#what is with this flare up? there’s no logical reason for it to be this bad!!!

[cactusdodes]

.

[seiwas]

cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry

bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.

there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.

but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.

your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.

the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.

he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?

heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—

he gulps.

it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—

(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)

the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).

it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.

he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.

bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.

you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.

"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.

as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.

as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.

as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.

his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.

you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.

“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.

your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.

he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.

but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.

he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.

there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.

your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.

then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.

he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.

five minutes, huh?

like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.

[petertingle-yipyip]

LAST NIGHT - BELLAMY BLAKE

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Word Count: 2,355

Summary: (requested) A drinking game with Monty and Co goes a bit too far. Intending to get back to your own tent, you stumble upon Bellamy and some shock revelations.

You hadn’t been on the Ground long yet it seemed like you never left the Ark. You had convinced Raven to let you stowaway with her in her rebuilt pod and now, you were among friends.

Mostly.

The only caveat - other than the alleged war with the Grounders - was Bellamy Blake.

Not quite friends, not quite enemies, but frenemies didn’t work either. It seemed like you two just couldn’t go a day without arguing or damn near punching each other in the mouth. There wasn’t really any reason to it either. He liked to instigate you and your temper had you engaging in the bickering everytime. It had been that way since you had first met, but you had to admit, it was fun for you too.

Once the flares went up and hope was in the air, liquor was being poured into cups across camp. You took a spot with Monty, Jasper, and Harper, and Jasper did not hesitate to fill your little tin cup as much as he could.

Your group started some nonsense drinking game, and you lost count of the drinks or rounds after about four. If anyone asked, you didn’t know who was winning or losing or even the premise of the game anymore. All you knew was that you had drunk way too much way too fast. When the entire forest was spinning around you, you used the bit of logical thought you had left and decided to make your way to your tent.

Harper offered to help you, but the slurring of her words told you that she was about as lucid as you were. You waved her off and reasoned that you could make it on your own since there were walls around camp now. If there was the potential of you wandering into the empty woods, then you would’ve taken her up on the offer, but you’d be fine.

As you were wandering back, you saw Octavia sneaking out. Curious, you tried to follow. You had gotten all of four steps before you tripped over your own feet and landed on your side. You laughed at yourself and rolled to your back, hands flat on your stomach. Maybe you’d just sleep there.

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asked, suddenly standing over you.

“Sleeping.” You answered.

“Oh, shit.” He sighed and you grinned. “Are you drunk?”

“Are you?” You tried to point a finger at him but ended up gesturing to nothing, which made you giggle.

His hand closed around your wrist and he hauled you to your feet, bringing on another round of laughter. He kept a grip on your arm and guided you through camp, despite your dragging feet and nonsense blabbering. He brought you to your tent but you refused to go in.

Surely he had you turned around. Or maybe that was the liquor buzzing in your head. Regardless. you stomped your foot and told him he was wrong. You pointed to a tent three over and said that one was yours. You could see he was trying to stay patient with you but he didn’t sign up to babysit you as a drunk.

“That’s not yours.” He complained and you squinted in suspicion. “That’s Atom’s.”

“I have an innate sense of di-rec-tion.” You pointed out, holding up a finger. “I know where I’m supposed to be.”

“Alright, Magellan.” He laughed slightly and offered you his hand. “Come with me.”

“Oh no you don’t.” You wagged your finger and hiccuped. “I know how that goes. You bring me to your tent, you play the hero, and you think I’ll sleep with you.”

“No, Y/N, I’m not trying to sleep with you.” He sighed.

“Well why not?” You stomped, now offended. “I’ll have you know I’m spectacular.”

“I’m sure you are.” He rolled his eyes slightly and grabbed your wrist. “But I’m not gonna sleep with you when you’re wasted like this, so come with me… Please.”

You gasped dramatically. “Bellamy Blake knows the word ‘please’? I have to-“ Hiccup. “-tell everyone.”

He sighed slightly before he leaned down and looped his other arm around the back of your leg. You made a face to yourself but before you could say anything, he threw you over his shoulders. You squealed and kicked your feet, banging your fists weakly against him.

“Put me down!” You laughed. “Damn you, Bellamy!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He muttered, but there was amusement in his voice. He carried you to a tent and dropped you on your feet.

You stumbled when your feet hit the floor and you let yourself drop to the floor. You giggled when you landed and looked up at him. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were raised, as if he expected you to say something. You huffed and crossed your arms the same way.

“You have, like, the biggest tent.” You looked around his space.

“What’s your point?” He sighed.

You threw your hands to the side which made you wobble slightly. Your eyes went big as you regained your balance before you laughed again. You looked back to Bellamy and he was already looking at you.

“You wanna know something?” You said loudly and crawled over to sit across from him.

“You’re gonna tell me anyway.” He crossed his arms again.

“I like your curly hair.” You said simply and he couldn’t hide the surprise on his face. “You always had it like slicked back on the Ark.”

“Thanks?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “You thank people for compliments.”

“You’re not usually the compliment type.” He rolled his eyes. “Usually you’re the ‘kicking me in the shin’ type.”

“I could do that too.” You nodded. “But! I will not.”

“Lucky me.”

“Don’t you be mean to me again!” You thrust a finger forward and the sudden movement made you dizzy for a moment. “You’re always mean.”

“Coming from the girl who has a comment everytime I say anything to her?” He commented with a small laugh.

“Because you’re mean.” You glared. “But you’re pretty, so it’s a give and take I guess.” You shrugged.

“Jesus, Y/N.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “How much did you drink tonight?”

“I don’t like your tone, Blake!”

“And I don’t really care.”

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” You changed the subject. You couldn’t quite remember how much you had.

“What do you mean?” He cocked his head.

“You’re mean to me.” You frowned and counted off your statements. “You don’t laugh at my jokes. You never let me do things. You used to make fun of me on the Ark and that’s why I kick your stupid shins. You always give me that look.”

“What look?”

“That look! Like you’re trying to make me spontaneously combust.”

He shook his head with a disbelieving laugh. “Y/N, I never said I didn’t like you.”

“But you’re mean.” You pouted.

He knelt down in front of you and you pursed your bottom lip.

“I’m gonna tell you this now, because you probably won’t remember it in the morning.” He said quietly, like it was a secret.

You leaned in, reaching for him to keep your steady. He caught your hands and you felt a sobering heat on your cheeks.

“I do like you, Y/N.” He said, wide eyes and a small smile. “It started as a crush when we were kids and now… Now I can’t stop thinking about you, looking for you in the crowds and trying to find an excuse to talk to you.”

“No way.” You whispered.

“I know.” His smile drew a little wider. “I never meant to be mean.”

“You’re not that mean.” You shrugged. “Let’s just say it was banter.”

“Banter.” He repeated with a laugh. “Yeah, alright.”

“Like in those books!” You announced. “Where they act like they hate each other but they’re actually madly in love.”

“Let’s go with that then.” He nodded, that small smile still playing on his lips. “Do you want me to walk you to your tent?”

“I don’t think I could make it back to my tent.” You confessed before a fit of giggles. “I feel like I’m gonna fall over as soon as I get up.”

“What happened to that innate sense of direction?” He asked as he helped you to your feet.

You shrugged. “It seems to have left me.”

“Or you never had it.”

“I still have a foot and you still have shins.” You warned, though the slurring of your words left them without any threat. “Just cause I like you doesn’t mean I won’t kick the hell outta you. It’s called duality.”

He shook his head and helped you shuffle across the tent. Carefully, you two laid down and you felt the world shift as you did so. You made a noise, something like the joking sound of a ghost, and slammed a hand to the blankets. Bellamy’s hand closed over yours and you looked over at him. You broke into a grin and he returned the smile, not as wide as yours but an honest smile.

You shifted over and put your head against his shoulder. He adjusted his arm so it was draped over your chest and you two just laid there for a while. You continued to talk, about anything and everything. A butterfly you saw earlier that day. A conversation you had with Octavia. What you remembered from your earlier drinking game. Before you knew it, you were drifting off to sleep.

And for the first time since you stepped foot on the ground, you truly felt safe.

When you woke up, you had no idea how late into the day it was. Bellamy was still beside you, so you doubted it was that late. Your head pounded as you pushed yourself to sit up and glanced around.

Your brows furrowed as you realized you weren’t in your own tent.

You slapped a hand over your mouth when you realized. You peeked over your shoulder again and it sunk in that you weren’t in your tent. You were in Bellamy’s.

You muttered to yourself in panic as you got up quickly. Your clothes were which both left you relieved and oddly disappointed. At least he didn’t try to hook up with you when you were drunk, but being drunk might’ve been the only way you’d be confident enough to sleep with him.

You snuck a glance outside the tent and saw there weren’t many people around. With a sigh of relief, you stepped out and immediately winced at the brightness of the sun.

“Hello Sleeping Beauty!” Jasper yelled from basically across camp and you cringed as more heads turned in your direction.

You hurried over and whacked him on the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?” He complained.

“For making people stare at me!” You hissed.

“What difference does it make?” He laughed. “Oh, I see. You don’t want people to see you coming out of Bellamy’s tent.”

“Shut up!”

“Why? You didn’t have any problems going into Bellamy’s tent last night.”

“Jasper, I swear I will kill you!”

He laughed and threw his arm over your shoulders. “But seriously, Y/N/N. Yesterday you were ready to tear his head off, now you’re tearing his clothes off.”

You elbowed him in the ribs.

“Lay off, Jasper.” Bellamy said, suddenly at your side.

You stiffened for a moment before you hid your face in your hands. You complained to yourself, ignoring whatever the boys were saying around you, and wished to disappear. You peeked between your fingers and saw Jasper leave. Hoping Bellamy left too, you dropped your hands.

You were wrong.

“You feel okay?” Bellamy asked.

“Mortified, actually.” You answered. “But I didn’t kill my liver last night, just a headache. I’m fine, thanks…”

He gestured for you to follow and hesitantly, you did.

“You were pretty drunk last night.” He began as you fell into stride with him.

“Well aware, thank you.” You rolled your eyes. “I do appreciate you not leaving me on the ground. Can’t say I would’ve done the same for you, but…” You shrugged.

Bellamy laughed slightly.

“What?” You asked quickly.

“You don’t remember what you said last night, do you?” He smiled at you.

You were so taken aback by it, the true delight and shine of his smile, that you tripped over your own feet. You landed on your back and groaned, more in embarrassment than anything. Bellamy knelt beside you with an amused smirk and you threw your arms over your face.

“Kill me now.” You groaned. “What did I say last night?”

You wished you could melt into the floor.

“That you’re madly in love with me.”

You could hear the smile he still wore. You sat up quickly and nearly collided with him.

“I did not say that.” You defended quickly. You may not remember much of the night before but you sure as hell would’ve remembered saying that.

“I know, I was shocked. And then you said you just had to have me. You were pretty persistent.”

You squinted in suspicion but he feigned innocence.

“It’s true.” He shrugged.

You kicked his arm since you couldn’t reach his shins, but he just laughed.

“It’s alright, though. Wanna know why?” He smirked.

“Go on and enlighten me.” You rolled your eyes.

“Cause I might be madly in love with you too.”

“Might?” You raised your eyebrows. “So you just let any girl you might be in love with sleep with you?”

“Hey now. You tell people we slept together, they might get the wrong idea.” He offered you a hand to help you to your feet.

“Oh, please.” You scoffed. “It’s gonna take more than a few drinks and those pretty curls to get me in bed with you.”

His hands were suddenly on your waist and he pulled you flush against him.

“Worked last night.” He shrugged.

“Beginner’s luck.” You rolled your eyes. “Bet it won’t happen again.”

“You’re on.”

“And when I win?”

“When I win, you’ll be in my bed. If you win, I’ll be in yours.”

[airplanelanding]

Shen Yuan hated doctors. When he was a kid, he hated them because they were scary and always wanted to give him shots. Then, he got older, learned a bit more, grew a bit more, and found himself growing more neutral on them. They were a necessary evil.

Then, he fainted for the first time at seventeen, on his way home from exams.

After that, his life became nothing but doctors and tests and new medications. Each appointment made his resentment grow stronger. Every time, it was just a new doctor finding a new way to say he'd be sick for the rest of his life, the only treatment for his condition being lifestyle changes for symptom management and various attempts at medications that had a fifty-fifty chance of working or making him feel worse.

He grew tired as the years passed and his condition steadily grew worse. Symptoms and flare-ups that used to occur a few times a month, turned into a few times a week, turned into nearly every day. Things he used to do with ease turned into distant memories. Sports, dance, martial arts... Even grocery shopping, he found difficult by the time he was 24, the extended period of time on his feet and walking around something he was unable to handle anymore.

The minimization of his pain and suffering and struggling by doctors only made his resentment grow tenfold. "It's not that serious," or "it's not life-threatening," or a plethora of other ways they would minimize his illness, as if he didn't go from the Darling of the Shen's in Higher Society to a rumored recluse who didn't even leave his home to eat. As if he hadn't been forced to.

And sure, that resentment didn't just remain contained to being aimed at the doctors who never took him seriously and told him to just drink more water and exercise better, but Shen Yuan had little else to do anymore. So, he went online, he fell too far, and he became the infamous Peerless Cucumber. So what? Little else brought him joy anymore, gave him reason to live anymore. So what if he was a bitch to some shitty author?

He would forever defend his actions and words against the crime against literature that was Proud Immortal Demon Way.

He knows his logic is flawed. He had anger pent up for so long and he let it out against an un-involved source. In his defense, PIDW really was fucking terrible.

That's not the point here. The point is, Shen Yuan hated doctors. He hated them. And now, living as Shen Qingqiu -- given another chance at life only to fuck it up and get poisoned by Without-a-Cure -- he finds himself trying very, very hard to give Mu Qingfang the grace he never gave his doctors as Shen Yuan, and not fire undeserved vitriol his way despite the way the original owner of his body would have without a second thought.

Even now, as he sits on an overly familiar infirmary bed as Mu Qingfang stares at him with that overly familiar look of exasperation and concern, he reigns in the frustration simmering under his skin.

He bites the inside of his cheek and avoids worrisome eyes.

"Shen-shixiong pushed himself too far, again," Mu Qingfang says lightly, with careful, deliberate intonation.

It takes a painful amount of self-control and restraint not to scream.

He thought he was over this! He thought this was done! He left being sick, being weak, in his past life and still, still it fucking finds him again and haunts him.

Instead of screaming, he huffs through his nose.

Mu Qingfang frowns.

"If Mu-shidi could simply provide this shixiong with his prescription, this one would be most grateful," Shen Qingqiu says, with a tone so sickeningly polite it couldn't even begin to be mistaken for sincere. In his lap, his hands grip his closed fan with whitened knuckles.

"The medicine is not an end-all-be-all for your symptoms, Shixiong," Mu Qingfang sighs. "It can only do so much, you still must take care of yourself alongside it's use..."

Despite his words, he still summons his Head Disciple and passes along the prescription refill order to her, to take off to the greenhouse where it will be formulated and portioned out in the necessary doses.

"You should have come to me sooner if you were out," Mu Qingfang chides.

Shen Qingqiu does not deny this. Still, he argues, more childish than elegant. "Mu-shidi has been busy as of late with the illness spreading in town."

"I didn't know Shixiong was so selfless," Mu Qingfang replies, with the faintest hint of sass in his tone, "to ignore his own declining health in favor of the masses, which this one's disciples are more than capable of taking care of."

Shen Qingqiu purses his lips, but says no more. Mu Qingfang reaches for his wrist, and he wordlessly provides it.

After a moment, a soft sigh falls from the physician's lips.

"How long has it been since Liu-shixiong cleared your meridians?" he asks.

He already knows the answer, he's merely giving Shen Qingqiu a chance at honesty.

Shen Qingqiu does not take it.

"Let me guess, he is too busy, as well?" Mu Qingfang raises a pointed eyebrow. "Perhaps this one should go and find him, ask him if he is truly so busy as to neglect his duties to his Shixiong."

"You've made your point," Shen Qingqiu finally snaps, and his words come out harsher than he means them to. A little bit of that sharp, venomous vitriol spits out, frustration and resentment bubbling over the surface before he quickly tamps it back down and takes a breath. Calmer, he repeats, "you've made your point, Mu-shidi. This one will do better in future."

For what it's worth, Mu Qingfang appears to take no offense from his shixiong's sharp-edged strike.

"I surely do hope you mean that," he says softly. It makes Shen Qingqiu's chest grow heavy with a strange sort of guilt, the gentleness with which Mu Qingfang speaks those words. He can only avert his eyes and let his tense shoulders sag.

It is only then, once his defenses have dropped even minutely, that Mu Qingfang finally sets to work.

Cool qi pours into his meridians, but it is not uncomfortable or invasive like one may think. Instead, with it comes an unusual sense of comfort, relief, and refreshment. Like a drink of cold, crisp water at 3am after a nightmare that startled him awake.

Mu Qingfang's spiritual energy rarely feels like the foreign presence it is in his veins.

Never would Shen Qingqiu admit that out loud, though. Not even Liu Qingge's qi could bring him this level of comfort during their usual cleansing sessions. It is familiar and warm, but utterly different from Mu Qingfang's.

