#they are distinctly different meals

[psalacanthea]

they keep adding new dumb features to this place when all I want is a little ticker at the top of my blog that displays my status like the old MSN messenger

[kitten4sannie]

imprint

pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)

genre: fluff, romance, smut

summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)

warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal 🫶🏼, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc

a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO 🗣️ i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi 🐺 <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~

pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333

song rec: say - keshi

fictober 2024

You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above. 

The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on. 

You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence. 

It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was…so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you. 

Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him. 

You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought…” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.

“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder. 

“I thought you were…going to kill me…” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf…” 

“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain. 

“I’m sorry, I–…Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern. 

Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts…” 

“I know, I’m almost done, I promise…” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows. 

Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him. 

You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest…Where did you come from?”

Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad…I’m here, there, everywhere, really.” 

You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?” 

“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?” 

“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow. 

“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home. 

-

It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi…I’m so sorry…I need to stitch you up.”

Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.” 

“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?” 

“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”

Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really…”

“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.” 

It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you…” 

It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?” 

It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.” 

You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?” 

“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.

“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began. 

“….Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there. 

Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love…” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before. 

The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world? 

“Mingi…are you…?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human. 

Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way. 

“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve. 

Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf. 

Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love. 

“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation. 

“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.” 

“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying…were you?” 

Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love…” 

You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right…?” 

Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?” 

Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might…Is that crazy?” 

Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.” 

“Where…have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting…for someone like you…” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.” 

He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that…better?” 

For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake. 

-

You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back. 

Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you…I’m not mad, I just–”

“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not…what you think I am.” 

You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi…I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.

His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?” 

“I do…” 

It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a…werewolf…”

Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you…you like this.” 

You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?” 

Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”

You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.” 

When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy. 

Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful…” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat. 

“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples. 

He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes. 

You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more…” 

The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?” 

“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before. 

Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.

So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.” 

“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I…? Please?” 

“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.

Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.” 

“Y–ours…!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.

“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so. 

It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big…”  

“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.

“Yes, give it to me, please, Min…”

He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full…so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.” 

Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe. 

“Yes, please.” 

It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.” 

“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life. 

“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.” 

“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears. 

Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.” 

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[s-brant]

Three’s Company

When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.

-

The room is stiflingly hot.

There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.

Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.

They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.

"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."

They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.

When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.

Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."

To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.

"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."

She smiled.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."

Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."

The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.

As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.

He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.

The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.

"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."

"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."

Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.

She chuckles.

"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"

Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."

This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.

"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"

Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.

The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.

He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.

When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.

With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.

The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.

Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.

Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.

Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.

They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.

"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."

Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.

After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them. 

She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.

With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.

Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.

Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"

The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.

"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"

Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...

Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.

He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.

Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.

She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.

"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."

To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.

Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"

The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.

In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.

That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.

While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.

One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her. 

He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."

Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.

Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.

Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.

She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.

Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.

Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."

To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.

Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.

When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.

"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."

Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.

The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.

So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.

Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now. 

When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.

The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.

They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...

Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.

"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.

It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.

She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"

The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could. 

Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.

If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.

Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.

She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.

Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.

He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"

Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.

"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."

They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.

Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.

"Only a little?"

She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.

It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.

Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

"Too much clothes."

But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.

Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.

To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.

It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.

She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"

Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.

To their surprise, it's Art who answers first. 

Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.

"On my lap."

Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.

Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.

"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."

And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.

The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.

Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.

"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.

There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.

Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.

Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.

She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."

"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."

If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.

"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."

With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.

Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.

She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.

As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.

Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.

"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.

Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.

Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

"If it's too much, you have to tell us."

Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.

One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.

She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.

Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."

The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.

One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.

As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.

And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.

Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes. 

"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"

The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.

With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"

Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.

Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.

He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"

A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.

He asks again, "Is that what you want?"

Her response is immediate.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"

To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.

The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.

To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.

Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."

Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.

Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.

She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.

It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.

Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.

It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.

The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if don't mind sharing me."

His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.

"I don't mind one bit."

-

Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!

[nyoomerr]

(cw for omegaverse and Gender Stuff. sfw/mature at worst)

---

It’s been many, many years since Luo Binghe spent his rut outside of a nest. He may not have ever had a proper mate, but ever since his rise in power he’s had no shortage of rut partners, and the intensity of his ruts often throw his partners into heat. An omega facing discomfort will instinctively create a nest, and an omega in heat will not be too picky about who it is that comes inside that nest.

So: Luo Binghe is used to spending his ruts in an omega’s nest, even if the nest is different each time. 

He hadn’t realized how used to it he’d become until he was staring down the full force of his rut and realizing that no nest had been created for him; that no nest would be created for him.

Shen Yuan is not an omega, after all. 

Surely, though - surely he would be one, if he’d been born a part of Luo Binghe’s world rather than snatched out of that terrible scentless one? Luo Binghe has never been able to get it up for anyone not actively expelling an omega’s ‘come hither’ scent, but all Shen Yuan has to do is smile at him, or scold him, or pitch his voice up into that spoiled whining tone - 

Surely, Luo Binghe would not feel such fierce attraction to Shen Yuan if the man was meant to be a beta. If Shen Yuan had been born in Luo Binghe’s world, he’d no doubt have all the instincts of an omega, and so he’d surely have been pushed into pre-heat by Luo Binghe’s oncoming rut, and so he’d have built a nest.

Put like that, Luo Binghe has an obligation to help Shen Yuan out. Shen Yuan should be building a nest right now, but he doesn’t know that he should be, or even how to build one, and it’s Luo Binghe’s job as his mate to instruct him. Luo Binghe will show Shen Yuan how to do it just this once - he has watched many omegas build their nests over his lifetime, so he knows how it’s meant to be done - and then the next time Luo Binghe enters his rut cycle, Shen Yuan will know how to do it himself.

“Shen Yuan,” Luo Binghe calls, and then when Shen Yuan raises an expectant eyebrow, very quickly corrects himself: “Yuan-ge.”

“Is your rut in full swing, now?” Shen Yuan asks, and Luo Binghe swallows thickly as he catches the way Shen Yuan casts a nervous glance below Luo Binghe’s belt. 

Shen Yuan hasn’t been… hesitant, really, but he has been clearly nervous to spend Luo Binghe’s rut with him. Luo Binghe isn’t willing to look too closely at the feelings that inspires in him: both Shen Yuan’s nervousness, and the fact that Shen Yuan is still here in Luo Binghe’s rooms despite it.

“Not yet - I’ll still be fully conscious until tomorrow morning, most likely.” Luo Binghe answers, almost absentmindedly. He has to teach Shen Yuan how to build a nest, but now his mind is stuck here, on Shen Yuan’s nerves and how to soothe them. He has to soothe them, he has to make sure his mate is safe and happy, he has to remove the threat -

Luo Binghe forcefully shakes the thought away. His instincts have been prickling at him nonstop like this for the past several days; a side effect of knowing that his upcoming rut will be spent with a proper mate rather than a simple bed partner. 

Shen Yuan has already expressed his dissatisfaction about Luo Binghe’s foolish instinct-driven behaviors this morning when Luo Binghe had dragged him out of bed and into the kitchens so he could keep Shen Yuan in sight while still providing his mate with a good meal. If Luo Binghe’s instincts make him do something unnecessary that causes Shen Yuan to complain again, then Luo Binghe really won’t be able to take it. The panic that had flared through him at potentially offending Shen Yuan so close to a time when Luo Binghe needed him had been… distinctly unpleasant.

So: a nest. Shen Yuan’s nest, which will be built by Luo Binghe just this once, and which will both settle some of Luo Binghe’s uncertainty by giving him a point of familiarity and, hopefully, soothe some of Shen Yuan’s nerves. After all, even if Shen Yuan doesn’t possess omegan instincts, who isn’t soothed by a nice nest?

Luo Binghe clears his throat. “Before my rut begins, I wanted to show Yuan-ge how to build a nest.”

Shen Yuan raises his sleeves up to obscure half his expression, a habit he’d picked up after Luo Binghe had confiscated all the fans he’d been using to hide his face previously.

(Luo Binghe had not confiscated them because Shen Yuan had hidden behind them. Luo Binghe in fact finds Shen Yuan particularly easy to read when he’s trying to hide something, and especially cute when he thinks he’s getting away with it. 

Luo Binghe had taken all those dreadful fans away because Shen Yuan would not stop fanning himself with them, which - while indeed is the point of such an object - had been the cause of one of the bloodiest court sessions in the history of Luo Binghe’s reign, when Luo Binghe had caught the way some of his petitioners had been so clearly trying to get a whiff of the scent that Shen Yuan was blowing about with his fan.

It made no difference that Shen Yuan did not actually have a scent to blow around, outside of the smell of human sweat and the soft milky tones of the soaps Luo Binghe commissions for him. The insult of looking for Shen Yuan’s scent had been enough.

No more fans.)

“A nest as in… like, what an omega builds?” Shen Yuan asks cautiously. Luo Binghe nods, and Shen Yuan raises his sleeves higher. “And Binghe remembers that I’m not an omega, correct?”

Luo Binghe waves a hand dismissively. He does know this, even if he also believes that Shen Yuan should be an omega nonetheless.

“A nest helps to soothe nerves,” Luo Binghe says in place of his thoughts on what his attraction to Shen Yuan must surely indicate about Shen Yuan’s secondary gender. 

Shen Yuan watches him for a long moment, considering. “...Is Binghe nervous?” He eventually asks, and Luo Binghe is startled by the force of his defensiveness at being asked such a thing.

“No,” Luo Binghe says, voice carefully measured. He counts the spaces between his breaths - in for four, out for eight - and reminds himself that he isn’t nervous. He already knows Shen Yuan enjoys laying with him outside of ruts. Shen Yuan’s own nerves will be soothed by the nest, and then Shen Yuan will enjoy spending Luo Binghe’s rut with him, and Luo Binghe will be able to please his mate quite thoroughly.

“Hm,” Shen Yuan says. “Alright. What do you - er, what do I - need for a nest?”

Luo Binghe feels tension slip from his shoulders. Good, good; Shen Yuan will build a nest. 

“Yuan-ge should go grab his dirty robes, and one of mine if you want,” he instructs. “It will be most comforting if it’s mostly made up of your own scent, with only some of your mate’s, and it’s already going to have a lot of mine from the bed sheets themselves.”

It’s impossible to sleep on a bed without scenting it to some degree; the bed Luo Binghe shares with Shen Yuan will always smell more like Luo Binghe than anything else since Shen Yuan doesn’t have the scent glands to rub off on it to begin with.

“Alright,” Shen Yuan says, even though his nose wrinkles when Luo Binghe mentions the dirty laundry. “And while I do that, Binghe should start on the base of the nest, okay?”

Luo Binghe frowns. That doesn’t sound right. Shen Yuan is supposed to be the one learning how to make a nest, because it’s an omega thing to make a nest. If Shen Yuan isn’t present while Luo Binghe works on it, how can Shen Yuan learn?

Shen Yuan hums, reaching up to rest the palm of his hand on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck. Instinctively, Luo Binghe shifts so that Shen Yuan’s wrist rests properly on the scent gland there; even without Shen Yuan having a proper scent of his own, it’s a pleasant sensation. 

“Good,” Shen Yuan praises him, voice soft. “Now I’ll go paw through our dirty laundry, and you’ll go work on the sheets.”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe agrees, and turns to go and do just that. 

Luo Binghe starting the nest by himself turns out to be a good thing, in the end - he’s never built one before, only ever watching his rut partners do it, so it takes some trial and error to figure out how to create the shapes he wants with the sheets. Shen Yuan wouldn’t learn anything watching Luo Binghe place and replace the sheets and pillows like this, struggling to figure out how to get things to lay just right. 

Luo Binghe has to teach Shen Yuan the right way to build a nest, after all. He knows that what makes for a good nest can be subjective to each omega, but Luo Binghe has always had his own opinions about the nests that his rut partners have made. Surely, as an alpha, the opinions that Luo Binghe has had are the result of finding an objective common denominator from all the various nests he’s slept in. And if Luo Binghe can recreate what feels good for an alpha, then that would give Shen Yuan a good base to customize the nest to his own liking without much trial and error of his own.

By the time Shen Yuan joins him at their bedside, Luo Binghe is quite pleased with himself. It isn’t a good nest yet - it needs their robes for that - but it’s -

“Very good, Binghe,” Shen Yuan praises. Luo Binghe all but preens; it’s a good nest, so it’s sure to ease Shen Yuan’s nerves once it’s done. “Now show me what you’re meant to do with the dirty robes, hm?”

Luo Binghe takes the robes from Shen Yuan - there’s more of Luo Binghe’s clothes than Shen Yuan’s, but Luo Binghe supposes that perhaps the scent distribution doesn’t matter too much for Shen Yuan’s beta nose - and begins working them into the nest.

“This is for - an air current,” Luo Binghe explains haltingly. He’s never had to put into words why certain things make a nest good, but he’s sure that he’s right about some things being an objective common denominator, and that means there’s an explanation for why. “We get air from the window on that side of the room, so the air needs to be directed through the nest like this.”

“To give us fresh air?”

“No,” Luo Binghe snarls, his claws tearing into the robe he’s holding as he goes tense. Then he realizes what he’s done and forces himself to drop the robe, counting his breaths again - in for four, out for eight, in for -

“Ah, Binghe… the rut is coming in sooner than you expected, isn’t it?” Shen Yuan murmurs, bending down to pick up the robe. Luo Binghe watches him warily; of course Shen Yuan can pick up the robe, because this is Shen Yuan’s nest.

He still feels relieved when Shen Yuan hands the robe back to him. He hasn’t finished teaching Shen Yuan how to make a nest yet, after all. 

“No fresh air,” Luo Binghe says, firmly but without the growl this time. 

He chooses to ignore Shen Yuan’s comment about the timing of his rut. It doesn’t actually feel like his rut is settling in upon him, but he feels so - untethered, and yet pulled taught at the same time - and he isn’t sure what else it would be. 

“Alright,” Shen Yuan agrees. “Air flow for what, then?”

“For -” Luo Binghe gestures with one hand jerkily, eyes firmly on where he’s still working the robe into their nest with the other. 

…Into Shen Yuan’s nest, he means.

“- for air flow in the opposite direction,” Luo Binghe eventually gets out. “The window will carry in foreign scents, no matter how tightly it’s closed. This is to keep that out.”

That much Luo Binghe does know for certain as an alpha; it isn’t uncommon for young alphas to start brawls with their neighbors just because their scent wafts in under a door frame. 

“Very smart,” Shen Yuan says, handing Luo Binghe another robe. 

Luo Binghe takes it, but the thought of adding it to the nest makes his teeth itch, and after a moment he hands it back. He doesn’t know if the nest is done, yet - he doesn't have the omega instincts to know - but he needs to come up with a reason to explain why and when the nest is done, because this is the nest that Shen Yuan is learning from.

Shen Yuan catches his arm, and Luo Binghe only barely doesn’t startle.

“Perhaps Binghe would know if his nest is done if he gets inside it?” Shen Yuan asks gently. 

Luo Binghe nods. Yes, yes - maybe his rut really is settling in early, if he can’t even think clearly enough to come up with the idea of getting inside the nest to check it on his own. 

He gets into the nest. He can’t - his memories of nests are usually when lying down, or when hovered over his rut partner, so he can’t compare this nest to the ones in his memories while sitting upright. 

He lays down. The nest is - 

“It’s done,” Luo Binghe says thickly. “It’s - I know Yuan-ge doesn’t like to hear about my past partners, but they’ve helped Yuan-ge today.”

The nest is better than any nest Luo Binghe has ever been in. He must have been right that observing so many omega’s nests would let Luo Binghe objectively build the best one, even as an alpha. 

“Can I come in?” Shen Yuan asks, peering down at Luo Binghe from the edge of the bed. He’s raised his hands to partially hide his face with his sleeves again, and for once Luo Binghe really has no idea what kind of face Shen Yuan is making. 

“Of course,” Luo Binghe says. “Didn’t this lord make the nest for you, so that you could learn how to for the future?”

“Mn,” Shen Yuan says, which is neither an agreement or a disagreement, but he does carefully join Luo Binghe in the nest. “Binghe was right; a nest does help with nerves, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Luo Binghe says, feeling relieved. The prickling in the back of his mind - the instinctual urge to figure out how to help his mate feel better about joining Luo Binghe through his rut - fades. 

Shen Yuan shifts, turning to face Luo Binghe in the nest. He watches Luo Binghe for a long moment, and Luo Binghe watches him back, his heart beating rabbit fast in his chest. Is something wrong with the nest? It’s - it’s perfect, but Luo Binghe isn’t an omega, so maybe Shen Yuan noticed something that Luo Binghe didn’t, or -

Shen Yuan brings his hand up to rest on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck, a mirror of the way he’d soothed Luo Binghe earlier. He still isn’t resting his wrist in quite the right spot, but Luo Binghe can’t bring himself to be upset about it. The fact that Shen Yuan tries, despite lacking all the instincts that Luo Binghe himself has, is enough to soothe Luo Binghe in place of any calming omega scent.

Still, Luo Binghe begins to move so that Shen Yuan’s wrist is resting in the right spot. Before he can, though, Shen Yuan - still watching Luo Binghe so very, very carefully - shifts his grip on Luo Binghe’s neck and squeezes.

Luo Binghe goes still. That isn’t - it isn’t the way an omega would scent an alpha. It isn’t quite anything, really, since Shen Yuan is a beta without the instincts to guide this type of action or the scent to back it up, but -

But it’s very, very close to the way an alpha might scruff an omega to calm them down. 

Luo Binghe’s breath hitches. His hands curl into tight fists around the front of Shen Yuan’s robes - robes that Luo Binghe had commissioned personally, because he’s an alpha, and because it’s an alpha’s job to provide for their mate in those sorts of ways. 

He gets an immense amount of satisfaction from doing so, too, just the same way he feels nearly gorged on pride and pleasure from caring for Shen Yuan in all sorts of other alpha ways. Feeding him, protecting him, showing off his martial skill - Luo Binghe loves being a good alpha for Shen Yuan. 

He finds himself nearly distraught at how much he loves being scruffed like an omega, too. 

“Ah, Binghe…” Shen Yuan tuts, even as he squeezes his hand tight on the nape of Luo Binghe’s neck, grounding him. “What are those wet eyes for? Did your Yuan-gege not already tell you? I’m not from this world, so what the hell do I know about any of this secondary gender stuff?”

Luo Binghe looks at Shen Yuan helplessly. He knows for a fact that Shen Yuan understands scruffing to be a thing done exclusively to omegas; Shen Yuan had asked about it after catching the way that Luo Binghe had been watching a couple showing off their fresh bonds at a tea house they’d visited. 

Luo Binghe had only watched because he’d wished it to be the sort of thing he could do to Shen Yuan. He - he’d only -

Shen Yuan squeezes again. Luo Binghe goes limp. There’s a tightness in his throat, similar to the feeling right before Luo Binghe growls but far more gentle. 

“I don’t know jack shit about this secondary gender stuff,” Shen Yuan says again, “so I’m just doing whatever I feel like, okay? As - uh, as in, I’m just doing stuff from my world.”

“...Mn,” Luo Binghe says weakly. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Binghe being an alpha or anything else,” Shen Yuan reiterates. “So Binghe doesn’t have to think about it in those terms.”

“...Mn,” Luo Binghe says again, even more quietly. 

“...But if you want to think about it that way,” Shen Yuan says cautiously, “then because I’m not from this world, I wouldn’t know any better.”

Luo Binghe takes a deep, shuddering breath. He knew, distantly, that his rut was going to be… difficult, this time around. He knew that his instincts would be working overtime at the thought of having a real mate, and he knew it would be hard to reconcile his own intensity with the fact that Shen Yuan is barely even a beta by this world’s standards. 

He also knew that the shape of his relationship with Shen Yuan would make this rut especially difficult, not just the existence of it. Shen Yuan, his Yuan-ge, his would-have-been-Shizun in another lifetime…

No, even without the titles, Shen Yuan has power over Luo Binghe in a way that no one else ever has. It had been a difficult thing to come to terms with to begin with - and Luo Binghe still feels shame at the way he’d bitten and snapped at Shen Yuan in a panicked attempt to feel like he was still in charge of the relationship after realizing that Shen Yuan had managed to leash him so thoroughly - and that had been when Luo Binghe was in a normal state of mind. Of course that internal struggle would rear its ugly head again when Luo Binghe entered his rut, when his alpha instincts became so much more intense.

He hadn’t expected it to take this exact shape, though. He hadn’t expected to be the one to start it, by building a nest that neither he nor Shen Yuan should ever need. 

