#whatever you were shown better have been nothing short of the end of all things

[medjaiwarrior]

Oh Jayce. I know the Hexcore probably lied to/tortured you for some very nefarious purpose, but...What. The. Actual. Fuck?

[bettsfic]

Betts. how do I stop feeling jealous of everyone and everything and just focus on myself? I'm tired of being comprised of nothing but envy.

story time:

so i was recently at Millay, which is one of the top artist residencies in the country. they have an acceptance rate of something like 3%. when i was shown my room, there was a packet of all the residents' artist bios. i sat down and read through all of them. most of them were like half a page in length, single-spaced, listing out accomplishments i could never dream of. one artist had won a guggenheim. one author had published 12 books. another author published her first book at 19 years old. these were people who were extremely well accomplished and respected in their fields.

and we all became very good friends!

and then there was me. my bio was 3 sentences listing out a couple short publications and awards and other residencies i'd done. and my honest to god first thought was, "wow, the jurors must have really liked my writing to have accepted me among all these great artists."

and my second thought was, "that's the healthiest thing i have ever thought."

i had no jealousy of their accomplishments. even though my career hadn't even begun compared to theirs, i didn't attend dinner that night with any impostor syndrome. and that confirmed for me that i had grown out of whatever place i used to be in as a person, where i was basically a raw wound wrapped in barbed wire. everything hurt me and i hurt everything in return.

jealous feelings come from an intense need of external approval, but as i've mentioned in other asks, approval and validation is a well that gets filled over time. at our introductory dinner that night, i didn't talk about my work in the hope of convincing everyone i deserved to be there, which was what i would've done a few years before. instead we all ended up talking about a TV show. the most highbrow place i've ever been in my life, and we're getting wine drunk and discussing at length a cheesy discovery channel reality series. the guggenheim winner: loves box turtles. the guy who's published 12 books: his favorite movie is Spirited Away. the girl who published a book at 19: reads One Direction fanfic. the well-lauded poet: old school tumblrina.

actually, 4 out of 7 of us read fanfic and we had some great conversations about it. sometime i'll tell you about introducing the co-director of the residency to AO3.

when you think of the most accomplished and successful writer you've ever read, remember that they are, at the very core of their being, a nerd. and if you were to eat dinner with them, you would, with enough polite inquisitiveness, be able to unlock the goofy side of them that binges Property Brothers.

so that was the big change for me, i think. i started asking a lot of questions. i stopped talking and i started listening. it seems counterintuitive that admitting to not knowing stuff shows confidence, but it does. pretending you know stuff is what looks insecure. i think for me, i put so much of myself in my work, i wanted my work to be lauded so i could feel accomplished, and feeling accomplishment would let me believe i deserved to exist. but over time, i've reframed that mentality. my work is a thing that exists beyond me and is private to those who read it. it comes from me, but it is not me. what i am is just the person i am, and my life is a series of moments i choose for myself, and i am allowed to exist.

even sending this ask shows that you've begun filling your well. it takes someone who's already come a long way to realize jealousy isn't the status quo and is a feeling to be overcome. and you can overcome it. you can reach a place where you have enough success that other people's success has nothing to do with you, and you're free to just be happy for them. and when you read work that's better than yours you feel joy at learning something new.

so put your work into the world and let it be rejected. you'll rack up a couple wins or close calls, and those will give you energy to be rejected some more. and eventually you'll be rejected so much that rejection doesn't feel like anything, and you will have won enough to realize your work has a place in the world, and that place is no bigger or smaller than anyone else's. your work is allowed to exist simply as it is, and you are allowed to exist simply as you are.

[eastend-if]

👥DEMO 👥 PLAYLIST 👥 PINTEREST 👥 COG FORUM

You keep having the same dreams over and over. It happened, years ago, before you left. You thought you had left Eastend behind for good.

It seems you can never truly escape your past. The Priest had warned you.

There's a girl you've never seen in your dreams. Yet, she seems so familiar - as a forgotten teddy bear you left in the attic of your home. She feels right, she looks wrong, she's wrong. Because she's not you, she says. And the two of you stand on the road...a bright light blinds you but the smell of iron reaches you. You do not need your eyes to deduce the ending of the nightmares.

Metaphorical dreams have never been your forte...except this is real. On the day you arrive, she's still alive. And smiling...laughing...walking with her friends. She looks like a normal girl of your age.

You black out - from the shock you think. The familiar iron smell being all too close, it makes you nauseous. At least, the earthen scent that lingers on your clothes counters it a little.

Why are you in the woods again?

....Why is there blood on your hands?

Welcome home, whispers the wind.

• Customize the vessel whether be it in looks, personality or identity.

• You are free to romance four of the cast. Maybe more, there are many eyes on you.

• Your choices will shape you as they shape the town. They will have consequences on the people around you and those who aren't anymore. Be careful you never know what effect the ripples may have.

• Explore your past to shape your future.

• Fight your nightmares should you be so inclined - or welcome them, there might be surprises in the deep dark part of your mind?

• Choose whether or not you'll doom your childhood town - although, that might not be left to you. Leaving is an option too, after all, you've already left once.

• Survive - or don't. You didn't think you were the only one who could save them, did you?

Eastend is rated 18+ for sexual themes, substance use, explicit language, explicit violence, death and more.

Beverly Arevalo [F,23], your childhood friend. At least, one of you perceived it that way. She has always been difficult to read and understand, you were one of the few who could years back. Maybe you can rekindle your friendship - maybe it will grow into more. The only thing you know for certain is that there are many unknowns surrounding Beverly.

Aina Valen [F,26] is that stereotypical preppy girl, at least what you know of her. You were never quite close when you still lived in town, but things have changed and so have both of you. Surprisingly enough, she works at the library now, having taken over her brother. You're not aware of what happened between them, only that she seems overly bored whenever you pass by the vitrine. At least she insists on telling you you are the 'spice' of her days, whatever that may mean.

Benjamin Li [M,26] his preferred nickname, Benji has always shown kindness to you and this didn't change with your unexpected return. He somehow always has a nice word for you or others in his vicinity, it's refreshing quite frankly. There are always critters following him around but they say animals are good judges of characters so that's a good sign, right?

Hezekiah Lyncroft [M, 24] was always a pain in your ass, even younger. Always arguing with you over anything and nothing, he was the reason for many headaches. Back then, there were rumours about his home life, ones you remember well. At least, he seems to be in a better place nowadays, even though he's still a pain to be around. But not all pains are bad.

+ familiar faces and strangers you've yet to meet

Demo stands currently at 5.8k words. It is meant as short introduction to the setting and story. Hope you enjoy despite the length :)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

So request kinda if not just sharing my thoughts in general.

Alex. My boy. What if reader is a civ or even another soldier in a different squad and the whole thing with him joining Farah’s forces indefinitely. I think this can really lend itself to some angst and that good old misunderstanding. Kinda leaning towards civ!reader just because the more miscommunication. I guess it’d have to be an angsty ending though 😳, but regardless-

Love your writing and, as always, feel free to change anything or do whatever gives you the most inspiration

World Caves In

PAIRING: Alex Keller x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Perhaps it would have been better if your husband had died - at the very least you could understand that.

WORD COUNT: 7.9k

WARNINGS: Angst, misunderstandings/miscommunication, hurt/comfort, vulgar language, abandonment?, Alex being an adorable husband, fluff, etc.

A/N: I was gonna make this an angsty ending but I got my period and thinking about that made me cry so here we are, lmao. Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

When you’d been escorted out of work by two uniformed men, you knew the news wasn’t going to be good. Sitting in the back of a large black car, you spare nervous glances as the vehicle jumps, its wheels going over the last speed bump. Your work building begins to become a fraction of a memory and disappears faster than your resolve. 

The men sit on either side of you, silent, and the only comment is to the driver as you all enter the main road. Swallowing, you part your lips and mutter, plain dread in your tone, “Is he alive?”

All you get is a glance from the front mirror and nothing more. You hunch more in your seat and stew in agony, mind far off on the topic of your husband. 

Alex wasn’t overly reckless, you’d managed to snuff most of that out over the course of the many years you’d expressed concern to him about it, but a large chuck of the blond was still too selfless for his own good. It was hard not to think the worst. 

From training to advising, your husband was always off on one mission to another, far from your quaint and quiet home here—where you waited day after day for even a sliver of contact from him. Alex specialized in so many things that trying to wrap your head around it was impossible.

Even now, you only knew the bare minimum. 

The soft-smiled man worked in the SAD division of the CIA. He’s an Operations Officer. Currently, he’s somewhere across the globe. 

Away from you.

Thinning your lips, you take down a deep breath and settle back into the seat, pulse flying. The men were obviously Agents—you’d looked closely at their badges when they’d first shown their faces at the front desk and had kept within view of your work’s security cameras just in case this was a ruse. When you could find nothing out of the ordinary, you had tensely asked them what was happening. 

They would be holding his dog tags if he was dead, you had reasoned, desperately, a flag. 

It was frantic, the way you had thought that up; how could you not be like that? Alex was the light of your life! With him constantly putting his life on the line, it was inevitable for him to get hurt, sometimes seriously. It was ingrained into your mind the way you would help clean his wounds in the middle of the night when the pain woke him up with a grunt stuck in his throat. The way you would sit half-asleep in his lap and re-wrap bandages while he told you to go back to bed half-heartedly. His hands drifting over your warm skin like he was cascading his fingers up and down the spine of an old book.

You never listened. 

“It’s late, Bug, I can’t keep you up like this.” His drawl echoes in your ear as you rub a heavy palm into your eye. Alex’s hands are both on your hips, squeezing the flesh just below your tiny sleep shorts. You have him sitting on the floor, back resting on the wall and shirt discarded to the side only wearing loose gray sweatpants. A long cut up his left pec is the center of your blurry attention—a wet rag held as you dab at it. Blue eyes narrow at you. “I’m just fine with doing it myself, y’know.”

“You’re being stubborn again,” you utter, the soft light of the bathroom placed at half-capacity to at least try and keep some of the veil of sleep over your heads. “I told you to wake me up when you needed it cleaned.” Your skin brushes his and Alex shivers under you, sighing breathily. “And you’re not keeping me here—I’m helping.” 

A small flash of that full smile, mustache flinching up, “Well when you look so pretty sleepin’ I can’t just shake you awake and tell you to fix me up.” 

You take your free hand and pinch his nose, yawning as he grunts out chuckles. A delicate glance is thrown his way as the rag lowers from reddened skin. Like a butterfly's whisper, you study his face gently; reaching and cupping his cheek with your palm. 

Alex’s lids flutter, heavy weight falling into you as if waiting for this—lips pressing to your inner wrist in reverence. You hold back a tired giggle and feel the corner of his mouth pull up when he feels it.

“All that talk, and yet,” pressing a smooch to his forehead you take your hand back and hear the grumble he lets out after, “you still like it better when I’m the one that’s working on you.”

“Can’t complain too much,” he admits slowly as his head leans back to tap the wall, “my wife’s hands are way softer than mine.” 

Alex’s grip on your flesh tightens when you sipe away the last line of crimson from the wound, tattooed arms flexing. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, watching his eyes slightly awash with pain. “Got caught on a stitch.”

“Ah, well,” the blond sighs, shifting “I suppose I can forgive you.” 

Laughing quietly as the house settles, you shake your head and rest your forehead on his. 

“Such a saint,” your lips utter teasingly as Alex smiles wide, his hands moving higher to your waist. You lean into him, stealing his warmth as your tired eyes flutter; feeling his thumbs run circles over the flesh of your lower spine. 

A content breath escapes you.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, lips brushing yours like silk, the bristles of his facial hair tickling you. “I can do the rest, promise.”

“Know you can,” your mutterings are barely heard, but the man seems to register them, sea-glass gaze incredibly soft. He chuckles at your sleepiness, one hand leaving your waist to capture the back of your head; weaving into your hair and gently massaging your scalp. You practically melt into him, limbs going slack, slurring out, “Quit it. Wanna help, Alex.”

His laughter shakes you, and with a huff escaping, you bury your burning face into his neck and lean into him, careful of his wound even in your fatigued state. 

“No offense, Bug,” Alex shifts, grunting as he easily maneuvers you until you’re laying in his arms, inked forearms under your knees and behind your shoulders with vivid images of grim reapers, snakes, and angels guarding you close. A kiss is firmly pressed to your forehead as the blonde smirks downwards, “But you’re about as helpful to me right now as an empty mag.”

You grumble, trying to disappear into his skin and letting him dig his stubble into your cheek. 

“If you bring me back to bed before you’re done,” you yawn and close your eyes, “I’m divorcing you.”

He laughs deeply into your ear, body shaking as he pulls back and sends you an incredulous look. 

“Hell, we can’t have that, can we, Mrs. Keller? I’d lose my damn mind.” 

It’s a long drive, and you worry through the entirety of it. A primal, whole-body-shaking type of fear. You’d built a life with Alex and loved him more than anything or anyone that had come before. Even if he was gone a lot, that had never dulled what the two of you had—your marriage was nothing short of something you would find in a fairy tale; flashing pictures on pages with vivid colors and tender glances. The very cover itself is made of the finest leather and inlaid with gold calligraphy. 

Please, Alex, you plead in your head as you remember his loving gaze—his back as he makes supper in the kitchen and hums to himself. Please be okay.

The men hold open the car door when it comes to a stop outside a very obviously abandoned apartment complex near the outskirts of town. You get out quickly. Looking around, you take in the overgrown grass and the broken concrete with a knife in your lung; holding back the flood of anxious tears. 

Though, confusion takes president. 

“Where did you…?” You turn to look at the Agents, but they’re already clambering back into their car and snapping the doors shut. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed you watch them speed off as a cloud of dust drifts into the air. 

Pulse echoing in your ears, you watch the vehicle speed down the road and disappear. 

Swallowing, you whisper, “What the actual fuck?” Turning in circles, no one else is around. A part of you starts to worry less for Alex and more for yourself.

They were CIA, you reiterate, I checked their badges—Alex showed me the standard ones. Could I have missed something? 

Expression nervous, you shift on your feet before your stuttering legs take you closer to the abandoned building, not really seeing much choice here. You could imagine the scene from The Wizard Of Oz—when the man pulls back the curtain and all is revealed. 

That said, you could really only hope that was what was actually happening to you and you weren't getting kidnapped or shot. Taking a deep breath, you clench your fists and enter the building through the open front door. 

It was in the wide lobby that you locked eyes with Kate Laswell. You blank, mouth parting as the scent of concrete and decaying furniture get stuck in your nose. 

The woman seems highly agitated, brows tight and jaw clenched. Her white blouse had been flattened multiple times by rough hands, lanyard swaying on her neck like Alex’s dog tags would. She holds a file in her hands; the paper bulky as if holding something more than just paper inside its manila clutches.

“Kate?” You ask, confused, “What are you doing here? What’s all of this about?” Taking quick steps forward you splay your hands as your voice grows more serious. “Where’s my damn husband?” 

You didn’t know Laswell personally, in fact, when you had first got a glimpse of her here, you’d forgotten the older woman’s name for a moment. The first meeting between the two of you had been at a CIA get-together that Alex had been forced to go to because of his position—some celebration because a group of ICBMs had been taken back into US hands after being stolen. Your husband had introduced you to the Station Chief over a drink with a hand on the small of your back.

But it didn’t stop you now from talking to her like you’d known her for years. Not when fear was flooding your veins.

“What the hell is going on?” You say harshly, glancing around the room for any sight of someone else here. 

Kate sighs heavily but wastes no time in speaking, her professional tone and serious face leaving your already fast-paced heart racing.

“Alex isn’t coming back to the United States.” Your eyes blank, staring into icy blue. She holds out her manila folder, jaw tight. Blunt. “He’s a deserter.” 

It’s like your entire being halts; your skin suit feels as if it’s sagging on your bones with the weight of a cinder block connected by hooks to the floor. 

What did she just say?

Opening and closing your mouth you stutter, lids blinking rapidly. 

“I…” Fingers flinching in the air, an exhalation from your nose sounds more like a wheeze. Kate watches stiffly, taking a look at the floor before returning her attention to you; emotion flashes in her eyes. “...W-what?”

“Keller deserted his post—I tried to speak with the Colonel but there’s only so much I can do.” Laswell takes a deep breath as you continue to go through shock. Alex wasn’t coming home? How, why? “He’s staying in Urzikstan to fight with the Liberation Force.”

“Urzikstan?!” You gape, but the woman continues. 

“For all intents and purposes, I shouldn’t be here, but Alex asked me personally to hand these to you.” Again the manilla folder is shown to you, but when you only glare and fight the fear and confusion rampaging in your gut a sigh echoes out and it’s placed on a termite-eaten side table. “Even communicating with you could put you in danger now that he’s gotten on the bad side of the entire SAD and CIA branches. This is all I can do.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hand coming up to capture your mouth. 

“If Alex re-enters the states—he’ll be arrested and tried in a court of law. If he’s not shot on sight for what he knows.” Kate watches you closely, shaking her head in pity. “I’m sorry,” there’s a strained pause, “but he’s made his decision.” 

As she brushes past you, leaving the folder on the side table, you feel your wide eyes well with tears—confused and horrified. But he’s coming back to me, right? Alex…Alex wouldn’t leave me here alone.

It was common knowledge that over the last years the blond had gotten more agitated at his line of work; the orders that he didn’t want to follow but had no choice. No voice. But he can’t just abandon you...could he? You’d taken vows. Had a happy marriage and relationship. Loved each other.

He can’t just…he can’t…

Your hands shake and you’re unable to stop them, gaze locked on that unassuming manilla folder. Kate pauses in the doorway, peeking back and seeing your sickly-looking face, the agony written in the lines of your forehead. Like the picture of a loyal wife being told her husband was never coming home. And Alex wasn’t even dead. Resentment begins to burn. 

But he made his bed. 

“He told me to tell you that he wouldn’t be angry if you wanted to leave him,” was all she said, a final knife being stabbed into your heart and being ripped out like a live wire. Electricity makes your back go stiff in an instant. “It would be best to never tell anyone that we met.” 

You were alone, full body shivers and bile stuck in the back of your throat. Cold sweat coats your palms, a sticky mess of your barebones disturbance. 

“He…” your voice is hoarse, bouncing off the far walls. “Alex left me here? He left me.”

It was easier to say that the sun had exploded and you were waiting for the last beam of light to incinerate you. Inside of your skull your brain pounds as, in a mad dash of desperation, you rush to the manilla folder and rip it open with vibrating arms.

Having Laswell tell you that Alex wouldn’t be mad if you…if you…the hairs on the back of your neck rise and suddenly you’re angry beyond a sliver of a doubt. It was insulting.

“Alex fucking Keller,” the paper opens to the bulk of your husband's dog tags and a flip phone—reports like his own personal file and the patch that he had once worn so proudly on his combat vest. Red, white, and blue dig into your retinas; it was old, worn beyond measure, but that little patch was something that was never removed. Not even to be cleaned. 

“The dirtier it is,” Alex had commented on the American flag patch when you’d offered to mend it for him, cringing at all the blood stains and dirt flecking off it as he slipped his vest off in the foyer of your home. “The luckier I am.” 

“I think the stench of it alone will frighten off anyone who comes near,” you had raised a brow, smirking up at him as he walked over, laughing. A kiss is placed on your lips, Alex’s bright smile transferring over to you as if able to spread from his mouth to yours that simply. You sigh dreamily. 

He pulls back with a tiny wink as you gaze up at him, cheekily stating, “That’s the plan, Sweet Thing. Gotta make sure I come home to you in one piece.”

You brush your hands over it and think that maybe it would have been better if he had died. Then you could understand why he’s doing this to you. Anger spreads into rage. 

Looking next at the phone and dog tags, all you do is shake your head and slam the folder shut, bitter tears tracking your face. You can’t read anything—can’t see his name imprinted on that metal that used to press coldly into your skin as you both slept in bed. You don’t care about the phone or the files. 

None of it mattered.

“He fucking left me here,” it’s like you’re a broken record replaying over and over again. “You absolute bastard, Keller!” Yelling, you press your fingers into your face, hands spreading over your eyes and mouth to muffle your enraged sobs. 

“You’re still alive and you left me alone.” 

Only the abandoned building echoes your pain; replaying it back over and over again as your wails echo around the lobby like a symphony of laughing jesters. 

—

The phone that Laswell had given you had been going off at least three times every day—morning, noon, and at night. You had stared at it with fury, knowing exactly who was calling even if the thing was displaying an unknown number. By now you had steeped in your anger enough that you had found yourself snapping at friends and family alike when asked if you were alright. 

You wished Alex was here so you could hit him upside the head for being so stupid. So you could hate him until you had the pleasure to love him again.

Urzikstan. 

You’d looked up the country after you had spent two days straight in bed, afterward manically cleaning the house with a glare that could light fires. The far-off place was a land utterly divided by war. Russian occupation, a terrorist group; the force that your husband had joined. Mass against mass against mass.

Brick meets wall.

And Alex had chosen to stay—without a doubt because he’d seen the dire situation and had used that damnable good heart of his to empathize to the max. Forget donations, humanitarian work, or anything else, the man had fucking decided to join in a Liberation Force. 

As much as you wanted to say you hated him; had wanted to slam your gold wedding band to the table with a good riddance for betraying you like that…you still had his dog tags around your neck, and the ring was still on your finger. 

“Too good for his own sake,” you grumble, shoving dirty clothes into the washer like they had tried to attack you. “Deserted the fucking CIA, Jesus Alex. Do you even think when I’m not around?” 

There were only so many times you could curse his name until you felt a deceiving needle of pride slither itself into your skull. You could describe Alex as many things but he would always be steadfast in causes that truly needed his help. He often told you that the best missions were the ones where he could do so much more than take out a target—he strived to help the individuals he met. Form bonds. 

God forbid something came in between the blond and the ones he’d chosen to give his loyalty to.

You slam the washer shut and stomp into the living room after starting another cycle. Stress cleaning was really not a good look on you—the entire house was without a single spec of dust but you yourself felt like you’d run seven marathons. Clenching your teeth, you go and drop to the couch, a grunt falling from your lips as your head hits the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling, you finally take in the utter silence of the house—not a home, because it could only be that if Alex was here—with a pained crease forming on your brow. The pipes spit water, and the washer grunted its mechanical garble…but there was no humming man making food in the kitchen. No blond hair visible as a head rests on your chest; your fingers playing in the locks that act like silk as you part them, the man on top of you purring. Body a weighted blanket.

“Was it really that easy,” you whisper to nothing, lip quivering. “Was it really that easy to stay away, Alex? I thought…I…” 

Eyes wrenching shut, you hear the phone right at noon again as it sits on the coffee table. And you let it. 

There were voicemails, no doubt, but you hadn’t thought to listen to those either. This small act of rebellion was all you could act on but for the simple fact that it also harmed you. Barbed wire steadily digging deeper as it kept your hands wound to your sides—neck plastered to the pillow as bright silver spikes glinted. You stare at the unknown caller who really wasn’t all that unknown and watch the screen light, vibrating over the wood in steady intervals. 

What hurt the most was that if he’d asked you to come along—become an Expat just for him—you would have said yes. You could find a new job, a new place to call home. Humanitarian work would have been at the top of your list and Alex…well….he would still be fighting, just as he always had. 

But at the very least you would have been there to clean his wounds. Together. You’d both promised on that altar to do nothing less. He could’ve asked. He should have asked. 

Alex…

“Urzikstan,” you mutter for what seems like the fiftieth time. When the ringing stops a few moments later the new voicemail icon flashes. Placing your arm over your mouth, you clench your hand so tight it starts to shake, whispering into your skin, “Fine. I guess you did make your bed. And…and I won't be there to lie in it with you.” No matter how much I want to.

You slip the wedding band off of your finger and place it beside the phone before turning and burying your head into the cushions; feeling more numb than you ever had before.

—

It carried on like this for three months. The ring didn’t move from the coffee table and neither did the flip phone; the file had all but been tossed in the trash as it sat teetering on the living room desk. You carried on as well as you could, all things considered. 

Work was a blur, going out with friends even harder to enjoy, and any enjoyment of hobbies or activities was dulled to an almost gray existence. Like a ghost, you wafted through experiences with dog tags and a withering appearance. Eventually, you just stopped going out unless it couldn’t be helped. You still bought meals for two at the grocery store out of habit. You placed blankets where Alex used to sleep beside you. You went to work. 

And still, the calls never stopped except for a brief pause after the first month. You’d thought he’d finally given up, but no. Back at it.

It had gotten to a point now where the device was automatically deleting all recent voicemails—too little space in the inbox. 

Angry curiosity was tempting you. It would be easy, you reason, to simply play the first message and listen. The worst part of it was that you’d begun to forget Alex’s voice and perhaps that was why, on that dead-aired Saturday, you snatched the phone and brought it into the kitchen. 

Firmly planting it on the counter, you stand behind one of the island chairs and glare, hands tapping into the wood. 

“I’m giving you three minutes, Alex,” you speak as if he’s still here, as if his form stands right behind you, head tilted like a damn dog with that infectious smile and those sea-glass eyes. “Three minutes,” your fingers snap the device open and you go to your voicemails; jaw tight, “and if you don’t hear you groveling, Keller, I’m deleting all of them and chucking this phone into the sink.” 

You go down the line to the very first message, small buttons clicking, and before you can stop yourself you press play.

It begins with a small moment of silence. A cough. 

“Hey,” he says your first name, not one of your epithets. Your brows deepen their annoyed furrow, but you can’t help the uptick in your heart rate. Inside your flesh, the sinews of your throat close in on itself like a balloon. “I…I’m guessin’ I have a good enough ass-kicking waiting for me since you didn’t answer.” A strained laugh before another pause. You feel acidic tears boil behind your lids. “I’m not surprised—not really. Done some stupid things but never something like this.” You can hear him shake his head, voice going lower in defiance. “But they were asking me to leave Urzikstan in a worse place than when I entered it. This Liberation Force, Bug, it…they’re good people and what they’re asking me to do…” Alex huffs, growling under his throat. “I can’t stand by that. The man you chose to marry, he can’t stand by that. They need me here. I’m not asking you to not be angry—to not hate me for this. I know I damn well deserve it.”

You let your tears hit the counter, head slightly bowing over. That was your Alex. 

“You need a leash,” your strained voice hits the walls, bouncing off picture frames and your husband's cooking utensils. The small pieces that make up the whole picture frame of your life. “God,” you huff wetly, “you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I know I should have talked to you first, figured out some plan. But, uh,” Alex’s throat gets choked up, and you snap a hand to your mouth when you realize he’s close to tears. He clears his throat. “Hell, I should have done a lot of things, Sweetheart.” 

You can hear shouts in the background, calls in Arabic. The pounding of a door and a woman’s voice.

“Alex, we need to move! Everyone is ready—Barkov’s lab cannot be left standing a moment longer.” The hurried hand to the line muffles the words, but you hear him anyway.

“Affirmative!” He comes back. “I don’t have time to explain more, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for… everything. I’d understand if you don’t use the passport Laswell’ll give you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stop calling.” Alex laughs and your face freezes.

“Passport?”

“What kind of Husband would I be if I just let the most perfect woman in the world go without a fight, huh? I’ll be waiting until you call to tell me to shut the hell up and leave you alone or that you’re down in the airport waiting.” There’s a large sound of combat vests being clicked on—pistols being situated into holsters and a rifle strap slipped over a chest. Alex suddenly pauses and you stare at the phone blankly. “I know this is a big ask, Doll, and I know I’m horrible for even springin’ this on you when I’m half a world away from our bed. But I had to try, even if it was selfish. I just…I just really need to hear your voice telling me if I’m an idiot or not for thinking this up. Call me back soon…or when you run out of my clothes to burn in the firepit out back…I love you, okay? More…more than anything.” 

There’s a minute or two of nothing, just Alex’s ragged breathing, and then there’s an older man’s voice ordering him to hurry up. The line clicks. 

Your ears ring as it does, wide eyes dripping tears from your bottom lashes as your lungs chill over. Hand slowly flinching out, you ghost over the keys before clicking on the following voicemail. As it plays, your feet start to take you backward at a snail's pace, your spine flattering against the wall as blood drains to your feet. 

“Hey, it’s me again. I still haven’t heard from you—that’s alright. Take your time.” Steadying yourself with a hand, you look out of the kitchen and get a glimpse of the manila folder on the desk, its tan hide sucking you in. Pulse in your throat, you rush out to grab it as Alex’s voice echoes. “I know Laswell gave you the file, I trust her that much at least.” A sigh. “But even if it’s just to yell at me, please pick up the phone soon. Let me save some of my dignity and give me a chance to beg on an open line, huh, Sweetheart…? But I guess that’s all—gotta go. I love you.” 

You don’t play the next message because you’re ripping open the file with rabid hands, seeing exactly as you had when Laswell left it for you. Alex’s mission report; his patch. The dog tags around your neck clink together like a song, some brutal rhythm. 

“Passport?” Grasping the mission report you pick it up, flipping through the multiple pages of blacked-out words and more confused than ever. “Airport?” 

The words come out as whimpers, hands so shaky that the pages slip from your fingers. They slam to the floor in a flurry of bond paper and you curse loudly, snatching for the remnants futilely. Grasping on your hands and knees hitches build in your breath as your fingers dance rapidly before they slip across something distinctly not paper. 

Small, tiny, and blue. Laminate. 

Your very blood seems to stop in your veins. Pushing back one last piece of paper, you come face to face with a singular American passport. Gasping down mute breaths and licking your lips, you pick it up lightly, leaning back on your legs as if you’d just slammed your head into the concrete. 

“Alex…” you whisper to no one. 

Flipping the hard cover open, a small, palm-sized piece of paper slips out to your lap as your own face stares at you in image form. You blink for a moment before going to take the note and separate the ends. Formal script is inside, stiff lettering. Not your husband's handwriting, but you didn’t have to guess who’d written out these directions for you. 

Laswell.

There was a destination in fountain pen ink—an airport near the Urzikstanian and Georgian border. Seeing as Urzikstan was on the travel-ban list due to the turbulence of the government and terrorist threats, you wouldn’t be able to get there directly. 

But you supposed Kate had your back for that too. 

Georgian safehouse - wait for Keller there. It’s secure. More directions and then a small gap. A pause. Good luck.

You don’t know how long you stare at that paper—that passport. The first thing you think about is how could Alex ask you to do this. Uproot yourself with the snap of a finger. You wouldn’t be able to bring anything beyond what could fit in a few suitcases. No furniture, no large amount of clothes, or even sentimental items. You’d have to quit your job; leave behind family and friends to travel to a war-torn country.

