off your arms and you quickly sit up, driving your elbows into his thighs. He growls in frustration, trying to keep his thrower on you while also bending to swipe for your leg, and you scramble backwards in the soil. Your boots slide on the damp earth, your gloved fingers digging into the ground for purchase and there is a sharp crack in the air as Ezra aims his pistol at the man and misses. You flinch, crawling backwards to get out of the man’s reach, and panic cuts through you when you hear the stomp of boots coming down the ramp.

“What the hell –”

Those are the only words the man gets out before you hear more cracking shots, and then he’s falling backwards, dead, onto the ground.

“You son of a bitch!” The man who had you pinned lunges for Ezra, his thrower tossed to the side, a knife in his hand instead.

Ezra abandons his own weapon, throwing himself at the stranger. You watch helplessly as two of them hit the ground, fighting for control of the knife. Crawling towards Ezra’s gun, you stretch your hand towards the weapon when you hear it.

“Just wait till I kill you,” the man warns between his teeth. “I’m gonna fuck that girl raw. Right here. Right next to your dead fucking –”

A grizzled choking sound cuts off the man’s words, and you whirl to face them just in time to see Ezra jerking the knife out of the man’s neck. Blood spurts across Ezra’s gloves, and he shoves the knife down again, and again. The force behind it is immense, Ezra’s face contorted in a look you’ve never seen before. His jabs are ruthless and quick, cutting and deep, and his arm speeds up, his face in a rage-filled trance, his eyes wild and cold all at the same time.

“Mine,” you hear him between heavy breaths, between each plunge. “She’s mine.”

Frozen, you watch in a morbid sort of fascination, but also in relief.

He doesn’t stop stabbing until the man is long dead.

—

The walk back to the pod is as quick as it can be, with Ezra’s weight leaning heavily on your side. All traces of joy and victory have long vanished, and the two of you say nothing to each other as you trudge along the hidden path.

His expression as he killed that man plays on repeat in your mind the whole way, along with his words.

“She’s mine.”

Though he’s trying to mask his pain, his grip on your hip tells you the truth, as does his labored breathing. You didn’t see it happen, but the man must have hit his mark at least once, judging from a telltale stain of dark red smeared across the front of Ezra’s suit. It seems to take forever to get back, and with every step, his wound gets worse and worse in your mind.

Finally back inside your pod, you strip and toss everything carelessly onto the ground.

“I need the med kit,” he groans, collapsing against the wall. His movements are jerky as he rips his helmet off, and then his gloves, using his teeth. “Fuck,” he sighs, his eyes pinched closed.

He’s pale, his sweat matted hair stuck to his forehead and you kneel in front of him with the kit, rifling through the contents.

“What do you need?”

His hand splays protectively over his lower stomach. “He got me through my suit, just here.” He shifts, a loud groan breaking free when he peels down the top of his suit. He rolls it to the waist, and gingerly pushing the fabric down, you see his thermals underneath, stained dark and saturated with blood.

He lifts it, and you wince.

“Looks worse than it is,” he breathes heavily, letting his head fall back against the wall.

“It looks pretty bad, Ez. Really bad.”

His stomach is matted and smeared with blood, and at the center of it all, a gash.

He holds his hand out for gauze, dabbing at the wound with a hiss. “See?” His stomach flinches, and he wipes it again before looking at you. “A stitch or two should do it.”

“You sure?” you ask, and he nods, letting his head fall to the side as he looks away.

“In you? Always.”

Your fingers tremble slightly when you flick open the med kit, and then rote memory takes over. You’ve done this – your father used to stumble home all the time with various gashes. Bar fights, brawls in alley ways. Prospectors are a rough crowd, and you’d stitched him up more than once. This is just like that, only better because you don’t have someone yelling at you to do it faster – but also worse, because you care about this person more. The thought leaps into your mind, and knowing you don’t have time to dwell on it, you shove it away.

Ezra flinches at the touch of your hand against his bare stomach, his muscles tensing under your fingers.

You pause, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

“Sorry. Cold hands.”

You give him an apologetic smile.

“Keep going.”

You take your time disinfecting the wound, making sure all traces of dirt are gone. Your hand sweeps across this skin more than once, trying not to think about all the ways you imagined touching his stomach for the first time. It’s soft under your fingertips, a slight round to his lean belly and though his neck is taut with tension, he remains still under your exploration. You want him to look at you: for reassurance, for acknowledgement of your hands on his skin – but he is resolute, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall.

Setting your rag down, you pick up the stapler.

“You ready?”

He nods.

Using one hand to pinch his flesh together, you brace the stapler against his skin, blood smearing on the metal. You punch the first one through, and he hisses, his hand gripping your wrist.

“Shit. Shit. Keep going.”

His breathing has turned into panting, his eyes clenched tight. You slide it along his skin an inch, and then punch another one.

The groan he lets out would be filthy, if not for the situation you’re in. It’s a strained, long thing — his head tipped back, veins highlighted along his neck and you toss the stapler to the side, pressing fresh gauze against the wound.

“All done. It’s done.”

He nods, a tired smile gracing his face. Leaning forward, he keeps one hand on his stomach and you watch nervously as he crawls onto his cot. He falls back onto his pillow, calmer now, but still pale.

“My thanks, Birdie.”

He slips into a stress-induced sleep, and you look at him for a moment before cleaning up.

At the sink, you notice his red hand print around your wrist. The blood had pooled between his fingers, the digits a slick slide over your small wrist and you brush your thumb over the marks he left behind. It looks violent, yet there is a part of you that likes it. Being branded with him, a part of him smeared into your skin.

You hesitate to wash it off.

—

He sleeps, and you keep watch.

You had worried for your father sometimes, but it was nothing like this. In the small amount of time that you’d come to know him, Ezra already meant more to you than your own father ever did.

In the dark, you finally let yourself dwell on the realization.

Your father had never truly been a father. He was more of a stranger, or a roommate at best. He dragged you down with him, keeping you close enough to use you when he needed. He was never invested in you, never cared what you thought or wanted. You never needed him for anything, but Ezra…Ezra you need. You need him to survive and get off this planet, but you also need him more than that. Deeper than that.

The respect and courtesy he treats you with is something that surprised you, given the way you met. In a short while though, you’ve come to realize it’s exactly what’s been missing from your life this whole time. His curiosity and interest is genuine, and his care for you — especially after the events of today — is obvious.

She’s mine.

Did he say that because it’s true? Or because he needs everyone else to believe it’s true?