Shen Yuan is still watching him, he knows. The grip on the back of Luo Binghe’s neck has loosened, giving Luo Binghe room to think. 

He wants very much for the pressure to return and make it so he doesn’t have to think about anything anymore.

“Since Yuan-ge isn’t from this world,” Luo Binghe says slowly, “I should… inform you about what is expected from my rut.”

“You should,” Shen Yuan agrees with no small amount of grace, considering that he’d already spent the last two weeks anxiously pestering Luo Binghe to get all sorts of details about how alphas behave during rut. 

“During my rut, I won’t be in a clear state of mind,” Luo Binghe continues. “It’s important that an alpha not hurt their mate even in that state, so -”

Luo Binghe breaks off. His jaw clicks as he figures out how to say the next part; if he can say the next part. He is an alpha, even if the dynamics of his relationship with Shen Yuan don’t match those of any other relationship he’s held. 

Shen Yuan moves his thumb to gently slide up and down the column of Luo Binghe’s neck, drawing Luo Binghe’s attention back to the way Shen Yuan is still lightly scruffing him. Luo Binghe breathes out carefully through his nose.

“To not hurt their mate, an alpha might be better off on the receiving end,” Luo Binghe manages to get out. “Even if - even if I cry about wanting to knot you, Yuan-ge can just squeeze with his hands.”

It’s a lie. Shen Yuan knows it’s a lie. No alpha ever would allow their partner to be the one on top during their rut. 

“Good boy, Binghe,” Shen Yuan croons, squeezing Luo Binghe’s neck again. “You’re a very good alpha, thinking about how to keep me safe.”

Luo Binghe’s throat feels tight again. He realizes, so distantly it might have been the thought of another person, that he is trying to purr like an omega despite not physically being able to do so. 

“Is there anything else you should tell your Yuan-ge about your rut?” Shen Yuan asks, and Luo Binghe shakes his head wordlessly.

There’s more that he wants to say, but he doesn’t have the words for it. He might never have the words for it. Already, this feels like too much. 

“Alright,” Shen Yuan says. “That’s okay. You can tell me more next time, okay?”

Luo Binghe nods weakly, clutching tightly to the front of Shen Yuan’s robes. Next time, next time - 

Yes, Shen Yuan is Luo Binghe’s mate, no matter the world he came from or the way it prevents Shen Yuan from actually bearing a proper mating bite. There will be more ruts they spend together in the future. 

“Next time,” Luo Binghe agrees, and leans into Shen Yuan’s touch.

[imfinereallyy]

hummingbirds

Steve’s crying on the porch of his parents' house, with a duffel bag and baseball bat, when Eddie pulls into the driveway.

“Jesus, Steve, what happened?” Eddie crouches down to get eye level with Steve. Despite being dark out, the sun set long ago, and the outdoor lights weren’t on. Steve turns to look at his parents' car in the driveway and thinks back to when the lock had distinctly turned shut on the front door. They were around to switch the lights on; they just didn’t care anymore to do so.

Steve is grateful for the moonlight, as he can see the pretty lines on Eddie’s face. Even if they currently curve into a frown.

“Hey Eds.” Steve’s voice cracks.

“Stevie…what happened?” Eddie asks again, this time it’s gently. It cradles Steve and holds him softly. He wishes Eddie’s hands would do the same.

“Did you know hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward?” Steve sniffles.

Eddie’s face scrunches in confusion, “What? Birds? You lost me.”

Steve pushes past Eddie’s confused face. “They are the only birds to fly backward. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Dustin to teach me that out of the munchkins. It was actually El. She’s apparently going through a bird phase. And I don’t think the others are very interested. So I try to pay attention when she talks about it. And she taught me about hummingbirds.”

Eddie settles on his knees, “That’s great, man and those little shits should listen to her more, but I’m not sure what that has to do with what’s wrong. You called me to come pick you up and hung up before I could even answer.”

Steve bites his lip, “Sorry, my dad clicked the phone off.” Eddie’s face shows surprise, but Steve keeps talking before he can interrupt. “And well, I guess hummingbirds have nothing to do with anything. It’s stupid, really.”

“No, no. It’s not stupid. Tell me about the birds, Stevie.” Eddie’s hand finally reaches out to Steve. He brushes the fallen hair out of his face, and something in Steve just sets him off.

“You see, they can fly backward. And well, no, I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, my cousin Tucker is here to visit. And let me tell you, he is the worst. Like Eddie, you would hate him. Conservative, capitalist enthusiast, real bootlicker kind of guy.”

“Sounds like the worst. Especially if he made you use the big words.” Eddie’s hand falls away, and Steve mourns the loss. Normally, when people make jokes about his intelligence, it stings. It makes him feel small. But when Eddie does it, it isn’t mean or a poke at how stupid Steve is. With Eddie, it’s almost like he’s reminding Steve that he is smart. That maybe Steve is the one making himself small.

He is.

“Anyway, he’s visiting, right? So my parents come home. And I haven’t seen them in months, since before spring break. It’s nearly October, and I haven’t seen them, and I can’t tell if I’m excited or dreading their arrival. It’s always a fight when they are around, how I’m not good enough, how I should be more. Their visits always end up being cut short, and me feeling like shit. But this stupid, stupid part of me was hoping it would be different this time. They haven’t seen me since the “earthquakes.” Surely they’ll be happy to see I’m okay, right?”

Eddie stays silent, his face revealing nothing.

“Of course, it’s not. They only came home because my cousin Tucker was in town. All the way from Indy cause it’s so far. And my mom ‘made’ dinner, as in she ordered it and pretended she made it. It wasn’t even that good, but we all pretended it was the best thing ever made. Cause that’s what they do, pretend. And the dinner is fine, boring. Most of it is just me staying silent while my dad and Tucker talk about the business. Tucker runs the Indy office while my dad is in New York. Ya see, Tucker has been gunning to take over for my dad when he retires, which is another word for dies—“ Steve let’s put a bitter laugh; he wonders if his parents are listening. He doubts it.

“—and they are going on for the whole meal, and I’m almost through the home stretch when my dad brings up me, coming to work for him.”

Eddie reacts finally, “You’re going to New York?” His voice is strained, like he is trying very hard not to yell, not at Steve, but at anyone who will listen. Steve is quick to correct.

“No, no, I’m not. This was news to me to Eds. I have no interest in my dad's business, and as far as I was concerned, he didn’t want me a part of it either. Guess that has changed. Has? Had? I don’t know…” Steve trails off.

“Harrington.”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me think you’re mad at me. Besides, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” Steve bites.

“Sorry, Steve. I’m not mad. I promise. Just, what do you mean?” Eddie’s head tilts to the side, his curls cascading down his shoulder. It reminds Steve of a river, dark water rippling in the moonlight.

“I was so shocked, Eds. When he said that. That I was quiet, I should have corrected him, maybe. Maybe I could have fixed it. But Tucker was so quick to act. He was pissed. He knows my working for my dad means me being set up to take over. And Tucker, he’s worked too hard to make sure he does get the business. But instead of yelling, he just gets this concerned look on his face. And he…”

“He what?”

Steve wrenches his eyes shut as he recalls the rest. As he recalls the way Tucker’s face faked worry as he struck. Like he has been waiting for the right moment to ruin Steve. He manages to open his eyes eventually, only to see Eddie’s face once again. The honest look on his face is enough to push Steve on.

“In the summer, Robin was feeling sad. This was before you guys knew about each other, and I was the only one who knew about her. And she was sad cause nothing had happened with Vicky and she felt so alone. And I hated seeing her like that. And so, so I took her to Indy. And, and—“ Steve starts to hyperventilate.

Eddie takes him by the shoulders. “Breathe for me, Steve. Come on, baby, match my breaths. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Steve matches Eddie’s breath. Ignores how the word baby calms him down instantly. “Tucker told my dad that he saw me in Indy. That he saw me come out of a gay club, Eddie. And he went on about how they should focus more on getting me help, than putting me in a power position, again Eds, which I don’t even want! And how I would be a bad look for the company. How would it look if a company whose whole image is family values, only successor, turned out to be gay.”

Eddie flinches a bit, but doesn’t let go of him. Steve feels instant regret. “That isn’t what I meant, Eddie.”

Eddie shushes him, “I know, sweetheart. You’re just upset. I know. Did you tell him that you weren’t there for you? Or maybe that Rick was mistaken; it was a regular club?”

Steve rubs a hand down his face, “And what? Tell him that my two best friends in the entire world are gay? So that I can be shipped off to New York and never see them again? Yeah right. I’d rather face the bats again than be removed from you two. And I’m not going to out you guys like that.”

Something warm crosses Eddie’s face, “So, you lied then?”

“Before I could say anything my dad reacted.”

Eddie freezes, a darkness swims in his eyes. “He put his hands on you?”

“No, no!” Steve panics, and he purposely leaves out the ‘not this time.’ Eddie isn’t necessarily a violent person. But he does have a protective streak. As admirable as it is, Steve doesn’t want him to get hurt.

Eddie relaxes but only slightly.

“He was actually pretty calm, which is even more terrifying. I expected him to yell, throw things. But instead he just turns and says, ‘Is this true, Steven?’. And what gets me is they didn’t even question why my cousin was anywhere near that club in the first place. Why did he see me there? Instead, he just asks me if it’s true. And it’s the first time in a long time, if ever, that my dad asks me this. He always just assumes I’ve fucked up. And this time, he really asked me about the truth. And I couldn’t, I couldn’t lie. I don’t know why, but it felt wrong to. So I didn’t. I just told him, ‘Yes. It’s true.’”

“Stevie…”

Steve throws out a bitter laugh, “And you know what? He still doesn’t freak out. He just tells me I have five minutes to get my shit and get out. That I needed to call a ride because the car was under the name Steve Harrington, and I was no longer a Harrington. And he was so calm. And my mom just sat there, and I just listened. I didn’t fight. I am so tired of fighting.”

“Steve, why not just tell them the truth? Tell them you were there for a friend?” Eddie’s tone isn’t scolding, only curious.

“See, that’s because I started thinking about hummingbirds, Eddie. I started thinking about how they fly forwards and backward and how they are the only ones that can do that. Isn’t that fascinating? These small birds are so strong and interesting, and can do something no one else can do. But no other birds understand; the rest of them just fly forwards Eds. And I—I feel like that sometimes. That I’m not flying in one direction, ya know?”

Steve feels like he isn’t making much sense, but then Eddie nods and looks at Steve. Like really looks at Steve, and sees him. And Steve feels raw, stripped of his skin, exposed, and it should hurt, but it feels so fucking good. And Eddie stares deep into Steve’s eyes and says, “Yea, I know.”

“I didn’t want to lie. Because even though Tucker was wrong, he was also right. I wasn’t there for me, but I think I needed to be there. To get it. And I think that I’m flying backward, Eds. And I’m worried it’s wrong of me, that it shouldn’t be allowed. And that there is no purpose to me flying backward if I can just go forwards. If I can just fly with the rest of them. But I don’t think, I don’t think I’ve ever really taken flight before. Not before I understood I could also go backward.”

It’s in this moment, where Steve is covered in tears and snot that Eddie finally takes his hands and cradles Steve’s face. Steve’s never felt safer.

“Listen to me, sweetheart; there is nothing wrong with you. Okay? Nothing wrong with you. Just because you can fly forwards doesn’t mean you have to, doesn’t mean you should. Sometimes you’re going to have to fly backward; you’re not going to have a choice. It’s just the direction you’re fast, huge, hummingbird heart takes you. And it might take you a bit to learn that. To understand that, but I will make sure that you do. Because you, Steve Harrington, are fucking fearless and fucking beautiful, and I am so goddamn proud of you.”

Steve finally reaches his breaking point and collapses in Eddie’s arms. Full body, ugly sobs wreck Steve. He is sure that he is soaking Eddie’s favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt to the bone, but he can’t find it himself to care. His fingers dig into Eddie’s back as he clutches tighter as his breathing picks up.

“Breathe, baby, breathe. Remember that. I got you. I got you.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear.

Steve picks his head up when he finally calms down, and looks at Eddie. “You.”

“What’s that?” Eddie says softly, rubbing circles through Steve’s polo.

“I called you. Because, I think—no, I know, that I’ve been flying backward, to you. For a while now. And I knew that, even if you weren’t too, you’d still show up. And I just—just need you to know that. I am so grateful you showed up.”

Steve knows he should feel nervous telling Eddie all this, but he isn’t. He strangely feels like his dad at this moment, calm and unmoving. Steve doesn’t understand many things in this world, but he understands that even if Eddie doesn’t love him like that, Eddie still loves Steve in plenty of other ways.

It’s still nice, though, when Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve’s forehead. Steve closes his eyes and releases a breath.

Eddie slides his head down slightly so their foreheads are pushed together affectionately. “Stevie, I’ll always fly backward to you.”

Although it’s awful how they got here, Steve can’t help but feel happy at this moment. He also can’t help the silly giggle that comes out of him, “I think we have just lost all meaning to this metaphor at this point.”

Eddie snorts, “Oh, have we? And here I thought we were having a nice moment, a poetic one at that, telling each other ‘I love you.’”

Steve blinks at him, “You love me?”

Eddie frown lines finally turn upwards, “Yea baby, I love you.”

“I—“

Eddie cuts Steve off. “Tell me in the morning. When your tears have dried, and I’ve woken up with you in my arms. I want to hear it in the daylight. Okay? Let’s go home.” Eddie stands, offering a hand to Steve.

“Home?”

“Yea home, got to fly back to our nest.”

Steve can’t help the snort he releases, “Dork.”

Eddie just smiles, “Thought I told you to save the ‘I love you’ til the morning.”

Steve smiles back as he takes Eddie’s hand, “I didn’t…”

Eddie squeezes Steve’s fingers, “Yea, ya did.”

****

I’m back, not dead, and in my feelings. Thinking about expanding on this one. I hope you guys like it. 🧡🧡

[mingi-s-dimples]

Little Kitten - San

KINKTOBER DAY 13, REQ. BY anon

~"This could be combined with the previous idea, or a fic on its own, do whatever you feel like. San gifting the reader cat lingerie (idk what it's called, but essentially cat ears, a collar with a bell, paw mittens and a tail with a butt plug). He puts them on the reader and fucks her. Some kinks I'd like to see: PRAISE, San telling the reader to suck his fingers, teasing, marking, calling the reader princess, maybe reader's hands being restrained by handcuffs/ a tie/ rope or just San using his one of his hands. Just soft San."

pairing: san x fem!reader

genre: 18+, filthish

summary: Your boyfriend got you a super nice birthday gift... which you later try it on and get fucked senselessly.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: dom!san, pleasure dom!san, collar, cat ears, cat mittens, use of toys (buttplug), orgasms (both m & f), fingering, manhandling, unprotected (boo wrap up irl!), completely consensual, for sure forgot something, completely unedited.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for being so behind 😞😞😞 I'm gonna make up for them *I promise*. I love y'all and I kinda liked this fic? Anon I hope you're happy with my fic, I personally liked it ^^

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the member in any way.

It was the evening of your birthday, and the anticipation had been building all day. The thought of spending your special day with San filled you with excitement. You had spent the week planning the perfect night—just the two of you at your place, a cozy dinner, some video games, and then whatever the night would bring. San had always known how to make you feel special, and tonight, you couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for you.

The table was set with your favorite meal, and the living room was softly lit by the warm glow of candles, casting a romantic ambiance over the room. San arrived just as you were putting the final touches on everything, his smile as bright and charming as ever. He held a small gift bag in one hand, his other hand tucked behind his back, hiding something that piqued your curiosity.

“Happy birthday, baby,” San said as he stepped inside, pulling you into a warm embrace. His scent, a mix of his cologne and something distinctly him, wrapped around you, making you feel instantly at ease.

You smiled against his chest, savoring the closeness. “Thank you, San. I’m so glad you’re here.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Dinner was filled with laughter and conversation, the two of you falling into the comfortable rhythm you’d established over the course of your relationship. San was always full of energy, his playful nature lighting up every room he walked into, and tonight was no different. He cracked jokes, teased you about how seriously you took your cooking, and made you feel like the most important person in the world.

After dinner, you both moved to the living room, settling in front of the TV for a few rounds of your favorite video games. You and San had a playful rivalry when it came to gaming, and tonight was no exception. You laughed as he fumbled with the controls, and he smirked when he narrowly beat you in the last round.

“Maybe I’m letting you win because it’s my birthday,” you teased, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

He grinned, his dimpled smile making your heart skip a beat. “Maybe you’re just bad at the game.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips. Being with San was effortless. Every moment felt natural, full of affection and joy. As the clock ticked closer to midnight, you found yourself glancing at the gift bag he had brought in earlier, wondering what surprises were hidden inside.

San caught you looking and chuckled softly. “Someone’s a little eager, huh?”

You bit your lip, trying to play it cool, but the curiosity was killing you. “Maybe just a little.”

He reached for the bag, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out the moment. “Okay, since you’ve been patient… Happy birthday, again.”

He handed you the bag, and you carefully opened it, your heart pounding with excitement. Inside, nestled in a small velvet box, was a delicate white gold necklace. The pendant was simple yet elegant, a small, shimmering stone set in the center that caught the light beautifully.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at it, your fingers tracing the cool metal. “San, it’s gorgeous…”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said softly, his voice full of warmth. “Here, let me put it on for you.”

You turned around, pulling your hair to the side as San carefully fastened the necklace around your neck. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. When he was done, you turned back to face him, your fingers lightly touching the pendant.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

San leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Not as perfect as you.”

His words made your heart swell, and you couldn’t help but lean in for a quick kiss, your lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering moment of affection. But San wasn’t done yet. He had something else planned.

“There’s one more gift,” he said, his voice lower now, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Another one?”

He reached behind the couch, pulling out a second, slightly larger box. This one was wrapped in sleek black paper, a sharp contrast to the elegance of the necklace. He handed it to you, and your hands felt a little shaky as you unwrapped it, not sure what to expect.

As you opened the lid, your eyes widened. Inside was a set of black lingerie, delicate and revealing, along with something else—cat ears, a pair of paw mittens, a collar and a matching tail.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you swallowed hard, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness at the sight of the playful, slightly daring outfit. You looked up at San, your eyes wide, unsure of what to say.

He was watching you with a knowing smile, his eyes full of affection but also a flicker of something more intense. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

You bit your lip, feeling a flush of heat creeping up your neck. The idea of wearing something so bold made your heart race, but the thought of doing it for him, of the way he might look at you, made you just as eager.

“I… I love it,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

San’s smile widened, and he reached out, taking the ears from the box and holding them up. “You want to try it on?”

You nodded, unable to find the words, your body already humming with excitement. San stood, moving to stand behind you. He gently placed the cat ears on your head, his fingers brushing through your hair as he adjusted them. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck, and it made your pulse quicken.

Next came the paw mittens, soft and plush, fitting snugly over your hands as he slid them on. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring every second of dressing you. You couldn’t help but feel a thrill run through you, the intimacy of the moment making your heart pound.

Finally, San picked up the lingerie set, the collar and the tail. He looked at you, his eyes dark with anticipation, and nodded toward the bedroom.

“Let me help you with the rest,” he said, his voice full of promise.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, but nodded. You felt nervous, excited, and overwhelmed all at once, but there was no denying the anticipation bubbling up inside you. San always knew how to make you feel comfortable, no matter what, and you trusted him completely.

As you walked toward the bedroom, the soft glow of the candles from earlier flickered behind you, casting a warm light over the room. San followed closely, his hand resting gently on your lower back, guiding you forward.

The night was just beginning, and you had a feeling your birthday was about to get a lot more memorable.

---

San started undressing you. He took his sweet time, firstly pulling your shirt over your head, leaving you in your bra. Then he took that off too, softly but eagerly replacing it with the black, transparent lace bra that he got you. Your nipples hardened at his touch, visible through the cloth that was now barely covering anything. His hands then trailed on your body to your waist, the man in front of you going on one knee. Both his hands pulled off your panties, slowly but surely, as his lips flew to your inner thighs, leaving sloppy kisses behind. He sucked some light marks as close to your cunt. San then put on the panties he got you, matching with the bra, so.. still extremely revealing.

"Let's see, my love. Come here" he got up and sat on the edge of the bed, gently guiding you to stand between his legs. His eyes gleamed with desire as he pulled you closer, running his hands up your thighs. He grinned slightly as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin, teasing you.