Not to mention, the precision with which Mu Qingfang navigates his spiritual veins, untangling and unblocking each point with little trouble. He struggles here and there, at the more aggravated spots, of course. Still, never once does Shen Qingqiu find himself in a place of discomfort.

It's hard, when Mu Qingfang finally finishes his treatment and retracts his qi and hand, to not slump down from the sheer relief Shen Qingqiu feels. His body is lighter, his breath comes easier -- hell, even his vision feels clearer. Mu Qingfang takes a step back and Shen Qingqiu allows himself the inelegance of stretching out his no longer aching limbs.

Mu Qingfang has seen him in worse states, a little relieved stretching is nothing to blink at. Once he's satisfied, Shen Qingqiu sits up straight on the infirmary bed and looks across the room, away from Mu Qingfang.

"Thanking Mu-shidi for his aid," he murmurs.

Mu Qingfang hums. Just then, his Head Disciple returns with his medication. Mu Qingfang accepts it from her with a few quiet words, before sending her back off to attend to the patients in her wing.

"This should last you longer than the last batch," Mu Qingfang tells him as he passes over the medicinal tea. "So you don't find yourself in another difficult position, should you be off the mountain when you typically begin to run low."

Shen Qingqiu accepts the prescription silently, his brows furrowed.

"Likewise this shidi will begin preparations for Shixiong's next batch early, so it will already be ready for delivery by the time you need it." Mu Qingfang pauses, hesitates. "Unless, Shixiong feels that this shidi is being too over-bearing?"

Ah, does his throat feel a little tight? Shen Qingqiu swallows thickly and exhales, staring at the small box of tea. He shakes his head once, almost imperceptibly.

"That is...acceptable," he mutters.

He does not need to look at Mu Qingfang to know he is smiling.

Shen Yuan hated doctors. Shen Qingqiu still hates doctors.

Mu Qingfang, however...

Yes, he can be infuriating at times, and a little patronizing even if he doesn't mean to be -- but that's just it. He doesn't mean it. He cares.

That's it. That's the difference. He wants to help not because it is his job, but because he cares about Shen Qingqiu. And yes, it was a long time before he was able to, but Shen Qingqiu can admit that now. Just like...just like he can admit the existence of the warmth that spreads over his chest when he sees Mu Qingfang's eyes crinkle with a smile just because Shen Qingqiu has finally let him take care of him.

He hates doctors, but Mu Qingfang is not just a doctor. He never has, and never will be, just a doctor.

Shen Qingqiu thanks him once more and takes his leave from the infirmary room, heart pounding against his ribs in a way he wishes deeply he could still ignore. Too many gentle, tender touches and quiet murmurs of concern have beat the ignorance out of him.

Ah, maybe one day, when he learns how to stop being a coward, he won't be just a shidi, either...

[briefalpacashark]

~The drink~

Warning: mention of date rape drugs. Spiking of drinks. Involuntary drug consumption.

Can be triggering for anyone who had experienced anything similar.

================================================

You didn't drink much. You had your own reasons, but every now and then you would let loose. You had headed to the bar you and the 141 usually frequented, only to find that there seemed to be an event on. A bass boosting, strobe and glow lights club event. It was fuller than it usually was and with it being the only bar for miles around; it was packed. Price and Ghost didn't seem pleased with it, but Jonny and Gaz didn't mind. As you filed into the bar, the smell of sweat and drinks filled your nose. 

“Y/N!” two girls stumbled out of the crowd, practically crashing you in a hug. Other medics from the base, the ones you would call friends. There was Rosie, a gorgeous blond and Anna, the embodiment of an African Queen.

“SORRY WERE STEALING HER!” Even though the music was loud, their yell seemed louder as they practically dragged you away. You mouthed a quick apology to the guys who waved you off and moved to their regular spot. After a lot of pleading, begging and water works, the girls managed to convince you to have a few drinks. 

You were having a good time. Dancing, if you could call it that. You were just practically jumping up and down constantly. You had had three drinks, nothing too strong and nothing that would have you feeling the way you did.

Your sight was fuzzy.

Your limbs felt heavy.

The music sounded dull, and the lights started to move on their own. 

You had been drugged. A sensation you were sadly familiar with. 

“I need to go!” It was a panic that had the words forced from your throat. Only your friends were basically blind drunk. They barely heard your words. 

When did it happen? You had kept an eye on your drink. You never left it unattended. Hell you even held it in a way that you hand covered most of the top at all times. Your breath caught in your throat as someone bumped into you, shoving you away from your friends. You searched for them when you recovered, only having to hold your head as it started to spin. 

The boys.

Drink in hand you stumbled through the bodies breathing a sigh of relief as you made it out of the mosh pit. Finally able to get proper air into your lungs, your vision cleared slightly. You spotted the lads all focused on a tv screen that was playing the latest match. You practically fell into the table, the force almost knocking a few of their drinks over. You felt extremely drunk.

“Whoah!” Jonny exclaimed quickly, catching his drink as they all flinched at your sudden appearance.

“Shit sorry,” you mumbled, pushing yourself up into a standing position relying heavily on the table in front of you. You looked absolutely wasted. 

“Went a bit hard on the drinks, eh?” Price asked with a bemused smile.

“Though Australians were supposed to be good at holding their liquor,” Gaz said, earning a few laughs. You forced a nervous laugh of your own.

“You alright love?” It was Ghost that asked the question. When the boys gave him confused looks at the level of concern in his voice he simply nodded down to your hands that shook, even while they tightly gripped the table. “My uh, my drinks been spiked,” you whispered. The atmosphere did a one sixty all the boys expression suddenly turning dark. Their bodies tensed, their jaws locked as anger flared inside them. 

“The fuck?” Jonny hissed as his eyes instantly searched for the culprit.

“Sure you're not just drunk love?” Price asked. It wasn't like he didn't believe you. It was just his stupide logical captain brain. You raised your head, your fearful expression giving him all the answers he needed.

“No, I've uh, I've been spiked before. This is different, though. It's not something normal, this guy knows what he's doing,” you whispered. Jonny stood, reaching for you to offer support or comfort. He froze as you flinched away. An action all the boys took note off.

“I'm calling the police,” Gaz announced, holding his phone to his ear. 

“Come on love, let's get you out of here,” Jonny suggested gently.

“No, if I leave, he'll just do it to the next girl. We, we gotta catch him,” you muttered.

“You're in no state, love,” Jonny tried to reason with you.

“Don't baby me. I know what I can handle. What I'm going to do it I'm gonna go sit at the bar. Whoever drugged me will be looking for the opportunity to get me out of here. When he comes for me, then you guys get him alright. Restrain him till the cops come ok,” even in your state, your firm words had the boys considering them. You were right. Logically, it was the best way to draw the creep out.

“You see, who did it, love?” Price asked. You shock your head. 

“Are you sure you're ready to do this?” Ghost asked. His steady concerned gaze that locked with yours's had your breathing returning to normal. His big brown eyes anchoring you.

“I trust you guys,” you stated simply, as if it was to answer. Giving them a nod you turned on your heal and stumbled over to the bar on the far side using the furniture to aid you. When you did manage to sit down, the panic started to creep back up. It was just the drug, you tried to convince yourself. You had been in plenty more sticky situations. In unison the boys fanned out, all keeping an eye on you as they took different positions around the room. Gaz by the door, ready for the police. Price a few seats down from you and Jonny hanging around. You didn't know where Ghost was, probably hiding in the shadows somewhere. Your head dropped to the cold slightly sticky surface of the bar as you were hit with another dizzy spell.

“There you are, sweetheart,” the sickly sweet voice slid over your ears sending a disgusted shiver through your body. A voice you had never heard before. “Come on, let's get you home,” his arms wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, but you just felt so sluggish. Your elbow attempted a weak push. Before he could pull you out of your chair, his presence suddenly disappeared. It was a bit of a blur at that stage. You could hear sounds, a scream somewhere. You heard yelling. 

“TAKE IT OUTSIDE!” The Bar owner screamed over you. 

“Gladly,” It was Ghost voice that sounded. You pushed yourself up, turning around to see Ghost pulling a man out of the bar by the scruff of his collar. 

“Lovey, it's me Jonny,” Jonny announced his presence as he walked up to your side with Gaz in tow. After your flinch before he was being extra cautious.

“Jonny,” you forced a smile as you turned to him. When he suddenly turned into triplets.

“Come on love,” he gently helped you out of the chair tucking you protectively under his arm, and out into the cold air of the night. It was refreshing to have it in your lungs. But it stung.

Jonny helped you to a bench, setting you down. The world was spinning. With a deep breath, you dropped your head to your hands. After a bit Ghost and Price returned with the man, his arms zipped tied behind his back, his face bloody and beaten. One of his arms hung limply at the shoulder joint. Price had found the drugs he had used in his pocket shoving a few down his throat for good measure. 

“It's him alright. Confused and everything," Price announced holding the drugs up. 

“Hell yeah. Vigilante team for the win!” you wobbly pumped your fist into the air before letting it drop.

“I'm cold,” you muttered through a shiver. Almost instantly a large coat was draped over you. The scent of Ghost filled your senses as you tucked yourself into the folds of the warmth.

“Fuckin cunt,” Jonny growled in disgust as he pulled the man ruffly over to the side of the road delivering a kick for good measure. Gaz glared down at the man logging a ball of spit directly to his feet. 

“Hey,” you rose your head coming face to face with a kneeling Ghost. who placed a gentle hand on your knee his thumb rubbing it gently.

“You need to chuck ya guts. Get whatever's in ya stomach out,” he stated simply. 

“Shit, you're right. Let me just press the button that instantly activated my regurgitation feature,” although drugged out of your mind you still quipped at them. If anything, it was reassuring to hear it. 

“I can shove my fingers down your throat if ya like,” he offered jokingly.

“Promise?” The boys' eyes widened at the seductive tone your voice took. It even stuck poor Simon into a monetary freeze. Only then did they notice the blush that dusted your cheeks. Molly you thought. Something the man probably mixed with his drug.

“Oh don't get your panties in a twist Lieutenant. Just get me some tequila. A shot of that and you'll all get a pretty picture of what I had for lunch,” You chuckled half assed. Gaz quickly did as he was told. Boy you didn't even have to taste it to chuck your guts. 

Why? Simple. Schoolies, yourself, teenage confidence, a dumb bet and a bottle of tequila. You couldn't drink the stuff without emptying your guts.

Ghost patted your back as you fertilized the pot plant nearby. You briefly took in the blue and red flashing lights as the police pulled up. It was quite a scene. Your head in a pot plant. Ghost holding your hair back. Jonny and Price standing side by side with the man hung loosely between them. Gaz standing by you with a water bottle at the ready. The police officers, one male and one female approached your group with caution. 

“Officer. This guy drugged and attempted to take advantage of our friend there. Here is the drink that was spiked. The drugs we found in his pocket. And the camera footage proving he did so,” Price handed over all the items that had quickly been collected. The police officer stood taking it all, looking over the group before his eyes dropped to the man.

“The fuck happened to him?” he asked.

“We found him like that,” Price stated with an innocent smile, not bothering to hide the blood on his hand. Jonny smiled innocently and Ghost simply glared, daring the police to do something about it.

“Alright well put him in the back, is she alright to come down to the station to provide a statement?” His question was answered by the lovely melody of your insides becoming your outsides.

“Don't think that's necessary. But we can come down tomorrow to provide a blood sample for proof," Price suggested. 

“How do we know you're not the ones who drugged her?” You were grateful for the female officer's concern. But you just wanted to go home.

“Don't accuse them. These,” you pushed yourself up, gesturing wildly around you. “These are my boys. I love these fuckers.” Your words began to slur as you blinked one eye a bit more delayed than the other. You leaned against the pot putting the other hand on your hip. 

“I'd trust these cunts with my life,” you stated proudly.

“Aw she called us cunts,” Jonny cooed as he ruffly shoved the man into the back of the police car. “Accidental” knocking him harshly against the side of the door a few times.

You weren't sure how you got into the back of the car, but you did know one thing. You were fucking horney. Your eyes lazily trailed over the handsome men in the car. Your heart was beating a million beats per second as you weighed your options. Have you thought about fucking them before. Who wouldn't. They were stunning all in their own unique way. Heat was flushing all through your body. Your eyes trailed to Simon who sat next to you.

‘Fuck, I’d ride that man like a bronco,’ the dirty thought had your face turning compltley red. You couldn't believe you had just thought that. You wanted him. And by the way your body was feeling you were sure you were about to act on that want.

“Nope not doing this,” you suddenly announced. Yells of fright sounded as you opened the door, throwing yourself from the relatively slow moving car. You were back on the base you gathered. But nowhere near your barracks. You tucked and rolled with the fall popping back up immediately and high tailing it out of there. The four guys ran after you. As they rounded a building they frowned when they couldn't see you. What they did see was your shirt gently falling to the ground. Their eyes instantly snapped up to the roof of the building where you stood.

“The fuck,”Jonny wispered as they all stepped back to better see you. 

“How do she mange to climb all this shit?” Gaz asked searching for the path you used to get to the roof.

“Get down from there, sergeant!” Price ordered. 

“Fuck you Price!” You yelled pulling a boot off and chucking casually off the side of the building. 

“What are you doing?!” Gaz yelled.

“What does it look like? I'm undressing. It's to fucking hot!” You yelled unbuttoning your pants. For the record, it wasn't hot. It was cold. So cold that the boys could see their breaths. You just hoped that getting your temperature under control would dull the urges you were having.

“What are you doing up there? Get down come on it's not safe love!” Jonny tried to coax you down, all of them too scared to take their eyes off you in the fear that you would fall.

“Not safe for me. Bro I was just about to attack you guys,” you yelled, stomping out of your pants the boys sucking in a breath as you tilted to the side a bit more than they liked.

“What you mean love?” Price asked nodding Ghost forward who quickly made his way to look for a way up onto the roof.

“That fucker must have lased that shit with ecstasy. Cause in simple term Captain, I'm HORNEY AS FUCK!” you yelled into the open night air. All the boys paused momentarily at your words wondering if they had heard you right.

“Horney you say?” Johnny asked with a slight smirk. It was a terrible situation, no one would argue that. But the way you were acting was slightly entertaining.

“Yep!” you popped the p. 

“I was sitting in the car and I was like fuck. I could totally fuck these guys,” your shrugged casually. 

“Really?” Johnny asked.

“Oh yeah. I would have made my way thought you fuckers like a cougar that just came out of prison. I'd start with Price, cause that man knows how to fuck. Like he's probably got some real fucking skill. Just look at him,” You gestured to Price who blushed slightly at the statement.

“Then I go to Gaz. I dont know why but you look like youve got some fucking endurance,” you stated simply. 

“Id fuck Jonnys brains out cause we all know he can’t get a girl to save his life,” You had begun rambling. The boys were doing there best to keep their laughter in. Even though  you were talking about something so intimate they knew it would never happen. 

“I got with your friend Rosie didn't I?” Jonny asked.

“Yeah and so did half the fucking base. I would seriously consider getting all that checked out,” you gestured to his manly parts as Gaz laughed at his dead panned expression. 

“Oh and Simon!” You let out a low whistle.

“I'd take that poor man's innocence,” This time both Jonny and Gaz were full blown laughing. Price rubbed his mouth hiding a chuckle. And Simon, well he stepped up behind you. You didn't notice him. What you did notice was how constricting your bra felt.

“Fucking hate bras,” You muttered in once swift motion unclipping it and tossing it to the side.

“Fucking hell,” Price grumbled as they all quickly avoided there gaze. 

“Right,” you hear the mutter from behind you as you were suddenly enveloped by material. Simon used his jaket that you had discarded early to form a makeshift straight jacket. Which in three swift movements, he zipped up behind you and tired the sleeves around you. You let out a yelp as you were casually thrown over his shoulder. 

“I'm getting too old for this,” Price muttered.

After they got you checked out at the med bay they brought you back to the barracks. Simon was carrying you bridal style as you dropped in and out of sleep. Gently they set you in your bed and tucked you in still in the makeshift straight jacket. You snuggled into the warmth curling up.

“Night love,” Jonny muttered as they all moved to leave your room.

“Hey,” your back was facing towards them as they stopped at the entrance of your room. “I love you guys. You know that right?” you asked.

“Yeah we love you to lass,” Jonny smiled.

“I mean it,” you cut off his slightly joking tone. “Tonight I was really fucking scared. And you guys saved me. So thank you,” you whispered. The boys were not really sure how to respond to that. 

“Anytime love,” Price muttered.

“Good,” you nodded readjusting.

“Oh and Simon,” you called in a sing-song voice. He hummed a response.

“Offer still stands hot stuff,” you poked your head up giving him what you assumed was a seductive wink. It looked more like you were trying to get something out of your eyes.

“Sure thing love. Well, see if you remember your offer in the morning,” he stated simply shoving the chuckle Jonny out the room before closing the door. Even drugged to kingdom come you felt safe. Protected, so calm that you slipped into slumber without a second thought or a moment's worry. 

