#with them has always been nice but apparently only i care enough or something. she cannot even be arsed to say no apparently :///

[alpinelogy]

.

[lolita-lollipop]

Red

You, a mere farm girl, has found herself living a nightmare after hearing countless town rumors of a barbarian society moving west. A quiet girl in a quiet town is faced with many shocking discoveries in a matter of two days.

the day was hot, miserably so. the sun beating down on your bare back with an unrelenting warmth, making your work twenty times harder. The sun even warmed up the dirt and stone lying underneath your bare feet, working the fields barefoot was already hard enough, the burning sensation under your feet made it no easier.

You couldn't remember the last time you had water, or any form of nutrition. They didn't bother feeding the "low class" likes of you anymore, field and cattle workers, endlessly working for the sake of producing cash crops and cattle for the village. It wasn't slavery, they couldn't call it slavery as it had been outlawed for years now in this kingdom. Even so, you were paid dirt and were treated as slaves always had been.

you worked and worked and worked night and day, in every season of the year for the "sake of the village" they would say, you among a small group of farm workers lived in a small barn out back, with no insulation or form of bathroom. you shared one room between sixteen workers a small space not fit for even two.

Every day, all day, you would find yourself in a similar situation to this one, in a small sack of a dress covered in dirt, knees on the ground with your hands enveloped completely in dirt either pulling weeds from the ground or planting small seeds for potatoes or carrots or the occasional beet, with the hot sun beating down on your back, heaving and panting. just like you always did, you dug through the soil, pulling out weeds, your bare feet digging into the dirt behind you, burning with the heat of the sun. you were humming an old lullaby your mother used to sing before she died, peacefully doing your work no matter how hot and miserable you should be.

your humming came to a halt when you heard a burst of girly young giggles echo through the field off in the distance, the village girls. They would sometimes come out here for fun, either to make fun of the workers or to run around the fields, the owners didn't care so neither did you, if the rich kids liked the farm than so did their parents, meaning more money for everybody but you. You found yourself envious of their freedom in life. They didn't have to work, not like you did. You were about the same age, yet they were dressed in pretty sundresses with bows in their hair, while you were reduced to something akin to a potato sack, hair tied back in plain looking ponytail, they were plump and round and beautiful while you stayed frail and skinny and sickly looking.

You found yourself staring at them, hidden among the plants and crops, unseen by their unfocused eyes, it was easy to just drift off, to imagine yourself giggling with them, being part of their group, gossiping about the town rumors. It was a nice thought. unachievable, but nice.

"Did you hear about that foreighn kingdom conquering west?" they giggled to each other, clearly not noticing you tucked behind the corn rows. You had yet to hear anything about any foreign kingdom, then again you were fairly uninformed, your only news coming from your colleagues or your boss, who spoke to you once or twice a month. The two other girls let out false-sounding gasps, intrigued.

"I know right? My father speaks about the towns they've conquered. Apparently, it's brutal, they leave no survivors and burn the fields and town. " The girl's giggles became hushed and quiet as she went on, listening intently with wide eyes, you sat behind the plants. They were smiling as she said all of this, wasn't this supposed to be sad, be awful? how could they laugh at the destruction of so many towns? So many lives?

"My mother has been talking about the same things! Apparently, a couple survivors tried to come into town, and the guards sent them packing though. Good thing too, they looked dirty. dirt belongs in the field, not in a home." she brought her hand to her lips and let out a giggle, the rest followed suit while you stared. You couldn't tell if they were being serious, they lived ina different world, that much was obvious.

"Ive heard stories! How they kill the women and children in front of their families, burn down homes and villages, apparently their leader is the worst of them. The biggest and strongest and meanest" she snickered in a disgusting, prissy rich way.

"We dont have to worry of course, they would spare us, father would pay them all the money in the world. Its the low levels who should be worried." They all erupted in giggles at that one, and all looked towards your fellow workers, pointing at their clothes and matted hair and dirty hands. You were apart of the "low levels" as they had said, you hated that. And you hated these girls for making you feel less than them just for not being born with a roof over your head.

You scowled at them, now hating them with all of your energy. Maybe it was best that you stayed away from them, it makes sense why you aren't part of their clique, why you never would be part of their clique. Fuck them, and their high-class prissy fathers. You let out a sigh and tried to back up, wanting to disappear among the plants, accidentally cracking a stick with your bare foot and letting a hiss. All of their heads snapped towards your hidden spot.

"Who's there?" The snooty one with the high pitched nasally voice screeched out. You slapped your hand over your mouth, inching back as fast as you could without making noise, the owners of the farm would beat you if they knew you were eavesdropping on the high class girls.

"Its probably one of those workers" the other hissed, poison laced in her tone.

"Come out freak! you like listening on our conversation?" You ran as they yelled for you, abandoning your seeds and work. Their taunts followed you, however eventually their voices quieted and you were left with the shocking information that a foreign barbarian kingdom was migrating west. You were west, and so was your village. They were moving towards you, especially if the survivors from a raid were close enough to walk on foot to your village, they had to be close.

By the time the sun went down and all the workers were in the servants quarters you were able to ask your questions, the younger workers knew nothing, but the elderly and middle aged were willing to tell the stories from their younger times of the war. You had never taken a history class, or any class at all for that matter so you had no clue about anything they would say, you hadn't even known that there was a war.

They were foreigners who lived among the trees and the mountains, known for brutal manslaughter, they weren't human, that much a clear. They were giant apparently, after and stronger and larger,ith predatory instincts and habits, they were like animals. . They even lived longer. The eldest of the women here had been in one of the village raids all those years ago, they killed her entire family while she was hiding in the closet, then burned her house down, leaving her with burn scars all over her body. They told stories of torture and theft and assault, and the worst part about it was that they had no motive other than bloodlust, they looted homes, but they never demanded money or women or crops. Nobody knew what they wanted, they never told the towns their demands, they would just come and go, leaving fire and death in their dust.

The fact that they were approaching closer and closer as the days ticked by, left you shaking.

Mentions of their brutal leader left you even more fearful, as he preyed on the weak. Tearing out the throats of innocents and ignoring pleas or cries for help. You were weak. Like all those he has killed.

You went to sleep that night hoping that it was all just rumors, silly townsfolk gossip that the girls made up to fill the boredom and free time.

needless to say, you didn't sleep much that night.

---

When you woke up,the quarters were empty, you shared a bed with four other people, so waking up without the company of another was quite jarring. At first, you jolted out of bed, terrified of missing the morning work, knowing it would surely receive you a beating. However the others would wake you up if you had not arisen with the rest, and it was still quite dark outside, so that simply hadn't made any sense. looking around, the room was in a state of disarray, the beds oddly moved around, the thin blankets strewn about, and the little belongings that all of you had were either gone or thrown around the room. What had happened while you were asleep, and more importantly, how had you slept through it?

then, the smell of smoke hit you.

Thick and heavy it brought bile to your throat, this wasn't a forest fire or campfire, this wasn't something where empty air was burning, this smelled like meat, like flesh and bone being burned. you gagged, covering your mouth and nose with the thin fabric of the blanket. you stumbled out the creaky door of your quarters, coughing and trying to block the smell out, but were halted in your tracks.

Fire. Fire everywhere. The farm, the house, even the forest around. The only thing left untouched was the animal barn, thank god. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of acres of land ablaze, weeks and weeks of work lit with slivers of red and yellow light. The warmth radiating off of it burned your face. were you dreaming? this must be some form of a dream.

dream or not, you were in danger.

Once you were able to get over the initial shock of your home being literally lit on fire, you tried to tune into any other noises than the crackling sound of flames. Anything to hint where you should go, where you should run. You had never left this farm, your mother was a slave here before it was outlawed, and you were born into the work, forbidden to leave. Not once had you stepped foot into town, and you certainly have never left the town. You didn't know where to go.

Then you heard it, the screams. people, so many people screaming, you didn't know where to go, but it would be in the opposite direction of wherever that was, whatever was making that noise. So, with a very impulsive decision you ran away from the screams, into the direction of an empty winding dirt road, you tried to think logically, if you could find someone then you could follow them and figure out where to go.

The quiet running was harsh on your bare feet, sprinting down the empty dirt road as quietly as you could was not easy for somebody medically unwell and malnourished. However, there would be much time later to sulk over achy bones and pained feet. Was there anybody even here? you could still smell the stench, although it was getting softer. However, you still clutched the cotton blanket in your hand. Your pace slowed as exhaustion kicked in, and to your luck, you heard voices. Not quiet and soft like the ones you were used to, loud and boisterous. men.

you found yourself frozen on the trail, listening in on the conversation as best as you could you inched to the side of the road, trying to hide among the trees. They looked strange, not dressed all properly like the owner of the farm or the village girls you had seen. Their clothes were woven in a precise ay you had never seen before, jewels and beads hung from their hair and necks, chests bare and blood splattered.The more you stared, the weirder and weirder they looked, too large, too muscular, their voices too harsh. inhuman sounding.

"The towns already a fucking gonor, chief said to wait to set the forest on fire till he was done in the homes" One of the Men laughed out with a menacing cackle, his shoulders shaking, the others seemed too happy, too excited to be starting fires. They were up to this.

"Those guards were a riot though. All tough until they realized we weren't going down "Please spare me!" and "We'll let you in we swear!"" the other mocked in a high-pitched voice. They laughed along as they mocked the guards of your town. As they walked down the road, getting closer and closer to you by the second, you were now able to see blood all over them, splattered on their strange clothing. Your breath hitched as they passed you, still hiding in the bushes by the side of the road.

Thank god they hadn't seen you, whoever they were, they clearly would not do you well. Two giant men conversing about arson and the death of the town guards were not anybody you wanted to mess with.

wait.

The realization hit you like a brick. These were the foreign raiders from the east. How were you so stupid, how had you let yourself forget in the span of a couple hours? They were tearing your town apart just like the others before. That's why your farm was ablaze. Thats why your Coworkers were gone. Thats why you heard screaming.

Your breath hitched as a couple tears left your eyes, you clutched the blanket in your hand, oh god, your town was going to be one of many trampled and raided beyond repair. your knees began to quiver along with your hands, you were a gonor. you had to run. now.

Stumbling back from the shock of the realization, you turned to quietly make your way further down the road, away from the town, away from those men. They were far enough that they wouldn't hear your quiet footsteps, you were sure of it. So you held your breath and pulled away from the tree, staying in the dark.

However, while your footsteps were quiet as a mouse, the same white blanket that had brought you comfort just moments ago had doomed you, when you had maneuvered away so focused on the quietness of your footsteps, you had failed to notice that delicate cotton blanket had gotten snagged on a tree branch. pulling away from you and causing a loud snap in the branches. Your breath hitched as you stared at the tree with wide eyes, stumbling back and letting the blanket free from your hand. You sent a glance at the two men who had been meters away, praying for their hearing to be weaker than their muscles.

They were instead, standing feet away from you, staring directly at you.

A whimper escaped your lips as you backed away in fear, turning on your heel and making a move to run directly backwards. Not before the taller of the two could reach out and grab the collar of the sack you called a dress, yanking you back and knocking the wind out of you. before you knew it you were lifted off the ground with one arm by the collar of your dress, staring in terror as the eight foot tall man in front of you looked down with excited eyes. He flashed a smile with all too sharp teeth, sending you sprialing into endless fear.

The other said something in what sounded like a foreign language, not something you would ever understand. Before you could move, the larger of the two bendy down and smelled the air right next to you, with that his smile dropped and the two locked eyes. Some kind of realization hit them as well, while you remained unknowing and absolutely terrified.

"well, looks like we missed one, didnt we?" he questioned with a deep voice, the fear alone sent your heart into a free fall, beating out of control. you couldn't breathe, your lungs pulsing in and out against your will as panic flooded them. spots clouded yourision as the man continued to say something, and with one breath you felt your consciousness slip out from under your feet.

---

you woke up lying on the hard feeling of cement stones, the stench from the fire before worse than you had ever smelled it, sending you into a fit of coughs. Squinting your eyes open, you were able to see small cottage-like buildings, you were in the village, weren't you? You were in the square judging by the large open space of square stones. with heavy eyelids you tried to unblur your vision, and as you did, you found that cold sense of panic enveloping your bloodstream yet again. red, red everywhere. you were sitting in a puddle of it.

Silently freaking out, you pushed yourself up with weak limbs, trying your best to stand, you couldn't remember what had happened, but you were still alive, that's what was important. looking around none of those men were near, but the fires were. should you even bother running? would they come back and catch you. there was blood soaked through your dress, your head ached, and you found your bare feet wet with the blood of the townsfolk.

you found yourself dry heaving due to the stench, tears escaping your eyes, all while stumbling around the square in the meantime. your attention was immediately drawn to the high pitched screaming of what sounded to be a girl. finding the sound with your eyes, it was one of the girls from the farm, white bow still tied in her hair. She was lying on the ground, a pool of blood lying at where her head had met the stone just moments ago, her hands were up above her head in a shield-like motion.

"Please! Please! I can pay you anything you want! Money and jewels or crops I swear I am no commoner! I just need my father! Please!" she screamed up, your eyes panned up from the girl lying on the ground to a man. not just a man, a giant. at least ten feet tall with arms a width larger than your head, he had icy hair that seemed to stick out in every direction like an explosion, and eyes. oh god. his eyes were red as the blood surrounding him, piercing and raging more so than anything you had ever seen. He was looking down at her like she was a bug ready to be squashed, with such hatred that you could swear he had a personal vendetta.

This was him, this was the infamous leader that was ever-so talked about. and he exceeded expectations, this man was a walking nightmare, fear itself packed into ten feet of muscle and blonde hair. You hadn't even realized his plans until his foot came down on her head, and with a crunch, the screaming came to an abrupt halt.

For the third time in two days, you found yourself frozen, staring at somebody you would never dare to talk to. And for the third time,they were staring right back at you.

The giant man flicked his boot as red splattered on the ground next to him, all while still staring at you, he let the girl's wrist go, and dropped her body to the ground with a thump. he made slow strides to a frozen little you, each step sending shivers down your spine, as you stumbled back, finally able to move, he was already inches in front of you, leaning over to be face to face.

You didn't bother running, learning from your mistakes that running results in nothing and you still get caught. Instead, you met his eyes for a moment, finding something else deep down. He was leaned over, bent down on one knee, inches away from your face. this was it, you give up. you're dead.

you squinted your eyes closed, deciding it would be best not to look as you met your inevitable death, face to face with the grim reaper himself, you chose not to stare him in the eye. peacefully accepting your fate. You waited for impact, waited to feel something hit you over the head or knock your kneecaps out. You waited for something, anything to end your miserable existence.

but it never came.

your hands quivering, your heart pittering in your chest at five hundred beats per minute. tears running freely down your cheeks, catching dirt and blood on the way down. A hand gently met your face, cupping your cheek, You peeled your eyes open to meet his own piercing crimson globes.

And to your surprise, the man smiled. not like the smile the others gave you, not like a predator bearing its teeth, but a genuine smile, one that you had only ever seen worn by your mother.

"Pretty" he grumbled out, an accent hanging over his voice. it was deep and gravelly and powerful. his giant hand came up to touch your cheek and wipe your tears away, wiping dirt and blood off with his fingertips. This hands could crush your neck with ease if he wanted to, but he wont. Why wont he?

"Why are you doing this?" you sobbed out, finding every last ounce of fight left in you to pull back from his touch and defiantly meeting his crimson gaze once more. your breathing shallow, you felt at risk of feinting once more. He tilted his head with a questioning grunt, and you decided to play your luck once more.

"Why do you raid my village, what have you to gain? You sobbed in his face and his smile shifted and morphed slowly into a frown, he cocked his head even further, his face twisting up into confusion.

"This is not a raid, we do not raid. were not cruel. " His gruff voice continued to send shivers down your spine, yet his words let rage flow through your bones. hundreds dead, maybe thousands, all of your friends, and family even, probably also dead. and this "wasn't a raid" according to him. you couldn't find it in yourself to care that he was twice your height, and quadruple your strength, you wanted to hit him so hard that he would feel it for days, even if it meant breaking your wrist.

"Theyre all dead, why? We have done nothing." You couldn't believe you were talking to one of them right now, you could barely believe that you had the courage to even muster a word, let alone a whole conversation. His hand found your waist, the other touching your face once more. What the hell was happening? surrounded by blood and death and this man, no, this thing was touching youso lovingly. the shivering of your hands threatened to come back again as you held his gaze.

"We look for our mates, and we prove that we are strong enough to be worth your time." The second the words left his mouth youwere once again reminded that he was anything but a human, they were creatures of nature, you'd seen squirells and horses and cows find mates, never humans. but you were stupid to think he was even remotely close to a human. the words had your face twisting in distress, and you stumbling back, your consciousness threatening to slip from under you once more.

"mates?" you questioned, voice wavering with uncertainty. this could not be happening, you could not be talking about love surrounded by bodies on top of bodies in a burning town with a man who wasn't really a man and instead a foreign alien like giant creature.

"mates,

you."

and with those words your eyes rolled back into your skull and your consciousness slipped through the cracks of the stone, you fell forward and the man was glad to catch you. standing up with you in his arms was a triumphant moment for him, finding his mate as a real, as a king was a monumentous occasion. you were his, undeniably his. he had finally found you.

katsuki bakugou had finally found his mate.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Do you think this is the moment he fell in love?

Okie, it's time to shitpost speculate a bit on my favorite moment in the whole show: the end of the Truth Seekers episode.

Do you think this was the first time Blitzø was protected? Taken care of? Saved?

Just look at how in awe he is, eyes wide open, jaw dropped. I doubt we've ever seen a face like this before or after. Of course, it might also have something to do with seeing Stolas in his true form for the first time. It was eerie and terrifying, but also sublime and exalting. Oddly attractive even, maybe?