"You're so beautiful," San whispered, his voice low and filled with admiration. He leaned in, pressing soft kisses along your stomach, moving slowly upwards, his lips warm and inviting. He took his time, savoring every inch of you, his touch becoming more deliberate.

One of his hands slid around to your back, pulling you even closer, while the other stayed at your waist, fingers tracing patterns on your skin. His touch was both calming and electrifying, a contrast that had you breathing harder, anticipation growing with every second.

"Do you feel it, love?" he murmured, his lips ghosting over your skin. "This...this is all for you."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. His hands explored your body with a kind of reverence, as though each touch was meant to savor, not rush. His lips continued their slow ascent, brushing just under your breasts before trailing back down to your navel. The heat from his breath left a trail of goosebumps, heightening every sensation.

"Tell me what you want," San's voice was low and gravelly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine, "it's your birthday, after all. I want to spoil you". His hands, now gripping your hips, pulled you closer until your legs brushed against his. He leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving yours, waiting for your answer. The weight of his gaze made it impossible to ignore how much he was holding back, his restraint barely veiling his own desire.

Your heart raced, his question lingering in the air, thick with promise. He shifted slightly on the bed, his fingers playing with the edge of your panties, teasingly pulling at the fabric but not fully removing them. It was clear he wanted to hear you say it, to claim this moment together.

"Y-you..I want you." you confidently but softly said, climbing onto his lap. He took you in his embrace, both of his hands flying to your ass, squeezing harshly.

A soft chuckle escaped San’s lips as he felt your body press against his. His grip on you tightened, his hands kneading your flesh with a mixture of urgency and care. His lips found your neck, planting slow, deliberate kisses that sent sparks through your body. He pulled you even closer, your core pressing against the growing hardness beneath him.

"That's all I needed to hear," he murmured against your skin before biting down softly, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. His hands slid up your back, pulling you flush against him as he let his tongue flick over the spot he just bit.

San’s mouth continued its descent, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His hands moved back down, thumbs tracing along your waist as his lips found your collarbone. He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above your skin. "Let me show you how much I love spoiling you," he whispered, his voice dripping with desire.

With that, he flipped you over onto your back, his body now hovering above yours. The look in his eyes was dark, intense, and filled with the promise of everything he intended to do. He kissed you deeply, his hands roaming over every curve of your body, claiming you fully with each touch, each kiss, as though savoring every moment of the gift that was this night.

San’s kisses grew more passionate, each one drawing you deeper into the moment. His lips traveled along your jawline, down to your chest, where he paused, taking in the sight of you beneath him. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth leaving your skin tingling in their wake. Slowly, he began to move lower, his mouth following the path his hands had traced.

He pressed his lips against the swell of your breasts, kissing and sucking lightly before making his way to your stomach. Every touch, every caress was deliberate, teasing you with the slow build of anticipation. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a smirk playing on his lips as he noticed the effect he was having on you.

"You deserve this," he murmured between kisses. "All of this."

His hands hooked around the waistband of your panties, and with a slow, tantalizing pull, he slid them off, his eyes never leaving yours. He hovered above you, fingers brushing gently against your inner thighs, his breath warm and steady as he let the anticipation hang in the air.

For a moment, the world seemed to still as San lowered himself, his lips returning to your body, exploring, tasting, leaving a trail of heat and want. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, as he made his way lower, determined to fulfill his promise of spoiling you completely.

"Were you thinking about this before, baby? You're so wet, sweetie.." his words faded as he dived in, his tongue starting to softly lick your folds. San’s large hands gripped at your thighs in a rough, needy manner. He had you splayed open before him as he feasted on your essence, pouring every ounce of himself into your pleasure. His tongue circled your clit just as his chin and lower lip passed between your folds and your back arched off the mattress. His goal was to make you feel good, spoil you for your birthday.

"You taste so good, my love.. I wanna have all of you, right now" his tongue finding it's way deep in your core, tasting the wetness of it.

"I-uhm"

"Yes baby.. say it. Use your words, I will grant anything for you tonight" San responded with a low whisper, stopping for a moment to look back at you. Your hands gripping the sheets, face flustered and fucked out, head dizzy and slightly teary eyes.

"I'm s-so close..." you whined out, squirming in front of him, in search of any type of additional friction. As he licked and sucked on your flesh a couple more times, your back arched against the mattress and you came beautifully, silky white liquid framing San's lower face. As he liked everything off, he got up for a short moment.

"Let me have my fun with you now, my princess.." his rough and big hands flipped you over. He raised your neck and face slightly and one of his hands slid around the collar, locking it on your throat. He slowly let your head down on the mattress and his right hand took the tail he got you, which was a butt plug and held it eagerly.

He got closer to you and with one knee he held your legs down, his hands spreading your ass, full on display for him. Your face flushed at the thought of being bare like that in front of him, but you soon were dostrscted by his fingers pumping in your cunt a couple of times before travelling to your other hole, prepping you with your own juices. He then took the butt plug and you softly moaned as he put it in, your walls clenching onto it. The same fingers he used on you found their way again in your cunt, then to your lips as he commanded, "Suck them". You did as told and sucked your own juices off his fingers, licking your lips. He smiled teasingly, pleased with your reaction.

"C'mon babe, I know you can take all of me.." he whispered as he undressed himself. His cokc sprung angrily out of his briefs and as soon as he eas fully bare behind you, his right hands trailed on your back and held your neck and face buried in the mattress, while with his left hand he guided himself to your hole. He started rapidly thrusting into you, the collar's bell frantically shaking and clinking. He leaned over your body, a hand holding onto your waist and one slipping over your hand, holding it thight. his necklace was dingling above the nape of your neck, touching your soft skin from time to time. His lips left a trail of kisses on your back and spine as he pounded into your relentlessly. You could feel that from time to time he'd suck your soft skin, leaving marks all over your body. On your shoulders, collarbones, back.. everywhere.

"You feel so good sweetie.. taking me so g-good" San groaned, all up in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You drive me insane, love. I'm so close..." he said barely above a whisper and started fucking you even more rapidly, thrusts getting sloppier with every other one, both of you panting. As he came and bottomed doen completely and stood like that, the bell on the colllar coulds till be heard.

"Mhm.. that's it, kitten. Take my load up your pussy. That's my good girl." San confidently said as he let you cockwarm him for a moment, letting you catch your breath.

"I love you, San.." you blurted out in a whisper, genuinely speaking.

"I love you too, my love... was everything okay with you?" he asked.

"Y-yew! It was *intense" but oh my god.." you giggled.

"Come here, sweetheart" he said and signed you to come in his embrace, "Happy birthday".

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26

[babybluebex]

happy sad confused | joseph quinn blurb

this is a sequel to off menu that i wrote nearly two years ago to the day (wow time flies jfc i wrote that in my mom's hotel room as i was moving lmao), so if you haven't read that yet, pop on over to that link, it'll take like 3 minutes, it's very short :)

"Do you have strong food tastes?" Josh asked, and you rolled your eyes with a smile.

As opposed to the last podcast about food that Joe was on, you were present for the recording of this one. You remembered that day two years ago, right as everything was changing for you and your beau, when he had texted you asking if you listened to the Off Menu Podcast, and you had had to break James Acaster and Ed Gambles' hearts. Later, you had bumped into James at the BRIT Awards and were able to apologize for such a betrayal, and he had forgiven you, with the caveat that you did a shot with him (which you unfortunately had to decline, seeing as you were about 35 weeks into the standard pregnancy 40, and James accepted an alternate apology in the form of a hug).

Joe cast you a look from his place on the couch, a mortified smile playing at his lips. You knew he was thinking something like "Not this again", and you scoffed out a laugh. He was so funny sometimes that it made you sick, and you watched as Josh added, "Are you like, cilantro must be burned at the stake?"

Joe laughed. "Of all the herbs to bring up," he giggled. "Just, umm, a few weeks ago, my family was in Italy, all of us, my mum and stepdad and sister, the wife and boy, the whole lot, and, y'know, coriander is big over there— or cilantro, whatever you'd like to call it— and we were trying to convince our son, who's just turned a year old, to try something with coriander on it..." Joe paused, ruminating on the meal, and he looked at you, more distinctly and blatantly than before. "Babe? What were we trying to feed him when he wasn't havin' it?"

Your eyes widened, and you gulped as the entire room's attention shifted to you. Where your husband was a natural in front of people and cameras, it didn't come quite as painlessly to you. Especially since Anthony was born, you've been hyper-aware of the way people perceive you. You hoped, for your sake, that the focus was on your words and not you, and that people's eyes instead landed on the little tot standing with you. Little Anthony Quinn was holding both your hands, standing up but balanced on top of your feet, swinging and fidgeting about, waiting for Daddy to be done with work to come for a cuddle. "Just your garden-variety spaghetti," you said. "Not even with meat sauce or anything. The tomato sauce had cilantro, and he was not into it."

"Does he say it tastes like soap?" Josh asked. "'Cause that's some people's complaint."

"Well, he isn't really saying much of anything yet," Joe chuckled. "He's just one, remember. We've got 'Mama' in our arsenal, and 'juice', sometimes 'bankie' when he wants his blanket, but bankie can also mean his pacifier, so his 'binkie'— we haven't quite worked out the difference between bankie and binkie yet, but we're getting there."

"Regardless," Josh laughed. "Not a fan of the herb."

"He is the rest of the time," Joe said. "We do a roast every Sunday, and my wife taps me to do the chicken because she doesn't like handling meat, which I understand and, because I'm a good husband, I handle that for her so she can do the rest of the meal— but I put cilantro on the roast chicken and he eats it every week."

"No complaints?" Josh asked.

"None!" Joe exclaimed. "Eats it, eats the potatos, does the whole bit, and he always wants more! My kid doesn't like cilantro in spaghetti, but will eat a whole chicken by himself— make it make sense!"

"Well, with a baby around, I'm sure there's different food around than before," Josh asked. "My niece is into those, like, Gerber cheese snacks that are essentially Cheetos but not really—"

"Oh, we're familiar with the Lil' Crunchies," Joe nodded smoothly. "The mild cheddar flavor. What my son does is, he'll eat 'em by the fistful, yeah? And he decides to be nice and to share with us, which is very good of him, but he'll hand us a wet cheese puff that's half-disintegrated from the force of his little fist, and me and his mummy have gotta pretend like 'oh, yummy, thank you, Ant'."

“You brought up your girlfriend last time food was discussed,” Josh said, and Anthony stamped his little feet as he clearly wanted to run out to Daddy. “On the Off-Menu Podcast with James and Ed, who are just loads of fun. Is she still the same way, no mushrooms or anything?”

“Well, she’s my old lady now,” Joe chuckled. “We got married a few months after that podcast, just tired of not being married to each other yet, y’know? Plus, we found out that the boy was on his way, so it felt like as good a time as any. She's still picky, but there was a small time during her third trimester where she was eating everything in sight. For a few days there, she was doing popcorn with this, I don't know, novelty salt she bought at some shop in America? Anyway, it was pickle-flavored salt, and my girl... I love her, but pickle-salt popcorn... I have to draw a line somewhere."

"And that's the line," Josh chuckled. "Does she do pickles usually?"

"Um, yeah," Joe replied, and he bit his bottom lip as he smiled. "I guess I oughta get off my high horse, I don't like pickles. I'll eat 'em if they come on a sandwich or whatever, but I don't like it. But she'll take them off my hands and eat them for me; at the deli or whatever and I get one of those spears with my sandwich, and she's eating it for me before we're even out the door."

"Joseph Quinn, you hypocrite!" Josh exclaimed and Joe chortled. "Making fun of picky eaters but not eating pickles! For shame, sir!"

"It's my one flaw!" Joe cried. "Otherwise I'm perfect!"

You couldn't help your snort, and Joe turned to you in a flash. "Oh, do you have something to say, Mrs. Quinn?" he asked. "Something to add?"

"You thinking not eating pickles is your one flaw is very funny," you told him, smoothing your hand down Anthony's hair. "I could talk about the sock situation in our laundry room at the moment, or how your windowsill herb garden has spilled out onto our balcony, or how you always rile up the dog and Ant before bedtime, or—"

"Alright!" Joe whined playfully, and Anthony squealed out a laugh, recognizing Daddy's play-voice. "I get it! Stop the attack, woman, jeez."

"She's got a list," Josh smiled. "Are there any foods that are, like, special to you? Make you think of home or anything like that?"

"Um, yeah," Joe said thoughtfully. "Obviously a roast chicken. Umm, oddly, we have these little biscuits in the U.K., like it's a layer of sponge, then orange jam, then chocolate, but they're small, we have 'em with tea— they're called Jaffa cakes, and I don't have strong opinions on them, but my wife calls me Jaffa Cake when she's being sweet to me."

"Why Jaffa Cake?" Josh wheezed. "Are you just particularly sweet like one of those cookies?"

"Well, my initials," Joe began. "They're J.A.F, and one time a while ago, when we first started dating, we went out and she got very drunk. I ended up bringing her back to my flat because I didn't want her having to get an Uber alone back to her's, and she raided the pantry while I was showering, and she was eating out a packet of Jaffa cakes that my roommate had when I got back, and... I don't know, she was hammered and started laughing and calling me that, and she's never stopped."

You were glad he cut the story off there, because the detail Joe neglected to mention was that he had given you his bed to sleep in, and when you woke up the next morning, you had gotten ill in his bathroom. He had held your hair back and wiped your mouth with a washcloth when you were done, and he had kissed you for the very first time, even after you warned him that he probably didn't want to do that. While it was a very sweet story, you still burned with embarrassment at the memory of how drunk you had gotten that night.

"But yeah," Joe said. "Whenever I'm away from home and missing her, I track down a package of Jaffa cakes, and just even the smell of 'em make me think of my girl."

"Along with a roast chicken," Josh added, and Joe sputtered through his lips.

"Chicken and biscuits, the perfect way to think of my wife," Joe said. "You should come over next time you're in London. I'll roast you a chicken."

"That was... A lot of eye contact just then," Josh laughed. "I'm almost nervous now."

"Nah, don't be," Joe smiled. "I'll roast you a chicken, my son will show you his LEGO collection, we'll have a grand time."

[arecaceae175]

Skyloft and Embroidery

I’m having so many feelings about the embroidery on Sky’s and Sun’s shirts in @linkeduniverse Entrance Pt. 3

His shirt is actually so beautiful . The more I’m staring at the picture the more I am appreciating the complex embroidery on it.

Throughout history, embroidery has had lots of different meanings. Women gathered and embroidered together and had time to speak with each other away from other pressures, and embroidery became the medium for powerful social movements. It was used in many cultures to wave stories into fabric that could withstand the flow of time. Elsewhere, embroidery symbolized wealth and status with intricate designs. And for some, and more often today, it’s just really really pretty.

I think Skyloft would lean toward embroidery as a method of storytelling and passing down legends. The outside of the Skyloft bazaar is so vibrantly colored, so colors and beauty are clearly important to the people.

The Bazaar, which is one of Skyloft's cultural hubs, is made of fabric and you can see the designs on even such large, durable fabrics. I can imagine Skyloft houses being covered in rugs and tapestries adorning the walls, telling the stories of the family who lives there and ensuring their history is passed down to the next generation.

Not only the big events of history, but the small, personal stories important to individuals and families. The big events and the history of the society would be held in places like the bazaar or the academy or with the goddess statue. But in a household, their tapestries might show the story of two people falling in love, of siblings who protect and love each other, of the largest pumpkin ever grown. Those things are the stories the families would smile and laugh about while sitting together over a meal.

The embroidery on clothing could represent a person’s attributes and dreams, or aspects of their personality they want to share with the world.

Image from @linkeduniverse Entrance Pt. 3

The embroidery designs on Sky’s shirt are light blue like the sky itself and red like his loftwing. There is green to ground him to the earth of his home when he feels the urge to fly forever. The blue is whispy and less distinctly patterned than Zelda’s, showcasing his head in the clouds personality and love for flying.

Zelda’s blue is a more regal shade combined with the gold. The shapes are well defined and confident, just like she is.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

platonic yandere Crocodile ad daughter reader

As you can see from the word count, I got extremely carried away. Hope you enjoy it!

Was It Worth It?

Yandere Sir Crocodile x Daughter Reader

7.5k words

Most would say that you’re spoiled.

Honestly, you can’t argue against it.

Your father was committed to giving you the best of the best in life and made no exceptions. As far as he was concerned, you were the only person in the world that was worthy of luxury and relaxation. And given that your father was renowned warlord Sir Crocodile, giving you such a lifestyle was an easy feat. 

Designer clothes and accessories filled your closet and fluctuated as styles evolved, all of your meals were expertly crafted by either a personal chef or the staff of a high end restaurant, and you had everything you could ever need for your hobbies. You even had your own pet bananawani, Lady Camorra, though she was still just a baby. Despite that, she was already the size of the lengthy dining room table and had to stay with the other bananawani in the basement.

All of this was accepted eagerly. What can you say? You’re a daddy’s girl.

The only responsibilities you had was to your dear pet and your studies, something that your dad was adamant about. Becoming a pirate like he did is distinctly not an option for you, that much has been made clear. What options you did have for your future were still very much a mystery to you, it was hard to believe that he would ever let you go out and get a job.

You couldn’t even go outside by yourself.

Not that it bothered you all that much. Despite the restrictions, you made outings with your dad (and typically his most recent assistant, Robin) frequently. He was a major public figure here in Alabasta and made many appearances for the sake of his reputation. Naturally, you would be brought along as well. 

Most of the time, these were casual trips to go out to a nice restaurant or shopping. The only people that would be there at the same time as you would be the staff. You honestly wished there would be more people around, but when you voiced this, Crocodile would simply state that it was for safety and leave it at that. Which did make sense, you suppose. You weren’t so sheltered as to not be aware that your father has many enemies.

You were grateful for how pleasant your life has been and appreciated how hard Crocodile worked to provide it to you. Which is why you wanted to get him a gift for his birthday next week. 

The most you’ve been able to do in the past is make him a card and some simple craft project you worked on. As much as you’ve wanted to get him a more proper present, you didn’t exactly have the means to do so. That, and he kept insisting that he doesn’t need you to get him anything. Usually he would say something cheesy along the lines of ‘your being here is gift enough’.

This year was going to be different, though. It took a great deal of planning, but you’re finally going to be able to surprise your dad with a real present this time! It took months of saving, but you’re pretty sure you’ve scraped together enough to buy him a new ring from a local jewelry store. It would probably surprise many to know that you don’t receive much for an allowance. It made sense though. Crocodile buys you everything you could ever need or want. The allowance was just some pocket change for you to go buy snacks from the casino you lived above.

Today was the day. Everything was going perfectly. You’d woken up early to get your studies done ahead of time. If you didn’t have everything finished, your personal bodyguards weren’t permitted to escort you down to get a treat. The timing of finishing early was crucial because Crocodile was due to make a public appearance at a neighboring city today, but it was only a brief one so you needed to make your excursion quick. 

The biggest hurdle ahead of you was being able to ditch your guards and slip out of the casino unnoticed, but you had a plan. Once you got downstairs, you would go to the bathroom, put on your desert cape and a scarf to cover your face, and make a run for it. It’s far from being fool-proof, but it’s your best shot. Your guards aren’t allowed to take you out of the building, and you know no amount of begging will sway them. Though you do hope they won’t get fired over this, that would make you feel terrible.

All that you could do in this moment was try to get through your schoolwork as quickly as possible. Ideally, you wanted to leave shortly after Crocodile did since your window of time to do this wasn’t long. Three hours at most, based on how long these types of appearances usually take.

The door to your private study is opened, and you don’t need to look over your shoulder to know who it is. Heavy but precise footsteps come up behind you, and a large hand rests on the back of your chair.

“I’m going to be heading out now, do you need anything before I leave?”

As per usual, your dad’s main concern was you, feeling the need to ask the question despite knowing full well that you would absolutely be fine until he came back.

You giggled at the inquiry, “I think I’ll be okay for a couple hours, dad.”

Crocodile loomed over your desk, checking up on what you’re actively working on. His eyes narrowed as he read over your shoulder, “You’re typically still working on mathematics at this hour, why are you doing your history lesson already? You didn’t skip subjects, did you?”

Internally, you cursed at how observant your dad was. Of course he would notice this! The grip you had on the history book tightened as you scrambled to explain yourself, “Oh, um… No, I woke up early today and decided to just go ahead and get my schooling done.” You looked up at him and plastered on the most sweet and innocent smile you could, praying that he would buy it. 