The next morning you awoke with not a single memory of the night before. You frowned at the pounding in your head, yet your confusion deepened when you tried to make sense of what you were wearing. The binds had come lose burning the night leaving you with the jacket still zipped up behind you. You could only remember the very start of the night. And the fact that your drink had been spiked. Once you managed to escape the contraption you donned some loose clothes and walked out into the rec room. Where the boys were all situated, Simon cooking breakfast, Gaz and Soap sitting watching tv and Pierce at the table reading a newspaper. At your appearance they boys all stopped what they were going and looked at you. There expression unreadable.

“Soooo,” You trailed off. “My drink got spiked,” you stated simply.

“That's Correct,” Price nodded, folding his newspaper and putting it aside.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Honestly not the worst hang over I've had,” you tried to make light of the situation with a soft-hearted chuckle.

“So, uh what happened exactly? I didn't do anything stupide did I?” you asked nervously. 

“Well,” Jonny began, only to be silenced by a wooden spoon hitting him with deadly precision.

“You came to us, asking for help. We got the guy and got you out of there. Brought you back to base where the docs checked you out, flushed the drugs out ya system the best they could and we tucked you into bed,” Price explained simply. 

“I see. And why was I nude and buried in a huge ass jacket?” you asked a deep blush creeping up into your cheeks. Millions of scenarios passed through your mind. So many possibilities that could have led you up to that point. 

“You had nicked Simon's jumper. You were moving around a bit last night from what we could hear. The doc said the drug would make you hot. Perhaps you just stripped in ya sleep,” Price gentle words gave you no reason to believe anything other than that happened. But there was a slight doubt in the back of your mind. You looked to Simon who had yet to meet your gaze. 

“So I didn't go streaking through base?” you asked. 

“Like streaking do ya?” Jonny asked with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Sober Y/N not so much. Blind drunk Y/N very much so,” you nodded. The boys chuckled, shaking their heads. If only you knew.

“Your fine love. Come sit down and eat something,” Price ordered you softly as Ghost set down the various foods. The breakfast was like any other one. The boys talked like they normally did. Once you got over the slight embarrassment of what happened, you fell back into a normal rhythm. 

Not before Price personally called you into his office to have a very serious chat about what happened. Where he suggested a visit to a syce and an offer to come to him if your ever needed anything.

Not before Jonny gifted you with a key ring taser and a graphic demonstration of where to aim for.

Not before Gaz bought you a nail polish that would change color whenever it came into contact with drugs.

Not before Ghost would sit beside you in silence his presence simply being a reassurance.

Not before the boys never pressed you again to drink when you said no.

Not before they got a glimpse into a very serious part of a woman's world.

Not before they grasped and understanding for it.

And not before they would watch your drinks like eagles whenever you would go out again. 

The most amazing thing about it was that they never once blamed you for it. The thought never crossed their minds. They never once pried if you had left your drink alone. They never once suggested that you took a drink a stranger had offered.

They were good men. And you were thankful that you had them in your life.

And little did you know that the man that drugged you would send the rest of his life in prison. Price managed to pull a few strings and get him charged with much more than he had originally done.

After he spent a month in intensive recovery.

================================================

--COD Master List Here--

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[jazzsonly]

ꜱᴀᴅᴅᴇʀᴅᴀᴢᴇ.

pairing(s): cairo sweet x fem!reader

warning(s): stalker cairo, mentions cairo watching reader through their window, smoking, mention of reader’s mom passing away, mentions of reader having a ‘toned stomach’, minor detailed sexual content(nothing too major though).

summary: you become cairo’s newest work.

❝ sadderdays, why do they keep on using me? ❞

────────✬────────

cairo sweet didn’t believe in mistakes.

she believed there just was and there just wasn’t, and well, if you really wanted to, you could change the entirety of that was or wasn’t.

cairo also didn’t believe in much of a right or wrong, mankind was and would continue to be the most horrific thing to earth so it really all depended on what the domino effects of the things you did that made those things so ‘wrong’

or right.

in this case, watching through your window almost every night since the start of this summer wasn’t right or wrong nor was it her fault—it had to yours. what logical person, who knowingly had a window that mirrored the house right across the street wouldn’t put curtains up?

if you asked her, it was an invitation.

you prompted her, to watch you as she held a lit cigarette between her lips on most nights, letting the smoke fill her lungs and her mind full with thoughts of you.

you were tempting, all more in the ways she thought miller was. she was far more intrigued with you than she ever could be miller.

of course she wanted you, she wanted you more than anything—how could she not be (to her dismay) enflamed with you? shamelessly letting her hand slip into her pants as she watched you. again, it wasn’t her fault, it was merely yours for inviting her.

entertaining her.

though you’d never spoken, never even made eye contact with the girl she had made it clear to herself and somehow to you that you, indeed, knew all the things you were doing.

and though she felt this way, though she wanted you—her need to write you was far more important than any of that lustful bullshit.

she couldn’t just sit and stare at you forever, she needed to figure you out and figure you out fast before summer was over, though it was just mid-june. she needed something to wow yale.

her college essay needed to be perfect and you were just the target, because well, you just show up in the house that’s gone untouched for as long as she’s been trapped in her lonesome that her parents left her to all alone in this tennesse mansion.

she had a reasoning for being here, she knew her reason for being here, but what was your excuse? cause one thing is for damn sure, you were way too good looking and way too young to be up here all alone.

so cairo set out, being as bold as she’s ever been—especially after the whole miller thing, here she was standing at your door, cocky shades cover her eyes and a cigarette firm between her lips as she knocks.

she didn’t miss the red pick up that sat in your driveway, such a texas cliche, she thought.

hearing the wooden door creak as it opens, she fixes her posture, pushing her shoulders forward as she stood up straight.

“uh, hey?” you question, wiping the dirt from your hands on a faded blue rag.

the girl took a second, taking in the attire of your flared fitting jeans—they were worn out in a handy way, navy blue. she also took note to your light blue top that slightly came up, showing the edge of your, what seemed to be toned stomach.

pop’s. the shirt read in a bold fading yellow font with little things around it.

tempting but she had a mission.

“i’m cairo, i, uh, wanted to introduce myself���i live,” she pauses, pointing to the broad house placed a felid away.

“you live there? i didn’t think anyone lived there. creeps me out, the whole old victorian vibe, no offense. but, i’m y/n—i would shake your hand but uh.” you flash your hands that were scuffed with dirt.

“none taken, it’s actually quite comforting—i didn’t think anyone lived here, i mean it’s been empty for years.”

“yeah, uh, my mom recently passed and this is what she left behind…” you shrug, flapping you arms in lazy manner and let them fall back to your sides with a flat slap.

“mhm,” cairo takes a drag from the malboro.

“i’m sorry to hear that. are you fixing the place up?”

“trying to, thinking about turning it into a summer home, you know?” she didn’t miss the way your eyes flicker back and forth from the cigarette back to her face.

“you want?” she holds the stick towards you.

“if you don’t mind,” you reach up but fail to grasp the cigarette as the girl pushes her hand forward, placing it between your lips herself.

though you couldn’t tell because of the dark shades, she eyes your lips and watches closely as your purse them, taking a long drag before she retracts her fingers.

“thank you—do, uh, you wanna come in for a drink?”

“tomorrow, yeah? gotta a lot of work to do.”

“oh, work? you in high school?” she could see the slight grimace on your face at the thought of her being in high school.

“graduated. i’m in the process of apply for college. yale.”

“oh, hotshot, huh? i go to nyu, transfer from ucla—my second year.“

noted.

“but, good luck with everything, i’ll be here all summer so if you need any pointers let me know. i’m just a field away.”

also noted.

“mhm, i’ll definitely let you know.”

✬

exactly four days had passed since the encounter between you and cairo, and if she had to completely be truthful with herself, she was bored.

all she’d done was write and quickly delete the drafts she had made of you, walk to get coffee, and encounter small talk with a few distant friends from school whom seemed to be on big vacations with their closer friends.

she’d never say out loud, and she so reluctantly thought but she kind of missed winnie, in a strange way. who else to make her scandalous and yet superior at the same time?

after the whole miller thing, winnie had made it clear to stay far, far away from cairo, which of course the sweet girl didn’t take much offense to—she’d feel the same way if she were in her shoes, but she’d never so naively fall into a web like winnie had done.

with nothing better to do, and piles of shitty drafts, today would be the day she finally took up you on your offer. she needed new material for her paper anyways.

so here she was once again at your door, book-bag close on her back, dark shorts hugging her thighs with dark shades that cupped her face to match, and to top it off a white tank-top that read tennesse in fine blue print.

“finally showed up, i was afraid i scared you off.” the girl flinches, slightly, when you appear from the side of the house.

immediately she takes notices to the jean short-shorts that you occupied, along with the dirt stained, white baseball cap that took over your head of curls, brown cowgirl boots, and to top it off a plain black tank.

“i’ve been busy. told you i had a lot of work to do.”

“yeah, days worth, huh?” you tease, stepping to the house’s door, opening it and stepping aside for cairo.

“every time i see you, you got these shades on. you don’t like people looking you in your eyes or something?”

“i have my reasons.” she shrugs, letting a playful manner roll over her.

“you got magic eyes? anyone who stares into them falls in love?” you point at the girl again, this time causing her to bite back a smile, that you definitely don’t miss.

as she follows you, she can’t help but notice just how much your house resembles the aura of her’s—if not even more erie, the vacancy was very lit and yet a classic touch of old money overwhelmed the place. you had to be as loaded as she was with a house like this, and in tennesse—trust, she didn’t miss how much land you occupied.

“if you don’t mind me asking, what’d your mom do for a living?”

“ah, real estate and my dad is a lawyer—though, i don’t talk much with him.”

“huh, my parents are lawyers too and we don’t talk much either.”

you bite your lip, nodding in some form of understanding? agreement?

“make yourself at home,” you gesture to the velvet love seat.

cairo pauses for a minute, thinking, she had already made herself too at home—she was already losing sight of why she were here, she wasn’t here for your good looks and alluring aura—nor your flirty jokes.

you weren’t some seduction mission that she was going to trick herself into thinking you wanted her the way she did you, no. you weren’t going to be another mr.miller. she had learned from her mistakes.

you were her college essay and nothing more.

“i’m not a big drinker, so, pretty much all i have is some cherry wine and a little bit of gin.”

you watch at the sweet girl grimaces, “gin?”

“i know, my mom had poor taste, but i’ll take that as wine for our drink of the evening, i’ll be right back.”

why were you so tempting? how could one be so open yet she still knew nothing about you. she’d been here all of twenty minutes all she could get out of you was that your mom was a real estate agent and your dad is a lawy—

that’s it.

“here you go.” you hand her a half filled glass, fingers grazing over her skin before taking a seat across from her in the matching recliner.

“so, you’re dad is a lawyer? what’s his name? just curious if he works at the same firm as my parents.”

“y/d/n y/l/n. i doubt it, my dad owns his own firm and is very hard to work with.”

��hm, yeah never heard of him.” cairo made note to google your father later to lead her to connects with you,

and that’s exactly what she did.

after your drink, an excused rolled off her tongue to go home—she had more work to do, that you so cluelessly wished her good luck on.

one things for sure, you were right, you dad was hard man to work with. he seemed to be a lawyer who’d only worked on high profile cases in his career, how that was even possible? who knows.

he’d also been married three times, your mom being the second wife and you being his second kid.

his latest wife was way younger then him, as usual, she was maybe even your age. they had a son together, just two years old. it must be weird having an older sister in her late forties, while you’re in your earlier twenties, with a younger brother who is just two years old.

all while your dad is pushing sixty-five or so cairo read on the internet—she doesn’t exactly remember his age because she got bored and started surfing your name on google. to her surprise she’d found quite a lot on you.

a soccer star in high school, riding a scholarship for it too. not only that, but you’d been on the swim team in high school too.

you’d taken piano lessons as a kid, and noting the only social media you had was instagram, which to her trouble was private.

ugh, frustration was a minor feeling that creeped over cairo’s body. all she found was cliche background info. on you, no hard hitting stuff. no legal troubles, no mentions of some sort of addiction, no scandals.

there had to be more to you—there was, she could feel it. there was a story to you and she so ever needed it if she was going to wow yale. she had her miller story but something bigger assuredly awaited her blank google doc.

taking a slow, extended drag from her cigarette, the girl reluctantly closed the macbook. she now, once again, had a view of your unfolded window. though, you weren’t occupying it at the moment she waited in setback and anticipation as your truck had pulled into the driveway not too long ago. you’d entered the house with a woman she’d never seen before, maybe your half-sister.

if it were, it would be nice to put a face to the name considering google didn’t hold any pictures of your older sister.

but cairo couldn’t be more wrong and there would be no putting any name to any face because she would watch and smoke as you came collapsing into your room’s open window with your tongue down the random woman’s throat.

cairo couldn’t help but be taken over by a hot-blooded resentment. you were her project her, her puzzle to figure out, not some girl’s sloppy one night. and yet; through her distasteful thoughts, the girl couldn’t break her eyes from the scene that unfolded in front of her.

lewd.

that was one word to describe everything going on just in these moments. cairo’s hand wandering in her pants, letting enclosed moans falling from her lips as her eyes trained on just how…experienced (?) you’d seemed to be by the way you had been touching this woman.

her eyes were like binoculars on their own, closely she looked as your tongue ran across the woman’s lips—it was sloppy but so enamoring. your hands eagerly everywhere and nowhere at the same time on the woman’s body as you take off her clothes with the haste, the woman doing the same to you.

with you just in your lace underwear, cairo could see a tattoo on your shoulder that couldn’t make out but definitely would find a way to ask you about eventually—but right now, all she wanted to do was be the woman you were so infatuated with in this moment. the way you were shamelessly in the middle of your room, on your knees with your head hungrily between her legs, eating her out with ease. the eye contact you kept drove her even more insane.

she had underestimated you.

you were more untamed than she thought. bolder than you led onto to be.

━━━ 👩🏽‍💻potentially more parts to come.

[powchakko]

THE WORDS WE DIDN'T MEAN ‧₊˚

#SYNOPSIS. . . you get into an argument with him

#WORD COUNT. . . 883 words

#NOTES. . . chuuya x gn!reader, angst to fluff, established relationship, not proofread T^T

arguments with chuuya are the worst.

you find yourself exhausted after nearly thirty minutes of back and forth, his words jabbing at your weak spots and your arguments being countered with much more logical reasoning. you were never good at arguments to begin with. it’s a miracle how you still desperately hang onto your ideals despite ending up fighting with your lover.

you wish to give up right then and there. the longer you fought, the harsher his words became. you know continuing would only hurt both of you even further.

alright. enough’s enough.

“chuuya,” you interrupt in between his words, reaching out to him in an attempt to calm him down. “let’s talk about this tomorr–”

he’s too agitated to hear you, however. “how much more stupid can this be?! i keep explaining to you over and over again, and yet you never seem to get it! honestly, y/n–” he turns angrily to face you, and abruptly falls silent upon noticing the silent tears rolling down your cheeks. 

you don’t even get to process the feeling of them burning against your skin.

you shift your gaze away from him, not allowing him to see this pathetic state you’re in. “i–i’m sorry… i didn’t…” you stammer, your throat tightening as a sob threatens to escape.

the realization hit him. he had gone too far this time.

“no, no…” a gasp slips through his mouth. before any of you realize, he takes a step towards you and envelops your body in his arms, your head buried under his neck. “no, sweetheart, you don’t have anything to apologize for, i’m so sorry.” 

he hates to see you cry. much more so when he’s the reason for your tears. guilt gnaws at his heart when he feels your fingers clutching onto his back, your shoulders shaking from the force of your sobs. he holds you tighter as he fights his own urge to cry at your sorrow.

“forgive me, y/n,” he mutters into your ear instead. “i went too far. i shouldn’t have said those things.”

he pulls away slightly, a gloved hand lifting to cup your cheek and tilt your face towards his. he feels his heart breaking at the sight of your tear-stained face, how empty your eyes look, and the fact that you still refuse to look at him. 

did he scare you?

you know he’d never hurt you (right?). he always treated you with such gentleness; you were the key to his heart, after all. you could break it and smash it into pieces, betray him and hurt him as many times as you want, even kill him if you desire. he’ll still love you in the end.

and yet the thing that made him love you most was the truth that you chose to pick up the remnants of what he once called a heart and taught him how to love once more. you cradled his face in the depths of the night and whispered sweet nothings into his ears. you gave him a reason to smile and laugh and be happy again. you never feared his power, and even called his corruption beautiful once.

he does not deserve you or your kindness.

how could he allow himself to be the one who hurt you when all you’ve done is nothing but heal him?

chuuya curses at himself. you feel him press a lingering kiss on your forehead and whisper against your skin, “i vow to never be the reason for your tears ever again. and if i ever do…” he swallows. “...leave me.”

you stiffen at the words, not missing the way his voice breaks at the end of the sentence. for the first time in what felt like hours, your eyes finally meet his ocean ones, and chuuya flinches when he sees the anger flaring in them.