This owl demon, with eldritch ancient powers and two dozen legions, was there just for him. Stopped in his tracks of whatever royal deeds he was attending to and came to stand up for Blitzø, to scare the shit out of his... well, fuckbuddy's (or not really?) perpetrators. Stolas watched after him, knew he was in trouble! So he... cared?

I am going to repeat my starting statement - he is not used to being worried about. Here, Moxxie clearly prioritizes Millie (no blame here, it's completely valid!), and helps Blitzø to get up only after the latter sarcastically sneered, "Oh, yeah, thanks, I am fine!"

And Loona, at least until the Queen Bee episode, which happens later, was very hesitant to show even a grain of affection toward Blitzø. We know she cares, but it's not always enough to just have it in mind and not demonstrate it.

And here is Stolas, caressing Blitzø, asking if he is alright, calling him 'darling' - another first in their relationship, at least on screen. Look how confused he is for a moment; he looks away and up (defensive? scared? annoyed?) - has he ever been asked things like that before? Notice how his face relaxes after Stolas strokes his forehead. Our guy is tough, no doubt, but I bet he just realized how nice it is when there's someone who cares.

Hell knows, these five seconds are a single thread holding my mental health together after the shitshow in the Full Moon and Apology Tour episodes.

Of course, there's the second part where Stolas tones down the grandiosity of his gesture. He scolds the crew for not being careful and jeopardizing him along with them, implying that the book exchange should remain a secret. Then he negates it himself - luckily for them, demon-obsessed lunatics are not taken seriously in the human world.

I don't think this changes anything. The first thing he did was to ask if Blitzø is okay. Only after he was reassured Blitzø is fine did he begin to rant, and even then his concern addressed both the crew letting themselves into trouble and his own safety. Again, why wouldn't it be valid? However I look at it, I don't think the book is his primary interest here.

And is this the first time we see Blitzø blushing?

This blush! I bet my life that Mister Blitzø 'boring-as-fuck-monogamy' Buckzo hasn't even internalized it yet, but oh, did his heart just do a big somersault.

Listen to my voice: This is the moment he fell, even though he didn't know it himself yet. Poor boy has a lot of work to do to unlearn his coping mechanisms and let his walls down.

Thank you for coming to my sappy stand-up, don't forget your coats on your way out. *drops mic*

P.S. Oh, I lied to you. There's a bonus "Blitzø just fell so hard" face in the Seeing Stars episode, haha. Apparently Stolas's human form is just as hot as his true demonic one lol.

[highonmarvel]

Heyy love your work. I wanted to make a request for Bucky Barne was thinking something like reader goes to his house for Christmas but then he forcefully drugs her with a syringe and she's held captive. But he's overal nice enough. He'd let her kick or scream or fight back. But then one day he lets her out of the basement or wherever he keeps her and she tries to escape and succeeds to some degree He manages to catch her and he snaps, gets angry and punishes her and she's scared cuz he snapped.

Winter

i love this! i’m sorry this isn’t proofread—i’m late as is and needed to get this out into the world so at least some people can read this as they lie in bed and have it be relevant. also, i’m so sorry, i left out the syringe bit because i got too into the plot i conjured up with the food coma here, sorry, sweetheart, but please, send another request if you really want to see it get done. let me know your thoughts, also to my sister @thehydraethereal. with that out of the way:

Bucky Barnes: A Christmas dinner opens your eyes to a new type of Winter.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of torture. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are not comfortable with explicit descriptions of physical violence. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

It wasn’t that you were technically averse to relationships or had commitment issues, you just feel like at this point in your life a solid relationship wasn’t really going to work. You had been travelling to the other side of the country quite a bit to take care of your sister, but this Christmas, your parents went down, so you didn’t really have an excuse to bail when Bucky invited you to dinner.

You don’t think you’re technically dating him–you don’t ever recall you or him asking the other to be their partner–but you’ve at least been going out with him for a few months. Guess you’d have to face him at some point; it’s been nearly three weeks since he had suggested you live together, which had caught you completely off-guard. You had managed to side-step the conversation at the time before making up some bullshit excuse to leave, and you haven’t had the courage to face him since.

Pulling into Bucky’s driveway always makes you feel a little uneasy; he doesn’t live like a hermit or overly secluded, but for some reason the houses in this suburb seem just a little too far apart for comfort–no one really has ‘neighbours.’

The scent of a very well-cooked meal carries right up to the front door, making you take a deep whiff before knocking.

“Hi, honey,” Bucky answers the door, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“God, I’m practically drooling out here,” you say, and Bucky laughs as he steps out of the way and allows you in. “How long have you been standing?”

“Ah, a few hours,” he admits, sheepishly, watching you hang your coat up and rubbing the back of his neck when you raise your eyebrows at him.

“But it’s just the two of us, no?” you question as you lead him into the kitchen (maybe you being so casual in his home gave him the impression you’d like to move in with him).

“Yeah,” he replies, tailing you. “But I realised I don’t really know what you like and I panicked a bit.”

You giggle and that seems to ease his apparent embarrassment, allowing him to let out a breathless laugh as he moves into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the island as you settle on a stool.

“How have you been?” he inquires as he pours you a glass of wine, not making eye contact.

“Alright,” you reply, watching the red liquid slosh into the glass. “Glad to have some time off.”

“How’s your sister?”

You sigh and mouth a thank you to him as he slides the glass towards you. After a sip, you look up at him. “Better, I think, and she’s only allowed two visitors at a time–my parents really wanted to see her so I let them for Christmas, they don’t really get a chance otherwise.”

He hums in understanding as he puts on pink oven mitts and crouches down.

“Are you disappointed?” he asks loudly as he pulls a dish out of the oven.

You shrug. “I’d have liked to go, but I’m not all that sad about it. I don’t have much going for me in New York, so I was worried I’d be bored, but I’m having a good time.

“You just got here!” He laughs as he rises with a turkey.

“I know, but wine.” You raise your glass to him and peer into the ceramic dish. “Turkey?” you ask, which he responds to with a hum of affirmation.

“I don’t really like it, not sure if you do.”

“I like it. I would have thought you patriots like Thanksgiving stuff, though.”

You help him set up a few dishes across a small dining table and sit down.

“This was really sweet, Bucky.” You smile, tone sincere and nearly sappy as he cuts you a large leg of turkey. “Doesn’t this stuff make you sleepy?” you joke, and it takes him just a beat too long to chuckle.

“I think that’s a myth, actually,” he responds as he sits back down across from you.

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows as you dig your knife and fork into the leg. “I could have sworn...”

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you carefully, and with a kind of interest that makes you slightly uneasy, but you can’t deny it’s heavenly. You nod enthusiastically and point to the meat.

“God, this is great! You’d swear there was cocaine in here or something.”

Something lights in his eyes for a second, a spark you mistake for happiness. Bucky has always loved nothing more than to see you happy and relaxed: one of the reasons you were so drawn to him was his genuine desire to not only make you as happy as possible, but to appreciate that joy. Sometimes you got the impression making you happy pleased him almost as much as it pleased you, if not more. And it was times like these you felt bad you weren’t really able to make a commitment to him. He never seemed to mind it all too much, but you can tell it’s something he wants, and you almost feel like you’re taking advantage of his affection–but he knows, and you know, and if he isn’t happy with this arrangement, surely he’d say something.

But Bucky has to bite back the retort, “Well, not that drug.”

After a hearty meal you only put down when you feel you’re genuinely on the verge of passing out, you push away your plate. “Woo! I don’t know how I’m ever gonna work that off. I think I’ve gained, like, 10.”

“You're perfect the way you are,” Bucky says, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek as he clears the table.

You close your eyes and hum in delight, but you find it a little hard to open them again. When you manage to pry your eyes open again, it’s not much, still looking at the table through droopy lids. You stand and sway, rattling your chair as you grapple the table for support.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks as he reappears in your line of sight, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” you respond, squeezing your eyes shut and ripping them open again. “But I really should get going.”

“Get going?” he repeats, moving to your side for support as you stumble forward. “I don’t think you should drive right now.”

But you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, pushing off of him to stand up straight. You think you say, “I’m fine. I’ll call you.” but you can’t really make out the words through the slight slurring.

“Lie down,” he offers gently, taking a step towards his bedroom.

“No…” you tear your arm free of his grasp. You had spent the night with him before, but for a reason you can’t figure out, this time, something is screaming at you to decline.

“Really, darling, you need to,” he insists, his voice having dropped to a low murmur. He takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, feeling a little guilty when he stops dead in his tracks and something like hurt flashes across his features. You know something that makes Bucky wince is when he feels someone is afraid of him, and you can only imagine how he must feel now if you’re the one displaying apprehension.

You shake your head and turn away from him to the doorway.

“Hey...” You startle as you feel his grip on your forearm, gentle, but firm. “You’re not leaving.” The words are said in a sincerely concerned way, but the fact the statement came off as more of a command than a suggestion really triggers something in you.

“Bucky...” you groan as you uselessly try to pull away, feeling weaker than you otherwise would, even against him.

He doesn’t have to give too sharp of a tug to make you stumble into his arms, his hold on you steady, and, at any other time, safe, but now it feels more certain, somehow, almost possessive. You try to protest but you’re practically babbling incoherently under him, head lolled to the side as he adjusts his grip from under your arms to pick you up bridal style.

“Just lie down for a second...”

And you’re too out of it to notice he’s passed his bedroom door.

***

It’s difficult to open your eyes again, your lashes stuck together as you turn your head over. When vision slowly comes back to you, you’re met with a midcentury wooden bedside table you don’t recognise. You prop yourself up on your forearm and squint into the room, looking for any signs of familiarity, and the only thing you recognise is the thing you dread.

“What…” you begin to mutter, and Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading with a smile.

“You’re up.” He stands from the chair positioned by ‘your’ (this isn’t your bed) beside and moves to sit on the edge, placing a hand to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You weakly slap his hand away as you start to really wake up and realise what’s going on.

“I’m not… this isn’t… what…” you can’t really find the words to ask the questions you need answers to.

“It’s your Christmas present!” he says with a grin, standing to make a grand gesture with his arms, out to the room. I’ve got your favourite books here, I remember you telling me you used to want a four poster princess bed.” He points to the ceiling and sure enough, pretty curtains hang over your head. “But if you don’t like it I can change it.” He shrugs and stands somewhat nervously as he waits for you to react.

“What… the fuck.”

He tsks and swings his arms back and forth, rocking on his heels.

“I set it up for you a few weeks ago, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable sleeping with me every night, I know you like your space.”

“Are you out of your mind!?” You throw the sheets off of you and manage to stand, even though your head feels a little heavy.

He sighs and steps forward. “I know it feels like–”

“Oh, you know what it feels like? You know what it feels like to be ostensibly kidnapped by your boyfriend?”

He blushes. “So I am your boyfriend.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You throw a pillow at him (ineffective but it was the nearest thing) which he catches with ease and turns over to reveal an embroidered flower. “I made this,” he says, proudly.

“What the fuck!?” you shriek as you throw another pillow at him, this one he dodges easily.

You’ve never seen him like this, nearly giddy and, in this context, borderline delusional. It makes you grip onto your hair and bunch your fingers into the locks. “Oh, my god, you’re insane!”

“I’m not the one yelling and throwing things,” he mutters, and your eyes snap up to his.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you begin, exasperated. “I’m so fucking sorry I don’t react well to crimes committed against me.”

“You came into my house.”

“Yes, but I didn’t come into this room! Do you really expect me to believe I can just leave anytime? That that door isn’t locked. You think I’m fucking stupid?”

He gently tosses the pillow back onto the bed and winces. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Bucky,” you begin, carefully, voice dangerously low as you step up to him. “I don’t know what in god’s name has gotten into you, but I’m not having it. I’m leaving.”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t intimidate me.” And the way he says it with such sincere pity makes you shove at his chest. He doesn’t stumble, but he takes a step back for your benefit.

You match his step and poke your finger in his chest, glaring up at him with more fury than you thought you had and trying your hardest not to wrap your hand around his throat. What really pisses you off is his patronising speech; you can tell he genuinely thinks he’s doing good, and that he honestly feels bad that you can’t appreciate it, that you’re weaker than him, and it boils your blood. Apathy or even mockery would be better than this condescending way he’s deluded himself into believing this is for your benefit.

“Don’t call me sweetheart, you piece of shit. If that door is locked, you’re gonna unlock it, and you’re going to leave me the fuck alone.” You practically spit the words at him through gritted teeth, seething to the point you can feel heat radiating from your body and wouldn’t be surprised if there was literal steam coming out of your ears.

“Sit down, angel.”

“Talk to me like that again and there will be nothing angelic about what I do to you.”

“Your mother called.”

That gets your attention and your anger dissipates for a moment. “Really? What did she say?”

When he guides you to sit down, you’re not really in the space to fight him off, waiting to hear any news from your family.

“They’re coming down in a few days, for New Year’s, and, they’re bringing your sister–they say she’s stable enough for travel.”

You feel your eyes begin to water at the thought of your sister being that strong, of being able to talk to her like you used to, before she got sick. But you snap out of it, and that swelling in your heart turns to something close to anxiety, but closer to suspicion. “Why are you telling me this?”

He scoffs as if you’re asking him if the sky is blue. “Because I know you want to see them. I told them they could stay with us for a few days.”

“With us?”

He just blinks. “Yes, with us.”

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think…” And the next few hours are spent with you screaming in his face, swinging punches which he easily dodges, but sometimes he humours you and allows you a hit–not like it hurts anyway. His calm demeanour and ‘care’ makes you infuriated beyond belief, and by the end of the night the room has been trashed, there are scratches on the door from your desperate clawing and pounding, your voice is hoarse from all the yelling, and you’re exhausted while Bucky is no more beaten than when you first woke up.

Eventually, you’ve physically exhausted yourself so much you can’t even push him away when he climbs into bed next to you and holds you in his arms, placing your head against his chest and caressing your hair, which he knows always relaxes you and helps you fall asleep.

***

You only know it’s morning when you wake up because Bucky greets you with it, but it doesn’t take long for your attention to fall to the walls, noticing there aren’t any windows.

“We’re in the basement, you know.” Bucky comments, watching your eyes dart around the room and catching on to what you’re doing. “I don’t have a spare room, you know that.”

You’re nearly tired of glaring daggers at him seeing as he doesn’t really feel it–if anything, it seems to spur him on, like he doesn’t really care what you do as long as he gets some kind of reaction out of you. If you remained as stoic as he did, maybe that would give him pause for thought, but you really can’t resist the urge to attack him, and he somehow sees it as endearing, like any attention you give him makes his heart swell.

Initially, you refuse his invitation for breakfast upstairs, but when that morning grumpiness subsides, you let your stubbornness fall away in favour of opportunity. This really solidifies in your mind Bucky is so convinced you’ll stay that he doesn’t really worry about turning his back on you as he flips an egg.

“Where’re you going?”

You stop dead in your tracks, shocked he had heard you get up when you were practically sneaking like a cartoonish villain.

“To the bathroom,” you lie, to which he responds with a simple, “Okay.”

It’s too easy, but you’d rather take your chances than wonder if this is some kind of setup. You have to get out of here as soon as possible, so you don’t have time to look for your car keys, but you hesitate at the door. It’s beginning to snow, and you’re not dressed anywhere near enough to make it to a neighbour–the only thing that had kept you warm before coming up to see him was that nice coat, but it’s not on the rack anymore.

There’re only a few locks you have to turn to quietly open the door, your teeth chattering as a cold breeze hits you so hard it’s painful, like your skin is literally freezing onto your bones. You’re barefoot, no less. You can’t kid yourself into thinking you won’t lose a toe or some extremities in the process, but you can not stay. It really has only been one night, but something you’ve never liked in your life is being trapped, makes your skin crawl to the point you’d rather shed it than be deprived of freedom, especially when you’ve got the chance to see your family soon. And besides, it’s really not that long of a walk to the next house, you won’t die out there, but you can only vaguely make it out through the snow, and if you scream, it’ll surely be drowned by the harsh winds. With one last glance behind you, you step into the snow, and instantly regret it, your feet set close to frozen in just a few seconds, and goosebumps rising so quickly across your skin it feels like you’ve suddenly broken out in hives. And just as you consider turning back, you’re shoved forward, and you shriek as you land face first in the snow, afraid of crying at the impact lest your tears turn to ice right on your cheeks.

You’re gripped by the arm and pulled upright, before being again pushed further away from the house you can feel radiating warmth just through the open door. You gasp for air as you manage to bring yourself to your hands and knees, fingers curling into the snow and slowly becoming numb. A harsh gust blows, nearly knocking you off balance, and you squint to look up at the door, Bucky standing before you in little more than a long-sleeved t-shirt (he’s more underdressed than you) and sweatpants, hair still a little messy with sleep, but the look in his eyes, it’s a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of–in fact, you’ve never even seen it, but you can recognise it immediately.

“You forget I’m the Winter Soldier.” You’re not sure how his deep growl manages to carry across the howling of the winds, but you don’t have time to figure it out before a metal hand grips a fistful of your hair and you’re dragged through the snow, instinctively trying to plant your feet in the ground to stop him but even if you could match his strength, the cold is unbearable, and your legs are starting to feel numb, yet still stiff.

You don’t have time to be grateful that you’ve been thrown back into warmth as you slide across the floor and Bucky kicks the door shut behind him. From a hallway table, he pulls out a wrench, and you struggle to get your arms and legs to move away from him as he approaches you, menacingly.

You don’t know how such slow and heavy footsteps manage to catch up to you so quickly, but soon he’s got his boot pressing down on your ankle, preventing you from doing more than thrashing around. He leans down and grips your face roughly, forcibly pulling you up to meet him, and his eyes are so void of emotion he nearly looks dead. He doesn’t look angry, he looks like he just can’t feel.