Crocodile’s eyebrows raised slightly, but the rest of his face remained neutral. Teeth ground against the cigar in his mouth as he considered your words. After a moment, he switched his focus to the books on your desk. Without responding to you, he brought one of them over to himself and began flipping through it, and then proceeded to do the same with a few more books.

He nodded, seemingly content with what he found, “Good work, that was very responsible of you.” His one hand gently pet your hair and he offered a small but genuine smile. “How about we get dinner at that one restaurant you really like tonight?”

Your eyes lit up and you bounced in your seat, “The one that has the really good ice cream?!”

“Of course you’re already thinking about dessert.” Crocodile chuckled, “But yes, that one.”

Lurching out of your chair, you wrap your arms around his torso and squeeze him into a tight hug. One that he returns gently while lightly laughing at your enthusiasm, “I’ll assume this is your way of saying that you would like to go.”

“Oh, yes! Please!”

“Very well, I’ll make the reservation now.” By that, he means he’s going to call and tell them to have the place cleared out before you two get there. “I have to leave now, be good and finish your studies.” With that, he exited the room and you could faintly register the sound of the front door opening and closing.

You resumed your work, eager to finish your final subject so you could get on with your plan. You bit your lip as you mulled over your newfound dilemma. Crocodile probably won’t take you out for dinner if you sneak out for a bit, even if it is for a good reason. 

Maybe you could do this without being caught? If you really hurried and were successful at sneaking back into the casino, you might be able to gaslight your guards into thinking that they simply didn’t see you leave the bathroom. It would only be natural for you to keep walking and assume they were following you. They would likely be too embarrassed to bring this situation up to your father. Yeah, that should work. Hopefully.

With a newfound sense of determination, you complete your studies. 

Gleefully, you scurry back to your bedroom to grab your purse. Your dessert cloak and scarf were already compactly folded and stuffed inside. You just needed one more thing and you would be ready to set your plan into action. 

Unfortunately, there was no way for you to ask about your dad’s ring size without raising suspicion, so you would need to borrow one to bring with you. This wasn’t a problem, however. You frequently help him pick out which rings to wear in the morning, so you know exactly where to find them and what the combination to the safe is.

It was crucial that you didn’t leave a single clue that you’d been in his room while he was gone, so you were careful not to disturb anything besides the safe. Airing on the side of caution, you even take note of the exact position the knob is in so you can keep that minute detail the same. It would hardly be shocking for Crocodile to notice something like that. 

After the safe door is open, you pull out the first ring you see, not wanting to disturb any of the other rings in here. It’s a sturdy golden ring with small but dazzling rubies decorating the band. He wore this one on his index finger somewhat regularly.

You slip the ring into your purse and spin on your heels, eager to leave so you can get on with your mission.

Making a conscious effort to keep your face neutral so as to not allude to being up to something, you open the front door and greet the two guards stationed outside of it, “Hi! I wanna go downstairs to that cute bakery in the lobby!”

One of the guards, an absolutely massive man named Abasi, regards you lightly, “We can’t do that until you’ve finished your schooling, you know that.” His voice was naturally gruff, but he spoke to you politely. His head was shaved clean minus the well maintained goatee he sported.

Summoning your best acting skills, you pout dramatically, “I am done, though! I woke up early and already did all of it.”

Tabia, a lean but distinctly tall woman with a scar running down the side of her face and parts of her neck eyed you warily, “Really, now? Then you won’t mind if I confirm that, yes?”

“Not at all!” You chirped happily, gesturing for her to come in and do just that. Continuing to stand in the entryway, you do your best to look as sweet and innocent as possible while Abasi continues blocking your way.

It doesn’t take long for Tabia to return, giving Abasi a silent nod to verify that your story was true. He nods back and finally steps out of the way, “Apologies for the inconvenience, Lady (Y/N).”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” you hurried past him so you could lead the way, but also avoid them possibly seeing something in your facial expression that could give you away. Now that you’d gotten the ball rolling, anxiety was starting to bubble in your stomach at all the ways this could go wrong.

All three of you enter an elevator at the end of the hall to bring you down to the lobby. The bodyguards are standing between you and the door, both with their backs to you as the lift begins its slow descent.

It’s quiet for a moment, but Tabia breaks the silence, “I’m surprised you wanted to do this, you haven’t requested to visit the lobby in months.”

Briefly, you wince at the observation. You suppose this fact would be suspicious in its own right. You’re quick to throw out an excuse and pray it sounds believable, “Haha, yeah. I guess I just got kinda burnt out with everything down there, but I’m really craving some baklava right now.”

“Makes sense,” was the only reply you got. You have to suppress the sigh of relief from them accepting the answer. This is going well so far, you can only hope that remains the case. 

The elevator slows to a stop with a quiet ding and the doors slide open. Both guards step out first and scrutinize the surroundings before motioning that it’s okay to come out. Now that you’re where all the other people are, Abasi and Tabia station themselves on either side of you.

This was it, time to really get things started, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Tabia’s eye, the one with the scar over it, twitched ever so slightly, “Can you not wait until you’re back in the safety of your home?”

You pressed your legs together and bounced slightly, “No, I really need to go. Like, now.”

She exhaled sharply, but changed course for the nearest public restroom, “Very well, we’ll wait outside for you.”

“Thank you!” You rushed past them and into the bathroom to maintain the fake urgency you’d just created. Of course, you didn’t actually have to go. Frantically, you run into an unoccupied stall and rip the clothes out of your purse to throw them on. There’s no time to make yourself look nice in them, you need to be out of here tout de suite. They’re going to be expecting you to finish your business in a few minutes, not a few seconds, so doing this as fast as humanly possible was the key here.

You grabbed the wallet and ring from your purse and inverted it. The handbag you’d chosen for today was reversible, something done intentionally so as to make it less likely for the guards to recognize you when you walked past them. 

Your belongings were stuffed back into the purse and you ran out of the stall with the same speed that you entered it in. The handful of people in here with you shot you weird looks, but none of them appeared to have gotten the chance to recognize you when you came in. After a brief glance in the mirror to confirm that your scarf was obscuring your face, you ran for the door.

Time to act casual. Despite your previously frenzied state, you open the door and exit calmly. You keep your head down and do your best to look as unassuming as you can. Abasi and Tabia are silently standing outside, observing the crowded casino. They pay you no mind as you walk past, barely sparing you more than an instinctive glance before looking away.

They didn’t recognize you!

As much as you want to squeal in excitement, now is definitely not the time. You weren’t out of the woods yet. There was still a chance that you would be recognized at the main entrance. That, and you’re pretty sure the guards would immediately put the casino into lockdown as soon as they realized you weren’t in the bathroom. Which wouldn’t take long, Tabia has come into the bathroom to check on you before if she thinks you’re taking too long.

The casino itself was extremely loud as per usual. Between the chatter of the patrons and the noise of dozens of slot machines being played all at once you were positive that no one will be able to hear your heart pounding out of your chest. Guests were bumping into you as you slipped into the crowd to blend in better, which was a new sensation thanks to your guards always keeping people well away from you.

It was a touch overwhelming. You didn’t hate it, though.

The sparkling glass doors of the entrance came into view, and as much as you wanted to run through them, you refrained. That would look way too suspicious. The doors were already propped open, all you needed to do was walk through them and you would be in the clear.

You clutched your purse tighter to your person in a weak attempt to soothe your nerves. The instant your foot passed the threshold, one of the employees at the door spoke up, promptly causing your heart to leap into your throat. This is it, you’ve been caught!

“Have a nice day, miss! Please do come again!”

Oh, okay. You’re fine. You offer a small wave and a little ‘mhm’ because you can’t risk them figuring out who you are based on your voice. 

As soon as you’re outside, you break into a power walk. Both to put space between you and the casino, but also to get to your destination quicker. Luckily for you, there was a jewelry store just down the street. If you really sped through the process, you think you could be back home in about ten minutes.

Convincing your guards that they simply hadn’t noticed you leaving the restroom would be difficult, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

No one paid you any mind as you jogged down the street, likely having more important things to worry about. This was another unique experience. Whenever you would go on an outing with your dad, people would gawk and even cheer to see him. Naturally, their fondness extended to you, though it was debatable if it was genuine or if they just saw you as an excellent networking opportunity. Right now, though? You were just some girl in a hurry, that’s it.

The jewelry store came into view. Blue Diamond Waterfall was etched into the sign outfront in an elegant, blue font. This was considered to be the best place to get accessories in all of Alabasta.

With your hopes high, you march into the store and make a beeline for the men’s section. High end watches glinted at you from their cases, but you ignored them. You were here for a ring, and only that. Finally, you see a display case containing just what you were looking for.

Unsurprisingly, all of the rings are gorgeous. The bands are expertly crafted with masterfully done engraved patterns, and the gems were cut to perfection. You smiled widely under your scarf. Crocodile would love these! 

As your eyes rake over the wide selection, a thought strikes you. There are no price tags. You get an uncomfortable pit in your stomach as you suddenly question if you had enough for any of these. Was the absence of price tags a stylistic choice, or was this a case of ‘if you have to ask you can’t afford it’. You weren’t able to save up a particularly large sum of money, so you really hope it’s the former. 

Before your anxiety can gnaw at you any further, an employee approaches you from the other side of the display case.

“Good morning! My name is Lapis, is there anything I can help you with today?” The individual standing across from you was an older woman with a kind face and graying hair. 

“G-Good morning,” you were starting to feel embarrassed at the possibility that you would be leaving here empty handed and that your efforts would be for nothing. “Um, I was wanting to buy a ring, actually.”

“Well I can certainly help you with that! Might I ask what the occasion is that you’re shopping for?” Her voice was chipper and welcoming, which did help soothe you slightly.

“It’s for my dad, his birthday is soon and I wanted to get him something special.”

Lapis’s eyes softened and she brought a hand to her chest, “Oh, that is so sweet! I would love to assist you with that! As you can see, we have quite the collection of men’s jewelry here. Was there a specific price range you were wanting to keep to?”

Oh, boy. Here it goes. You fish your wallet out of your purse and pull out every bill you have in there before handing it to her, “However much this is… it’s um, all I have.”

She gracefully took the money and quickly counted all of it. Her lips pursed when she finished, and you could feel yourself begin to sweat. Were you about to get laughed out of the store for not having enough?

The berry was handed back to you and she spoke up again, “Alright, if you’ll follow me, we have a selection just over there that’s within your budget.”

Just like that, a weight was lifted from your shoulders. This excursion wouldn’t be a waste after all! 

Lapis stops at the case at the very end and unlocks the cabinet to pull out one of the trays, and that’s when your heart falls again. Oh. These were the cheap rings. None of them had gemstones and there was little to no detailing done on the bands. That’s not to say that the rings were hideous, but they lacked the level of flashiness that your dad tended to gravitate towards.

You must have been visibly crestfallen from the realization, and Lapis was quick to reassure you, “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be upset over! It’s the thought that counts, I’m sure your father will be happy with whatever you give him. I understand that these may not be what you had in mind, but rest assured these are held to the same level of quality as any other ring in the store.”

In all honesty, you do believe that your dad wouldn’t care about the price tag, but if you’re going to be getting yourself into trouble getting him a gift you would at least want it to be something really nice. Still, it’s not like you have much of a choice. You’re not about to leave empty handed. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you muttered lamely. 

“Do you know what his ring size is, dear?” If she noticed how bummed out you still were, she elected not to comment on it.

“Oh! I almost forgot, here,” you pull the ring you took out of your purse and handed it to her. “I didn’t know what his size was, so I just brought one of his rings in. I hope that’s enough.”

She pulled a key ring out with a bunch of loops on it and began comparing them to the ring. After trying a couple, she nodded, “Excellent, that was a smart idea on your part.” Lapis examined it for a moment before handing it back to you, “That’s a lovely ring, your father certainly has a keen eye for quality.”

Yep. And here you are in the cheap section.

As if she read your mind, she added on, “Which is why he’ll be happy with whatever you get him from our store.”

Whatever, now was not the time to mope. You were working off of a very limited amount of time right now and needed to get back to the casino sooner rather than later. You focused on the rings in front of you in hopes that one would stick out to you. 

One did. While there was no stone in it, the band was carved out in a way that it resembled scales. Crocodile did have an affinity for reptiles. You could see him wearing something like this. 

Lapis took notice of your lingering stare and smiled brightly while plucking the ring from its stand, “This would be an excellent choice, you must have inherited your father’s tastes.”

It’s placed in your hand and you take the time to carefully examine the piece of jewelry. You must admit that Lapis was correct about the quality here. There wasn’t a single flaw to be found, and it was in your price range. What more could you really ask for? 

“Do you have this one in his size?”

She beamed at you, “I need to check, but I’m fairly certain we do. One moment, please.” She took the ring back and put it with the others before placing them in the safety of the display case. Briefly, she left the room to go look for the ring you want.  

Your fingers drummed along the case while you glanced around the store. No one was paying you any mind, which was a blessing. Getting recognized out on the streets without guards would be disastrous. Even if the people didn’t have ill intent, you would be in deep trouble for getting caught outside. 

Lapis came back looking quite proud of herself with a velvet ring box in hand. She cracked it open so you could see for yourself that your desired ring was inside, “Lucky you, it was the last one in stock!”

Lucky indeed. You would have cried if you couldn’t have gotten this ring. You followed her to the register to complete the purchase, ready to get out of here. 

To say that you cut it close would be an understatement. You didn’t even have a hundred berry left over, but you did have enough and that’s what’s important. Lapis offered to get a bag for you, but you declined saying that you wanted this to be a surprise. An answer she accepted easily.

“I’m sure he’ll love it! You should come by again and let me kn-”

Suddenly, the doors up front were kicked open and crashed into the walls with deafening thuds.

“Everyone get on the ground, this is a robbery!”

You froze immediately and felt sweat drip down your neck. This could not be happening. No way.

A gunshot echoed through the store and a nearby display case exploded, showering Lapis and yourself with bits of glass. You shrieked and immediately dropped to the ground while a different voice repeated the previous order. 

The box was tightly clasped in your hands, and in a moment of panic, you covertly stuffed it into an inside pocket on your desert cape. Just in time, too.

One of the assailants stomped his way towards the front desk where you were. Had you not been keeping your head down, you might have seen the kick coming. His foot connected with your ribs and sent you rolling away from him and through more glass. 

“Out of my way, bitch!” He barked at you while you curled in on yourself and tried desperately not to cry. You glanced up just enough to see that you had apparently been sitting by where the door to get behind the counters was. Why couldn’t he have just asked for you to move? Asshole. 

You tried to crawl out of the puddle of glass you were in, only for another man to point a gun at you and tell you not to move. So naturally, you resigned yourself to laying in shards of glass and your own blood as they continued to cut into you. Better to be injured than dead.

Risking another glance at all the people piling into the store, you picked up on something. They’re pirates. No wonder your father loathed them so much if this is how they act. These are exactly the kinds of lowlife brutes that he had described pirates as being.

Funny, now you’re hoping that Abasi and Tabia somehow figured out where you went and would be here any second to save you.

Well, more than that, even though you knew he would be furious, you just want your dad. You’ve seen him dispose of threats before on the rare occasion someone was stupid enough to try and challenge him while he was out with you. Of course, you had been a little frightened at their display, but you knew that your dad would take care of it. And he did.

But now he wasn’t here. He was in a whole different city. All you could do was hope that they didn’t hurt you more than they already have.

And that you wouldn’t be recognized.

Glass crushed under someone’s feet as you were approached. You flinched and curled up tighter in fear of what could come. A hand gently pulls at your shoulder.

“Sit up, honey, you’re hurting yourself,” Lapis whispered while slowly adjusting you into a sitting position. The pirates didn’t bother saying anything this time, instead being much more focused on bagging up everything they could as the shop owner went around unlocking the cases at gunpoint. 

Once you were up, she began carefully brushing away the glass from your clothes. She sighed when she looked at your face and saw the tear tracks. Using part of your scarf, she did her best to clean off your face, “It’s going to be okay. They care about the jewelry, not us. They’ll leave once they’re done.”

Her light ministrations ceased, and she looked at you with furrowed brows. Then her eyes widened and your hood was pulled further down your face with shaky hands.

What? Why did she-

Oh

She saw your full face when she moved the scarf. She knew who you were.

“Keep your head down no matter what, okay?” Her voice was so low and strained that you could just barely make out the words. This was really bad, but at least Lapis was on your side here.

“That’s a nice purse you got there.”

The voice belonged to one of the pirates, the one that had kicked you. All you could do was cower. That was definitely directed towards you.

Despite you being frozen, Lapis acted quickly. She slipped the purse’s strap off your shoulder and tossed it away from you two. The pirate growled in annoyance, but ultimately turned to fetch it. You couldn’t care less about it being stolen, it’s not like there was anything in there that couldn’t be replaced.

Wait. Crocodile’s ring! The one you brought here with you! Shit!

You need to get that back, but what the hell were you supposed to do? Confront a violent pirate that has already attacked you once? Fuck it, the ring isn’t that important. At least the one you just picked out was still safely tucked away on your person.

The pirate let out a long whistle, “Damn, this is nice. How does someone with a ring like this have barely anything in their wallet?” He came over and crouched down next to you, shoving your shoulder when you didn’t answer, “C’mon, speak up. Wait, don’t tell me you were here to rob these bastards, too. Oh, that’s hilarious.”

Lapis pulled you into her side firmly, “Leave her alone, she’s just a child.”

“A child? She’s practically full grown from the looks of it,” he leered at your body, taking in every part of you that he could. From your peripherals, you could see his hand reaching for your hood, “Let me see your face, sweetheart. If you did steal that ring then I think there may be a place for you on my crew.”

You cringed and attempted to duck out of the way of his intruding hand, but all that did was anger him. Roughly, he grabbed your cape and yanked it off you so hard that it sent you tumbling backwards. Much to your horror, when you look up you see him holding not only your cape, but also the scarf. 

You were entirely exposed.

The pirate, the captain of this whole awful crew, stared at you hard. Then, he doubled over and started cackling. His cronies looked back and forth between him and you as he laughed hysterically, visibly puzzled by his reaction.

“Forget the jewels boys, this girl is worth more than this whole damn city!” Not giving you a chance to even attempt to get away, he grabs you by your hair and forces you to stand. As if yanking you around by your hair wasn’t enough, you feel the chill of cold steel being pressed against your throat. A quick glance confirms your fears. 

“What are you talking about, captain?”

The dagger at your throat is pressed even closer, enough so that you can feel the warmth of blood droplets dripping downward.

“This is Crocodile’s kid, and he’s going to pay us some damn good money to get his ‘little girl’ back in one piece,” the captain snapped at the crew member who dared to question what was going on.

“Cro- Did you say Crocodile?! Oh hell no, I agreed to help you rob a couple of places, not fuck with a warlord!” The pirate protesting this looked like he was about to bolt.

“Fucking relax, we’ve got him over a barrel by having her in our clutches, he won’t try shit. Besides, that government lapdog hasn’t done anything important in years, and he’s obviously losing his touch and becoming careless if he lets his kid walk around on her own.” He kicked at your heels and snarled at you to move it, “Let’s get out of here before anyone can try and stop us.”

You tried to struggle out of his grip, but it was useless. Frustrated tears poured down your face and mixed with the blood on your neck. Your sobs did nothing to deter the pirates who only laughed at your terror.

A sickening crunching sound cut through the air, followed by the dagger clattering to the floor and your hair being released. The captain’s body hit the floor with a loud thud and a tense silence fell over the store.

You can’t explain what possessed you to do it, but you slowly turned around to identify what happened. As soon as you laid eyes on the sight before you, bile rose in your throat and you stumbled back.

His neck was mangled and twisted, bones pressed against the skin in unnatural ways that made your head spin.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Were those arms?” 

The pirates seemed to be just as disturbed as you as they paled from witnessing the horrifying demise of their captain.

Running was the most obvious course of action for you, but you couldn’t. Your body refused to move. Until you felt a hand on your wrist. Immediately, you screamed and tried to wrench yourself free, but the grip was like an iron shackle.

You crashed into a solid form and the smell of an expensive but familiar cologne filled your lungs. More tears stung at your eyes, not ones of terror but relief, “Dad?” You whirled around and latched onto your lifeline as your sobs began anew. You tried to articulate how scared you had been, or how happy you were that he was here, but you couldn’t form a single coherent word in your state.

The hand that had brought you over settled on the back of your head, holding you close. It was borderline crushing, but it helped to ground you.

When you found the strength to look up, you saw that he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes are locked onto the surrounding pirates who were all too scared to make a move. You’ve seen your dad irritated before, but you’ve never seen such raw fury on anyone. There wasn’t so much as a miniscule trace of humanity behind his eyes as he sneered at the people before him.