But he’d said it was your choice, and he wouldn’t push you to make it. He’d said you could leave him if you wanted—keep all of this that you’d built here.

…But you’d built it together, hadn’t you? 

You think of Alex’s bright smile and his mustache. His tattoos. How he’d hold you so tight in the long hours of sleep that you half-believed he thought you’d disappear if he didn’t; nuzzling his nose into the back of your head and grumbling out nonsense. The way you could trace his scars and watch as he willingly submitted to your praise, delicate lips curving into sheepish grins as you place soft kisses on the raised skin. Red cheeks.

This place wasn’t a home without Alex in it.

You look over at the coffee table and lock onto the gold of your wedding band.

—

Getting into Georgia was a long affair of paperwork and screenings—not days but months of legal jargon that Alex had dodged entirely because of his desertion. By the time you’d landed in country, you were wholly exhausted down to the very marrow of your bones. You get through the checkpoints, pick up your bags, and look out at the entirely new world outside of the airport’s windows. 

“Okay,” you swallow saliva and nod carefully before looking down at Laswell’s directions to the safehouse. 

You slip the paper into your pocket after memorizing the address, tips of your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the flip phone. Clenching your eyes shut, you take your hand back out and go to try and hire a driver. You were here, but that doesn’t mean all of this was forgiven. 

After you find someone able to drive you to where you need to go, you end up standing with a quaint hostel ahead of you, home far behind. Gazing slightly nervous at the strange place you’ve found yourself, you think of Alex’s hand on the small of your back and sigh; caressing the cool metal of the ring around your finger. 

Walking forward, you hitch your bags over your shoulders and grit your teeth against the hot sun. When you meet the owner at the front desk you state your name and ask for a bed. 

The man’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks at something on his countertop, raising a brow in thought. Grabbing at a stack of papers he holds up a finger and begins digging. Too tired and overwhelmed to ask what was wrong, you just watch and rub at your face. 

“Ah,” the man snaps his fingers and laughs to himself, “here it is! I knew I had placed the note somewhere, Mrs. Keller.” You blink, confused, but the man just takes a key from the wall and motions for you to follow. Sparing a glance around for a moment, you slowly slink after, not really having a choice.

“I remember your Husband coming to me—the blond with the tattoos.” The owner looks back, making sure you’re following. He motions to his right side with splayed fingers. “Scars on the side of his head, to reserve a room.”  

Alex was here? How much had he done already pertaining to the chance that you would show up? 

“Y-yeah,” you chuckle stiffly, “that was him. Sorry for being so long I was…preoccupied.”

“You’re lucky he kept up on payments,” the man grumbles, opening a door with the key and motioning you inside. “My pleasure to finally have you, regardless.”

Entering the small and sparse room, you take the key from him with a thankful smile and a quick thank you before he closes the door. As the barrier thuds, you sway on your feet. Blinking. Breathing hard. You drop all of your bags with a heavy thump that echoes off the walls in a single instant. Heart pounding at everything that was striking you in an instant, you walk slowly back to the bed. You don’t bother to take a shower or brush your teeth; even change. 

You fall down on the mattress and pray you don’t have to dream about Alex sending money to this place every week simply on a suffocating hope that you’d come back to him. You pray you don’t dream at all. 

The phone wakes you up only thirty minutes later.

Groaning, you shift your body so your hand can snake into your pocket, grasping it and tossing it to the pillow beside your head. You’d never made it through all of the voicemails without crying, so you just deleted all of them and let the inbox fill back up again. 

Feeling the dog tags press against your chest as you form your chest into the bed, you shove your head downward and listen to it ring. 

Bring-bring, bring-bring, bring-bring

It happens in a flurry of a sleep-addled mind and a horrible desperation to see your husband after nearly a full year of no contact. You flip it open and answer with your nose pressed deeply into the pillow below you. Ears straining and pulse running like a starving cat after a mouse. 

Dead silence. 

“...Sweetheart…?” It’s pitiful how fast the tears flood you at Alex’s shocked and tiny voice. Tight breathing sounds over the line from his end and your other hand digs into your scalp. A small, cut-off laugh. “Hey…I—” 

You hang up with a vicious slam of the screen and let the silence settle again. People walk the hall; the sun dims as night sets in. This isn’t home. Dropping the phone back down to the pillow you curl into a tight ball and cry yourself back to sleep.

If you had to guess, you’d say the small curse was what woke you for the second time, though you didn’t register it until minutes later. That muffled ‘shit’ as a foot hits your dropped bags near the door. But then it’s silent again and your ears only twitch to the gentle sigh that brushes against your face; a thumb and forefinger caressing your cheek as hair is placed back over your ear. 

Perhaps the only reason at all as to why you don’t wake up screaming bloody murder is because of his calluses. They burn your flesh as they slide over it—as ingrained into your very being as your own heart is. As if Alex’s touch was another organ that was needed to survive. More important than a liver or a spleen. 

When your eyes slip open he’s leaning back in a chair he had turned to face you, built form shifting as the rickety wood creaks. No more than five feet away sits your husband, and all you do is suck in a tight breath and lock gazes with soft sea glass. 

Alex freezes at the same time, strong brow line peeling back and mustache stiff as his lips immediately thin. You both stare for a good while, a thread of tension entering the air. The night deepens. 

He speaks first, in the dense hours of confrontation. Your heart feels like it’s been stuck with a spear, vignette at the sides of your vision, and a blooming center of only Alex’s body and his messy hair. The scarf around his neck. The combat vest. 

Had he driven all this way to see if you were here? Because you’d answered the phone? But you hadn’t even said anything. Your head stays on the pillow, wondering if you were hallucinating.

“Hey,” Alex forces a chuff before he glances away, nervous arms crossed. “Hey there, Doll. Sorry that I woke you. I…ah,” your eyes bore into him, hand on the sheets slowly clenching into a fist. “I figured there was an off chance you would be here.” He clears his voice, throat closing on a trying laugh. “Guess I’m glad I looked. You should remember to lock your door, by the way.” 

At the sight of your rising glare, his tone drops, expression falling even more than it already was. Deep well of sadness grew in his eyes, lips pulling back in a strained agony. 

Alex’s gaze drops to the floor. 

“I know,” is what hits the air, “I know, Sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it,” you push your body up as his large shoulders tighten—such an accomplished and strong man brought to a squirming heap when his wife’s sharp words hit him in the chest. “What the hell were you thinking, Alex?!”

Heavy feet hit the floor as you stalk over, fatigue and tiredness pushed all the way to the back of your mind yet also enhancing your emotions. Bitter rage was sparking—held in far too long. Alex’s eyes don’t meet yours, so you grab him by the chin and angle his head up to you. 

At the sight of your red sclera and the baggy gaze he stills. Under your grip his beard tickles you, the soft grip of flesh that makes you want to wrap your arms over him and weep; make him promise to never leave like that again. 

“I…I wasn’t…”

“That’s the thing isn’t it—you didn’t think.” Sea glass floods over, going glossy; hurt etched into both of your faces as if carved from the same stone. But you don’t stop now, growling out as your skin burns. Alex isn’t sad that you’re angry, he’s sad he’s done this to you. “You disappeared, Alex. Laswell had to just drop all of this shit on me. I thought you had died.” You growl. “Do you know what that feels like?!” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Shut up! You let me talk,” he falls silent, hand delicately coming up to grab your wrist. Not to pull you away, just to hold you. To feel your skin and the heat of it. You sniffle and his eyes break. “And the worst part of it was that if you had just asked I would have followed you right then and there.” Alex sharply looks back at you. “But the biggest insult was that you thought I would leave you—that you even considered that.” 

Shock slowly gives way to a blank expression. He was confused, now.

Was that what you were angry about?

“You’re an idiot, Keller. Hot-headed. Cocky.” You shake your head, but a tiny smile begins to bleed onto Alex’s face. Watching you like you’d just sprung a million dollars on him. His grip slightly squeezes, calloused thumb running the span of your knuckles as you shake his head with your hand. “Damn nuisance to my health, is what you are.” Trying to remain angry is tough when he’s looking at you like that—starstruck—but you spit out, “It’s insulting that you thought I’d just give up on us that easily.”

“Most women don’t want a man who’s wanted for desertion, Doll,” Alex whispers, testing a smirk on his lips with his expression still strained. 

“Arrogant!” your voice snaps. “Not a single brain cell in his stupid little head.” You let go of his chin and grip the sides of his skull, feeling the dirty but still soft strands of hair before you huff at him. 

But he just looks at you and smiles, face smooshed. 

“...You really came?” Alex asks quietly. You fall silent and after a moment you deflate.

After the silence of trying to keep the sneer on your face, you let it drop, lips quivering slightly. Anger glints with pain. “I should hit you upside the head, Keller, for all the worry you’ve put me through,” you grunt, eyes flashing over every new bruise on his face—every cut you’d have to re-learn. He looks tired. 

Oh, Alex…

Before the blond can respond to you, you’ve captured the back of his head and shoved it into your chest; face burying itself into his scalp to bring forth that scent of dust and cologne. You whimper out as he grips you around the waist with just as much fervor, “Did you think that I would stay away?”

Alex says nothing, only the slight tremor in his bicep betraying him. You firmly kiss his skull and run your fingers through his hair, the both of you so tight together there’s barely enough room in your ribs to allow your lungs to inflate. 

But holding him was more important than air, a sentiment that Alex seemed to share entirely. 

“I’m so glad you’re here, Bug.” He mutters into your skin. “Feels good to be able to hold my girl again.”

You stay like that for a long time before you pull back and capture his cheeks, face pulling closer before you kiss him deeply. It’s not a fast-paced or desperate thing—no clashing teeth or tongue. That wasn’t what you needed right now. 

All that you needed was Alex. Your home. 

You both separate and the blond grabs the back of your neck, forcing you back so he can lay another on the side of your mouth; nose, cheek. Anywhere that he could reach as his mustache tickled you to a smile. Giggles worm out and you wiggle out of his grip to wipe at your cheeks, spreading away tiny tear tracks and saliva.

“Quit it,” you whisper, and Alex gazes up at you reverently from his chair.

“Negative, Ma’am,” he says, equally as soft, not even blinking. “Don’t wanna.” You roll your eyes, face hot. 

The seconds draw long of only watching one another before you shake your head and move your hands to shimmy out of the dog tags around your neck. Alex’s gaze locks on the metal swiftly, smile shifting.

“You’re horrible.” You huff, quietly, before shoving his dog tags at his chest. “Now put them back on.”

“But I’m not in the—” Your glare shuts him up. Alex clears his throat sheepishly. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You nod and watch as they’re resituated around his neck. Right where they should be. When you take a step back to really take him in, there’s a moment where you skim over the state of his left leg. After all, the metal was barely noticeable in the dark. But when you do see it every little part of you shrivels up with confused pain.

Alex stands with a noticeable preference to his right and as he towers over you, fingers coming to grab at your face and slowly drag it back up.

A slightly apologetic look washes over him.

“I’m guessing you didn’t listen to all of the voicemails.” 

“Alex…” you slowly cut off. “You…” Staring at the metal limb instead of the real one, you gape. “...how?”

“Y’know,” he laughs, but you don’t find this funny. He notices and kisses your forehead, tapping his scalp to yours and saying after a contemplative pause, “I think it’s better if I don’t explain it. I’m alright, just...” Alex smiles cheekily, the spark that you love coming back easily as it shimmers in his eyes, “just a little more carbon fiber and aluminum than I was before.” 

You hug him tightly.

“I’m sorry, I should have come sooner—I was just angry, and I wasn’t—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Alex sighs, grabbing you and maneuvering the both of you to the bed. He sits and you end up laying in his lap like that moment in the bathroom ages ago. “None of this is your fault, okay? You deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you.” 

You sigh in his arms, head under his chin and heart finally able to return to a steady pace. Licking your lips, you ask, “Does it hurt?” 

Sending a glance down, Alex’s lips twitch with a grin before it disappears. He hums.

“Sometimes.” Your hand grips his opposite cheek and you lay a kiss on his chin, caressing his flesh.

It’s a tentative kind of love. An understanding and a plea all at once. 

The blond leans back against the wall and pulls you closer, closing his eyes. Finally relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. But his girl is in his arms, and he’s never been this calm.

“I have a home in Urzikstan,” he confesses lightly, fingers brushing your body and giving way to shivers. You listen, eyes fluttering at the vibrations of his words. “It’s safe—protected. I…want us to live there.” Alex nods against your head, swallowing. “If you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes,” your answer is immediate. “Anywhere, as long as you’re with me.” 

You feel his breath hitch, soft chuckles brushing your hair far better than any comb. There’s a small tremor in his voice as he says, “I love you. God, do I love you.” 

Your lips pull up, body growing heavy with a final sense of home.

“I love you, too.” Soft kisses and tight arms. Shifting tattoos. “But if you ever do something like that again without talking to me, I’m telling Laswell she has permission to put a bullet in your ass.”

His loud laughs shake your body, and you press your face into his neck to steady yourself; smiling.

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[mettywiththenotes]

I know the general conclusion people are coming to is "wow so nothing has changed the civilians haven't changed their minds nothing has changed in society" but. how many chapters has it been since the end of the war. actually a better question would be how many days/weeks has it been since the end of the war. because idk man things aren't going to change as quickly as that

You have to factor in how no one outside of Izuku, Shouto and Ochako knew about them wanting to save the villains. When the footage of the final war is inevitably shared around, the first thought probably isn't "wow they saved those bad guys" but likely just the fact that they stopped them from doing more damage meaning they can put them in jail or whatever

Even when you put that aside, society is unlikely to change in a short space of time anyway because there was the general idea that the heroes winning meant bringing things back to how they were. And bringing things back to how they were means a society that favors the good quirks and good victims over the people who are ignored and those who slip through the cracks. If they get that back, then of course things aren't going to change immediately

And in the end, they did get it back. The villains have been stopped. The heroes prevailed. Society is rebuilding as fast as possible like nothing happened. But we've been shown that the idea "things are going back to normal" is usually accompanied by the implication it may seem like that but really things will change in an inevitable way

The saviour squad as a whole (Izuku, Shouto, Ochako, Hawks) all have the potential to speak up about their experiences, prove the world/country wrong about their surface-level view of villains. Shouto and Ochako could relay their thoughts, what their intentions were, what their conclusions are now. Izuku could choose to tell everyone what he saw in Tomura, the crying child. More than that, he could do some introspection, think over his time with Tomura (USJ, mall scene, war arc and so on) and talk about his thoughts too. Hawks being one of the first of the heroes who tried and failed to save his villain is an interesting parallel to Izuku, and also shows that he could have a personal account on this too

With all this in consideration, I believe that it's not going to be a random relaying of these experiences in bits and pieces over the remaining chapters, but rather a single united action together - like their own televised interview or something. It's not like Hawks wouldn't have the power to organize it, the HC literally has the authority to put what they want in the media. Though whether that happens or not remains to be seen

But the point I'm trying to make is that this is going to take time. The whole of society isn't just going to wake up and realize the error of their ways after all of that. There has to be a beginning, a starting line, to the conclusion that maybe villains deserve something better

I say that this is going to take time, while knowing that we have only 3 chapters of the story left... and while it frustrates a lot of people, it's looking to me like this is going to be an open ending. I imagine the very last chapter will show the starting line of change. Personally I'm okay with that, I think it would be compelling. Depending on how it is set out, I don't think it would be a bad ending

Idk how exactly to end this post but... it just seems like people think that all hope is lost because the civilians didn't all collectively wake up the day after the war and change their minds, and I don't think it works that way. It will take time. I believe Hori may give the story an open ending so we are shown the starting line and in the end it will be up to us how things change specifically

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible by James Russell Miller

The First Miracle in Cana (John 2:1-11)

There were thirty years of silence before Jesus began to speak publicly. The only miracles in those days were miracles of love, of obedience, of duty, of sinless life. At length He began His public ministry, and the first miracle He wrought was at Cana.

It is pleasant to remember that Jesus attended a wedding feast at the very beginning of His public ministry. Indeed, this was His first appearance among the people, and the beginning of His signs, as John puts it, was produced at this marriage festivity, where the simple country folk met in all the freedom of their gladness. Christ is a friend not merely for our sorrow hours but also for our times of joy. Then His presence and His miracle at this time, indicate His approval of marriage and give it a holy sanction. We should notice also that He was invited to this wedding. If He had not been invited He would not have gone, for He never goes where He is not desired. If we would have Him attend our weddings and give His blessing, we must be careful that He receives an invitation. No matter who performs the ceremony, Christ’s hands should bestow the blessing.

The failing of the wine at this marriage feast, is an illustration of the way all earth’s pleasures fall short. It comes in cups, not in fountains ; and the supply is limited and is soon exhausted. Even amid the gladness at the marriage altar there is the knell of the end in the words, “until death do us part.” Human love is very sweet, and it seems to answer every craving of the heart. But if there is nothing but the human it will not last long enough. One of every two friends must hold the other’s hand in farewell at the edge of the valley, must stand by the other’s grave, and then walk on alone the rest of the way. The best wine of life and of love, will fail. Very striking, however, is the picture here, and true also the failing wine, and then the Master supplying the need. When human joy fails, if we have Christ with us, He gives us new joy, better than the worlds, and in unfailing abundance.

The mother of Jesus came and told Him of the failing of the wine. She had become accustomed to take all her perplexities to Him. That is what we also may do. His answer to His mother was, “My hour is not yet come.” He seems to have referred to His time for supplying the need. We may notice here, however, our Lord’s perfect devotion to His Father’s will. We find the same all through His life. He did nothing of Himself; He took His work moment by moment from the Father’s hand. He always waited for His “hour.” He had no plans of His own but followed the divine purpose in all His acts. Though appealed to now by His mother, whom He loved so deeply He would not do anything a moment before His hour had come. We cannot learn this lesson to well. Sometimes we find it hard to wait for God but in no way is our obedience more beautifully shown, than in our self-restraint under the direction of God’s will. Too many of us run before we are sent. It requires great patience at times not to put forth the power we have but to wait for God’s time.

The word of the mother to the servants is suggestive: “Whatever he says unto you do it.” She was not hurt by the reply Jesus had given to her, which to some seems harsh. It shows, too, that she did not understand His answer as a refusal to relieve the perplexity of the family in due time. She bade the servants to stand ready now for His bidding, not knowing what He would do but sure it would be the right thing. “Whatever he says unto you do it!” is always the word for the Master’s servants and we are to take our commands from Him alone. We are not to follow our own impulses in doing things for others, not even the impulses of kindness and affection; we are to wait for the Master’s word.

His “hour” was not long in coming. Apparently but a little while after the mother’s words to the servants Jesus said to them, “Fill the water pots with water”; then at once, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.” Thus the servants became co-workers with the Master in this miracle. So He calls His people always to be His helpers in blessing the world. We cannot do much ourselves. The best we can bring is a little of the common water of earth. But if we bring that, He can change it into the rich wine of heaven, which will bless weary and fainting ones. The servants helped Jesus in this miracle. The divine gifts of mercy can only get to the lost through the saved. Then, how striking is the other side of the truth the servants carried only common water from the spring but with Christ’s blessing it became good wine. So it always is, when we do what Christ bids us to do; our most mundane work leaves heavenly results. Our most common work amid life’s trivialities, in business, in the household, among our friends, which seems like the carrying of water, only to be emptied out again is transformed into radiant service, like angel ministry, and leaves glorious blessings behind. We do not know the real splendor of the things we are doing when we do the commonest things of our daily task-work. What seems only giving a cup of cold water to a lowly man is blessed service to one of God’s children, and is noted and rewarded by the Father.

We have an impartial witness to this miracle in the master of the feast. He knew not whence the wine was. No one had told him that it was only water in the vessel whence it had been drawn. This suggests how quietly Jesus produced this divine sign. He did not announce it, nor advertise it. He said nothing to call attention to what He was going to do. The people about Him did not know of the wonderful work He had done. So He works always quietly. His kingdom comes into men’s hearts, not with observation but silently. An evil life is changed into moral purity by His words. Miracles of grace are performed continually, and no one sees the hand that works the marvelous transformation. Silently help comes in the hours of need; silently answers to prayer glide down, silently the angels come and go.

It is significant also that “the servants who drew the water knew.” They had put the water into the vessels, and knew it was only water. They had drawn out the water, and knew that it was now wine. Those who work with Christ are admitted into the inner chamber, where Omnipotence is unveiled, where the mysteries of His grace are performed. Christ takes into His confidence those who serve Him; calls them no longer servants but friends. Those who do Christ’s will, know of His doctrine and see His ways of working. If we would witness Christ’s power and glory we must enter heartily and obediently into His service. Often it is in the lowliest ways and in the paths of the most humble, self-denying service that the most of Christ’s glory appears.

We have the testimony of the ruler of the feast, as to the quality of the wine. “You have kept the best wine until now.” That is what Christ always does He keeps the best until the last. The world gives its best first and the worst comes afterwards. It is so in sin first exhilaration, then remorse. It is so in the chase for wealth, power and fame first gratification, then disappointment. But in spiritual life it is the reverse of this. Christ Himself had His humiliation, darkness, the shame of the cross and then came exaltation, power, and glory. In Christian life the same rule holds: first the cross then the crown; first the self-denial, the loss, the suffering afterwards the blessing the peace, the joy. We never get to the end of the good things of divine love we never get to the best even in this world. There is always something better yet to come. Then Christ keeps the good wine, the best wine to the very last in heaven. As sweet as is earth’s peace to the Christian, he will never know the best of peace, until he gets home.

This was Christ’s first miracle but it was not the beginning of His grace and love. The record says that in “this beginning of miracles” Jesus “manifested forth his glory.” The word “manifested” suggests that the glory was there before; it had been slumbering in His lowly human life all along the quiet years of toil and service at Nazareth. For those first thirty years, the glory manifested itself in ways which no one thought of as supernatural in the beautiful Life that grew up in the Nazareth home, with its attention to daily tasks and duties.

The story of the eighteen years from twelve to thirty is told in one short verse, “Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Luke 2:52). The glory was in Him those days but no one saw it shining out. The neighbors did not think of His gentleness of spirit, His graciousness of disposition, His purity and simplicity of life as revealings of the divine glory.

Now the glory was manifested for the first time. We say there are no miracles now but there may be less difference than we think between what we all natural and supernatural. Luther said one day: “I saw a miracle this morning. The sky stretched overhead and arched itself like a vast dome above the earth. There were no columns supporting this dome it hung there with nothing to hold it up. Yet the sky did not fall.” You see the same every day yet you do not think of calling it a miracle you say it is only natural. In the life of Christ there were a thousand simple and beautiful deeds. During the days of the feast at Cana, if there was a shy and bashful person among the guests, He was especially kind to that one. If there was one that the others neglected, Jesus sought him out. If there was one in sorrow, Jesus tired to comfort him. But nobody thought of these common kindnesses as miracles. Next hour, He changed water into wine to relieve the embarrassment of the host, and that was manifesting His glory.

It is pleasant to notice, too, that it was in a simple act of thoughtful kindness to a perplexed household, that this divine glory was thus manifested. Really it was just a beautiful deed of common kindness. Someone calls this the housekeeper’s miracle. It was a most embarrassing occasion. In the midst of a marriage feast the wine failed. There were more guests than were expected, and there was not enough wine to serve them all. The host would have been disgraced if there had been no way of adding to the meager supply. Jesus, by His timely manifesting of power, relieved the awkwardness of the occasion. He performed the miracle; we may be sure, primarily for the sake of the host, to save him from humiliation. When the writer, referred to, calls this the housekeeper’s miracle, it is because it shows Christ’s sympathy with those who attend to domestic affairs, His thought for them, and His readiness to serve them, relieving them of embarrassment of perplexity. There is no annoyance too small to take to our Savior.

He manifested His glory in just this His great kindness. When we think of the matter carefully, we know that the most divine thing in the world is love. That in God which is greatest is not power, glory, not the shining splendor of deity, as it was shown at Sinai but love, which shows itself in plain, lowly ways. When the disciples besought the Master to show them the Father, they thought of some brilliant display, some revealing of God which would startle men. Jesus replied: “Have I been with you so long and have you not yet known Me? He who has seen Me has seen the Father.” He had been showing them the Father in all His days not alone in His miracles of goodness and mercy but in the thousand little kindnesses of the common days. It was to His daily life as the disciples had seen it, that He referred. He meant that the truest revealing of God to men is not in great Theophanies and transfigurations but in a ministry of gentleness, helpfulness and kindness, such as Jesus Himself had performed.

[anryuuepic]

Whumptober Short: "Familial Curse"

In Retsuko’s opinion, their bloodline may as well be cursed. Perhaps not in the literal sense (though she wouldn’t exactly rule out that possibility, either), but cursed with some inescapable trait innate to their lineage that leads to the same tragic, violent end over and over again. 

Sayuri disagrees any time she voices that sentiment, crimson eyes softening sadly as she tries to insist that whatever’s haunting them is nothing so permanent. Things can still get better, she says. They can still be happy.

Retsuko, twelve years old and facing the terrifying prospect of an arranged marriage within the year, finds that difficult to believe. 

Her sister has always been the optimistic sort. On her worst days, Retsuko thinks, spitefully, that it must be easier to think that way when Sayuri’s own arranged marriage has shown more mercy than their entire clan of blood relatives put together. But Sayuri has always been like that— even when they were growing up together in the same prison of a home, she’d always reach for proof that their existence there wasn’t entirely hopeless. 

In all likelihood, that gentle, persevering nature played a part in why Sayuri was married off to the future king, while their oldest sister’s chosen spouse was merely from a noble house only slightly lower than their own. 

Mystifyingly, Sayuri still visits. Even though she escaped the Sojin family mansion for good, for Retsuko’s sake, she still chooses to look back. The visits aren’t as frequent as Retsuko would like (though in all honesty, she’d rather not have to exist in this house at all), but Sayuri still comes to check on her as often as she can— typically, with her husband in tow. 

While Benedict keeps the rest of the family occupied (dazzled by his status, no doubt), Sayuri and Retsuko have a few precious moments alone.

“He’s trying to get you out too,” Sayuri tells her, as if the very words aren’t a sin. “Benedict has been looking for reasons we can use, or a price our parents would take— anything. You won’t be here forever.”

Despite her sister’s glowing confidence, Retsuko finds it hard to be hopeful. Sayuri will try her best, of course, but escaping the curse of their lineage a second time won’t be so easy. Sayuri got away. She’s still tangled up in their family’s web in places, but the threads are sparse and weak. Sayuri was an exception, and if anyone deserves that mercy, it’s her. 

“Don’t do anything drastic. You don’t need to put yourself in danger over me. ...I’m alright here.” It’s the truth; she always has been. 

Still, her sister smiles. “I know you are. But I’d be happier if we were together again, and I think you would be too,” she says, and Retsuko can’t stop the traitorous pang of longing in her chest at the words. 

[noblechaton]

so. the ml movie huh. hm (big ol post with spoilers under this cut btw)

so after almost 10 years of being on this bug and cat train they finally get a big ol expensive movie and I think it was. fine? maybe? there's a lot going on here and while I don't think I can call it good and mean it I don't think it was the worst thing ever. a 6? out of 10 feels kinda right for me. got a lot to say here fwiw so buckle in if ya wanna read it all lol

main issue I feel is obviously them trying to adapt 5 seasons, each of which was dozens of hours at least, and a near decade of storytelling into a movie that doesn't even hit two hours. no idea why - I imagine the money ran out tbh - but running through the entire thrust of the series in ~1h40m movie just. was never gonna work man. feel like there had to be better options out there, like just adapting Origins with some episodes from S1 thrown in between them getting their miraculous and Hawkmoth revealing himself or something. idk. I ain't a writer

but then also I felt despite the short runtime that it sorta dragged on at times? like it got stuck spinning wheels here and there. Marinette constantly needing her confidence boosted even after being Ladybug for so long was weird. it's so strange bc they flashed through a dozen akuma - some of which looked kinda cool btw, be neat if they made the jump to the show - and yet it felt like there'd been no progress made? like the flow of time in the movie just. didn't work. a lot of stuff just sort of happens at you and you gotta hang onto whatever ya like and hope it doesn't just vanish in the river of events

voice acting in English was like. pretty solid honestly. maybe the best performances I'd heard from that side of the dub tho I have no idea what they were thinking with the singing voice for Marinette at least. couldn't really tell if Adrien's was still Bryce (I don't think it was but it wasn't as jarring) and I know Keith sang for Gabe's songs but whoever they got for Marinette just. wasn't even close to Marinette's normal speaking voice and it's super distracting. really weird choice. no shade on the singer tho she was solid imo just like. no connection to Marinette's normal voice really took me out of it

also the songs were kind of nonsensical most of the time and there's way too many of them. some are kinda good - Gabe's, Chat's and tbh I kinda liked the one over the credits to name a few - but like. they were not good enough for there to be what felt like 6-7 different songs in a movie that doesn't even crack 2 hours lmao

they made a ton of changes in terms of the story and general world and I actually kind of liked some of them - Ladybug learning to swing through the yoyo (which had a neat redesign) and doing so using that Ladybug vision was cool, I appreciate that we get a reveal and how it's done even if the end card was brutal, the miraculous seeking them out felt more like nice compared to just having the weight of the world dropped on them by some ancient man lol - but then there's others I didn't. Ladybug just never uses the cure until the end? I guess? she also doesn't purify the first akuma I don't think and like. nothing happens? Adrien's just sorta out and about? going to the school already? he gets a really understated intro imo. Gabriel sort of doesn't get an ending. I'd assume he's in jail? we get almost none of Adrien's perspective on getting the ring which is really weird

and that sorta extends into my feeling that somehow we did not get enough Gabriel in this. really weird saying that after having enough of that bum for the last 4 years of my life but his motives are carried hard by my knowledge of the show, and even then they're not really shown enough - he's not shown enough, and I don't feel Adrien is either. neither is the school setting or side characters, heck I'd say Adrinette gets kinda shafted overall since most of the development they get is in a montage sequence. there's a lot chopped out of this for the sake of a brevity that doesn't feel all that brief?

there's some good stuff in here for sure. the animation is undeniably pretty and slick even if some models are kinda wack. most of the action was fun and cool, the final sequence with Chat running up the tower and such was neat. I loved the Ladynoir something fierce honestly, the bantering and the sparring and the getting closer and closer. missed them being like that a lot tbh, someone on staff clearly did too. couple of jokes got me too like the opener with Chloe getting a single drop of coffee on her shirt lmao

but then there's a lot of stuff that really didn't work for me. Plagg being reduced to a fucking fart joke kind of made me mad lmao. them being super inconsistent with their powers was so weird. no lucky charm?? WHAT?? did I miss something?? no side character getting any focus beyond Alya was disappointing too and even Alya just dips out of the story after a while. breaking out into song once every like 15 minutes got old kinda quick too regardless of song quality (tho it was funny that Marinette seemed aware of the fact that she'd just participated in a musical number at one point lol)

Fu opens the movie with some really weird monologue and basically dips after the first akuma and they just. never find him again? he plays zero role beyond that point? Adrinette's first meeting is kinda cute in an understated sort of way but it's also sort of nothing and doesn't feel like a lingering thing for long afterwards - it ain't no umbrella scene dude. also Chat Noir seemingly drops the "my mom died btw" thing on Ladybug like she'd know that and she just sort of goes "Ah. Sorry, Chat." and that was. super fucking weird lmao

like I said. there's a lot going on - tho I gotta say for sure the writing was not consistently good. there were moments, flashes, Ladynoir is the strongest thing in the movie imo but there's so many fucking craters in terms of quality that it makes me so happy we get what we do in the show

on the whole I felt the movie was somehow way too condensed and yet too long at the same time. it felt like it was made by someone who really likes the surface details of the series but not the whole thing and like that's fine but I wouldn't say it was a good representation of the show. like the things I like about the movie are kind of all things I've liked about the show, and I like them more so because of that but also like I can't say the movie was good just bc I like the show lol

shallow is a good word for it I think. a flashy, expensive hour or so with little more beneath the surface which I feel sorta betrays the show it's based on where it's cutesy on the surface but has more going on under it. which like this feels very much made for the younger demographic and those that aren't into the show, like sort of an ad for someone's ideal version series even if it sorta strays really far from the show itself. as if someone perhaps in charge of this movie was clinging to what elements of their flagship series that they thought were keeping their company afloat and foolishly believed they could do it better than the creator or any other actual writer. wonder who that could be. anyway

as an adaptation of the show I don't think it was good overall and as a movie on its own it was like. fine. imo. wouldn't sway people into picking the series up but definitely not the worst movie ever made. super safe and super shallow, really messy with a few bright spots thrown in. a cluttered Ladynoir reveal fic where the Ladynoir bits are good and the rest is not. etc.