“I do all this for you, and you can’t even offer me a pretty little smile.” His large fingers reach into your mouth, pulling your lips and teeth apart wide, wide enough for him to shove the wrench into your mouth and attach it to one of your teeth. “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Maybe you’ll appreciate it more if it just wasn’t the same.” You feel your gum twist and let out a cry, gurgling through your throat. Your frail fingers grasp onto his wrist as you desperately try to shake your head, but his strong hold prevents you from it. He twists a little more and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath, before he eventually pulls out and you gasp for dear life, tears stinging your vision.

He roughly tugs you up and practically throws you into a nearby chair, before taking your hand with surprising gentleness, caressing your hurting fingers with the back of his for a moment before adjusting his grip to bring the wrench back forward.

“Now this is no good…” he remarks, moving his head to see more of your frostbitten marks you’re sure will leave scars. “You know what happens to these?” The wrench attacks itself to your index finger and Bucky adjusts its width so it’s threatening to chop your finger right off.

You scream at him to let go, kicking at his legs gets no reaction out of him, but don’t dare to move the hand he’s still holding.

“What if I just…” He twists only slightly and your skin breaks, blood seeping down from your frayed skin and dripping onto your thigh.

Just as you’re about to let out an unstoppable shriek of pain, Bucky’s metal hand presses to your mouth, stopping the sound going any further than echoing off his palm for only you to hear again. He twists more and you move your wrist with it, trying anything to stop him from twisting your finger off. He notices this and removes his other hand from your mouth to hold your wrist firmly in place.

“Bucky, please–”

“Shut up!” he shouts, his hold on you tightening even further. He lowers his face to yours with wide eyes, jaw clenched impossibly tight, and speaks in a dangerously low register, his voice trembling with fury as he tries to hold it together, at least in demeanour if not in action. “You really fucked up, and if you don’t have any fingers, you won’t be able to open my door ever again.”

✪

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10, @mybabygirllove]

[worldsover]

Completeness ft. Yeseo, Mashiro

length ✦ 13.7k

genres ✧ gf!Mashiro, virgin!Yeseo

✦✧✦✧✦✧

There is exactly one axiom that matters. Mashiro is your loving girlfriend. All other truths are auxiliary. Yet, postulates exist that can carry weight to them and affect the system upon which this first and only truth is built. An example: Yeseo, Shiro's best friend, is something of a little sister to you both, and thus you make love to your girlfriend, and care for your girlfriend's friend as much as any guy should. For some reason, this unbreakable and absolute edict has been revised, softened, changed, and now truth itself is something that the two of them are… considering.

"Hey, what do you think of Yeseo?"

It's a Thursday night, and Mashiro's on top of you, her hand stroking your cock as she asks. It's not the kind of distraction you want while you're about to get off, but here you are.

"She's cute. Um, can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

"That's it?" Mashiro gives you a wry smile.

"What's with you? Why are you asking about her now of all times?"

Mashiro shrugs, but you don't believe it. She tugs down the neckline of her cropped top, showing off more of her breasts as they threaten to spill out of her bra. Between the sheen of sweat on her cleavage and the toned shape of her abs, that's a lot of skin and sexiness to swallow. Her fingers don't have to work long before you're fully erect.

"I mean, I'm just saying, she's gotten pretty hot lately."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Hot? Since when?"

"Well, obviously now that she's an adult. And what, you think she's not hot, babe?"

You look away and groan. "I dunno, it's a bit weird." You're not even being political about your answer. That's just the truth.

Mashiro peels your eyes back to her when she takes your hand and brings it under her shirt. She's smiling like she's got a joke only she's privy to, even when you start pinching her nipples. At this point, she would usually start melting, and all clothes would be forgotten for at least another half-hour.

She doesn't.

Not that this is anywhere near Shiro's first time taking control of a situation, but the motive was always self-fulfillment, fucking out your orgasms to chase her own. Therefore, when Mashiro slaps your cock against her abs, you tense up in surprise and anticipation. She leans over to capture your shaft between her tits, inside the tight confines of her top. You thought that she thought that this shirt was too cute to ruin with stains of cum, but it seems like she's willing to sacrifice some clothes for whatever greater good. Her breasts are just big enough to make this possible, and while her skin is plenty soft and warm, she adds spit to the mix to make the passage nice and slippery.

"Ah, Shiro," you say.

Each time your tip pokes out of her shirt, Mashiro gives it extra attention—kissing, licking, suckling. The only reason you're not thrusting into her mouth is because she has your hips pinned to the bed. 

"So," she says, "Yeseo. Imagine her here."

"Wha..." You're dumbfounded, and it's not just by how Mashiro's mouth wraps around the head of your cock. That's nice though, and you could probably cum on her lips like this—you've done it before—but you're apparently in the middle of a conversation and it's very hard to reply when she's working you like this.

"Mm, tell me what you think of her. Be honest this time." Sure, Mashiro talks about her best friend a lot, but you never imagined that she'd be so cavalier about bringing any other person up while in bed. At the very least, you'd think she would broach this topic with a bit more tact, and a bit less tit-fucking.

Where to start is a dilemma, what with your brain functioning at half speed. "Uhhh. Purple hair." Gotta start somewhere. "She's… smart?" You're pretty sure that's it, right? That's everything there is to know about Yeseo. "She's like a sister."

Mashiro pulls back, relaxing the pressure on your dick, and you're both disappointed and relieved. "What if she were a little less like a sister?"

"Shiro, what do you want me to say?" You don't get to see her smile, since she's back to sucking on your tip, but you feel it.

"That you would dick down my bestie if that's what she needed?"

You open your mouth to deny it. "Well, I—" The next word should be a word, not a squeak. But that's what happens when she sucks on your dick while its length is stuffed into her tits. Her lips fit around your girth tight and they leave you with a parting lick. Makes your breath catch. You think about what she said. The fact that you're still hard says it all.

"It's okay, you can admit it. Yeseo's got such a pretty ass now, doesn't she?"

Your first thought is comparison: you want to believe that your girlfriend beats Yeseo in every department, and that's certainly true with the heft of her breasts as Yeseo's petite frame has a way to go before being able to swathe your member how Shiro currently is. Yet, you think about yesterday, how your eyes kept traveling to Yeseo's ass in her leggings and how that butt could be softer to the touch than your girlfriend's. Could be. Could be fluffier like a cloud, fuller like ripe fruit, rounder than a bubble ready to pop, and you don't want to admit you would pop it. Not really, so you're silent and tense, so what could be, isn't.

Mashiro notices, and pulls away from your cock. "Hah, thought so."

Shaking your head, clenching your jaw, you ask, "Why does it matter? Are you gonna be jealous?"

"Jealous? Of what, you ogling Yeseo? God no," Mashiro says, laughing, "she's so cute and tiny, I wouldn't blame you." She pauses, giving your length a few languid strokes up and down her tits. "If anything, I'm the opposite of jealous. Curious."

"Is that what opposite—"

She squeezes her tits together with an arm around her chest, your shaft in the most loving stranglehold. "I'm being serious. Just think about it. Okay?"

You sigh. "Fine, fine."

The conversation dies and gives way to the sound of wet slurps, soft moans, and the squelches of Mashiro's spit lubricating her titjob. Your toes curl as the pressure builds, and it's not long before you're close. And since her understanding of what close means to you is atomic-clock precise, she unsheathes your dick in the annoying nick of time. You can only laugh after all that—for all the times she's edged you, at least they were premeditated, or for a cause like a sudden visit from her parents.

"Fuck, babe, really?" You've had an infinite amount of patience for your lovely girl, so you're surprised at your own exasperation. You sit up, but then she pushes you back down to the bed with a hand to the chest. You take a deep breath, now grasping that this is all part of her plan, and that you should know better than to mistrust Mashiro for a second.

Mashiro leans over, your cock in her grip, the other hand slipping aside the wet white panties under her skirt. She doesn't bother getting them off properly, adjusting them to the side to reveal her trimmed mound and the swollen button peeking between pink lips. She lets your shaft rest against her pussy, then strokes the two together. Each pass of your cock along the underside of her clit has Mashiro breathing heavier, until she's panting like she's just finished a good work out. The wetness of her juices spreads on your shaft and her chest heaves in her cropped top while you need prison-grade handcuffs to keep from thrusting into her.

When the pressure's built enough, when your cock's about to burst, you're forced to watch your girlfriend rub herself to completion, your cock still in her grip. She cums before you, like an angel crying out for salvation, her blonde bangs sticking to the sweat of her forehead, though none of that stops Mashiro from jerking you off through your own orgasm. You moan her name as your hips buck and her thighs clench and her hand works in a blur.

The moments like this are where you realize your notions of Mashiro have been challenged, over and over. Loving is not so singular in meaning as you had thought, because when you first started having sex with your girlfriend, maybe a month after the first date, you honestly were making love. When you'd cum inside the condom while hugging her tight, that's when you two were done for the night.

But now loving means that you paint her abs in milky white, cum pooling into her belly button, spurts dribbling over her fingers, and then coat her pussy with the thick river flowing down her stomach. Plus, since you're still hard, might as well use that as lube for the ride of her life. You're not sure how you manage to keep up with Mashiro. Obviously, how she eats your cum from her fingers like it's candy, how her tits bounce now freed from her shirt and bra, and how her cum-creamed labia grips around your cock are all great incentive to push through your exhaustion. But in the recesses of your mind, the one part of your brain that isn't fixated on her, there is a small question. 

Small indeed. The same brand of small as your girlfriend. Five years younger.

Mashiro has gone and done it now. You're seeing the other girl in her face, the supposition, the thesis, your eyes blurring as Mashiro fucks down on you harder. Oh, damn, Yeseo really knows how to ride you well—wait, no. Your girlfriend's riding you well, her pussy milking your cock just right. Fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?

You groan, and you're not sure whether it's a cry of frustration or pleasure. Mashiro's face, Mashiro's tits, Mashiro's hips, Mashiro's tightening pussy, all of them are so nice and so warm and so tight and so wet and so every good that good can be. As if in that cute package of her body, your girlfriend has molded herself to be everything you need in a lover. She repeats the words for good measure: "I love you, I love you, oh, fuck, I love you!"

The same way loving used to mean something classic and rigid, taking her out to dinner or watching movies, loving now means that rigid takes on a different, more literal definition. That's Mashiro, growing as you grow, and in that way, you shouldn't be surprised that the topic of Yeseo—sweet, innocent Yeseo—isn't the end of it. Not even close.

Speaking of growing, the tension in your loins. Lewd, sloppy sounds intermix with a mess of Mashiro's cries while your hands squeeze too tightly the flesh of her breasts. 

You gasp and mindlessly call out "Shiro, Shiro, Yeseo, wait, I—" but you're cut off by Mashiro's tongue wrestling yours. Unbridled want, unmitigated desperation, she kisses you like a girl possessed, and there's no room to protest and figure out what the hell's happening. 

With no condom—it's been a long while since that—your load spills into Mashiro like she's an unwitting, impure bride, and by god, there's such a hellfire in your ears from her scream when the sin soaks through to her sinner womb. The pleasure blurs your minds, or more, her cunt does, and with the cum your dick oozes, the most you can offer when Shiro topples over you and collapses is a "Ah, mmh."

As your breathing calms, she lifts up her skirt and spreads her pussy, letting you see your second load ooze from her insides. 

"God, I needed that so bad," she says. Her voice is breathy, but there's a smile in it, and she crawls over to you and kisses you on the lips. Between the two of your bodies is a whole lot of sticky. You groan into her mouth, and then when she breaks off, she starts to pepper your lips and jaw with more kisses. "You wanted that too, huh?"

You wipe away a bead of sweat on her forehead. "Yeah. Of course. You're so fucking perfect, Mashiro." You run a hand through your hair. "Oh, fuck. Right, I'm... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said..."

"Shh. I think I've made it pretty clear that I don't mind, right? I love you, it's okay."

You nod, laughing to yourself in disbelief is not some fancy dream. "I love you too. I just wish I, I dunno, didn't call her name right then, you know?"

She grins as you begin your cuddle. "No, no. That was fucking hot, actually."

"It was?"

"Yes!"

"No, really that wasn't right, I'm..."

Mashiro insists. You deny. It's a circuitous route that continues onward from outside of this bedroom—at dinner, walking down the street, at a sweet little shopping date where you and Mashiro were buying decorations for the home and she just had to get this puppy plushie for her best friend—really any time that Yeseo is mentioned, this conversation bubbles up from the depths.

It's one of those oddities, those quirks, the little humps in a relationship that eventually dies off and...

No, whiplash fucking snaps your neck in half.

So now you're here, in a room with your girlfriend and your truth-breaker. Mashiro sits on your lap, her breath so close to yours that you can smell the strawberry lip balm. Pliant, warm, she straddles your thigh while her hand travels down your chest, to your crotch. You groan into her mouth when she squeezes your hardening member through the fabric of your slacks. All the while, Yeseo watches, hands also down her pants. Too embarrassed despite the unspoken permission—goading, really—Yeseo keeps her fingers pressed against her clit, not quite daring to move.

It was supposed to be a normal day. Yeseo wasn't even supposed to be here. But Mashiro invited her, and she didn't kick Yeseo out, (which you would've done yourself, but it's hard doing anything when Mashiro has her nails on your skin like claws), and Yeseo didn't leave, and now you're stuck here, having your girlfriend dry-hump you and make out with you while another girl's watching.

It's like this for a while, a holding pattern, a cold war. Days. The first shot across the bow is when Yeseo leaves, flushed, and you rail your pretty girlfriend into the sheets so that the girl can't escape the sounds outside the room. If later, you somehow find out she was slouched against your bedroom, fingering herself to completion, then you wouldn't be surprised. Here comes the next battle in the next day, where Yeseo steels herself to watch Mashiro ride you, your back to the headboard. Then she sends the follow-up, bombarding you with her every fantasy while you know that acting upon it is this landmine, or now it's a minefield, or now the trenches are dug and all that's left is to wait.

Mashiro shoots the farmer's pig when she speaks up over dinner.

"It's just a handjob."

You choke on your half-swallowed piece of meat and end up coughing.

Yeseo looks up from her phone, then freezes. "W-what."

Mashiro gives Yeseo a wry smile as she gets up, massaging her shoulder. "You want to, right? So you should. It's okay, Yeseo." Mashiro's voice is gentle, and Yeseo nods slowly. Mashiro presses a kiss to Yeseo's cheek before walking over to you. She doesn't have to ask if this is what you want.

This is what you want.

Mashiro takes Yeseo to the bedroom, and you finish dinner before tidying up. You wash the dishes, wipe the table. Put away the leftovers. Count down from twenty until you tell yourself there are no logical reasons to delay the inevitable further, not with the way your pulse is racing, not with the way you've tasted anticipation in the air.

Once you open your door, you find your girlfriend holding the shirt collar of a willing Yeseo who has already crawled into your bed. The two are kissing—this isn't the first time you've seen, though it's the first time you've seen them hold it longer than a cute peck. First time you've seen tongue. First time you've seen hands under clothes and on bare skin. Never seen Mashiro grabby with her spit-covered lips.

You are quiet on your feet. Any sound you make, the creaking of the door, or the harshness of your breath, it drowns in Mashiro and Yeseo's obscene make-out. Delicious wet sounds burrow into your ears, the two girls slicking over and around and with each other, Mashiro in an exploratory mood while Yeseo lets herself get familiar. She looks flushed, content. Happy.

Mashiro acknowledges you by the doorway with a coo. "Just giving a little lesson." She pats the space on the bed next to her, where she strips off your shorts, your semi-erection right there for Yeseo to behold.

Yeseo wipes her lips with her shirt. You see her white bra. You think you can feel heat coming off the bridge of her nose. She stares like your dick's looking back, like this is the first time she's seen a penis that wasn't in a textbook diagram. Mashiro pulls Yeseo closer, bringing her between your legs; the furtive girl reaches for your member, then stops before touching, eyes back-and-forth between your dick and her arm. Even half-hard, you're about as thick as Yeseo's slender wrist, nearly the length of her forearm. She mouths "how" as her fingers hover a centimeter, this warmth a ghost over your cock.

"Here," Mashiro says, kneeling beside Yeseo. Holding her hand over Yeseo's, she guides the girl to wrap those fingers around your shaft and stroke it up and down. In your life, you've had lots of handjobs—mainly either self-administered or Mashiro-administered—but nothing quite matches Mashiro having her fingers tangled with Yeseo's, the touch soft with a little squeeze from one of them, not quite meeting any spots that'll make you squirm. You think Mashiro wants it this way, wants Yeseo to get a feel for it, find out the heft and warmth of a man's cock. It is, however, enough to get you stiff and plumb and twitch-happy, which is where Mashiro lets go.

When Mashiro gives Yeseo a quick kiss, you swear Yeseo tries to chase her when Mashiro pulls away. Then, you receive Shiro's next kiss. "I wanna see my boyfriend and best friend enjoy themselves," she whispers, before sitting aside.

You look back down at Yeseo, and you've never had such a carte-blanche view of the girl's face. Her eyes are big, round, chocolate-brown, the same as your girlfriend, but in them, Yeseo has this super-cute, really obvious, nervous lust that keeps sending a twitch in your hips. Her cheeks are soft and flushed red as you stroke them, squeeze them, press your fingertips in just to see how fluffy she is. She has a bunny's teeth when she gasps and her thin lips part.

"Hi. Hi… hi, hi." She's caught in the headlights.

You say "Stroke," and her pupils shift down to your crotch, the word a command that's clearly Yeseo's first. This exhalation out of her mouth would be fog in the winter. "Like this," you tell her, gentler, as you start to stroke yourself with one hand. Yeseo bites her lip and reaches toward you again. Your precum oiling the way, Yeseo's digits meet yours. At first, you only hold hands and smile at each other and feel out the moment before starting tender, guiding strokes. You have a way of measuring one's nervousness by cupping her hand in yours and feeling how she touches back: the sweat of your palms, her pulse through yours, this heat that seeps through the cracks in her fingers as she trembles.