His lashes flutter, a dream seemingly racing through his slumber and you watch the movement of his eyes under his lids. His fingers flex, and without thinking, you place your hand on top of his.

He stills, and so do you.

The minutes and hours slip by, the moon slowly making its way from one pod window to another and you keep your vigil all the while. He murmurs in his sleep, and you cradle the curve of his jaw. Even after he stops, you keep your hand in place.

Your thumb traces the line of the scar on his cheek - a hooked thing, violent. He never told you how he got it, and you long for him to wake up and regale you with the story. He’d make a meal out of it, you know he would.

When he doesn’t stir, you continue your exploration.

Delicate touches: a swipe over his silken eyelid, a trace down the line of his nose. The bristle of his moustache tickles the pad of your thumb, a direct contrast against the smooth patch of skin on his jawline where there is no hair.

He’s a killer, and you wonder how many have gotten as close as this.

She’s mine.

He’s right — you are. In a short while you have become his. The juxtaposition of the man you saw today versus the man in front of you now is jarring, as if he couldn’t be the same man at all. And maybe he’s not, for anyone else. But for you, he is.

You get both, and while you should have been scared by the way he savagely killed today, you instead find yourself proud. You find yourself drawn to it, admiration and assurance and a sense of protection swirling around in your mind.

He did that for you, something no one has ever done.

Emboldened by this knowledge and drawn to his profile in the dark, you rest on his firm chest, and your fingers splay outwards over his heart.

Leaning down, you press your lips lightly against his.

–

He’s been awake for a while.

He has wished for you like this so many times. Just like this, only he never imagined himself like this. Just his luck that his wish comes true, but at a cost.

You’re so close, your face hovering just above his. He can smell the sweetness of your breath, of your skin. The way you’re looking at him has been one he’s only ever seen in his dreams, and though his body aches with a hidden want that threatens to consume, he stays perfectly still, not wanting it to end.

He’s never been touched like this by anyone, and it takes everything he has to keep his eyes closed — until he feels you press your lips against his.

He responds instantly, his hand coming up to cup the crown of your head.

Your kiss is so soft — soft and delicate and vulnerable, just like you. Your mouth fits neatly against his own, and before he can truly savor it, it’s gone.

He opens his eyes and your shadowed form comes into focus, your proximity intoxicating. His dream come to life.

His hand slides down the back of your hair, settling on your neck. Holding you place, he can see the vulnerability that seeps out of your every pore, and he longs to soothe you. If he knew what he should soothe, he would.

He knows what he wants to soothe, but he waits.

“What are you doing, Birdie?” he whispers.

Your eyes flit between his, and you bite your lip, thinking. He watches as you war with yourself inside your head, and his touch drifts to cup your cheek. His thumb slides across the soft curve of it, and when his eyes dip to your mouth, he watches your expression change to something more assured.

Confident, resolute.

“This,” you whisper back, bending down for another kiss.

[eldizzle69]

“Sharing a bed with their lover”

masterlist

including :: Frostheim

—Jin Kamurai

•Jin likes having you close by, but also doesn’t like to leave his room. Therefore you basically moved into his room at this point

•Jin is actually a big softly and nice guy under his asshole exterior so I see him as a cuddler

•Be prepared to be squished against his chest all night because you’re not moving from his arms.

•Jin also sleeps a LOT so prepare to not do anything till he wakes up.

•I see him as being very warm, so you have your own personal heater basically attached to you.

A grown left Jin as he slowly opened his eyes. Only to met with the fabric of your pajamas. His arms were tightly around you, while his face was buried in your chest.

“Morning sleepy head,” you hummed carding your hands through his messy white hair. Jin only tightened his arms around you, bringing you impossibly closer.

“Should I go get us breakfast?” You hummed and Jin sent you a glare. “Shut up,” he muttered into your chest with no bite behind his words.

“Mmmm Kay,” you hummed resuming playing with his hair, while also pressing a kiss onto his head, “…you can sleep a little longer but I still have class Jin.”

“Skip it “

—Tohma Ishibashi

•I feel like Tohma has a very good sleep schedule, so prepare to conform to that.

•I don’t see him as a big cuddler, like I don’t think he minds but I also don’t see him initiating much cuddles.

•he’s gonna tease you a good bit if you’re nervous or shy so just be prepared for that.

•mature adulty mc pants isn’t nervous what so ever.

• the way he interacts you would think your a 50 year old married couple who have been sharing a bad for years.

“Tough day?” You hummed looking up from your book. You were already showered and neatly tucked into bed, while Tohma was just coming out of the shower.

“Not any tougher than the usual day,” he hummed climbing into bed next to you. “You seemed to finish early today?” He shot back and you smiled, “Romeo was feeling generous.”

He merely smiled at that. You slid your book onto the night stand and suck further into the blankets. Tohma turned the only lamp in the room off, leaving you two in pure darkness.

“Mmm night Tohma…”

“Good night dear”

—Lucas Errant

•I think Lucas would be shyer about sharing a bed with their lover.

•He’s very by the book so sharing a bed seems like a very intimate act for him so he’s a little shy about it

•he keeps his hands and limbs to himself and worries if he’ll make you uncomfortable if he’s too close

•expect apologies and awkward shifting from him.

•if there’s gonna be any cuddling it’s gonna be from you.

“S-sorry,” Luca said and quickly retracted his hand that had brushed your arm.the only sound in the room was the rustling of covers as Luca fidgets under them,

“You don’t have to be sorry Luca,” you hummed turning to face him. He fallowed your movements so you two were facing each other in his large bed.

“No, I shouldn’t have touched—“

“Luca, Relax,” you calmed him the best you could. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

Slowly, you reach over and took one of his hands in your own. Luca blushed slightly but didn’t question your actions. “Let’s go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay….”



—Kaito Fuji

•mf is SO nervous.

• palm sweat, knees weak, all the above

•he tries to be chill about it but the blush on his face and the

•He’s gonna spend the entire day hyping himself up to cuddle with you just to freeze and malfunction

•take the lead and snuggle with him pls

“This has gotta be some kind of dream, there’s no way this is actually happening—“

“Kaito what.”

“I AM CALM WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Kaito yelled as he shot up in the bed. You shivered as the cold air rushed under the covers where you laid.

“S-sorry!” Kaito stumbled out noticing your shiver. He laid back down, trapping both of you in the warmth of the blanket. He stared at the ceiling, not daring to move.

“Kaito,” you called gently, and he snapped his attention to you. “YES?” He yelled but cleaned his throat, “y-yeah?”