I like it but mostly bc I love the show - I would not introduce someone to the series with this and might not even urge casual fans to watch it either tbh. real mixed bag imo

also what happened to the "Awakening" subtitle? I kinda liked it and it's just gone. weird

[xalygatorx]

Powerless (2017) | Chapter 20, "Between the Stars" (End)

Years after Sarah’s wit and bravery saved her brother and brought the Labyrinth to its knees, her daughter Andie is transported to what remains of that same fantastical place, somewhere she thought only existed in her favorite childhood stories. To find her way back home, she must traverse what’s left of the crumbling kingdom, find a way to set both moments and magic in motion again, and even save the Goblin King, himself. But who will save her from him?

Powerless is a SFW slow-burn romance between Jareth and an original female character. The story overall contains descriptions of fantasy violence, mild suggestive content, and grief regarding family illness. Chapter-by-chapter warnings will be provided as well.

Summary: Sarah experiences a miraculous recovery from her illness following Jareth’s hospital visit. Jareth visits Andie and the two discuss their time apart and future plans at last.

Pairing: Jareth x Fem!OC

Warnings: Mild angst and fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

January 14th was a day for the unexpected. Just when hospital visits and clustered work schedules had become the mundane routine of their busy lives, this day of days fell into a day off for all involved and the day that Sarah was discharged from the hospital, her minor injuries now the largest point of concern on her health record.

The doctors couldn't explain it and neither could her nurse who had administered the new tests after Sarah seemed to have shown very random, but considerable, signs of improvement. Her tremors gone, her mental state bettering even further, and her balance returning, they had seen fit to check on the progression of her illness, but had instead discovered that her dopamine levels were stabilizing at a surprising rate. It was as if she'd never been sick at all and it was nothing short of a miracle.

Not only that, but she had been able to attend Andie's graduation after all. In a wheelchair for safety purposes—she was both fresh out of the hospital as of the night before and it was her first day off the medication she'd been taking—but in attendance and ecstatically so. She had demanded that David allow it to remain a surprise and regretted it only a little when they cheered after Andie took her degree and began her walk back to her seat, saw them, saw her, and then proceeded to tearfully laugh in utter shock, which earned her a few baffled glances from her peers.

The rest of the day was spent grabbing lunch and with a small party at David and Sarah's house, which had originally been intended only as a graduation gathering for Andie, but now celebrated Sarah's homecoming and seemingly miraculous recovery as well. No one could believe it and it appeared to Andie once she had time to think about it that the only person not completely floored by her sudden recuperation was Sarah, herself.

Andie found her way over to Sarah after those in attendance had taken to mingling and then gone outside to play a game, leaving only a few stragglers in the house. "Hey, Xena," Andie teased happily, sitting down next to her mother on the couch.

Sarah smirked, still a little tired. "Warrior princess? I don't know about that."

"You're joking, right?" Andie wondered. "You develop a disease with no known cure and, suddenly, you wake up one day and just don't have it anymore… That's pretty warrior-like."

Her smirk became a small smile and she shrugged. "I hardly think it was my doing. Regardless, I'm terribly glad things turned out this way. I'm almost afraid to think it's gone for good."

"We'll just hope it is," Andie said reassuringly. "And whatever happens, we'll deal. Okay?"

Sarah nodded a little. "Okay. Just be open to whatever happens now. Okay?"

Andie sensed an underlying meaning in her mother's words and frowned. "…Are we still talking about your health or have we moved on to something else?"

Sarah smiled again. "We didn't change topics. But apply that advice in a general sense, my love."

"Oh… Okay," Andie murmured, bewildered, and thinking maybe her mom really needed to get some rest.

The remainder of the day was passed with lawn games, small talk, and Pinterest-derived finger foods Colette had turned out by the tray-load—the entirety of which was devoured during the party, or so Andie thought until Colette produced one more tray for her to take back to her apartment. Sarah retired to her room approximately halfway through the party to rest and, when Andie poked her head in to say goodbye, she found her mother sound asleep and didn't have the heart or will to wake her. She was very sure she would be seeing her the next day, so there was no need. Andie was only relieved beyond compare that she was on the mend, no matter how impossible a mend it seemed.

She'd been mulling it all over since the ceremony, when the apparent miracle had presented itself in the best graduation present she could have received. And as she hauled the tray of Colette's creations and her bag of unopened graduation cards from her passenger seat upon her return to her building, the neurology-infused gears of her mind were whirring as if slick with oil and turned up to a dangerously high setting. She knew the recovery was next to impossible, particularly in the span of time it had to have taken place. However, it had happened, and she could only wonder how. While one third of her thoughts backed far away from reading into it—it was a gift from the gods or serendipity or the universe or whatever spun this world in these mind-bending ways—the other two thirds of her mind played on separate curiosities, those of a scientist and a witness to what even doctors proclaimed was out of their ability to explain.

Andie precariously shuffled the bag to slide down her arm and switched the tray over to her left hand before digging for her key—Idiot, should have done that before you got this stuff out of the car!—and locating it in her coat pocket, unlocking the door and shouldering it open. She bypassed the switch for the lights for the time being, maneuvering blindly after the door shut behind her and locating some empty counter space on which to set her spoils. She had just released the snack tray when the silence broke and she experienced what was likely her second heart attack of her short life.

"Congratulations."

"Jesus H. Christ," she exclaimed, nearly flipping the tray off her hand in her jolt of fright and only finding an instant of relief when she recognized the voice. "Don't do that."

"Sorry," Jareth murmured, though he wasn't all that apologetic about it. She saw him after she knew where to look. He was near the window, engulfed in the shadows that rested beside the moonlight penetrating the window pane.

"You know," Andie began after she'd managed to deep-breathe her body down from survival mode, "you could always go for the not-quite-as-dramatic entrance that doesn't nearly kill me."

He stepped into the moonlight and somehow, in that lithe movement, obliterated the darkness that separated them and crossed over into her space. He looked different, she noticed immediately as the pure light washed over him, and then her eyes adjusted to the dark—he was in what she considered to be normal clothes, his long hair was tied back, and the artful cosmetic display that normally decorated his eyes was absent. He looked almost ordinary. And yet, still, despite his obvious attempts, he didn't look very ordinary at all.

A smirk tilted his mouth as he moved away from the far wall and came to lean against the edge of the counter opposite her, his arms crossing over his chest. "I daresay it would startle you more if I did. What do you all consider an average entrance?" He spat the word "average" a bit, which was the least surprising part of this encounter to Andie.

She shrugged. "I don't really have a doorbell, I guess. Maybe just knocking. Or hanging out, you know, outside my apartment until I come by?"

"Why would I do that?"

"…Because it's my apartment?"

Jareth scoffed a little. "That doesn't answer my question."

Andie rolled her eyes a little. "How long have you been here?"

He shrugged, seeming a little uncomfortable despite the ease he displayed. "Just a couple of days."

She squinted at him. "I meant here. Like my place."

"Oh," Jareth mumbled. "Perhaps an hour? Time is different in this place and as such, I find it difficult to gauge."

"Wait, you've been here for a couple of days?" Andie asked and then tried to reel in her surprise, reminding herself that she didn't really have a right to wonder why he'd taken so long to show up. "I mean… What brings you up from the Underground? There might be an uprising with the King missing…"

He smirked faintly, but it seemed plastic. "Well, in all honesty, I have stepped into what you lot call retirement… I still hold power over the realm, but I am no longer the reigning king."

Andie's eyes widened. "You found an heir? That fast?"

Jareth's expression turned sardonic. "It perhaps felt fast for you, darling. In the Underground, millennia have passed again." He grimaced toward the moonlit window. "Funny how this seems to be a recurring theme."

"How long?" she asked quietly, ignoring the way her nervous stomach fluttered at the endearment. It was a slip. It had to be.

He looked at her calmly. "Just shy of six-thousand years."

Andie cursed softly. "And it took you this damn long to come here?"

Jareth was surprised by her response, but also very unsurprised as well. It was a curious feeling. "I was not the one who ran away."

The words cut her, but they were the truth. "Fair enough," she murmured, looking toward the floor.

Jareth's lips twisted at the defeated expression; this was not the woman he knew. And he didn't like that he'd caused the change, despite the accuracy of his statement. "Though I will say it was a fruitless string of years as far as the search for an heir went… The majority of its benefits were to the continued construction of the Labyrinth and what more could I possibly add?"

"I hope you didn't put in another snake pit," she teased quietly, glancing at him.

"I've learned my lesson, I assure you," he chuckled, his eyes never straying from her as they spoke.

"I take it that you found your heir though," she observed. "Considering you're in 'retirement'."

"Indeed. And not where I expected to."

"Meaning?"

"Leona showed surprising measures of regality and leadership qualities in our travels… Who better to see through the guises of foes than one who guarded the gates since the Labyrinth was born?" Jareth toyed with the end of his ponytail lazily. "And I thought it befitted the Underground to have a queen again. It had been quite some time."

Andie had to admit, she couldn't come up with a better choice now that she gave it some thought. "She will definitely keep the goblins in line."

"I thought the same," Jareth concurred.

"But you didn't answer my question."

"Which one?" he wondered.

"Pick one," she challenged him vaguely.

"No," he declined firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because I intentionally leave a great number of questions—yours specifically—unanswered for a reason. I shall not dredge up anything I mustn't be demanded to answer."

Andie made a mental note to start a list of all the questions he evaded. Though she doubted she'd have a very long list, as she couldn't imagine him staying here long enough for it to be an issue. She was honestly shocked he hadn't just happened by to tear her a new one. "Why mine specifically?"

"Because you ask the right questions," he grumbled.

She smiled, pleased with that. He watched her expression lighten for the first time this visit and he reveled in its change. "This time, I'm wondering what brought you to the…er, Aboveground."

"Next question," he murmured.

"No way!"

"I am not declaring that question to remain unanswered, but it is not time for it yet. Next."

She muttered about the relativity of time under her breath before switching gears, "Fine, then how about an unspoken question?"

His eyes glittered faintly with interest. "Go on."

"A couple of days?" she wondered again. "Why show up now?"

"I had matters to attend to beforehand," he said ambiguously, which just served to frustrate Andie a bit because she didn't want to pry by actually prying. He let her stew for a moment before adding, "One of those matters was visiting your mother while she was in the hospital."

Andie nodded a little, once again not entirely surprised. "It was scary this time. She hit her head and knocked herself out. And yet, somehow—" She stopped then, pieces clicking into place in her head, and Jareth watched as calculation flooded her eyes and then was entirely displaced by the beginnings of realization. Andie looked at him intently and her eyes stung faintly as she fought back whatever reaction was brewing. "…Did you?"

His features remained passive. "Did I, what?"

"You know damn well what," she snapped softly.

Jareth's brows rose. "Perhaps. Though I thought you would be pleased." She swallowed hard and moisture slipped from her eyes to roll down her cheeks, deepening the Goblin King's frown as bewilderment seeped through him. "Was I mistaken?" he asked doubtfully, just endeavoring to understand her response.

She swiped the tears from her jaw, where they had rolled to and clung, "No," she murmured hoarsely, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry. Thank you."

He nodded incrementally. "Of course."

"It is far more than I could have ever hoped to wish for," she murmured, her throat still tight.

"I did not choose your wish for you. This was an isolated good," Jareth assured her, arching a brow when she seemed confused. "Your end of the bargain we struck still stands. I merely assure you that it is still at your disposal. Should you want it."

"How could I possibly ask for anything else?" she wondered incredulously.

He smiled at her complete lack of composure and how she seemed positively perplexed at how to handle her overflow of emotions. "You didn't ask for me to help her. I do have a few kind bones in my body, you know."

"I didn't mean for it to sound like that, I just… You have no idea how—"

"I do. Please. You'll embarrass me."

Andie smirked a little. "Can I know what brought you here? Or was that what we just discussed?"

"I am still vouching for the next question. Though I will say Sarah was part of that. I just didn't expect to find her how I did."

Andie nodded with a sad look in her eyes, even as she reminded herself that those stressful days were now certainly behind them all. "Just be open to whatever happens now. Okay?" Subtle, Mom…, she thought with a bit of reluctant amusement, feeling as if she'd missed out on some big secret. "Well… What about the question you wouldn't answer before? About why you were so on edge before we got to the throne room."

"You know, good humans forget about things," Jareth informed her grumpily. When she only waited for an appropriate response, he sighed and replied, "I suppose because it was an ending."

"I'm not sure I follow," Andie commented.

"You, Andie," he murmured, his jaw tightening some with frustration. "It was a close to the journey, an answer to the question, the clang of midnight for our story's Cinderella, apparently."

"You know our fairytales," she observed, a little impressed.

"Sweetheart, I am one."

"Fair," she remarked, grimacing at the implications of his last metaphor. "And… I had to go. But I'm also sorry that I did. I should have said goodbye. I just remember talking to the Wiseman and then I was halfway through the garden. Something he said just…set me off, something like—"

"Sometimes to need is to let go," he recited the line softly.

Andie went a bit pale with shock. "Did he tell you that, too?"

"Not exactly," he sighed and, before her eyes within a faint shimmer of light, transformed into the Wiseman, himself.

"You… You were him?" she demanded, her jaw a bit slack.

"Only in those few moments," he reasoned as he transformed back.

"But I… I said—" Her face went red, much to his inward amusement. "You told me to go!"

"In a way," Jareth admitted. "I made you come to terms with going, I believe."

"Did you want me to leave? Or did you just know I had to?"

"Honestly, woman, what do you think?" he groused.

"Did you send the stars down, too?" Andie asked, remembering the ethereal sight that had served to guide her down the right paths to leave the Labyrinth.

"I move the stars for no one," he said like a line from a script before adding more rawly, "except perhaps for you."

"Why did you come here, Goblin King?" she asked softly.

His beautiful eyes darkened a bit. "You."

"I'm going to need a little more than that," she laughed softly, her eyes reddening gradually again at the corners, glistening in the pale light. At his rueful look, she shook her head. "I'm not budging on this. We've both been through a lot and I'm not sure what you need, but I need clarity. I'm a scientist. I want the facts."

"The facts happen to be that you are the most dazzling frustration to have ever fallen before me, Cassandra, and it was never in the delicate form of starlight or a ray from the sun—you were a meteor that crash-landed in my thousandth darkest hour and blinded me with what I had never believed existed in my world of impossibilities," he murmured intensely. Andie could barely breathe. "I look at you and can still barely see for the brilliance you are. You ask me why I was cross with you in the Hall of Mirrors and yet it is so horrendously clear—you came to me when I was entrenched in my absolution of having nothing and suddenly I had everything while knowing everything would walk away from me the moment the journey was over. I had my time and magic in spades after you were gone and it was all I had wanted until I didn't want it.

"No, I did not want you to leave, you silly girl. You had to leave. You would have never forgiven yourself had you not left and I would have never forgiven myself if I had convinced you to stay. You could not part from your family and I could not part from my kingdom, at least not until I knew it would be in good care. It is now. That is why I am here. Now, I have a question for you. I want to know what happens now."

She felt on the verge of tears, but held herself back. "That isn't exactly a question."

"It is close enough," Jareth declared surely. "What do you want?"

Andie felt her throat ache as it constricted around uncertain words never born into the electrically charged air between them. Everything felt so very still and the woman who had become known to the Labyrinthians as both the Girl who Reordered Time and, on a few occasions, the Once and Future Goblin Queen—though the latter was a whispered title—wondered if perhaps time had stopped all over again. Finally, one slid past her lips and pierced the quiet. "You."

"Again?" he inquired, playing the part of the conceited monarch, but hanging on her whispered utterances like lifelines.

She shook her head a little at his antics. "I want you."

Jareth smirked faintly, still toying with her. "Say your right words."

Andie bit down a smile even as a single tear escaped her right eye. "I wish—"

"Not those, silly girl," he chuckled, though he continued to watch her closely.

She bit her lip and hesitated for a solid minute before allowing herself to mumble those three fate-sealing words: "I love you."

Her heart sank into her stomach as he continued to stare at her, not saying a word and letting the silence stretch over some slowly forming new wounds. Why had she said that? He'd clearly meant something else, he couldn't have been digging for that tragic phrase! If she'd just taken long enough to consider all her—

"How you turn my world, you precious thing."

She snapped out of her panicked thoughts to find him standing just before her, his hands a breath away from cradling her face between them as he leaned down and stole her foolish doubts with a kiss they had both ached for for much too long.

That's the end of Powerless! Thank you for reading! x

[coldwayhome]

IS IT CASUAL NOW? piper mclean.

synopsis: in which you're "casual" with piper mclean.

tags: 16+ ONLY!!!! suggestive content ahead. mentions of hookups & drinking, both parties are over 21. no graphic nsfw written. some angst & fighting. no set gender, but relationship is implied to be wlw.

notes: soo self indulgent i hope you enjoy <33

✧˚ · .

10:36. she's late.

you paced around the lawn, waiting for her to pull into your driveway. she said 10:30, but she's always running late. you can't blame her for it, she's busy. that's what she tells you at least.

headlights flared, and piper's white jeep speedily pulled up to you.

she asks if you're ready to go, and you feel yourself smile at the sound of her voice. she has you wrapped around her finger (whether she knows it or not).

driving to her apartment is a quick 10 minutes, but feels like ages with her hand tracing your thigh. getting inside her door is better, you think. at least she looks at you.

laying in bed with piper at night was nice. she's sweet to you, kissing the dark purple bruises and wrapping her arms around you when you need it.

but it always made you question things. question things like: what are we? what do you think of me? do you think we'll grow old together?

and when do you know if it's stopped being casual— when you've moved in? it's not like you could ask her, because she just smiles and changes the subject. everyone thinks you're dating and you don't have the heart to correct them. it's nice to think about.

✧˚ · .

you're staring at your disheveled self in the mirror and think: sometimes, you wish you never met her.

what would life be like without piper? this situation with her has been going on for half a year, and she's still shown you no semblance of an official answer.

it doesn't help that you argued in the car. it was about something insignificant to both of you, but you knew there was something beneath the surface she was actually mad about. you chose to not bring it up, and say nothing but a short farewell when you were dropped back off at your house.

✧˚ · .

she says she hates you.

but it's just that she knows your coffee order by heart. and it's just that the passenger seat is adjusted to your liking. and it's just that you've met her parents.

but it's just that that you can see a future with her, and you know she can too.

so you call her. she doesn't pick up at first, but she calls back a few minutes later.

she's guarded; you don't usually call her.

you ask how she is, she says she's fine. you know she's not.

you just want to talk; doesn’t end well.

what, to check on her? she’s fine, don’t call her again.

✧˚ · .

2:12. a text from piper. two words, if you can even call it that.

you up?

no response from you.

three minutes later:

baby please

m sorry

miss u

she’s drunk, for sure. she only gets drunk when she’s trying to drown her feelings. aka, when she knows she fucked up. gods.

you grab your phone to text her: where are you?

no response.

you don’t really have to ask though. if she’s this drunk, she’s at home. hopping in your car with no time for bluetooth, the radio blares whatever station you left it on last. there were no thoughts circling you head other than her.

pushing the door open, you march into piper’s fancy apartment. there she is, sniffling on the floor with her emptied cup of coke & rum that was most likely refilled a couple times.

seeing your face, she attempts to get up off the carpet where she was sitting, but ends up falling over. rushing to her side, you pull her into an embrace and rest on the floor with her.

“i love you.” she slurs.

“stop.” you say, silencing her but not pushing her off.

✧˚ · .

you say won’t live in delusion. you say you hate her. you say piper mclean does not love you.

you, of all people, know that’s not true.

but you have no interest in talking to her about it.

ITS HARD BEING CASUAL WHEN MY FAVORITE BRA IS IN YOUR DRESSER 📢📢🗣️🗣️‼️‼️

where are the piper stans…

[m3rricat]

You Do Not Have To Be Good - Ch. 7

Story summary: Four months after the defeat of the Netherbrain, Astarion finds himself stuck in the mire of his past and all the anger and despair that comes with it. While wrestling with her traveling-companion-turned-lover’s misery, Cat makes an impulsive decision that sets off their first falling-out. This post-game short story is told alongside the full in-game story of the evolving relationship between Cat (the not-a-bard) and Astarion (needs no introduction) which varies from canon. Told from both POVs.

Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 7 - Cat and Astarion come to an understanding in the shadow-cursed lands; then, some wisdom over nighttime laundry.

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

Chapter Content Warnings: none

Word Count: 6773

Read on AO3

__

Cat wouldn’t really mind if the good doctor managed to poke his scalpel into her skull and wiggle it around a bit.

Instead, while trying not to gag on the stench of rotting flesh, she uses the last fumes of her magical strength to bolster her powers of persuasion, telling him to put his body to use to further the education of his eager pupils gathered around him.

And the monstrous proprietor of this so-called House of Healing obliges. Messily. He bellows at the half-rotted nurses to carve into him. Cat turns away as the slaughter proceeds, the blades mechanically plunging in and out of his twitching torso. Her disaffection seems to have settled on everyone else too, based on the lack of reaction. Or maybe it was just the effect of the endless miasma of these Sharran-cursed lands.

Not that Cat had entered them in any better spirits. Gods, she was being such a child about this. She should be well beyond having her entire happiness revolve around whether a boy liked her. Especially one she had no business liking in the first place.

She had shown Astarion the roots of her nightmares—ones she had mostly managed to drown out over the years, only to have them come screaming back after Cazador had taken away the magical skill upon which she had based all her worth. The skill she could now only access by tapping into emotions she had held at arm’s length for so long.

So many of those things Cat had never told anyone before. And he had said nothing. Not even to chew her out for, admittedly, forcing him to experience it. Right after, he had been so clearly preoccupied with whatever was going on in his own mind that she had made herself walk away before she started crying again.

She had gone and scared him. She knew it. The embarrassment consumed her. As expected, he pulled away. And she didn’t dare go after him. Not until she got a dose of mad courage when she saw the sussur tree, and then saw him all on his own. At the time, she had told herself that it was fine, this new leg of their relationship—an accomplishment, really. That these friendly interactions that always ended in nothing more than clever banter were satisfying enough. And she tried and failed to ignore those brief touches that sparked her desire for more. Tried and failed not to obsessively reminisce about his fangs in her neck, the feeling of relief she wanted dearly now more than ever—but those days in the Underdark all seemed so long ago now.

What haunted her waking moments these days was Astarion in the red glow of the Grymforge, filthy face twisted in rage. She had run through that scene over and over as she lay in her bedroll in the nights after. And what she realized was, under his viciousness, there was so much animal fear in him. Self-preservation. Frankly—selfishness. He covered it up with clever words and exaggerated mannerisms, but at the end of the day he could not shake 200 years of torment dogging his steps, threatening to swallow him up again. It wasn’t surprising that he said what he said. But it didn’t make it any less ugly. Any less of a glaring warning that there was something broken in him, with jagged sharp edges.

But the warning, like a beacon, still beckons.

When Cat sees something remarkable, or a funny thought occurs to her, she still catches herself wanting to tell Astarion. To say it in a clever way that would earn a toothy grin that broke his usual poised affectation. To hear whatever groan-inducing or intelligent or raunchy rejoinder he would give, and then watch him trying not to be obvious while looking for her reaction. And then him being pleased like a well-fed cat if it landed.

In the deepest hours of the night, when she feels the secret and raw parts of her own self, what she wants most of all is to see every one of his wounds. Not just the glimpses he had shown her. Wants to lick them clean, animal to animal.

They stumble back to the Last Light Inn from the House of Healing. Astarion is there, having begged off this last jaunt into the shadow-cursed lands before the trek to Moonrise, citing a bad bit of blood he had drunk.

But Cat knows better. She sees the way his body is retreating back into its origins as a desiccated corpse. He hasn’t drunk bad blood—he simply hasn’t been drinking any at all. There is none to be had here: irony of ironies, really, that this place wrapped in darkness, so apparently suited to vampires, is a death sentence for them. They need life to feed on, and there is nothing but dead here, unless Astarion were to snack on the denizens of the inn itself.

He keeps up his mask of nonconcern, of course. He is used to being hungry. And he could have gone a long time like this if it wasn’t for the endless battles against stronger and stronger enemies in this place. They had literally sucked him dry. If he was even a little bit unlucky now, he’d end up worse than the state in which he had come crawling to Cat for his first taste of her blood.

When Cat finally makes a decision, she finds him draped across the sill of the large window in the second floor. His head, looking out on the bleak landscape, is tilted against the side of the empty casing, the panes of it long gone. He is still as death.

“You’re starving.”

She can almost hear the creak as his neck turns. “Hello to you too, darling!” he says in a tone meant to be bright, but it’s dimmed a little by the hollow quality of his voice. “I heard you had another busy day of telling horrid monsters to kill themselves. Was it fun?”

“Thrilling,” Cat mutters. Astarion continues to look at her with a rather ghastly smile. This had been his go-to attitude with her after the Grymforge. Nary an apology in sight. But, she plows on. “I asked if the tieflings might consider slaughtering one of the cows soon. But no luck. Apparently they’re still giving good milk. I can’t think of any other way feed you except… well, myself.”

“At Moonrise, I should have plenty to snack on. No need to get yourself all worked up over me.”

Cat tries not to let her irritation enter her voice. She doesn’t quite succeed. “Yes, but if things go sideways right when we get there, I need you to be able to do something other than keel over in a stiff breeze.”

That knocks him out of his mock-cheerful disposition slightly. “Oh, well then. Forgive me, dear leader. I didn’t realize I was such a drag on your cunning plans.”

Cat ignores the sarcasm. “So, tonight then. There’s a couch in the room across the landing.”

Astarion falls silent. His bleary eyes are wary.

Cat swallows. “I know I taste pretty good. You said so. What’s the problem?”

Astarion’s eyes flick away. “That’s not—nevermind.”

Cat begins to turn away. Then she stops. “Hey, I can just lay there. Dead-fish it. It’ll be over before you know it.”

As Cat marches into the room with the couch later that evening, she tells herself she needs to focus. Astarion will be ravenous, sure. But that’s not the main problem. What worries Cat is herself. Each time she thinks she’s convinced herself her plan is purely pragmatic, she finds her mind longing greedily for what she felt the last two times he drank from her: the riptide of his bite as it pulled her under into complete comfort. Bliss. And the sense of melting—

No. The purpose of this was to get Astarion back to fighting form. She would make herself focus on keeping track of the time. A minute—not even that, and the necessary intimacy would be done. Probably forever.

While she sits on the couch waiting, playing with the Lesser Restoration scroll she had lifted from Shadowheart’s pack, Cat realizes she had fastened her shirt all the way up out of habit. So when Astarion walks in, it is when she is hastily undoing it.

Her eyes lock on his. She expects a joke at her expense. But he looks at her with a clear expression of nervousness. As he steps over hesitantly, Cat shifts herself back and lowers herself down. She had arranged a couple pillows (the least damp she could find) at one end. Whatever words she was planning to say at the outset die on her tongue. Astarion is silent as well, watching her warily as he carefully clambers on top. He’s wearing the shirt he had scrounged after his frilly one had gone half-missing. It is also white; or rather, had been, before the dust of the long road had turned it quite gray.

His fingers brush her as he plants his hands on either side of her. Her own hands flutter for a moment. Cat needs grounding, and the half-decayed couch is just too disgusting. She ends up with her fingers half-heartedly around his bare forearms. The cold of them shocks her slightly. Shocks her eyes up, and they look into his. He freezes at the connection. His mouth is already hanging open, beginning to bare his fangs. The planes of his face are grossly harsh: she can pick out his skull under his bloodless skin stretched far too tight. Cat is more shaken by his form now than when he drank from her the first time.

But she nods. And a half-breath later, he is in her.

Cat didn’t even see—but she is already through the sharp ice shock and sinking swiftly under. She clings to the first sting of Astarion’s fangs to keep her wits. Tries to conjure up the memory of him screaming at her in the red light of the lava to fend off the pull. Manages to do so resolutely for the first few seconds. But all of her prickliness toward him is fading fast, because she is no longer tough meat hanging off bone: she is a warm loose flow now, shedding every care. Flowing into him.