“i will never, and i mean never,” you hiss, your voice steady. “leave you. don’t ever forget that, chuuya.”

he opens his mouth to protest – that you deserve a much better love than his, that he will never be able to repay the deeds you’ve done for him – when the feeling of your lips against his scatters the words he prepared. the kiss is fleeting, much shorter than chuuya prefers, yet it perfectly communicates your thoughts. 

chuuya can feel the death grip on his heart loosen once he sees you smile at him once more. your eyes are still red, and your breath still hitches every few words you utter, yet you couldn’t have looked more beautiful in his eyes.

“i love you.” he blurts before his mind finds a better response. he fears you will soon forget if he doesn’t reaffirm. he needs you to know.

you look at him, your lips breaking into a small, genuine smile. “i know,” you nod, and he melts at the words.

what’s more, he realises you could still be his for the night, perhaps even longer, if you would let him have you.

“c’mon, it’s late.” you intertwine your fingers in between his as you start to lead him towards your shared bedroom. “we can talk things out tomorrow.”

as he slowly follows you from behind, chuuya can’t help but think how lucky he is to be loved by someone like you.

©POWCHAKKO 2024, do not copy, modify, or repost my works onto other platforms.

[shizuturnspages]

Hii Love your yan works!! Wondering if I could request a scenario where darling(gender neutral would be great<3) , utterly frustrated, just snaps. Angry, maybe a bit violent (telling the yan/char off too) and their reactions to this. the sumeru boys if you could :) (sethos included ofc) tysm!!

(alsoo can I be 🐲anon :D, if u don't have like an anon system it's finee)

Ofccc

I tried my best to portray a frustrated darling. Here it is:

Alhaitham

Alhaitham is never caught off guard—until now. He’s always so sure of his logic, so convinced that his calm reasoning will sway you. And yet, here you are, snapping like a live wire, anger blazing as you tell him off for treating you like some part of a research project he’s working on.

“I am not one of your little experiments, Alhaitham!” You slam your hands on the desk, making every paper, every precious note he keeps meticulously organized, scatter.

Alhaitham’s reaction? He raises an eyebrow, that usual collected look faltering for a second. “Your outburst is…unexpected,” he says slowly, like he’s still processing this glorious rage you’re unleashing on him.

But you’re not backing down. “You think you know everything about me, huh? As if watching me like some science project gives you the right to dictate my life! Well, newsflash, it doesn’t.”

He just blinks at you, taking in the harsh words. And—damn it—he seems intrigued. Almost like he’s analysing you, savouring every bit of this rare outburst. When you’re done, breathing heavily, he gives a soft chuckle, leaning closer. “If I didn’t care about you,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming with something dark, “I wouldn’t bother trying to understand you so thoroughly. But, please, go on… I’m listening.”

Tighnari

The soft, gentle way Tighnari usually approaches everything takes a sharp turn when you finally reach your boiling point. He’s been hovering again, watching you like a hawk, questioning your every move, worrying over every detail. You’ve had enough.

“Stop! Just stop!” you shout, pacing in frustration as you wave your arms in the air. “I don’t need your constant surveillance, Tighnari! I’m not some fragile thing you have to keep an eye on every second!”

Tighnari blinks in surprise, his typically calm expression faltering. He doesn’t know how to respond at first, clearly caught off guard by your sudden outburst. “I… I was only trying to help. You’ve been acting strange lately, and I—”

“Strange?” you cut him off, glaring at him. “I’m not strange, I’m frustrated! You make me feel like I’m one step away from breaking at any given moment, always hovering, always watching. I’m fine, Tighnari! Stop treating me like I’m about to fall apart!”

His ears twitch as he processes your words, the warmth in his eyes turning into something more intense. His lips part, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to apologize, but then his eyes narrow, a defensive streak flaring up.

“Maybe I’m just trying to care for you,” he says quietly, but there’s an edge to his tone now. “If you’d let me, I could help you. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I don’t need your help, Tighnari!” you snap, throwing your hands up in frustration. “I’m not some project for you to fix! You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!”

Tighnari sighs, rubbing his temple with one hand. “I get it, okay? But you’re not leaving me any choice, are you?” His voice softens, but there's a steely undertone now. "I won't stop looking out for you, whether you want it or not."

Kaveh

Your frustration with Kaveh’s relentless, overbearing affection reaches a boiling point. He’s been fussing, hovering over you like you’re some delicate object that needs his constant attention.

“Back off, Kaveh! I’m not some fragile doll you can keep wrapped around your finger!" You yell at the top of your lungs as you shove him away from you.

Kaveh stumbles back, taken aback by the force in your words, his usual confident swagger faltering for the first time. His eyes widen in shock, and his lips part as if he's about to apologize—but then the sheer intensity of your anger seems to hit him like a wave.

"Wait, what?" he stammers, trying to make sense of your outburst. He looks around, as if hoping the room itself will offer some kind of explanation. "I—I thought I was doing the right thing! I just... I care about you! I didn’t think you’d—"

“Care about me?!” you interrupt, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think coddling me, making every decision for me, is love? You’re just trying to keep me on a leash, Kaveh. That’s not love, that’s control!”

Kaveh’s expression falters, hurt flashing across his features before it’s replaced with frustration. He takes a step forward, voice trembling slightly but with a hint of defensiveness. “I never meant it like that! I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I never—”

“You never thought!” you retort, your chest heaving as you struggle to contain the rage. “You never thought about what I want, what I need! You just assumed you know best. You’re suffocating me!”

Kaveh’s face softens, the hurt in his eyes giving way to guilt, but there’s still a spark of stubbornness left. “I... I never wanted to hurt you,” he mutters quietly, looking down, his shoulders slumping. “I just wanted to protect you from... from the world.”

But you’re done being patient. “I don’t need your protection, Kaveh! I need my freedom. And if you can’t give that to me, then maybe we shouldn’t be doing this at all.”

He looks crushed, but there’s something behind his eyes now—regret, yes, but also a deeper, more possessive undercurrent. He takes a slow breath, standing straighter, as if bracing himself. “If it comes to that… I guess I’ll just have to remind you how much you need me,” he says quietly, almost dangerously. His words hang in the air, a silent threat, but for a brief second, you see the raw emotion behind them.

Cyno

For all Cyno’s jokes and smirks, you finally reach your limit. He’s always around, hovering like a shadow with that damn teasing grin. And for once, you just want him gone.

“I’m done, Cyno!” you yell, voice thick with anger. “Just stop with the jokes, stop with the games, and stop watching me like a hawk! I don’t need a babysitter.”

He freezes mid-step, his grin gone, replaced by a serious expression that’s almost unreadable. “It was never about babysitting,” he says quietly, his eyes narrowing. But you’re past the point of caring. “No, it’s about you wanting control, Cyno. You need to know everything—where I am, who I’m with—you don’t own me!”

The tension in the room rises, and he watches you carefully. “Control isn’t the issue,” he finally says, his voice softer than you expect. “But I won’t apologize for making sure you’re safe.” He steps closer, his hand lingering by your shoulder, almost hesitant. “But,” he adds, leaning down to meet your gaze, “if you really feel that strongly about it, make me leave.”

Sethos

With Sethos, it’s not just overprotection; it’s the possessive need to have you near, almost like a shadow clinging too close. He’s silent, watching, trailing after you with that unnerving devotion that makes it impossible to breathe sometimes. And today, you’ve had enough.

“Will you just… back off for one damn minute, Sethos!” you shout, your patience snapping like a twig.

Sethos, unbothered, simply tilts his head, that cryptic, soft smile unfaltering. “Why should I? If I give you space, you’ll just wander off where I can’t protect you.”

You can feel yourself shake with frustration. “I don’t need protecting! And I sure as hell don’t need you lurking around every corner!” You take a step forward, jabbing a finger at him, your voice dangerously low. “Do you even get how suffocating you are?”

His smile wavers—just a flicker—and his eyes darken. He steps closer, a shadow casting over his expression. “Suffocating?” he whispers. “No, love… I’m keeping you safe. But if it’s suffocating you… well, that’s just unfortunate.” His fingers brush your cheek, cold, and possessive. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[ngage2003]

To me, one of the most confusing assumptions in the Marble Hornets' fandom, is the idea that Brian's weird little doll is supposed to for some reason be representative of the Operator.

Why the hell would be the case though? We know for a fact that Brian hates the Operator with a passion and I can't imagine why he would leave a representation of it for Jay, and maybe most damning of all it has little sewn dots for eyes.

So, what the hell is up with that little doll thing?

Alright, so first things first, lets talk about how/where this doll shows up, because it mostly does so in two main places in Marble Hornets, in Brian's house, and with Tim's medical files.

Let's talk about that first time.

✦ Entry #18

Ah yes, by and large one of my favorite entries of season one, but before we get fully into it the whole that Brian's creepy little doll plays in it, lets talk about what precedes it.

Before this entry comes out, the ToTheArk channel releases one of its own best entries from season 1 of Marble Hornets, Signal. In this video, Jay is told rather explicitly to "come back" to Brian's house and to "find me," all while there is creepy audio about the narrator showing the listener a secret, taken from the short film Silent Snow, Secret Snow.

Entry 18 is of course the first place where we finally see Masky for the first time, but I don't believe this message is from him. Rather, I think Brian knew or told Masky to be at the house, and lured Jay there as a way to scare him, as endlessly throughout Season 1 that really is the prerogative of these two, to scare or intimidate Jay away from the mystery.

Alright, that makes sense, yeah? But, so, what's the deal with the doll?

It honestly could be placed there just to freak Jay out, but I just want to point out the fact that Brian has a habit of doing things with a sort of artistic flare. There is a logic/through line to these actions, to his videos and his choices, even if it isn't apparent to us the viewer.

-

Moving on, ✦ Entry 60,

Alright, so admittedly this one is the main fodder for my theory, but I think it incredibly interesting that Brian leaves the doll for Jay to find with the medical records.

Yeah sure, maybe he is pointing out the fact that Tim had seizures due to the Operator, ok, but most of that folder isn't really about Tim's seizures but instead his childhood and hospitalization, even including some papers about his therapy sessions from MUCH later in his institutionalization, about 7 years later. (If you want to read more about my thoughts on that, click here.)

Why the hell would Brian leave the doll here? He is a man of details and what is he trying to tell us with this one?

Well, Dearest Reader, allow me give my two cents.

Are you familiar with the concept of a therapy doll?

They are a specific exercise often used in child's therapy, where a small doll is usually decorated and used as a tool to help a kid express their feelings and practice social skills, working through them in a safe environment with the doll.

This doll can often represent an important person in the child's life, or even themself at times, acting as a way to help with internal emotional management as well as external! And we know based on Tim's records, "Pediatric Admission Profile," Page 2, "Section XI - Teaching" that Tim has emotional barriers to learning.

Dear Reader, I believe this curious little doll, which we always see in relation to Tim, (either with his protector alter or with his medical files,) which people in the fandom love to misconstrue as a representative the Operator in some sense, is his therapy doll, from all the way back when he was institutionalized.

I believe he kept it as he went through therapy, and it was just something that accidentally stayed with his medical file, along with his older records. I believe that Brian knew of it and decided to lay it in wait before Jay saw Masky as a way to unnerve him, but he thought of it in the first place because it was Tim's, and by extension it was Masky's too.

I think the reason it is un-decorated is because, while abandoned at the institution, Tim didn't have an adult he trusted or wanted to talk to who could be the doll, and he didn't have a solid self image either due to his dissociation. That is why it is blank.

This doll does not represent the monster of Marble Hornets, but rather its martyr.

[forkshighschooler]

Chapter 1 — The Pull

Summary:You live in La Push working part-time for your aunt. While closing at a local coffee cart, you meet Paul Lahote—a quiet, intense local who seems to watch you like he knows something you don’t. There’s an instant pull between you, but you fight it. You’re not looking for connection. Paul keeps his distance… until he can’t.

Part 1-Part 2-Part 3-Part 4-Part 5

La Push was quiet in the way that small towns always were—its silence not empty, but full of whispering trees, restless waves, and the hush of stories passed down from generations that had walked these paths long before you. It was the kind of place where everyone knew your name, your parents’ names, and probably how much you owed at the corner store.

You’d grown up here, a quiet part of the earth nestled between forest and sea. It was familiar, grounding. Safe.

Until now.

It started the day the air changed—just enough that you noticed. A storm was supposed to be rolling in, and the clouds hung low like bruises in the sky, but it wasn’t the weather that made your skin prickle. It was something else. Something wrong.

You had been walking home from the beach after closing up the small coffee cart your aunt let you run part-time. The waves were rough, wind chasing them in like wild dogs. You tightened your jacket and tucked your chin down, the sound of your boots crunching gravel the only thing keeping you company.

Then you saw him.

At first, it didn’t register—just someone tall and lean standing at the tree line, half in shadow, like he was a part of the woods itself. His posture was too still, arms crossed over his broad chest, head tilted slightly like he was listening for something. Watching.

Your pace slowed before your brain caught up to your body. You told yourself it was just someone out for a walk, probably one of the guys from the rez. But there was something about him—about the way the air seemed to warp around him, like he pulled gravity with him. You tried not to stare.

He turned his head.

Even at a distance, your eyes locked. And you felt it—something hot, sharp, and uninvited flaring beneath your ribs. Your breath caught, your stomach flipped, and for a split second, it felt like your entire body went still in response to his gaze.

The moment shattered as he stepped forward—just one step.

You bolted.

You didn’t know why. There was no logical reason. He hadn’t moved aggressively. He hadn’t said a word. But every instinct in you screamed run, and your legs obeyed. You didn’t stop until you were back home, the door locked behind you and your back pressed to the cool wood.

Your heart pounded like a warning drum in your chest.

You didn’t tell anyone about him—not your aunt, not your best friend Katie, who would have teased you relentlessly for being so dramatic. It felt… too strange. Too intimate.

Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You didn’t even know his name.

⸻

The next day, the feeling lingered.

You kept expecting to see him around town. You looked for him out of the corner of your eye when you passed the general store, when you sat on the back porch with your coffee, even when you walked to the bonfire later that night with Katie.

She was rambling about some drama involving Jared and Kim, but her voice felt like background noise against the roar of your thoughts. You didn’t hear most of what she said until she elbowed you.

“Are you even listening?” she laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve been weird all day.”

“I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” she said, clearly not buying it. Then she perked up. “Oh! Paul’s back.”

“Paul?”

She nodded toward the edge of the firelight. You turned.

There he was.

The guy from the woods.

Standing in the golden flicker of the firelight, his skin glowing warm, his dark eyes scanning the crowd. He looked… intense. Like someone barely holding it together. Your breath caught again, and this time you knew it wasn’t just the heat from the flames.

“That’s Paul Lahote,” Katie whispered. “He’s a total dick, but—uh, yeah. Okay, you’re looking at him like he’s an entire meal, so I’m gonna walk away before I witness something unholy.”

“I’m not,” you snapped too quickly. “I just—he looks familiar.”

Katie raised an eyebrow, gave a knowing smirk, and disappeared into the crowd.

Paul’s eyes found yours.

Your heart stumbled.

There was something wrong with this. You didn’t even know him, but you felt like your body did. Like some part of you recognized him without your permission.

You turned your head, but it was too late—he was already walking toward you.

⸻

“Hey.”

His voice was low, rough like gravel but steady. He stood close enough that you had to tilt your head back slightly to look up at him. You stepped back automatically.

He frowned. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I didn’t say you would.”

“You’re afraid of me.”

You bristled. “I don’t even know you.”

He paused like that answer had hit a nerve. His expression shifted, some wall sliding up behind his eyes.

“You will,” he said, so quiet you almost didn’t hear him.

You stared at him, arms crossed. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“No,” he said. Then added, “It’s a promise.”

Your stomach twisted. Something about this was all wrong. Too much. Too fast. You stepped back again.

“I have to go.”

“You don’t even want to know my name?”

“No.”

He didn’t move to follow you, but you could feel him watching as you walked away, pulse pounding so hard your ears rang.

⸻

That night, you dreamt of eyes the color of storms and something wild running through the trees.

You woke with your heart in your throat.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to Stephenie Meyer. This is a work of fanfiction written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended.

[slytherin-pen]

Despite It All

pairing: Azriel x Eris

word count: 3.1k

warnings: family’s disapproval of relationship, Azriel cries, Eris makes threats, steamy make out, subtle inclusion of my own trauma about “coming out” (quotes because i wasn’t the one who told them) to my family and religion

a/n: my first Azris fic! i already liked the idea of them but after writing them i am ✨in love✨. written for Day 5 of @sjmprideweek “Family”

Cassian’s voice was a low growl as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Where the hell have you been?”

The tension in the room was suffocating. Rhys sat at the head of the table, resting his chin on his fist, violet eyes unreadable but sharp. Feyre glanced between them, her lips pressed into a thin line, while Mor refused to meet Azriel’s gaze at all.

Azriel—still standing in the entryway to the dining room—sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had known this was coming. The moment he’d stepped foot back into Velaris, this feeling of impending doom settled in his stomach. His shadows, now swirling around him restlessly, had felt it too. He had been gone too long. Rookie mistake for a Spymaster, but he had been…held up.