“Can we cuddle?” You asked with a grin in your face. You watched as Kaito went through internal panic, unable to properly respond. So, taking matters into your own hands own hands, you snuggled up to his side, lead laying on his chest.

Let’s just say Kaito struggled to fall asleep,

[mafiadad5]

HEYY I saw ur perv!Jisung hcs and I was wondering if you could do the same with Renjun??👅

Perv!roomate!Renjun who…

Perv!roomate!Renjun x fem!reader

mdni!! 18+

warnings- eavesdropping, peeking under skirt, lots of masturbation, recording, slight edging.

W/c- 1.5k

a/n- tysm for your request! This reminded me of a sub renjun smut I wrote a while back so it’s heavily influenced loll. Hope you enjoy.

Perv!roomate!Renjun who had always found you cute when you moved in with him, but his thoughts had started to shift as you became more comfortable around the house.

"Y/n do you think you could put some clothes on? Why do you never have pants on?" He asked, acting annoyed, but he was far from it. He used the complaints as an excuse to let his eyes wander, his gaze lingering longer than it should.

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Perv!roomate!Renjun who froze in his tracks when he saw you in the kitchen wearing that tiny skirt that hugged your figure perfectly. It took everything in him not to let his thoughts spiral, but the way it sat just above your thighs made it impossible to ignore. He wanted to bend you over the counter so badly, to tug it up above your hips and lose himself in you.

"Renjun! I didn't see you there." You said, snapping him out of his thoughts. He blinked, his eyes lighting up as he focused on you.

"Oh... sorry if I startled you." He replied with a soft laugh, moving to grab a cup from the cabinet.

"Whatcha you cooking?" He asked casually, his gaze moving to the stove where you stood, focused on what you were doing.

"Just something for me and my friends. I'm heading to their place soon." You replied, not noticing the way his eyes lingered on you.

The room fell quiet for a moment before an idea popped into his head.

"Oh... what are you guys doing? Is it an event or party or something... oops." He asked innocently, deliberately letting the cup slip from his hand.

As he crouched down to pick it up, his eyes flickered up, catching a glimpse under your skirt. You kept talking, unaware of the way his face flushed as his gaze traced every curve. Your panties were so cute. He bit the inside of his cheek, imagining how you would look stretched out across the counter, your body trembling as he tasted you. You looked so pretty from down here, imagine how you would look if he was making you feel good.

"Nice..." He murmured under his breath, grabbing the cup and standing up, forcing himself to act normal. "Well, I hope you have fun." He added with a smile, placing the cup back in the cupboard before going back to his room.

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Perv!roommate!Renjun who discovered your little dirty weekly routine— it was seriously an accident, but once he knew he couldn't stop himself from listening in on it. It wasn't his intention to stalk you, he was just intrigued by how controlled you seemed. It only made him want you more.

Now he sat on his bed, leg bouncing nervously as he pressed his ear against the wall, straining to hear any sound from your room. It was the night, the anticipation was killing him. What was taking you so long? Maybe you knew he was listening, maybe you were teasing him...his thoughts spiraled until a soft sound broke the silence.

His eyes lit up, heart racing as he focused. The faint noise sent shivers down his spine. He knew it was wrong, knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping like this, but you sounded so pretty, he couldn't help himself. 

Renjun's hand slid down, palming himself through his pants as his breath quickened. He bit his lip trying to stay quiet, not wanting to make a sound that could distract from you. Each little noise you made pushed him closer to the edge, but every time he felt himself getting too close, he forced himself to stop, panting softly.

He didn't want to ruin it. He just wanted to hear you.

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Perv!roomate!Renjun who had a hidden folder named after you, videos of himself touching himself. His soft gasps and groans recorded for no one but you, when you were finally his.

His phone was in his hand tightly, camera rolling as he leaned back against the wall,  chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. His hand moved steadily over himself, his fingers gripping tightly as he thought of you.

"Fuck Y/n" He whimpered, his voice breaking as he threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut. "Look what you do to me... look at me."

He glanced at the camera for a moment as he let his lips part with a sigh. His phone shook slightly as he tried to steady himself, desperate to make this video perfect.

"You're the only one who can make me feel like this." He whispered lowly.

His hand moved faster as his mind filled with thoughts of you—your touch, your voice, the way you'd look at him if you saw this.

As he reached his high his breath hitched, his body tensing as ropes of his cum landing on his shirt. He bit his lip to stifle a moan, hips bucking slightly as he rode out his high.

“Did I do good?” He said in a stuttered voice, taking a deep breath as he stared at the screen, his cheeks flushed with small smile tugging at his lips.

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Perv!roomate!Renjun who hadn't expected to come home late and hear that. He froze in the hallway, his heart racing as he realized what he was hearing—soft muffled sounds of you pleasing yourself. It wasn't even the usual night you did this.

Wait... does this mean you're skipping the usual day? The thought made him panic. He needed that day, it was part of his routine now.

He hesitated, thinking about rushing to his room to listen through the wall, but that would be too obvious. He needed another plan. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and the idea clicked.

He quickly opened the voice recording app, setting his phone near your door before going to his room. When he was sure you were done, he retrieved it and played it back.

Great, now he could use it this once and delete when it was over, but he found himself listening to it constantly. Earbuds in every night before bed, touching himself to your pretty moans... he couldn't just delete it.

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Perv!roomate!Renjun who craves your attention. He wanted you to notice him, to understand that he was there for you, ready and willing for whatever you needed.

So he left his door open on purpose, sitting on the edge of his bed, slowly letting his hand drift down. He didn't bother trying to be quiet.

"Y/n…" He moaned softly, his voice seeping into the hallway. His hand moved steady, each stroke he let out a whimper louder than usual, hoping you would hear him. The thought of you listening in, stopping in your tracks, realizing what he was doing only made him needier.

His head tilted back, lips parting as he whispered your name again desperately. He imagined you standing outside his door, biting your lip, maybe curious enough to peek inside. The idea sent a shiver down his spine, and his movements became faster.

He knew he was being shameless, but he didn't care. The idea of you knowing, you hearing how much he wanted you turned him on even more.

Renjun let out another moan, louder this time, his body trembling. He didn't stop until he was over the edge, lying back on his bed with a flushed face.

As he caught his breath he smirked to himself. Maybe you'd finally realize that he was someone who had been waiting for you to make a move.

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[multifandom-nerds-blog]

S7 ep 1 compliant mini fic with established Corvus (Cause Sorens face was bloody in one scene and clean in the next one somehow)

Maybe a bit similar to the one I posted a few days earlier, but who cares.