Without so much as a glance at you, you were shoved into someone else’s arms, “Take her home. Now.” Sand billowed off his body as his devil fruit went into action.

“Of course, sir,” you recognized Robin’s voice instantly and clung onto one of her arms helplessly as she guided you out of the store. You attempt to look back only for her to cover your eyes, “Don’t. You don’t need to see that.”

—

Hours would pass before you saw your dad again. The time passed in a haze as you were fussed over by doctors to treat your plethora of injuries. None of them were particularly serious, much less life-threatening, but there were many small wounds that all required the utmost attention. The worst part of it was them needing to pick out the tiny bits of glass from your knees, but compared to everything else that happened today, it was manageable.

Currently, you were laying on your bed with an ice pack pressed to your ribs to help with the bruising from the kick. Your fingers brushed over the velvet box in the pocket of your loungewear as you pondered if this was all worth it. The answer was obvious.

Of course not.

Footsteps that you would recognize anywhere approached your room. For once, you weren’t excited to see him. You knew that this would not end well. 

The door opened and closed. Crocodile looked over your bandaged form for a moment, then came closer to sit on the edge of the bed. You had yet to look at him head on.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“I just spoke with the doctors. Do not lie to me, you are not fine,” you could practically hear the scowl on his face as venom dripped off the word ‘fine’.

Risking a glance in his direction, his pinched features are about what you would expect. He was pissed, but not enough to lose his composure which was a positive. There was a noticeable amount of concern in his eyes.

Hesitantly, you reach out to hold his hand, a gesture he returns with a squeeze. “I’m sore…” you admitted, “but it’s not that bad, I guess.”

“I can’t put into words how relieved I am that you are alive and not hurt any worse than you are.” His eyes hardened and he continued, “With that said, what were you thinking?!”  

The sudden raising of his voice made you jump. He’s never yelled at you even once in your life.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous and stupid that stunt you pulled was? How badly that could have gone for you if I hadn’t chosen to come back early?” A humorless laugh escaped him as he shook his head, “I knew it. I knew you were lying about something this morning, I just couldn’t determine what. If I hadn't listened to my instincts and continued with my plans for the day you could have been killed!”

“I’m sorry,” the apology sounds as weak and pathetic as you feel.

“I don’t want to hear it. What I want to know is what possessed you to do something so thoughtless. What could you possibly need from a jewelry store that you don’t already have? Was it just for the thrill or is all of this not enough for you anymore?” His tone was scathing as he gestured vaguely around your room at all the luxury items you owned.

There really isn’t any point in waiting now, is there?

“Your birthday is next week.” Gingerly, you pulled the box from your pocket and held it out to him, “I wanted to get you a real present for once. I’m sorry.”

Crocodile stared at the gift laid out for him, completely speechless. He released your hand and picked up the box, flicking it open with his thumb. His expression was unreadable, further adding to your previous fears of him hating the ring.

“I tried to save up enough money to get you something nice, but that was all that I could afford,” the explanation sounded lame, but it was the truth. Jewelry was much more expensive than you had thought. 

“A-And I’m really sorry about this but I took one of your rings with me when I went because I didn’t know what size you were and it got stolen by one of the pirates. I d-didn’t mean for that to happen, but he already had my purse by the time I remember that it was in there.” You started to cry as the humiliation began to truly set in. You caused so much trouble and lost a ring he liked all for the sake of buying one that he didn’t even want. You were so stupid to think any part of this plan was a good idea.

Your lip wobbled as you wallowed in self pity.

Crocodile extended his hand to you, and you assume he’s giving it back to you because of how much he didn’t want it. You took it, but were surprised when his hand stayed there.

“Put it on.”

A loud sniffle came out as you shakily slipped it onto his index finger, “You like it?”

“I appreciate the effort you went through to get this for me, and it is pleasing to look at,” he admired it on his hand for a moment before staring hard at you, “But don’t you dare even think about doing something like this again. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded vigorously. After how horrible this whole experience was, you would never so much as go past the front door without your dad by your side. You wouldn’t even go to the lobby anymore, not that you really think you’re going to be allowed to after this.

The second he opened his arms to you, you launched yourself at him, holding on for all it’s worth. His arms crushed you against him as he seemed to need this hug as much as you did. You reveled in the warmth and comfort his embrace provided.

“You’re grounded for the rest of your life, by the way.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“You’re laughing but I’m serious,” going against the previous statement, he chuckled a little himself.

Finally, he pulled you away from him and motioned for you to lie down again, “Get some rest. I’ve got some business to attend to, but Nico Robin will be around if you need anything.”

Rest sounded great right about now, and since you got some weight off your chest, you think you’ll actually be able to sleep unlike before. Yours eyes were already beginning to drift shut in the time it took for Crocodile to reach the door.

—

Crocodile glared at the simple ring adorning his finger. Not because he hated it or anything of the sort. Honestly, he found its simplicity charming to a degree. That, and it was a gift from his darling, albeit troublesome, daughter.

The problem lied in the fact that the only thing he could see when he looked at it was your terrified face as that filthy pirate attempted to take you hostage. Unfortunately, he would have to resign himself to learning to live with it because he’s going to have to wear this accursed thing every day for the rest of his life to spare your feelings.

Robin was already waiting for him in his office, something he was grateful for given how much he wanted to get his “business” done and over with. He sat at his luxurious desk and pulled out a much needed cigar, “Is everyone here?”

“Yes, they’re waiting for you in the basement.”

He nodded as his lighter ignited the end of his cigar and took a long drag. It did nothing to help his nerves. That wasn’t surprising though, considering the day he’s had. He spared a glance at Robin, “Were there any problems?”

“There was one runner, a guard that had been at the front door, but he’s been apprehended and is with the others.” Robin looked away and pursed her lips, “Is it truly necessary to have everyone on staff today down there, though? The few directly involved, I understand, but this seems excessive.”

“Excessive? My daughter could have been killed thanks to their negligence. I only hire the best of the best for security, they should not have been fooled by a goddamned scarf,” he seethed as he slammed his hook into the desk. The wood splintered from the force and the tip of the hook pierced it deeply. 

What made the situation worse was that upon realizing that you were gone, your guards did not immediately call to inform him. Granted, he would have still killed them regardless, but it was the principle of it. The audacity to attempt to save their own asses by keeping your vanishing act a secret.

“(Y/N)’s safety is their top priority and failing to do the bare minimum of keeping her in the building is a grave mistake with a high cost. That cost being their lives.” Crocodile leaned forward and leveled Robin with a glare, “If you question what I’m willing to do for my daughter again, you will be paying the same price. Understood?”

She shivered under the intensity, but did her best to keep it together, “I understand, it won’t happen again.”

“It better not.” He stood up, heading for the basement to do what needed to be done, “Keep an eye on (Y/N) until I come back.”

“Yes, sir.”

[rebelliousstories]

Rock A Bye Baby

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Reader

Fandom: Fallout

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Infirtility, Violence, Strong Language

Word Count: 1,937

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Summary: Two hundred years seems like a long time, but there is somethings that never change; no matter how much time had passed.

“Janey, we gotta get to school! Come on, little lady.” A woman yelled from downstairs in the kitchen. She plated some fruit on the remainder of the plates before moving them to the dining table. Someone came up behind her and placed their hands on her hips.

“This looks good, sweetheart. And the food isn’t half bad either.” Cooper chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She giggled and let herself relax into his arms for just a bit.

“Such a flatterer, Coop. Now go get that daughter of yours and bring her in for breakfast. She has a test today.” Sending her lover off, she made her way to the table and finished setting it up just in time for her two favorite people in the world to come down the stairs. Right before she got in her chair, she was tackled by a little bundle of energy.

“Oof, you are getting strong, baby. Come on and eat your breakfast, Janey. Then we can go to school.” She nudged the young girl in the direction of the plate she set aside for her. Watching Janey tuck into her meal, the woman smiled as she did the same. Her husband was sitting next to her and also ate his breakfast with a grin. Once everyone was done, she quickly ran around to tidy up before they grabbed their things.

“Come on, Janey. Let’s get going so daddy can drop us off at school. Okay?” And with that, Cooper was more than happy to be their chauffeur for the morning to take his daughter to learn, and his wife to work. The drive there was a relatively short affair, full of loud singing from the passenger and back seat as the radio was cranked loud. Parking in a spot, Cooper leaned over and kissed his wife goodbye as she took her step-daughter in for her school day.

That was a little over two hundred years ago, and everything changed.

Now, there was no more days at school. No more drives in the countryside or taking Janey to her mother’s house because of the visitation. Now it was navigating a nuclear wasteland for two hundred years.

They had been on the move for a couple days now. Very little was causing them to stop, and that was how they liked it. The couple functioned better on the move. Never allowing themselves to get comfortable in one place for long. But the town they were on their way to was known for big bounties. And they truly needed a bounty to replenish their caps after buying a bunch of RadAway.

“You go inside. I’m gonna stay out here for a moment.” She said, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder briefly before passing him in favor of seeing what stall were available.

Cooper just nodded and left to collect the job he did not care to much what she was going to while he was inside. She could take care of herself. When he exited the shop, he spotted her at a stall with different types of wears. He distinctly remembered her talking about how she needed a new undershirt and possibly some new boots. It all passed quickly, and there they went off again.

The couple walked all around the area, utilizing Cooper’s tracking skills to the fullest of the extent. If they got this done quickly, that meant more caps. Leaning over to look at something in the dirt, a chain slipped out from her new undershirt. Cooper instantly recognized the ring looped through the metal and unconsciously placed a hand over the matching piece hovering over his chest. Even after all this time,he was glad one thing had remained the same. It was probably what made surviving the Wastelands easier.

“Hey baby! Come here.” The Ghoul walked over to his partner, and looked at where she was pointing. A blood trail. Kneeling, he stuck a finger in before tasting the dark red liquid, and spitting out the sand.

“He’s close. Let’s move.” His voice clipped as he took off to follow the trail. Ever the faithful wife, she followed close behind. By the time the sun had set, they still had more trail to track, but no light to do it by. So the couple found themselves stationed in the middle of a junkyard with a roaring fire. She rested her head on his chest and felt his arms around her shoulders, drawing her in closer.

“Wait, do you hear that?” She peaked her head up, and waited to see if she could hear it again. Cooper went to say something but she just shushed him. She heard it again; this time louder.

“What the hell is that?” She got up and followed the sound of the noise before her husband could stop her.

“Damnit woman. Slow down.” He grumbled, following after her with a scowl. She continued to follow the source of the noise, never wavering in her pursuit. It took a couple of turns, and a few trips from the uneven terrain, but she eventually found the source. A moving bundle of blankets were placed on top of a barrel.

“The hell you doin’ woman?” Cooper finally caught up to where his wife had stopped and paused over the same bundle that she was hovered over.

“Oh look at them, Coop.” She cooed, picking up the wiggling bundle. In her arms was a baby.

“I wonder what you are. You can’t be more than a few weeks old.” The baby was tucked securely against her body as she rearranged the blankets to see what the baby was clothed in.

“Oh you’re a baby girl. So cute with those chubby cheeks.” Her finger stroked over her face, and felt her heart swell when the babe wrapped her chunky little hand around it.

“Now, don’t you go gettin’ attached to that thing.” Cooper looked to his wife, and then down at the small human in her arms.

“Coop, she’s so small and defenseless. We can’t just leave her here.” She countered, already moving to leave the area where the child was abandoned.

“No. No, no, no. Now what we ain’t gonna do is keep the damn thing.” He followed her through the path all the while her arms were occupied.

“Oh relax, beau. I ain’t leaving her.” Making their way back to their little campsite, she sat down a little closer to the fire and held the babe close. She retired the blankets around and tried to find something to give her for her hunger.

“You just gonna get attached to the thing and it’s not gonna survive.” He commented, sitting back down in his seat but not draping his arm over her again. She grabbed her canteen and dribbled a little bit of water to her lips.

“Need to find some formula when we get into town tomorrow.” It was just a little side comment, one that she did not even realize that she had said.

“Already told you, we ain’t keepin’ it.” Cooper grumbled, placing his head over his eyes.

“Coop, she’s just a little girl.” She replied, but her husband did not. Whenever the little girl in her arms slept, she caught a brief moment of shut eye too. The sun came up, and woke her husband who looked well rested.

“Is that thing still here?” He asked, looking over at his wife with a sleeping baby in her arms.

“Yes she is,” a yawn broke up her words. Her eyes were a bit hazy and tired, but she was aware of enough to continue going. Packing up their things, she had to navigate everything with the child in her arms. Her husband was grumbling the entire way about being slowed down, and how he did not want the child to travel with them. But as they continued to follow the trail, the baby stayed quiet, and stayed asleep.

There was something interesting about having the baby with them. Even if he refused to admit it, Cooper found himself extra protective of the child in his wife’s arms. It took him back to when Janey was a baby; how small and defenseless she was. Always relying on her parents for everything. When they found the target, he held a hand up to stop them.

“Stay here.” He whispered, ducking around the corner. Howard saw the trail of blood, but no body was around. It was not until he heard his wife scream, and a thud followed by the sounds of bones breaking. He whipped around to find their target on the ground, and his wife with a baby still in her arms, kicking the man wherever she could. The target’s jaw was definitely broken, and she was trying to at least shatter the knees of the man who kept trying to get up. Unhooking the lasso, Cooper wrangled the large man onto his knees, before turning to the two females next to hm.

“Y’all alright now?” Cooper turned his attention to the babe in her arms, before checking on his wife.

“Yeah. We’re all good, Coop. Let’s go turn that bounty in.” She stated, determined to get back to the town. The man picked up their bounty and began to march them into the town the had received the hit from.

“You know, you checked on her first before checking on me. Never done that before.” She commented, shielding the child from the sun with her cloak. Cooper smirked as he kept his eye on the prisoner in front of them.

“Well, maybe she is alright. Ain’t like she ever done anything that deserves bein’ left in this god forsaken desert. You gotta take care o’ her, but you can keep ‘er.” He drawled, letting his eyes wander to the child before looking at the love in his wife’s eyes.

“Didn’t realize you ghouls could even have children. Who would want to be raised by a couple of mutants?” Their bounty snarled under his breath. Loud enough that she felt self-conscious, and loud enough that Cooper felt rage. In the blink of an eye, he had blown a hole through the man’s shoulder, who dropped to his knees screaming.

“Now,” Cooper caught up to him and tightened the rope around his body, “you ever talk about my wife like that again, I ain’t gonna miss and hit your shoulder.”

He let the man go, dragged him back up to his feet, and made him walk yet again. Cooper fell back where his wife was now suddenly silent.

“Don’t listen to the shit he says darlin’. You’re as fine a momma as I ever did see.” He reassured her with a quick pat to her back.

“What if he’s right, Coop? I mean, maybe two hundred years ago we were good parents. Well, you were. Me… I was never able to be a mom.” She looked to the baby in her arms with a mournful gaze.

“This is your chance to do it again. Just cause it ain’t your by blood don’t mean it ain’t yours.” Once more, Cooper kept his voice down while he reassured his wife. She looked towards him, searching his eyes for any sign of a lie, yet found nothing. Silently, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and continued onward. Cooper knew that their captive was far too focused on his own shoulder and pain to notice their interaction, but watching her with that baby, made him think about if they just had more time all those years ago; could they have found a way to have children?

[cheezbites]

Dating König

✎: My third blog already!!! (Thank you all so much for the previous notes on my Chris McLean blog LMAO)

♡Summary: Wholesome head cannons of dating König💕!!!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bf!König dreaded shopping; but when it came to shopping with you? He’s down. He'd show he valued spending time together - being with you felt like a melody of heartbeats, each beat echoing his love. And since taking your sweet time, inspecting every cute item you saw, König would be exhausted after hours of consecutive shopping.

And still, he would do it all with a smile to make you smile. The worth-it part of it all to him was the astonishing Haul's he received after. From you trying on short skin-tight dresses, to matching onesies... He truly enjoyed it all, mostly for you. Aside from his complete oblivion to fashion or anything of that sort - he'd pretend for you.

Bf!König would reserve a table for you both at a nostalgic fast-food joint. When your meals were served to you - You could distinctly remember him asking for no pickles on his burger, yet they ended up being there.

"It's fine, I'll just take them out." He tried to reason with you because he knew how far you were willing to go over this for him; even if it was as minor as being over a pickle. You were a

"Excuse me, he asked for no pickles." Girlfriend, he was the reserved boyfriend who would awkwardly watch. At least you got a refund and a newly made burger for him. (He low-key loves it when you stand up for him, though).

Bf!König adored it when you cooked for him, he loved your meals and appreciated the time you spent making them. They were his happy place, he was a 'love goes through the stomach' kind of guy. "Danke, meine Liebe, du behandelst mich so gut." (Thank you, my love, you treat me so well.)

So you often teach König how to bake, cook, stir fry... all the basics. Most of your inside jokes were born from your failures, especially baking. You guys baked cookies this one time, they had increased in size tenfold. It was a giant cookie circle to put it simply. Every time you baked cookies, the 'Cookie Monster' joke would be repeated countless times.

Bf!König couldn't stand long separations, so you swapped pieces of clothing to keep each other's scents close. You wore his shirt (which looked like a baggy short dress on your figure), and you gave him a custom-made black bracelet and hair ties. As well as an oversized hoodie that looked normal on him.

Bf!König wasn't a morning person, at all. He would still routinely send you good morning texts that made you smile from ear to ear every time you received them.

"Guten Morgen, mein Liebling. Hope you slept well and dreamt of us. Sending u hugs and kisses"

"Guten Morgen, Liebling. Sending u extra ❤️ and virtual hugs to start your day off right. Ich vermisse dich"

Bf!König dealt with the spiders around the house for you, whenever he heard you unexpectedly screech, gasp, or gush "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." He knew what he had to do.

"See? They're harmless." He quipped as he guided them outside with the plate and glass combo.

"No, it was about to kill me! What if it bit me," you mindlessly blurted whilst rushing back and forth.

"Then you'd be Spider Woman, no? You'd fit perfectly being a badass superhero."

Bf!König shared a secret stash of snacks that you hide from everyone else and enjoy together during movie nights. When you fell asleep mid-movie, he carried you back to your room bridal style without disturbing you.

"Good night, meine Leibe." He silently muttered before gently planting a kiss on your head.

Bf!König Was perplexed whenever you held up two obscurely different eye shadows up to him, and asked him which one he preferred. To him, they appeared identical. But for you, one was a vibrant lavender, a touch too saturated, while the other, was a soft violet, more versatile for various outfits.

"Aren't they ... the same colour?"

"Excuse moi?!"

Bf!König Let you do his skincare. Though skincare was another thing he was completely oblivious to, he mildly enjoyed it. All he did was rinse his face with tap water, apply lotion and called it a night. On the other hand, your routine was the definition of intricate. And so before movie night, you used cleanser, face masks, serums, moisturisers and all that good stuff on him.

PART TWO IS OUT !!

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[duskiers]

Comfort in the Kitchen

> Percy Jackson / demeter!fem!reader

> Percy has been feeling down from his nightmares. To cheer him up, you make his favorite, blue chocolate chip pancakes

> first fanfic woohoo .. ( please don't kill me 🏊🏻‍♂️ )

‿︵‿︵⊹‿︵‿︵⊹‿︵⊹‿︵🌳︵‿⊹︵‿⊹︵‿︵‿⊹︵‿︵

The day had been long and fraught with challenges that seemed to stretch the limits of your patience and strength. As a daughter of Demeter, you found solace in the natural world, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the soft murmur of the earth beneath your feet. But today, the world seemed a little heavier, the shadows a bit darker, especially for Percy.

You noticed it the moment he trudged into the common area, his shoulders hunched and his eyes shadowed with the remnants of a battle only he could see. Nightmares, you knew. The kind that clung to him, remnants of battles fought and friends lost. It pained you to see him like this, the vibrant, brave Percy Jackson reduced to a shadow of himself by the memories that haunted him.

Without a word, you slipped away to the one place you knew you could make a difference: the kitchen. Cooking had always been your way of nurturing, of healing. There was magic in it, the simple, profound magic of caring for someone through the act of making them a meal.

Tonight, you decided on something special, Percy's favorite: blue chocolate chip pancakes. It was a simple enough dish, but you poured every ounce of your love and care into it, mixing the batter with a touch of your Demeter-given magic to soothe and comfort.

The comforting scent of chocolate and the warm, inviting aroma of cooked pancakes filled the kitchen, weaving a spell of home and hearth and peace.