He ensured his stoic mask remained in place before responding. “As you all know, I was on a mission. Some unforeseen circumstances caused me to stay longer but it’s settled now.”

Cassian scoffed. “That's bullshit. Rhys said the mission shouldn’t have taken you more than a couple of days, yet it took you a week and a half. You’re a 500 hundred-year-old Illyrian warrior and the Spymaster for Cauldron-sake, what could have possibly made you stay for that long—” He hesitated, nostrils flaring. “And you smell like Autumn.”

Silence.

Then Rhys’ eyes narrowed slightly. “Azriel,” he said carefully, “why were you in Autumn? Your mission was on the Continent.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He could lie. He had done it before, buried his truths so deep that even Rhys couldn’t pry them from his mind. But he was so damned tired. Of the lying, the sneaking around—pushing himself farther and farther away from the people he calls his family. He couldn’t do it anymore. They were his family. They would want him to be happy no matter what, right? And logically, this couldn’t go on forever. He would have to tell them someday anyway. Maybe this was the Mother’s way of nudging him toward the truth. Toward living in his truth.

His fingers twitched with nerves and his shadows dutifully hid them from view. It was now or never. “I’ve been with my mate,” Azriel admitted.

A sharp inhale from Feyre. Mor stiffened as if struck. Cassian’s expression darkened, brows knitting together.

Rhys exhaled slowly. “And who, exactly, is your mate?”

Azriel swallowed. “Eris.”

Mor shot to her feet, her chair scraping against the floor. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” Not anymore.

“That bastard—” Cassian started, but Mor cut him off.

“He’s cruel, Azriel. He let me suffer. He would have married me and Mother knows what if I hadn’t—” Her voice broke, her red-painted lip wobbling and Feyre placed a comforting hand on her arm. Morrigan slowly sank back into her chair.

“Perhaps it’s some sort of trick,” Feyre suggested, her wide blue eyes landing on her mate. “Maybe Eris has a daemati and is using Azriel for some sort of plot.”

Rhys frowned, creases forming between his brows. Azriel felt the claws scrape against his shield of shadow and steel, and he shoved them away.

“I know what he’s done,” Azriel said, his voice low. “I know what you all think of him. But you don’t know him. You don’t know his reasons.”

“I know enough,” Mor spat, her golden hair swishing as she shook her head. “And now you expect us to believe that you—what? You love him?”

Azriel didn’t answer. Because love was not a word he had ever used lightly. But Eris had held him close in the warm, firelit halls of the Forest House, tracing the scars on his hands, whispering declarations, and promising things Azriel had never dared dream of. Eris had kissed him slow and passionately, as if they had all the time in the world. As if he cared for Azriel in a way Azriel had never even cared for himself.

“You can’t be serious, brother,” Cassian pleads. “We have hated him for centuries. The things he has done—“ his wings jerked open then shut again with his rising frustration. “You can’t do this.”

“It is not something I have done,” Azriel corrects. “The Mother chose my mate. If you have a problem with it, take it up with her.”

Cassian slammed his hand down on the table as he leaned forward in his seat, rage and betrayal simmering in his hazel eyes. Morrigan and Feyre flinch in their chairs. “Don’t start that shit with me!” he roars. “You’ve kept this from us. From your family! And it’s because you knew it was wrong.”

Wrong.

Wrong?

No that can’t be right.

What he and Eris had was not wrong. Complicated? Sure. Messy? Absolutely. A game of fire and daggers, of harsh words and sharp gazes in the presence of others, always teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something exhilarating. But never wrong.

Because how could it be wrong when Eris looked at him the way he did? Like he was the only person worth watching in a crowded room? How could it be wrong when Azriel lay in his arms and for once in his Cauldron-forsaken life felt whole?

Rhys raised his hand placatingly. “That is not what Cassian meant,” he turned a glare on the bulky Illyrian before meeting Azriel’s eyes again. “Just help us understand, Az. How did this happen? How long have you known?”

Azriel’s shadows whipped around him, his rage rising like a burning fire. “I will not be interrogated. I did not ask you questions, Rhys, when you told us Feyre was your mate. I congratulated you. She was engaged to another High Lord and I was still happy for you. And Cassian—,” Azriel let out a bitter laugh, “you have some nerve to butt into my mating bond.”

Cassian stiffened, confusion marring his face, but Azriel continued. “I have watched you, brother,” spitting out the term like a bad-tasting tonic, “treat the mate you waited 500 years for like dirt under your boot. You belittle her, insult her, let Rhys—another male—dictate her life. I’ll admit I should have stepped in, should have told you what a prick you were being, but I held my tongue. What did I know about having a mate? About watching her wither away and suffer before my very eyes? I felt sorry for you but now—now I only feel sorry for her.”

Rhys had the decency to look guilty. Cassian recoiled as if he had been slapped, the color draining from his face.

Azriel surveyed the family that had always claimed to love him and realized it had never been unconditional.

He nodded to himself, then turned on his heel and left.

He ignored the shouts at his back—the pleas, the apologies. He will not stand for it. Unlike Cassian, he will protect the bond that is so sacred. He will defend his mate when he is not present, he will separate himself from those who cannot respect the love they have for each other.

The moment Azriel stepped into the Forest House, a warm hand caught his wrist.

Eris studied him, amber eyes filled with concern, then realization. “They know.”

Azriel exhaled shakily. “They know.”

A heartbeat of silence. Then Eris guided him toward the sitting room, his grip firm but gentle.

As they sat on the burgundy sofa, Eris released his grip on Azriel’s wrist and took both hands in his. “You’re shaking,” Eris murmured.

Azriel hadn’t realized. He had withstood the abuse of his step-brothers, survived wars and what should have been fatal injuries—but this rejection hurt more than it all combined.

Eris didn’t push, didn’t pry. He just sat there, steady and comforting, letting Azriel come back to himself.

When Azriel loosed a shuddering breath, Eris finally asked, “Do you regret it?”

Azriel turned to him, eyes burning. “No.”

It was true. He wished his family could have accepted it. Wished they would have wrapped their arms around him and gushed with joy as he had for them, but he did not regret it.

Eris let out a slow breath, something like relief flickering across his face. Then, with the ease of someone who knew exactly what Azriel needed, he shifted closer, brushing their knees together. “Then let them be angry. They’ll learn. Or they won’t. Either way, I’m not going anywhere.”

Azriel stared at him, at this male who had once been his enemy, at the warmth in his gaze, and for the first time since he was a child—he cried.

Eris tutted and maneuvered Azriel to lay his head on his lap—mindful of his wings—and ran his long, nimble fingers through the black strands of his hair. Azriel’s scarred hands gripped the fabric of Eris’ pants until his knuckles turned white like he was afraid Eris might run away.

“Let it out,” Eris murmured, his voice soft and soothing. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Azriel’s temple, his heart breaking for the male. “It’s going to hurt for a while. Maybe longer. But one day, it won’t be so hard to breathe anymore, and that weight in your chest will start to ease. You’ll be able to go about your day without thinking of all the ‘what ifs’, or turning your head to tell them something only to find they are not there. Because I am here. I always will be. And if you need me to hold you I can do that. If you need me to shove you, I can do that, too.”

Azriel’s shoulders shook with his sobs, and Eris’ chest cracked more with every choke on his tears.

This was never what Eris wanted, though it was what he had feared. He had told Azriel it was up to him to decide whether he told the Inner Circle about them. That he would respect whatever decision he made. But Eris knew the Inner Circle clung to the debacle with Morrigan like a child with their favorite teddy bear. Taking her word as fact and never questioning it. And even though he was there too, even though Morrigan did not tell the whole truth—he kept his mouth shut because it was not his story to tell. He chooses to believe that the Mother has a hand in all of their lives, and everything plays out how it should. He would curse her name for this particular conflict if he did not fear her wrath.

The Mother had given him Azriel as his mate, and for that he was grateful, but he could not help but question her methods sometimes. Why must his mate go through this? Why had their path been so rocky and treacherous? Eris’ mother would always say the Goddess only gave the hardest battles to her strongest warriors, but why must there be so many? It could be a test, he reasoned. A test of worthiness, of loyalty, but Azriel was already those things. Perhaps the test was not for him but for the Inner Circle, and they had failed. Now, his mate was the innocent victim of their negligence.

Azriel started to calm down, sniffling quietly. Eris continued to run his fingers through his hair, breathing deeply enough that Azriel could feel it and match his breaths.

“It hurts,” Azriel croaked.

“I know it does, my love. I am so sorry. If I could take your pain, I would.”

Azriel shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you to.” He slowly raised his head from Eris’ lap, wiped his eyes, and adjusted his position on the couch to be shoulder-to-shoulder with Eris. Eris intertwined their fingers, his golden rings chilling Azriel’s heated skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t you dare,” Eris snapped. Azriel flinched and he immediately regretted it. Softer this time, “Don’t apologize for their actions. Don’t apologize for your emotions. Just don’t.”

Azriel remained silent gazing down at their connected hands, watching Eris’ thumb sweep back and forth over his knuckle with rapt attention.

Eris sighed. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Azriel muttered. “I don’t want your feelings to be hurt too.”

“Don’t worry about my feelings,” Eris scoffed. “Whatever they said about me today, I assure you I have heard far worse from them in the past.”

“I know,” Azriel frowned. “Rhys tried to give me a chance to explain it to them, but after Cassian berated me and Mor bringing up the past—“

“Leave it to Morrigan to make it about her.” Azriel cut a sharp glare his way. “Sorry.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t matter now. As far I’m concerned they are out of our lives. Cassian said it was wrong.”

Eris clenched his jaw and wrapped his free arm around Azriel’s shoulder and pulled him in, placing a tender kiss on his head. “You don’t need to explain anything to them. Their love for you should have prevailed over their hatred for me. It’s not like we were going to have family dinners any time soon,” Eris tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Azriel huffed a sad laugh. “No, we were not.” Azriel looked to Eris’ amber eyes, at the love and worry shining in them. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that he would get to wake up and fall asleep to those eyes every day. To the feel of his fiery red hair on his chest. He began to think he might just be okay in the end with Eris—his mate—by his side. He loved his family, no one could question that, but even they could not compare to the glowing string tying him and Eris rib to rib. To the constant flow of love, affection, and utter devotion that travels down the bond from Eris’ end.

He cupped the side of Eris’ jaw with his hand and brought his lips to his. It was measured and methodical, a lot like their relationship these past few years. Their tongues tangled with an intoxicating slowness, each stroke deliberate. Azriel felt his pants become uncomfortably tight, and as he moved his hand down Eris’ chest to his crotch he felt him having the same problem. He smirked into the kiss, pure male arrogance, and Eris growled as he ran his hands up the back of Azriel’s neck to his hair and tugged at the roots. Azriel moaned and swung his leg over Eris’ to sit on his lap, wings flaring behind him. His shadows encased them in a bubble of darkness, whispering to him about Eris’ fluctuating heart rate and breathing patterns.

He grabbed the collar of Eris’ shirt and yanked, buttons flying and rolling across the floor as they landed. His hands ran up and down Eris’ torso as he rocked his hips rocked back and forth. Eris’ hands found his hips and squeezed as he took Azriel’s lip between his teeth. The scent of their arousals—cedar, cinnamon, and musk—filled the sitting room. Eris started to fiddle with the buckles of Azriel’s leathers when there was a knock at the door.

Eris cursed. “Who the hell could that be?”

Azriel’s chest heaved as he lifted himself off Eris’ lap and settled back on the couch. Eris ran his hands through his disheveled hair and leaned down to peck Azriel’s lips. “I’ll tell them to fuck off and then we can continue this in the bedroom,” Eris purred.

Azriel smiled to himself as Eris walked out the double doors. He leaned his head back against the couch, throat bobbing as he swallowed. His smile grew as thought about being able to do this every day. No more sneaking around, no more extended missions for a few stolen moments with Eris. He will have him all to himself.

Eris walked back into the sitting room, his beautifully pale abs still on display. Azriel was about to comment on them when Eris spoke.

“It appears we are taking in strays now,” he drawled.

Azriel quirked a brow when Nesta Archeron walked through the doorway, a suitcase in tow. He jumped to his feet. “Nesta? he blurted.

Nesta handed her suitcase to Eris and strode straight toward Azriel, he let out an audible oof as she made impact, wrapping him in a tight hug. Azriel returned the gesture once the shock wore off, rubbing his hand up and down her back. When Nesta pulled away her face scrunched, and then she sniffed. Azriel’s cheeks flushed at the realization that she could smell them, what they had been doing before she arrived.

“Wh—What are you doing here?” Azriel stuttered.

Nesta, still smirking and grey eyes swimming with mirth, merely shrugged. “I’m moving in.”

Eris walked further into the room to where Azriel and Nesta stood, placing his hands on his hips. “And pray tell how you managed to get here.”

She rolled her eyes. “Feyre, obviously. She dropped me off at the border between Winter and Autumn, and then I walked.”

“You walked?” Azriel balked.

“It’s why it took me so long,” she nodded. “I was eavesdropping on the conversation you had in the dining room,” Azriel snorted, because of course she had, “and after you left I cornered Feyre in the hallway and demanded she winnowed me.”

Eris’ eyes narrowed. “And she just agreed? What about your mate?”

All the humor drained from Nesta’s face as she met his gaze. “I heard what you said.” Azriel’s face fell, guilt churning in his gut. “You were right. Cassian doesn’t respect me, doesn’t cherish me. And I think I knew that deep down, but hearing someone else say it too for once made me realize I wasn’t overreacting or being difficult. He does not love me.” She glanced at Eris. “Not the way you love him.”

Azriel exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you came, Nesta,” he said softly. “But what about Cassian,” he turned to meet Eris’ eyes, “what if he tries to come here?”

Eris’ expression darkened. “I will feed him to my hounds,” he said menacingly.

Azriel’s mouth gaped, and he readied to scold Eris when Nesta started laughing. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as the cackles escaped her. Tears streamed down her face, and every time she tried to stop, she’d snort and laugh some more.

Azriel couldn’t help but join in. A soft chuckle at first, then a proper laugh as he tilted his head back, a wide smile overtaking his face.

Eris’ eyes whipped back and forth between them, scowling. “I wasn’t joking,” he deadpanned.

Nesta collapsed to the floor in a fit of giggles, bracing a hand on the rug as she tried to catch her breath.

Azriel sighed as he calmed down, walked to Eris’ side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “This is going to be fun.”

[cumplanecrash]

So apparently I only have time to format this at work, and the thing about work is, sometimes you have to do work there. This smallish section (under 800 words) rounds out what will be chapter 2, I think.

AO3 🔗 Shizun Babies AU tag 🔗 writeblogging Shizun Babies 🔗 first 🔗 prev

This was the part that they never showed you in the videogames: everyone needing to fuck off and bury their noses (or their disciples' noses) in some books. There would be no convenient "Ah, yes, I've heard of such a thing" or recently arrived tomes, like there would have been in the original Proud Immortal Demon Way; no search engines or algorithms like a more modern setting might fudge the downtime with. Everyone had to leave and go do research, because this wasn't in the book and/or because the System wanted to milk the situation for Heartwarming Points or something. Dinner'd been had, the very little they knew had been shared, and it was time for everyone to go their separate ways.

And Yue Qingyuan was absolutely bullying his precious disciple!!

They both stood by the front door, where Binghe had just returned with a stack of books from the Great Library, still clutching them as the sect leader loomed over the boy. Binghe wasn't done growing yet, while the sect leader was approaching 2 meters and as broad as an ox (that or Shen Qingqiu was shorter than Shen Yuan had been, which would be a trip and a half given usual fantasy logic), so it's not that hard for him to physically crowd Binghe without actually using overtly hostile body language.

[the finished version of this illustration goes here]

"It's very important that you understand that your Shizuns still have all of their adult faculties," Yue Qingyuan whisper-yelled at Luo Binghe. His back was turned to himself and Shen Jiu, as he had been about to leave, so Shen Yuan couldn't see Yue Qingyuan's face, but he could see Luo Binghe's polite-masking-intense-discomfort expression, so he could only imagine the intensity. "You must respect that they are grown adults, who have earned a high rank and the corresponding respect."

"Naturally," said Luo Binghe, sounding bewildered.

"But also," Yue Qingyuan took Luo Binghe's shoulder. "This curse makes them need to perform childish mannerisms against their will. So in a way, they also need adult supervision."

"This disciple is used to providing for Shizun during his flare-ups," Luo Binghe explained. "Providing amenities while being respectful is a skill this disciple has honed over the last year. And as for Lord Jiu, there are at least two things we agree on wholeheartedly, so this disciple thinks things will go rather smoothly this time around."

Bing-ge, what's the second thing?? Bing-ge? Shen Yuan bit down on his candy, hard.

"Luo-shizhi must contact me if he needs anything at all," Yue Qingyuan shook Luo Binghe by the shoulder.

"Qiii-ge," Shen Jiu whined, startling Shen Yuan where he sat next to him. "Let the boy put the books down before you make him piss himself, carrying on like that."