When she becomes less tense, you let Yeseo try on her own. She looks down, head full of those breaths and some little noises she doesn't know she's making. Yeseo wraps her tiny hand around the base of your cock. She stares at it, at her fingers that don't cover your girth, and you wonder how long it will take for her to get used to it. When you think about Mashiro, you realize the awe never quite goes away.

With one hand in a jerking motion, the other palm wrapping around your base to act as an extension of the first, you like what she's trying—go wild, cute thing. A low growl in your throat lets her know that you find some enjoyment in the attempt. You lean back, spreading your legs apart to give her more room, and you close your eyes to savor the moment. With your eyes closed, you're certain you could tell the two girls apart, your girlfriend naturally more experienced, less afraid of your cock.

"Am I doing good? Yeseo mutters.

You nod, eyes still tight.

"You're so big, Oppa," she says, voice filled with wonder. "It's so warm. And the veins, and the way it pulses… is this really happening?"

"Yeah, it's real." Your breath catches when Yeseo runs a finger along the underside of your cockhead.

Her breath warms your cock, and you can't help but open your eyes. Yeseo is concentrating on your dick like the test's answers are on it, and the only way to get them is to wring them out. Sure, you've given yourself much better handjobs too, but there's something about her furrowed brows, her lip giving way to her teeth, that makes it all worth it.

"Yeseo-yah, try using your other hand to twist around the tip," Mashiro says, and you hear a slick noise coming from outside your vision.

There's an eep as Yeseo uses a second tiny fist around your tip to do just that.

You moan softly, weighing into the mattress; it's a good thing you're already lying down, because the newfound intensity makes your toes curl, and you find yourself thrusting up into her hips.

"Wow, it's so big," Yeseo says. "How do you fit it in Shiro-unnie?"

You draw in a hiss. "Hah, takes some work."

Yeseo giggles. "I can imagine."

You groan as Yeseo strokes and jerks and twists faster. Pressure builds up in your balls, and when you turn your head to the sight of your girlfriend dipping fingers between her thighs, you're certain you'll cum in time to Mashiro. Diligent, your girlfriend sidles on closer, adding some spit to Yeseo's hands, to which Yeseo responds by stroking you even faster. Mashiro pours more and more saliva onto your member, insistent on looking you in the eyes, while Yeseo's strokes get wetter, slipperier. Your grunts and the wet sounds of impromptu lubricant mix with and Yeseo's quickened breaths and Mashiro's self induced moans, a filthy choir of angels. Your balls tighten; the edge tempting to knock you off-balance.

But before you can finish, Yeseo abruptly stops. You clench and whip your head toward her, and you realize instantly by the look on her face that she does not know how to handle this climax part. Thankfully, just in time, your girlfriend has her mouth ready, lips around the head of your cock, and the vibrations of her moans tips forth the chain reaction of bliss. In awe, Yeseo stares as you and Mashiro unravel, your balls pumping semen into your girlfriend's mouth, your hips bucking upward as her pussy pulsates, a thin river of lust pouring out of her.

Even with every line in the sand kicked away, you haven't put much of an effort into convincing yourself of the reality of the situation. You've known Yeseo too long, too well to conceive of anything further happening. This was an aberration, puppy's love, a one-time folly, or you might excuse it as such if there weren't more mistakes—well, calling them mistakes implies a lack of agency.

"Just a handjob," you murmur to yourself, and if they're mere mistakes, then there would no point in time in which you could stop Yeseo from jumping on you and making out with you; and you're helpless when Mashiro brings your face between the young woman's ample thighs; and Yeseo kneels over you like a dutiful maid, mouth ready, hands working, and this is the result of a long-standing debt that your family's been paying—nothing, nothing to do with you being unable to say no anymore.

Looking up from the wet, messy patchwork of muted purple and blonde hair, of thighs squishing together as they kneel and lick in tandem underneath you, you realize that Yeseo has mastered her oral techniques in addition to the manual under Mashiro's tutelage, which has shattered your final understanding of Yeseo. This picture of innocence is much like the other picture of innocence in your life, and thus you should've expected as much. When you and Mashiro first started having sex, it truly was love-making, slow, sweet, vanilla, candle-lit, adoration-for-adoration's sake sex, something you started out of gratitude for each other, and continued because every time was an affirmation of the beautiful relationship you cultivated. Over time, you learned two key things: all her dirty secrets, and the fact that she only took your cock that slow because it was too big for her to be able to do otherwise.

("No, babe, I swear, I meant the love stuff too," she said.

You replied, "Okay, fine.")

The difference here is the speed with which Mashiro—and you, admit it; you are no fucking saint—have corrupted Yeseo. You estimate it'll be a matter of weeks before Yeseo's ready to match your girlfriend's skills.

Yeseo is trying to prove as much. While Mashiro licks your shaft, she leaves Yeseo your balls; while Mashiro is busy letting your dick knock against the back of her throat, Yeseo makes sure your sack receives enough tender sucking. When they swap places, you feel a pulse through your cock, Yeseo's mouth being impressively warm and wet. The only place this tongue of Yeseo's has been wetter than the inside of her mouth must have been the insides of Mashiro's pussy—and you've watched the damnable act, how your girlfriend arches back, eyes shut in pleasure, as the eager teen tongues her dripping slit.

That's the same tongue Yeseo uses now to stroke alongside the bottom of your shaft, your cock in her mouth, nose inches from your pubis. Yeseo isn't quite as capable of taking to the root as her unnie is, but you have no complaints about watching her struggle to swallow you, and you figure she'll catch up soon enough. She hums on your cock, swirling around the tip before bobbing back down again, happy to gag and make a mess.

And the slope is slippery down from her throat to her tongue, making saliva strands from the corner of her lip down the veins of your shaft, onto the floor where your filthy fucking girlfriend—lord, when did she get this nasty, this depraved—licks it up clean for Yeseo. You watch, mind blank, as Mashiro's tongue goes from the floor up to Yeseo's hard nipples. Then she continues along her breasts, till it's Mashiro's lips meeting Yeseo's again, and your shaft is jammed between their mouths for good measure. When Yeseo takes surprising control of your dick, your eyes focus on the sweet face that's learned to hollow her cheeks and flicker her tongue over the soft ridge beneath your shaft head, one hand working on the inch she can't reach. The only thing stopping Yeseo from gulping down your seed is the very girl who's kissing your shaft where it's free, taking your cock when Yeseo leaves for a quick breath. With the competitive swallow-duel going back and forth, it's inevitable that your girlfriend wins.

"Ah, thanks for the lunch," Mashiro says.

"One day I'll win." Yeseo huffs, but you can tell she is not mad. For as much as she pretends, her thighs are wiggling in Mashiro's face moments later, and she can't hide her smile so wide whenever your girlfriend's nose brushes against her swollen clit. She smiles even wider when you invite her onto your thigh, pressing that needy pussy down and leaving a trail for Mashiro to lick up.

But for all you've done in the past few weeks, one topic has never been brought up: Yeseo's virginity. Well, never explicitly—Mashiro has asked teasingly about it before, and all Yeseo says is "a guy in school" while her body language reveals that's the lie that it sounded like. Plus, whenever she watches the two of you bang, it's as though she's putting a puzzle together—how excited she gets during afterglows or those pillow talk sessions when you explain something or other.

As you gain a better understanding of Yeseo's every mechanism, you realize it's the framing of the situation. Act in the frivolities for the appetizers all you want, but don't underestimate what makes sex a nutritious meal.

"Seriously," Mashiro says, "if you've had sex before, you wouldn't be this much of a blushing mess. What are you getting embarrassed about?"

How cruel of your girlfriend to tease. Because as Yeseo says "sorry," Mashiro pushes her finger all the way into Yeseo's core, causing her to cry out. "Ahh! It, it's just that, I've had the plug, inside, since yesterday night! God, it's b-been, too, too much… mmnh."

"You're so cute," you say, spanking the girl on all fours. The plug is simple, black, silicone, and a hell of a lot bigger than her dainty fingers that you've seen toy with her anal ring before. You had taken care to see to it that Yeseo was neither in pain nor undue stress when it came to accommodating it, with plenty of lubricant, though you warned her that she couldn't remove the anal plug until Mashiro or you came to retrieve it.

Now that you've come to collect, you bend to kiss the cheeks of the girl's small, round butt, which jiggles as it twitches. Your tongue reaches, swirls around the ring of the plug, while your hand traces between her thighs to bring forth her slick. All this while, Mashiro's finger buries between Yeseo's folds, her cunt squeezes greedily against it, and her body pushes down on the object buried in her ass.

"D-don't stare. It's, um, dirty."

"Oh? Is it?" you ask while your thumb strokes Yeseo's anal ring around the plug. You pull on it, a hair's length, playing with her, and the wetter she gets, the more Yeseo trembles—the more she tries to hide her face and her screams into a pillow—the more she inadvertently thrusts her ass back into you. Inching further until the plug is out, you lean forward and bring your tongue closer to her tightest hole. "Then why does it look so tasty?"

"I dunno! God, this is so, so embarra—"

Yeseo collects the air in front of her in a single harsh breath, your lips sealing against her back passage, which tightens considerably from your tongue's foray. Then, when Mashiro supplies the same treatment to her friend's pink folds, you feel your tongue may be trapped in her hole. Fine by you. Your hands cover Yeseo's asscheeks as you slobber with licks and kisses, tasting her asshole like it's a last request, until her whines devolve into long, indecisive moans of wanting more and asking to slow down. Yet, her hips move as if to beg for more themselves, how greedy the woman. You laugh before you let up, squeezing cool lube onto the black buttplug.

"Ahh, ahh, ahh," Yeseo pants, "I need, I need more."

You are happy to provide. In another hand, you hold a small buzzing device. You trace it along Yeseo's pussy lips, weakening her elbows and knees—jolting when the vibe makes contact with her firm nub—damn near collapsing her as Mashiro seals her lips to the toy, ensuring none of its strength escapes. You know, from experience, a combination like that is bound to make a girl pass out, so once her hips slow down their staccato jerking, you steal your girlfriend's lips for a kiss.

Though every man who's made it this far in life knows well that every hole is good to eat, every hole's different flavors are treasures and miracles unto themselves. The flavor on your girlfriend's tongue is Yeseo at her very core, salty, musky, addicting to you; when you sample Yeseo's ass once again, popping the plug back out, you get a metallic tang mixed with the sweetness of the lube; lower you return, and Yeseo's cunt is spongey and soaked and hot, slick and oozing and a veritable delight to munch on, as the taste from the source is second to none.

It's an all-out sensory assault as you pull the plug some, enough so that its widest girth is right at the clinging ring, only for you to push back inside with a pop and a delightful mewl. Fingers and toys and tongues and lips alike massage Yeseo everywhere and overwhelm all her senses, her nerves tensing into spams and jerks of utter ecstasy. She doesn't even get the courtesy of oneness in her condition: each time you work her up to the peak, Mashiro is hungry for the next, pulling out all the stops to keep Yeseo climbing higher. Mashiro and you kiss, lick, push, pinch, fondle, stimulate, and the best Yeseo can do is squirm pathetically around the devices in her holes, her mind fucked straight out of her body.

Yeseo slumps down, shaking as if her bones were wrung out. After four or five or however many consecutive orgasms, and each attempt to catch her breath ending in her wailing, her crotch is so wet that you and Mashiro might as well be making out with a pond.

"Plth, pleath, please, mnh. Th-that was, was a little, little much."

Mashiro pulls her sticky face back to pepper Yeseo's lower half with little kisses, while you lick the remainder of Yeseo's juice from your lips. Cleanup takes a while, especially as Yeseo is too much a drooling, weak mess to help out—you don't mind, knowing this is all for her. Mashiro grabs a spare towel and wipes Yeseo down; once she's stable enough, you give her a gallon jug of water from the bedside stand and instruct her to drink up.

In the throes of this arousal, still breathing like air has never quite reached her lungs properly, Yeseo lays back and fights against the delirium. You and Mashiro cuddle her sides, squishing her between, and plant kisses all over her face and neck. Yeseo embarks on the road back to normalcy, thanks to the warmth of the two bodies, the careful embrace of loving hands, and your soothing words. When she's returned in totality, Yeseo locks eyes with you, her gaze serious like you've never seen on such a delicate, pretty face.

"So," Yeseo whispers, tensing up. "I know you've been waiting. You know. For me to bring it up."

"Hmm?" You grin. "What's that?"

Mashiro grumbles and reaches over to tap your shoulder. "Hey, this isn't the time to play coy."

"Alright." You face Yeseo. "Hey. It's okay." Sincerity in your voice, you bring yourself so close that Yeseo can't possibly miss your eyes and the warmth in them, you hope. "Whatever you're comfortable with, Yeseo. I mean it."

"Yeseo-yah," Mashiro says, her arms wrapping tighter. "You don't have to rush into anything. Whatever feels right to you, okay?" She glides forward until their kindred faces are so close they might as well be kissing.

A giggle permeates through the cracks in the wall of tension she's built. "I had no idea you two were such softies. Is this what happens when you date for so long?"

"Us? Softies?" You chuckle and cup her cheek, making the skin soft and pink. You brush her hair behind her ear. "Did cumming make you forget the past hour or—"

Mashiro throws a pillow at you. "Don't talk like that to our baby!"

That only makes you laugh even more, and as Yeseo joins in the laughter, so too does Mashiro. It's a while before Yeseo sits up, takes a deep breath, slaps her thighs. "I'm fine. Seriously, I'm ready now." She looks at you, dead in the eyes. "Oppa. I… I have wanted to fuck you ever since… since…" Her voice gets lower. "A couple months ago."

You try not to choke on your own spit. "Yeseo, you just turned eighteen then."

"So?"

"Yeseo." Your voice is calm yet stern.

"Besides, lots of other girls in school already lost their virginity!"

"And so you haven't, I knew it!" Mashiro laughs from the sideline.

Yeseo sticks out her tongue, and then her face turns serious again. She holds her hands on top of yours, as though drawing the answers from her fingertips as she thumbs them. After a slight pause, you give her an encouraging rub on her shoulder. "I just don't, didn't want to disappoint you guys. And I know we've done so much together, but sex… it's different. Means more. Like, look at you two. You're such a sweet couple, and I feel like I'm just budging between—"

"Absolutely not!" Mashiro exclaims as she joins in massaging the flesh of Yeseo's shoulders.

"I swear to god," you say, "you're all that matters in the world to us, right, Shiro?"

She nods forcefully.

"If we didn't care about you, we would have never taken you here, would have never let you in on our lives and intimacy. You could never budge between me and Shiro. In fact, I think you've made us better as a couple in ways you couldn't imagine, like how much happier Shiro and I are now."

Mashiro turns to kiss your cheek before addressing Yeseo herself. "We love you so much. And the most important thing to us, the thing that makes me the happiest, is when you feel good. So please, whatever you're worried about, we can work it out, baby."

It's all the truth, new axioms being built from a foundation of old, with your affection for the other girl unquestionable—enough for a lifetime, you think, that every day the three of you spend time cuddling or watching a movie is a day in paradise. Yet when you ask about the color of your world with this new addition, it becomes obvious how incomplete that thought is, to what degree you were underestimating the effect of the past few weeks. Here was this naive girl, this sweet doll, to whom the world was a painting of only shades of soft vanilla white. Now, it is pink, candy sweet. Now, it is red, a fiery thing. Now it is the burning color of sunrise, on her cheeks, from her ears, in between her thighs, and shall the colors subside, you gladly will rise up tomorrow to bring more.

Here comes the clouds, their tears on Yeseo's face, but they're joy-filled, like rain while the sun shines hot on a summer day. As Yeseo rests on her knees, back against your chest, Mashiro draws upon Yeseo's face with a kiss.

"How about this," Mashiro says. She steals the girl from your lap, pulling her into her own lap and embracing her from behind. "You should go on a date with him. Remember where we went the first time?"

With Shiro gazing expectantly at you, you reply, "Yeah, the aquarium? I even got you a stuffed shark there, right? Then we ate crab and—"

"Yeah! Take Yeseo there, go on a cute date and make her melt. You two can make it official. And while you're out, I can work myself into a mess and we can have the best possible first time. How does that sound, Yeseo?"

The toothy smile says it all.

The night falls, then another, as time slows. Gravity has changed. The anticipation for that Friday drags on, and the days are slow, sweet, long, tortuous. The three of you aren't even fooling around anymore; hell, you and Mashiro haven't... well, you still fucked three times last week, and nothing rough, but that's easily half of the usual, if not less.

But this new dynamic is not unwelcome. It's reminiscent of when you first started dating, before things became intense and adventurous. You cuddle in your bed under blankets and the moonlight and start to touch, caress, and feel each other's warmth. Mashiro whispers sweet things to you like "I love you, you're the best boyfriend in the world, you're so good to me." You run your fingers through her hair and over her neck.

Naked bodies pressed together, skin-to-skin, you can feel the warmth emanating from each other. She grinds against your leg, her wetness leaving a slick trail on your skin, and you grip her ass as she thrusts against you. Your shaft is hard and heavy on her stomach as you roll over her, Mashiro on her back and you on top of her. With the blanket covering you two, it's like the space is a tent and you're intrepid explorers discovering new continents, remapping unknown boddies. Your gazes become those of lovers finding hidden moons and suns in each other's eyes.

Mashiro grabs your face and kisses you, hard, and you return the gesture with passion. She lets out a small squeak, and it's a tiny noise in the still room under the cramped covers. You suck her bottom lip, nipping on it, before your tongues intertwine, causing her to moan softly into your mouth.

You break the kiss, and Mashiro whimpers, "Don't stop, don't stop kissing me."

You lean back and say, "Shh, baby, I got you." Your finger goes to her mouth and you pull on her bottom lip, drawing it down. Then you take that finger and run it down her body, from her mouth to her neck, then down to her breasts. Mashiro has a beautiful set of tits, and you love to see them bounce, jiggle, and move, and you circle her breasts with your finger, drawing lazy circles around them, but the way you love and touch her now is more than arousing; it's intimate as you treat her body like an adoration to praise, worship, and cherish her.