When everything was ready, you plated the pancakes, drizzling them with extra chocolate chips and a generous dollop of whipped cream. But the final touch, the one that made them distinctly for Percy, was the food coloring that turned them his favorite shade of blue.

Carrying the plate with care, you found Percy exactly where you'd left him, staring off into nothing, lost in thoughts you wished you could banish for him. You sat beside him, the plate in your hands offering up not just food, but an unspoken promise of comfort and understanding.

"Percy," you said softly, drawing his attention. "I made you something."

He blinked, focusing on you for the first time, and when his eyes landed on the plate of blue pancakes, a small, genuine smile broke through the shadows. "You made these for me?"

"Of course," you replied, your heart warming at the sight of his smile. "I thought they might help, even just a little."

Percy took the plate from you, his smile growing as he took his first bite. "They're perfect" he said after a moment, his voice filled with something like wonder, like maybe he couldn't believe someone would do this just for him.

You watched him eat, saw the tension ease from his shoulders with every bite, and knew that, for now, this was enough. You couldn't fight his battles for him or chase away his nightmares, but you could give him this: a moment of peace, a taste of home, and the knowledge that he wasn't alone.

"Thank you" Percy said when he was done, his eyes meeting yours with a depth of gratitude that left you breathless.

"You're welcome" you replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

And in that moment, with the kitchen still warm from cooking and the night's shadows held at bay, you knew that this—this simple act of making pancakes—was its own kind of magic, the kind that healed, that comforted, that said 'I'm here for you' in a way words never could.

[throneofsapphics]

track 32

Fenrys x Reader x Lorcan

Summary: Cursed to fall in love, only to have everything ripped away from you, moving on to your next life already feels like a drag, only things don't quite follow their usual patterns.

Warnings: discussions of death, Maeve, brief description of torture, happy ending

Word Count: 8077

A/N: the HAPPIEST of birthdays to @whisperingmidnights <3 I hope you have an amazing day (& thank you to @rowaelinsdaughter for your help)

You tumbled into your new body. Again. At least this time the Gods let you skip through the childhood years, instead flooding your mind with memories of your new past. You could only be a toddler so many times before truly losing the last grip on your sanity. 

You’d think so much pain and suffering would flood together, the lives all melting into one giant messed up pot but instead each experience remained distinctly painful to you. Distinctly full of suffering and sour memories. You, obviously, hadn’t survived a single one and your trek across the multiverse was written in blood. 

It took you up until life 15 to really stop holding onto so many grudges, especially considering you seemed to be destined to fall for the same people each time. Not the same types of people, but the actual same person. 

Whoever put a curse on you had been clever. If you were cursed, perhaps you were just really damn unlucky. But right now you needed a bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s rest. Of course you were drunk. Fresh in from a night out on the town with one of your friends, but you had good some good fortune in this life - your own apartment. 

Tossing clothes off as you walked, you beelined towards where you knew the bathing room was. You were pretty certain you’d stayed in this exact apartment building before, and if you remembered correctly each apartment had near identical layouts, the entire building cheap and designed for efficiency. In this life, you’d made it your own more than in the previous ones. 

You stepped into the tub, let the cold water hit your toes, partially sobering you, rivulets of now psycho-somatic grime and blood streaming from your body to pool in clear water at your feet. 

A mind healer would have a field day with you and you knew it all too well.��

Plugging the drain, you adjusted it to reach the perfect temperature. Yes, an efficiency building but still had hot running water. It was odd, but you didn’t question it - you were a creature of comfort after all. 

You wondered when you’d see them again. You wished you could say that tall of your interactions started off on a fresh beat, that you had it together enough not to judge them based on versions of them in a different universe, but you weren’t. 

Having it together? Maybe, certainly not on that level though. Having it together enough to appreciate their presence at this moment? Hell no. 

After last time. 

“We’re done,” he mumbled, not willing to make eye contact with you. 

“Then say it to my face,” you glanced between both of them. 

Heads down. Eyes downcast - first time you’d seen them like that. 

“Then I really meant that little, didn’t I?”

“No,” one said - you could barely distinguish who through the raging steam in your ears and tears down your cheeks. 

“Yes,” the other said. You didn’t know or care who said what. It didn’t matter. Later, just before the death took you you’d find out who made them do it and realize it still didn’t matter. She may have forced them to lie, but they didn’t have to be quite so convincing. 31 lives had taught you logic had no place in heartbreak. 

The memory hit you like a physical blow to the chest, a stinging and pressure left in its wake. That heartbreak had killed you the quickest of them all. 

Three days. 

It was part of your curse, you’d figured out. To always know. What life you were on, the details of your past lives, how long it took you to do, what the death felt like, every little detail was committed to memory all because you’d dared to love someone a little too much, and ended up stealing them away from a wicked witch. 

Well, the story didn’t go quite like that but you thought it sounded better in your head that way. In reality, you’d fallen in love and done something stupid, as all people in love do from time to time. 

You and Lorcan had agreed you should try to get Fenrys out, that although it would be more difficult to get him released, Fenrys needed it more. You didn’t have the guts to tell him you needed both of them like you needed air, but there hadn’t been time for that. All of your moments were stolen and borrowed time. 

“Will you please release him from your service?” You were on your knees, begging. “Please, Majesty.” 

The harsh flooring dug into your knees but you kept the same subservient pose. For someone with so much pride, this was humiliating and your Queen knew it. 

“No.” 

One flat and toneless word. 

“No?” You repeated. 

Wicked red lips curved into a smile. “That is what I said.” 

You had several choice words for her after, and she’d responded with a fucking curse. Cursed to always love, but to never have it stick, cursed to die from heartbreak. 

Even after all of these lives the word ‘curse’ was still ugly in your mouth, still made your stomach heave and back seize at the memories. The times you’ve run into the Queen she hadn’t recognized you, but you knew she was still untouchable. Frequently made that way by the ones you loved. 

The breeze sneaking through the poorly insulated window highlighted how water already chilled around you. You didn’t miss that part of this building, the tub held next to no heat and your bathwater always ended up cold in less than fifteen minutes. 

You were tempted to stay still and prune, but there was no use in it. A new life, new things to do. 

Dragging yourself out of the tub, you dried off as efficiently as you could make yourself, scrounged up some comfortable clothes and headed to your desk. Grabbing a notepad and pen, you began writing. 

number thirty-one. 

It was a ritual of sorts, perhaps your imaginary mind healer would be proud of you for it, for getting all of your pain out on paper as soon as possible. 

Right before you burned it. 

Tossing the five sheets of paper on the flames felt good.

Running into them happened far too quickly for your liking. It always did. Life always started and finished too damn fast. 

You glanced in the mirror, at what you’d chosen to wear for the night out with your not-really-new friends. The dress fit you perfectly, and showed just enough to leave you feeling bold without being uncomfortable. The gold wrapped around your wrists helped too. Not too much to look rob worthy, but enough to make you feel like some extra type of sheen was thrown over you. Maybe, just maybe this life would bring you a little luck. Was gold supposed to be good luck? You didn’t know, but maybe you’d figure out how to look it up later. If you remembered to. 

You felt something warm in your chest, not unlike the flush from the first sip of whiskey. Closing your eyes you could’ve sworn it tugged, dragged you towards another. 

No, not in this or any life. It wasn’t possible. 

No matter how many times you fell in love and in how many ways, you’d never found a mate and were convinced you were destined not to. 31 lives was enough time to find a mate, a life partner. You should’ve had that done in by life 10. 

It was funny, how you’d started measuring your existence in lives rather than years. After all, it fit your circumstances. Permanently destined to be a temporary existence in others lives, and for their existence and influence to end yours. If there was a way out of this, a stopping or breaking of the curse you figured you would’ve found it by now. 

A loud pounding on the door and you hissed as the brush slipped, you barely moving your wrist away in time to save your face from a large black streak. 

“Gods,” you yelled, “hold on a damn moment.” 

“We’re going to miss the bard,” someone - Ella? Yes, Ella, shouted back. 

“Alright,” you groused loud enough for her to hear, “one moment.” 

One more swipe of kohl and you looked ready. A few deep breaths and you felt ready. 

Shoving the cosmetics to the back of the counter, you swung yourself around the doorway, grabbing your coat off the hook and flinging open the front door, finding your friend posed with their fist menacingly mid-air, probably about to break your door down. Memory clicked in, reminding you they can be a tad aggressive on a mission. 

Their mouth curved into a too-satisfied smirk, probably that their threats had work. Rolling your eyes, you shoved past them into the hall, quickly locking your door. 

“Anyone else for tonight?” 

“Just us,” they looped their arm through yours and started for the stairs. 

Ugh. Last time in this building you’d been on the ground floor, and you’d definitely miss the convenience of that, but at least you had a pretty balcony view here. It’s all give and take, you supposed. 

“Copper for your thoughts?” Ella’s voice interrupted you. 

How long had you zoned out? Was that a habit in this lifetime? You couldn’t remember. 

“Do I really look that broke?” You deflected. 

It worked, she laughed. Maybe it would’ve been nice if she pushed a little. 

-

Fenrys breathed in the fresh air. Maeve had sent him on a mission. Alone. Staking out Varese for several months, observing, but she didn’t exactly tell him what to look for. It was perhaps the most exciting and infuriating mission he’d been assigned. Infuriating, because he truly had no idea what in Hellas’s name he was supposed to do, exciting because he had months to spend doing whatever he thought ‘observing’ looked like. 

Yes, he knew it was a mockery of freedom but right now he’d take the gods-damned mockery over what he’s stuck in every day. 

Walking through the street, although he stuck to the shadows, unnoticed to the masses, it still felt like each face was sent there to tease him, remind him of the invisible leash tying him to that bitch for the rest of his life. He didn’t know how Lorcan, the bastard, did it with such glee and joy. At least Whitethorn had shown a measure of discontent at some point, he’d even seen a hint of it on perfectly loyal Gavriel’s face. 

Something caught his attention. Someone. 

Arm in arm with your friend, strolling down the street, exuding pure confidence. Someone aware of their place in this world and what they meant to it. The light in your eyes matched his own. Dimmed, flaring when necessary and just enough to keep up appearances. 

Only a fellow fraud would recognize it. 

He had to follow. It was insanity, but he needed to see more of you. 

That’s how he ended up nursing a drink in the corner of the bar, shadows wreathed around him, cloak pulled up to cover his face. He matched some of the many body guards of nobles around, and through some blessing not a soul had recognized him or even shot him a second glance. Perhaps Friday’s were quite a popular night for the elite to pretend, that or he’d gotten better at blending in. He didn’t know which to put his money on. 

Someone, however, caught all of the attention - including his, even when he tried to ignore the magnetic attraction tugging him towards you. Throwing your head back in a laugh, you danced along with your friend, clothing absolutely sinful and fitting right in. He loved it. Every part of your energy felt like it was tugging at him, urging him closer, closer, closer, and he realized just how dangerous that made you. 

Dangerous to him, and to yourself through him. 

No matter what, she hung over him like a storm cloud. 

Anything he might try to pursue with you would end before it could truly began, love or relationship cut off at its knees without a chance to truly blossom. Did he actually want it to? Could Fenrys actually be that selfish? 

Yes, if it came to you. He glanced down at his pint. Still half full, and rather weak shit. He wasn’t drunk but still managed to think complete nonsense. Nothing could happen, but for now he supposed it couldn’t hurt to imagine a fantasy life with a stranger he’d never see again live in the corner of his mind, so long as it it stayed there. He was so, so wrong. 

-

Lorcan Salvaterre knew about sacrifice. In fact, he was an expert at it, at this point. But, every bit was worth it for her. His Queen. The only female he’d truly loved to the point where he’d do anything and everything. 

Perhaps other love could have come his way, but it had never been the right time. Timing, in his opinion, shouldn’t matter. He’d always make the time for Maeve, and everything he’d done since meeting her had been for her. When she ordered him away, he left. When she kept him by her side - but never her bed - he stayed. Maeve said jump, he asked how high. 

That's why Lorcan was trying to figure out when in Hellas he’d become so disillusioned, starting thinking things so unlike him. He couldn’t tell her, couldn’t tell anyone. Lorcan didn’t have any friends or confidants, that wasn’t something he dealt in. To him, there was no purpose in friends when his entire life’s purpose was bound by blood to servitude. 

The closest thing he had to friends was his blood brothers, and like hell he’d ever tell them of this ... treachery waging war inside of his mind. 

Lunch swirled unpleasantly in his stomach as he thought of the word. Treason. 

When Maeve called him to the throne room, when he knelt before her, he mentally prepared himself for his immortal life to end rather early. She must know. She always knows. 

Instead, he needed to figure out how he’d pissed her off because she’d sent him off for some kind of torturous punishment. Keeping an eye on Fenrys, currently loose in Varese. 

“Anything I should watch out for in particular, majesty?” He was quite proud of how he kept the bitterness from his tone. Or thought he did. 

“You’ll know if you see something off,” she dismissed him with a wave. “Consider it a vacation, of sorts.” 

Blood sworn didn’t get vacations, he wanted to protest. He didn’t want - or need one. Had he really been slacking that much? The journey would provide adequate time for reflection, for him to dissect and figure out exactly where he’d gone wrong so he could prevent those mistakes in the future. That was essential. This trip however, like most things with Fenrys, would probably turn out to be a complete waste of his time. Time that could be spent doing much better things. But ... he supposed if this is what his Queen wanted him to do, it was exactly what he’d be doing, regardless of his feelings on the subject. His feeling always had been, and always would be inconsequential.

He was here. Already. Fuck. 

It was day 2, and you couldn’t catch a break. Is there such thing as a resting life? One where you could go through without any relationships, just peace and enjoying your moments of solitude? No, not for someone like you. 

Running away from them never worked, they would haunt your every movement until they consumed every last bit of you and scattered crumbs on the wind, only for the crumbs to reform and drag you back towards them. 

Do you embrace fate or run away from it? It was inevitable, what was the point in fighting anymore? You were so tired of it. Exhaustion rippled from you in waves, you were surprised everyone around you hadn’t noticed as soon as you walked in. 

Even if you wanted to, Fate, in the form of the most gorgeous man to exist, all bronze skin, onyx eyes, and golden hair, didn’t give you a choice. He slid into the bar stool next to you. 

You didn’t smile, at first, but your traitorous heart warmed in his presence. 

“Have we met before?” He said, jokingly. 

If only he knew. 

“Maybe in your dreams,” you slid your hand across the bar and grabbed your glass, drinking deeply. He winced. 

“Am I that bad of company?” 

“You’ve been here for,” you glanced at the clock pointedly, “a minute. It has nothing to do with you.” You’d tried every approach in the past to get them to see if it would deter them enough for them to circumvent fate, but nothing worked. Each version of you was destined for tragedy with each version of them. 

“That’s fair enough,” Fenrys replied. You reminded yourself you didn’t know his name. 

“What do they call you?” The words came out, regardless of your internal wince, knowing you were setting him up for a ridiculous line. 

“In b-”

You held a hand up and his mouth clamped shut. “No, no, none of that.” 

He laughed, deep and rich, a sound you ... had you heard that laugh from him before? Perhaps not, at least not in a few lives. Recently things had been so depressing. 

“I like you,” he nudged you gently with his elbow, your heart ached. 

not again not again not again. 

‘Yes,’ a cruel voice from red lips whispered in your mind, ‘again, again, again. Forever. This is what you deserve.’

Someone cleared their throat. Fenrys. 

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at the bottom of your nearly empty glass. Empty. Fuck. You couldn’t handle this sober. Were you sober? Your friends were long gone, all found partners for the night while you nursed your worries at the bar. “What’s your name?” You took the last sip of your drink as the last syllable left your lips, ideally it could hide any signs of a lie from him. 

“Fenrys,” he leaned back enough in his stool to extend his arm to you, rather formally. When you placed your hand in his, intending to squeeze it to death, he deftly rearranged your hands and raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there. “At your service.” 

“Charmer,” you rolled your eyes but softly pulled your hand away and replied with your name. 

He said your name quietly, extending the vowels, as if testing how it sounded on his tongue, how it might sound in other - 

You chided yourself, pulling your mind out of the gutter. With the situation you knew he was always in, that was the last thing you needed to be thinking about. Or that he needed to be. You might not escape him, but you certainly wouldn’t do anything to make this harder on yourself. At least thats what you’re saying now. 

“Last call,” the gruff barman said, scowling at Fenrys before shooting you a smile. Your mind rattled through details. Right, you regularly shut this tavern down and always left a good tip. 

You leaned over to Fenrys and whispered low so the other male couldn’t hear, “he’s easy to win over. A good tip, manners, and easy orders.” 

Fenrys hid his snort in his drink, draining the last droplets. “Thank you for the advice, love,” he whispered conspiratorially. Asshole. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled and left your usual amount, sliding off the stool. Just because you were fated to make each other’s lives hell didn’t mean you had to deal with him being rude. Maybe you were just sensitive. 

A ‘wait’ followed you but you ignored it. Inevitable.

He caught up to you on the street, calling your name again. 

Something else struck you. He was alone in Varese. When did this happen? This was odd. Out of all of your lifetimes nothing had followed this pattern, never meeting so quickly and certainly not with Fenrys on his own with his leash rather loose for what the bitch prefers. You needed to figure out more. 

“Want to come back to my place for a drink?” You said, slowly turning to look at him. 

If he was surprised by your quick change of tune, he didn’t say a thing, only nodding and linking your arms together. Like he’d been waiting for a friend. The pain in your chest was physical as much as it was emotional. 

-

Lorcan was here to keep an eye on Fenrys, and if that meant sitting in the shadows on a rooftop, peering through a beautiful female’s stupidly open window then so be it. You walked around and even acted like you didn’t give a damn whether you lived or died, but he could tell you were smart, based on how you’d handled Fenrys. 

He’d ended enough lives to have an appreciation for it, and the way you were so gods-damned careless with yours pissed him off. 

Lorcan should be questioning why his feelings towards you are so strong, but instead he’s observing every little detail of the interactions between you and Fenrys. For his report, of course. He always paid attention to detail, there was no other reason than being thorough. At least he kept telling himself that. 

It wasn’t because he liked the way your hair moved, or how you rolled your eyes frequently at his blood-sworn brother, followed by a barely there smile that he only noticed because the shadows danced around it, as if you repelled the darkness. 

Maybe you could repel the darkness in him. 

What. The. Fuck. 

Lorcan hadn’t drank, and even if he had he never entertained thoughts like this. 

Refocusing, he committed to memory every detail of what Fenrys was doing, how he reacted to you, how attached he might be and how you might already be used against him by his Queen. 

An unfamiliar feeling settled in his stomach, tainting him. 

Guilt. 

He didn’t want to use you. 

But if it came to it, he wouldn't have a choice. He never really did. 

-

Fenrys whistled lowly on his way home, through the empty streets. Still aware of his surroundings, also aware that none would dare approach him - not with the steel and the stature he carried himself with, proof he knew how to use it. 

All he’d done is sit and talk with you for hours, in fact the dawn was currently beginning to crest over the city. Hours of sitting and talking felt like mere minutes with you, and he found he had more fun in that time than he had in years, perhaps decades, perhaps since entering Maeve’s service. 

It was sad, really, that you could only be a temporary fixture, for your own safety. 

Still, his mind rattled with ways to do the impossible, with how he could be with you forever without ... it was useless, really, to even ponder it. The false hope and ideas would only taint the present he had, for however long Maeve let him stay here in his ... his fantasy, he supposed. 

He could imagine many fantasies with you involved but the biggest was your friendship. The way you hadn’t hit on him, made any kind of sexual innuendos or advances, thats why he followed you out of the bar. Because you made him comfortable in a way nobody else had in so, so long. Like you’d been doing it for lifetimes. 

The scent hit him. The male wanted him to know he was there. His entire body stiffened, posture straightened slightly, pleasant after buzz from your intoxicating presence gone just like that. 

Lorcan Salvaterre. His commander. 

“Who was that?” Lorcan wasted no time and matched pace with him. 

“None of your business,” Fenrys snapped. Aware that he could be punished for it, but he didn’t care, he looked the male right in the eyes. 

Lorcan ... Lorcan didn’t push him. At all. Instead, something like understanding passed through his eyes. Had Lorcan needed to protect someone from Maeve before? 

Probably not. He was a cold hearted bastard through and through. 

“Keep her away,” the words were whispered on the wind - there and gone. Just like Lorcan, who melted into the shadows. 