"Oh, right. Right! Because I'd be dead!"

Corvus could only shake his head at Sorens antics. Not without smiling though. The relief of seing him alive was strong, and gave him enough energy to stay on his feet even after the long day followed by flying for hours.

Though seeing the castle like this really was terrible. They had seen the smoke from far away already, and it wasn't much better up close.

Their capitol. Their castle. The home of Ezran, Callum and Soren. And well, after two years also his home, though this was obviously much worse for his friends who had grown up here. But Ezran was with Callum for the moment, so he could focus on Soren.

"Opeli is on the way to the Banther lodge with most people." Soren said while keeping his arm around Corvus shoulder. "I stayed here with some guards to keep the fires under control and look for uhh... stuff."

"You mean anything salvagable?" He didn't mentioned the ever so slight shaking of Sorens hand on his shoulder. Or the quite trembling of his voice. It would most probably just lead to Soren closing his walls.

"Yeah. Yeah! That. Also Barius and some others are going to the sorrounding towns for supplies and help to set up cam- what are you doing?"

Corvus had put his hand up to Sorens face. Unable to ignore the blood on the blonde mans face and hair any longer. He turned around to properly face his partner, Sorens hand not leaving him but sliding on his other shoulder instead when he moved.

"What happened?", Corvus asked. Lightly tracing his thumb over the streak of blood going through Sorens eyebrow. He didn't flinch so either he had pushed the thought of injuries to the back of his head, wouldn't be the first time, or it wasn't as bad as it looked. Corvus guessed for both, head wounds were nasty bleeders after all but Soren was also extremely stubborn and ignorant about his own wounds at times.

"Oh that?" Soren took his hand of his shoulder to poke his own forehead, with a bit more force than Corvus liked him to do. "Right. A flying stone hit me. Not as in the Stone knowing how to fly. Just a stone from the rubble flying into my face."

Corvus hummed while taking Sorens hand away from his face with his own to stop the poking. He would probably hear the whole story later. After everyone had time to collect themselves a bit.

His free hand started looking through his pockets while not letting go of Sorens in his other hand.

"So how was the wedding? Probably fancier than a burning castle. Though it was a sunfire elf wedding, so maybe they have some traditions about burning stuff?"

"Not exactly.", Corvus answered. You could probably say that Queen Janais relationship to her brother burned to ashes, but that would be a pretty rude oversimplification of the matter. He could also still feel the bruises from when Karims followers captured him during the battle. "The wedding is a... long story."

"Later?", Soren asked.

"Later.", Corvus agreed.

Finally he found the clean handkerchief he usually kept on him. Though honestly surprised it was still there and clean after everything. And finally Soren showed a reaction to his wounds when Corvus reached up to his forehead again.

"Ah." Soren's face flinched. Corvus might have not even noticed if he hadn't spend so much time of the last two years studying the other man. "You don't... have to. It's dried anyway."

For a moment Corvus wanted to ask if he was okay, but... that question seemed senseless in the current situation. But he could see that the adrenaline was starting to leave Sorens body. And there was a look in his eyes that was all to familiar to Corvus.

Right. Lord Viren was in the dungeon while Katolis had burned down. So what happened to him?

"We should still clean it up.", Corvus settled on. He let go of Sorens hand to cup his face instead in both hands, looking into blue eyes.

Sorens skin was warm, which confused Corvus a bit. His partners skin was usually ever so cold, but now warmth was somehow streaming from his body into Corvus hands.

"Your warm.", Corvus stated. "Do you have a fever?"

"Heh, well, most people would probably call this a normal body temperature."

Soren tried to crack a smile, but Corvus just raised an eyebrow.

"It's just from... the fire. Well. Kinda. But it's wearing of already." Soren laid one of his hands over Corvus', as if to prove it, even if his hands were usually even cooler than the rest anyways. "Everybody who was here is running hot right now. But as I said. It's wearing of already. You're gonna have your walking iceblock back soon enough."

There was obviously something Soren was leaving out in his story, but Corvus decided it would be better to talk about this later. As well as the unavoidable topic of wether Viren was dead or alive.

Later, Corvus thought. Later was good.

He ran his right thumb over Sorens eyebrow again, rubbing some dried blood of in the process. Soren responded by lowering his head until their foreheads meat.

"I... I'm...", Soren stuttered.

"It's okay. I've got you."

He could feel Sorens other hand landing on his shoulder and gripping on to him.

"I know."

"But now, really, let's find some water to get all that blood of your face."

"Hm, okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"It's also in your hair."

"WHAT?" Soren promptly jumped back to check his hair. "Why did not nobody tell me?!"

[imsecretlyagremlin]

Jealousy Part one

You and Jayce have been friends ever since you joined the academy, you joined him when he asked you to help him with his project as his lab assistant, years later when his discovery of hextech took off and he’s too busy being a counsilor. Viktor’s had enough of your moping and with the help of Caitlyn sends you on a date with someone who’s had a crush on you since academy days. Little did you know Jayce is jealous.

years ago, You felt nervous about your first day at the academy. You had no idea where any of the classes were, and since you hadn’t met anyone yet, you had no one to hang out with. As you were walking to what you assumed was your first class, you accidentally bumped into someone and fell to the ground. 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” the person you collided with said, extending his hand to help you up. You looked up to see gold eyes staring down at you, and you felt yourself blush as you took his hand and pulled yourself up with his assistance. 

“N-no, it’s fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you stuttered, feeling nervous despite his friendly smile. 

“Well, I’m Jayce,” he said, holding out his hand. 

“I’m Y/n,” you replied, shaking his hand, feeling less anxious than before. 

“We have the same class, Y/n,” he grinned, saying your name as if he were testing it out.

You remembered the first time you met Jayce. Since you had most of your classes with each other you were quick to bond. You both enjoyed the same things and even enjoyed teasing Caitlyn together. So it was no surprise when he asked you to join him as a lab assistant. But ever since Hextech took off he became way busier. Which you were sad about but it led you and Viktor to become good friends.

“Earth to y/n” Viktor had been waving his hand in your face “I can't have my only lab partner zoning out”. You wipe your hand over your face “Sorry I'm just tired”. Viktor just smirks  “Or thinking about a certain councilor” and laughs at your blush.

 “ I'm not thinking about Jayce” You try to busy yourself by jotting down notes. “ I didn't mention Jayce,” he says from the chalkboard. “ Just shut up and work” You hide your blush. You finally think the conversation is over but Viktor is always persistent “Me and Caitlyn having been talking”. “What?” You look up feeling like a kid in trouble. “We think you should stop pining and go on a date” Viktor doesn't even look up from the chalkboard. 