Into the dry beds of his veins, the parched landscape of his dead body. And he responds, reaching for her with his devouring mouth: lips, fangs, and tongue, seeking all of her. Cat feels herself sob in relief at the renewed connection, her hands snaking up his arms. Feels the jostle as he moves to cradle her head, thumb stroking her temple, his gasp as he chases her deeper, all the way to her fluttering heart—and she doesn’t know where he begins or she ends now. The desperate warning blaring from the center of her brain is drowned out by the flood of him. Cat’s body strains to wrap around Astarion now, to draw all of him into her. To finish it. Finish her, sink her in bliss for good. The flow slows, as the sea of them fills—

And she is gone.

Cat wakes in utter confusion, barely able to open her eyes, feeling like a huge weight is pressing down on every part of her, like her brain has been pounded to mush—and that whatever did it is still pounding away. Voices are around her, sounding like they’re coming from underwater. She forces her eyes to crack open. It doesn’t help much. All she can see are blurs of various shades. Brightness above—she’s on her back. As her eyes slowly focus, she sees it’s the light of Isobel’s barrier, pouring through the holes in the inn’s ceiling.

Cat’s hearing sharpens in time to catch “—you very nearly killed her!” It’s Shadowheart’s voice, and it is seething, with a tinge of real fear. Cat shifts her gaze down her body. She can see Shadowheart’s hands motioning above her, glowing with channeled magic. Cat’s mind slowly connects it to the warmth ebbing back into her, from her core outwards.

“I told you, I by no means meant…I’m…” Astarion voice is choked. Before Shadowheart can retort, Cat manfully tries to interrupt.

“Hhhe—he did no—not—”

Cat sees both of their heads whip around. Shadowheart leans in. “Shhh, Cat, don’t try to talk just yet—”

“N-no!” Tears spring to her eyes as a sudden tide of emotion swells in her chest. “Not his fault… Sh-shadow, it w-was me—mine. Don’t…” she takes a shuddering breath as her mouth decides to stop cooperating.

Shadowheart’s fingers are suddenly warm on her forehead. “Cat, don’t. You’re still very weak. We’ll talk later—”

“N-no!” Cat tries to bellow, and doesn’t quite. “No—no talk. Don’t tell. I—held him… there. Blame me.” Tears of frustration are springing to her eyes.

She can see that Shadowheart is taken aback. “Alright… alright. Don’t fret, now. I won’t tell anyone else.”

Cat’s eyes drift to where Astarion stands behind Shadowheart. Blood—her blood—coats his mouth. His neck. He looks far more alive now. But his face is a picture of devastation. He turns and strides out of the room. Cat drifts into a fitful sleep as the healing warmth spreads.

When Cat lays out her bedroll in the drum tower at Moonrise that the crew claimed for themselves, it is only two nights after she had nearly been drained dry. But to Cat, it feels like the time since has been an endless, dull nightmare punctuated by flashes of her own rage.

‘Been drained.’ Such a passive phrase. Like she had sprung a leak. Astarion had nearly drunk her dry.

Or, truth be told: she had nearly let him. Practically goaded him to it, wrapped around him as tight as she was to the very end. Chasing oblivion in the arms of the one she had been so frustrated with, but who she missed in that moment with an awful hunger, so much so she had rushed to be devoured.

They had made it to Moonrise Towers earlier that day and slipped in without trouble, pretending to be the truest of True Souls. And Cat in particular—she had been playing her starring role to the hilt. The casual cruelty had come so very easily as she put on a show for Ketheric Thorm and his lackeys, watching those goblins with complete indifference as they ceased breathing at her own command. Soon after, when she had had to play the power-hungry mercenary to Disciple Z’rell, Cat’s head was so filled with anger and contempt she barely had to try to deceive her fellow True Soul into believing her intentions.

And then that Drow had crossed their path.

A ‘blood merchant,’ she had called herself with an unctuous swagger. Cat had not intended to stop in that side-chamber; she and the rest of the companions were intent on finding a place to stake out to sleep. But the Drow, who barely came up to Cat’s nose, was determined to waylay them. Going on about the no-doubt amazing properties of Cat’s blood (Cat peered at her—red eyes, but no fangs. She came by her obsession honestly, then). Cat curtly refused the offer to make her a potion out of it, but then the Drow had ventured one last attempt as the group turned away—what about your pale friend?

Cat’s brain had screeched to a halt. What about him?

She instinctively shifted to screen Astarion from the Drow’s leer. She didn’t look at him herself—had barely met his gaze since he had fled that room at the inn where she had lain staring blearily after him. That line she felt from her chest to his had pulled painfully taut since then, and it was sending her thrashing through wild swings of emotion.

So when the Drow had nattered on about her childhood dream of being bitten by a vampire, of dancing on the edge between life and death or some such garbage, Cat was already this close to slapping her. But when the woman then proceeded to ignore Astarion’s strained ‘no,’ and whined at Cat to correct her obstinate charge, Cat had hauled her up by her collar before she even realized it.

Cat heard the intake of breath behind her. She knew her companions had been looking at her worriedly all day. But in that moment, she didn’t care. All she saw was this insipid woman talking about Astarion like he was Cat’s pet, like he was some toy she used to fulfill her lusts. So she had snarled in the Drow’s face: “did you not hear him the first time? Or do I have to drive it through your thick skull?”

“Un—unhand me, you stinking darthiir!” the woman screeched, grabbing at Cat’s grip. But there was a spark of fear in her eyes—probably more because of Cat’s status as a True Soul than anything else.

The bracing anger in her body, the scrapping instincts from childhood had told Cat to bloody her, to beat her until she howled. But she was brought to a shuddering standstill as the shame underlying her rage surfaced, filling her belly with sick as a little voice in her head reminded her how much she herself longed to feel him drink from her again and again.

The whole thing had ended lamely, with Cat shoving the Drow to the floor and mumbling something about staying the hell out of her way.

The memory of it adds a queasy veneer to Cat’s already stellar mood as she plops down on her bedroll. She had pointedly placed it behind a wall of dusty crates, hoping the signal would be enough to deter any in the camp who were thinking of sidling up and asking her just how she was doing. Her head is pounding. In a bid to lessen the pain, she unpins and undoes her braids, lets her hair tumble down. It doesn’t help much.

By the light of her lone candle, Cat is sitting there contemplating how stupidly long her hair has gotten, grown past her waist. She is thinking about taking some shears to it when his shadow creeps up next to her.

Astarion is looking down at her warily, standing just on the edge of the candlelight like he’s not sure if he wants to be in full view.

Cat looks up from where she’s hunched sitting cross-legged. Well. This had to happen sometime. There is a looming mass of things between them straining to be voiced, but the necessity of it doesn’t ease the clench of nervousness in her guts. This is it. She has no idea what Astarion is thinking, or even what she truly wants with him, but however this ends—

“Your hair is very long.”

The words fly out of his mouth and she immediately sees the mortification in his eyes. She wants to laugh, so badly—at least her brain is not the only one completely beat. She tries for a smile instead. She hopes it’s not too strained.

“I don’t think you came to talk about my hair.”

He looks like he’s about to take a hundred-foot plunge off a cliff. “No. I don’t suppose I did. But I… I don’t know where to start.”

Cat wordlessly pats the space in front of her on her bedroll. Astarion sits stiffly, like he doesn’t quite know where to put his feet and knees. And he has no idea where his eyes should settle. He ends up looking at Cat's hands, which are clutched together nervously.

“We’re a whole tangle, aren’t we?” Cat ventures at last.

Astarion’s gaze flicks to her face. His lips twitch up, but he can’t complete the smile. “Yes, we are. A bit of a mess. Or… I don’t know, actually. What we are.” Cat expects him to peter out into silence again, but without warning, he blurts, “but first, I wanted to thank you for what you said. To that vile Drow. I’ve never really had someone care about what I wanted, before. Certainly, not anything I wanted for my own body.”

The gratefulness of his words runs headlong into Cat’s self-contempt. She doesn’t want to undercut his thanks, but she has to— “Astarion, I—I would never make you do anything like that, nothing you didn’t want. But what I did, after what she said about wanting to use you… I snapped so hard because I was mad at myself.”

Astarion’s brows draw together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“When I had you drink from me, at the inn. I told myself I could keep track of the time. I told myself it was strategic, for no other reason—” Cat sighs bitterly. “That was a lie. I knew it. I don’t know if you could tell, but—it does something to me, when you drink from me. I go out of my damn mind. It makes me feel… better than I can ever remember. And I can…feel you. So clearly.” She doesn’t dare meet his eyes. “I would have… I would have made you kill me. That’s how far gone I was.”

After a long moment, she ventures a glance at his face, dreading what she’ll find. He just looks back at her wonderingly. “I thought it was just the blood loss talking, but you really do think all that was you.”

She stutters. “Well, it was me who was wrapped all around you at the end. I remember that much.”

A wan smile draws across his face. “Oh, darling, I appreciate the honesty, but—you really were out of your pretty head, weren’t you? You don’t seem to remember I was wrapped around you just as tightly.” The sudden sweetness from him throbs in Cat’s chest. His eyes look away for a moment. “Your blood—it will always be special to me. And at first, I thought that’s why I felt drawn to you. I told myself that’s what it was, after I drank from you that first time.” He pauses. “Cat—I came on to you for a reason, at the beginning. It’s only fair you know. I needed… someone on my side. Someone who would fight for me, even against Cazador if it came to that. And you, well—you were powerful in the right circumstances, and you already hated him.”

Astarion is watching her face carefully. Cat chews on his words before speaking. “You thought you had to sleep with me to get me on your side?”

He shrugs. “It’s what I knew. What I’ve done for… for so long. I know I’m not much good for anything else.” He half-laughs, and it sends a crack right through Cat’s heart. Certain memories of his suddenly come into awful focus—

“Astarion, you’re—” she reaches for his hands. Stops herself. “That is not true. Whatever he did, whatever he made you do—that’s not your worth.”

Cat keeps her voice low to not draw attention, but she is forceful, looking him full in the face for the first time since he sat down. And Astarion—he is looking back like he wants to believe her. But there is still so much doubt.

“I don’t know what you saw. It probably wasn’t enough for you to realize…” he starts slowly, voice barely above a whisper. “I told you—he made us hunt. Probably thousands of people, over the decades. But he didn’t have us just drag in poor wretches off the street. He made us… seduce them back. And, not only them.” He swallows thickly. “He also—prostituted us out. To be blunt. Used us to buy favors from other power players in the city. So. Using my body for that, over and over… it was my purpose. The only one I can remember.”

White-hot hatred flashes through Cat. Her loathing of Szarr had cooled over the years as a pure matter of distance, but now she wants nothing more than to kill him with her bare hands as the gravity of what Astarion just described sinks in.

Astarion plows on, voice getting more and more choked as he goes. “So—I had to learn every trick in the proverbial book. Learn to use intimacy and sex as—as tools. And after so long, I can’t undo the connection. I can’t let hundreds of years of disgust go and just… be with someone.” He huffs a bleak laugh. “Even though I’m finally here. Telling you that all my grand plans for you fell apart almost immediately. That try as I might, I could never be… indifferent with you. You are…” he trails off, a trembling smile on his face as he casts about for words, “… incredible. Being with you, in those moments I was able to let myself just enjoy it—I have never been happy like that.”

Cat tries to smile. But there is something coming and she doesn’t want to know, wants to head it off— “Then let’s just—let’s just be together. Can’t we?”

Astarion looks at her with such affection and sadness it stops her breath. “But that’s the problem. I can’t be with you, Cat—not like you deserve. You deserve someone who can give everything to you. And I can’t be with you… intimately. Not without bringing up feelings I don’t ever want my mind to connect with you.”

Cat exhales shakily. She feels like her heart is bursting. “Well,” she says at last, “thing is, I don’t want to be with ‘someone.’ I want to be with you. Whatever that looks like. And we certainly don’t need to have sex to be together.”

Astarion is gazing at her like he can’t quite believe what she said. “Then what—what would we… do?”

“Well, we can do whatever the hell we want,” Cat says, smiling widely at last. But Astarion still looks bewildered. So she continues. “And I—one of the things I want is to sit with you, and smile at you like an idiot. So I’m doing good right now.” He huffs a laugh. Then, as she gently holds his gaze, she asks: “Right now—what do you want?”

The tension between them grows. Not in an anxious way—anticipatory, like all the intimacy they shared before had been wiped away, like they are meeting again for the first time. When Astarion reaches out hesitantly toward Cat’s hand resting on her knee, when his fingers delicately alight on her palm—they are touching for the first time as two people without any mask. Without any motive. Wanting only to be with the other.

Cat’s heart is pounding stupidly fast as she takes Astarion’s hand in hers. She studies it. “You better watch out,” she murmurs. “One of these days I’m shoving a violin at you.”

Astarion snorts bemusedly, and some of his tension falls away. “I don’t have a musical bone in my body, dearest.”

“I don’t believe that. And no way I’m letting these ridiculous fingers go to waste,” Cat says, maneuvering to put their palms together. His long, elegant fingers make hers look so stubby in comparison. After a moment, they intertwine. Deathly pallor and sun-kissed complexion woven together.

“Astarion, if we’re talking about limits,” Cat blurts out, scared she is ruining the moment but feeling she needs to say this now, before it gets too far. “I don’t think—I can’t have you drink from me. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s something your fangs secrete, but. I know if we do it much more, it won’t end well.”

Astarion half smiles at her. “You think you have a… different sort of drinking problem?”

A laugh bursts from Cat. “I thought you hated puns.”

“Only from anyone else.” He rubs his thumb over hers absently. “And—of course. As delicious as you are, I won’t much enjoy it if you’re frightened, my dear.”

“I wish,” Cat says impulsively after a moment, “I wish I had enough blood for two. So we could just… flow through each other, forever.”

Astarion blinks. Smiles tremulously. “What a strange, lovely notion.”

Cat looks at him, a flush creeping up her cheek. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

“No, no—” he says hurriedly. His voice gentles. “I like that—that I don’t ever quite know what will come out of your mouth. It’s usually delightful.”

As she watches his softening face, something throbs in Cat. She asks suddenly, “can I kiss your hand?”

Astarion’s eyes fly to hers. His mouth opens. Closes. He nods mutely. Slowly, Cat brings their entwined fingers to her. She closes her eyes and gently presses each of his knuckles to her lips. Then she cradles his hand in both of hers, resting her closed mouth on it like she’s praying; still not quite believing, but hoping beyond hope that this is real. She opens her eyes. Sees his face.

He is watching her, and he is falling apart. Cat sees the hideously tender parts of him as his eyes silently plead, silently want—calling to the same in her. And she realizes all at once: this is why she did it. This is why that lifetime ago in the swamp she killed for him without a thought, even if she saw this in him only by instinct at the time. And she would do it again, she knows, as she watches him melting in the warmth of such simple affection.

After a long time, Astarion speaks. “Cat,” his voice cracks. “How are you not mad at me?”

Cat glances up, her mouth still resting on his hand. “Who says I’m not?”

He stutters. “But—well, then why are you…” he trails off. But he doesn’t pull away.

Cat circles her thumb on his. “Because I can be annoyed at you and also… like you. Very much.” She pauses, looking away and back at him again. “I didn’t much care for you yelling at me at the Grymforge," she says quietly.

Astarion pauses. Then he sighs, reaching out to grip the tangle of their hands with his still free, holding it all between them. “I’m—sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t feeling quite—but even so.” He continues to stare down at their hands. “I’m not used to… anything like this. Something where—where I can’t just take. But I want to—” he squeezes Cat’s hands. Looks up at her. “I am… abominable at sincerity. I got nothing but pain for it, for so long. But Cat, with you—I must try.” He gathers himself. “After that party, you were hurting. And you showed me… everything.”

Cat’s eyes glance away. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Astarion plows on. “I’m not angry you did. Not now. It scared me then, that you were so open. I thought it was weakness, but—you’re strong. After all of it, after Cazador took what he did, you’re still… you.” He smiles, and it is like the sun she has not seen in weeks. “You’re not some dead woman’s ghost, Cat. All I see is you.”

And Cat’s breath is hitching in her throat at the sudden earnestness, the tears are pressing behind her eyes and she hates it, doesn’t want to blubber right now—but then he’s leaning forward, pulling her to him. All the tension around intimacy lost in this moment where he sees her collapsing.

Cat forces her tears back, but she buries her face in the crook of his neck all the same. Feels acutely where she presses against him as she sits tangled in his lap.

Astarion is slightly warm. Well-fed, after snatching one of the pilgrims earlier to drain. His chest rises and falls, slowly. He does not have to breathe, Cat knows. She wonders if he’s doing it to smell her. To smell the blood under her skin he would drown in.

There is no heartbeat, of course. But the ribcage into which her own presses does not feel empty. Because it contains what has already become precious to her.

She feels his fingers start to comb through her wavy, dishwater hair. “I’ve never seen it down before,” he says absently.

“Mm. Gotten too long.”

“Has it really?”

She smiles into him. “You don’t think so? Elves have a thing for long hair, don’t they?”

“Apparently. Maybe I did once, but. I don’t remember.”

“Maybe it’s old instincts coming back.”

Cat feels the press on her hair as he nuzzles. “Or it’s simply intriguing, seeing my lover’s hair down for the first time,” he says.

The murmurs into her scalp send a pleasant shiver through Cat. She turns her head so she can press closer to him.

His shirt is half-undone, as always. What catches her eye is his collarbones, the connecting muscles in his neck—his shoulders are pulled slightly forward, so they rise prominently under his perfect skin. The light from the single candle catches on the ridges they make, forming deep shadows in the valleys.

This flickering pool of light is now the whole world, and they are the only ones in it.

Her fingers reach up tentatively, landing soft as breath as she begins to run them along the intersection of muscle and bone. She feels Astarion shift his head to watch her. His one hand rests at the base of her neck, tangled in her hair, while the other grips at her hip with a casual possessiveness, the press of which Cat will continue to remember in quiet moments.

She feels the rumble in his chest when he asks, “looking for something?”

“An ingress,” she says at last. “Just—a place I can slip in quiet. Won’t be a bother.”

She feels the quirk of his lips. “Is that so? And what would you do, if you snuck inside me?”

“Oh, just—curl up around your lungs. Keep you warm.”

~

“Where are you going?”

Cat, lost in the endless loop of her mind replaying her argument with Astarion, spins around wildly. She is almost at the door to the little back garden with her armful of rumpled clothes under one arm and a bucket on the other, a bottle of lye soap solution clutched in her hand. Jaheira is standing there in her shirtsleeves, arms folded, looking Cat up and down with a raised inquisitory brow.

“I’m—going out to the pump. Laundry,” Cat mumbles. She knows her face is a puffy red mess. And she knows that Jaheira had to have heard the ruckus in her own front hall some twenty minutes ago.

“Well, first, you’re not going out into the rain in your shift. And second, you’re certainly not doing any laundry in the rain at night at all, whatever you’re wearing,” Jaheira says briskly. Then she pauses. Her tone downshifts into something less abrasive as her face settles into concern. “do you normally come down from a lover’s spat by doing housework?”

Cat adjusts her grip on the clothes under her arm. She realizes then that in addition to only having a shift on, she’s also barefoot. Her brain feels like it’s slogging through mud. “I,” she swallows. “I’m really sorry about all that. I’ll make sure a ruckus like that doesn’t happen in here again.”

“Do try to. The little ones were rather startled,” says Jaheira. But then she sighs and starts to herd Cat away from the door. “But come, my sad, sopping-wet Cat. If you’re so determined, let’s find you a better place to launder your woes.”

Jaheira leads Cat into the cavern under the house. It’s not as bright as it is in the daytime with the sunlight pouring in, but it is still light enough by torchlight, and Jaheira conjures more as Cat settles in by the pool. Cat hesitates at first, asking Jaheira if it’s really alright for her to be dirtying her druidic pool like this, but Jaheira just waves a hand, telling her she’ll purify it later, and then squats down beside Cat and starts on the skirt.

“These look perfectly clean,” Jaheira says, looking sidelong at Cat.

Cat dunks the shift she had worn earlier in the water. Haltingly starts to explain what happened, where she went. Why exactly she has to scrub all trace of smell out of the clothes she wore today. The smell that set Astarion off in the first place.

“I shouldn’t have gone there. Fucking stupid of me,” Cat mutters darkly, soaping up the linen shift, scrunching it forcefully.

Jaheira looks over. Her eyes are uncharacteristically soft. “With heavy things like that, we rarely act rationally. It’s something of a curse, having something so solid nearby that contains his past. I can see why you had the impulse to confront it.”

Cat shakes her head. “I just made it worse. It’s been bad enough—” she shuts her mouth abruptly as she feels her eyes getting hot. Her shaking hands grip the wet linen.

Jaheira puts the wet skirt down and turns toward Cat. “I doubt you did, little Cat. You accidentally set off memories for him, unpleasant ones, but dealing with that is something Astarion must learn. And he will.”

Cat drops the shift at the water’s edge. Sits back and wraps her arms around her knees. Stares out at the pool, at the spot below the crevice open to the sky where the misting rain is falling, ruffling the surface. “How? How can he possibly—it’s so much,” she says, voice thick. “Ever since last month, he’s stuck in it more days than not. Two hundred years of torment.” Cat’s face twists. “At first, I thought it felt like… like it was his mistress, distracting him from us. But now I think it’s me who's the mistress, the new one on the side. Because how could I possibly compete with that?” Immediately after the ugly words stop pouring out like vomit, Cat shakes her head and says tearfully, “I’m sorry, I’m awful for thinking that, but I—"

“No, you’re not awful. At all. You feel what you feel, and you’re not wrong for it,” Jaheira says quietly, but with conviction. “And Cat, it may be hard for you to see, but you do mean more than all that, to him. I know you do—if you did not, he would still be keeping all that poison bottled up inside.”

Cat’s brow furrows. “How do you know?”

Jaheira looks down. Her jaw works for a moment before she speaks. “I know, because—when I was young, back in ancient times, I also went through horrors. The specifics are not important, but when I met Khalid, when I finally found someone with whom I could… be myself, and not be afraid, all my fears came to the surface. A horrible contradiction, eh?” Jaheira smiles ironically. “It was hard on him, some days, when I was lashing out. Looking back, I realized—I had had to keep it all in for so long, to protect myself. It was only after Khalid I could let myself start coming to terms with what I had gone through.” She looks up at Cat. “You are that person for Astarion. That safe place, where he can show his ugly underside and feel safe.”

Cat looks away from Jaheira, back out at the pool. “That makes some kind of sense.” She hunches over, drawing her knees closer. “But I—I’m still angry.  I have so many horrible thoughts, things I just want to scream at him. I hate it, I know he doesn’t want this, but… I’m so tired, Jaheira.”

Jaheira reaches out, squeezes Cat’s shoulder. “And that’s fine. You don’t have to be a saint, long-suffering and silent. Don’t isolate yourself, you and him—reach out to the ones who love you. Me—I’m always happy to hear a good rant.”

Cat takes a slow breath. Lets out a hollow laugh. “Just remember, you offered.” Then her expression falters. She runs her hands down her face. “Jaheira—does it get better?”

“Yes,” says Jaheira without hesitation. “Not perfect. But better. At some point he’ll have more good days than bad, until the bad are few and far between. I can’t say how long until then, but keep the faith, little Cat.” She goes back to work on the skirt. “And I wager he'll come back in a better mood tonight, after hunting to his heart’s content.”

[seijorhi]

Scion

yakuza arranged marriage anyone??

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

wc 8.5k

tw dubcon, noncon, drug use, mentions of murder, torture, minor character death, implied infidelity, human trafficking, blood, general yandere themes, smut, nsfw

“You know we’re not actually in a relationship, right?”

Oikawa grins, “The big, sparkly diamond ring I’ve got in my back pocket begs to differ.”

You fix him with an unimpressed look, which only serves to make his grin widen. He really can’t help himself when you get all worked up like this. 

“I’m serious, Oikawa. Ring or no ring. Contract or no contract, I think it’s better for the both of us to just act like–”

“Act like this isn’t happening?”

“That’s not– you’re being difficult,” you huff. “I just meant that we don’t need to pretend to be all… coupley in the meantime. You’re free to see and do whatever you want, and… and so am I.”

It’s not a question exactly, there’s something distinctly uncertain in your tone. Are you seeking his permission or trying to reaffirm to yourself that you still have some semblance of freedom – romantic or otherwise – until the moment you walk down the aisle to bind yourself to him?

Neither thought sits particularly well with him, though before Oikawa can open his mouth to deliver a retort, you’re cutting him off. “And I’m not wearing the ring.”

“No? But I haven’t even shown it to you yet. I picked it out myself, and you know I have excellent taste.”

Your scowl deepens. “Would it kill you to take this seriously?”

“Like you are?” he parries. “You understand that you’re essentially giving me a free pass to fuck whoever I want while we’re engaged.”

He doesn’t miss the flicker of distaste that you try (and fail miserably) to hide. You’ve always been like that; wearing your emotions on your face, bare as the light of day. And while that’s an admirable trait in somebody else – one he admittedly finds more endearing than he should as far as you’re concerned – it won’t do you any favours in this world of his. The world you were born into, loathe as you seem to be to accept your part in it.

Admittedly, it does make it so very entertaining whenever he decides to push those delightful buttons of yours.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself perhaps, and lift your gaze to meet his. 

“I don’t know why you even agreed to marry me, and honestly I don’t care. I'm doing this for my family, but if this whole thing falls apart before I ever make it down the aisle, I’ll sleep just fine. So by all means, fuck whoever you want, whenever you want, I promise you I won’t stop you – so long as you hold up your end of the bargain.”

Though you never raise your voice, there’s a fire that burns in your eyes, unwavering. Unflinching. And far from being put off by it, Oikawa’s thrilled. 

“Fine,” he purrs, “but you’ll be wearing the ring.”

—

You’d asked for a year, and graciously, he’d agreed. 

Oikawa’s waited a long, long time for this, another twelve months will hardly make a difference. Besides, there’s nothing stopping him from stealing you away every now and then; there’s meetings with the wedding planner, picking out a venue, organising caterers, going over the guest lists – all responsibilities he could technically pass off to someone else, but why deny himself the pleasure of your sparkling company when he has the chance? 

And of course, there’s special occasions that people would traditionally want to celebrate with their soon to be spouses. Days like today; his 30th birthday. 

He doesn’t bother informing you of this, because then he’d miss out on seeing your bright, sunny grin when you open the door, and how it falters when you realise that it’s him. 

“Oh, Oikawa…”

Though it’s an admittedly poor effort, he’ll give you credit for trying to pretend that it’s not blatant disappointment leaching from your tone as you grip the edge of the door, your gaze darting over his shoulder quickly.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

Ah. His eyes drift downwards, taking in the short, summery dress, the light sweep of makeup across your pretty face. Spies the ‘fuck me’ heels sitting by the door, ready for you to slip on before you leave. 

Date night, then. And on his birthday no less.

“Did you have plans?” he asks, plastering an innocent smile across his face. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

The answer is obviously yes, even if it weren’t clear from your outfit, he can see it written all over your expression. 

Your fingers tighten a fraction on the door, “I assumed– I thought tonight you’d be out with your… friends.” Friends, bodyguards, lieutenants, brothers. His family, soon to be yours. “To celebrate, I mean. Today’s your birthday, right?”

Oikawa’s touched that you remember. Then again, perhaps he shouldn’t be – ever since he was a teenager, your father had essentially enforced your presence (yours and your brother’s) at any of their events, birthday celebrations no exception. 

Another glance risked over his shoulder.

He shrugs easily, “We will be, later. For now I want you all to myself.”

You open your mouth, only to abruptly snap it shut, suddenly hesitant. Not without cause, he supposes. One thing to insist that your engagement with him doesn’t construe a proper relationship, another to openly admit you’re seeing somebody else while it’s his ring that glitters on your finger. 

His smile widens. “Unless you have somewhere else to be?”

“… Not at all.” 

Good girl. 

He takes you to his favourite restaurant in the city. Wraps an arm low around your back and lets his thumb rub slowly – posessively – at your hip when the staff bow deeply and address him by name, ushering you both to a private room, his usual, out the back. 

You’re quiet through dinner, picking at the food on your plate.

Normally it’d irritate him, push him to poke and prod until you came alive and played with him, however tonight he finds it oddly satisfying. Delightful, if only because he knows he’s the cause of your discomfort.

Did you manage to message your jilted lover before he swept you away for the night, or does the poor bastard think you’ve stood him up, he wonders.

“You know,” he begins, idly gazing down at his glass as he swirls the last dregs of whiskey, “I’ve been thinking that we need to amend our contract.”

You glance up sharply, and he only barely resists snickering. “What?”

“I think we should add a fidelity clause.” He pauses, lets the words sink in as he drains his glass in a single mouthful, “You seemed convinced I’d be fucking other people after we married, well, now you don’t have to worry.”

You blink. “But… I told you I didn’t care–”

“This way, if you catch me being unfaithful, both our marriage and the contract become null and void, and you can go on your merry way.”

Setting the now empty glass back on the table, Oikawa rests an arm on the back of his chair. For all your naivety, you’ve never been stupid. He can tell from the sudden tight, apprehensiveness in your features that you understand the subtle threat, yet it never hurts to hammer the point home, “Of course, that goes both ways, sweetheart.”

“Of course,” you echo back, your voice unsteady, and knock back the last of your wine.

Oikawa grins, “Another round?”

—

“Her brother’s outside,” Matsukawa informs him. “Demanding to see you.”

The night before his wedding, Oikawa stands at the sink of his bathroom, a damp face cloth in hand, wiping at the blood splattered along his face and neck. He’s already shed his shirt, dumped it on the floor – it’s likely beyond salvaging, the blood already in the process of drying. Another casualty to this lifestyle, though considering how much of a colossal fuck up this night’s already been, he can’t find it within himself to give a shit about one measely shirt.

Mattsun meets his gaze in the mirror, “Want me to get rid of him?” he asks.

Oikawa exhales, dropping the towel into the sink. His tattoos, the vibrant bursts of colour inked between swirling blacks and greys, stand stark against the pale skin of his torso, rising and falling with each measured breath. There’s a temptation for him to tell Mattsun to simply get rid of him. An even bigger temptation to march out there himself and soothe the monster raging beneath his skin with more blood. 

Instead, he holds out a hand, to which Hanamaki quickly passes him a clean shirt to shrug on.

“No. Let him in.”