She deserves you telling her as much, in as many words: "You are the most perfect, beautiful girl in the world. Your body, your love, you, your everything."

Mashiro blushes at your words and closes her eyes, arching into you as your lips trail down to her chest. Soft, wet kisses leave trails along her skin, causing her to whimper and writhe beneath your touch. As your lips continue their journey downward, so too does your hand. Her legs spread willingly for you as your fingers hover over her folds, teasing and tracing circles around her dripping pink pussy. Your thumb rubs against the thin skin of her inner thigh before playfully dipping towards her entrance.

She's soaking already, the sweet smell of her arousal filling your senses, and your pecks if like a map of the world plot a course down her body, her ribs and her hip bones like signposts. When your girlfriend squeals and tries to push your face away as you lower your head to its final destination, you grin—it's like old times when she used to get shy and flustered in your presence. Using one hand to keep her pink labia spread and the other to hold her thighs in place, you finally lower your head to its final destination. Your tongue darts in her, kissing, lapping, probing, and, most of all, worshipping the insides of the cunt.

And the noises she makes are the sweetest little things in the world, little breaths and hums and keens and croaks that are only audible under the soft cocoon of blankets surrounding the two of you. Even though you're alone in the room, she's hesitant to be too loud; it doesn't stop her from expressing her satisfaction. With one hand on her clit and the other gently caressing her backside, you delve deeper between her folds with your tongue, eliciting coos and sighs from Mashiro. You want every moment to be this moment—your woman lost in the isolated woods of her pleasure, no one else to hear the tree fall but you.

You yearn to look up at your lovely Shiro, to watch her unravel in bliss, but the blanket obstructs your view. Thankfully, she notices and removes it herself, possibly feeling overheated from being enclosed in such a small space. You're grateful, because now the view of your beloved girlfriend is even better: her hair tousled from squirming around in bed and covering herself with the blanket, her face flushed, mouth open in a small "o." Her hands roam over her breasts, alternating between gentle cupping them and rough pinching of her nipples. Your gaze settles on the aspect of the scene you most enjoy: the small bead of saliva escaping from the corner of her mouth, the shimmering trail it leaves as it rolls down her cheek.

Her eyes, how they sparkle in ecstasy from the love and affection you give her, filling your heart with a warmth that borders on painful. As much as you could stay here all night, then all day, until the moon rose again, Mashiro's eyes connect with yours, quietly and meekly pleading, and you know it is your duty to proceed, before she crumbles on her own.

Your tongue retracts and you leave a soft kiss on her mound. You scoop her body into your strong arms, positioning yourself above her with your cock pressing against her stomach. Her face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath she takes. She wraps an arm around your back and draws you closer with a tug, hooking a leg around your torso.

This is the closest two people can get without actually being inside each other, yet your lips remain just out of reach. Mashiro's gaze captures you, as it has since you first fell in love with her in college. There's a brief moment where something unspoken passes between you both, and then her eyes close and your noses brush against each other. In the darkness of the night, with only the light of the stars shining through the window, the crescent moon appears in her smile.

"Hello there, dear," Mashiro whispers.

Your heart is caught in your throat.

"I love you," she says.

"I love you too, babe."For a few moments, your noses are the only points of contact, stretching into what feels like eternity. Then you realize she's waiting for you.

"Kiss me," she whispers, repeating the words over and over again, and you give in. Then you two kiss—it's with an odd, powerful feeling, like you're trying to stuff the world into each other's mouths, breathing each other's air, and the timing is right and perfect and good for the next stuffing of your length into her welcoming heat. Her lips and her legs tighten around you as you ease yourself in inch-by-inch.

Doesn't take you long before you bottom out, her grippy thing sealed around the base. You wait a while before you begin moving, your hands beneath her head, on the nape of her neck. Watch how her face twists from pleasure, to frustration, to a longing. As though you're both star-crossed lovers meeting at night and on the fly, she mounts you in a rush of anticipation and love and heat and she clings onto your shoulders like a lifeline. Your girlfriend's more excited than she ever was, and her breath runs ragged, as though the weight of the world is upon her—or you upon her, pressing her into the bed.

You drink in her every little moan and squeal while she clenches your bicep in a firm grip and you're on top of her and her legs split open to frame your hips. Thrusts into her like pistons in a steam engine, driving with force and energy, and so much power that the entire bed shakes around you two. All the while, you're kissing everywhere your face can reach: neck, breasts, nipples, all over her flushed skin, all over her skin getting redder still—and Mashiro loves it all, from the deep passionate kisses to the gentle tickles that make her giggle uncontrollably.

It's all so clumsy, like you don't have the years between you to know how to work together; maybe it's the nerves—like you're teenagers in the back of your first car, almost getting caught; like you're in your dirty college dorm, finding where the screw in your frame breaks and the mattress falls and you're so horny you can't find enough grip on the uneven sheets to get a proper grip. Or maybe it's because it really is just like your first time: not the location, or the rhythm, or the surroundings, or even the way her breasts jiggle when you thrust with abandon, but the all-in desperation, of thanking the past for catching up, or thanking the future for promising to get even better.

Back then, the first time you slept with her, it was like learning an entirely new language—like you had to keep looking around as she pulled you in deeper, the walls of her snatch tugging on your cock, an alien sensation like a vacuum, her sex threatening to suck out your very soul despite the awkward inexperience.

Now, despite the awkward rhythm and the need to touch and kiss every which where, the way your bodies connect is smoother. More meaningful. Hotter.

She kisses your face and cups your cheeks and makes quiet promises under her breath, "I'm yours, I'm yours, oh, god, you're fucking me, you're—ahh—so good, so big," over and over. You love it, how much she tells you, her voice strained and high and keening and on the verge of tears. Your nails drag up the sides of her thighs and bring her into another embrace, arms around each other, tongues weaving. The more it goes, the less graceful you become, and the less coordinated you are, and the more you forget the sensations and rhythms, and your animal instincts go back to clawing and prodding and exploring and mating.

How many times have you done this? You've counted them at least, the things they do to your mind, the way your girlfriend looks at you in bed. Hundreds? Perhaps a little under a thousand, almost halfway through the past three years, each time more intimate and delicious than the last. You look into her dark- yes and become stunned in love, overcome with adoration, unable to bear it as her sweet pussy contracts on your throbbing length and you push her into the bed as you both slip over the edge of sweet release—you cum together, spurting into her wet embrace, gripping her closer than ever before, and still you hold her and hug her. She's yours, and she will forever be yours, and that is why you and she still make love three times a week like newlyweds, content with the lazy nature of time.

And just like that, maybe, you can pretend like what's coming up with Yeseo is a first encounter, an exploration in the same manner that sex with her unnie was, from some corner of her heart calling out desperately to be loved the same way as Mashiro had, to that young heart you both did your best to nurture and coax into blooming.

You're standing in front of fish, alive and vibrant. Yeseo's standing next to you, not even up to your shoulders, beaming up at you in a hoodie a bit too baggy for her small frame—it's yours—actually, it's Mashiro's now that you think of it, so long ago when your girlfriend pulled it from your closet and decided she was keeping it. It used to make her small figure positively miniscule, same way Yeseo makes it swim on her. Her short shorts, however, are all hers, all that asscheek squishing out from under it, and you want to make it the floor's instead.

Cute date. Cute date. You turn your attention back to fish, all these shimmering sea creatures swimming around in their tanks, the smell of saltwater pervasive. Lots and lots of little rainbow-colored fish behind big panes of glass and the vivid blue. You watch, and they don't glance in your direction, which is probably a good thing because they'd see how embarrassingly nervous you are for a date; you're certain you can't handle this mix of sexual anticipation and cuteness overload for another minute. The air is dense, so sticky that you're practically underwater yourself. You can tell Yeseo is thirsty, a touch uncomfortable, and so are you. Despite the wet air, your throat's dry, all your senses tingling, every nerve electrified like sharp edges of lightning arcing through the thick atmosphere.

After buying her a bottle of soda (as she says thank you in the smallest voice), you take a sip, and it's funny thinking that this is the closest you've been to kissing in a while. You sip, she sips, and this repeats back and forth until the bottle's spent. It's like you're making out, in public, no less. You want to take your hand but she's off to look at jellyfish.

This little nerd goes around oohing and ahhing at at every new species while you wonder when did she get this geeky, overtaking Mashiro of all people. You go into the penguin exhibit, and watching her shiver, you grab her slender hand and intertwine your fingers with hers before placing your two hands in your pocket for safe keeping. Yeseo tiptoes and presses her nose into your shoulder, sniffling.

"Are you cold?" you ask.

"No. Smells bad."

"Oh." You ruffle her hair with your free hand. The dye's losing its saturation, though her still a brilliant tinted gray. "Good point. Say, aren't you feeling hungry?"

Here's the answer.

You're sitting in front of fish. These ones are dead, and delicious. Yeseo's sitting in front of you, eating guilt-free, committing grand larceny from your hand, all with a big smile. Unable to prosecute and in fact a perpetrator yourself (one count of corruption), you feed her, leave fingerprints of some red sauce on the corner of her mouth, and you wouldn't mind licking her clean if there weren't so many people around. She tongues at it herself, and visions of her licking other things pop into your head.

The visions disappear when she grins once again, wide, flashing her teeth. This isn't the Yeseo you've built up to break down; this is the Yeseo you started with, a postulate, the unbendably true and innocent one, a girl who likes hugging you and her best friend, and nothing more, least of all getting involved with the filthy sex you two have.

The pendulum swings.

"You know you don't have to use condoms, by the way. I know you bought a whole bunch, but… I wouldn't mind raw… you know, I trust you." All that is said without missing a beat, and you miss a few: blinks, breaths, words, choking on some oyster, and as she kindly hands you a napkin, she turns her head bashfully like nothing happened. "Tonight's gonna be so special, I know it. I'm so glad we did this, Oppa, thank you."

You smile, as warm as you can while your lungs are recovering.

In a park nearby, she's the one who takes your hand, swinging it back and forth as the day's bleeding amber into her skin, as her sweater becomes a blanket for her and her happiness. The dark thoughts push against the bright light of the girl, still fighting as you carry your Yeseo up a hill to catch the day fading away. On top of that hill, you kiss Yeseo like it's the first time and tell her you love her, and you hope that's enough because she deserves every part of the world below this hill, and so above.

As above, so below. The night falls. If the nights then slowed, this one has halted completely. The stopped night falls and the curse of darkness is a biblical thing because it will return you to dust from which you were made, back to where you started. These are the end times.

You're making out with Mashiro in your lap, and she has indeed worked herself into an apocalyptic mess for you. Her legs are wrapped around you, between her thighs as a wet spot like the flood, her hands squeeze your nape where your hairs raise, and god, you missed her kissing like her next breath must be in your lungs.

Yeseo, judge of the soul, eyes you down in the periphery of your vision—back to where you started.

The night falls, and it's a biblical curse of darkness upon the land because no good can come of it. There is an unshakable heaviness in the bedroom, like gravity has suddenly intensified. You're sitting on the bed with Mashiro in your lap and Yeseo nearby, her posture a mix of alertness and contemplation. You kiss Mashiro passionately, caress her body, run your fingers through her hair, and grasp her hips tightly to make her feel desired and needed.

Then Yeseo slinks over and wraps her arms around you from behind, pressing her cheek against yours and biting her lip while emitting a small moan. It's clear that she's uncertain about how to act in this situation. She hesitates before leaning forward and gently kissing your neck, causing your whole body to shiver.

What a stark contrast—the intentions and their effects. Your body acts on its own accord while your mind struggles to make sense of the conflicting emotions. But your arm instinctively wraps around Yeseo, as if it knows what to do.

Mashiro finally pulls away, understanding the situation, and there's a diamond in her eyes. "Go for it," she whispers.

Yeseo and you are two parts of an incomplete whole, and you sum with your lips, and multiply in moans. The bed squeaks, the sheets shift, and that which does not move becomes stiller than ever. Yeseo starts to grind against you, matching your movements. From the corner of your eye, you see her squeezing her eyes shut, drooling slightly onto your shoulder. When she opens them, they flash between desire, fear, longing, and confusion as she looks to Mashiro for guidance.

Your hand gently strokes her hair to soothe her, while Mashiro leans closer and tenderly kisses Yeseo's forehead. "What do you want to do next, Yeseo-yah?" Mashiro asks.

"I... I don't know what I want. I just want him inside me."

You smile adoringly at Yeseo and brush her hair away from her face. "I can make that happen for you."

"R-really? Aren't we supposed to do more...things first? Like...you know..." Yeseo stammers. "I can suck you clean again, or we can…"

"I think you've waited long enough, princess," you say.

Yeseo shudders. "Oh. God... just fuck me."

Mashiro's lips brush against Yeseo's forehead with tender affection, the warmth of their embrace palpable. As she moves down to her lips, their kiss deepens and they both lose themselves in the moment. You move behind the pair, pulling Yeseo's jeans down; she squirms in your forceful grasp. Mashiro moves to the side of the bed as you lay Yeseo on her back. As you throw her pants to the corner of the room, you spread kisses where they must go—along the inside of her thigh to her knee, back to the joint of her torso and her hip, your tongue grazing the skin above her panties. She does nothing to hide her arousal, vocal, flushed, all-in-all unrefined perfection.

Your teeth clasp on the fabric of her soaked panties, and you pull the clothes down, her hips bucking in hurry. Without breaking eye contact, you discard her last items of clothing, and rest your face atop her dripping pussy. Yeseo cries out, arching up in the instant your mouth meets her pussy, bucking against you to bring you closer.

At first, you take it slow and gentle, savoring every delicate motion that sets Yeseo off into a frenzy. But as her begging becomes more urgent, you give into her desires and increase the intensity of your ministrations. Kang Yeseo is like a leaking faucet, spilling out her lust onto your tongue and down her thighs until even the sheets beneath them are moist.

With practiced ease, you add a few fingers into the mix, skillfully bringing Yeseo closer and closer to climax with each thrust. And when she finally reaches the peak of pleasure—marked by a simple count to ten and a swipe of the letter Y—she lets out a primal scream of pure bliss. Her body writhes against yours, her fingers clutching the pillow beneath her head as she surrenders fully to the overwhelming pleasure.

"O-oh, oh god... yes," she chokes out. "Oh god. Fuck, fuck."

Mashiro has gotten naked during this, has started fondling herself, excited at her friend's exhibition. Yeseo only has eyes for you, though, and takes your head between her hands to bring you over and mash your faces together again. She tastes her own lust on your lips, her own pussy juices evidence of your hard work, kissing you and begging you to make love to her.

Mashiro approaches, drawn to the scene before her. Is she motivated by genuine concern for Yeseo's well-being or is it a voyeuristic desire to witness your lovemaking? As she presses up against you, her delicate hands reaching for your throbbing shaft, it becomes evident that it is the latter.

With a flick of a switch in her mind, Mashiro sheds all inhibitions and eagerly guides your member inside Yeseo's waiting heat. Slip into Yeseo's tightness, every centimeter a kilometer. Her small but eager pussy lips tightly compress around your tip, sending shivers down your spine. You close your eyes and can almost feel Yeseo's own eyes shut in bliss, while you can only imagine the hungry gaze of Mashiro fixed upon you both.

Her weight barely registering on your body, Yeseo digs her fingertips into your shoulders as she pleads, "Please… be gentle." It takes you back to when you first started dating Mashiro, and you reward Yeseo's trust with long, slow strokes that gradually stretch her open. She lets out encouraging mewls mixed with a single tear rolling down her flushed cheek. With each thrust, her pain gives way to gratitude and pleasure. From behind you, Mashiro's eyes lock onto yours with a mischievous glint.

As expected, she revels in Yeseo's discomfort—perhaps with a touch of wicked empathy or even a hint of jealousy at not being able to experience this first time herself. It's clear that with Mashiro's provocations, this will be anything but romantic and sweet. Your lips meet hers in a heated kiss as you pull back slightly before thrusting into Yeseo again. "You're doing so good, Daddy," Mashiro whispers breathlessly. It's not often she calls you that, but right now it feels fitting. "How does she feel?"

You respond with another searing kiss before murmuring, "Just like you did. Maybe even wetter."

"Oh yeah? You should fuck her harder to prove it then." Mashiro's full lips curve upwards into a satisfied smile as she watches you, her focus shifting to the girl writhing beneath you. You can feel the change in Yeseo, her body language shifting and telling you that she is reaching her threshold for pain. But her desire for that elusive orgasm is still strong.

As your hips continue to thrust into her, filling her holes with your thick cock, you sense the pain radiating from her body. But Yeseo is too caught up in the pleasure to call it off or complain. Each time your hips collide against hers, she breathes out "oh fuck" in ragged gasps.

The pace quickens, the intensity of your movements increasing with each passing second. The bed creaks and groans under the weight of your bodies as you both crave more and more. Your grip tightens on Yeseo's hips as you lift her ass into the air, pushing her body to its limits.

In an instant, everything changes. Yeseo's screams now come not from pain, but from overwhelming pleasure as you reach deeper inside her. Tears cloud her eyes and she cries out for "Daddy," shocking even herself with the pet name that escapes her lips. But hearing her say it only adds to your arousal.

You feel Mashiro's hand move down to Yeseo's clit, aggressively rubbing and stimulating her even further. Her words only add fuel to the fire, driving you both towards pure ecstasy. "You like that," Mashiro taunts, "You like Daddy's cock? Like how his giant fucking cock feels buried so deep in your virgin pussy?"

Yeseo grits her teeth and nods, barely able to form words through her pleasure-filled haze. "I do… please."

"You're a slut for my man's cock," Mashiro continues, causing a primal growl to escape your own throat in response. Your body moves on instinct, driven by a primal desire for pleasure and dominance."Such a slut for Daddy's cock, aren't you?"