“You and Caitlyn talk?” you set down your notebook choosing to ignore the date part.

“Yes, and she has an enforcer friend she thinks you'll like” he sets down the chalk in his hand. “I can't believe this I'm not a child I can get a date myself I just choose to say single” You don't admit that you are way too busy in the lab to even think about dating anyone. “Sure just please give him a chance so you can stop moping around and help me”

You don't think you've ever seen Viktor give puppy eyes like he is right now. 

“Fine if it’ll shut you both up” 

“Oh that's good cause we thought we would've had to kidnap you to make you go on your date” Viktor smiles “By the way it's Friday”. You stare at him in shock you swear you can feel your eye twitch “I'm going to hurt you both”. Viktor holds his hands up in protection but doesn't look very scared “You wouldn't you love us too much. You smile despite your slight annoyance “your right I wouldn't but leave and go home before I change my mind”.

You pretend to be mad so Viktor would go home. You've noticed how hard he's worked lately and the eye bags under his eyes. “Ok ok I’ll go home” He grabs his coat and leaves.

After he leaves you work a little longer before you lock up and go home too.  As you lay in bed tired you can't help but feel nervous for your date. Its tomorrow you can't believe they didn't tell you until now. You can't but help but overthink.

Will it help you forget Jayce or will It make it worse? How will he react to you going on a date? 

You think and think until you fall asleep

sorry if this is bad I suck at writing but I wanted to put my ideas on paper (not really since this is online but 🤷‍♀️) try to ignore the typos

[dreamingofep]

Forbidden Love Pt. 10 💔❣️

Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Prompt: Reuniting with Elvis was supposed to be the highlight of your summer, but with unresolved tensions between you two, things aren't what they seem. [Fem! reader]

TW: SMUT, filth, cussing, a lot of bad things in here you've been warned

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Hi everyone! A little late night post with a lot of spicy things sooooo yeah🫣 This chapter was going to go a very different direction but the image of E in a robe absolutely ruined me and now we are here🫠 Please enjoy hehe😈

❣️

The next few days were spent in solitude. You didn’t want to interact with anyone and you honestly didn’t have the energy to. Your dream a few nights ago freaked you out and made you reflect on your relationship with Elvis. This rekindled flame you two had was a raging wildfire and you were desperate for him to love you. 

You just didn’t know how to go about that. Should you confess your feelings for him and run off in your happily ever after? That’s if he remotely feels the same way for you too. But it wasn’t going to be that easy. You needed to leave John, he needed to figure out what to do with Dianne, there were a lot of messy bits to deal with.

And to make it worse, these dreams kept happening. They were not as intense as that first one, but they still involved trying to make him fall in love with you and take care of you in anyway he possibly could. You’d wake up jarred from these dreams most of the time, and to your liking, Elvis was still there, ready to comfort you and tell you to go back to sleep.

Elvis worried about you alone in your room all day. He’d check in on you every morning and bring you something to eat. And at night, when the whole house was asleep, he’d sneak into your room again and talk to you. Your spirits were lifted when he was near you. You would talk about movies and what he wants to watch next. He let you borrow a ton of books to read, the ones that were his favorites that talked about philosophy and spirituality. You found them fascinating and enlightened you. It gave you a sense of what Elvis needed; purpose.

He didn’t feel fulfilled doing the kinds of projects he was involved with the last few years but everything changed with his TV special. The world saw him for who he really was. He was an undeniable rock star who had enough talent to impress anyone of any age. 

He’d sleep in your room every night. Sometimes without saying a word, he’d just sit on the floor, his arms on the edge of the bed, looking up at you talking about whatever and acting like it was the most important topic. He was too good to you. You melted every time for him. You never wanted the night to end so you could continue to enjoy having his undivided attention. 

A part of you also didn’t want to fall asleep either. It took you a long time to fall asleep normally, your mind would wander. You’d always tell him to get in bed with you and lay on his chest, listening to his excited heart beat away for you. Every moment you had with him was so precious and you couldn’t help but feel like any moment he was going to be taken away from you. You would wrap your arm over his chest and he would usually hold your hand there, making sure you weren't going anywhere. Those wandering thoughts would keep you up longer than they should... especially if they thought about his hands... or how needy your body felt next to him...

You couldn’t fall asleep tonight and Elvis hadn’t come in to see you yet. He’s made you spoiled and couldn’t rest until he was near you in some capacity.  You hoped he wasn’t in his bedroom because you had this fear you’d find Dianne in there one day. You quickly put a silk robe over your nightgown and make your way out to find him. 

In the hallway, you see the light on in his office. You had never been in there before but really wanted to see him before you went to sleep. You turn the doorknob and crack it open before entering. 

“Elvis?”

You hear the squeak of a chair moving and papers rustling quickly. 

“Oh, come in honey,” Elvis says quietly. 

You enter the office and see him sitting behind his desk. Your poor heart shudders at the sight of him. He was pure, dripping temptation. His hair was a bit unkempt with a few strands that fell on his forehead. What he was wearing made you incredibly weak. He was in a black robe, loosely tied at his waist leaving most of his tan chest exposed. You were practically drooling at the sight. He looks at you with those needy blue eyes and sits up a bit.

“Hey baby, what are you doing up?” He asks.

“I couldn’t sleep, I wanted to see you,” you blush.

The corner of his mouth turns into a smirk and you watch as he raises his index finger, summoning you to him. 

“Come here, baby.”

You close the door behind you and go to him, sitting on the corner of the desk in front of him. You get a better look at what he's wearing and it looks like he's just wearing the long robe and nothing else underneath.

Mhmm. Quite sexy.

“Sorry, I haven’t come to see you. I was just going over some things for the show,” he says picking up a piece of paper with a bunch of songs written on it. 

“A little over a week and you guys open. Are you excited?” 

“In a way, but the other part of me is terrified beyond belief. What if I can’t do it anymore?” He asks shakily. 

“I know you can, you’ve never lost your ability to put on the best show. Someone like you just doesn’t lose that talent,” you tell him confidently. 

“Thanks for believing in me. It’s just overwhelming.”

“I can only imagine. Pretend you’re singing just to me then, maybe that’ll help,” you say lightheartedly. 

His eyes flutter up at you and he smirks again. 

“That would only make me more nervous,” he jokes. 