In truth, he’d been somewhat expecting a visit tonight, sending your brother to grovel for last minute clemency, though? Oikawa’s almost disappointed, he expected more from you.

Your glowering brother isn’t nearly as pretty to look at.

A few minutes later, dressed and clean, Oikawa makes his way into his study, ignoring the man already seated while he settles himself into the leather backed chair behind his desk. His right hand, Iwaizumi, lingers by the door, arms folded across his chest, scowling silently at their guest.

“Oikawa,” he grits out, his head inclining just a fraction – all the respect he can seem to muster for the man marrying his sister. His soon to be Oyabun, considering that after tomorrow, all that he was poised to inherit becomes Oikawa’s. 

His answering smirk is practically vulpine. “Come to play white knight? Leaving it a bit late, don’t you think?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here,” he spits, eyes narrowing. “Tell me what I need to do to end this.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in that?”

And Oikawa has to give him credit; he doesn’t waste a beat, “Because you’re a greedy little fuck who enjoys manipulating people. Stop playing games and tell me what it is you want in exchange for breaking this engagement, and I’ll go.”

He laughs, lazily drumming his fingers along the edge of the ornate, wooden desk. “Always a charmer, Eita. I’m curious, though, are you here begging for her sake, or your own? Because you know as well as I do what’ll happen to you and your father if this wedding doesn’t go ahead.” There’s nothing kind in his expression as his lips curl upwards, “Is the price worth it?”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” 

Eita’s eyes narrow. “You know she hates this, right? Wants absolutely nothing to do with any of it. She had to beg our father for months just to be allowed to attend a normal school, and flat out refused to have any part in the business, to even be in the same room when it was being discussed – which was fine because he had me to do all that.”

“The prodigal son,” Oikawa mocks, earning himself a sneer in response.

“She wanted out, and we were so close to convincing him when he had to go fuck everything up. And because he’d spent years making bad decision after bad decision, running our family into the ground and then decided to screw over the wrong syndicate, he comes crawling to you, begging for help.”

“Such gratitude, as always.”

Eita scoffs, “Am I supposed to be grateful? It wasn’t enough to take over our territory and operations, was it? You had to take her too, and because she for some fucking reason loves the old bastard, she’s going along with it. I don’t give a shit about losing any of it, but she’s not gonna throw her life away for his sake, or mine. So I’ll ask you again, Oikawa; what do you want in exchange for letting her out of this?”

Interesting. Nothing he didn’t technically already know, or at least suspect, nevertheless… interesting. And with glittering eyes he leans in close. Smirks. 

“As tempting an offer as that may be, I have everything I want.”

—

As the head of one of the largest Yakuza syndicates in the country, a small wedding was never an option. Hundreds of guests pour into the estate, all with the sole purpose of witnessing the two of you tying the knot in a beautiful, lavish ceremony. And it is a beautiful, lavish ceremony. Champagne towers and endless floral garlands falling between the glittering chandeliers, a string quartet plays as the wedding procession begins. 

Your dress was technically the only thing he hadn’t had a hand in. He’d wondered earlier, staring at his reflection as he fixed the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket, what kind of wedding gown you’d chosen for yourself. After all, despite you agreeing to this marriage, you’d made no secret of your ambivalence towards the entire day, only giving input when Oikawa prodded.

There was always a possibility you’d choose something plain and dull, simply because you didn’t care enough to pick otherwise. As you walk down the aisle on your father’s arm, however, he realises he needn't have worried. 

You’re perfect.

Heart-stoppingly beautiful in ivory lace and tulle, and though Iwa leans over, claps him on the shoulder and says something in his ear, Oikawa can’t hear a word of it. Can’t focus on anything – anyone – but you. 

And your eyes are shining for all the wrong reasons, and yet he can’t bring himself to care when the elder Semi places your trembling hand in his. A perfect fit.

From there, the rest of the ceremony passes in a blur. Vows are spoken, yours somewhat apprehensively, and rings exchanged, and when the time comes to kiss his lovely bride, Oikawa obliges, his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against him, dipping you to a flurry of raucous cheers and clapping.

You stand dutifully at his side as the hoard of well wishers come to congratulate him – the both of you, technically – and pay their respects, saying little beyond the expected pleasantries. All the while his thumb strokes along the back of the hand you have placed in his. 

Cocktails. Dinner. Toasts. The cutting of the cake. Tossing your bouquet. Necessary traditions expected of you both, Oikawa suffers patiently through each of them until finally, it comes time for the two of you to leave.

The moment he has you alone, in the backseat of the wedding car, the last frayed tether of his self control snaps, and he’s on you.

Leaning across the seat, one hand cups the back of your neck, anchoring you in place as his parted lips crash greedily against your own, the other pulls at your skirt, blindly seeking the what awaits him beneath.

Oikawa can taste the notes of champagne on your lips, the sweet tartness of the chocolate dipped strawberries he watched you swipe from the dessert table before you left. Will your cunt taste as sweet, he wonders, his tongue sliding into your mouth in search of more.

“Tooru,” you gasp when he eventually draws back, a thin strand of spit connecting your mouths as you struggle to catch your breath. “Wait, just–”

“No,” he growls, tightening his grip and dragging you back in. 

The force of it, his kiss, the weight of him bearing down on you has you sliding awkwardly back in the seat ‘til you’re almost horizontal. Despite that, you make no further attempts to dissuade him, letting him kiss you senseless. 

Letting him ruck up your skirt and run his fingers along the seat of your lace panties.

Maybe because you know it’s pointless to fight when Oikawa’s made it clear has no interest in stopping or slowing down, maybe because you knocked back one too many glasses of champagne at the reception, or because you’re getting swept up along with it too – he doesn’t care for the reasons. 

He’s been waiting all day to finally have you, and for years before that, and now that you’re irrevocably his, Oikawa fully intends on taking – and enjoying – what he’s owed. 

The drive is fifteen minutes from the reception to the hotel, and by the time the driver pulls to a stop out front, Oikawa’s sliding those same panties off your smooth legs, pocketing them with a wicked grin. “Ready, sweetheart?” he purrs.

A little dazed, a little drunk, you only manage an unsteady nod, taking your husband’s proffered hand to step from the car and hastily adjust your dress, smoothing out any wrinkles. A waste of time, in his opinion, considering what he has planned for you, still, sort of cute, in its own way.

The clerk behind the counter is friendly enough, smiling politely and congratulating the two of you as he passes across the keys to the honeymoon suite. The second the doors to the elevator slide closed, Oikawa’s on you again, shoving you back against the mirrored wall, latching onto your neck, sucking and nibbling on the delicate flesh and palming at your tits as you throw your head back and heave a breathy sigh. 

Your wedding dress, beautiful as it is, doesn’t make it much further than the front door, Oikawa’s fingers scrabbling to rip open the fastenings at the back, buttons scattering across the floor as it yields to him. And he’s enough of a gentleman to help you out of the wreckage of your dress, though he makes no effort to hide the way he stares hungrily, eyes darkening as you’re bared completely before him. 

The curve of your breast, nipples peaking from arousal, those lovely, soft thighs he’s been waiting to dig his fingers into, the pretty little pussy you shyly try to hide from him, glistening from his earlier attention–

His cock twitches in anticipation. 

Fuck.

“No bra?” he teases, as if his voice hasn’t dropped an octave at the sight of you. “And here I was looking forward to unwrapping my pretty bride on our wedding night.”

He watches your brow furrow as the soft dig works its way through your tipsy haze, and before you can let yourself get upset by it, Oikawa grabs you again. Kisses your lips fleetingly and grings, tugging you towards the bed covered in rose petals, shrugging off his tuxedo jacket and tossing it aside as he does so.

“Lie down for me,” he commands, working on the buttons of his shirt, his bow tie already lost somewhere in the fray. “On your back.”

Obediently you settle on the mattress, propped up on your elbows as he sheds that too. Through glazed eyes you stare at him. At his bared chest–

No, he realises belatedly. You’re staring at his tattoos, your eyes trailing from his forearm to his bicep, rounding his shoulder and down his pectoral, following the snarling red dragon that curls up his right arm, the oni and the twin snakes baring their fangs on the left.

This is the first time you’ve seen them, yes, but they shouldn’t come as a surprise. Both your brother and father have their own, it’s the mark of the Yakuza, and yet you seem entranced by his, staring at them with something akin to wonder. 

“See something you like?” he asks, chuckling when you pointedly ignore him.

His ego stroked, he settles down on his knees at the foot of the bed. Holding you by your hips, Oikawa hauls you forward, ignoring your startled squeak, and nudges your thighs further apart. Licks his lips and lifts his lust darkened eyes to meet your own.

He watches you inhale, a flutter of trepidation teasing at the edges of your expression.

All you can seem to manage is a shaky, “Please.”

And he doesn’t know if you’re asking him to stop, or slow down or if it’s a plea for him to hurry up and get on with it. Again, it hardly matters – he has no intention of letting up tonight.

Leaning in, his nose skims along your inner thigh before he comes face to face with your pussy. Warm and glistening, clit nice and puffy, he’s waited long enough to taste you. 

His mouth descends, tongue dragging along your pussy with broad strokes that have you gasping, jerking in his hold. It’s not the sweetness of your lips, still, there’s something heavenly about the taste of your cunt, the soft, feminine musk that envelops him. He moans against your sex, the vibrations drawing another whimpering breath as your hips arc up, gently rolling against his face in search of more friction.

Fuck that’s hot. 

Oikawa teases at your clit, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth, sucking gently, letting the very tip of his tongue flick at it, before returning to lap at your folds. 

“T-Tooru–”

A moan slips from you, your hips bucking as his tongue delves deeper, pushing between your slick folds, sucking and slurping, waggling his tongue back and forth to drive you to the point of madness. Your hands fist at the white sheets, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to try and stifle all of your pretty noises while he eats you out, tits heaving with every stuttered breath. 

Now that just won’t do. 

Adjusting his grip, Oikawa breaks away and instead brings his fingers to your cunt, teasing at your lower lips, before finally sliding two fingers inside of you with a smirk. 

And your pussy’s so wet, so fucking needy, clinging to the digits as they slowly stretch your tight little hole out. It’s not enough. He knows it’s not enough, sees the frustration pinching at your face every time you chase his fingers when they withdraw. He can’t resist holding out just a little while longer, though.

Call it male pride, the twisted satisfaction that coils deep in his guts at the sight of you desperate and fighting against yourself to beg him for what you truly want– and he hasn’t even started fucking you yet. 

“You wanna cum, don’t you baby?” he croons softly, “Just tell me what my pretty little wife needs.”

It takes a minute or two of that slow, agonising pace, but as you writhe and whine and jerk against his hold, finally your pride gives way. “Please!” you pant. “Please Tooru, more. I-I need more. Just hurry up and fuck me!”

He chuckles darkly, curling his fingers inside of you to rub at your g-spot as he leans down and resumes sucking at your neglected clit. 

Whatever his wife wants. 

—

Oikawa takes a slow drag of his cigarette, the tip glowing cherry red in the dark, and exhales into the cool night air.

“Whose?” he asks.

Iwa shrugs, “Dunno yet. Mattsun reckons one of the Osaka assholes trying to cut into our territory. So far they aren’t talking.” 

Oikawa’s attention shifts for a moment. Sure enough, the last two gang members have been dragged off to have a chat with Makki and Matsukawa. The latter of the two currently straddling one of them, beating him into the ground, Makki tightly gripping the other’s face forcing him to watch. 

There’s nothing but cold certainty in his voice when he simply says, “They will.”

He drops the cigarette to the ground and grinds the smoldering embers beneath the heel of his shoe. Without another word he strides into the warehouse – a makeshift den. 

The bodies haven’t been touched yet, lying where they fell in pools of congealing blood, scattered bullet casings littering the ground around them. Oikawa pays them no mind. Instead he glances at the pallets strewn across the warehouse floor, brick upon brick of drugs, cocaine, meth, bundled baggies of non-descript little pills. More than he can count, at any rate.

And there’s cases of weapons too. Nothing flash or fancy, but guns are guns, and Oikawa’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Iwa’s silent beside him, gazing around the room with a shrewd look in his eye, likely trying to calculate the street value of it all.

Ever the businessman. 

Oikawa smirks.

Drugs will sell no matter what they’re cut with. It’s impossible to tell the quality by sight alone – retrieving his switchblade from his jacket pocket, he slices one of the bricks open, dips a finger in and swipes it along his gums. 

It takes only a second for that familiar rush of euphoria to wash over him, a pleasant shiver rolling down his spine. He grins. “It’s good. Pure.” A glance to Iwa, watching at his side, “How much?”

“Gotta be more than 300 pounds here.”

And fuck if he doesn’t like the sound of that. Oikawa whistles, unable to hide the smug satisfaction on his face. 

“There’s girls too,” Yahaba, one of his men, says, stalking in from the back. “Mad Dog’s with ‘em.”

Five of them, he counts when he follows his lieutenant, huddled up out by the rear entrance, cringing away from the scowling blond who looks as if he’d love nothing more than to tear them apart, one after the other. 

Part of the shipment, or merely entertainment, he wonders. 

He steps closer, grabs one of the girl’s faces and forces it upwards, tilting it this way and that, studying her like a prize mare at auction. Clear eyes. Clean hair. No sign of bruising under the thickly applied – now smudged – makeup. Girls fresh off the proverbial boat tended to be drugged to high heaven to keep them compliant. 

Even their clothes, the scraps they still have on at least, point towards a more established lifestyle. 

Escorts, no doubt, brought along by the men for some entertainment while they guarded their stash before transport.

Shoving her away, Oikawa exhales, bringing his hand to his chin as he ponders the options. 

Nobody will miss the girls if he orders Kyoutani and Yahaba to kill them. Either they’re owned by the same people who shipped in the drugs and the weapons, in which case their deaths’ll be chalked up to being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or they have a pimp, who beyond the loss of income, won’t give a shit. 

No one kicks up a fuss over a few dead whores.

And even if they did, Oikawa owns the working girls in this city, this is his fucking turf. They should know better than to send their girls out here. 

Yahaba and Kyoutani are both watching him carefully, awaiting the order. They wouldn’t so much as blink if he told them to cut the girls down right where they stood. 

If he were feeling particularly generous, he could let them go, run on back home to whatever brothel they crawled out of. Unfortunately for them, he’s all too aware that the only things girls like them are quicker to open than their legs are their mouths, and that just won’t do.

At the end of the day, though, a whore’s a whore; they’ll make money one way or another. Even the ugly ones. 

“Take them back to Hirama’s, she’ll find work for them. Who knows, Mad Dog,” he says, throwing his enforcer a wry grin and a wink, “If you’re lucky, she might even let you fuck one of them first.”

The blond scowls, even under the flickering lights he can’t hide the pink flush that stains his cheeks. 

Iwa raises an eyebrow, snickering at Kyoutani’s expense, “You think so? I thought she was still pissed at him for breaking the last one.”

“Mad Dog just likes to play rough, that’s all,” he smirks. “Hirama knows that, and besides, she owes me a favour.”

The girls are already out of his mind as he turns to leave, carrying on his conversation with Iwa. Tonight’s endeavours have been surprisingly fruitful – enough that he can’t justify being pissed off at getting called away in the middle of fucking his wife.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t itching to return.

He’s almost at the warehouse door when a clamour breaks out behind him. Yahaba curses, a few of the girls shout, and there’s a gasped “Wait!” called out. 

Oikawa whirls to find one of the escorts, a slight blonde with painted red lips and wide doe eyes, ducking out from under Kyoutani’s outstretched arm. 

She ignores the snarl from Kyoutani, the pistol Iwaizumi instinctively whips out, focused wholly on him as she grabs at his arm and clings to it, presses her lithe, scantily clad body close, “Wait,” she says, tears glimmering in her eyes even as she tries for a convincing sultry look, “Don’t send me away, I– we could–”

He doesn’t wait to hear what the two of them could do, backhanding her hard enough that she sprawls to the ground with a ugly cry. 

“Whores don’t get to touch,” he sneers, spitting on her curled up figure for good measure.

Good mood all but evaporated, he meets Kyoutani’s eye as the blond snaps forward to grab her by the arm and roughly haul her back to her feet. 

“If they decide to be difficult, get rid of them.”

—

She made us. She’s pissed.

Oikawa glances up at the approaching sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor. Quick. Agitated. Kunimi wasn’t wrong, it seems.

Mere seconds later, the door to his study is thrown open, and in you stalk; a storm of beautiful fury. “You’re having me followed?!”

Smoothly, he pockets his phone and rises to his feet. “Ah, there you are, sweetheart. I was wondering when you’d be getting back.” He takes a long, lingering look at your outfit; the red knit, halter dress that clings so beautifully to the curves of your body. “Gone for hours at a time, dressed like that… What’s a husband to do?”

The grin on his face is nothing short of a challenge.

“So you think I’m cheating on you, is that it?” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest. “You really think so little of me?”

He comes out from behind his desk and mimics your posture, arms folded as he leans back against the varnished surface and meets your narrowed gaze. “Do I need to remind you, baby, of what’d happen if you were?”

And if he weren’t staring at you so intently, if he didn’t know your expressions and body language inside and out, perhaps he might’ve missed that tiny flicker of fear in your eyes. 

Not a confirmation exactly, yet enough for him to know he’s not entirely off the mark, and oh how that makes him burn. 

“You’d… divorce me and take away my family’s protection,” you mutter, your tone more petulant now than angry. 

Oikawa nods, “On paper, yes.”

“On pa– what do you mean on paper?” 

His lips curl into a cruel smile, “That was our deal, wasn’t it? Either one of us cheats, and our contract becomes void.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “That’s what I just–”

“That’s all. The contract becomes void on paper. It means that if I decide I want to get rid of your father myself, no one’ll stop me. No one would fucking dare.” He pushes off the desk and closes in on you – a tiger stalking its prey. “And that brother of yours. Your shining white knight. What do you think I’ll do to him?”

His voice is soft, sweet almost. A loving caress, if not for the terrible words he speaks. But he wants you afraid, wants you terrified. Two fingers gently tilt your chin upwards, and he basks in the way you flinch from him, the alarm you seem so desperate to tamp down bleeding all over your lovely face. 

“And me?” you whisper. Would you kill me too, he reads in your eyes. 

“You really think so little of me?” he parrots back, sickly satisfied when your stricken expression stutters. “You’re my wife; I love you, you know that. Why would I go to all the trouble of making you mine just to throw you away so heartlessly?” 

He sees the flicker of confusion in your eyes, and the moment your lips part he’s kissing you, tamping down any protest. Devouring, though, would probably be a better word. Kissing to bruise, to hurt. To claim. Teeth harshly nipping at your bottom lip, Oikawa moans when he tastes the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. 

It’s not enough, though.

You make the mistake of trying to wriggle out of his hold, whining pathetically into the kiss, and the last meagre tether on his composure snaps. The desk is only feet away, but he doesn’t have the patience to drag you over to it when the wall is right fucking there. 

Breaking away, he grabs your sides and roughly spins you around, slamming you back against the door hard enough for a pained gasp to leave your lips.

“Tooru– Tooru, wait, please!”

No. He’s never been cruel to you – not how men can truly be cruel – tonight, though, he can’t be bothered caring about the tears spilling from your lashes or the panicked shriek you give when he hikes up the skirt of your dress and yanks your panties aside.

“I haven’t– I wouldn’t–” you keep babbling – he pays it no mind as he hurriedly frees his cock from his pants and lines himself up. 

“You’re mine,” he hisses, sheathing himself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust. “My pretty wife.”

Your cries are louder now, agonised and wailing, Oikawa’s long past the point of caring, though. His staff know better than to pry, and his men won’t intercede on matters between their Oyabun and his wife, no matter how loud you get. 

This is between you and him. 

“You think I don’t know about the texts you hide?” Another thrust. “The calls, late at night? Your disappearing act last week?” His hips clap against your backside, his pace vicious and unrelenting.

The dryness of your cunt makes it an unpleasant start, yet it hardly takes long before your syrupy slick begins to coat his length, easing his passage no matter how violently he pounds into you. 

And despite your whimpers and hitched pleas, how you struggle fruitlessly against him, the plush, velvety walls of your heat cling to his cock, sucking him deeper with each fevered stroke. He pushes himself closer to you, buries his face in your hair and breathes deep, relishing how you shake and tremble as he stuffs you full, your poor little pussy moulding to the shape of his dick. 

As if he can imprint himself permanently inside of you if he just fucks you well enough.

The door shakes against its stop every time he slams you against it, and that, plus your sweet sobs and the panting breaths you share, is almost enough to drown out the slick, gushing sound coming from your pussy and the rapid paps of his balls hitting your top of your thighs.

Almost, but not quite. 

He’ll never tire of fucking you, not when your cunt’s so warm and you feel this good squeezing and fluttering around him. Oikawa’d rather die than ever give this up, and with a fist tangled in your hair, he yanks your head back to whisper as much in your ear. Drags his hungry mouth over your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft, supple flesh for good measure. 

You shudder around him, and he groans in pleasure. His wife. His. 

“I haven’t… fucked him,” you gasp out, mewling as his cock hits a sweet spot, deep inside of you. “It’s not like that.”

His expression darkens, a scowl twisting at his lips at the mention of your would-be lover. “End it,” he snarls, “or I’ll kill him myself.”

—

Less than two weeks later, Oikawa's being driven to an important meeting when Iwaizumi’s phone suddenly blares to life.

He pays it no mind, content to let his oldest friend handle whatever issue has sprung up while he busies himself with retrieving his cigarette case from the breast pocket of his jacket. Flicking the silver lid open, Oikawa slips one out and mindlessly offers the case to Iwa – who ignores it entirely  – as he pats his other pockets in search of his lighter. 

“When?” 

He knows that flat tone all too well, and glances up sharply to find Iwa staring ahead, his jaw set, face grim. Whoever’s on the other end of the line speaks for a moment more, the volume too low for him to discern what they’re saying. Whatever it is seemingly does little to set Iwa at ease. 

“Fuck… Alright, get back to the house. Tell Makki and whoever else is there not to let her out of their sight ‘til we get back.”

“What is it?”

Iwa sighs, pocketing his phone and pressing the button to lower the partition between them and the driver, “There was a drive-by downtown fifteen minutes ago. Semi Takuma’s dead.”

—

For a man who once helmed one of Tokyo’s most formidable syndicates, your father’s funeral draws a pitifully small turnout.

Oikawa could blame the weather, the dreary grey sky and the rain clouds that show no sign of letting up for keeping mourners away. The truth of the matter, however, is simply that by the end of his life, Semi Takuma’s friends were few and far between. He recognises all bar a few of the faces in the crowd, most of them from his own family, there not to pay respect to the dead – the elder Semi inspired little of that – but in support of you, the beloved wife of their Oyabun. 

Clinging to his side under the awning, your face wet with fresh tears and eyes puffy and rimmed red from the countless that had come before. Perhaps the only true mourner in attendance. Not even your brother, standing stone faced at the temple doors, greeting those who’ve bothered to turn up, seems to be able to muster much grief for the man he called a father. 

Briefly, it occurred to him that you might’ve been the one behind the hit. A cold hearted, calculating move to be sure, still, even you must recognise what you’d stand to gain in removing a bargaining chip from the board.

Could you do it? Kill the man who raised you? Who loved you, and sold you like cattle to save his own skin despite it? You’re not like Oikawa, you’re not even like your brother; you’ve never had the heart for their kind of corruption. He’d never peg you as a killer, even via proxy, but… maybe he’d pushed you too far that night in his study. 

Desperate people do desperate things.

And yet Oikawa hadn’t come home that day to crocodile tears or smirking pride, only pain and heartbreak and clenched fists beating at his chest as you sobbed yourself hoarse and broke against him.

‘You promised! You promised you’d protect him!’

He’d taken the blows, held you tight until the tears subsided. Kissed you so tenderly as your fingers curled into his shirt and you buried your face above his beating heart. 

It’d be a lie to say that he cares one way or another about your father’s death beyond the implication of trouble brewing, but this – your sweet dependency, how desperate you’ve become for any semblance of comfort in his arms (however temporarily) – Oikawa wouldn’t trade this for the world. 

He sighs heavily, dropping a kiss to the crown of your head. “We gotta go in. It’s almost time.”

Finally, you lift your face, lips parting to say something, only to fall silent instead, your expression morphing into one of shock as you spy something over his shoulder. 

Oikawa turns sharply, following your gaze. Sure enough, standing under an umbrella near the old, wooden pillars by the temple gates is a dark haired man dressed in a black suit. Familiar, though when he racks his brain to try and place from where, he comes up with a blank. That in itself is enough to unsettle him. 

And while there’s nothing threatening in his stance, no obvious bump or crease in the line of his suit to suggest a concealed weapon, he knows better than to assume this stranger isn’t carrying, much less that he isn’t a possible threat. 

Oikawa hasn’t gotten to where he is today by ignoring his gut. 

“Tooru,” your voice is quiet. Hoarse. And though you clutch at his larger hand, tugging at it with insistence, he doesn’t budge. “Let’s go inside. Please, Tooru, I can’t– I can’t do this without you.”

Your father was not a well loved man, and they’ve yet to find any solid leads as to who’s responsible for the hit against him. If the man by the gate had so much as a hand in it–

He makes a snap decision. “Stay with Iwa,” he orders, prying his hand from your grip with what little gentleness he can muster. “If he tells you to do something, you do it.” Even as he spits the words, hears the sharp hitch in your breath as your fingers scrabble to keep their grip on him, his attention remains firmly fixed on the dark haired figure. 

Yet the stranger makes no move to enter the temple grounds, seemingly content standing in the rain under the cover of his umbrella, staring right back at Oikawa.

… No. Not at him, he realises after a beat. He’s staring at you. 

“Tooru, don’t!” you cry.

Two words. 

With a painful slowness, he turns back to look at you. Narrowed eyes sweeping across your face, studying it with a frightening intensity. You’ve never been able to hide your feelings from him; he can read you like a book, knows you like the back of his hand.

Your expression is twisted. Agonised, but not with the raw, aching grief you’ve succumbed to over the past few days.

It’s fear that shines in those beautiful eyes of yours. 

Panic.

Two words, a tightening grip, and Oikawa understands. 

“Please,” you beg, clutching at him desperately. “We’ll go inside and just forget all about this, okay? I told him not to come, I swear! I-I told him–”

You’re starting to hyperventilate, short, squeaking breaths shaking your frame. Like a bunny, cornered and frightened, cowering from the jaws of the big, bad wolf. 

He grins. Takes both of your trembling hands in his, lifts them to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of each. Kisses the glittering diamond atop your ring finger last of all. “Baby,” he purrs, silk over a razor’s edge, “Do what I tell you. Stay with Iwaizumi.”

His second is already there. Has been since the moment he clocked the interloper, maybe even before Oikawa did. Without a word he takes you from Oikawa, sweeps you back with a strong arm curled around your waist and holds you there, struggling pitifully against him. Mere feet away your brother watches on, jaw set, hands clenched into fists by his side, glaring at the both of them as you beg and cry softly in Iwa’s arms. 

Oikawa doesn’t even bother acknowledging his presence. Eita can glower and sneer all he likes, they both know he won’t interject. Not with this. Not against them.

Not even for you. 

Pulling his umbrella from the stand, Oikawa opens it with a flourish, spares you one last grin, and steps out into the lashing rain. 

“Relax, pretty girl. He and I are just gonna have a friendly chat, that’s all!”

The sound of your sweet begging follows him until distance and the rain drown them out. 

Closer now, he gets a better look at the man who fancies himself in love with you (and he’d have to be to risk coming here, knowing who your husband is).

His face is pretty enough, he supposes, fine, delicate features with eyes a piercing, gunmetal blue. His hair’s short, dark – messy and windswept – and yet the rest of his appearance; the well tailored suit, polished black oxfords, even the watch that pokes out from under his sleeve; they give the impression of someone put together. Methodical, even. 

He can’t be much older than Oikawa, if he’s older at all, and he stands a few inches shorter, his build perhaps a fraction slighter. And if the man has tattoos – if he’s from another syndicate – they’re covered as his are, hidden beneath his clothes. 

Unlike Oikawa, though, he isn’t smiling. 

“You know who I am.” 

It’s not a question, he doesn’t phrase it as such, however the dark haired stranger nods anyway; a short, sharp jerk of his chin. “Oikawa Tooru. I know plenty,” he replies bluntly. 

“Good,” he says. “Now, I have a funeral to get to, a grieving wife to comfort, so I’ll make this quick. Showing your face here today was a ballsy move, I’ll give you that, it was also incredibly stupid. See, the thing is; I love my wife. More than some little shit like you could possibly begin to understand, but I’d sooner chain her to our bed and break every bone in her fucking body than let her touch another man, much less leave with one.

“If I were you, I’d tuck tail and run. Find some other city, some other man’s wife to pant after, because if you don’t…” he trails off, finally dropping his charming smile, “I’m gonna take my time killing you, and I’ll make her sit through every last second.”

The stranger says nothing, expression carefully blank, save for the slight narrowing of his eyes. They shift, sliding past Oikawa to gaze at the temple – or more accurately, at you, watching the interaction unfold from the safety of Iwa’s grasp. 

After a moment, he looks back at Oikawa. “My condolences,” he says, and without another word, walks away.

—

Weeks ago, you’d stormed into his office, claws out and itching for a fight after finding out he was having you followed. 

When he brings you back in the days following the funeral and tells you that you’re not allowed to leave the comfort of the sprawling estate without him by your side, you simply stare at the rug by his feet and in a tight, controlled voice, ask why. 

Sighing, as if your refusal to meet his gaze physically wounds him, Oikawa takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently – lovingly – and leads you across the room to sit. Or, more accurately, he sits, and you somewhat reluctantly allow yourself to be tugged down onto his lap. “We still don’t know who killed your father, it’s not safe for you to be out there without me,” he murmurs, his palm grazing along your thigh in a false show of comfort. 

Not a lie per se.

“Can you blame me for being overly cautious, baby?” he asks, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of you – jasmine and vanilla, the faintest hint of citrus – has his blood stirring, sends a pang of heady want straight to his cock. God, he’d fucking lick it off of your skin if he could. “I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt,” his fingers creep up under your skirt, his lips littering the curve of your throat with soft little kisses, “I like knowing my beautiful, lovely wife is safe and sound at home, right where I left her.”

…Until one day, you aren’t.

Divorce papers, signed in your name lay atop the mahogany desk in his study. Your wedding and engagement rings carefully placed next to your signature; impossible for him to miss. 