Shen Yuan wasn't the only one startled. Yue Qingyuan looked mildly sheepish after getting caught threatening Shen Yuan's precious little lamb. (Which, to be fair, he had excused Shen Jiu doing so much worse, so clearly this backwards-ass fantasy setting didn't understand how traumatizing being threatened by someone who you had no reasonable method to get away from could be. There was a reason the Revenge Against Shen Qingqiu arc had been so long and so well received, is all he's saying.) After relaxing from his startle, Luo Binghe sent Shen Jiu a grateful look, a sentence which had never before been thought in the entire PIDW fandom's history.

"Gimme gimme gimme," Shen Jiu demanded sardonically, going so far as to make grabby hands.

"You're doing that on purpose," Shen Yuan accused him.

Shen Jiu tilted his head back, and Shen Yuan was not preparee wail that came from so close. "Xiao Jiu wants his books now!!!"

Luo Binghe hurried past the sect leader, panic clear in his eyes as he brought five thick books to the table. As for Yue Qingyuan...

Shen Jiu immediately covered his mouth, bursting into giggles. "Qi-ge's face!" He gasped out, curling over onto his side towards Shen Yuan. Yue Qingyuan's dismayed expression was hilariously overblown, to be fair. Once the table was blocking the other two's view, Shen Jiu glanced up toward the cieling, and then did a tiny little dance, wiggling his hands and feet with a small smile.

That's what counts as heartwarming around here? System??? System are you broken?!? Shen Yuan demands to send a bug report!

[viridescentelf]

Investment - Sylus x Reader Part 2

here it is folks, the naughty part

this took me an ungodly amount of time bc i knew what i wanted to happen, but i couldn‘t write it due to it lacking any kind of story logic lol.

BUT THEN i realized: „if I met sylus, there‘d be zero logic to my actions too 🫠“

so lol i want to eat this man alive, enjoy doing that in this fic

lady gaga also dropped this banger at the right time

WARNINGS: 18+, general NSFW, possesive and obsessive behavior, explicit sex, not proofread

Part 1

—————

You woke up the next morning and couldn’t believe the previous night you had.

You had dropped into your bed in the outfit Sylus got for you. The gorgeous, sparkling shoes lay discarded near the foot of the bed and the mastercrafted coat hung sadly over the huge pile of laundry you had.

Sitting up, you rubbed the dried sleep out of your eyes. This was an exhaustion you hadn’t felt in a long while. Annoyingly, the very first thought you had this morning was of Sylus. It felt like he had imprinted himself on you, a lingering smell that you couldn’t wash off.

Uncertainty clouded your mind, leaving you at a crossroads on how to proceed.

Would you tell your chief what happened?

But you had made one decision. You didn’t report him the second you got out. And you weren’t sure why.

What was it that anchored your decision, causing you to pause?

His face flashed before your eyes: the way he stared at you while tucking your hair away left you breathless. His eyes lingered on you, drifting over you as if he was measuring for his feast.

You shook your head. This couldn’t really be the reason. How reductive!

You couldn’t believe it. Were you attracted to him that much that it made you lose your ability to do your job?

He was a dangerous person. And you could stop him.

Deciding to go about your morning for some semblance of normalcy, you stood up and took off the outfit while walking towards the shower.

The hot water cascaded over your body, washing away the remnants of last night's makeup and the lingering scent of Sylus' cologne. You stood there, letting the steam envelop you, trying to clear your mind. But his red eyes kept appearing in your thoughts, piercing through the fog. You shook yourself every time.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and padded to the kitchen. The familiar routine of making coffee and toast grounded you somewhat. The rich aroma of the brew filled the small apartment.

As you waited for your toast to pop, you absent-mindedly tidied up. Dirty dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, crumbs swept off the counter. Your movements were mechanical, your mind still racing with thoughts of Sylus and the decision that loomed before you.

The toast popped and you picked one up and shoved it in your mouth while walking around your apartment, bending over and over to collect various items on the floor - leading towards your bedroom.

Munching on the remnants of the crust, you walked back into your bedroom and the grand coat on the large pile drew your eyes towards it. You might as well fold the rest of the laundry.

You picked up the coat at an awkward angle and something heavy fell out of the pocket onto your rug.

The shiny, black device stared up at you and you instantly recognized it as a cellphone. It wasn’t yours.

Eyes narrowing, you bent down, picked it up and the glare of its screen hit your face. It was fully charged.

Your stomach flared again. A nauseating curiosity nagging at you to examine it further. The smarter choice was bringing it into the station and having forensics take it apart.

It could be a trap. A way to corrupt the station even further.

Maybe you needed to make sure it was safe, first.

Yeah. That made sense.

You quickly opened the phone. It was mostly blank, no background and only a few essential apps. There was no passcode.

There were no messages. No pictures.

But there was one contact.

It simply said: Sylus

You stared at the name as if expecting it to vanish before your very eyes.

He must’ve slipped this phone into your pocket to keep tabs on you.

Or so you could contact him and give your answer.

You stood back up, holding the little thing in your hands, pacing up and down the room. Your body reacted strangely: a wave of excitement meshed with overwhelming fear. You were in too deep already and completely lost on what to do.

Annoyed at your own indecision, you threw the tiny device onto your bed and gathered your uniform together.

You needed to get to work and tell your chief that a) you were alive and b) what had happened to you.

While buttoning the shirt, your hand instinctively checked for the necklace charm so that it wouldn‘t get tangled in the collar. You felt bare skin and your touch grew more hasty.

Your necklace. It was gone. Immediately looking around your feet to see if it had fallen, your mind tracked the last times you were aware of it.

The only conscious time you could recollect was with Sylus. He had played with it before touching your hair.

You squinted. No, he wouldn‘t take it, would he?

It must be somewhere in your apartment.

Deciding to worry about that after work, seeing as you were already late, you quickly threw on the jacket, hopped into your boots and fell out of the front door.

—————

You lied.

Your chief pulled you into a semi interrogation to ask what happened to you.

You said Sylus drugged you and you couldn’t remember anything.

The chief paced around you, obviously disappointed that you hadn‘t learned anything more important, and you noticed he didn‘t ask how you were. At all.

That expendable, huh.

You weren‘t sure why you kept the previous night‘s events secret. Obviously, you needed more time to figure out what you wanted to do… the chief would just arrest him and you would never get a chance to see Sylus again and learn more about the mob‘s inner workings.

Strangely, the thought of never seeing him again really bothered you.

And your chief not caring about your well-being was a bit of a sting. As you learned yesterday, if it hadn‘t been for Sylus, you‘d be dead right now.

Your day was semi-normal. You wrote a report about the lie you told and returned home with a few groceries you‘d probably forget about in your fridge.

You kept looking for your necklace. You checked under your bed, in the bathroom, in the hallway, even in the staircase up to your apartment.

It had vanished. And Sylus‘ touching it kept creeping into your mind.

The foreign phone on your bed taunted you every time you walked into your bedroom. It stood out like a sore thumb on your white bedsheets, luring you to use it.

It felt like Sylus was calling you, the thing lingering in your home and knowing you couldn‘t keep your mind off him with it there.

Maybe he had found it at his place. Or in his car.

You didn‘t really want to give him the satisfaction of contacting him so soon. But you also loved that necklace a lot.

You stared at the black screen, letting your fingers run through your hair while you thought.

The necklace wasn‘t in your home. You were sure of it. You had checked everywhere.

You had no choice.

Grabbing the phone, you flipped it open. Surprisingly, it was still fully charged. You tapped through it and found the singular name in the contacts again.

You typed out the message, left it in the void of the text box for a while as you continuously argued with yourself if this was a good idea. It was just jewelry. It wasn‘t that important…

Fuck it, you thought. And pressed send, despite your head screaming at you.

Did you find a necklace at your place?

Throwing the phone back on your bed, you started walking out of the room.

Vrr. Vrr.

A reply. And so fast.

You paused in the door way and stared at the thing on your bed.

Shaking your head, you started walking again when another vibration came from your sheets.

You rolled your eyes and returned to the annoying phone, picking it up and opening it.

Two messages from Sylus.

You sighed and clicked on his name.

Your eyes widened when you saw what he had sent you.

He sent a picture of his collarbone (you recognized his hair), your necklace sitting nicely around his neck.

The second message was in text form:

Did you mean this one? Pretty, isn‘t it? I paid 50 mill for it.

You hastily typed back, pressing the send button with extra force:

Give it back!

You held the phone in your hands. Waiting for a reply.

Now, he took his time. As if he knew you were waiting.

Another vibration with a new chat bubble.

Mine now. Just like you.

You stared completely perplexed at the last line. The digital letters mocking you. Your stomach flared with a strange mixture of anger, fear and (oddly) butterflies, that bounced around as if chased by hawks.

Taking a deep breath, you typed out your response. You needed your necklace back, it meant a lot to you, you said.

Sylus responded almost immediately with another picture of it around his neck, this time with the charm between his teeth.

Your eyes twitched all around the lustful grin on his lips. Lightning boomed from your nape down your spine.

The next response came shortly after while you were transfixed with the image:

Come and get it, kitten.

Staring at the last chat bubble and the image above, you gulped. There was an easy solution to this: have. him. arrested. Then you‘d get your necklace back! Easy!

It was so simple. But a little, stupid voice in your head whispered an even more alluring No.

Was he flirting with you?

What was this odd game he was playing?

You knew he wanted an informant inside the police force, that must mainly be his motivation for teasing you. Messing with you.

He was playing with fire, though, not knowing if you would turn him in at any moment.

The amount of risk he was taking with you. The gamble. The flirting. You felt your temperature rise to a dangerous level.

That picture of his (no! It was YOUR) necklace in his mouth… it awakened something deep in you. A vision of the two of you entangled, steamy air and breathy moans, crashed over you so suddenly, as you stood there rooted with a foreign desire you were unsure where it came from.

You shouldn‘t. And that made it so much more enticing.

Catching yourself, you threw the phone on your bed and stared at it like it had just slapped you across the face.

You shook your head and decided to go do something else to take your mind off of all this nonsense. You started cooking, abandoning the meal halfway through. You did some stretching. You read a book you never picked up before. You started cleaning your bathroom tiles with a toothbrush. You scrubbed the toilet. You organized your bookshelf three times.

All the while, the phone sat on your bed. Watching you.

Hours passed and the idea still plagued you. You kept seeing him hovering over you, your necklace dancing vivaciously as he drilled into you. Turning on music made your mind escalate even further, none of the tasks distracted you, so you decided to go for a walk in the evening light.

Fresh air would help ease your mind.

The dusk light hit your eyes the second you walked out into the street. You heard a crow caw behind you, but took no real notice of it.

You walked with no clear direction in mind (yes you were. You just didn‘t want to admit it), reaching the train station. The bustle of the tracks filled your ears, as you stepped into the next train that came.

No. You weren‘t heading towards him. You just happened to take the train that lead to the edge of town. Where he took you last night. Where his penthouse was.

A random stop. You‘d get out at a random spot. Not the station closest to his penthouse. You weren‘t going there.

You got out and watched your body walk itself towards the large, looming complex. You could see his penthouse from here.

You weren‘t going to go into the building. Just passing by it.

How could you ignore the open door the worker had left open to quickly grab more supplies to wash the big windows?

His floor was on the top. You just pressed the highest number by accident.

You stood in front of his door. What were you doing?

You were getting your necklace back, that‘s what!

You knocked. And waited. You waited for an odd amount of time. Enough time to turn around and leave.

The footsteps made the hair on the back of your neck curl. You could still leave. The elevator was still there.

You heard the handle move, a clicking sound and the deep brown door swung open. Your heart exploded.

Sylus stood before you, sweaty, wearing a red and black tanktop and workout pants, gloves around his hands. He clearly had been working out.

Your necklace lay neatly between his collar bones, nestled there. Waiting for you. Welcoming you back with a soft pendulum when he tilted his head.

Your eyes met and the red gleam pierced you like the first time. He was smiling, triumphantly.

„What have we he-“, he started.

Something snapped inside you.

You flung your arms around his neck and pulled him down to you. He crashed into your lips with the muffled sentence he was starting vibrating in your mouth. You weren’t sure how he‘d react, you just needed him. Now.

You could‘ve died yesterday. He saved you.

To your luck, Sylus quickly reciprocated the energy and thrust his tongue into you, exploring your expecting body thoroughly. You had pulled him with such force that you crashed into the opposite wall in the hallway, your hands fervently grabbing his muscles, his hair, tugging up his sweat drenched shirt to feel his abs against you. He picked you up and slammed your back into the wall while your legs automatically wrapped around his waist. You felt his large hands clasp your ass and squeeze tightly, you both groaned into each other as the kiss grew more intense and untidy.

You released from his lips, as you were pulling the tank top over his shoulders and head. He was doing the same to your pants. Realizing he couldn’t do it while you were flung around him like that, he set you down and pulled them down fast, not even bothering to unbutton.

Standing again and missing his addicting kiss, you pulled him down again to continue feasting on his tangy, soft mouth. He laughed breathily into you, while you two staggered back towards his apartment.

Sylus wouldn’t release from you, bending down to continue making out with you while his right arm was trying to feel for the doorway.

You were growing more impatient as he slowly backed into the arch, so you decided to jump. The force of you jumping into his arms, and swinging your legs around him, made him topple back onto the floor into the apartment.

The thud made both of you groan slightly, but you quickly reassembled yourselves to keep the momentum going. With one leg, you kicked the door closed. His tanktop and your pants lay abandoned in the hallway.

You climbed on top of him, feeling him hard and begging to be released beneath his pants as you ground yourself up and down his length. He moaned so deeply into your mouth again: the rumbling turning you on even more.

Reluctantly releasing the kiss, you scooched down and pulled his trousers down, finally seeing the beautiful, thick and throbbing cock that was waiting for you. You licked up his length, with Sylus shuddering at the touch of your hungry tongue. You needed him in you, this very second. Pulling your underwear aside, you hovered yourself over him and plummeted down.

The second he entered you, your entire spine erupted with fireworks and eagerness. He filled you up so good that you let out an involuntary, deep sigh in chorus to Sylus‘ clenched moan.

His breath was so ragged and animalistic, while his hands gripped your thighs and slapped your ass hard.

Sylus tried to sit up and turn you over so you would be under him, but you pushed him back down, wanting him to submit to your wishes. It became an odd tug of war, where he continuously tried to get you to listen, but ultimately caved when you moved faster and faster on top of him, fucking his brains out - committing murder.

You didn‘t think he would be this vocal, but he was loving how you felt.

Without warning, Sylus suddenly gripped your hips so hard and tightly that you couldn‘t have moved if you wanted to. He had been letting you have control this whole time, enjoying the violent craving you had for him.

He smiled up at you, a sweat drop running down his neck and reaching your beautiful necklace - the chain all wavy and the charm hiding behind his head.

„My turn…“ he purred and thrust up hard into you, clenching every muscle in his legs to go as deep as he could. Your head fell back and you screamed at the heated impact. His pace was easy at first and he reached the very end of you. Every slow push knocked at the very edge of your limit and he knew you were loving how thick and long he was. His right hand let go of your thigh to slap your ass, hard, and you jolted at the impact. His pace started to quicken until he was crashing up into you. Sitting up, he moved you now up and down on his throbbing dick, biting your ear as he groaned low. Your moaning joined his, growing louder when he finally shifted you so that you were lying on your back on the cold, wooden floor.

Sylus stared at you, like the piece of art he bought and owned now. His cock twitched, wanting to return into you. His large hand grasped your jaw, making you look at him as he pushed himself back into you, slow and decisive.

You were begging him to go faster, wanting to finally reach your climax that you had been chasing this entire time.

He grinned, but didn‘t listen. Taking his time to enjoy every inch of your insides and the amazing view of you writhing under him. He continued to drive into you, decisively filling you up and watching you edge closer and closer to the finish line.

Holding your face, half his hand lay on your neck, and you felt the surge of pleasure erupt within you as Sylus drilled into you faster and faster, elongating your moment as much as he could.

Leaning down, he kissed you hard as he exhaled sharply while the waves of his seed ebbed into you. Both of you catching your breath, staring into your lustful eyes.

Your breath stabilized with his and he kissed your cheek as you coiled softly beneath his godly figure.

Sylus sat back up and ran a finger down your sternum.

He laughed. He was still inside you and started to slowly move again. You were sore. But he wasn‘t finished with you.

„What a fine investment you are…“ he teased, as your necklace glimmered in the light.

Your head fell back as he increased his speed again.

[theotherbuckley]

Hi hello I am here to request many sentences

🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵🦵

A whole heap of words just for you 😘

🦵 - Buck and Tommy Meet at Physio

Buck keeps eagerly scrolling through wikipedia articles about sharks before his phone dings again beside him. 

Tommy: Did you get the hot bag?

Oh yeah, that’s what he was supposed to do. 

A little shyly, he types back.