"Yeeees..."

"You're gonna get addicted to this, hooked on cock, fucking you, and you're going to wanna cum all the time, Daddy's naughty princess, aren't you?"

"Aaah, ahh... fuck, yes, I love your cock, love Daddy's fat cock, aahn, aaah, don't stop, fuck me, fucking fuck me, fuck me like you fuck Unnie."

You love watching Yeseo's face as she gets pounded. The way her mouth hangs open, tongue hanging out, panting like a dog, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering, all in such a adorable package. However, you've been craving something else: that pert ass of hers. You unsheathe Yeseo's pussy to a line of girl cum, then flip her and scoot her towards you until her round rear is against your pelvis, and resume fucking her pronebone.

Yeseo screams into the sheets, Mashiro's fingers buried in her mouth to show her the taste of her lust.

"You gonna be a good girl, aren't you?" Mashiro asks, earning Yeseo's moan in approval on her digits. "Good. That's my cock, mine, and the only way you're getting to feel it is by being a good girl and letting him cum inside you, let him coat your pussy with Daddy's cum. Make Daddy proud, you hear me?"

When Mashiro pulls back, Yeseo speaks: "Yes, yes, breed me, cum in my pussy, make me a woman, I wanna be a woman, a woman who cums on Daddy's cock, a woman who cums from getting fucked."

Her ass jiggles in the prettiest way. Whether through the excitement or fear of having a pregnant belly at only eighteen, her thighs are shaking. Her entrance clenches tightly around your girth and milks your orgasm from you, and it's like you've become her baby maker and nothing more.

You wrap your arms around her. "You sure you wanna get bred, princess? You want my seed, every drop, to make you mine? You want to be an adult, that what you want?"

She struggles under you, her wet pussy giving way to your penis. "Yes. Yes! Fuck me, please, Daddy. Please."

Those are your last words for a while, that plea. Her asscheeks give way to your  fingers, slipping to the puckered hole of her anus. You know she's been practicing with that hole, plunging dildos up her butt, training for Daddy's cock. Mashiro takes your hand, offering to lubricate, and before you know it her saliva seeps through your digits. With that, a pointer finger hooks inside Yeseo easily, earning a happy squeak, a bit of cock-drunk laughter at being doubly penetrated.

Anal wasn't something you and Mashiro tried during your first encounter, but you very well are familiar with the act, an intrinsic fact about Mashiro that few others know. Her ass has come to be both of your preferred mode of orgasmic expression, your cum leaving a filthy pool in her asshole. Now Yeseo's about to find out why. Her anus offers the final tightest barrier for your probing finger, slipping inside the dirty hole. In and out a half dozen times, Yeseo soon adapts, and Mashiro—being on the other side of Yeseo and facing you—makes a show of kissing her neck and palming her small breasts. Yeseo bucks back on your digit and cock, the clench of her two insides holding you tight and in love.

You're so lucky that your girlfriend holds no jealousy to speak of—at least not in her sex life—as Yeseo cums hard around your invading cock. Her body clenches at the multiple parts of her that you've stuffed, keeping you held firmly inside. Like a chain reaction, your orgasm is triggered, pulled in forcefully. One two pumps is all it takes, her virgin pussy a divine void, and after that first one you lose count of your inseminating shots. Her womb is full of you, thickened, and your finger pumps with equal force in her ass. Yeseo is mumbling into the mattress, a long nonsensical string of begging and pleading that only end once you're out of her, she can feel your seed inside of her, once the bliss of the last few minutes leave.

Yeseo is your fucking whore.

After cumming her brains out, the tired slut in her sleepily tumbles off. You're not done. Seeing that creampie leak out of her well-fucked cunt, nope, you're not nearly finished. Right now there's a much sluttier hole available to you.

Yeseo rests her head against Mashiro's soft chest, passing out as her friend embraces her.

"Shiro. Marshmellow. I'm really going to ask this with all my self-control, but is it okay if I fuck her ass. She's very tempting."

Your precious petal gives the brightest smile, you know, when she's so uninhibited like this, free to her own wicked whims. Mashiro kisses Yeseo's sleeping forehead, before looking back to you. "Aww, baby, but she looks so adorable sleeping yeah fucking do it. Fuck the shit out of her."

With a peck, you accept her permission. You spread the winking hole open with two fingers, then collect some of the leaking seed from Yeseo's pussy and wipe it on the entrance. Then, the lube: Mashiro with a diligent mouth, and soon a dew of her spit onto your cock for Yeseo's ass.

As you rest your wettened cockhead against Yeseo's anus, it spasms slightly, involuntarily, puckering further against your assault. Suddenly her eyes shoot open, her back arching.

"Good dream," she moans, and as you've learned, it is possible to fuck cutely. Because that's the Yeseo on Mashiro's chest now: cute. "I was... a bad girl, I let Daddy use all my holes, aahn."

"He's ready for more of you, Yeseo-yah." Mashiro whispers.

"Wha..." Yeseo is still in a stupor from her slumber, and so the shock is clearly visceral and uncomfortable as you enter her ass. Even lubed up it takes more effort to break her innermost seal as it stretches around your tip and clings to the millimeter she lets you go in. As she gets filled with your cock again, it doesn't matter how she had previously reacted to the rough pounding you gave her pussy. Your hand grabs her arm and keeps it in place as the half inch meets an end in the resistance of her anus' unwilling submission to your fucking. But she begins to thrust herself back on you slightly, and that helps, relaxing the walls that inveighed against your penetration. Soon you make another centimeter of progress, a centimeter closer to fully lodging your cock inside her.

The penetration is slow as time itself, but for a curious reason: in this single instance, both you and Yeseo want the process to take as long as possible, for this moment to stretch even beyond how fucking long you're taking to actually penetrating her. The lewdness is so beyond what the both of you are familiar with, your plunging cock filling her most intimate spot is perhaps the dirtiest deed imaginable, filthy and nasty and deliciously so.

Yet, she's still fucking cute—cutely fucking, when she looks back to you, meets your loving gaze, a pout on her lips, and a fluttering opening of her mouth. She eyes you with an innocence that has long since left her presence here and now. Of all the girls you've fucked before and this night, none have the spark of natural sexual goodness that Yeseo possesses. Before it was pretty fucking adorable, the eager virgin desperate for attention, desperate for an anal orgasm. Now it's not just arousing, it's something deeper: beautiful. And she wants you to share in her beauty.

"M-more." It's a scant whisper, her throat dry with anticipation. More than enough. You pull on Yeseo's hair and throw her head back, exposing more of her slim neck, to drive your cock with more force into her unbroken depths. Harder now, in: two more inches penetrate her, yet no outward journey is permitted, something else which you've prevented as you continue your rhythm. Your other hand trails down from her back to her ass, where your fingers lay, kneading the cheeks apart to admire your conquest. Yeseo is being taken, wholly owned. She's yours, belonging only to your pleasure and only to your pleasure alone, to feel the pleasure of this moment together.

You pull a fistful of her hair now, drawing her ear close enough to your mouth to bite gently on the lobe, to send a shock of exhilaration through her skinny frame. "You're a filthy fucking anal whore, Yeseo. I'm going to fuck the creampie out of this asshole. Just know I own you, and you need a real man inside of you. Say it."

Yeseo purrs. "Nnn, nngh. Nn, yesss, Daddy, you own my hole, you own all my holes, your slut, just want your cock always in me, fuck my fuck, oh, ohyes, godd, do it, please!"

Again you claim this sweet sin, and push on through to the end of her depths, till you're bottomed out in her ass. Yeseo wiggles ineffectively, fruitlessly, letting you work her anus on your girth.

"How does it feel, baby girl?" Mashiro asks, and you begin to draw your cock slowly. Yeseo howls and squeezes your member, her anus unable to take the stretch any more, yet unwilling to let it go. It takes the weight of a greater instinct for her to move her hips away from you. You help pull back, but it's equally mind-agonizing, mind-numbing, but eventually you come out cleanly.

Through gasping breaths, Yeseo says, "C-can I ride it instead? That, that was too much."

Mashiro giggles, nods. "Daddy can lie down for you, sweetie. Lay him out and sit your pretty little butt on him."

You lean against the headrest and spread out your legs, giving Yeseo free range to work your cock. Much quicker now she takes your cock inside, sinking down on the cock to an easy half. Then, Yeseo relaxes and soon her ass claps against your pelvis, earning a moan from you both.

"Wow, you're a natural." Mashiro says.

"Yeah, oh, fuck, I practiced, this position, oh, mmhm. On, haaa, on a toy. Wow."

"But, the real thing's better." When Mashiro starts touching Yeseo's clit, even more globs of semen leave her cunt.

Yeseo just nods to that, her eyes meeting the lord in her head, her mouth dangling open. "Mhmm, so big, s-so hard, and, umph, and, haahh."

You quickly ascertain that while Yeseo is certainly practiced in her riding, she is no match for Mashiro's experience. Here, you don't mind—the grip of her warm and willing walls wrapping around your cock, her pussy clamping at air in response. Your mouth, open and hungry, is captured by Mashiro, french-kissing you. She's a warm, comfortable presence beside you, watching you watch the pornographic scene of the inexperienced girl fucking herself like a needy anal whore. Yeseo, from her expression, is obviously getting the hang of it: her fucking is getting faster, the cock that enters her quickly leaving in rapid pace, her pleasure quickening in its growth. Yeseo bucks up, slips down, trying to give you as much pleasure as possible

Insofar as Yeseo can find purchase in her brain-melting daze, she's cumming so very quickly and so damn hard. Yeseo is so tightly gripped at your cock you can only imagine the spasms she must be going through. For your troubles, she sprays juice all over your abdomen. As if from the deepest part of her orgasm, her last shreds of coherence, an almost non-fathomable concept, give way to a smile, to a laugh. She collapses on top of you, her cheek against your chest.

"I'm... Daddy's..."

"Cum dump." You sit up, wrapping your arm around her back. "I'm not done with you, not until I've left my cum in your asshole."

She nods. "I'm your slut, Daddy."

You take Yeseo from the bed, and carry her over to the side, bending her over the nightstand, holding her neck and keeping her pressed against the wood. Her small hands reach behind her, taking hold of your shaft and guiding you into her anus. A single thrust is enough to seat her all the way to the hilt, and it doesn't take long before you're pistoning into her, her ass jiggling.

Mashiro's got her hand buried in Yeseo's hair, pushing her down harder against the wooden surface. She's a beautiful girl, your girlfriend, her pussy soaked from watching you use this other girl. "Make a mess for Daddy," she says. "Cum around his cock, milk that cum out like you deserve."

With Yeseo bent over like this, it's a tight fit for the both of you. But you rail the woman. No mercy. All the restraint you had when taking the virginity of either hole is gone now, nothing but raw need and animal instinct driving the motion. The wet smack of your balls against her pussy, the squeaks of her own need, the sounds of the room fill you, fill her, fill Mashiro, and there's no stopping you from taking Yeseo's ass like you mean it.

It's all Yeseo can do to hold onto the edge of the nightstand for dear life. For good measure, Mashiro spanks the slut. The slut loves it. She's basically humping the furniture now, trying to get any kind of friction on her clit, any kind of sensation to heighten her pleasure.

In this moment, the world could be falling apart around you, but you wouldn't care. You just want to keep pounding away at this beautiful woman's ass. Your hands grip her hips, and you thrust inside as far as you can.

Yeseo's breath catches as she feels her ass clench around the base of your cock. Her face is one of pure ecstasy, her mouth forming a perfect O shape.

"Oh fuck, oh god, aaaah," Yeseo cries out. "I'm gonna cum, fuck, Daddy, I'm cumming!"

You don't announce it as loudly, just a sharp groan, solid grip of her hips, pulling her down onto your cock where balls-deep you unload into her. Your second climax is no less powerful than the first, shooting rope after thick rope of hot cum into Yeseo's asshole. You can feel it twitching around you, like Yeseo's trying to milk every last drop out of your cock. She's gasping for air, her body shaking. Mashiro kisses her neck and shoulder to soothe her.

You pull out slowly, letting her feel the loss of your cock. A glob of semen slips out of her gaping asshole, a strand of cream down her lithe legs.

Finally, you're spent, the well of your lust and energy dry, the strength of your legs gone, the strength of your arms gone, the strength of your mind gone. The energy to do anything more than lay in bed is beyond you now.

Yeseo can't even do much of that, and you have to help carry her to the bed, where the three of you lie.

"Fuck. Is it... usually that much?" Yeseo asks, her fingers sliding between her thighs, feeling her sticky hole and slit.

Mashiro giggles. "No. Not by a long shot."

"You're so fucking tight Yeseo-yah, of course you'd get filled up so much."

"But, is this, like, how it is? Like, I'm gonna feel it for days?"

"It's not too bad, after a while. But yeah, you'll definitely be sore. I think I still am."

"Okay, Daddy." Yeseo leans into you, resting her head on your chest. On your other side, Mashiro joins in too. Yeseo sighs."It was really, really good. I... I knew it would be, but I had no idea. You were so gentle at first, and then so rough, like I needed it."

"Well, I'm glad," Mashiro says. "And don't worry. It gets better every time."

"Really?"

"Mhm. You've got a long way to go, Yeseo-yah, if you wanna get as good as Unnie."

"You're a good fuck," you tell Yeseo. "You've got talent, Yeseo-yah."

She giggles. "Thanks, Daddy."

Mashiro looks at you, smiling, and kisses your cheek. "So what do you think, Daddy? You okay with this being a regular thing?"

"I... yeah. I can deal."

"Good. Because next time, you're fucking us both. Together."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AO3, AFF

[stygiansun-totaleclipse]

How do the ROs feel about MC's bad habits? :( like overworking themselves, not eating, not sleeping, etc. etc. Because I'm very worried djkehems...😔 (even more so because my MC is manipulative so he's like hiding it 😡 (I say, fully knowing that I technically made the choices to make him like this))

Kieran: For an mc whose self neglect is habitual—and doubly so for an mc who attempts to hide/deny it—they apparently aren’t going to learn to correct this and will only repeat their offenses. So—given MCs and Kieran’s more hostile relationship—they’re going to utilize that to correct this. MC trying to hide that they’re overworked/injured etc? Kieran is insistent mc visits the infirmary. Oh and did they not mention? No, no we’re not getting a nurse’s help—they’ll be bringing mc there themself and personally attending to them. This is going to be as uncomfortable between them as possible (and we maintaining intense eye contact >:/)—that should teach mc to seek an actual healer’s help when needed (or not repeat the problem) before Kieran themself notices. And they are very attentive. Good luck hiding your condition from them. L uses this on Aurynn sometimes, tho it’s been 6 years for some of those habits to decay again.

Nihm: 🥺🥺🥺….? You’re not gonna be nice to yourself….?

Honestly their kicked puppy act is usually enough to spur most people into fixing or at least addressing the immediate problem. They’d also probably try to help mc with some things to make taking care of themselves easier/more enjoyable, like trying to find ways of getting the cooks to make something similar to what mc would have eaten at home etc. Since mc can’t go home right now, they figure maybe they can bring a little bit of home to them.

Lilith/Lucien: I mean like—relatable. But also—:( hey cmon now. They’re the type to want to help shoulder their friends’ burdens to lighten the load. Carves out spaces where mc can address their needs like taking them to dinner or staying with them til they fall asleep etc. They’re observant and their approach to things would also vary depending on MCs personality. If being direct will get them to listen then great but for say a more combative or manipulative mc they’ll play mind games right back to spur them into doing what L wants and taking care of themself. Always very pleased when they get mc doing some mundane self-care task and will stare adoringly while mc eats/sleeps etc.

Samira: She has already made it clear in the demo she isn’t happy about it—she worries over mc and understands this is born out of MCs circumstances etc but it’s still frustrating to watch them neglect their own needs while attending to those of other’s and/or try to hide when they neglect themselves (although she is kinda a hypocrite in this regard). She’s made it clear—mc can’t pour from an empty cup. Keep this up and they’ll end up too broken to function. Depending on MCs personality, she does scold them for hiding it or harmlessly manipulates them into doing something to take care of themself by framing it another way or guilting them into it. And she tries to keep after mc to make sure they remember to do things like eat/sleep/get outside etc.

Aurynn: I mean like same but maybe don’t? Speaking from experience 👍 Their situations are different, sure, but still. He does worry over them even if he isn’t the best at showing it, but bc he’s also the epitome of hiding/denying his condition and not seeking help, he usually enlists Sam’s help if he doesn’t really know what to do for mc. He’s good at being annoying as fuck tho so he’ll utilize that to irritate or challenge mc into doing what he wants—like eating your fucking dinner, coward.

[princessbrunette]

okok line cook jj who is absolutely obsessed with the new doe eyed pretty smile waitress. she’s always so nice and patient with the crew even if they’re behind, getting yelled at ect. they flirt and she always gets all blushy and shy, and he just loves it. one day she ends up in the kitchen teary eyed and covered in coffee from an angry customer and jj just looses his shit cause his girl is obviously upset and even possibly hurt and how dare they.

this anon had my tummy hurting and everything like omg i love it sm .

he’d fall for you as soon as he’d lay eyes on you.

jj definitely didn’t have a type and his track history was living proof— however, with all the girls he’d hooked up with in the past they tended to be a little on the sassier side, confident, bites back and can handle the loud mouth that belongs to none other than the man himself— but he’d never felt deeply for any of them, happy to part ways with them when the fun was all over. you however, you were something else entirely.

it was like watching a baby deer trying to learn how to walk when you were brought into the restaurant as the new waitress hire. clearly you’d had no idea just how busy the beachside restaurant got, but you’d tried to adapt quickly. for the first few weeks you were skittish, dropping the occasional plate, tripping over extended legs from tables and forgetting a couple of orders — but surely enough the customers took a liking to you anyway. of course they did, you were adorable, polite, pretty and young — you could have set the place on fire and your manager would probably have let you off with a slap on the wrist.

jj was dead set on getting to know you, hell— he’d even consider himself your guide, befriending you and helping you out whenever he could. he’d have your order ready first everytime, greeting you with a wink that flustered you as he’d carefully hand you the plate and watch you shuffle off to find the corresponding table. he’d gently manoeuvre you out the way with hands on your hips when he needs to get behind you in the busy kitchen on chaotic shifts, smirking to himself at the way you get all doe eyed and embarrassed whenever he did it. it never took much to fluster you, and your sweetness had apparently been just what JJ had craved.

he noticed you started to come to him for everything, and it made his heart swell with pride. toeing nervously into the kitchen during a quieter shift, not many of the staff around that evening. “excuse me, jj?” he remembers your polite voice calling from behind him as he chops some bell peppers. he’s wiping his hands on his apron as he glances over his shoulder at you before turning around fully, giving you his full attention.