Not a spur of the moment scramble for freedom, then.

The estate is eerily quiet. Not the calm before the storm. The blood on the gravel of his driveway, a stolen wife, Makki riddled with bullets – the storm’s already begun. Ripped its way through his home and family. This, this is the eye of it.

“How?” his voice is ice.

Kindaichi scowls, glaring at nothing in particular. He knows as well as Oikawa does; keeping an eye on you today was his responsibility, and in the wake of your disappearance–

“Bedroom window,” he admits with a frustrated huff. “She said she was tired and wanted to lie down for a bit. What was I supposed to do, follow her in there?”

Oikawa’s eyes flash, and Kindaichi’s jaw snaps shut. “And Makki?” he presses.

“Makki wasn’t supposed to be here. I dunno know why he showed up when he did. I guess he saw her running and tried to stop her and–” he breaks off abruptly, suddenly interested in looking anywhere except at the steaming Oyabun.

“… And?” Oikawa hisses, dropping the papers and rounding on his subordinate. “And what?”

“It was him. The guy Iwa says you’re looking for, the one you ran into at the funeral. Her–” he stumbles over the word, and changes tactics. “… He shot him. Came outta fucking nowhere.”

Fury rises up, choking at him as his blood roars, and for a moment, he can’t speak. Of course you hadn’t been the one to shoot Makki. You, who’d never so much as held a gun. You, who abhorred the more violent aspects of his life. You, who ran off with a fucking–

“Get out.”

He waits until the door shuts before fishing his phone from his pocket. Scours through his contacts until he finds the one he’s looking for. 

It rings once. Twice. Three ti–

“Oikawa,” Eita greets, and there’s something in that tone, beyond the irritating arrogance and barely concealed disdain he usually holds for his brother in law that has him narrowing his eyes. He sounds almost… pleased.

“… You knew,” he surmises after a beat. “You fucking knew?!”

Eita snorts. 

“Are you honestly surprised, Oikawa? Not so easy to keep your wife in line when your leverage gets gunned down in broad daylight, is it?”

Oikawa’s grip on his phone tightens, and he draws a sharp breath in through clenched teeth. “You think I won’t come after you?” he seethes. 

“You’re more than welcome to try, asshole. I watched you hold me and him over her head for too fucking long, watched you hurt her, try and break her. I’ve been waiting for this a long, long time.”

“Tell me where she is, Eita.”

Silence greets him, and when he pulls the phone from his ear, the call’s been disconnected. He swears viciously, tossing it aside. Planting both of his hands against his desk, Oikawa hunches over and breathes raggedly, waiting for the white haze of pulsing anger to abate.

You left him. You left him. You left him. You left him. You left him.

The rings you left behind stare mockingly back at him, and he makes his decision. Snatching them both up, he shoves them in his pocket and rounds the desk, yanking open the right hand drawer to grab the pistol he keeps stashed away in there.

With a cold focus, he slips out the magazine, checks the rounds and jams it back into position, cocking the slide to load it before tucking it in the back of his waistband.

He told you once what he’d do if you ever laid a finger on another man, the lengths he’d go to to keep you his. Told your trigger happy lover, too. 

What happens next; well, you can’t say he didn’t warn you.

[ramzawrites]

Ok I have coffeed up 🦀🦀🦀

Could I request a fic about a Male Reader Border Collie Hybridbeing hired to look after the pets of the Syndicate while theyre at a meeting? Having to feed every single dog, Ranboos cat, Carl, the parrots, Steve the bear, etc? Trying to wrangle the foxes because theyre trying to eat poison potatoes, shooing zombies off the turtle eggs? -🌱🌟

The Syndicate’s Pet Sitter - BorderCollie!Hybrid!Reader

Male

Pairings: none

Characters included: Technoblade, Philza, Ranboo, Nihachu

Warnings: n/a

Series: A request for my beloved 🌱🌟<3

Summary: The Syndicate is meeting up early in the morning and didn’t have the chance to feed their pets yet. Luckily Y/N who lives there as well but isn’t part of the Syndicate can take care of them. And no that is totally not because Border Collies are good herding dogs.

Words count: 4732

Authors Note: I just noticed I missed the foxes oh no ;_; Why do the Syndicate have so many pets I swear! I hope you guys enjoy this! Esp you 🌱🌟 since you requested it! I also haven’t had the chance to properly look over it look for typos, I apologize! I’ll deal with that as soon as I can! Also thanks for the prompt 😌 I have a weakness for animals and dogs

The chest let out a strained creak as Technoblade closed it for what felt like the hundredth time. He was preparing for the next meeting of the Syndicate and this time he, as well as Phil, had actually planned a few things other than just showing the newest members where the headquarters were and setting up the rules for the organization.

While both men were busy running from chest to chest collecting materials and writing down information into books, they were accompanied by a soft rhythmic thud as well.

That sound came from Y/N. More specifically his tail swishing up and down as he was sitting in front of a window on the windowsill. Watching peacefully as the two went about their business.

Y/N was a Dog Hybrid. A Border Collie Hybrid to be specific. He has been technically living with Techno and Philza for a while now but Techno liked to act as if he was just some stranger to him.

When Y/N first came to the SMP Philza and Techno were the first people he met and ever since then he has gotten quite attached to them.

At first Techno tried to get rid off him, especially since he always gave him wishy washy answers concerning his opinions on governments but Y/N wouldn’t let himself get spooked off that easily and even begun building his own little home close to them without asking. At that point Techno had to accept defeat and let him begrudgingly stay.

Philza liked to poke fun at that fact but he also understood Techno’s caution. Though over time Y/N has shown to be a trusty ally that could keep secrets, even once leading people astray since they became dangerously close to their home. Because of that Philza brought once the idea up that maybe they should let Y/N join the Syndicate after all as well.

Of course Techno immediately shut down the idea for the simple fact that not once has Y/N ever clearly stated that he was against any kind of government. There was no point in arguing with the Pig Hybrid about this particular topic so Philza just dropped the issue altogether.

That said after Niki came over to join the Syndicate and Ranboo got roped in it as well, Y/N managed to at least learn of the name of the organization.

He even asked to join to which Techno just said “Prove to us you are an anarchist and maybe I will think about it.”

“So you are saying you just want me to tell you the things you want to hear in order to get in? Doesn’t seem that smart to me.”

Y/N would always pull out these snide remarks whenever that topic came up.

For some reason Y/N woke up early and found that both Philza and Techno got up early as well so he just let himself in, sat down next to the window and begun happily munching on some cold steak for breakfast.

Techno made a point of ignoring him only muttering something about a “damn mutt” under his breath while Philza was chuckling to himself. Y/N’s fluffy dog ears obviously picked up on it but the happy swags of his tail continued on, knowing that if Techno really was annoyed by him, he would have already intervened way back when he begun building his home.

Phil was rummaging through a chest, trying to find some extra paper only to suddenly stop moving and turn around to look at Y/N, his arms still in the chest.

“Y/N?” adding a whistle to ensure that he would gain his attention.

As a response the Dog Hybrid looked absolutely aghast “Did you just-? Did you just whistle at me? Did you, Philza, just whistle at me to get my attention? Like a dog?”

“Sorry, just kind of happened but since you are here I have a request for you.”

Now Technoblade stopped whatever he was doing as well to observe what was happening in front of him, curious what he was proposing. A smirk adorning his features knowing full well that Philza probably whistled on purpose seeing how Y/N was kind of an unwelcome guest right now.

“You can request but no guarantee I will fulfill your request, old man.” Y/N spoke through an exaggerated pout.

This only earned him a tired sigh from Philza “Yeah, Yeah. As you can see we are up early for a reason but this also means we didn’t have the chance yet to feed the animals. Could you feed them all and make sure they’ll be alright while we are gone? You know how this place can get with pets.”

“All? Like all the pets? Like you want me to feed all the pets and take care of them?” Y/N was obviously intimated by the idea of the task judging with how his voice jumped up an octave to the end of the question. But who could blame him. Over time the group managed to amass a comical amount of pets which included a full hound army, polar bears, turtles, cows, Carl the Horse and in Ranboo’s case even parrots.

That reminded him.

“Does that include Ranboo’s bird and cat?”

“Does what include my bird and cat?” Suddenly the door swung open as Ranboo stepped inside Techno’s home. Cramping up the small cabin even more. The cold winter air only managing to sneak in for a short moment before he made sure to close the wooden door again.

Techno chuckled “We are asking Y/N here to feed our pets while we are busy at our meeting and to make sure they are safe while we are gone. He has time after all.”

Y/N’s shocked expression turned to a frown. Oh they did that deliberately alright.

Ranboo took a moment to take in the scene before he slowly nodded “Oh, if that is the case then I would actually really appreciate it if you could take a look at my parrot and cat. I haven’t had the chance to feed them yet since I ran out of seeds for the bird. Actually the reason I came over here was because I wanted to ask you guys if you had some extra.”

Techno’s smirk was ever present on his face as he motioned with his hand towards his mass of chests “Somewhere in there we have some but I’m sure Y/N will find them and take care of your pets as well.”

“Would you?”

Ranboo sounded so genuine and almost surprised by this that Y/N couldn’t come up with a snarky response but instead he looked defeated.

“I- alright. I will take care of your pets while you do your stupid Syndicate meeting.”

“We trained him well, Techno.”

“That we did, old friend.”

Now Y/N’s happy tail wagging did finally stop and he jumped up away from the window, surprising Ranboo in the process “You didn’t train me! I’m not one of your dogs!”

He knew they were joking but he still couldn’t let that stand.

Philza stepped closer to Y/N and put one of his hands on his head between his ears. Giving a short pat only to remove his hand again “Yes, we know. If that was true you would be listening to us at all times. Anyways, I spotted Niki outside and we are ready, so, we’ll be going. Make sure nothing happens to the animals! We are putting our trust in you!”

Before Y/N could protest or retract his agreement the group made sure to leave the little hut as fast as possible. Ranboo was very confused but still followed the others outside to loudly greet Niki.

Y/N himself was so bewildered by this whole situation he didn’t even make the effort to run out to greet Niki as well. Instead his thoughts begun to swirl around his new responsibilities.

What do Polar Bears eat? How is he going to feed all of the dogs? By Ender he hoped that Techno had all the necessary things in one of his chests.

That’s when a stray thought hit him “Did they hire me as pet sitter because I’m a Border Collie Hybrid? Did they seriously make me the pet sitter because Border Collie’s are stereotypically good herding dogs?”

That thought had to set in for a moment as he was asking himself if this seriously could be the case and knowing them that might have very well been a thought that crossed their minds. They all joked around about their hybrid parts but this was just ridiculous.

He didn’t know how yet but somehow he will make sure that the damn Pig and the Birdbrain will get this back tenfold. Ranboo was okay in Y/N’s book since he mostly got pulled into this by the others but even then he was still on thin ice.

“I better get going.” He whispered in order to try to pull himself out of his thoughts.

First on the agenda were the Polar Bears. Mostly since he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it and just wanted to get it over with but also one of the Bears was laying inside the hut. Snuggling close to the fire place.

That polar bear was Steve and Techno often made comments of him being his emotional support animal and at this point Y/N just believed him. With Techno who knew at this point.

Well what would Steve eat? Just some meat?

“Fish!”

How he didn’t immediately come to that conclusion he didn’t know but better late than never.

Y/N excitedly rubbed his hands together. Time to snoop through Techno’s things. No way in hell is he going to use his own resources to feed their pets. Hence why he begun looking through Techno’s chests. Taking note of things like stray armor, golden apples and enchantment books.

Somewhere in a corner he found some cooked fish. Should be fine, right?

Taking a couple of fish he moved over to Steve who was still lazily draped on the ground enjoying the heat from the fire. Carefully and slowly Y/N put down a couple of fish in front of his big snout. His dog ears pressed down on his head as he stared rigidly at the bear. Hoping for the best.

Steve’s black nose begun to twitch. He slowly opened up his eyes and lazily begun nudging the food closer to his snout with his big paw. Snacking on the pile of fish.

“Okay? I’m guessing that’s fine? I think?”

Just to make sure he still threw more fish towards him and then made his way with a second pile outside where Ed was waiting for his food as well. Ed was way more active and often enough obstructs the way up the stairs that lead to both Philza’s and Techno’s house.

Philza was always annoyed at Ed because of that particular reason. Though today he was a good Polar Bear that was sitting next to the stairs staring at Ender knows what.

Y/N threw him his pile of fish and watched for a second as he happily begun munching on them.

“Guess I’m doing alright after all.”

Almost as if to answer the bear suddenly begun to move towards Y/N which made him panic. Stepping back, trying to understand what he was doing now. Sure the bears are cute but also big and dangerous if they wanted to be.

But Ed bowed his head down and softly pressed his head against Y/N’s chest.

“Is this a thanks, buddy? Aw, no problem.”

Tentatively Y/N placed his hand on the bear’s head to give him one or two scritches. To which Ed then let out a deep puff of air through his nose and immediately moved back to his food to continue his breakfast.

All the Polar Bears are fed. Now only the whole hound army, cows, parrot, Carl the Horse, Turtles and Enderchest the Cat were left. Oh by Ender. That is still a lot.

Y/N immediately ran back into Techno’s hut and begun to search through his chests again. Grabbing things like Seeds, Sea Grass, more fish and some steak.

The parrot and cat were the easiest to deal with first so he decided to run into Ranboo’s house. Even if just to avoid the cold outside for a tiny bit longer.

He climbed down the ladder and found the parrot patiently waiting for him. Excitedly squawking as soon as he saw him.

Placing the seeds in front of the animal Y/N took a good look at the colorful bird.

“How are you doing? Keeping Ranboo company? Making sure he isn’t feeling too lonely?”

“Company! Company!” Ranbird answered in a shrill voice only to continue picking up the seeds off the ground.

Y/N liked spending time with Ranboo. He was a bit of an enigma with his memory issues and interesting behavior at points but Y/N loved hanging out with him. He would always try to offer to play pranks on Techno but Ranboo was too apprehensive about it, not wanting to make the scary Pig Hybrid mad at him.

The two had a bit of a running joke going on where both Ranboo and Y/N would call the other weird. Ranboo for his weird behavior and Y/N for the simple fact that he apparently didn’t fear Techno at all. Philza and Ranboo having to mostly hold him back before he could seriously upset Techno.

“Enderchest? Come here!” Y/N called out and continued to do the typical mouth noises to attract cats. Luckily he did come around a corner.

Happily meowing when Enderchest saw Y/N. Chirping as he pressed his body against Y/N’s legs.

“See, you are a kitty and I am a dog hybrid but we like each other.” Was he still a bit salty about the fact that they most certainly chose him to take care of the pets due to his Hybrid side?

Yes. Definitely.

Sure, no one else was there who could deal with it but on the other hand normally they were always so prepared for everything so this must have been planned beforehand. They didn’t feed the animals on purpose because obviously he was there and had time.

A loud meow pulled Y/N back out of his thoughts again.

“Sorry, Enderchest. You are right it’s food time.”

He then took out two fish and placed it in front of the cat who immediately put them in his mouth and ran off with them. Probably to eat in peace.

Next on the list was Carl. If Y/N didn’t make sure that Carl was absolutely doing alright and was fed Techno would kill him. And while Y/N liked to joke with Techno and pretend that he wasn’t as dangerous as everyone else is treating him like, he also knew that Carl is so important to him that Techno let him get himself kidnapped by the Butcher Army for the horse’s safety.

Technoblade hid his horse behind a wall but Philza one day accidentally found it. Y/N immediately took the chance to build an actual hidden entrance. He liked being a bit of an annoyance for Techno but if he can somehow help out, he will.

Pressing a button on the stone wall gave away to the little stable he and Philza made for Carl.

“Breakfast!”

Some Hay and other food was always ready for Carl so all Y/N had to do was put some of it in the tray and make sure he still had water. Everything seemed fine so Y/N took a second to pet him.

“No idea why Techno is so attached to you but you do seem like a good one. He protects you so you better make sure to not disappoint him as well.”

Carl neighed and nuzzled his nose into Y/N’s shoulder. Softly nabbing on the clothes which made the man laugh in return and softly shoved Carl’s face away from him.

“My clothes aren’t food, buddy!”

Luckily Carl didn’t continue to screw around and instead concentrated on his actual food.

The next pit stop were the turtles and cows. It was easy feeding them since you just placed down the food and then let them go about their day. No, the dog army would be a problem later. They might be war dogs but they were still playful dogs.

Y/N closed up the stable for Carl and made his way through the snow towards the cows first. Opening up a chest that stood close by. He placed it there a few days back with a ton of wheat. It was meant as way to help with the feeding. It was meant for the others since these cows didn’t belong to him but now he was stuck with the responsibility after all.

The cows were happily chewing on the food that Y/N threw into their enclosure and seemed to be doing alright as well so he moved on to the turtles.

For the turtles he actually had to get into the enclosure. Putting the kelp down near the water so the turtles inside the water could see him placing the food down as well. All the while he had to make sure to not accidentally walk on top of the eggs that some of these turtles have laid.

The animals themselves seemed to ignore Y/N. Just slowly crawling along the coarse sand or floating inside the water.

That’s when Y/N heard a groan from behind him. A groan he knew too well.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Y/N swiveled around and pulled out his netherite sword. A sword he made with the help of Philza. During his travels in the nether he found some ancient debris but since he never worked with that material he asked Phil for help. Which was also the reason why the purple sword was called Swordza.

“You helped me make it, I’m naming it after you.” He said to Philza’s dismay.

Right now though the reason why he turned around so fast was that he heard the familiar retching sound of a zombie. It was still early in the morning no surprise there that a loose zombie might be around the place.

Also no surprise that the zombie appeared around the turtle enclosure. For some reason they loved trampling down turtle eggs which was really just barbaric if you really thought about it. Beings that seemingly just wandered around the overworld with no goal but as soon as they spot turtle eggs they suddenly know exactly where to go. Well, besides when they find a human to attack.

The zombie limped towards the turtles.

Y/N didn’t wait long to react. He immediately took a running start and jumped over the fence. Striking down with his sword while he was landing, giving the attack a little more oomph. Together with the enchantments on the sword the zombie fell down into a burning mess. Gurgling sounds escaping it only to die down. A growl escaped Y/N’s throat as he stared at the dead mob.

“Nothing will happen to the little ones while I have anything to say about it!”

He took another sweeping look around the place but found nothing out of the ordinary. With a relieved sigh he put his sword back. The turtles were fed and safe.

Though as he looked around his eyes fell unto the hoard of dogs. All fenced in under a self-made roof. Most of the dogs were laying around either in a small pile or alone. Some were trotting around or even playing but it seemed like the dogs were still tired.

It was time to deal with them.

Y/N walked over to the dogs and as he stepped closer the animals immediately took notice of him. A few running over to him while others just patiently stared. As he got closer to the fence the nearest dogs put their front paws on the fence. Barking excitedly.

If Y/N went in like this some will run out and that was not something he wanted to deal with. There was still some adrenaline pumping through his veins from back when he spotted the zombie but he was still slowly beginning to freeze. Honestly he wanted to get through this fast so he can go back into his cabin and enjoy the warmth of his hearth.

Maybe even begin to plot on how to get back at the Syndicate for doing this to him.

But this wasn’t important right now.

Y/N let out a sharp and loud whistle “Away! Come one! Move out of the way!” He pointed to a corner and surprisingly the dogs seemed to understand that he wanted them away from the gates.

When he opened said gate the dogs patiently waited for him to move in and close it again before they suddenly begun to swarm him. Jumping up trying to lick his face or they began sniffing him out.

“Hey! Stop! I can’t feed you like that!”

He had a frown on his face but his tail was happily swinging from side to side as the dogs greeted him.

“Okay, stop! Sit!”

Luckily the dogs were well trained since they immediately sat down. Still panting in excitement and whining but now they weren’t trying to pull Y/N down to play with him.

In return Y/N got out the steaks out of his inventory and walked past the dogs. Giving each one of them their share. Whenever some dogs begun to scuffle over the food all Y/N had to do was to whistle or yell “Stop!” and they would listen.

Truthfully he feared that feeding the dogs would be the most difficult task of all the animals but as it turned out they listened to him rather well. It’s probably only because Techno trained them so well but still, maybe there is a way Y/N could use this power for himself.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to feed all the dogs but once he reached the last one the first dogs were already done eating and happily following Y/N around the fenced off area. Sometimes barking, hoping to get his attention. While his ears would always move in the direction of the barking dogs, he made  appoint to concentrate on the dogs that he was actually interacting with.

Though when he was done he finally turned around to look at the happy dogs “You guys are needy, did you know that?”

As if to answer a dog right in front of him sat down and woofed at him.

Y/N rolled his eyes and knelt down, scratching that one particular dog behind his ear “You little pooch.”

That was a mistake. A huge mistake.

As he went down and balanced on the front of his feet the other dogs saw their chance as he went down to their height, practically jumping on.

Startled the Hybrid let out a yelp as the dogs pushed him on his back. Licking his face or tugging on his clothes.

He tried pushing the dogs away from his face but it he was unsuccessful. For every dog he pushed away two new dogs would try to jump into that new space. Sadly also pushing the dogs away seemed to be something fun for them.

At some point Y/N managed to get back up but still got swarmed by the dogs. All the dogs now in a happy playful mood after having eaten. Y/N could just tell them off but everyone on the outside could see that he had fun as well playing and tussling with the dogs.

Over time that tussling just became the dogs jumping into Y/N arms so he could throw them a few feet away while simultaneously trying to not fall down as some dogs begun tugging on his clothes again. The longer it kept going the more tired he got which was hi downfall. Quite literally.

He fell over again and while the dogs swarmed around him they too were getting tired and just laid down next to him. Framing his body or just straight up laying on top of him, one dog even snuggled up to his head, ending up more as a pillow for him.

At first Y/N tried to struggle against being buried alive by the animals but as soon as he noticed the warmth engulfing his body instead of the cold harsh wind he accepted his fate.

After all he was done with feeding the pets.

“Horrible. Techno would be proud with how relentless you all are.” A yawn escaped his lips which seemed to infect a few of the dogs as well.

It really didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. It was warm, soft and he felt safe.

The meeting for the Syndicate took longer than expected. They spent way too much time trying to find a common goal to start with. They didn’t want to do something huge at the beginning but start small, something that would test their cooperation and teamwork.

Though after they finally found something and started planning a few hours had past and since both Ranboo and Niki apparently had people to meet they had to stop the meeting early.

“You think the animals will be fine?” Ranboo asked Philza as they stepped out of their hidden headquarters.

The older man just waved off his question “Ah, they will be fine! We rag on Y/N often but we can trust him with things like these. He’s a good one even if he absolutely refuses to give Techno a straight answer when it comes to governments. I do believe he is only doing that to annoy him though.”

As the group approached their home again everyone took a good look around.

“Well, everything seems normal.” Techno noted.

Niki scowled “Aw I had hoped to see him. I couldn’t even say hello when I got here.”

That’s when Ranboo stopped dead in his track. He wanted to go home to get ready for Snowchester but something inside the dog pen caught his attention “Oh by Ender! There is an arm! The dogs have an arm!”

The other three ran over, confused with what the hell he was talking about only to see he was right. There was an arm sticking outside of the dogpile. Why did the dogs pile up in the first place though?

Out of nowhere Phil snorted and pressed his hand against his chest and mouth. Trying to stifle a laugh.

Niki still looked shocked and worried, confused with Phil’s reaction “What? Philza, why are you laughing?”

“Let me show you. Y/N! Are you awake, mate?”

At first nothing happened but then suddenly the arm moved and retreated back inside the dogpile. Now the others understood what happened.

Both Niki and Ranboo looked a bit embarrassed that they genuinely thought that these dogs might have ripped off an arm and were now cuddling with it.

Techno stayed stoic as always. Folding his arms in front of his chest, waiting for Y/N to properly react.

“Y/N, come on!” Phil called out again.

A muffled groan came from the pile of dogs and Y/N’s head appeared as he sat up “What?” He whined “I was having such a nice dream!”

“Oh my- Y/N! Good morning!” Niki greeted the Hybrid happily.

In response Y/N got a bit out of his furry burial but still pulled one of the ferocious war dogs closer to himself, hugging it. His tail now out as well showing the others his happy mood as he slowly drifted off again.

“Hello, Niki.” He sounded still half asleep. At least the others assumed since his face was buried in the dogs grey fur.

“Y/N please get away from my hound army. They are bred to fight and kill not for hugs and naps.” Techno grumbled.

“Then why are they so comfy and love me so much. They love me so much more than you” He made sure to drawl out the word “love” to really hammer that fact in.

“Let’s make Y/N then our go to pet sitter.” Phil noted.

This seemed to wake up Y/N, he immediately looked up with a scowl “No! I am not going to be your pet sitter! You put me in that role in the first place because I’m a Border Collie Hybrid, or am I wrong? If it’s true that’s seriously screwed up, by the way!”

Techno sighed “Yep, there he is. Now he is awake alright.”

[quickdeaths]

Even as Sonia opened the door and started moving the boxes, Shinobu stayed just outside on the porch, like a vampire unable to cross the threshold. "Mm." A weak nod was the only acknowledgment she gave, watching Sonia move the crates and begin to unpack them. "I regret that my actions could be inconvenient to you and the others. Hopefully, I won't require such drastic measures, and again, I appreciate your time and effort." Even if it seemed as though it might be a short while.

With time to spare, Shinobu reached into their jacket pocket, drawing out a crumpled box of Seven Stars and a stick lighter scavenged from a dilapidated mall some time ago. "It's not good for you, you know, especially when your body is all fucked up. Are you really so careless with your life?" Did Anzu want her to die, or live? Shinobu figured that she said whatever would make her feel worst in the moment, or whatever could rob any joy or comfort from her. Well, she wouldn't be stopping, only taking care to blow the smoke downwind from the cabin.

Peering into the cabin as Sonia unpacked, it seemed to Shinobu a dark inversion of Sonia's dorm suite, or the pictures she'd shown of her various homes. Where there had been mostly order before now was only chaos, with things strewn about and far too many things crammed into the space. Always the type to prefer more spartan living, Shinobu remembered Anzu talking about messy rooms or houses as looking lived in or otherwise homey. That was not the impression lent by this cabin - not by a long shot.

"If you'd seen my apartment recently, Miss Nevermind, you'd realize that this is nothing to apologize for." It was intended as a joke, but Shinobu's voice was flat and humorless, as she blew shaky smoke rings off across the island air. Truthfully, there hadn't been enough things there to make a mess. After Seiko's things had been dealt with - disposed of, or confiscated, mostly - the whole place seemed too large, as though Shinobu, even stretching to her greatest, couldn't quite fill it. "It's really nothing."

But then Sonia had finished and implored her to come inside, and Shinobu put out the cigarette with her fingers and pushed it back inside the crumpled box for another time. They sat themselves at the vanity, taking care to avoid their reflection as much as possible. It wasn't so much the changes to her appearance that Shinobu dreaded, but rather the idea of staring at herself at all, and being confronted by the reality of what she had become. In lieu of that, she wordlessly watched Sonia.

Some of the items reminded her of something, though most didn't. That spray of perfume caught her attention, unintentionally, while a number of the food items were things she remembered watching Sonia eat back in her dorm. So reminiscent. Nostalgia wasn't a good look on Shinobu Yaguchi, yet when memories were all she had left, it was hard to resist the urge to indulge. "That sounds quite frustrating," she offered in a quiet voice, only when it seemed Sonia's angry outburst had ended. "Things intended as helpful should take more care to not be burdensome." A concept that was quite familiar to them.

At the apology, Shinobu softly waved her off. "There's no concern worthy of rushing. If there are other things that require your attention, Miss Nevermind, I won't complain." Though, it seemed there was not, and as Sonia reappeared and stepped close, Shinobu looked into her eyes before flicking her attention to the floor. "In this case, any assistance is better than none at all, and I'll be following up with Miss Tsumiki if she'll have me." Perhaps the remnants despised Future Foundation so much that she'd be refused. "And I appreciate the thought, but please don't worry about the pain."

One hand slowly pushed back her hair, giving Sonia easier access to her ear. At the same time, Shinobu looked to her former friend, dark eyes soft even as Anzu made horrid, exaggerated retching sounds in the back. Perhaps it would have been different if it were Sonia's hands, specifically, that had taken Anzu, Ayaka, and the others from her, but as it wasn't, Shinobu couldn't see how she could hate her. Rather, she just seemed like someone in a great deal of pain herself, and although they weren't anyone to ease pain, a curious desire to try had lodged itself in the folds of their heart.

Something like that should have been cause for a smile, but between Anzu's commentary and the guilt that sat heavy upon Shinobu's shoulders, she couldn't muster one. At first, despite Sonia's mention that they could talk, she was silent, only speaking after Sonia had been at it for a few moments. "I know you're no fan of Future Foundation, so I'll try to keep the specifics to a minimum, but this important person to me who I took this earring from, she was a member as well." A Division Head, actually, but Shinobu had no idea how well the various divisions and their responsibilities had been explained to the remnants.

"I needed something from her, but wasn't comfortable asking." Her own inadequacies, or her weaknesses. Failures to be a normal human being. "So I stole it. It took a great deal of time to tell her the truth, and of course, she'd known all along." Of course. What pharmacist wouldn't keep close attention on their stocks, and notice the same monthly dips? "She was rather forgiving - more so than I deserved, most likely - and offered to prepare what I needed with better specificity for my benefit."

A shiver and a small wince could have been seen as a reaction to the feeling of soap and pressure against her infected ear, although it was instead about the thought of Seiko. "She was a very compassionate person, even to friends who failed to earn that compassion. She gave a great deal of herself away to others. Despite being quite shy, she rose to the occasion if it was for the benefit of those close to her." She wrapped her arms around herself, closed-off. "She adored animals, even to the point of still being able to cry when something was beyond her saving."

There was more to say, of course, but Shinobu had placed a wall around the conversation. To say more risked some emotional outburst that she didn't want to have around Sonia, or anyone else. "Her name was Seiko. She died shortly before I left to come here." Her shoulders shrugged without much energy. "The specifics were kept from me. My position doesn't grant me the necessary security clearance, and I only had a short while afterwards to take this earring and say a goodbye."