Buck: Uhhhhh

Tommy: …

Buck: On it 🫡🫡

Tommy:  Dork

Buck grins to himself, lifting out of his seat and hobbling over to the kitchen to microwave the wheat bag. Walking was slowly getting easier, he could make his way around most of the apartment unaided now, though he was still constantly side-eyeing the stairs. Thankfully, after Maddie had a strongly-worded conversation with the building manager, the elevator was back up and running, meaning Buck could leave his apartment without fear, if he needed to. Sadly that means Tommy wouldn't need to carry him up a flight of stairs either, but that wasn’t something he was thinking too hard about.

The 118 had all collectively come over a few weeks back, when Buck had finally relented and let them move his bed down the stairs. His back was very grateful, but he couldn’t help the flare of jealousy that swirled around in his gut seeing them all so easily manoeuvre his bed down the stairs without even breaking a sweat. 

It isn’t fair that Buck can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without wishing the ground would open below him and swallow his leg whole, taking away the pain with it. He should be happy that he can walk at all now, it’s just he thought it would have happened sooner.

He’s already far behind the schedule he set himself to recover. 

The microwave beeps before he has time to scold himself for that. 

He gets himself settled back on the couch, stretching out his leg in front of him and sighing in relief when the warmth of his hot bag seeps into his leg, soothing away the uncomfortable ache that constantly clings to his calf. He takes out his phone, ready to send a photo to Tommy as evidence that he is, in fact, taking care of himself. But as he looks through his camera, the jagged scars of his leg seem to scream through the phone. The lines are a harsh red, a stark contrast to the pale, sun-starved skin of his leg. 

A cold wave of grief sweeps through him, his body feeling numb and raw despite the heat bag resting on top. He sighs, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes. He hates this. Hates the way his body doesn’t feel like his own anymore. Hates that he can’t outrun what happened to him because there will always be evidence of his broken leg tattooed across the limb. It’s ugly and broken, a lot like how he feels, which he supposes is fitting. 

Most days, he is too focused on his recovery to care about the state of his skin. On days when he feels particularly vulnerable, he wears his sweats, letting the material rub across the tender skin, unpleasant but bearable. Today it just hits him hard, for no reason that he can articulate. He just doesn’t want Tommy to see how broken he really is, even if logically he knows it wouldn’t make a difference.

As if summoned by his thought, his phone vibrates in his palm, Tommy’s name flashing briefly.

Tommy: Hot bag acquired?

Buck smiles softly, the message alone helping to dispel some of the negative thoughts swirling around in his head. He takes the bag off of his leg for a moment, taking a selfie with a big thumbs up and the hot pack clearly in view.

Buck: [image attached]

Got it :)

[tokyo-debunker-idk]

Crushed | 03

Summary: He's tried to convince Leo that you're a cool person, to which the former just scoffs and accuses Sho of having a crush. Honestly, the reaction is obnoxious – people of the opposite sex are perfectly able to have platonic friendships. Just because Sho's taken to bringing an extra lunch for you on training days so you can eat together after, and he enjoys spending time with you, and you're pretty and smell good even after an hour of sparring, doesn't mean he has a crush.

Pairing: Haizono Sho x Reader x Kurosagi Leo

Genre: Humor, romantic comedy, slowish burn, no real plot, Leo bullying

18+, minors DNI

~~~~~

"Besides, what are a few nobodies compared to the shit you've been dealing with anyway? You can handle it."

You finally realize what's been bothering you since you confronted Leo at the Vagastrom dorms (outside of the usual annoyance of Leo's general existence).

His response, despite his condescending tone… had been worded suspiciously like a compliment. Which, since it's Leo, means it probably wasn't.

"YoU cAn hAndLe iT," you mutter quietly to yourself, imitating the TikTok asshole's haughty tone. "Fuck off."

It makes you even more annoyed about the stupid sympathy that flared up when Leo mentioned death threats. He doesn't deserve your consideration, but your empathetic ass doesn't care about logical little details like that.

Sure, you've seen horrible comments and exchanges online in fan wars, but it's always been as a spectator. Receiving such disturbing messages personally, ranging from unhinged fans who call you ugly (whatever) to those that wish vile things upon you (less whatever) to others that send inappropriate pictures you wish you could unsee (your eyes, your poor non-quite-virgin eyes)… it's affected you much more than you would have expected.

For you it's mostly a weird blip in your life, and you can just deactivate an account you rarely used in the first place. Since you're stuck at Darkwick, it's not like your social life in the "real" world is exactly popping off, anyway. Despite logically knowing that nothing will happen to you, that the vitriol is being spewed by complete strangers who don't know you at all, you still feel shaken at the reminder that regular humans can be even worse than many of the anomalies you've experienced.

Even the sparse comments about you being cute together (which are repulsive in their own way, for obvious reasons) feel weird and invasive, as if you're their friend. It's like they think they know you, and that their opinion matters enough for you to hear it.

Leo deals with all of that constantly? Sure, he basically signed up for it and is apparently completely fine, but it still just… doesn't feel right.

Yeah, you dislike him, but he's not exactly evil. He's a douche who cares more about himself than anyone else, which is not a rare trait in the world. He just also happens to have brains and guts, without the morals that would keep him from using those around him.

So, a shitty guy, but not the absolute worst. At least, not evil enough for the insane hostility you received firsthand.

Then again, he's gotten those types of messages and was more than willing to put you in the line of fire. So maybe he is a little evil.

Why did he even post you to his TikTok as his girlfriend, anyway? For all his apparent dismissiveness of your capabilities, the guy is definitely way too vain to choose any random passerby, even if he later reveals it to be a joke. In its own fucked up little way, it's almost a compliment that he seems to think you're objectively attractive enough to be a believable partner to his audience.

Not that you're flattered.

Well… a small, petty part of you kind of is, because while Leo acts like a steaming pile of garbage, he's a steaming pile of garbage with taste.

Huh, then maybe he did actually mean what he said about you being able to handle it?

Nah, that can't be right.

Whatever. You have more important things to worry about than a toxic, twink-shaped gremlin. Like your new assignment with the Jabberwock ghouls. That should be your current number-one priority. You should probably go over the investigation notes right now, actually.

SHOulders: Hey Y/N, u free?

You're a strong independent woman who can prioritize important, life-altering tasks over silly crushes. You are, you can resist–

You: Yeah! What's up?

~~~~~

"So? What do you think of the sign?"

"It's amazing! It's even more impressive than it was in the photo."

Sho grins at your compliments, though he tries not to show just how pleased he is about your heartfelt praise.

"Didn't I say flattery'll get you nowhere?"

He's lying, of course. Flattery from you is always welcome, because he can tell you mean it. It's also why he's asked you to look at his menu and signboard before officializing the food truck – you'll give him your honest thoughts. Leo would have opinions on things that are trending, but Sho doesn't really want to rely on gimmicks. For all his irritation with the restrictions at Darkwick (and having to deal with his annoying ass brother), this food truck is something he's actually excited about.

Sho doesn't tend to take most things seriously… he's naturally intelligent and athletic, so he's never really had to try hard to get by. Not wanting anything badly means he'll never be disappointed if something doesn't pan out. Besides, Leo's the type of best friend to make fun of any endeavor or interest he doesn't deem worthy.

But you're different.

You work so hard every day to make up for the qualities you believe you lack, from struggling through workouts to staying up late to catch up on the classwork you miss due to being sent on missions. Maybe once he would have scoffed at your efforts, but instead, it gives him the courage to try something new.

It's safe to show you how much the food truck actually means to him. You're the one who constantly raves about his food, whose encouragement and support has helped his tiny idea grow into an actual dream. He trusts you.

"Do you have a date?"

Huh? A date for what? Why do you want to know about his love life? Or is this your way of asking him to –

You hand back the menu you were looking at, and Sho realizes you mean for his food truck opening.

Right. Thank goodness, because you guys have a good friendship that does not need to be complicated by anything like that.

"By next week, I guess? So long as no one gets in my way."

"I'm really looking forward to it!"

Yeah, the sensation in his chest is most definitely relief, not disappointment.

~~~~~

"What are you doing here?"

"Hello to you too, Kurokawa," you reply drily as you put down your heavy bag, unsurprised by Leo's unwelcoming greeting. He's lounging on a couch in the common area, and you suppress an internal sigh.

It's not surprising to run into him at the Vagastrom dorm, but you had hoped he was out turning princes into frogs, forcing poor parents to exchange their firstborn for vegetables, or whatever it is he does for fun.

"It's Kurosagi."

You ignore his correction, because you know it pisses him off.

You sometimes wonder why Sho bothers with Leo when you've never seen Leo do anything nice for his so-called best friend, but it's not your place to judge. You're mature enough to understand that there's a history there you're not aware of, and that you've only known them for a very short period of time.

"Maybe I'm here to see my darling influencer boyfriend," you say sarcastically, giving him the fakest smile you can manage as you plop down next to him. You know he doesn't like you, so it's another easy way to annoy him (if at your own expense). "How could I go a day without seeing that pretty face?"

You're mature enough to understand. That doesn't mean you're mature enough to not hate it. If you can't avoid Leo, you're going to do your best to be as annoying as possible when you do have to interact with him.

"Ugh, don't sit so close," Leo grumbles, despite not making a single move to move away like the lazy little princess he is. He does smell nice though, probably some trendy cologne that he uses to cover up the stench of his rotten personality. "Have you even showered today?"

Wow. You know you smell nice because you did, in fact, shower today. Right before coming here, to be exact, because despite Sho's knowledge of your sweaty form after training sessions, you want his memories to be of you fresh and perfumed.

There is really no need for Leo to be so fucking rude all the fucking time. Especially when you've done nothing to deserve it but apparently have the audacity to exist in his presence. If anything, you've been downright charitable in never bringing up "the incident" at the Pit. Though if you're being honest, it's also something you don't want to remember, because the knowledge that you willingly ground up against his dick – even if it was out of spite – is too embarrassing to think about.

Sure, he's pretty, but you have your standards.

Why are you even thinking about this right now? Clearly you have been spending way too much time either studying, doing odd jobs for the ghouls, and daydreaming about Sho if you're even thinking of Leo in any sexual-adjacent light. You don't even really want to think about him at all.

You know that being ignored is one of the things that bothers him most of all (an attention-seeking diva, truly), so you grab a textbook out of your bag and begin to read.

~~~~~

Leo knows he's an asshole.

He's perfectly fine with it. Sometimes, it even sparks joy.

Such as now, when you're scowling at him in a way that makes him want to antagonize you even further. You're always so nice and friendly to everyone that it's satisfying to be the one to elicit a different reaction out of you. It's a matter of pride that he's the only one that can make you lose your temper.

Besides, it's not his fault you look so cute when you're pissed off.

Leo freezes when he realizes what just crossed his mind, but before he can figure out exactly where that ridiculous thought came from, you're pulling a textbook out of your bag.

… Are you seriously about to study while sitting so close to Leo he can smell your flowery shampoo?

"Can I help you, Kurohagi?"

His eyebrow twitches, and he realizes he's been staring at you. And that you fucked up his last name, again.

"You're getting very comfortable, aren't you?" he replies in a scornfully, wondering why exactly you're even visiting when Leo's the only one here.

Unless… you came to see him. Maybe you're just playing it off as if you weren't, to save face. Why else would you even sit so close to him, anyway?

"I'm just waiting for Sho to get back, he said he'd be here soon," you reply with a shrug that annoys Leo for reasons he can't explain. Your answer makes far more sense, and yet that just pisses him off even more. So he does what he does best.

"It's cute how you're being such a good little gofer for Sho," he says mildly, pretending not to care one way or the other. "He's always been good at getting people to do things for him."

You stiffen, and uncertainty flits across your face before you straighten your expression. Though you're obviously trying to hide it, the way you shift away from him reveals that he hit a nerve.

It was exactly what he was going for, but the usual satisfaction feels hollow, as if the words have left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. You don't snap back with your usual fire the way he expected. Instead you just look back at your book, and the sour feeling magnifies.

An oppressive silence blankets the two of you while unfamiliar pressure weighs down his chest, and Leo is almost relieved when the tell-tale sound of a rumbling engine signals Sho's arrival.

His friend's face brightens instantly when his eyes land on you, which irritates Leo in a way he can't explain. You smile back, though it's more subdued than usual.

"I brought the rest of the stuff from the diner," you call out, and the way Sho jogs to greet you seems to restore some of the sparkle in your eyes. It does not alleviate some of the heaviness Leo is feeling.

"Awesome, thanks," Sho replies with a grin. "You know you didn't have to, right?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to."

Barf. Are you guys fucking serious? It's nauseating, the way Sho is smiling at you like a lovesick puppy. Does he have no pride at all?

"Oh, Leo," Sho calls. Great, he's finally been noticed.

"What?" Leo replies a little petulantly, crossing his arms. Everything about this situation is pissing him off, and he doesn't even understand why.

"Stop pouting and help me out, I was able to pick up some liquor when I went on my grocery run."

"Ugh, fine," he grumbles, mollified by the promise of a night of drinking. It's sadly the closest they can get to clubbing when Darkwick watches their every move.

Leo stands to help grab some of Sho's bags and notices that you're hanging back with an uncertain look on your face. Are you stupid enough to actually take Leo's words to heart when it's obvious you have his best friend wrapped around your pretty little finger?

"Are you coming or not?" he asks testily, shoving a few bags in your direction. "We're not sharing if you don't help."

Your eyes widen at the implied invitation, and even Sho makes a sound of surprise.

"I… uh… yeah," you stammer, hurrying up from the couch to take the bag Leo is holding out. "Thanks?"

You still look and sound confused, but the smile you give him is genuine. It's the first time he's been on the receiving end of that particular expression of yours, and sunlight eases the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. It's similarly disconcerting, and Leo has no idea what to make of it.