“yeah?” he breathes, almost silenced by how pretty you are.

“sorry to disturb you but theres some guys arguing really loud in the restaurant and i think they’re gonna fight and the security guy isn’t in today… dont really know what to do…” you shrug, clammy hands subconsciously playing with your work uniform. he could tell whatever had happened out there has made you uncomfortable, not a fan of confrontation or big scary men yelling. he’s quick to nod, tossing the dish-cloth he was about to wipe the surface with over his shoulder and placing a hand on your arm, looking down at you reassuringly.

“hey, you’re good, i’ll handle it, yeah?” he nods, brushing past you briskly and out the kitchen doors into the restaurant. it was night time, so the restaurant overlooking the beach only had a few customers dotted around eating their meals, equally disturbed by the loud quarrel the two seemingly tipsy men were having. you follow him to the door, watching him saunter out toward them without a care in the world. you liked that about jj, he wasn’t scared of nothing.

“alright ladies, pack it up. go kiss n’make up somewhere else, bein’ waaay too loud and i don’t think these people paid for dinner and a show.” he waves them off, the two men standing at their table having their argument.

“stay outta this kid, i ain’t going nowhere ‘til he gives me what he owes me!” one of them barks back, slamming his fist down on the table making you jump as the cutlery clatters. JJ doesn’t flinch in the slightest, stepping up closer.

“yeah, i wasn’t asking. you’re disturbing my waitress and quite frankly you’re pissing me off, so again, i’m gonna have to ask you to leave.” you pushed down the way ‘my waitress’ made you feel, knowing he was likely just throwing it out there without meaning.

“you think i give a fuck ‘bout how ‘ya waitress feels? we’re doing business here. why don’t you go back to the kitchen, huh?” the other man waves him off, and you see his eyes flutter in irritation a little at the mention of you. he locks his eyes on the man, oddly calm and steps closer, staring him down.

“i’m not askin’ again. leave.” JJ warns.

“or what, blondie?”

“or I beat the shit out of you and your little friend.”

you were happy your manager wasn’t in that evening, because JJ would have gotten in lots of trouble. like that one day, a few weeks later during an afternoon shift, patrons from the nearby golf course having swarmed in for their lunch. JJ had been chatting away with another cook in the kitchen at his post, laughing and swatting eachother with the dish rags when the doors swung open, making him double take when he’d clocked on that it was you. your eyes didn’t find his with a bright smile and fluttery eyelashes like they always did, in fact you didn’t look at him at all. upon further inspection, your uniform was drenched with brown liquid, assumably coffee even dripping from the ends of your hair. your bottom lip wobbled as you headed toward the cloakroom through the back.

JJ’s smile fell off his face and he chased after you, skidding to a stop infront of you as he places both hands on your shoulders.

“hey, hey what happened out there?” he speaks gently, gentler than you hear him speak with the other cooks anyway.

“some guys coffee was cold, so— so he dumped it on me. i’ll be fine, just— just need to change my clothes and go and clean up the mess out there and—” youre wiping your tears off your cheeks, mortified, and when you open your eyes again JJ’s no longer right there, the only sign of his existence being the sight of the kitchen door swinging. you curiously follow, standing in the doorway like you did last time. his eyes had scanned the room, quickly honing in on the older, sweaty Kook in an ugly polo loudly complaining about the ‘help’ with a puddle of coffee beside his table.

he didn’t think, striding over, lips pressed in a firm line. he grabs the man by his collar and yanks him with such a force out of his seat that his chair tips back and falls, skidding along the polished wooden floor. gasps ring around the restaurant, an imaginary spotlight shining on the blonde as he grips the man with white knuckles, looking down his nose at the flailing Kook struggling to get his footing.

“you think it’s okay to humiliate my waitress, huh? you think that shits all sweet? someone oughta teach you—” he’s hissing between grit teeth with a trembling voice when the security guard runs over to tear him off.

“maybank.” the officer warns with a knowing tone and JJ lets the man go, not without shoving him back by the chest first, a spiteful, quick adrenaline fuelled laugh leaving him as he did so.

“yeah, nah, we’re all good. get this asshat out of here though.” he backs off, letting the guard escort the shaken man away to the exit, probably profusely apologising on JJ’s behalf. he pants, watching him leave before looking around at the entire restaurants eyes on him, staring in shock. he scratches his cheek before holding up his hand. “hope y’all are enjoying the food.” he calls out, making eye contact with your manager who stands leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, shaking her head at him. he swears under his breath, before storming back toward the kitchen, not even glancing at you as he storms past you, knowing he’s in trouble.

he heads towards the staff cloakroom, yanking his apron off and beginning to punch the code into his locker, clearly deciding the best way to deal with this was to take off. you follow him, standing in the doorway.

“jj, you shouldn’t have done that.” you scold him softly, watching him screw up his apron and stuff it into his locker, rooting around for his stuff.

“yeah, well i did, so…” he doesn’t turn to acknowledge you, still out of breath with a noncommittal tone.

“you’re… you’re gonna get in trouble. i don’t want you to get fired.”

he suddenly turns to you when you approach at his side. “you think i want that either?” he snaps before softening, seeing the way your eyes widened in hurt confusion. “i’m sorry. i… i just don’t like how these assholes get to roam around and do what they want. they can direct all that shit towards me, i don’t care, i can take it…” he takes off his backwards hat, raking his hands through his hair. “but… but not you! they don’t get to talk to you like that. someone’s gotta show them, you know?” he rants and you soften, stepping closer.

“thank you.” is all you say, pressing your hands to his shoulders and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. you offer him a small smile, before turning around and heading back toward the door. you turn before you leave, his body still twisted towards you as he watches you in awe, suddenly a lot calmer. “no one’s made me feel safe like you do, jj.” you state before heading away.

he sighs, turning back toward his locker and leaning his forehead against the cool metal, screwing his eyes shut for a moment just breathing. when he turns back around, you’re gone, replaced by the disapproving glare of your manager.

“you wanna talk about what just happened?” she tilts her head.

“well, no— but i feel like i don’t really have a choice.” he forces a fake smile. it was gonna be a long day for jj.

[ocstabler]

OC: Series 5, Episode 3

Of course, spoilers. Do not keep going if you don't want them. :)

Elliot & Eli have a little morning conversation. Eli has no clue how long a complex case like Los Santos takes and it shows a level of naiviety with him regarding policework. Eli reminds Elliot he has a follow up MRI, and the reminder is from Randall which annoys Elliot. Eli seems annoyed by Elliot's dismissive attitude about it all.

He also gets annoyed when his Dad questions him about what work he's doing and not giving his girlfriend a proper goodbye. Eli is acting like a little brat teen, which is frustrating when he's supposed to be a man with growing responsibilities. I'm sure Elliot probably had the same sort of attitude if his father gave him similiar advice but I think considering two weeks ago Elliot nearly DIED, Eli could also be a little bit more appreciative of his Dad being alive. But apparently not, lol!

I think Elliot walks a fine line here with being a concerned parent- we already know he wants to keep Eli safe, but not smother him. I think Elliot is also trying to help Eli appreciate what he has and not take Becky for granted, something that he is advising out of his own experience.

Just want to point out this horrible photoshop image of Kathy & Eli.

I like that OC will have some SVU people appear. I love they bought back Carisi seeing as he was involved last series with this case. It reminds you that they are all close by and would run into one another through work often enough. It would be weird for Stabler to never see Carisi working on big cases.

Carlo Pescador wants to speak to Elliot and warns him that there's a new player in town who has no respect for families or anything. Carlo tells Elliot if he doesn't fix it, Carlo will and they'll be a war.

At court, due to the only witness dropping out, the case against Carlo is dismissed. Carisi tells Bell & Stabler he'll appeal it.

Carlo gets shot twice (Elliot reaches out to get Carisi clear) before drawing his weapon and giving chase. He tells the shooter to drop his gun, he says he can't and raises his weapon so Elliot has to shoot. Bell takes his gun until IAB can clear him. They must get sick of seeing Stabler's name pop up.

We then go back to Naples, Italy, 6 years ago. Elliot has hair again. He convinces a woman (I didn't catch her name) to give up her brother, Rocko, and start a new life with her kids and Grandkids in America.

Kathy FaceTime's El when he's forgotten to come home. It's really nice to see they seem really happy (now that OIlivia is 4,000 miles away). Small note that Elliot isn't wearing a wedding ring in the scene but Kathy is. It's a really nice scene and I like how they've been there long enough that Elliot throws some Italian into his speech naturally.

Elliot gets his badge and gun back after IAB clear him. I guess there were enough witnesses here that were able to clear him quickly.

Bell sets everyone on with tasks. Elliot asks about Jet as she was supposed to be back this week. Bell says she needs a couple more days. She tells Elliot he has an MRI to go to and that Randall's waiting for him outside in the car.

Elliot's miffed with Randall for going to Ayanna with his personal stuff and tells him to stay out of it. Randall is acting very caring, almost fatherly towards Elliot and although he does appreciate it, he doesn't want work knowing about his stuff. Which makes sense. Elliot's always been private anyway and he always likes to shrug off an injury. I did a little Google, and MRI results tend to take 1-2 weeks to get results back but they'd be quicker if there was anything serious. It doesn't seem like this is anything but a check up to make sure there's nothing else going on and that Elliot's healing how he should be but I'm suspicious that they have bought up an MRI and think it might pop up again in a later episode. The fact that Elliot doesn't want work to know about it, even though he is private, makes me doubly suspicious. They briefly talk about Bernie thinking Joe Jnr is calling her.

Bell & Reyes talk to Brianna & Kiki and Brianna mentions other people in her family being targeted and killed. She doesn't want to help the police and they leave. Interesting that her son, the kid Stabler tackled and whacked his head on the ground, isn't mentioned at all. Is he still in hospital? Is he dead?

Elliot goes to visit his former Italian CI (still can't catch her name), and she shows him what she's made of herself in those 6 years. She talks about her Grandkids, asks after Eli, and El tells her he's a cop now and she expresses her sorrow over Kathy- she apparently sent a note.

Elliot speaks to one of her grandkids and when they starts playing ball, she send the kid inside.

Brianna and Kiki are shot at, with Brianna being killed and Kiki hit. At the scene, Elliot spots Eli and questions his FTO about Eli already being on gang injuctions. You can just hear Eli apologising and then his FTO telling Eli to 'nut up'. Eli in uniform also looks just.... so wrong. Nothing will ever convince me that Eli can grow into this role.

Oh, and before I forget, we get a couple of mentions of Warner doing some work for them. I hope we get to see her again this series. It's so nice to see the old SVU crew here.

Reyes asks Stabler if he should be doing stairs as they go to speak to someone and Stabler says no. A quick Google tells me a mild TBI has a recovery time of a few weeks to several months. I would assume this is what Stabler has, seeing as he's working days afterwards and we are unaware as a viewwr if he has any side effects lingering at this point. They certainly aren't showing us any clues if he is suffering at all. Reyes and Stabler go at a nice steady pace up the stairs, which I think shows Reyes is matching Stabler's pace because he knows he's not at 100%.

Elliot asks about Jet before they left HQ and then grills Reyes about it, confronting him about them sleeping together. He said they broke up a couple of weeks back and they both express concern over her wellbeing. They find the kid they need to talk to, he runs and purposely falls off the roof.

This is the second death of a young man in front of Elliot in this episode. I think when he greets Bell he sounds really deflated.

Baby Stabler comes home crying because he's getting mocked. Eli just has no clue and seems so thin skinned here. He's literally living with his Daddy, complaining at him to mind his own business. Also, I could do with Becky having a bit more personality. Randall calls back to Elliot telling him the same thing and mocks Elliot a little. See how he doesn't cry about it, Eli?

Randall finds some hidden sweets in Bernie's bed, under the matress and a hidden phone starts to ring. He answers it, asks if it's Joe and the line goes dead.

Bell goes to check in on Jet. She's been working on a programme to do with unsolved murders that could be related to truckers. She tells Bell the FBI offered her a full time job but she turned them down because she has a job and she's not a quitter. Bell tells her Stabler came to her for a favour and she's given them 4 years and encourages her to do what she's got to do.

It's a really sweet scene and Ainsley convey's so much here without the need to say much. She's deeply affected by the cases she's been working and it's taken a toll on her. But she's determined to do something helpful off the back of it.

Bell says that Jet wants some time away and then later tells the group she talked her into doing a farewell drink.

Elliot says that the new group is the Camorra, specifically the Spezzano clan. Stabler tells Bell that his CI is Isabella Spezzano. Her grandson, Roman, is the one who is opening the brewery that is at the heart of what the OCCB team are now looking into.

Jet comes by the office when she thinks nobody will be around to get her stuff, but Elliot is still there.

She says she hates goodbyes and he tells her he doesn't care and hugs her. He asks how she can leave him with Vargas.

Elliot tells her he's going to miss her and that he'll take her to the bar when she's done and she realises he's making sure she goes. He tells her he hates Irish goodbyes (which means to leave a social event without saying goodbye..... wonder who else would do something like that, Elliot).

I really love this scene because it's so true to the characters. Elliot isn't great at goodbyes either but he recognises the importance in his older years to speak your truths on things like this. He wants her to know what she means to him, even if he can't really verbalise it very well, it's still important for him to try and let her know. And it's not flowery sentiments and a perfect speech, it just feels right for what he'd say to her. Jet's hesitance with the hug but the comfort she gets from it when she relaxes a little, the way he makes her laugh are all *chef's kiss*

As Elliot gets home, Eli & Becky are getting back with some food for her cravings. Elliot hears a bike and his super cop instincts kick in. He tells them to get down as shots are fired at them all, as they dive on the floor.

It might be likely that Becky will go to the hospital after this or she'll go into labour earlier than anticipated but the scene in the trailer with Elliot & Eli at a hospital waiting room shows Eli in his uniform, so that scene won't be directly from this scene.

Overall, a brilliant 3rd episode that was very strong after the banging first two episodes.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕠: Notice

Jungkook knows the effect he has on people. So why won't you look at him the same?

Main Tags/Warnings: Model!Jungkook, Actor!Jungkook, Stylist!Reader, strangers/enemies to lovers, mentions of toxic beauty standards

Length: ~4k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

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Jeon Jungkook.

He's not really what you see every day visually in the modeling industry, and from what you've heard, he's also quite the charmer. Clearly he has to have something going on if his constantly changing partners are anything to go by- one google search of his name giving you several articles about different names he's allegedly participating in the sensual bedroom tango with. Not that you're surprised- most male models tend to make use of their name in order to get what they desire.

Kill or be killed- you can't really blame anybody for using what they have.

"Did you know he apparently has a yacht?" Lea wonders, eating her sandwich your brought her this morning, as she sits on a table close to you. "I've never even been on a fucking yacht before. Apparently those things are like, 500 thousand coins! Imagine!" She sighs, making you laugh along with her. "I can't believe someone just spends that much money on a boat of all things." She mumbles, trying not to get her new acrylics dirty with the sauce.

"Maybe once you have too much, you just don't care?" Haru wonders, setting up his camera equipment close by. "I've heard that money loses it's worth to those who have a lot of it." He offers, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts some cables.

"I mean, probably." Lea agrees. "With all the brand deals he has, he's got to have his bank account packed with doubloons." She huffs. "Can't he spare us a million each? He won't miss it, I'm sure.." She whines, finishing her breakfast while you shake your head, laughing.

You're all joking around, but at the end of the day, you'll all probably stay where you are financially and career wise until the end of your days. And you yourself are fine with that- you've accepted the fact that the life Jeon Jungkook for example is living isn't something you yourself would want. That man get's snapped by paparazzi almost daily, he's got no privacy from what you can tell, and he can't even say his opinion without being destroyed for it.

No thank you, you rather stay a nobody than have your entire life displayed for the world to judge.

"What's the concept anyways?" You mumble, looking at Lea who shrugs.

"They said he wants to play director today." She jokes. "So I brought a little of everything, really. We'll see what he wants to do."

You frown. You don't like being so unable to prepare anything- to be put on the spot like that. What if he wants something from you you can't pull off? You don't want to be shit-talked by someone with a name as big as his- that would be absolute career-ending for sure, and you can't have that. You've got nothing else than this.

"I heard he's kinda difficult." Lea sighs, picking up her coffee. "They always only look nice.." She huffs disappointed, before she takes a sip.

You just stay quiet. It's all the same anyways.

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Jeon Jungkook is, indeed, difficult.

Not only is he way too tall for you, but he also moves around constantly, talks over your head as if you're not there, and most of all seems to love making fun of you for no apparent reason other than to piss you off. You're not sure why exactly it has to be you- but it seems like he's chosen his victim, and he won't let go anytime soon.

Just do your job, you tell yourself.

His jokes about your height honestly suck, but no one's brave enough to say it, clearly. Everyone laughs at them and praises his good looks and professionalism while you're just trying to get through this whole ordeal. "A bit tired, huh?" The model looks up at you as he sits on the chair provided, your hands fixing his hair in place just the way he wanted it to. You're glad he's sitting. You hate when he's standing upright, not even trying to bend down a little to offer some help. "And not much of a talker." He chuckles, boldly letting his eyes roam over your face and body while you work.