Away from who? Lorcan didn’t say ‘keep away from her,’ and Fenrys knew everything the bastard did was intentional. 

Lorcan Salvaterre was here. You knew it, having caught the faintest hint of his unfortunately familiar scent, trailing after you like a hound. 

The fact that he was following you made you nervous. Yes, similar situations had occured before but everything about this time seemed so different that it filled you with mixed emotions. 

What are the odds there’s actually something good in store for you? Slim, you decided, based on history and reasoning, and you knew Lorcan Salvaterre stalking anyone was bad news, but especially for you when you had ... history with the Queen he so lovingly served.

Someone whose head deserved to be ripped right from her neck, you cast the thought into the universe and hoped it landed, hoped she felt a phantom prick in the side of her neck. 

Maybe she regretted cursing you to some kind of eternal half existence, always in and out of different worlds. Doubtful. More likely she tired of whatever game she decided to play for you and set the person who she knew would hurt the most to kill you. Even you could admit you were extrapolating. 

Maybe an attitude change could fix everything. A tad less drama. 

You glanced out the window, at the rain currently pouring down, at the moisture leaking into your apartment. The weather certainly didn’t match up for life changes, if anything it read of staying right where you were. 

Accepting it wouldn’t happen today, you saved the attitude change for the next sunny day. Those practically screamed change in fortune. Or you hoped they did. 

A week passed. You saw Fenrys each night at the Tavern, and scented a weirdly careless Lorcan on your trail each day. 

Your attitude may not have changed with the next bout of sunshine, but you had a plan. It was rather simple, to somehow draw Lorcan out. However, there was a difference between having a plan and knowing how to execute it. You supposed that made your plan an idea more than anything. 

Fenrys had mentioned business meetings he’d be attending one night, and you decided that was the perfect to do it. The perfect night to pretend to get sloshed, and you had the help of your favorite barkeep. 

Knowing Lorcan, he probably had questions for you, and wouldn’t miss the opportunity to get some answers while your inhibitions were ‘lowered.’ Arrogant males like him wouldn’t let opportunities slide by, but Lorcan Salvaterre stayed Maeve’s commander for a reason, and you knew your acting skills had to be top notch to keep him from becoming suspicious. 

-

“When will you stop pretending to drink those?” Lorcan asked gruffly as he slid into the stool next to you, his hulking frame towering over the bar and casting a shadow over you. You were a good actress, but he was better, and caught on after the first couple of drinks and exchanged looks between you and the barkeep, who you were on very friendly terms with. 

The obsession with you, the flares of irrational anger when another man trailed too close, Lorcan knew what this was, and knew he was screwing both of you over with it. Fated for misery and doom, no matter how the cards played out. He’d be stuck with her, Lorcan noted how she was demoted in his mind, and you’d be ... free. 

All those years he’d spent making fun of those males now served to make him feel like a lot of an asshole because he gotit. There was a crack in his armor, a weakness in his resolve, and nobody knew about it. He intended to keep it that way until you were far, far away from him and his ... his Queen, and then as long as possible after that. His stomach clenched at the thought of what she might do to you in order to help keep him in line. Nothing good, and everything bad. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you answered primly, turning away from him. Why had he come over here again? 

He laughed, low and harshly. “Sure you don’t, sweetheart,” he exaggerated the last word - turning it into an insult. It didn’t feel right. His entire being flared against any insult to you, even coming from him. 

But ... the little flash of anger in your eyes, the way your nostrils flared, that was amusing. He liked the fire in you. “What did you call me?” 

He shrugged. 

You scoffed, muttering an insult he chose to ignore under your breath. “Nothing to say to that one?” You pushed when he didn’t answer, letting your elbow brush against his, “I thought it was creative. If you need me to I can keep going, there’s plenty where it came from.” 

“It was well done,” perhaps he wasn’t particularly in the mood to be insulted all night, and he got the sense you were more than capable of doing just that. 

“Well done,” you echoed, and he nodded. Your mouth curled into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. 

-

In the future, you might just deny it ever happened, but Lorcan Salvaterre ended up in your apartment that night. You ignored the fact that he seemed to know the way there. There had always been plenty you were willing to ignore when it came to that male, and that hadn’t changed over the last however many lives. 

Once Lorcan - once he’d found his Queen, you’d been second. But before that, he’d made you his everything. You never could blame him for leading you to beg Maeve that first time, that cursed time. 

Still, on the nights when you were alone, when the rain or a pretty mountain outline reminded you of him, when everything felt too much, it was easier to pin it on him, even if it made you a horrible person. Horrible, even for an ex-lover, but then again you were always an expert at self-depreciation. 

Looking at the male now, like a statue of a God carved from granite, you knew he’d be the death of you. Again. But how could you fight him? You never had the strength to in the past. Maybe you weren’t trying to survive hard enough ... 

Things had never moved this quickly in the past, they’d always been at a pace just slow enough to be torturous with your knowledge of your impending doom. 

Maybe this time you needed to really try. 

For Lorcan. For Fenrys. But mostly, for yourself. 

The door closed behind you and you slipped back into reality, into the new situation you found yourself in. 

“Drink?” You asked over your shoulder, heading right for your kitchen. 

He caught your hand, spinning you back towards him. 

“I had something else in mind,” he said roughly, and dipped his head towards yours. 

You knew he could be patient, he could be gentle, he could be kind, but you got none of that now. 

His hand gripped your jaw, tight enough to keep you still but not harsh enough to hurt, his mouth moved fervently against yours as you matched his pace. It was the collision of a thousand stars, a world breaking and re-forming into something new and beautiful and wonderful. It was everything and more. It was the multiverse coming together into a single moment and screaming yes! this is what you were waiting for. He slowed, softened, as if some kind of guilt caught up with him. You wouldn’t have that. Couldn’t. You gripped the back of his hair and pulled him back closer to you, pressing your body against his. 

He would be yours for the night, but little did he know you‘d already been his for eternity. 

-

You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing. You owe him nothing, Fenrys reminded himself as he walked out of the bar, spotting you teasing Lorcan. He’d finished his business meetings early and thought he might see if you were still haunting your favorite spot at the bar. 

Still, he wanted to rush up to you and ask you if you knew who the hell you were tangling with but ... he supposed he was like Lorcan in that way, one of Maeve’s Blood Sworn, and to have two of them shown publicly taking an interest in you was nothing short of deadly and he refused to subject you to that. So Fenrys left. 

And hated himself for it, but self hatred was nothing new to him. 

Fenrys wasn’t sure how he found Lorcan’s rooms, considering the male probably didn’t want to be found right now. Probably wanted to bask in you. Your beauty, the time he sp-

He stopped himself from thinking of it. Even thought of shifting now, to a body where emotions were simpler and didn’t drain quite so much. Fenrys rarely shifted voluntarily when away from her, not after she kept him in that form so frequently. ‘Where he was easier to deal with,’ she’d said once, and the words still stung as His Majesty, he thought the words mockingly, intended for them to. 

The door swung open. 

Lorcan didn’t speak, just stood there with his arms crossed and jaw clenched. 

Fenrys felt young, and not in a good way. What was he? A jealous lover? Concerned friend? Idiot? 

Then it hit him. 

The scent. 

Yours. 

His. 

Entwined. 

Without him. 

Rage, pure and strong filled him. The scent was particular, and he’d seen it just a few times before. Lorcan, intelligently, had a shield around himself before Fenrys he was on the verge of some kind of burst. 

“Not fucking possible,” Fenrys backed away, “we can’t have the same mate.” 

Lorcan’s eyes widened, but he was looking beyond him. Fenrys whirled around. 

You. 

“I can’t have a mate,” you said quietly, desperately. “I never have before,” then to yourself, “it’s never been like this,” you switched your gaze to the window, he watched you try to angle your face so they couldn’t see the tears in your eyes but they were evident. Everything was evident when it came to you. 

“Get inside,” Lorcan said roughly to both of you. 

He had a point, it wasn't exactly the space for this conversation. A hallway where anyone could be walking by and overhear. That’s the last thing he wanted, anything that might put you in further danger. 

When he didn’t instantly move, Lorcan grabbed his shirt, tugging him inside. There was a knife at Lorcan’s throat before the male could blink. 

“Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Me,” Fenrys hissed, slowly sliding the knife away and sheathing it at his side. 

He was surprised his commander hadn’t caught it, but then again he was staring at a pretty female in the hallway, your gaze still distant and fixed on the window. He called your name, just loud enough to carry across the distance. Your head snapped, you blinked a few times. He tilted his head towards the room. 

An over-exaggerated sigh, probably for their sake more than anything, and then you followed them inside. Each step seemed to make you shrink further into yourself, he noticed, that confidence and bravado fading and leaving someone vulnerable behind. 

It took a strong hand to tamp down on instincts rising, telling him to eliminate any immediate threats to you. The main one being Lorcan, but also any other males and possibly females in the vicinity. It was absolutely ridiculous, the way he was feeling even if he wasn’t acting on it. At least he hadn’t acted on it. Yet. If only because he was well aware it would piss you off. 

-

“What did you mean, ‘it’s never been like this?’” Lorcan asked and you read the skepticism in his eyes. Not quite distrust, but an interesting mix of confusion and concern. That had the potential to change quickly. Could you even speak about it or would you drop dead? You’d always assumed you couldn’t but ... 

“I’m cursed,” you started. They exchanged a brief glance, and for some reason that irritated you, but you kept going. “We’ve met before. Many times,” you knew that would grab and probably keep their attention, at least for a little while. You held a hand up when their brows furrowed in concern, “just hear me out before you write me off as crazy.” 

“I would never write you off,” Fenrys murmured, and you shot him a thankful look but he kept his mouth shut after that. Perhaps it had something to do with the glare on Lorcan’s face. 

The words were difficult. 

Each one felt stilted and awkward, but they watched and listened as if each word you said was pure gold and something about that made you feel powerful. They went through the emotions with you, although it was a tad more difficult to tell with Lorcan, but you struggled together in a way. For some reason, it started to feel like this might turn into a goodbye and you weren’t quite ready for that. After all, you didn’t know how anyone could stay with someone ... someone with the kind of tainted past you have. 

“Why would she do that?” You finished. It a was rare chance to ask two people who probably have more insight than any others into how the mind of the Queen works, not that you believe she’d let anyone truly understand her. 

“Cruelty,” Fenrys said. 

The same time as Lorcan said, “jealousy.” 

“Makes sense,” you huffed, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. It was stupid. 

“How do you end up reincarnated?” Lorcan asked. The question you were hoping to avoid. 

“I die.” 

“Of old age,” Fenrys said, but didn’t sound as if he believed it. 

“No,” you said sharply, exhaling. “You’ll laugh at me.” 

“Try me. Believe it or not, I don’t find your death very funny,” Fenrys said dryly. Lorcan was watching with apt attention, eyes watching you like a hawk. 

“Heartbreak,” you grunted, quickly whirling towards - fuck. You’d meant to look out the window, but saw the mirror instead and the twin faces of horror behind you struck something deep inside of your heart. 

“I -” your throat closed up, the words not quite getting out. 

“What is it?” Fenrys curled his fingers inward, and despite a slight internal cringe you let him beckon you, let him take your hands, let him give you this kind of comfort. 

“I wish you remembered,” you whispered, glancing at Lorcan too, who’s eyes and face told you, yes he knew you were changing the subject, and no the conversation was not over yet. 

-

“I don’t -,” Lorcan Salvaterre stumbled over his words, perhaps for the first time in his life, “I don’t mind making new memories, as long as they’re with you.” 

You beamed. Fenrys laughed. He debated how upset you would be if he killed the other male. 

Other male. 

He knew, already, that he’d have to share you. 

For you, Lorcan could and would make anything work. You were worth everything, absolutely everything. 

Maeve, a voice whispered in his mind. He pushed it down, ignored it for now. That was an ... his Queen would never be an issue, but a situation he could deal with at a later date. 

He swore to himself he’d never make fun of a mated male again. Technically he wasn’t mated yet, but he would be ... soon, he had to be. Being your mate felt like an irrevocably necessary part of his soul, like he might die without it, without having that bond with you to tether him to this world and give him meaning. Meaning he’d been lacking his entire life. 

He didn’t know or care if Fenrys felt the same way but he supposed he should. He had an obligation to his mate’s mate, after all, outside of the fact that Fenrys is his bloodsworn brother. 

Bloodsworn.

His bones and blood chilled. He couldn’t be yours, not really. The realization threatened to bring tears to his eyes, but he couldn’t cry, not here - not in front of you. You needed him strong. 

He stood, abruptly, but didn’t care. He jerked his chin to Fenrys. “We need to talk,” he let his eyes say the rest. 

He found he didn’t like how some of the shine left Fenrys’s, how they dulled at the implication of their Queen’s existence. Too bad, for now. 

“Great. Secrets,” you muttered, and a slight smile threatened his lips, but you still waved them away. Perhaps you understood secrets better than anyone else. 

Lorcan led Fenrys to an adjacent room, and their shields went up at the same time. To keep any nosy females from overhearing. The more she knew, the more danger she was in. At least they were on the same page. 

“Where is safe for her?” Fenrys started. 

At least he had his priorities straight. 

“Antica,” Lorcan answered. Maeve didn’t dare touch the southern continent, yet. “For now,” he added for honesty’s sake. “The curse won’t break until Maeve is ...” He didn’t, couldn’t bring himself to, speak the words out loud, it felt too much like treason. 

“Dead,” Fenrys said for him. He had no problem with it, apparently. If Lorcan had been as insolent as the male in front of him, he would’ve been put to death long ago, and he knew that. Perhaps Fenrys didn’t, but it wasn’t the time for that conversation. “So we spirit her away, and then what? How do we keep her from dying?” 

“A blood promise.” 

“Like what?” Fenrys leaned back against the wall, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. 

“When the curse is broken, we will find her.” 

Antica. Hot, miserable, mate-less Antica. In truth, it wasn’t that miserable, but you'd be enjoying yourself a lot more if your mates hadn’t shipped you off here as quickly as they could. 

All in the name of keeping you ‘safe,’ you grimaced in the mirror, brushing down your hair, now frizzy slightly from the rare rain that breezed in the day before. They're and gone like a phantom, almost. Almost like their presences in your life. 

You could still remember their touches from that last night, firm but gentle, still tentative like new lovers can be. You thought you knew everything about their touch from the past, but even they kept some surprises across multi-verses, or maybe it had just been a while since it had been the three of you and your memory was getting poorer. 

Probably that. 

You pushed the door open, throwing yourself into the throng of people making their way to the one of the several monthly markets in the city. Throng of people, you thought. It was awfully busy. 

‘War,’

‘Sending us-’

‘Saved the princess,’

‘Foreign lord.’ 

The whispers hit your ears one by one like a drum. A war. Against who?

You stopped casually at the closest table, and sure enough the seller was chittering to the person who came before you about it. A war, and the khaganate would be marching for Aelin Galathynius. 

You rolled the name over on your tongue, it being vaguely familiar. Perhaps you should have kept up more with politics throughout the ages, you probably could’ve made a load of money betting, but that felt a tad too immoral, and you did fear the judgement of your own conscience. 

As soon as the intrigue was there, it was gone. You’d heard of several wars over the last two decades, the longest you'd lived so far, and none of them had brought your mates back to you. You seriously doubted this would be the one. 

You refused to acknowledge the ugly truth. They’d probably already forgotten about you. 

-

In the lonely and mindless hours stuck in his Wolf form, Fenrys thought of the beautiful female in Antica, and dreamed of a life without Maeve, however impossible it was he never stopped hoping.

The female screamed on the table in front of him, but he was frozen in time and space. All he could do right now was bear witness to the horrible crime in front of him. Aelin Galathynius deserved someone to bear witness to her pain and her strength. 

The female who should’ve been his Queen, and the female who was his mate had so much in common. Not necessarily appearance, but your attitude and the way you carried themselves. So much that being with her for those months had felt like an even larger blessing. It wasn’t infidelity, not by any means, but perhaps a bit wrong he was using Aelin as a proxy for you. 

The screams in front of him distracted him from his thoughts and dragged him back to the present. She’d passed out, he was waking her with some foul smelling cloth. Each day, he thought he’d reached the limits of what he could bear without closing his eyes, but somehow - because he knew you would do it - he managed to watch. Witness. Wait. It was all he could do now. 

- 

Lorcan Salvaterre knew he was a miserable male to be around, but traveling through Varese had turned him downright sour. At least internally. 

He knew he needed to get to Aelin, and he knew he needed to get to Fenrys. For the bond they shared with each other that they’d never told a soul about. If he didn’t get to him, you’d never ever forgive him. 

He might be too much off a coward to tell you, but he would know in his soul and that’s enough. He’d find Fenrys, get her away from him, do whatever it took. 

-

You woke up one morning with an unusual lightness, a ‘pep’ in your step, so to speak. You’d never understood that phrase until then, when you felt like all of your burdens and issues had been freed in a spare moment, like nothing could weigh you down right then. 

As usual, you got your gossip through the market, and it all made sense. 

Doranelle has a new Queen. 

Queen Maeve was killed in Terrasen. 

You were free. 

You tilted your head up towards the sky, and let the sun shine down on your face, not caring you were stopped in the middle of the park. From the corner of your eye you spotted an older woman copying your movements, not in a mocking way, but in a yes the sun is quite nice today way.

The flip side of your freedom meant your mates would be coming soon. They’d be coming soon. 

To Antica. 

To you. 

You scrambled back to your apartment to start packing. How long did it take to get from Terrasen here?

You paused halfway through throwing your closet onto your bed. 

A letter would’ve arrived by now, but you’d received no such thing. 

That night you fell asleep on top of your clothes. 

The next day you built the courage to put them away. 

You didn’t know where in the world they were now that Maeve is gone, and perhaps with the curse lifting they felt they no longer were obligated to be with you and love you, and maybe -

A familiar scent hit the same time as a knock on your door. 

You rushed to it, throwing it open finding ...

Both of them. Your mouth parted, words not quite leaving your lips. Finally, you managed a lame, “you came.” 

“We promised,” Lorcan said “Can we come in?” 

Yes, they obviously could, you swung the door wider and ushered them inside. 

“We came as soon as we could,” Fenrys promised. 

The silence was awkward for a few moments as the three of you tried to figure out how to navigate this. But, it was easy enough to break as you threw yourself at both of them, managing to catch each of them in a hug at the same time. 

“I forgot to tell you before I left,” you started, muffled in the shirts but knew they heard you. You’d memorized these words long ago. “I spent so long looking for all of the things that would kill me, I forgot the ones that made me feel alive. Both of you made me feel alive. Thank you.” 

[mihawkhugs]

starlight

haikyuu | oikawa x reader | soulmate au

tw :  mentions of depression, and brief mention of attempts at suicide

He seemed to be made of starlight, standing out among the throngs of students, the faceless members of society, and the monotony of your daily life. 

Whatever Oikawa Tooru did, wherever he went, he seemed to command attention. He was like the sole candle in a dark room, and the people his willing moths. He seemed to radiate light. He was often accompanied by laughter and giggles, and smiles and grins.. He seemed to be universally admired no matter where he was, and that both terrified and amazed you. 

Yet, as someone who grappled with depression, paced with anxiety, drowned in insecurity, and jested with sorrow like he was an old friend, you couldn't help but notice his eyes. Sometimes, despite being surrounded by his friends and fans, he seemed to be lonely, or like a doll on display, pretty, but devoid of life and love.

In an odd way, Oikawa Tooru reminded you of yourself, of who you were before you sought help, and opened up. 

It didn't mean that you stopped hurting, stopped feeling nothing, stopped counting the seconds that seemed so fleeting, yet eternal. It just meant you hurt a little less sometimes, and that was enough, at least for now. You weren't okay, but that was alright. You were here and alive, and that opened a door of possibilities for you, even if it seemed impossible for now.

You couldn't help but notice how different he seemed around his friends, around his fangirls, and in the court. He was like an enchanted mirror, reflecting what people wished to see. 

Oikawa Tooru seemed to demand attention. On the court, his intensity was unmatched, and he very much felt like a predator, hunting for his meal, desperate to survive. With his fangirls, he seemed so princely, complying to their demands and proclamations of love, his smile a little too perfect, a little too practiced. 

With his friends, he seemed almost at ease, joking around, whining, calling for his "Iwa-chan" as he acted childishly. It was almost cute, you mused, how different he seemed from people to people, group to group. 

But in the end, a reflection and its image only exists in the mirror, and our minds. Reality demands different.

Bleh, how disgusting. 