Standing in the midst of half-dilapidated cabins, a mess of parcels, and perhaps most glaringly, broken and battered and thoroughly remorseful former Remnants of Despair, it was hard to imagine that, on Jabberwock Island at least, someone was in a worse state than Sonia and her friends. The outside world was both entirely too close, from the constant barrage of news and reports that made it to their shores (or more aptly, the inboxes on the Future Foundation's computers) and far removed from their little slice of nightmare paradise. To the point that every hardship was heightened, and they were meant to look after and support one another with little intervention from the Future Foundation representatives, as much as possible.

But what if the tables were turned? Standing on her (thankfully sturdy) porch, Sonia considered the possibilities of who would help Yaguchi: Asahina would have good intentions but likely be unfamiliar, or too busy, to administer the proper first aid. And where Kirigiri and Togami were concerned...well, they'd likely either insist she take care of it herself, or insist she take care of it herself with a forthcoming snide remark in conclusion. Sonia exhaled, deciding there was only one proper course of action to take.

"You're in rather bizarre, but good company I suppose, where impulsive decisions are concerned," Sonia assured her, if brainwashing and mass murder could count as 'impulsive decisions.' "But you'll likely come down with fever if it's not treated and we really can't spare the hospital beds at present: they're needed for those still in their comas, for when they wake up. But let me bring the rest of the parcels inside and then I can at least disinfect this for you. You can tell me about your high school, or your friend, if you want to."

Conversation tended to make most things less painful, providing a suitable distraction against the situation at hand. That is, if the conversation wasn't related to The Tragedy or those currently unresponsive, which beyond the day-to-day tasks of keeping Jabberwock Island running was mostly what her conversations with the others consisted of. At least Yaguchi had seen something more of the world than the few islands that made up Jabberwock Island, Sonia thought as she put her key in the lock and turned it, even if it was just as bleak as her island home.

Turning on the switch of lights at the wall, Sonia gently groaned, both under the weight of some of the crates (she'd set them on a hand truck and they were still far too heavy for her to bear) and the fact that her cabin was becoming smaller and smaller with each arrival of the mainland ships. A large canopy bed was assembled, sheets tucked in and tidy, against one wall. Against another, near a window, was where she'd situated her desk, complete with a Future Foundation-approved laptop, printer, and several language dictionaries kept in stacks on both the tabletop and the floor beside her chair. On the other side of the room resided both a vanity table and a cushioned stool, as well as a sofa, low table, and a television set, the sofa and table alike scattered with various books and discs borrowed from the Island Library. Those areas were the only tidy sections of her cabin.

The rest of it was a mishmash of European royal finery that both didn't fit the space nor seemed to be put to any use. A glass chandelier had been recently installed, according to the recently painted wood over the new sets of screws. Her small closet and dresser were nearly bursting at the seams, not only with the practical and necessary, enough sundresses and skirts for an extended stay in the likes of St. Tropez, riding jodhpurs whose legs peeked over the side of a too-full drawer, jeans and blouses and pajamas still in the laundry basket. But the completely outlandish, too: light wool, tweed, cotton poplin, and linen shift dresses, coordinating jackets and skirts, modest leather heels, a wooden jewelry box with a strand of pearls sitting on it, several handbags, and perhaps the most ridiculous of all: a champagne silk and taffeta ballgown and all of its necessary petticoats barely shoved into her closet, wrinkling the fabric in turn. A smaller wooden box, likely containing the coordinating tiara and jewelry, and a pair of satin heels accompanied it. Even the vanity table and connecting bathroom in the cabin were a touch ridiculous: glass bottles and canisters with silver and gold caps adorned the surface, alongside various compacts and tubes of cosmetics and a gilded gold brush, comb, and hand mirror.

"It's something to get used to," Sonia finally said, placing the last box in one of the few open spaces left in her cabin. "Sorry about the mess: the Future Foundation is working with those still in the Royal Council and Castle household to send me items they think might return some of my memories, or at least make my stay here more tolerable." The last word was delivered with some derision in her tone, as Sonia narrowed her eyes at the ballgown. Where would be find reason to wear the dress meant for her 18th Birthday Portrait, anyway? "Please, sit at my vanity and I'll get the necessary supplies. I just want to open a few of these first."

She got to work, mostly with a pair of scissors though the heaviest crates necessitated the use of a crowbar she retrieved from the back of the truck. In a short time, she'd uncovered several sachets of rose-scented potpourri, an antique vase, a large bottle of rose, jasmine, and orange blossom perfume (that she'd sprayed once, the scent she'd worn throughout her time at Hope's Peak, and winced), boxes and baskets of chocolates, dried fruit, crackers, candies, tins of tea, bags of coffee beans (these were marked 'B. Togami'), nearly a dozen pots and jars of skincare products, several books and DVDs, several silver picture frames with photos of her family, an oil painting, and perhaps the most irritating: a second set of English-style riding tack and a full China tea set, complete with eight cups, saucers, tiered stands, and plates for entertaining. The sage green and gold design had faded a little, and some of the items had chips or nicks in the china or the accompanying silver cutlery needed polishing, but right down to the lace table covers and runners: they were meant for entertaining.

"What the hell am I to do with these? All of this!?" Sonia cried indignantly, once she'd at least shoved the likes of the vase and the riding tack right back out onto the porch. "I've already got a set of riding tack at the farm, and it's not as if I'm here holding tea parties, though I have an idea of at least one person's involvement in this mess."

She had half a mind to take the bag of coffee beans, one of the few independent roasters in operation in Europe after The Tragedy, and chuck it into the sea. Maybe that would teach Togami from interfering too much with those left in Novoselic who apparently still believed in her, and believed that she'd truly been brainwashed. At least they hadn't sent furniture this time: small favors.

"Sorry, your ear...that's my priority right now," Sonia shook her head in apology before disappearing into her bathroom, soon reappearing with a small cup of water, soap, clean bandages, cotton balls, and a small container of salt. "I'm not allowed to keep hydrogen peroxide or anything similar here, so it may not be thorough but it should hurt less for a little while at least." Stooping down so she could see Yaguchi's infected ear better, her face rather close to hers, Sonia dipped one of the cotton balls into the water, added a tiny bit of soap, and began to dab gently at the piercing. "Let me know if this is too much for you, won't you?"

[thedandelion-writer]

❝sleeping habbits, liyue edition❞

Pairings: Xiao x gn!reader, Ganyu x gn!reader, Zhongli x gn!reader, Keqing x gn!reader

<- Mondstadt edition

A/N: I just thought it'd be cute, okay?

P.s. This is a modern au just because

He sleeps with a nightlight and you cannot tell me otherwise

Don't tease him about it! He will get all cold and snappy

You know why he keeps it on though, it helps with the nightmares

Xiao doesn't really like to sleep, so sometimes you have to coax him into bed

Even then, he's always up before you are

You rub your eyes awake, rolling over to his side of the bed. It was cold, evident that he'd been up for a while now. The window was open, letting in the cool morning air. Xiao always said it helped calm him when his head started getting too loud.

"Breakfast is getting cold," came a gruff voice.

He was leaning against the doorframe.

"It's not my fault you made it so damn early," you yawned and stretched, not bothering to even sit up.

"Come kiss me good morning, or else I'm going back to sleep."

You closed your eyes, offering him your cheek while still comfortably swaddled in blankets. It took some time for him to come over, the crossed arms and annoyed face did nothing to cover his red cheeks.

Briefly pressed his lips to your temple, muttering a "childish" before he walked out.

Sometimes, you'd even have to sing him to sleep

He won't ask you to do it, but when you do, he sleeps relatively better

Acts like he doesn't want you close but when you snuggle up to him, he never refuses

Lets you steal all the blankets because he'd give you the world if you asked for it

The type of person to have a schedule of when to sleep and when to wake up

According to Ganyu, sunlight is nature's alarm clock

She keeps the curtains open to let natural moonlight in because for some reason, it makes her feel safe. And in the morning, she's up when the first rays of sunshine hit her face

Would love to sleep in if she could honestly, but duty calls (she'll just take an afternoon nap later)

Also snores lightly, not enough to disturb you, but enough for you to coo to yourself at how adorable she sounds

For some reason, it was still dark, and you were already awake.

"What time is it," you made sure to lower your voice, then propping up your body on your elbows to check the time on Ganyu's bedside table.

"4:32 am...what the hell..."

You looked over to your sleeping girlfriend, hair looking an even deeper hue of indigo due to the pre-sunrise sky. She whimpered, shifting about a little, and you were afraid she would wake up, so you caressed hair ever so gently.

"Shh, it's alright," you whispered. "That's it, don't wake up yet, you've got a busy day tomorrow."

You kept your hand on the side of her head, eventually falling asleep to her soft snores and the peacefulness of it all.

She gets cold feet, so one day you decided to buy her a bunch of cute socks and now she wears them everywhere. Even to work!

Ganyu also likes scented candles, preferably nature inspired fragrances like rain, grass, etc

You grew to like them as well, and now you both can't sleep without lighting one every night before bed

This man sleeps like a rock

No pun intended, I'm being serious

If anyone remembers that scene in Mulan 2 when Mushu unsucessfully tries to wake Shang up by crashing his cymbals? Then yeah, like that

Minus the part where Shang eventually wakes up

I'm only half kidding

He doesn't move either. Like at all.

Zhongli would stay in the same position throughout the night, which is usually facing you

This makes for opportunities

"Lao gong~" you inched your face closer to his, testing if he was asleep before proceeding admiring him as if he were a marble statue at a museum.

You poked his cheek. No reaction. You brushed his bangs away from his forehead, kissing him there, down to his nose and then at the corner of his mouth. You'd have to save one more for later.

"Truly, how did I get so lucky?" You settled in between one arm, lying your head down on his chest.

If only we could stay like this forever. That would be enough.

The beating of his heart matched yours, the sheets intermingled your warmth with his, never have you felt this connected to another being. In the quiet moments of the night, you told him you loved him.

*lăo gōng (老公) a sweet way of calling one's husband

Whenever either of you have trouble sleeping, tea is always the answer (or just for those cold nights)

Therefore, a boiler, tea pots/cups, and a variety of tea bags could be found in the bedroom

Goodnight kisses are a must, almost always given from him to you.

No matter when she sleeps, Keqing will always wake up at the same time every morning

And no matter where you both start out at the beginning of the night, she would always end up tangled with you

Not that you mind, but she got all huffy and embarrassed at first

Now she just accepts that it's her fault

Something was tickling your nose. In a bleary daze, you tried to lift your hand to swipe whatever annoyance was causing it--to no avail. Both your arms, and even your legs were locked down by a weight.

You blowed at it, scrunched up your face to hopefully get rid of the itch. Which backfired because your movements caused Keqing to stir, tilting her head up a bit and shoving hair into your already violated nostrils.

"Oh archons I'm gonna..." your eyes turned watery, shoulders rising as you tried to suppress it. And failed, yet again.

"A-ACHOO!"

You lurched violently, waking your lover up in the process. But at least the itch went away, and your limbs were no longer constricted!

"Y/N, couldn't you have sneezed into a pillow?" Keqing grumbled (as you can tell, not a morning person).

"I'm sorry I'm sorry, it's just...your head was so close to my face and-"

She held up a palm as if to say 'I get it, please shut up', and laid back down, scooching to the end of her side of the mattress.

As if that would do anything! She'd likely invade your territory again before daybreak, you guarantee it.

"Uhh- tian xin, maybe if you tied your hair? You know you're just going to come to me again."

Keqing thought about it for a moment (or maybe drowsiness delayed her reaction time), so she reached into her bedside drawer, handing you a ribbon.

She spread out her locks onto the pillow and turned to face the other way, pointing for you to do it for her.

You chuckled, getting to work, even giving her a short scalp massage in the process. After tying the knot, she was back to being fast asleep.

Snaking an arm around her waist, you kissed her shoulder, wishing to join her once again in slumber.

*tián xīn (甜心) meaning sweetheart

**mom i'm finally using my sucky chinese for something useful, aren't you proud?

You can't tell me she doesn't have at least one Morax plushie

One time you got jealous because it was like that one meme

Ah yes, my girlfriend and her favourite thing to cuddle to sleep, her Rex Lapis doll

You find out that Keqing actually needs to hold something to sleep properly

Which is cute but she'd deny deny deny

Later on, she latches onto you (as shown above)

You're warm, she says

[blindingdutchy]

share | t.holland

{pornstar!tom x pornstar!reader}

summary: you don't like to share, but Tom's going to show you what happens to stingy girls on the playground.

word count: 10,663

warnings: i consider this a part two to switch. smut, little bit of angst, fluffy ending. language. explicit warnings under divide.

18+!!! minors stay away!

warnings: mean dom!tom, slight dom!fem oc, voyeurism, mff threesome, degradation, oral (m+f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up folks), orgasm denial, touch denial, slight bondage (hands tied only), jealous reader + arrogant tom, some daddy + sir kink

divider

There was a familiar ache in your core as you made your way into work that day. It was a sensation that shouldn't have embarrassed you anymore considering it was in your line of work to take a beating of the sexual sort, but your blood bubbled with fluttery shame anyways because you knew it was definitely not from any job you'd done. The handprints that lingered on your skin were Tom's, as was the throbbing between your legs.

Your coworkers had grown accustomed to the funny way you'd been walking; after all, it had been months of you turning up to the studio just like this. Aching all over, exhausted, and all flustered smiles as every little jolt of pain in your body reminded you of him. Tom really knew how to keep a woman coming back for more, to say the least.

Despite the tender way you were forced to move around, you were excited to get into work that day. You'd been working on a new project behind the scenes for almost a month already, and today you were finally meeting with your favorite director and photographer to start the ball rolling. This was what you'd been fantasizing about doing ever since you'd been brought into the agency--straying away from your dominatrix persona and onto a more personal, enjoyable path.

Priscilla was already waiting for you in the conference room, bursting with energy as she always was and chatting the ears off of Archie. The two of them were sliding a few of your scribbled mock-ups around, along with more than a few stills of your naked body, and nestled so deeply into a conversation that they didn't notice the click of the door as it shut behind you. Even clearing your throat couldn't break their concentration.

"Starting without me?" you questioned, loudly, and finally caught the glimmering eyes of Priscilla.

Priscilla was practically buzzing with excitement as she grinned at you, clapping her hands once before waving you over, "(Y/N), perfect timing! So, Archie and I were thinking about your ideas for doing a cam-girl style video--"

She chattered on and on, only pausing every so often to take a heaving breathe before continuing. The more she said, the more you realized just how much work the two of them had done without you--Priscilla was already pitching set designs and potential scenarios for each video, and Archie was doing his best to help you visualize the filmography he had in mind. It was pretty hard to keep up, but you had to admit seeing their passion for the project only spurred your own to burn a little brighter.

The project was something you'd been dreaming of for awhile. A solo series of videos in the iconic style of a cam-girl; just you, your camera, and whatever you felt like putting out there for the world to see. For so long you'd been afraid to even pitch the idea out of fear of being denied funding, and rightfully so.

You'd had to fight tooth and nail to gain the backing of the agency. It had been a month of pitching idea after idea, crunching numbers and screening all the statistics of solo work so that you could propose a target profit for the company. In the end, you'd gotten the green light--but there was a lot riding on this first video.

If you failed to meet the target you'd set for yourself, the agency would pull the plug on the project and you'd be right back to the leather outfits and whining men. The thought of it urged you to outperform all the standards you'd set for yourself. You were peddle to the metal, full throttle ahead, and Priscilla and Archie's sounding board of ideas were exactly the encouragement you needed.

Archie fiddled with some settings on his camera, instructing you on a few head shots until he was satisfied. "That's it!" he cheered, "You like it? Obviously we'll work on better lighting for the videos, and there'll be editing--but I think this suits you."

Peering over his shoulder, your heart soared at the work of your favorite camera man. "Oh, Archie! That's perfect... If you'd just shown me that I'd definitely think it was the real deal." you gasped, and he grinned at you cheerfully. "How about a lunch break before we get back to work?"

The two of them muttered some hushed agreements, nodding absentmindedly as Priscilla looked over the photos and they returned to the scatter of papers and film on the table. "Yeah, yeah, you go ahead, honey." Priscilla cooed, waving a hand over her shoulder carelessly before tilting her head and squinting her eyes at one of your drawings. "Oh, what do you think about--no, that won't do... but maybe?"

With a hushed chuckle, you shook your head at the two of them and backed out of the room quietly. It almost seemed as if they were more excited than you were, but your stomach was rumbling and you needed something to eat before you started chewing on paper like a goat. Only, along the way toward the exit you paused outside one of the studios at the sound of Tom's voice.

Peeking inside, you smiled at the sight of his mop of curls bobbing--the smile faded to a grimace as you realized he was in no position to talk at the moment. You trailed a little further into the room and shot a tentative smile to one of the crew members who nodded to you, no longer surprised by your presence. Many times before you'd sat in on Tom's filming days, as he had done yours, but never before had you seen him at work with his most frequent costar.

Her name was Melaina, a startlingly attractive woman with what you were fairly certain was the world's most perfect face, and she was the star of most of Tom's work. You had nothing against her, having run into her quite a few times at work and never being anything short of pleased with her sweet and charismatic aura, but man was it hard not to feel inferior as you watched the two of them in action. It was as if they knew what the other would do before they even moved, connected on some spiritual level that boosted their chemistry to an astronomical level.

Tom's body was glistening with sweat and oil, his eyes dark and hooded with lust as he towered over her. The muscles in his back, chest, and arms all rippled with every move he made and caught the light just right, and you found yourself shifting on your feet subconsciously as you watched. Your hands twitched with the desire to push that one stubborn curl out of his face as it slid across his forehead, heavy and sodden with sweat.

Melaina gave a breathy moan that had you swallowing down a lump in your throat, her hands raking down Tom's chest only for him to swat them away and pin them to the bed above her head, "No touching!" he snapped, voice booming through the cavernous room, and you nearly groaned in sync with his counterpart. Too many times he'd growled those words to you, just like that, and the heat between your legs throbbed at the memory.

"Please, daddy," Melaina wailed, "I wanna cum!"

For a moment you rolled the name around your tongue, pursing your lips as you pondered what it would feel like to call Tom such a thing. It didn't feel right though; a sour taste compared to the deliciously sweet way sir rolled from your lips. His low, devilish chuckle brought you back to the present as you focused on the scene before you.

With a long, drawn out roll of his hips, Tom leaned down to Melaina's ear and spoke, "Bad girls don't get to come, darling."

Oh, fuck.

Hearing that name, that one little word, spill forth from his lips in reference to someone other than yourself ignited a certain flame within you that you hadn't felt in quite some time. It was green; everything tinged green in your vision like the sickening tone of the clouds before a treacherous storm. Jealousy wasn't something you wore often, but hearing that was enough to sit the crown of envy heavily upon your head.

Almost as if he could sense it, sense your turmoil, Tom's head tilted back until he looked you heavily in the eye. Your jaw tensed as he continued to push his hips harder through Melaina's cries and pleas, fingers clenching into fists as you tried to get yourself under control. It didn't mean anything.

You and Tom were nothing but friends with benefits, heavy on the benefits and light on the friendship, and this was his job. Hell, it was your job too! It didn't mean a damn thing.

His eyes never strayed from yours as that familiar pinch formed between his brows, his entire body growing rigid. He was brutal with the force of his hips, his hands groping roughly at Melaina's perfect ass and his lips parting in a silent 'o' that grew wider and wider until--there it was. His eyes locked on yours, Tom thrust twice more as a gritted laugh burst from his chest and he stilled completely. She mewled beneath him like a vixen, arching off the bed and crying, "Yes, daddy! Cum for me!"

He knew. His haughty smirk, ticked jaw, and glinting eyes told you well enough that he knew exactly what you were feeling, all the bitter and envious thoughts swirling through your mind. He knew, and he was thoroughly enjoying the way you were rooted in place under the weight of all your jealousy, your eyes locked with his and unable to break free.

"Cut!"

The sound of the clapper snapping and the director's loud shout startled you out of the strange limbo of envy and hunger you'd been trapped in. Tom muttered something to Melaina with a flirtatious grin that made your gut twist, and she laughed loudly whilst slapping a hand across his chest playfully. Suddenly, you weren't so hungry anymore, nor were you entirely interested in speaking to Tom.

You were out of focus for the rest of your day at work, earning disgruntled and concerned stares from your two colleagues who were working tirelessly to perfect all of your plans before the test shoot the following day. All of your thoughts were consumed with Tom, though, and it left you feeling nauseous. Never before had you cared much at all that he was with other women, knowing it was just a day's work for him, but seeing him with Melaina had truly rubbed you raw in the worst way.

The ache between your legs didn't make your heart flutter for the moment. Instead, each time you moved wrong and felt that persistent twinge, it made bile creep up your throat and your face burn with a mixture of bitter emotions. It wasn't that you were suddenly craving more from Tom--because you weren't, and as much as you enjoyed his company you weren't interested in a relationship.

Inferiority was a hell of a bitter pill. That was the root of the green eyed monster that was steadily taking control of you; Melaina made you feel inferior, and you hated it more than anything. Clearly he found her to be a better costar than you, considering he'd not once requested you even after starring in your own special. That was the first strike.

But, was she a better lay than you? Did she feel better, make him feel better than you? Did she talk dirtier, obey faster, and mold herself into whatever he wanted better than you? What if you weren't the only one he invited into his own bed at night?

By the time you left work the sun was setting, hours had passed, and you were exhausted from your racing mind. Usually Tom would have come to find you after he finished filming, but he hadn't and that bothered you. You knew it was probably all a game to him, a way for him to get you all riled up and tease you for it, but you weren't playing. You didn't want to play his games today, and when he finally texted you that night you left all of his messages on read with an acrid taste in your mouth.

"Ready for the big day?"

A peculiar sense of deja vu washed over you as you opened your dressing room door to reveal Tom perched on the other vanity seat, a tiny smile twitching at his lips and a twinkle in his eye. You really should have expected him to be there considering he'd been eagerly talking about watching you film for days, but after ignoring him you were more than surprised to see him waiting patiently for you to arrive. The door shut with a dull click, and Tom watched you closely.

Whatever he was playing at, you weren't going to bite--today was a big day for you, and nothing was going to distract you from your work. "What are you doing here?" you asked, huffing as your voice cracked and robbed you of your attempt to play it cool.

He just chuckled, a hoarse and airy sound, and licked his lips, "You think I'd miss the chance to see my girl touch herself for hours?"

His girl?

The words swirled around your brain the entire time you got ready, Marlena eyeing you curiously as you twiddled your thumbs quietly and payed no mind to either of the two people in your presence. What the hell did he mean by that? Why did your heart go on the fritz at those two silly words?

"Are you mad at me, lovie?" Eyes flickering over to Tom, you grew hot under his speculative gaze. Head tilted to one side, brown eyes narrowed slightly, and lips puckered in a tiny pout that made you swoon, he asked, "Have I done something to upset you?"

In the mirror you could see Marlena fighting back a smile, looking between the two of you with quivering lips as she held herself back from interrupting the moment. "No," you muttered, dropping your eyes back to your fiddling fingers, "I'm just nervous."

You didn't have to look to know that Tom was smirking, the sound of his soft laughter cluing you into the fact well enough. There was that deja vu again, your mind traveling back to that first time he'd sat in your dressing room and asked if he made you nervous. Teasingly, he asked, "Am I making you nervous, darling?"

Rolling your eyes, you huffed, "No."

Tom's eyes were all over you the moment you stepped onto the set and dropped your robe into an assistant's waiting arms. Clad in a skimpy lace negligee with nothing underneath, it was understandable that he'd be quite enraptured--never before had you worn something so dainty for your work, nor had you ever worn anything quite like the transparent scrap during any of your visits to his apartment. Even you yourself were quite enthralled by the look of it, having admired your reflection in the mirror for ages before finally joining the crew to start working.

As you soaked up the warm, tingling sensation of his ravenous eyes trailing over every inch of your body, you slowly relaxed into his presence. All the thoughts of Melaina drifted away, and you were biting back pleased smiles each and every time you acknowledged his gaze. It felt nice; it felt like it had every time he'd watched you film before, only better because now you were finally fully enjoying your project.

He hung back beside Priscilla in front of the big screen which displayed all the different camera angles whilst you ambled your way around the set. It wasn't complete, but it was enough for you all to get an idea of what the final design should be. A queen sized bed with dark, silk sheets in the center of a warmly lit stage, piled high with pillows of all sizes--already you were imagining towering bed posts with chiffon curtains framing the beautiful space.

There was one camera posted at the foot of the bed which was to be the main view point for the video. Climbing aboard you shifted until your bottom was posted over the scribbled X and leaned back onto your elbows, your knees propped up and spread wide. "How's this look?" you called out, craning your neck to see Priscilla, Archie, and Tom.

"Slide up a bit," Archie bellowed back, "a bit more--that's it! Oh, fuck, that looks amazing."

Having slid up the mattress half a foot, your head fell onto the bed of pillows that were finally within reach. From your new vantage point you could admire Tom, and the sight of him was enough to already have your thighs dampening. It seemed as if he were unsure as to where to look, his eyes flickering back and forth from the blown up, pixelated version of you to the real deal hastily.

The angle was awkward, and no matter how hard you stared he never made eye contact. It was then that you realized he couldn't see your face, at least not the real one, and a certain thrill sparked within you. Trailing your fingers over your stomach slowly, you reached for the frilled edge of the fabric and bit back a giggle as he tensed all over.

Licking your lips in time with Tom, you shouted, "Should we get started, then?"

Within seconds the clapper was dropped, and Priscilla boomed, "Test one, rolling!"

It was strange having to force yourself to look into the camera, rather than avoiding it so as not to ruin the flow of a scene. But, after a few moments of running your hands over your body and trying to get into the right mindset, your mind drifted away from the crowded room and into your own personal bubble. In there, that secret place you escaped to, it was just yourself and Tom.

Your body heated as you pictured him in place of the camera. In your vision he was bare and glistening, just for you; sitting on his heels with his knees spread apart and his hands ghosting over his length languidly. So many nights you'd laid before him like this, aching and begging for his hands to take the place of your own.

"Show me what those fingers can do, darling." he cooed, voice silky and sweeter than honey. It was a stark contrast to the dark, all-consuming pull of his brown eyes that lusted for you greedily.

Breathing a little harder, you tugged the stretchy lace further down your chest until your breasts were exposed to the chilled air. Tom's eyes glimmered, his tongue swiping over his lower lip, and you desperately wished it were his lips wrapping around one of your pebbled buds instead of your clammy fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second as you imagined it; reminiscing on the sensation of his hot, silky tongue swirling around your nipples and tugging them delightfully into his mouth.

It was incredibly hard not to cry out for him as you descended further into the scenario you'd created for yourself. Nevertheless, you swallowed down all the whimpers of his name that bubbled to your lips eagerly, instead whining soft noises that even turned yourself on. "Love those pretty sounds, (Y/N)." he always hummed down your ear, scorching breathe fanning all across your neck.

The facade didn't fade as you opened your eyes again with heavy lids that begged to fall shut again. You tugged hard at one of your rosebuds in sync with Tom's harsh pull over his cock, and your back arched as you gave a loud cry. He moved his hand faster and clenched his eyes shut for a second as he groaned, "Enough teasing, lovie, show me that perfect pussy. Wanna see you cum all over your fingers f'me."

You couldn't have agreed more. Your heat was hot and dripping, your thighs slipping across the sheets a little more easily as you pooled your juices onto the mattress longingly. Tracing your fingers over the swell of your chest and down your stomach, you peeled your flimsy gown back until it was all bunched up beneath your breasts.

Tom watched with baited breathe, held perfectly in sync with your own burning chest, as you teased your fingers all around where you ached to be touched the most. Just as you finally dipped the tip of your middle finger into the slick, a shuffle and quiet laugh shattered the vision of Tom. You huffed in frustration the buzzing in your veins dulled and your hand fell limp over your bare middle.

"Cut!" Priscilla shouted, and even she sounded frustrated as you sat up and ripped your negligee back down, "That was really good, (Y/N)! Wanna have a look?"

You did, but you could barely hear the words coming from Priscilla's mouth as you took in the scene before you. There was Tom, hands cupped over his crotch like they always were when he watched you film, but this time he wasn't watching you. Instead, he was entirely focused on Melaina who stood beside him with one dainty hand stroking his arm, the other twirling the skirt of her sundress lazily.

Your blood boiled to life once more, but no longer was it out of desire for Tom. Pursing your lips, you called back to Priscilla, "No, let's just keep going." He was still engrossed in his hushed conversation with her, and you added pettily, "Might I remind some of you to be quiet on set!"

Melaina's stifled giggle turned the green hue in your eyes red, but you took a deep breathe and resisted the urge to roll your eyes. It didn't mean anything, it didn't mean anything, it didn't mean anything. The mantra echoed through your head as you did your best to keep your ridiculous envy at bay; Tom wasn't yours, nor were you his, and you had nothing to be jealous of.

You did, however, roll your eyes at the sight of Tom's devious smirk. It only widened at the action, and in spite of your wish to pretend he didn't affect you, your thigh clenched subconsciously. "Sorry, darling, we'll be quiet." he hummed, greedily soaking up the distasteful purse of your lips with his eyes.

It was harder to get back into the groove once the cameras started rolling again. Tom's image wavered in place of the camera, your mind clouded with all the conflicting emotions you were feeling, and no matter how hard you tried you just couldn't get back into that bubble. You pushed through, though, and picked up where you'd left off.

"Look at you," Tom simpered as your fingers dipped into your slick once again, your jaw slackening as you toyed one finger through your entrance, "absolutely dripping for me. Does it get you off to see me with another woman?"

What the hell was that? His words were like a record scratch in your mind, your fingers recoiling from your throbbing core in shock. Trying again, you changed your direction and drifted your fingers to your clit with a soft sigh. Closing your eyes to shut out his smirking face again, you rolled the soft pads over your bud and felt your lips part in a hushed moan.

How easy it would have been to keep them closed and push yourself over that edge with nothing but the sensation to edge you forward, but you knew that wouldn't make for a satisfying watch. So, begrudgingly, you opened your eyes again to the scene you'd created for yourself. Tom was sitting on the bed now, his legs spread wide before him to leave space for you between, and his length was laid against his thigh lazily. The tip was weeping and blazing red, a thick drop of pearly precum making your lips tingle with desire.

His hands wrapped around the footboard of the bed, gripping the solid wood so tightly his knuckles turned white and his arms rippled with unbridled strength. All that muscle, the sinewy, languid curl of hard muscle beneath soft flesh pulled taught in restraint; it was enough to have you drooling. Your fingers slipped easily from your swollen clit to your slit, and you dipped the tip of your middle finger inside with a choked cry.