“What?! You used to tell me all the time that when you got a little nervous before a show, you pretended to sing as if only one friend was in the crowd."

"You're right, I used to say that," he chuckles.

"And back then, if I missed you, I'd pretend that you were singing to me when I put on one of your records. You always ease my mind when I hear your voice,” you tell him. 

He chuckles and grabs your hand, softly rubbing his thumb along the back of it. 

“I still do sing for you,” he says low, his eyes blazing with intensity. 

You stare back at him and feel your breath catch in your throat. He was too beautiful for his own good and made you want to be his more than anything in this world. It was impossible to deny him anything.

He didn't let go of your hand and it made your heart race uncontrollably. You try to distract yourself and go to pick up the setlist that was on the desk and glance over it. He made some edits from the last time you went and saw him rehearse. The show was going to be amazing, there was no doubt about that. You couldn't wait to see him back on stage doing what he does best. 

“I want you to come to Vegas with me,” he says suddenly, taking you a bit by surprise. 

“Yes of course I'll be there. I'll definitely be there for opening night and maybe stay the weekend or something,” you try to explain. 

“Yes, but we leave in a few days. I have to go and rehearse on the main stage with the whole band over there. I want you to come with me then.”

Your first instinct was to tell him no. He was always trying to cause trouble. But now you felt things were different especially because of how John was acting. You felt like you didn't have to be so careful because hell, he definitely wasn’t telling you the truth about things. But there was still apprehension. 

“Well, what would you say to explain why I'm there before the show is even opening?” you ask him. 

“Let me take care of all of that. Just tell me you're coming,” he says squeezing your hand. 

“Okay, I'll go,” you say with a smile. 

“Perfect, I feel less nervous already.”

You let go of his hand to look at the other drafts of the setlist he made. His blocky, chicken scratch writing was hard to make out sometimes, especially when he got frustrated, but you found it cute though. You see there were newspaper articles underneath all his different notes and you pull at the corner of one of them. Elvis puts his hand on top of the pile of papers and takes a sharp breath in. 

“Umm honey…” he trails off. 

This reaction only furthered your curiosity. Now you had to see what he was reading. You move his hand and pull the rest of the newspaper out. It took you a second to realize what you were reading but it was an article about the first movie you were in. The article highlighted your performance in a few sentences but it was still a huge deal for you! You're not sure where you even had a copy for yourself but Elvis had it. 

You look underneath and find more articles and pictures of you in magazines too. Your curiosity heightened and were surprised by this discovery. These pictures of you were from various promotional stills you did for a movie or TV show. Some of these had you in costumes that were more revealing than you remember. There was one where you were playing a cocktail waitress in a strapless short dress. Or another where you were in a bikini for a beach movie. 

“So, what do we have here?” you tease. 

Elvis looks away from you, blushing with embarrassment. 

“Are you my fan?” you giggle. 

“Hmm, I would say a bit more than that,” he chuckles. 

“You have quite the collection of me,” you quip. 

“Yeah well back then… it was the only way I could see you so I would save any article or picture you were in. It’s cowardly now that I say it out loud but that's how I went about it,” he says shyly. 

“Mmm, I see,” you say softly. A realization hits you though, “Well what were you doing with all of these out tonight? I'm just in the other room.”

He flashes his eyes up at you, making your heart stop. 

“I’d rather not tell you what I was doing.”

Your eyes can't help but drink him in right there in front of you. He made it impossible to think clearly and the way he was looking tonight made your inhibitions even murkier. 

“Show me what you were thinking then.” You murmur. 

His eyes blow wide for a second, making sure he heard what you just asked of him. He shakes his head and you feel the overwhelming desire for him take over your body. He begins to pull the silk ties of his robe. You see the material lifted up from his hardened length and you pause. You wanted to have him ravage you tonight. It had been too long but you wanted to watch him before you asked him for that. To your delight, as he pulled back the material from his body, he was naked underneath and his cock was throbbing with need. 

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the moan you wanted to let escape from seeing him naked again. He leans back in the chair, letting you admire him a bit more. Dear lord he was so perfect and you couldn’t help but want him desperately. 

You look back up into his eyes and let a shaky breath out. 

“What were you doing in here with all these pictures of me?” You ask quietly, knowing you might pass out if you heard the answer come from his lips. 

“Honey, I don’t think you understand what you do to me,” he says low and sultry. You watch as he lowers his hand and wraps it around his length. His head was leaking with precum and he glides it down his shaft. 

You felt your body tremble, unable to breathe or respond to what he just said. You secretly loved that he wanted you, just how you wanted him, but hearing it from his mouth was like a dream. He slowly rubs his cock as he takes his time looking at what you were wearing. Your cheeks were beginning to burn as you watched him pleasure himself in front of you.

“I’ve missed being with you,” he groans, letting his head fall back a bit. The sound of his low guttural tone sends a bolt of lightning through your body, causing your arousal to pool. 

“Me too,” you say in a breathy sigh. 

“I wanted to go to your room tonight but I know it was going to be difficult to get in bed with you.”

“How so?”

“You have no idea how hard it is to lay next to your whimpering body at night, clinging onto me for dear life, and somehow not make you satisfied,” he suggests. 

You hold your breath, realizing your fear has come true. He heard you whimpering for him, dying for him to love you and never leave your side. It was embarrassing you couldn’t keep that to yourself even when you were asleep!

“Are you dreaming of me?” He asks mischievously. His hand moves slower and waits for your answer. You can’t say it out loud, it was too damming. You feel your cheeks burn even more and can barely look at him. 

“I-… I’d rather not tell you,” you breathe, your eyes trailing down to his cock. You bit your lip to hide the way you wanted to cuss his name. Watching him like this was so damn hot.

“Then show me. Show me what you want, what I do to you in your dreams,” he commands. 

You feel your head spin and your heart flip by his tone. Oh God, this was so bad, so lewd of what you two were asking of one another. You sit there frozen, unsure what to say. You would never do something like this in front of a man. Elvis was no regular man though. He had you in the palm of his hand and was able to make you succumb to him with the slightest breath. 

You carefully untie your robe, showing the silk nightgown underneath it. He grabs you by the hips and slides you over on the desk so you’re right in front of him. His eyes are heated and serious, too much for you to handle. His fingertips pull your nightgown up, revealing your uncovered core. He sucks in a sharp breath, not expecting for you to be naked underneath.

“Jesus baby… comin’ in here lookin’ like this?” He coos, his hands squeezing around your thighs, making you tremble.

“I always sleep like this, you’ve never seemed to notice,” you spat proudly.