You first met Oikawa when you were hiding at a remote stairwell in school, experiencing a panic attack. The first day of school for you had been overwhelming to say the least, and being in a new country, with foreign people, did not help. 

He had come across you for god knows what reason, as you cowered in the shadows, breathing uneven, mind screaming, body trembling, feeling terrified, giddy, and like you were about to projectile vomit Picasso style. 

His honey brown eyes and annoying fluffy hair, still echo in your mind. For a moment, he looked oh so kind and real and there, as he knelt down and whispered, almost too quiet to hear, "Are you okay?". 

You had shivered, covering your ears in reflex.

His words seemed to shock you, almost enough to make snap out of your panicked haze, and on your lower back, you could distinctly feel your soul words tingle, and an unfamiliar warmth rushed through you.

As you opened your mouth (to say something to express the please-love-shock-fear), you couldn't help but hesitate, feeling and looking like a drowned rat. He seemed so kind, so perfect, and much too good for you. His kind stare lingered on your body, and for a moment, something seemed to flash across his eyes, a sort of understanding and pity. 

So you didn't speak to him, to Oikawa Tooru, the boy who seemed to be made of star stuff, who felt so far away from you, yet so beautiful and mesmerising. You offered him a wobbly smile, before burying your head in your arms again, trying hold yourself together like it would help and make everything stop, and quiet down. 

He didn't leave. You heard him sit on the steps, a slight distance away from you, and you could distinctly feel his presence. The words on your lower back seemed to shiver in foreign delight.

And he sat there as you refused to look at the world, trying to drown our everything, in the shadows and darkness of the little stairwell. 

Silence had never seemed so loud. 

From then on, you seemed to notice him much more often. He'd smile at you, a little soft and a little sweet, when he passed by you. You'd try and nod your head, in acknowledgement, though sometimes you insecurity made you doubt he was even saying hi to you.

You'd glance behind you sometimes, looking for someone he'd actually acknowledge.

But there were days where you felt numb, and so painfully empty. It was like you were watching the world move behind  a glass box, and you felt so detached, so indifferent, that it scared you at times. 

There were days where you couldn't come to school. The bed too soft and safe, the clock too loud, the sun too bright, and you, too tired, too old, too late. And on those days, or nights, starlight seemed a little less bright, and a little more cold. 

There were days where you forced yourself to go to school, sluggishly dragging yourself through the day, running on future energy, running on desperation. 

Sometimes you'd go to the stairwell, just sitting in the silence, because the darkness just felt so familiar and safe. 

On those days, you'd find a little carton of strawberry milk, or a packet of milk bread sitting on your desk.

You were lactose intolerant, and though you knew you'd regret it, the taste of milk had never felt so comforting. And when you passed by the pretty boy, you'd give him a hesitant smile. 

After all, you'd once caught him putting a packet of milk there. Not that you'd ever tell him, because it would ruin the magic of anonymity (though you appreciated his gesture). 

But you'd see him talking to normal girls, beautiful girls, who seemed so warm and alive, and you'd understand, that the boy who seemed made of starlight, was out of your reach. 

After all, who'd want to be soulmates with you?

It had been a year later, where you found Oikawa, sitting on your spot at the stairwell. He had his head buried in his arms, and appeared to be upset. 

You blinked, hesitating a little, before setting off to the canteen, to buy some milk bread, and a carton of chocolate milk.

On your way back, you bumped into a tall, spiky haired male, who seemed like he could crush you with his bare arms. But, you noted, had kind eyes (of an older brother, of a friend who has known loss).

Sad, a little angry, but very kind. His soulmate would be lucky to have him, you concluded. 

To your surprise, he looked at you amongst everyone, and seemed to see you. He noticed the little bag of goodies you bought, and a smile seemed to tug at his lips, causing you to blink in surprise, before it hit you who he was. 

He passed you, before very gently patting your head, and murmured, "Take care of that idiot okay?".

Before you could answer, the giant beefy men left, leaving you to stare at his back, his volleyball jacket especially noticeable. It was the angry guy Oikawa was always with, the one who made him real, and seemed a little less like the stars. 

You made your way back to Oikawa, hearing whisper along the way, about how they had lost against Shiratorizawa. You hummed a little, accepting the situation as it is, realising that he must really love volleyball a lot. 

You sat on the stairwell, making sure to give him space, as you gently set the plastic bag of goods near his feet. A peace offering of sorts, and an apology. 

To your surprise, as you stood up to leave and give him space, because you had noticed the annoyed glint in his eyes at times, when the girls crowded around him, he lifted his head, looking like a kicked puppy. 

"Stay."

He whispered, tone bordering on begging, sounding like a puppy about to be abandoned by their owner, and your heart went out to the boy who looked so lost, so alone. 

You sat down as he sniffled a little, reaching out to the plastic bag, mindlessly taking a milk bread to eat. He stared down at the snack in surprise, before looking at you, with his observant eyes. 

You contemplated a little in the darkness, musing over your words. You hoped to comfort the boy, just as he had comforted you before. At this moment, he seemed so alone and tired, and a little angry, raging against the heavens. The glint in his eyes seemed so contradictory, and you fought the urge to pat his head, or hug him. 

"Do I look that good?" He smirked a little at you, leaning impossible close as your eyes widened slightly. 

Oh dear, you didn't realise you were staring. 

Unconsciously or consciously, you spoke, voice a little soft, meeting his eyes, You didn't blush, because something about his smile seemed so fake, reminding you of the mask you used to put on, when you tried so hard to be okay. 

When you saw the knowing glint in his eyes however, you couldn't help but feel that he knew. 

"You'll be okay, everything will be fine."

You couldn't help but lean up, and pat his hair, which felt as soft as it looked to your amusement. 

He froze, and for a moment, he looked torn between sorrow, and wonder, and you could have sworn you saw him smile drop into a sad frown, twitching. It was the face that everyone had, whenever tears were trying and failing at being held back at bay. 

He reached out, and hugged you gently, as though he was afraid you'd break, as though he wasn't the one hurting right now. He buried his face in your neck, nuzzling you gently. 

And that became one of many moments, where you were grateful that you didn't choose to end your life, years ago. 

You couldn't help but hug him back, hands patting him automatically, just as you did whenever you comforted your baby brother as he cried. You hummed softly as he trembled slightly in your arms, milk bread laying on the stairs, forgotten. 

You could feel jarringly warm tears dripping on your blouse, but you stayed silent. Years of experience told you that he had been needing a good cry for a long time. And so he did, crying silently, seeming so small despite being being physically bigger than you.

His silent tears tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn't help but want to help him, feeling your cold, numb self softening just a little, as he reminded you of your younger self - so afraid, so sad, and alone, wanting help but not knowing how to reach out. 

So you stayed at the stairwell, embracing the boy who seemed to be made of starlight, realising that in fact, he was as human as you are, though no less amazing as you had thought him to be. 

And years later, as you woke up, entangled with his warm large body, as the Argentinian sun winked through the blinds at the both of you.

And you realise how fast time flies, and how much more at peace you feel. Because the universe is ever changing, ever moving, and ever healing. And as the boy made of starlight woke up with a groan, nuzzling his head into your neck, whining as his hand traced your lower back lovingly, as he had throughout the years, you couldn't help but feel grateful that you had both chosen each other, and healed, even just a little, together.

[equallyshaw]

home | luke hughes ↠ warnings: a few swear words! alludes to sex and just a broken heart. ↠ word count: 2.8k ↠ part two?

blair and luke met their freshman year at michigan, when blair had come over from scotland for her bachelors in art history. the two met in a gen ed writing course, and had sat with each other on the first day. as the course went on, luke realized he needed some help so he enlisted her and in return, luke taught her all about hockey. after some witty jokes and sarcastic banter, she agreed to learn about the very thing that kept luke going - through everything. and through it all, they fell for each other. and fell for each other hard.

°

after two years at michigan, luke had made his way over to jersey which made blair feel expectedly bittersweet about it. she was losing her best best friend for good at michigan during a time of uncertainty about her own future at michigan. when she returned to the states for her second year, she had difficulty readjusting. sure, her friends were still there as well as her roommate, and ofcourse luke. but things felt different. and then the possibility of luke leaving after the season, made things even more uneasy for her. the dark-haired girl had an inkling, that it too would be her last there. the fall semester was especially rough, with constant homesickness weaving in and out of her life. luke had been a godsend, as well as his parents; always inviting her over for meals or just to hang out. but it wasn't enough at the end of the day, especially as she missed out on seeing her grandmother before she passed. after she came back for the spring semester, she had made her decision. this would be her last, but as the season began to get more chaotic; her chance to tell him never came. and then luke made his debut in jersey, she did not have the heart to tell him after the game when his parents flew her out.

and as luck would have it, she would tell him when he came out to visit her.

luke arrived in the city of edniburgh around july 19th, and luke felt like he had never been happy to see somebody in his entire life. he quickly wrapped his arms around the brunette, twirling her around just a bit. he set her down, arms still hooked around her and looked down into her green eyes. "hi pretty girl." he whispered before kissing her. his hands found their way towards her pale cheeks, as hers found his wrists. "welcome moosey." she hummed, as they parted. she then took his hand in hers after he swatted her hand away from his suitcase, and the two walked out towards the parking lot. she opened up the trunk of the audi and he lifted it with ease. she rounded her way to the driver's side, and quickly turned it on. "coffee?" she mused, looking over at him a small smirk. "coffee." he responded, and she quickly pulled out of the spot and the two were on their way towards the heart of the city.

the two grabbed their coffee's before walking around the historical part of the downtown, catching up with one another since they had seen each other last. "i think tomorrow we can head over to my uncle's vacation home in roslin, which isn't too far from here. and we can have some quiet time together." she said with a soft smile as the two got back into the car. he looked over and then leaned over before pausing a few inches near her face, "cant wait." he hummed gazing at her rosy lips, before connecting for a kiss. her hand distinctly found the back of his head, pulling him closer and eliciting a soft moan from the hockey player. she pulled back by a few inches, looking into his hazel eyes, "god I've missed you." she hummed before reconnecting their lips together.

°

the two found their way back to her parents house, and her parents were ready to greet the 6 foot boy, as they shut the car doors. "so good to meet you me darlin." her mom gushed, pulling him in for a hug as her dad took his suitcase from blair. "good to meet you son." her dad said shaking luke's outstretched hand, "good to meet the both of you. have heard so many wonderful things about you both." he said sweetly, as blair walked into the house in front of them. "oh we've heard so much about you boy!" her mom gushed again, causing blair to roll her eyes. "do you like tea? we were just about to put the kettle on." her mom said with inquisitive eyes, and luke peered at blair who smirked in response. "sure! i may need a lot of sugar and cream." luke mused, causing her mom to giggle. "oh not a problem! just how blair takes it." her mom said making her way past them and towards the kitchen. "let's get you situated upstairs, and then we will be back down." blair said pulling him towards the stairs. "ten minutes!" her mom screamed from the kitchen, making blair and her dad chuckle.

luke and blair headed upstairs, and showed him the extra bedroom. "here you go." she said and luke walked in behind her, shutting the door softly. he nodded as she sat down at the door of the bed, and luke found his way between her legs. he placed his hands on her pale cheeks and brushed his thumbs against her soft skin.

god, she was going to miss these moments.

he leaned down and kissed her softly, which turned passionate quickly. he slowly pushed her back into the bed, and hooked their legs together before they pulled away from one another. "as much as i'd love to continue this...i also don't want my parents to walk in." she whispered, and he chuckled laying down on top of the girl. his head rested on her chest, as they took in each other's familiar warmth that they had missed for the past two months. it felt like home, for the both of them. her fingers absentmindedly found themselves, pulling at luke's curls softly; not wanting to break them or pull them apart. the two heard her parents downstairs, sarcastically bickering with each other and luke picked his head up; "now i know where you got your sarcastic humor from." he teased causing her to blush, as he kissed the spot right between her chest, right above her ribcage. the exact place that made her body flood with heat and butterflies. "don't worry luke...two nights without anybody in 5 miles...will be heaven." she hummed as he kissed that exact spot a few more times. he groaned, plopping his face, face first into her chest again. she chuckled, and they laid there for a few more minutes before they heard her mom from the foot of the steps, calling for them.

"lets go big baby." she said trying to move, but he held on tighter. "come on giraffe, we gotta go." she teased, and he groaned again but began to move off of her. he placed one last peck on her lips before pulling her up by the hands, and in front of him. the two walked downstairs and headed towards the back living room that was used for tea. blair quickly sat down on the white plush couch, with luke right beside her. she pulled her legs to her chest, before reaching over and plucking a few sugar cubes and poured cream in it. she pulled it up to her lips and blew on it, as her parents began to ask luke about his family, and how their offseason was doing. "yeah as soon as you made your debut, we brought a sports package - probably illegally - to watch the playoffs." her dad said feeling so proud of himself, and that made luke's heart swell. "we don't know anything about the sport or how it works, but we've enjoyed getting into it. we also plan to watch a new york team or both. but from what blair said, you guys are rivals with the rangers?" her dad questioned and luke nodded. "that's what I've been told at least. it was pretty heated during our run. but yeah." he said shrugging. the three of them continued to talk about his schooling and his futures for his degree, and what not. "oh yeah in addition to my mom telling me i needed to finish, miss blair over here has been relentless about it too." and blaire snickered. "lest we forget." she said before snapping her fingers, and he nodded. "her and my mom both have given me the lecture on how fast things can change and they are right. i plan to take the minimum amount of credits this season. thankfully all my classes have online options." he said and her mom nodded. her dad gaze found his daughters, and he gave her a smile before lifting his tea cup towards her a bit.

"speaking of which, im super happy the university of glaslow also has online options. that means it'll be easier to go visit him." her mom said sweetly, and blair felt her heart plummet. luke looked over at her with a confused look, "wait what?" he questioned. her mom looked between the two before looking at her husband, who was looking away towards the sliding french doors. "what..?" he questioned, and finally blair looked towards him. she licked her lips before speaking, "it is true. im staying here, im staying home." she said and it felt like a blade had been lodged within luke's heart. "you know what? your father and i planned to run to the shop's today, we'll will be back soon!" blairs mom announced, pulling her husband up from the chair and out the room, and once they heard the front door close- luke let out a breath, he did not realize he had been holding in.

"what?" he asked again, but this time his voice gave out. tears pooled both of their eyes, as realization was settling in. and now that blair was not responding, luke's heart really began to break. "when?" he asked looking at the floor now, "when did you decide this? when blair, tell me now!" he said heatedly and cursed himself for his budding anger. she shook her head, wiping away a few tears. "blair baby, please..." he asked softly before grabbing ahold of her hand softly. she shook her head, before breaking down into a sob. he instinctively brought her body to his, wrapping his arms around her shaking figure. "im so-sorry lukey, i wanted to tell you i really did i just didn't know how and then you left - and i uh-" she paused to let out a strangled sob as she began to shake. this is what she'd fear would happen if she hadn't picked the right moment. luke placed a kiss to her shoulder, trying to calm her down a bit. "i was struggling so badly luke..like hell, i missed saying bye to my grandma and i hate that i couldn't be here. i hate myself for choosing a university over 3,000 goddamn miles. i hate that i wasn't here when my mom was simply losing it, because frankly, i was too. and i needed her and wanted her and i was there!" she said, making it sound as if she regretted meeting him too. she sniffled, "i was so fucking depressed last year lukey...i couldn't bring myself to show you last year. i couldn't distract you or have made you worried last year. i couldn't." she whispered, and that made his heart break even more.

he let out a loud breath, "did you regret meeting me? regret us?" he asked as loose tears fell from his eyes. she shook her head and looked up at him, pulling his face to her's. she pressed their foreheads together, "i have never and will never regret you luke. ever. i promise." she said looking into his eyes before pulling him in for a deep kiss. her hands rested on his cheeks, as they pulled away. "so you've decided then?" he whispered, hating that he was asking this. something he thought he'd never ask. she nodded, frowning. she pulled away, wiping her nose, and chuckled softly. he felt a smile growing and shook his head, that little chuckle she did always put a smile on his face.

she licked her lips as she stood up, and then looked back down towards luke. "how about we head to my uncles earlier? we can sort everything out there." she said and he nodded, and she held out a hand for him and he gladly took it.

his flight back to detroit was scheduled for the next morning, and after eating some thai food they found themselves wrapped in each other's arm before bed. she turned towards luke and kissed him passionately, to which luke recriproacted. his arms found her lower back as he pulled her on his lap, having her staddle him. she pulled her hair to one side before taking off her t-shirt. she leaned back into luke and pulled him up in a sitting position, pulling his shirt off now. he sucked that spot in between her chest, causing her to moan quietly. her body became inflamed, as he continued to kiss around her chest before his lips found her neck. as he continued to assault her neck, she sighed heavily. "luke..." she trailed off and he quickly found her gaze. "make love to me one more time, please." she begged and luke didn't need to be told twice.

°

the next morning luke woke up to an empty bed, and sighed. the anxiety in his chest seized, when he heard footsteps on the stairs and then he saw an exhausted blair walk through the door with two coffees and two breakfast sandwiches. "sorry, i popped down the street a bit ago." she said sitting up in bed and handing him his share. he nodded, taking it and sitting up. "i placed an uber for you to be picked up in about an hour and 20 minutes." she said sipping her coffee a bit more. luke sighed, "you didn't have to do that." he said giving her a knowing look. she shook her head, "least i could do for breaking your heart within 2 hours of you being here...and having to go back today." she said shrugging, and he took a bit of his sandwich before he said anything he'd regret later. "my parents send their well wishes...they feel rotten about everything and how it transpired." she said guiltily. he nodded, "your parents are lovely, you are the perfect mix of them." he hummed and she smiled. "yeah." was all was said for awhile. as the uber app notified her that the car was on it's way, the two found themselves at the front door, saying their goodbyes.

the two stared at one another, not sure what to say for a few minutes before luke pulled her in for a hug. she melted into his hold, savoring what felt like home. or what once was, home. "thankyou luke for our two years. ill forever be grateful for our time together." she whispered, and he pulled her in tighter. "can you promise me one thing?" he asked softly, "anything." she responded quickly. "promise me that if you find yourself back in the states, you'll reach out? promise me you'll say something and not from social media." he said pulling back just a bit to embrace the brunette. she nodded profusely, "i promise." she said feeling herself beginning to cry. he wiped away the tears, and her eyebrows crinkled. "do you...do you think we'll find each other again?" she asked softly and he smiled softly. "absolutely." he responded before bringing her in for one last kiss. her phone dinged, letting them know that the uber was here. she pulled away too quickly for the boys liking, but allowed her to roll the suitcase towards the awaiting vehicle, and allowed the uber driver to take it from her.

she turned it back towards luke, and pushed a few curls away from his eyesight. "have a safe flight and good luck with the upcoming season." she said and he nodded, "and good luck in glasglow." and now it was her turn to nod. she pulled him in for one more hug, and her hand found the base of his head and threaded her fingers in his curls.

oh how she'd miss them.

"tell everybody ill miss them and tell your brothers i wish them well this upcoming season." she whispered before pulling away. luke nodded, "i promise." he responded before hopping into the vehicle. she stood there as it made it's way back into town and towards the airport. as she turned to go inside her phone dinged, and she saw that a deposit had been transferred to her account. tears swelled in her eyes as she saw a greater amount, well above the uber ride and a note that read, "when you need a way home."

im so sorry, but i would love to write a second part to this ngl

random tags: @toasttt11 @cuttergauthier @bedsyandco @jackhues @lukehughes43 @hockeyboysarehot @heavenlyhischier @mirrorballhughes

[bestanimal]

Round 1 - Phylum Cycliophora

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

As the newest described phylum (described in 1995), Cycliophora so far only contains the genus Symbion. But these animals are so unique that they certainly deserved their own phylum. They have so far been only found living attached to the mouths of cold-water lobsters. They have a commensal relationship with lobsters, feeding on microscopic particles from the lobsters’ meals.

Symbions have sac-like bodies, and three distinctly different forms in different parts of their two-stage life-cycle. The asexual feeding stage is the largest, attaching itself to a host via its adhesive disk. The asexual individual will produce males or females depending on the season. Males have two reproductive organs and no digestive system. Females are the same size, but have a digestive system which eventually collapses and reconstitutes itself as a larvae. You can read more about their fascinating reproduction on the wikipedia article, because it’s just… a lot.

Propaganda under the cut:

Tfw you’re so weird scientists make a whole new phylum for you

Seriously, their reproduction is so weird

Do you ever feel… like a plastic bag… on a lobster mouth…