Tom moaned back at you, his cock twitching as he flexed his stomach, eyes glued to the tight clench of your cunt around your fingers. "Fuck, lovie, do your fingers feel as good as mine?" he asked, "Does that pussy feel as good as hers?"

What the fuck?

Melaina's giggle echoed through the set, piercing the thickened air and startling you nearly as much as the wild turn your imagination had taken. Growling angrily, you slapped your hands onto the mattress beside you and pouted, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Sorry, I'm so sorry!" Melaina squeaked, sounding so genuinely apologetic it only irritated you further, "Stop it, Tom, you made me laugh."

Sitting up once more, propped up on your hands, you scowled fiercely at the sight of Tom's arm draped over her shoulders and his head dipped low to whisper in her ear. His eyes were trained on you, though, and you knew damn well that coy smirk that teased at his lips was meant for you alone. Melaina gripped the hand over her shoulder tightly as she stifled another laugh, eyes twinkling to match the beaming smile on her face.

Backing his lips away from Melaina's hair, Tom faced you dead on as his head cocked to the side playfully. Narrowing your eyes, you scoffed as he winked at you. That bastard! You flopped back onto the bed with a growl, wanting nothing more than to kick him off the set, but you refrained. You knew it would only cement what he'd already figured out within his head; it would prove that you were without a doubt, one hundred and ten percent jealous.

"How about we take five, everyone!"

You practically threw yourself off of the bed, snatching your robe from the timid assistant with a huff before stomping off the set entirely. What was he playing at? It was one thing for Tom to toy with you, but to purposefully throw you off when you were working? That was low.

Alone in the small room, you dropped your head onto your vanity with a loud groan of annoyance. So many new emotions were swirling around you, plaguing your mind and twisting your gut up into knots so tight you actually felt ill. You couldn't even begin to unravel the twisted mess to pick apart all the different things you were feeling.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and you didn't have to look to know who it was. "G'way!" you grumbled, hissing angrily when the door opened anyways, "I said--"

Tom crashed his lips to yours, choking your words and the muffled squeal of surprise that escaped you. Pushing his weight onto you and pinning you to the chair, he bit down on your lower lip until you whined pitifully, pulling away to look you heavily in the eye, "You ignored me last night."

"So? I wasn't feeling it." you retorted, the almost lie making your stomach flutter. "Is that why you're trying to ruin my test shoot? Another bullshit punishment?"

He gaped at you for a moment, his lips parting in surprise as he blinked down at you wordlessly. But, just as you were settling into the triumph of finally rendering him speechless, he sputtered a sinister chuckle and smirked. Clicking his tongue reproachfully, he tutted, "Are you jealous, darling? Is that what this little tantrum is about? Are you jealous of Melaina?"

The words of your imaginary Tom echoed in your ears, the thin flesh and cartilage heating up in embarrassment as you scoffed, "No, why the hell would you think that?"

Smirk widening, he leaned close to nuzzle his face into your ear as he hummed, "Mm, I think you're lying, lovie. I think you were jealous watching me fuck her yesterday, and today you're so bothered you can't even perform. Envy is a hell of a thing, wouldn't you say?"

His lips sucked on the tender skin of your earlobe, drawing the faintest of whimpers from your lips, and he released it with a dramatic suckle of a wet, sloppy kiss. He whispered tauntingly, "Did it make you jealous to see me cum for somebody else? To see me fuck Melaina instead of you?"

"N-no-- oh, fuck."

Tom's fingers dragged heavily through your folds, a gush of your juices immediately flooding into his open palm in response. His thumb rolled over your clit faintly, teasing the rapidly swelling bundle as he chuckled right into your ear, "Don't lie to me, darling."

That stupid name that he'd called her made you steel your resolve, stubbornly repeating, "'M not jealous, Tom. You can fuck whoever you want."

His fingers plunged into you to the knuckle, earning a loud gasp as your hands flew to his arms and clutched him tightly. "Yeah? 'S that so?" he asked, nipping the hot skin of your neck until you whined desperately, "Think I'd like a taste then, love."

This was certainly turning out far better than you'd expected. With a racing heart and a quivering breathe, you gasped, "Please, Tom." Tom's eyes narrowed at you, his expression hardening as he pinched your hip in warning. "Please, I want you to have a taste, sir."

He grinned, patting your cheek in a playful slap as he cooed, "There's my good girl. Spread your legs, darling."

Obediently, you eagerly spread your legs until your thighs were digging into the sides of your chair and shaking as you fought to keep them splayed so wide. The lace of your negligee was pulled taught and curled up over your hips at the movement, exposing all of you to Tom's greedy eyes. He licked his lips as he gazed down at his fingers still buried inside you as deep as they would go, flexing the two digits and closing his eyes as you cursed and clenched around them.

You crooned as he pulled them out and thrust them back in slowly, curling until the tips dragged over your spot lazily. "Please, sir, want your tongue, too." you pleaded, digging your thighs further into the seat as you rutted down onto his once again motionless fingers.

His eyes snapped open and he quirked his one ruffled brow playfully, "Yeah? You want my fingers and my tongue?" Tom dug the pad of his thumb into your clit deeply, pressing your button down and making your entire body spasm from the harsh stimulation, "I don't know if you deserve both, lovie. You're lucky you're even getting my fingers."

Whining, you threw your head back childishly and ground your hips into his fingers indignantly. He kept them steady, only slightly brushing your g-spot through your forced motion, and his free hand clamped down on your thigh in a bruising grip. "Please!" you begged, "Please, sir, I'll be so good!"

Your pleas molded into a shout as his lips closed suddenly around your clit, his thumb sliding aside to spread your folds open for him as he sucked at your sensitive nub harshly. Tom's fingers pulled out slowly before slamming back into you, his fist effectively punching your core and making you ache, but you moaned and begged for more. Each forceful blow pushed his fingers right into your spot, the tips curling to drag against your upper wall with every motion.

In mere moments you were seeing stars. Your stomach was tightening beyond measure, that coil winding so tight you feared you might break when it finally snapped, but you met each thrust of his hand with a jerk of your hips eagerly. His tongue flicked against your clit in rapid kitten licks, sparking your body to spasm violently each time. "I'm so close, sir!" you gasped, digging your nails into the armrest of your seat as your back arched in pleasure, "I'm gonna--"

With one last long, hard suck on your bundle, Tom pulled away from you completely. His fingers ripped away from your dripping slit and slid in between his glistening lips, that tongue swirling dramatically around the digits as he sat back on his heels much like he had in your imagination. Gaping, you huffed, "What the hell, Tom?"

He grinned devilishly, "Admit you were jealous, and I'll let you cum."

Sputtering, you spat out, "I told you I wasn't jealous."

"Mm, but I know you're lying, darling," he teased, eyes glinting playfully, "and I want to hear you admit it. You wanna cum all over my fingers and my tongue?"

You nodded hesitantly, swallowing the lump in your throat as you whispered, "Yes, sir."

He leaned in close, his nose brushing against yours and his lips ghosting over your own as he whispered, "Admit you were jealous."

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breathe. You felt hot all over with embarrassment, your skin burning and your blood boiling beneath, but fuck, you really wanted that sweet release that only he could give you. So, with trembling lips, you whispered, "I was jealous."

Eyes still closed, you jumped as his fingers brushed over your clit in a feather light touch. He pressed a slow, soft kiss to your lips that had you chasing him for more when he backed away and asked, "Are you still jealous?" One finger toyed with your slit, drawing a harsh line up and down your entrance as you resisted the urge to push further into his hand.

"Y-yes."

He chuckled, and your eyes snapped open as he backed away from you, his hand disappearing from your core. His eyes were dark in a ruthless stare as he stated, "You need to learn to share, love. Stingy girls don't get to cum." And, just like that, he retreated from the room leaving you staring after him in utter shock.

You weren't sure what you were expecting when you rocked up to Tom's apartment that night following his typical, "You up?" text. What you most certainly had not expected, though, was to find Melaina sprawled out on his sofa in nothing but a sheer negligee--nothing at all underneath. In a strange sense, you figured you should have seen it coming; what better way for Tom to torment you than to make you face the root of your jealousy?

"Mm, on second thought," you hummed, pursing your lips as you took in the woman's sensual form upon his couch, "I think I'll be going."

Turning to leave, you crashed nose first into Tom's hard chest with a muffled grunt of surprise. His hands crept around your waist in a lazy fashion, dragging the fabric of your shirt up until his warm palms found the icy chill of your bare skin. It sent a shiver down your spine, much to your own chagrin.

He pouted, jutting his lower lip out at you tauntingly as he leaned close to brush his nose along the high point of your cheek. "You've only just got here, darling," he mused, "I missed you last night. You left me all alone."

It was really pathetic how easily he broke through your walls. Despite your tireless efforts to re-stack each brick he knocked down, the feeling of his soft lips ghosting along the supple skin of your cheeks had those same cinderblocks crumbling to dust. A gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek, a fleeting peck at the slope of your forehead, one slow trail along the angle of your jaw--you were putty in his hands when his lips finally found your own.

Even as his tongue traced the outline of your lips, you desperately tried to fight his hold on you. Grumbling into his mouth, "I'm sure you could have found company elsewhere--"

Tom bit down on your lower lip, hard, and pulled until it snapped back with a loud pop that made you whimper. Yet, his eyes were tender in a way you'd never seen before as he gazed down at you longingly, whispering, "I wanted you, though."

Yeah, you were fucked.

Breathing a little heavier, you gave into your more animalistic desires in spite of the jealousy and irritation that still boiled deep within your veins. A childish, prideful part of you boasted over his words; he'd wanted you! Not Melaina, not anyone else, just you. It was utterly ridiculous.

Tom's brown eyes were warm, inviting, and curious as he waited for you to make the next move. You could see the questions bouncing around behind them; would you leave? Would you stay? But, there was a familiar glimmer of mischief buried behind the thick honey gaze that had you waiting for the other foot to fall.

Taking your lack of movement as an answer, a desire to stay, Tom pressed another kiss to your lips. Long, slow, and mind-boggling--it felt like your soul left your body with the way he curled his plush lips into yours. Already you were heating up, your body buzzing and growing hotter with desire in each second that passed.

You clawed your fingers into the hem of his shirt, scratching your nails along the flesh of his lower abdomen in a futile attempt to ground yourself. It was a frantic plea to him to hold you there, to keep you from floating away as his kiss took you to higher places. He gave a gentle hiss into your mouth at the sting, but pushed harder into your face as his hands inched higher up your back to toy with the band of your bra.

Fingers gently swept the collar of your shirt down, exposing your neck as fuller, softer lips ghosted along the line of the fabric. Wait--lips? Jumping, you reeled back from Tom's face with widened eyes to find Melaina blinking back at you, eyes blown wide with lust.

"What are you--"

Tom popped the clasp of your bra with ease, looking down at you with darkened irises. "Is this okay?" he asked, glancing at Melaina who was waiting beside your twisted, intertwined bodies for approval.

Her fingers swirled slow, tingling circles on your hip, lip caught between pearly, white teeth as she watched you with enraptured intensity. Two minutes ago, the word no would have spilled from your lips without a moment of hesitation--but now? Now, as your eyes lingered on the swollen, bitten lower lip that called for you to taste it; as you trailed them lower to admire the perfectly soft curve on every inch of her body, it wasn't so clear.

There was a supple rise of her chest with every breathe, hardened nipples poking through the transparent fabric of her dress. Rounded breasts upon a gentle, sloping waist, wide hips that certainly gave way to a perfect handful of ass and thigh, all leading the eye down the length of her sculpted legs. Melaina was like a work of art, and every inch of her that you admired sent tingles through your body.

Glancing back at Tom, you nearly moaned out loud. Her eyes burned the side of your face, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Tom's stare into your very soul. It sucked the breathe out of you and left you feeling dizzy, your vision darkening until all you could see were the artful angles of his face.

You spoke hoarsely, swallowing down the lump that formed in your throat, "Yes."

Tom's mouth parted against yours in an instant, his hot tongue slipping inside and making your eyes roll back as Melaina pressed her body against your side and latched onto your neck. Sucking, biting, rolling the soft muscle of her tongue all along each sharp nibble to soothe the tender flesh--it was an overload of sensation all at once. You didn't know where to put your hands as they both crept theirs all over your body.

It was impossible to decipher where one ended and the other began. Whose hand was that gripping your ass? Whose were peeling your bra straps down our arms under your sleeves? Who was slipping their thumbs along the waistband of your pants, tickling your hot, sensitive skin?

Moaning, you gasped, "Please!"

You weren't even sure what you were asking for, but Melaina quickly stepped aside to let Tom pull your shirt over your head as your bra fell to the floor at your feet. He admired your chest for a long moment, palms cupping the swell of your breasts as his thumbs rolled over the stiffened peaks of your nipples, earning a muffled groan from you. Licking his lips, he stepped back and waved the eagerly waiting woman forward.

As Melaina devoured your chest, you followed him with your gaze through heavy lidded eyes. He watched on with an indecipherable glint in his eyes, lips glistening with a mixture of your saliva and his own. Those long lashes fluttered as he dragged his tongue slowly over the plump of his lower lip, nostrils flaring in a sharp inhale as if he were tasting you all over again.

Her lips were wrapped tightly around your left nipple when he finally disappeared behind you, a shiver wracking your body when his fingers caressed the arch of your spine in a fluttering touch. Chest pressed warmly to your bare back, he dipped low to mix his own marks with the ones she had left behind. You dropped your head back onto his shoulder, lulling to the side to expose the entirety of your throat to him in submission.

When had he removed his shirt? The bare skin of his torso was scorching on your back, matching the heat of his tongue dipping in your collarbone in time with a twirl of hers around your other nipple. Fingers, hands, lips, tongues everywhere; your body was reaching its boiling point.

"Come to bed with us?" Tom's husky whisper directly into the shell of your ear had you whining, arching your back until your behind rolled harshly into his crotch. His length ground into you roughly, a quiet groan escaping his lips at the stimulation, "Fuck, darling, you like this?"

Weakly, barely able to focus through all the pleasurable touches to your body, you whispered, "Yes, yes, sir. Please."

You should have known it wouldn't last. You should have anticipated the shift in Tom's attitude, revealing his true intentions to you as he lead you by the wrist into his bedroom to find a dining chair at the side of his bed. But, you blinked up at him dumbfounded as he held up a silk tie before your face with a devilish grin.

Melaina stretched out on the bed with a hand between her legs, knees propped open wide as she touched herself lazily and watched you closely. Glancing at the tie, then the chair, and then Tom's arrogant smirk, you mumbled, "What is that?"

He just chuckled throatily, grinning as he hummed, "Sit in the chair, darling." You blinked again, frozen in place, "Sit, now, or I promise you'll not like the outcome."

Instinctively, your knees crumbled until you fell into the chair with a frown. He snatched your wrists roughly, twisting them behind the back of the chair until the backs of your hands touched and you whined in protest, "That hurts, Tom."

He pulled further, a sharp ache burning through the muscles of your arms as they dug harshly into the back of the chair. "Watch it, (Y/N)." he growled.

"Sorry, sir." you muttered pitifully, eyes downcast to avoid the amused smile on Melaina's face, "What's going on?"

Tom didn't answer you for a long while, taking his time to tie your wrists with the tie until he was certain you couldn't break free. Testing the restraints, you pouted as the fabric didn't yield in any way to your tugs. He hummed under his breathe in appreciation, though, stroking a finger up the length of your arm as he rounded to face you again.

Melaina sat up and leaned into the arm he reached out toward her, your gut twisting bitterly at the sight of her purring under his touch like a cat. "I told you, darling, that stingy girls don't get to cum." he restated his words from earlier, and your body burned with embarrassment, "So, I'm going to teach you to share. You're gonna sit there and watch me, and you're going to deal with it like a big girl. Understood?"

"But I--"

"Do you understand?" Tom hissed, eyes narrowing in a fierce glare that dared you to challenge him further. You couldn't miss the way his fingers twitched, the familiar sting of his palm on your behind ghosting over the skin in anticipation of impact. He remained rooted in place, though, leaning into Melaina's body that was steadily wrapping further around him.

Her lips were on his chest, leaving a flurry of angry purple marks that made you want to scream like a child. "I understand, sir." you grumbled, slumping into the seat.

He smiled, "Good."

It was as if you disappeared from the room entirely in that instant. He turned to Melaina, completely absorbed in her presence as his hands slid around her waist to grab fistfuls of her ass. Groaning, he squeezed the flesh tighter until she whimpered. Your own body ignited in shame and jealousy, fingers clenching into fists that tugged uselessly against their bonds.

The sound of their lips smacking as they kissed, wet and sloppy sounds that echoed in your ears, made you want to whine. How had it come to this, when only moments ago they were kissing you like that? Was this the only reason you were here?

You watched on with an aching core, racing heart, and sweaty palms as the heat intensified between them. There was that chemistry you'd witnessed on set--their movements so in sync it seemed as if they were connected spiritually, a perfect flow of seamless give and take. It was almost painful to watch.

The jealousy that tore you to shreds was not from a desire to be the only woman in Tom's life, though a selfish part of you did secretly relish in the thought. It was an aching, grotesque and petty desire to know that you were the best. You were jealous of the way he found pleasure in someone else, when all you wanted was to know that you were unmatched. You were jealous to feel his touch on your body, and some part of you was growing desirous of hers as well.

It was a purely physical sort of envy; no feelings attached. Or, at least that's what you told yourself. In some sense there had to be a sort of emotional drive behind it, but it was easier to tell yourself it was stupid pride instead of murky, confusing feelings.

Your eyes clenched shut as you bit back a huff of frustration. Melaina's moans grew louder, until she shrieked, "Please, daddy, wanna feel you!"

There was a smack and a rustle, and when you opened your eyes Tom had shoved Melaina flat onto her stomach. The skin of her still rippling ass was reddened in a blazing hand print, his hand rubbing over the mark soothingly. "You wanna feel daddy's cock, princess?" he growled, "Think (Y/N) deserves to watch?"

"Yes, daddy," Melaina murmured, "want her to watch. Want her to see how good I make you feel."

The green eyed monster in your head was stomping circles through your brain, screeching over the cruelty of the situation. Yet, you kept your lips pursed shut as you glared back at Tom with just as much ferocity. He wasn't going to see you break; you'd come out of this on top, you were sure of it. You weren't going to let him see that she'd hit the root of your jealousy right on it's ugly, rearing head with her words.

You scoffed, and he glared at you with a sort of intensity that made your legs quiver, but you faced his scowl head on with a ferocity of your own to match. You wouldn't let him see that she'd hit the root of your jealousy right on its ugly, rearing head with those words; if he wanted to play, then you were going to play just as hard.

Or, maybe you were just emboldened by the fact that he hadn't called her darling again. Either way, you stared him in the eye until he looked away from you with a clenched jaw and twitching hand. Your first, and only, victory of the night.

It was torture. He moaned as he pushed into her, eyes clenching shut and hands squeezing at her flesh desperately when he bottomed out with his hips buried into her bottom. Yet, you couldn't decide which method of suffering was worse; to keep your eyes opened or closed.

Open, you had to watch his face contort with pleasure and the way he interacted with her eager, willing body. Closed, you had to listen to the sounds they made and feel the way your body reacted in accordance. You were dripping onto the seat, angry tears pooling in your eyes, and your arms were going numb from their restrained position.

"Eyes open, darling." Tom ordered, and you bit back the curse that bubbled to your lips. He watched you with hooded eyes until you met his gaze, immediately blocking you out again to focus on the messy, fucked out woman on his bed. She was wailing, and you were trying your best not to join in the chorus.

He was going an an unrelenting pace, each brutish thrust of his hips eliciting a strangled cry from Melaina. She was clawing at the sheets, incrementally crawling away from him until he pulled her back with a forceful tug of her hips. "Daddy, 'm gonna cum!" she moaned, breathless.

You squirmed in your seat, bottom sliding slickly over the wooden surface from how much you'd pooled into it. "Come on, princess. Cum f'me." he urged, voice strained as he rocked his hips faster into her. The sound of skin against skin mixed with the damp sounds from his force into her slick echoed loudly through the room, but it was unparalleled to the unrestrained scream the tore from her throat.

Watching with wide eyes and strained, clenched thighs, you gasped as Melaina arched into the bed wildly. Her actions were so over the top you'd have assumed they were theatrics, if it weren't for the way you could see her physically quivering with full body shivers. Fuck, why couldn't that have been you?

Tom pulled out of her roughly, turning on you and clambering off of his bed to lean over you. His hands wrapped around the arms of the chair tightly, the muscle of his arms rippling as he gripped it so tight the wood creaked. "Learned your lesson yet, darling?" he demanded, nose to nose with you.

Nodding desperately, you gasped, "Yes, sir."

He disappeared from view, Melaina still crumpled into the bed and spent as she breathed heavily. When his fingers brushed your wrists, untying them slowly, you nearly wept with relief. Finally, he was going to touch you.

Pulling you up from the chair, Tom gripped your chin firmly as his thumb tugged at your bottom lip. "Want me to touch you, darling?" You nodded, begging him with your eyes and whining when he chuckled, "You have to earn it."

He sat back on the bed, scooting until his back was propped against the headboard with his legs spread wide. Patting the space between them, he beckoned you forward until you were perched between his knees on your own. You yelped as Melaina crept up behind you, hands sneaking up the skin of your back until they rested lightly on your shoulders, but you relaxed into her touch as she pressed a feather light kiss to your neck.

As she nipped at the skin, blossoming a new mark amidst all the ones she'd left before, Tom grinned deviously. "Let's make a deal, darling," he breathed, "if you can stop yourself from cumming all over her tongue, I'll let you come on my cock."

You squeaked as her fingers dipped down the front of your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake as she drew nearer to where you were aching for any sort of touch. Deep down you knew how hard it would be not to finish at any sort of stimulation due to how worked up and ravenously needy you were, but if there was a chance to get Tom where you wanted him then you were going to take it. So, you nodded, "Please."

Melaina pushed you forward until you were bent over, propped up on your knees and elbows. Tom's length was straining against his thigh, and he flexed as your slightly frantic breathing blew across the sensitive skin. He reached out a hand to caress your cheek before winding it to the back of your head, pulling you closer until you wrapped your lips around the tip.

You groaned in sync with him as you felt her blow a cool breeze on your clit, your legs nearly buckling as she forced them apart with her hands. Stars were bursting behind your eyes the very moment she drew a line through your folds with her tongue, but Tom's shove against your head kept you grounded. Focusing, you pushed forward until your nose was buried in his pelvis and he moaned loudly.

Her taste was still all over him. Pulling back until you only held his tip in your mouth again, you swirled your tongue around the head and parted your lips to let your spit soak down his length entirely. You looked up and blinked at him coyly, flattening your tongue under his tip and sucking hard until he clenched his eyes shut and raked his nails into your scalp roughly.

Going down again, you gagged around him and tears sprung to your eyes when he held you there. He was choking you, but you weren't thinking about air--all you could think about was how hard it was not to reflexively clamp down each time Melaina tweaked your clit just right, sending spasms through your entire body.

You were fighting hard to keep from going overboard, your stomach twisted up in knots so tight you felt compressed. Explosive, even. He was moaning above you, dragging your head up and down his length slowly, and there were shockwaves of vibrations in your core as Melaina hummed along with him.

Finally, as you took all of him again and squeezed his thigh with your nails digging in, Tom hissed and pulled you off of him. "On your back, now." he commanded, and Melaina jumped back just in time for you to hastily slide into position. "Fuck, need you so bad, darling."

His hands were hot as they slid up your thighs, spreading your legs apart until he could slip between them and crawl over your body. "Needed you last night, lovie, but you decided to ignore me like a brat." he growled, and you flinched as he dropped to his elbows over you suddenly, "Don't even deserve to feel me, you know that?"

"Please," you whined, "I'm sorry I ignored you, I'll never do it again."

Tom dragged his tip roughly through your folds, scowling at you when you bucked your hips into him, "Do that again and you'll go back in the chair."

You froze, and he hummed in approval before continuing his teasing. Up and down, up and down, up and down, he dragged himself over your entrance and clit until you were shaking with need. Each slow rock of his length through your folds was adding fuel to the fire raging within you, your eyes threatening to roll back from the surface level stimulation alone.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally eased into you slowly. You moaned breathlessly, clenching around him and fisting the sheets in a plea for him to just fuck you already. "Fucking love your cunt, darling," he groaned, eyes falling shut in bliss, "perfect little pussy, all for me. This all mine, lovie?"

"Yes, sir." you groaned, arching off the bed as he pushed deeper against you, "All yours."

He pulled back, dragging slowly against your walls until he slipped out of you entirely and left you feeling empty. But then he forced his way back in roughly, jolting you backward on the bed under the force of his thrust. Your lips opened in a silent yell, hands flying up to claw at his back desperately.

Tom's face dropped into your shoulder, mouthing open kisses into the skin that burned like fire. He picked up his pace with a steady, deep roll of his hips against yours that made you shiver all over. Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, trapping him against you as you gripped his shoulders heavily.

Your eyes were clenched shut in pleasure as you felt him continue to push roughly against that spot deep inside, sending sparks through out your entire body. The coil in your belly had already been strung so tightly you'd feared you'd burst at the first moment of contact, but you were doing your best to fight it off. You wanted this moment, this feeling of him filling you to the brim, to last forever.

But, Tom shuddered above you and moaned into your ear, "Shit, 'm not gonna last, darling."

He pushed deeper into you with his next thrust, grinding your hips into the mattress as he put his weight behind it. You yelped and your hands left his back to find his face, pulling his lips down to yours in a feverish kiss. It was sloppy, all tongue and clashing teeth, but it matched the desperate, animalistic rhythm of his hips perfectly.

That coil inside you was sparking now, fizzling with pent up energy just begging to burst. "Please, please, please, let me cum, Tom." you begged, and he groaned as you said his name, "Please, Tommy!"

With a sharp snap of his hips, Tom pushed off the bed on one elbow and reached his hand down to the apex of your thighs. His fingers met your clit harshly, swirling rapid circles around your swollen bundle as he stared down at you like a starved man. "Say my name again, darling."

"Tom!"

His fingers moved faster, harder, deeper in time with his thrusts that pushed you to heights you'd never felt from him. His eyes were clenched shut and his lips pulled back in a grimace, jaw clenching as his curls slid all over his forehead in a sweaty mess. He looked beautiful like that--all messy and fucked out, desperate to reach that high that you were pushing him toward.

Your legs were shaking wildly, and your stomach was burning as your muscles began to contract. It was the buildup to the explosive release, and you cried out, "Gonna cum, Tommy, yes! You feel so--oh, fuck!"

Wailing, you clamped your legs around his waist and squeezed your eyes shut so tightly it hurt. The coil snapped and you shrieked, his tip ramming into your g-spot over and over as he fucked you through your high. It felt like you couldn't even breathe, couldn't think, couldn't anything anymore. All you could do was feel him inside you, pushing through your pulsing walls as his fingers continued to rub your clit like a madman.

"Fucking--fuck!" he gritted, hips faltering, "Love it when you say my name, (Y/N). Sounds so perfect coming from your pretty lips."

You were desperate to get him there, feeling the way he was shuddering with each thrust as his body protested the exertion. "Tom, please," you begged, feeling the coil in your belly tightening up again, "cum for me. Wanna feel you fill me up, Tommy."

He slammed into you harder than he had all night, making your pelvis ache but you saw white. The world faded away as you burst into the crescendo again, your throat burning as you cried out loudly. Just when you were about to tap out and push him away because it was all too much, he rolled into you deeply and collapsed onto your chest.

So high in your own climax, you barely felt his cock pulsing against your walls as you milked him of every last drop. It was the warmth, though, that brought you back down to earth. The deep, warmth that filled you up had you sighing and sucking in air desperately, blinking up at the ceiling as Tom breathed heavily into your neck.

The two of you laid there like that for awhile, fighting to catch your breathe as your hearts raced against each other's chests. It wasn't until your vision finally cleared and you could breathe a little more freely, though, that a thought popped into your head, "Where did Melaina go?"

Tom laughed, his chest rumbling against yours as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder with a tender kiss to the sweaty skin. "Mm, don't know. She probably left."

"Oh," you muttered, "I didn't notice."

You hoped he didn't notice how you smiled as he hummed back, "Neither did I, darling."

Curled up in Tom's bed, you shivered as his fingers traced lazy shapes into the bare skin of your thigh that was draped over his own. On his night stand sat two abandoned cups of tea, growing colder by the minute, but neither one of you was in any hurry to reach for them. You were content to just lay there in his embrace, soaking up his warmth.

This was what you'd grown to love the most over the past few months of hooking up with Tom. The sex was great, the orgasms mind blowing, but the time spent just enjoying each other's company afterwards was your favorite part. It felt nice to just be close to him, to feel connected to him in a more domestic sense.

"You know there's nothing to be jealous of, yeah?" he asked, suddenly, and you craned your neck back to look at him curiously. His cheeks were reddened slightly as he peered down at you with tender, timid eyes.

Sheepishly, you shrugged, "It's ridiculous, I know."

He frowned slightly, but the crease between his brows melted as you blinked up at him with wide eyes. "Nothing you feel is ridiculous, (Y/N)," he stated, "and it's okay to be jealous. You think I never felt shitty seeing you with any of the other guys you filmed with?"

The flush on his face deepened at his confession, but you grinned. He felt it too? "Really?" you asked, trying your best to keep from giving him total puppy dog eyes.

"Really." he repeated you, snorting when you grinned wider, "And, you don't need to be jealous of anyone. You're the only one who ends up right here in my bed, like this. Only one I want to be here, darling."

You buried your face into his chest with a flustered giggle, and he chuckled as his arms wrapped around you a little tighter. In a desperate need to keep things from getting too serious, still raw over everything you'd felt the past couple of days, you teased, "Mm, I'm only here for the tea--Tom!"

He dug his fingers into your ribs, fighting through your squeals and slaps as you tried to escape him. Easily, though, he got the upper hand and rolled until you were pinned beneath him. With twinkling eyes, a mixture of emotions you couldn't read, he taunted, "Admit it, (Y/N), you're in love with me."

In love with Tom? Your mind went blank as you stared up at him, but he just grinned down at you. There was a little flutter in your belly, and his eyes sparkled a brighter at your shiver. He knew. He knew the truth.

"Nah, it's definitely the tea--"

"Why, I oughta!"