“How lucky am I,” he smirks, as his hand slowly spreads your legs apart and begins to trail up higher until his thumb finds your clit. Your eyes roll back and let him give you this undeniable pleasure. 

“Come on, show me what you want. You’re so nice and wet,” he groans softly.

He’s made you so breathless and wanted to give him anything he ever wanted.

Your hand lowers and finds your throbbing clit. He was right, you were already so wet from just watching him and needed more. You lightly rub it and jolt from the sensation. You were so sensitive and could barely put more pressure on it, let alone, look up into his needy eyes. But you do it anyway and it nearly knocks the wind out of you. God those piercing blues were killers. You so badly wanted to please him.

“I-I’m usually the one to beg for you in these dreams… wanting you to hold me or… to make love to me,” you whimper as your fingers gather more slick that’s dripping out of you. He bites his lip momentarily, liking the thought of that.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can handle you begging for me… it seems too good to be true,” he says with a groan. You watch as his hand lowers again and his eyes are heavy with lust as he watches you. An airy whimper escapes your throat as you rub your clit more, wanting him to be giving you this pleasure instead of yourself.

“Tell me what else happens? Do I give you what you need?” He asks, licking his lips slowly and biting his bottom lip.

“No, I always wake up before… well, you know,” you say slightly embarrassed. “I’m just desperate for your attention Elvis.”

He groans at that sentiment, loving to hear that you need him so badly.

“I know honey, you’re just too stubborn to let me take care of you.”

He gets up from his chair and slowly sinks to his knees in front of you. Your heart races uncontrollably and grab a fistful of his hair with your other hand.

“I’m not stubborn,” you hiss at him. 

“Yes you are, you would rather pull me into bed every night and pretend to be sleeping even though I know you’re wanting me to take care of that wet pussy,” he says confidently. You are about to protest but you feel his lips kiss the inside of your thigh and you feel on fire. The heat inside of you blinded you from saying anything else.

You answer him with a breathy moan instead, your fingers moving faster and the lower half of your body trying to get his lips to move higher. He teases you instead and doesn’t give you the satisfaction right away. You’re falling apart quickly, wanting him to give you so much more pleasure.

“Elvis,” you softly cry.

“What baby?” He says in between kisses.

“Please… I need you,” you sigh, pulling at his hair tighter.

“Mhmm, I know baby, what do you need? Have to be specific,” he tells you with a sly smile. You then feel his tongue lick the inside of your thigh, all the way to your weeping core. You cover your mouth with your hand and try not to let out the loud moan you need to. You spread your legs wider and push your hips into his face. You hear him hum amused, liking that this is the reaction he’s gotten out of you.

“Yes, oh God,” you cry. 

He groans softly as he eats your pussy with elation, starved for you it seems. You gasp at every flick of his tongue, making you come unglued as each second passes. You let your head fall back and struggle for air. 

He stops suddenly, looking up at you with a devilish stare. 

“Tell me what you need from me,” he growls, squeezing your thighs tight. 

You place your hands on the desk and lean back momentarily. You swallow harshly before speaking, unable to get the words out the way he’s looking at you. 

“Fuck me,” you gasp. 

He quickly stands up, unable to denounce the command you gave him. He sloppily kisses you, tongues and lips crashing into one another. You feel him rub his tip against your core and groan into your mouth. You whimper in agony, too sensitive to be teased. 

“Please,” you beg him. 

He smiles against your lips and hums pleased. 

“Say it again, beg for it,” he whispers out of breath. 

You whine and pull at his hips, wanting him to be inside of you already. 

“Elvis please,” you cry. 

He lets out another groan and he’s rubbing his tip at your entrance. 

“One more time baby,” he breathes in your ear. 

“Mmm Elvis please, I need you. Please fuck me,” you cry. 

He pushes the papers off the desk and with a grunt, he pushes his cock inside of you, stretching your entrance around him. You whimper at the feeling of him and hold onto his arms. He moved slowly, letting you adjust to the size of him and making you even wetter than before. Pleasure seared through you and can’t get enough of him. Your eyes flutter close and let him take over. He was so overwhelming and so addictive. You loved having every ounce of his attention on you. 

“God baby, fuck you feel good,” he groans. 

He grunts with every thrust, going deeper and deeper inside of you. You gasp for breath and look into his heated eyes. You could feel the heat in your belly grow, pleasure building with every second as he looked at you like he was beckoning you to fall apart for him. 

You let your head fall back and hold onto him tighter, never wanting to let him go. His hips pound into you faster and his hands squeeze and caress your breasts, bringing another bit of pleasure to you. Just the way he sounds makes you want to fall apart. He sounds like he’s been deprived of you. He was taking his time and enjoying every inch of you. 

His lips are doing some of the work too, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, starting at your breasts. You arch your back into his mouth, loving how this feels. He works his way up to your neck too, licking and sucking at the most sensitive part of your neck. He likes how he has you reeling for more. 

You then feel his hands slowly wrap around your neck, making your eyes pop open. 

“Let me look at you. I want to see your face when I fuck you,” he says low, his cock buried deep inside you. You gasp at the feeling of him and try to muster up the courage to look at him. You could barely take any more, you wanted to fall apart on him and then beg him for more. 

You look at him once more and nod your head. 

“Yes baby, don’t stop, please. I’m going to cum,” you whine. 

He smirks at your pleading face and moves more, sliding his hand down your body until he finds your clit. You think the last time was the best he possibly can make you feel but he just continues to prove you wrong. You move your hips with him, feeling your orgasm loom and about to come crashing down. Elvis glances at where you two are connected, making a mess all over his desk, and groans. He looks back up at you, his forehead damp with sweat and his eyes blazing into your skin.

Your muscles tense with each thrust and you come crashing down. You bury your face into his neck and hold back the cry you want to let out. Your orgasm blinds you and gasp for air as he relentlessly fucks you into the desk. He lets out frustrated groans as he feels your walls squeeze around him and your slick pools out of you. He was close too and couldn’t hold back from seeking his own release. You pull your head away from his neck and stay close enough to where your noses are almost touching. Elvis was struggling to keep the pace he set and something about looking at you in the eye was making him come unglued. His jaw clenches and slowly pushes you down onto the desk. He pulls your legs up and has you wrap them around his torso. He watches you get blissfully fucked out of your mind here, taking each inch of his cock and moaning for him to keep going. His hips stutter and you can feel him pour his warm release into you. You both cuss each other’s names, loving how you are making one another feel. You look helplessly at him, watching him come down from his orgasm and groan with each movement he makes.