"Whatever, just hurry up."

~~~~~

Prev | Masterlist | Next

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: What He Finished

You knew the moment you said it that you’d made a mistake.

Not a real one—not one that anyone else would notice, not one that even mattered—but to Marshall? To your husband?

It mattered a lot.

And it had solidified something dark, something possessive, something territorial in him for the rest of the day.

You could feel it in the way he held you—his grip firm, unyielding, never loosening even as the game continued, as conversations carried on around you. His body was locked around yours, his presence overwhelming, and every time Denaun so much as spoke, you could feel the tension coil tighter in his muscles.

So you tried. God, you tried.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp—something that usually made him melt.

Nothing.

You pressed soft, lingering kisses along his jaw, trailing up to the corner of his mouth—something that usually made him turn into you, seek you out, chase your lips.

Nothing.

You curled into his chest, nuzzling into his hoodie, making yourself small, making yourself fragile in the way that usually made him turn protective, made him wrap himself around you even tighter.

Still. Nothing.

He wasn’t swayed. Wasn’t giving you even an inch.

He was still holding onto that moment.

Still holding onto the idea that you’d given someone else even the smallest ounce of affection today.

And you knew, without a doubt, that he wasn’t going to let it go.

Not until he decided you had learned your lesson.

---

As the night wound down, people started filtering out, the house slowly growing quieter. The girls headed off to get ready for bed, and you should’ve felt Marshall relax now that it was just family left.

But he didn’t.

Not one bit.

Denaun, tipsy and comfortable like he always got after a few drinks, stretched with a satisfied sigh. "Man, I don’t feel like driving back home tonight."

You didn’t even hesitate. "You know the guest room’s yours," you said warmly, giving him a small smile. "Like always."

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt it—Marshall’s grip on your hip tightening.

But before you could react, before you could even process it, Denaun let out a chuckle and pulled you into a grateful hug. "That’s why I love you, Ma. You always take care of me."

It was harmless. You’d known him as long as you’d known Marshall. Hell, he was the reason you and your husband even met.

But logic didn’t matter right now.

Because the second Denaun’s arms wrapped around you, you felt Marshall’s entire body go rigid.

His fingers dug into your hip, his other hand fisting in the fabric of your hoodie.

And when you finally pulled away, turning back toward him—

His eyes.

Dark. Blazing.

His jaw was clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grind.

This wasn’t just possessiveness anymore.

This was dangerous.

You didn’t hesitate.

The second you turned back and saw that look in his eyes—felt the bruising grip on your hip—you knew better than to try and soothe him with words.

Instead, you leaned into him, pressing yourself fully against his side, keeping one hand on his chest, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of his hoodie. A silent reassurance. A reminder that you were his.

Marshall didn’t relax.

If anything, his grip tightened.

His fingers dug into your hip, possessive and demanding, like he wanted to brand his claim into your skin.

You swallowed, pressing even closer, tilting your head up to look at him. "Marsh…"

His jaw flexed.

He didn’t say anything—just stared down at you, his dark gaze locked on yours, daring you to keep pretending like you didn’t know exactly what was happening.

Like you didn’t love it.

A slow smirk pulled at the corner of your lips, and you smoothed your hand over his chest, voice soft. "Let it go, baby."

His nostrils flared. His eyes flicked toward Denaun—who, thankfully, hadn’t noticed a damn thing—then back to you.

Then, finally—finally—he let out a slow breath.

But his grip on your hip?

Didn’t loosen one bit.

Marshall let you go—barely.

Just enough to let you tuck the girls into bed, kissing their foreheads, whispering soft goodnights as you pulled their blankets up.

But you felt him.

The entire time.

Lurking just outside the door, watching, waiting.

And the moment you stepped out into the hallway, just as Denaun—still tipsy, still affectionate—reached out to pull you into another quick hug, you felt it.

That sudden, undeniable presence behind you.

And then—

A strong, unyielding hand wrapped around your wrist.

"Night, Denaun," Marshall said, his voice even, but laced with something sharp, something dangerous.

Before you could react, before Denaun could even process it, Marshall was already moving, already dragging you down the hall, straight to the bedroom, his grip firm and possessive.

The door slammed shut behind you.

And the second you turned to face him—

You knew you weren’t leaving this room for a long time.

The second the door slammed, you barely had a breath before Marshall was on you.

His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your waist, yanking you flush against him. His jaw was tight, his nostrils flared, and his eyes—dark, burning, hungry.

You swallowed hard, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, your breath coming out unsteady. "Marsh—"

"You just don’t fuckin’ learn, do you?" His voice was low, rough, dripping with possession. His fingers tightened on your waist, holding you firm. "Letting him touch you like that, lettin’ him think he can just put his hands on you—"

"It was just Denaun," you murmured, knowing it wouldn’t matter, knowing nothing you said would shake the fire burning in him.

And sure enough—

Marshall just huffed a laugh, sharp and humorless. "Yeah? That supposed to make me feel better?"

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, grounding yourself. "You know you’re the only one for me."

His grip on you tightened. "Damn right I am."

Then his lips were on you, claiming, demanding, his hands grabbing, pulling, taking.

Like he needed to remind you.

Like he needed to erase any trace of anyone else.

Like he needed to make damn sure you knew exactly who you belonged to.

You tried.

Tried to soothe the fire burning in him, tried to press soft, grounding touches to his chest, tried to lace your fingers through his hair the way you knew he loved.

"Baby, it’s not like that," you murmured against his lips, tilting your head up, brushing your nose against his. "You know they don’t see me that way."

Marshall laughed.

Sharp. Dangerous.

His hands slid up your sides, slow, deliberate—one curling around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist tight, like he was staking his claim all over again.

"So fuckin’ sweet," he muttered, voice low, dripping with possession. "So fuckin’ innocent, thinkin’ they don’t look at you like that. You don’t realize any one of them would take you if given the option."

Your breath caught.

His grip tightened.

"But they don’t get that option, do they?" His lips ghosted over your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. "Because you’re mine."*

The words sent a shiver down your spine.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, your lips parting, but you had no words, nothing to say—because he was right.

You were his.

And after tonight?

He was going to make damn sure you never forgot it.

Marshall’s hands moved with purpose, dragging you closer, his body pressing into yours with a heavy, possessive force. The air around you thickened, the weight of his words sinking in as he gripped your hips, his fingers bruising as he held you tight.

You tried to stay grounded, tried to maintain some semblance of control, but the way he was looking at you—hungry, fierce—it made everything inside of you turn to liquid heat.

"You know why you can’t do this shit with them, don’t you?" Marshall growled, his voice dark and rough. "Because the second you even let them think they could have you, I’d fucking lose it. And it wouldn’t be pretty."

You swallowed, your hands trembling just slightly as you ran them over his chest, trying to ease the tension, trying to calm the storm that was rising inside of him. "Marshall, I’m not—"

"Not what?" he cut you off, his lips curling into a smirk. "Not trying to make them think they can have you? You think I didn’t see how Denaun hugged you? How he pulled you in close like you were his?"

His grip on your wrist tightened, pulling you even closer, if that was even possible. "You forget, baby. I see everything. And when it’s anyone but me—" He kissed you, deep and demanding, like he was trying to prove something to you—like he was trying to claim you with every brush of his lips.

You melted into him, responding, needy, soft under his touch. "I’m yours, Marsh. Only yours. I’m not—"

"Good girl," he murmured against your lips, his voice a growl. "You better remember that. Because the second you forget who owns you, I’ll remind you every way I can."

The heat between you two was palpable, the air electric with tension, but you knew one thing for sure—Marshall wasn’t going to let anyone near you. Not now, not ever.

You tried again, softly, gently, hoping to ease the sharp edge of jealousy clawing at Marshall. His grip on you was relentless, his body still radiating tension, but you pressed your hand to his chest, grounding him, your voice coming out as soothing as you could make it.

"Baby, it’s Denaun." You breathed, your words calm but firm, hoping to remind him of the history, of the trust. "Come meet my friend Marshall. Denaun. 'If you two don't quit talking about it and just fuckin' get married imma shoot myself.' Denaun. He definitely doesn’t want to take your spot."

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his neck, trying to break through the intensity, to remind him that there was no one but him.

But Marshall’s eyes—those dark eyes, filled with a possessive fire—only darkened further at your words.

He pulled back, just enough to lock eyes with you, his jaw clenched tightly, and his voice came out low and dangerous, a growl that vibrated through you.

"Baby, he’s always gonna be, 'If you don’t fuck her, I will, Denaun to me.'"

Your heart skipped, your breath catching in your throat.

It hit you, how deeply Marshall’s territorial streak ran. No one was allowed to even think about you the way he did.

He wasn’t looking for logic right now. Not words. Not explanations.

"Marshall—"

"You don’t get it, do you?" His hands slid up to your throat, his fingers pressing lightly but enough to keep you still, his breath brushing your ear. "The second someone else thinks they can touch you, I’m gonna lose it. And you know damn well I’m not going to stand by and let them have a shot."

Your lips parted, a breathless sigh escaping you as you looked up at him, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew it was more than just the words—it was the depth of how much he wanted you, how much he needed you to be his and only his.

You swallowed, nodding slightly, a soft, quiet "I understand," slipping from your lips.

And in that moment, you realized—you weren’t just his.

You were owned.

Marshall’s gaze softened just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something deeper beneath the surface. His grip on your throat loosened, but he kept his hands steady on you, keeping you grounded, keeping you his.

"I don’t want to share you, baby," he murmured, his voice softer, but still thick with that underlying possessiveness that made your pulse quicken. "Not with anyone. Not even Denaun."

You could feel your heart racing, every word he said reverberating in your chest. You weren’t just his physically; there was no part of you that he didn’t want to claim. And in that moment, there was no part of you that didn’t want to be claimed by him—body, mind, soul.

You reached up, your hands running through his hair, tugging him in closer, needing to feel his lips on yours, to feel him remind you just how much you were his. "I’m not going anywhere, Marsh," you whispered against his lips, your voice a soft, needy plea. "You don’t have to worry about me. I’m yours."

Marshall’s eyes darkened again, his lips curling into a smirk, but there was something else behind it now. A raw intensity. A need to prove himself. His hands slid down to your hips, pulling you into him, your bodies flush as his lips crushed into yours, almost desperately.

"Good," he growled into your mouth, his kiss rough and hungry, like he was starving for you. "Because if I ever feel like you’re slipping away from me, I’ll make sure you never forget who owns you."

You gasped against his lips, shivers running through you at the force of his words. There was no mistaking it. Marshall wasn’t just in control of the situation. He was in control of you, and it made every inch of your body ache for him.

"I’ll never forget," you whispered back, your voice trembling as his hands slid down to your thighs, pulling you even closer, until your bodies were pressed so tightly together you could feel every inch of him.

Marshall smirked again, the possessive gleam in his eyes returning. "Good girl."

And that was all the encouragement you needed to give yourself over to him completely.

Marshall’s hands were relentless as he pulled you deeper into him, his kisses burning, his body dominating yours with a hunger that felt endless. Every move he made was calculated to drive you to the brink, to make you lose yourself in the moment with him. You were his, and he made sure you knew it.

He didn’t stop until you were breathless, every inch of your body trembling from the force of his touch, the heat of his passion. You clung to him, fingers digging into his skin as your breaths came in desperate gasps, completely undone by him.

"Marshall..."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with satisfaction, lips slightly swollen from the force of his kisses. But you were so disoriented, so consumed by him, that you didn’t even notice the soft pounding against the wall at first.

Then, it came again—louder this time, more insistent. Bam-bam-bam.

"I get it, you're married, and the sex is great. Shut the fuck up, I’m tryna sleep!"

You froze, eyes widening as your face flushed with embarrassment. You hadn’t even realized how loud you’d been, too lost in the way Marshall made you feel to notice. But now... now you were painfully aware of the thin walls between the rooms.

Marshall chuckled low in his throat, his smirk growing wider as he glanced toward the wall, then back at you, the gleam in his eyes far too satisfied. "Guess Denaun’s not a fan of the soundtrack," he muttered, his voice thick with amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You bit your lip, trying to regain some sense of composure as embarrassment crept in further. You were mortified.

"I didn’t mean—"

"Don’t apologize," Marshall cut you off with a quiet growl, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, tugging you back to him. "Don’t you dare apologize." His voice was low, possessive, and his lips found yours again, kissing you with an intensity that made all your embarrassment melt away.

But the pounding continued—Denaun’s voice muffled, but audible, through the thin walls.

"Hey, I said shut the fuck up, alright?"

You buried your face in Marshall’s neck, the heat of your cheeks still betraying the mortification running through you. Marshall, however, seemed entirely unbothered by it, as if it only fueled his possessiveness more.

"He’s gonna have to deal with it," Marshall muttered darkly, his lips grazing your ear. "You’re mine, baby. And if I want to make you scream my name, I’ll do it as loud as I want."

You shivered at the words, the possessiveness in his tone making you feel small in the best way, but also intensifying your own hunger for him.

"You know what?" he continued, voice filled with amusement as he pulled back to look at you, eyes sparkling with mischief. "I think we should give him a little more, don’t you?"

You froze, eyes wide, the thought of making more noise enough to make your heart skip a beat. "Marshall..."

He didn’t wait for you to finish your sentence, pulling you back into him with a devilish grin. "I think he needs a little reminder of who you belong to."

Marshall’s eyes were dark, like a storm brewing, and there was no mistaking the intent behind his smirk. His grip on you tightened as he adjusted, pulling you back to him, your body flush against his. The heat between you both only grew, as if he was feeding off your hesitation, pushing your limits just a little bit further.

"You’re not gonna be shy now, are you?" he murmured against your lips, his voice low, thick with desire. "After everything, you’re still gonna act like you care what anyone else thinks?"

You felt a flutter in your stomach, the heat of his words mixing with the feeling of being claimed so completely. Your body, weak and trembling, wanted nothing more than to give in, to let him take control and remind you—in front of anyone, anyone at all—that you were his.

"Marshall..."

He didn’t give you a chance to finish. With one swift movement, he turned you around, pushing you gently but firmly against the bed, the weight of his body hovering over you. His lips were on your neck again, the soft skin there giving way to his hungry, possessive kisses.

"I’m done being quiet," he growled, his fingers trailing down your body, leaving fire in their wake. "He’s gonna hear you, baby. And he’s gonna know you’re mine."

The pounding on the wall from next door only spurred him on, and you knew there was no stopping this. Your own body burned with need, the embarrassment of Denaun’s interruption fading into the background as Marshall made it clear he wasn’t going to let you go. Not until he had what he wanted.

"Marshall," you gasped, feeling your pulse quicken. "Please..."

"Please what, baby?" His voice was dark with amusement, his hands moving with practiced ease. "You want to scream for me? Show him who’s in charge?"

Your breath hitched as he kissed down your chest, his touch so possessive it left you breathless. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, not letting you escape him. You felt completely at his mercy, every inch of you belonging to him, and in that moment, you couldn’t imagine it any other way.

"Please, Marshall," you whispered again, your voice trembling, your hands curling into the sheets as you gave yourself over completely to him. "Please make it stop. Make me forget everything but you."

Marshall’s smirk deepened, the fire in his eyes burning even brighter. "That’s exactly what I’m gonna do, baby."

Marshall’s grip on you didn’t loosen for even a second. Every time he shifted, even if it was just to adjust his position, you looked up at him with those big, soft eyes of yours—vulnerable, needy, and completely lost in him. You weren’t saying anything, but the way your eyes followed him, the way you’d curl further into him if he so much as moved, tore something deep inside of him.

He’d been sitting there for nearly an hour, trying to finish his drink, but he couldn’t focus on anything except you. The way you clung to him, like you couldn’t get enough, your fingers tracing the contours of his body, every little gesture leaving him more consumed by you.

He wasn’t used to seeing you like this. You’d always been so independent, so strong. But now, now, you were soft and tender, and it made him feel like the most powerful man alive. But it also made him want to protect you even more.

When he got up to finally turn off the light, he knew the moment he pulled away, even for something as simple as that, you would look at him with those big eyes, that slight quiver in your lip, that pleading in your expression. And even though he knew he needed to go, needed to finish something as simple as turning off the damn light, the thought of leaving you like that—that look—made his chest tighten.

Without a second thought, he crouched down beside you and swept you into his arms, cradling you close to his chest, the warmth of your body against his making him feel whole in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

"Come on, baby," he whispered softly, his voice low and comforting. "You’re not leaving my arms for even a second tonight. Not when you’re looking at me like that."

You sighed softly against him, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck as you nestled into him, your face pressed against his chest. There was no resistance from you, just the weight of your trust, your softness.

Marshall stood, lifting you with ease, and carried you to the light switch. His muscles flexed with the effort, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about the weight of you in his arms, about how much he had to shift you around. All that mattered was the feeling of you holding onto him, of keeping you close—needy, clinging.

"Marshall, you don’t have to do this," you murmured softly, your voice still tinged with the fragility of what you were feeling. "I’m fine. You don’t have to..."

"Don’t even say it," he cut you off, his voice rough with the same possessive tone that had been there all day. "I want you in my arms. And I don’t want to leave you like that again. So shut up and let me take care of you."

He flicked the light off with his free hand, and then made his way back to the bed, still holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. When he lay down, he positioned you so that you were pressed firmly against his chest, your head resting against his shoulder.

"There. Now I can actually relax," he said, his voice softer now, that same possessive warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. "You’re not getting away from me tonight, baby."

And just like that, the world seemed to fade away. Nothing else mattered except the two of you, tangled in each other’s arms, feeling safe, feeling secure.

You drifted off into the soft lull of sleep, content, knowing that no matter what, Marshall would always be there to hold you—never letting you go.

The morning light filtered through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow across the room. You were still wrapped up in the haze of yesterday, your body still feeling the lingering warmth of Marshall’s embrace. You hadn’t let go of him since the night before, and now, in the quiet of the early morning, you were still just as clingy, if not more.

Marshall was leaning against the counter, his arm casually draped around your shoulders, holding you close to him as you busied yourself with making coffee. His presence was overwhelming, comforting, and you didn’t want to be anywhere else but right there, nestled against him. You didn’t even try to hide the soft sigh that escaped your lips as you pressed into his side, your head resting on his shoulder. Everything felt safe when you were close to him.

The sound of the front door opening interrupted your quiet moment. You didn’t even need to look up to know who it was—Denaun. The unmistakable sound of his voice came soon after, and you could hear the playful amusement in it as he approached the kitchen.

"So Marshall tryna start somethin', huh?" Denaun said casually, a grin clear in his tone.

Marshall’s grip on you tightened, his posture shifting just slightly as he shot Denaun a look that was half-amused, half-possessive. "She starts it, I just finish it." He paused, then added, his eyes shifting toward you with a small, knowing smirk, "Right, baby?"

You were barely paying attention to the words, too lost in the warmth of Marshall’s body and the comforting rhythm of your morning routine. You simply nodded, your face pressing further into his shoulder, your fingers brushing against his chest as you fumbled with the coffee machine.

"Yeah, that’s right," you murmured softly, your voice quiet and almost shy, even though Denaun had heard the two of you the night before. You could feel Marshall’s gaze on you, a mix of pride and possessiveness in it as he let you have your space to finish the coffee. But you couldn’t resist the way your body instinctively curled back into him, the need for his touch still there, lingering.

Denaun let out a loud laugh, clearly enjoying the scene. "Man, you two are something else," he said with a shake of his head, a grin still plastered on his face. "You’ve been at each other for years, and yet you two still act like this is the honeymoon phase."

You didn’t respond to him, your attention completely taken by the simple act of making coffee, though your heart fluttered at how easy it felt to let Marshall guide you through each day. You could hear the pride in his voice when he responded to Denaun, his words not leaving any room for argument.

"She’s mine," Marshall said simply, his voice low and possessive. "I’m not going to pretend I don’t want her close to me." His tone was firm, and even though Denaun was your long-time friend, you couldn’t deny how that single sentence made you feel both secure and desired in a way that only Marshall could make you feel.

You stayed quiet, letting the noise of their playful back-and-forth wash over you as you concentrated on the coffee, content to just exist in the moment with him. His arm was around your shoulders, and his presence was grounding. The warmth of the kitchen, combined with the closeness of Marshall, was all you needed.

"Alright, alright," Denaun finally said, his laughter dying down. "I get it, man. You’ve got her on lock."

You could feel the amusement in the air between them, but you didn't need to worry. Marshall had made it clear in a thousand little ways over the years that you were his, and that wasn’t changing any time soon.

"Yeah, she’s mine," Marshall repeated, his voice low, but this time it was more of a whisper just for you. "And I’m not letting go, baby."