“Fuck I missed you,” he groans, slowly pumping his cock in and out of you. Your entrance was becoming too sensitive, you could barely handle anything else from him.

“I missed you,” you gasp. You try to sit up on your elbows and watch him move. You grab his wrist and he sees you’re exhausted. He slowly pulls his cock out of you with a grunt. You watched how it came out of you wet and still a bit hard.

He leans down and kisses you with need like he hadn’t just gotten enough of you.

His fingers are back at your entrance, rubbing your arousal along your folds. You hiss at the sensation, you need a break but you know he’s not going to give you one.

“Baby please,” you whimper.

“What honey?” He says slyly.

“I can’t, I need a second.”

“I’m not done with you, I know you want more. I have other ways of making a mess of you.”

You tremble at the idea and nod your head at him, liking that idea way too much.

*

*

*

Tagging:

@loving-elvis @neptuneismysister @velvetelvis @ccab @presleyenterprise @theresalwaysep

@sillybookmarks @dkayfixates

@ellie-24 @rktismylife-blog

@myradiaz @tacozebra051

@18lkpeters @flwrs4aust @emma181873

@austinswhitewolf@eliseinmemphis

@everythingelvispresley@chasingwildflowers

@idontwanttoputanything @ohjustpeachy-

@elvisalltheway101 @austinsmutler @kingdomforapony.

@generoustreemystic @claire-elvisgirl

@ashtag6887 @burnthheparaphilia @richardslady121

@jaqueline19997

@returntopresley. @iloveelvis @rjmartin11@that-hotdog @louisejoy86 @misspresley@cattcb @annapresley8

@arrolyn1114 @raginginkedslut @epthedream69

@mh777ep1938

@50sexyshadestashionista

@oldhOllywOod @hooked-on-elvis @livelovedilfs

@sloppiest-of-jos @thisis-theway @gatheraheart

@aphroditebabygirl @faeolwen

[eggs-attorney]

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Eggman: We now convene for the trial of Yanshu Dryll the Mole. I trust the prosecution is ready to commence?

Payne: The prosecution's been ready for days, your honor.

Eggman: And is the defense ready to proceed?

Reiker: Yes, your honor.

Reiker: (Yeah… Ready. No evidence, no alternate theories… Guess I should just pay attention and do my best.)

Payne: Seems the murderer finally gathered enough funds for a private defender. How'd you do it? Kill another robot? Rob a casino?

Eggman: Actually, this man is our new public defender. This will be his first case.

Payne: Oh, how precious… I bet he'll be running out of town with his tail feathers between his legs after we confirm the guilty verdict.

Reiker: (… Is he serious?)

Eggman: We’ll see, now… Let's not keep this waiting any longer than we already have. Prosecutor Payne, your opening statement?

Payne: The solution to this case is so obvious that no private defense attorney would even pick up the case! In fact, I almost feel sorry for the poor sap standing across from me.

Reiker: Can we get on with it instead of gloating?

Payne: So eager to face your own demise? Very well, then…

Payne: The crime took place around 8:45 PM last Wednesday. The victim, Flash Driver, is a new member of the doctor’s E-5000 line.

Payne: The victim was found with his legs battered and multiple components taken out of their rear hatch. We cannot obtain camera footage due to the parts being missing, however, we have multiple reasons to believe it was the mole standing before us today.

Reiker: Wait, his legs were battered?

Eggman: This is basic information, did you not read the autopsy report!?

Reiker: With all due respect, you never gave me the autopsy report, your honor.

Eggman: Hm… I suppose in this instance your ill-preparedness is somewhat understandable. Don't let it happen again.

Payne: Feh. Here, fledgling - your first piece of evidence. Please try to keep your gape-mouthed self from drooling all over the pages.

Strait: … I think I’ll be fine, thanks.

Autopsy Report (Flash) has been added to the Court Record.

Reiker: (I should take a closer look at that. Remember, Strait - evidence is a lawyer's best friend! Good thing I keep it Pinned at the Top of my mind!)

Reiker: I notice you haven't mentioned a motive, or why my client is your prime suspect. Was she even near the crime scene at the time of the murder?

Payne: Listen, kid, I have this case down tight. Your defendant there is one of 10 people who could have possibly committed the crime at hand.

Reiker: … One of 10? How do you figure?

Payne: Let's just call them the tools of the trade. Specifically, the tool set a Robo-Tech like her uses daily.

Eggman: Ah, you must be referring to the Omnitools, no?

Reiker: Omnitools?

Eggman: You're familiar with the concept of an army knife, correct? Imagine a compact device like that, equipped with every screwdriver, wrench, and key needed to access all the technical parts of my machines, including Robians. This one is assigned to her.

Yanshu's Omnitool has been added to Court Record.

Payne: No one could have accessed the stolen parts without those tools, not to mention that Yanshu was the last person to meet with the victim, during a routine maintenance checkup…

That was anything but routine!

Eggman: Uh... Interesting. In what way was it not routine?

Payne: Well, the perpetrator is right here. Why don't we ask her? Miss, let's start with your name and occupation.

Yanshu: Eep! I, um… M-… My name is Yanshu Dryll. I'm a Class C Robo-Tech, f-for the Main Division…

Payne: And if I'm correct, you assisted the victim…

On the day of the murder!?

Yanshu: W-well, yes, but that doesn't mean I killed him!

Eggman: The court will be the judge of that. Now, if you could please testify regarding this maintenance appointment you had.

Yanshu: Y-yes doctor- I mean, sir! I mean-… Y-yes, your honor!

Testimony 1 - The Maintenance Appointment

1:) I had been assigned to Flash to do a routine checkup, scheduled for Wednesday at noon.

2:) All the required checks were proceeding as normal, and the appointment was rather short.

3:) My boss came by and signed off on my maintenance sheet…

4:) … And shortly after that, Flash left, just like he usually does. That was the last time I saw him.

Reiker: (Hm… Not much to work with... At least that old cat has just as little information as I do.)

Reiker: (But if that’s really the case, why does he look so confident…?)

Payne: … Really? That's all you have to say?

Yanshu: Y-yes, and it’s the truth! Wh-… What more could you want?

Eggman: I will kindly ask the prosecution to not badger the witness. Now, defense, are you ready for the cross examination?

Reiker: (I need more information… Just gotta dive into the old Thought Pool and figure out what to ask. Maybe I'll glean some new information! Once I think I've got it down pat, I can Present an idea by connecting a Statement with an Item in the Court Record!)