If he's as observant as he wants to make himself to be, then he won't be too surprised if you don't answer now, either.

And he isn't- he just laughs softly to himself, nothing more than that, and you honestly don't want to know what he's thinking. He's probably judging your no-name branded clothes, ripped tights from having gotten your keys caught on them earlier, and your clear lack of makeup.

You're not the model here, so why bother?

You leave him quickly after finishing up, letting Haru and the others guide the model on where to look and how to pose- though honestly, Jungkook seems rather shit at following directions, always doing somewhat of what he wants instead of what's being suggested.

Why even bring a director when you're gonna do what you want anyways?

"I hate how good he looks." lea hisses at you from where she's standing right next to where you are. "He's so mean! Like, childish-mean!" She whines towards you, and you can't help but snort to yourself because that's hitting the nail on the head for you.

He does act like a spoiled child rather than an adult man on the road towards his thirties.

"Jungkook-ssi, please look at the camera!" One of the directors ask, and only now do you notice that the model looked your way- probably having heard you laugh. Does he think you were laughing about him? Hopefully not, even if it's somewhat true.

You can't have him yap about you to other magazines or whatnot.

So you instantly wipe that smile off your face and go back towards professionalism, and at that, he alerts his gaze as well, going back to what he's been hired to do.

"Do you think there's guys out there who look like him but are nice too?" Lea wonders now that you've both walked a bit morenout of hearing range, avoiding his radar as you hide amongst the other staff and equipment. "Like, I want a hot dude with piercings and tattoos too. But with the old-guy gentleman flavor, you know?" She dreams, stealing a snack from you.

"Dont think so." You huff out, stretching your arms high up to arch your back and legs, even going onto tip-toes as your muscles release all the tension you've been accumulating already. You sigh out in bliss after finishing, your body seemingly reset-

A smirking Jungkook walking right past you, probably having seen you throughout the entire ordeal.

What's that stupid half-smile for, though?

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You shrug. "He looks the same in every photo to me." You tell Haru, who looks at you a bit lost.

He sighs as he clicks through the photos himself, unsure. You know he knows you're right- but at the end of the day, people like those sultry eyes and that cocky expression that man makes in every picture. You're not sure what exactly makes it so appealing- but you're just here to make him look as good as possible. And his hair looks perfect in almost every shot- so that's good enough for you.

That's your job. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's his signature look." Haru tries to justify, his soft voice unsure, however, as if he needs to tell it mostly to himself to be convinced of it. He's never been a fan of shootings like these- he's good at them, sure, but he doesn't enjoy shooting those pictures. He's too soft to say it, but you know he finds them boring and uninteresting. It's basics, nothing exciting, nothing new. But he's being paid for this- so he doesn't complain.

That's his job- nothing more, nothing less.

"Well, then his signature look is boring." You say, leaning back against the table behind you, sipping your can of sugary caffeinated soda- the energy drink by now the only thing keeping you somewhat concentrated. Hopefully Jungkook stops complaining so much so you can all go home soon- he's got the whole week anyways, so why is he so whiny?

Brat. It's only the first day and he's already getting on your nerves- acting like someone pissed in his breakfast, rolling his eyes and staring people down just for the fun of it. And women actually fuck that guy? Nepotism must be crazy.

He probably has sex in front of a mirror just to watch himself.

"Boring, huh." Jungkook's voice chimes up, and you spot him walking closer, now wearing a new set of clothes. The leather pants look awfully tight, especially in his private region- that can't be comfortable, can it?

You frown at him. He got his hair all chaotic again- but it's fine. It fits the theme. You won't retouch it for now.

"She didn't mean it like that-" Haru instantly tries to defend you, the young man intimidated by the model as always. You wonder how he can even operate the camera when he constantly shies away from him so much. Maybe when he looks at him through the lens he can detach the person from the picture? It would make sense. After all, you do the same.

You don't see Jungkook. You see Jeon Jungkook, brand ambassador and model- and it should stay that way.

"I did." You disagree with him, however, before you look back at Jungkook. You don't need to be protected- not for your own opinion. It doesn't have any weight anyway, you doubt that someone like you can hurt this man's ego either. It's at least as big as himself, if not taller, which is a lot, considering that he towers over you despite not even reaching the standard 1.80m height usually desired. Then again, there's quite a few things you could count as not being the standard of beauty. But he makes up for it in confidence- even if he seems to have a little too much of it for your taste. "I did mean it like that."

"What am I supposed to do instead then?" Jungkook challenges, crossing his arms next to you.

The hell were you supposed to tell him? You're neither a model, nor very fashionable. He should ask Lea about that, not you. He's trying to argue for no good reason, and that attitude is starting to piss you off.

"Nothing. It's good like that." You shrug, keeping your cool for now at least visually.

"You said it's boring." He bites back almost immediately. Your distaste grows.

"I did, because to me, it is." You respond calmly. Is he trying to pick a fight with you right now? He really is acting like a child beneath all that fake politeness and forced friendly tone he puts on. "But that's my personal opinion. I'm sure people will like those pictures despite that." You explain.

He plays around with his piercings, and gives you that odd look that you can't distinguish from hatred or being offended.

Unbeknownst to you, he's been trying to figure you out for the entire shoot- wondering what you're really like. Do you like softer guys like Haru more? You seem to have some edge to you, if the glimpse of your bellybutton piercing and the few lines of a tattoo poking out the waistband of your pants would be anything to go by. Maybe you're just someone who likes to be in charge.

He can't offer that, at least not sexually.

He's opening his mouth to say something, before he moves when the director claps, and tells everyone to get back to their respective spots-

Jungkook sitting in front of the camera once more, woth the same signature look, because that is his job.

Nothing more, nothing less.

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If it wasn't for Lea and Haru, you wouldn't even be here.

Sitting in a restaurant, special VIP part that's secluded for the rest of the people here, eating together with stupid Jeon Jungkook, who's busy crawling up your boss's ass. He's sitting right next to you too, which is just as ridiculous- it makes it impossible to have a proper conversation with either of your friends. So you just eat, casually, mostly whatever Lea puts on your plate for you.

You really hate social settings like this. You don't like being reminded that you can't even hold a proper conversation for longer than two sentences.

The moment he puts a piece of meat on your plate instead of Lea, your chopsticks stutter. You don't like this. He just tries to appear friendly- probably because everyone else is watching. You know how this goes, after all, you've been through shit like this before. He'll lure you in, be all nice and sweet, use you as his dirty little secret before he leaves you behind for someone that looks better at his side. Someone of his own profession, most likely- or maybe a singer, or an actress. Someone pretty, tall and famous, someone useful for his career. Someone beneficial.

Someone that's not you.

"You're really not much of a talker, hm?" He asks, sitting next to you with his head on his hand, elbow perched up on the table. He honestly looks a little tired without all the makeup Lea had put on for the shoot today- eyes a bit dull, darkness underneath them shadowing the glimmer they had during work today quite a bit. His skin is also not really as clear as it looked in the pictures taken. He's got a few beauty marks, a noticeable little scar, and some redness around his nose.

He looks like a person from this angle. Not like a model.

"…what am I supposed to say." You shrug, eating what he's offered, because why not? He hums a reply, everyone else at the table conversing with one another, Lea currently seemingly in a heated debate about the height of heels with another staff member across the table.

"Why do you work this job when you hate models so much?" Jungkook asks, catching you off guard as you look at him again. "Or is it just me that's your issue?" He challenges, and you sigh, shaking your head before you occupy yourself with your food once more.

"Was my work okay?" You ask him instead, not looking at him but rather his hands, because you can't stand those eyes he has.

"More than okay- it was just what I wanted." He replies a bit caught off guard, and you shrug.

"Then there's nothing to talk about." You simply reply. Because that's the way you need to keep things, that's how you'll protect yourself and have been for the last few years. You're there to work, not make friends, and especially nothing more than that.

"Oh I think there is." Jungkook chuckles next to you. "I heard you and Kim Yongsun had something going on a few years back when he was shooting for Dazed." He says, and suddenly, you put your chopsticks down, even Lea looing over at you, an expression of both anger and worry on her face. You get up and leave with a respectful bow to your seniors, leaving the restaurant and Jeon Jungkook behind, who's looking at Lea next to him as if to ask what's suddenly wrong with you-

but even she shakes her head, turning back towards Haru next to her, no longer interested in talking to him.

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Kim Yongsun is, at the moment, a very successful actor. Having starred as a leading role in several dramas, he's right now shooting for a full length movie, though the news aren't really as interested in his career-

but more so in his love life, and the baby on the way.

Articles about this perfect and untainted lovestory are all over the place whenever you search up his name- this picture-perfect dream he's created about how he only ever loved his now wife Jane, how he's never looked at anyone before.

Such a liar, but then again- he's an actor, and that's what he's pretty talented at.

Having all of those memories revived made you nauseous yesterday, and it also made you dread coming to work today. But this is your job, nothing more, nothing less.

"There's my pretty bestie!" Lea instantly hugs you the next morning, swaying you around a little childishly, pressing her cheek against yours. With her tall body and a few years above your age, she feels like an older sister that you can trust, years of working together having glued your souls to one another it feels like. "Did you get home safe yesterday?" She wonders, and you nod.

"Went to bed right away." You explain, getting out your breakfast, another one for her as well. She tends to get up late, so you always buy her something on the way- otherwise she would constantly forget to eat.

"I'm gonna have to try so hard not to poke an eye out of that guy today.." The makeup artist growls, pouting as she picks up her sandwich.

"It's natural that he knows though.." Haru softly buts in. "It's not really his fault?" He attempts to justify.

"Yeah maybe, but ever heard of being tactful? I don't tell everyone that you had a crush on Alice either even though that was hella' weird." She bites back, causing Haru's cheeks to flush red. Though she's right- even if Jungkook knows about it, there was no reason to bring that up, especially if he knows the full story of it all. Is he really that mean?

Could be. After all, he's not been exactly kind up until now.

The moment he enters the workplace, he seems almost surprised to see you there as well- greeting everyone on set with a nod. He's here early this time, and you're not sure why he'd do that. He's got almost two more hours until you're supposed to be shooting- so why is he here already?

"I'll protect you." Lea threatens, suddenly pulling you close to sit you on her lap, glaring at Jungkook.

"Lea!" You hiss at her, worried she might get into trouble. She can be a little too 'out there' for her own good- and someone like that guy is not one to mess with. One bad article about your company, and she'll be blacklisted from ever working in the industry ever again.

It's how it works, beneath the surface. Most agencies don't want staff that are not loyal dogs.

"Good morning." Jungkook offers, walking closer with a slight saunter you've come to realize he has almost all the time he walks around. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, and Lea buts in before you can say anything at all.

"No, I'm sorry, Jungkook-ssi." She snarls almost. "We have to start working soon. Please talk to the directors if you have any questions." She says, making Jungkook eye her a little, before he sighs.

"Alright, then I'll do it like this instead." He tilts his head a bit irritated, crossing his arms in front of him. "I'm sorry for speaking out of line yesterday. I didn't mean to upset you." He offers. Lea scoffs.

"Well, you still did." She mumbles, and it seems like now the beast shows it's real face as he looks at her.

"I don't think I've talked to you at all yesterday, so I'm not sure why you're barking right now." He challenges, making the makeup artist visibly surprised at the way he addresses her. "I believe she's old enough to talk for herself." The model argues, and you can practically feel Lea's rage beginning to buzz inside of her, and to avoid any sort of crime soon about to happen, you stand up, and push at Jungkook's shoulder to lead him towards the restroom area where you're a bit more secluded.

"I don't care about your apology." You tell him right away. "Neither do I care if you're truly sorry or just trying to appear that way. We're both here to work, and that's it." You say, while he stands in front of you listening with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Please do not invite me to anything you might want to do for the staff. I'm not interested." You finish your small rant.

"I always wondered what really went down, you know?" Jungkook says. "With you and Yongsun, I mean. He said that you hooked up with him, but honestly, looking at you, I can hardly believe that. No offense-" He waves off any potential anger you might have over the hidden message in that sentence. "-but you don't look like someone who fucks around." He shrugs.

"What do I look like then?" You challenge, now your arms crossed in defense. You don't like this situation in general. You just want him to leave you alone.

"I'm not sure." He admits. "But just between us-" He leans in a bit closer. "Yongsun is a cunt anyways. He drinks straight up coffee creamer- I mean, who the fuck does that?" he says, and at that, you actually have to laugh.

You remember that, years back.

"Listen-" Jungkook sighs. "-I know you probably have trust issues now, I'd have them too if I had to be with someone like that-" He tries to joke, "-but let's try and at least be civil with one another, okay?" He offers.

"You talk as if I was the one constantly picking fights." You bite back, a little annoyed again at the prospect of him victimizing himself right now.

"Yeah- it's a bad habit, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "I try and make jokes whenever I get awkward- and they don't land sometimes."

"You mean most of the time." you say, and he presses his lips together.

"Touché." He clicks his tongue, before he sways a bit on his feet. "Anyways, let's work well together, alright?" He offers his hand, and you shake it-

though you feel like this could be a terrible mistake.

[darling-i-read-it]

Party Outfit

Homelander x supe!fem!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: the reader basically dies, grief, maybe some ooc homelander, canon type violence (death/gore is descriptive), I think that’s it but please let me know if there are more! 

Author’s Note: I gotta admit, I struggled with this one a bit! I wasn’t sure how to start and it isn’t my best work so I may come back to it again later but I didn’t want to make you wait! I hope you enjoy it regardless love! Homelander is such a tricky dude. Love him though. He’s so crazy. I love that in a man. 

Requested by anon: May I request a slow burn homelander x superhero! Reader, who has basically super healing powers like wolverine, so she’s probably the third strongest compared to homelander and Maeve. Homelander and reader are friends, because reader is one of the few people who took the time to care about him enough to look past the mask, and isn’t afraid of him. Something happens in a fight with a new supervillain, who’s power weakens everyone else’s around them. Reader saves homelander from a kill shot, but is killed themselves, and homelander just shatters and breaks down sobbing and clutching their body, after killing the villain. The Seven don’t know what to do to make him let go of the reader’s body, when she suddenly coughs and gasps back to life, shocking everyone and especially herself. It seems reader’s healing ability is stronger than anyone ever thought.                                                        I feel like homelander would be the clingiest person after all of that, lol.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“Are you ready?” 

Your voice sounded suddenly very close. Homelander turned around and jumped a bit at the sight of you. You were standing just beside him in your ‘party’ outfit. Vought thought it was better if you had two costumes, one of ads and one for actual fighting. It allowed them to continue the belief that they were all in on feminism while also marketing off your more ‘easy on the eyes’ outfits. Homelander only had one. Sometimes he wanted to have two, just to get some sort of diversity. Plus, you looked oh so nice in your party outfit. 

“Yup!” he exclaimed. You smiled briefly, taking a deep breath. After he and Maeve had broken up in the public, everyone had been hoping the two of you would finally call it and start dating. It would be perfect. The two most powerful supes in The Seven, a sublime situation for marriage and kids. The perfect American dream with the perfect American boy. 

You knew Homelander though. You knew that wasn’t exactly who he was. 

You also knew that he was your friend. 

“Is the President gonna be there?” you questioned, adjusting your corset. You looked at yourself in the mirror of Homelander’s apartment. His practical penthouse had become like a second home to you. You even helped him decorate it with some things he liked. You had to veto the baby bottles on the fire mantle and he agreed, it was in poor taste. 

“Likely,” he admitted. 

“Well then I’ll hide behind you. That okay?” 

“Always.” 

“Did they tell you about that new guy causing a fuss? The guy they sent The Deep after?” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sure a lot of killing happened then and no octopuses were assaulted.” You scoffed. “No. What guy?” Usually he tried to stay in the loop but there was a lot going on. A lot being, so many superheroes and not nearly enough Homelander in his opinion. 

“Apparently he can weaken everyone else's power around him,” you observed. You stayed beside him, adjusting his cape. He looked down at it, observing you. 

“Well he hasn’t met me yet.” You hummed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You put your hand on his arm. 

“The car will be here soon. Ashley still thinks I’m in my room and if she sees me in here then our engagement is gonna be all over the papers,” you joked. He nodded, taking your hand off his arm and squeezing it. 

“Prepare for the President to ask to see your power.” 

“He can catch it on the news,” you grumbled. “See you downstairs.” He nodded once and let you go. He watched himself in the mirror, allowing himself to think about you a bit longer than your presence required. You knew him more than anyone else in the world. He wondered if it would be so bad to spend the rest of his life with you. He could’ve done it with Maeve, he could have made it look good. But with you, he might be able to be happy. Be himself, whatever that was. 

He turned, adjusting the cape as he walked out the door. He had a banquet to attend. 

-

“It’s better if just you two go. I’d send Maeve but I know you’ll just end up fighting and it’ll be on the news and we can’t handle another goddamn media break!” Ashley was standing in front of you in her office. You had never actually seen her sit down at the desk, she was always so stressed. Homelander stood beside you.

“That was one spat,” you argued. “We’re over it now. I like Maeve.”

“I don’t wanna risk anything,” Ashley said. “After the…incident with The Deep, I expect full obliteration of this guy.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Homelander stepped in. “We’ve got him.” 

You both knew that the best chance of a win was the two of you. You were the strongest of The Seven. Homelander could pack the punch and you could be the shield. You worked together well. 

“Any advice on how to dim his light a little?” you questioned. She shook her head. 

“Didn’t exactly get the best information from the guy who fought him before,” she grumbled. “But it was near water and we all know who lost the fight. Be careful. If either of you die…I mean it would make for a great swing of the media’s likeness of us but I would rather not have to deal with the funeral proceedings.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks Ashley.”

“I’m also sending Noir and Starlight 30 minutes after you land. Just in case.” 

“That’s insulting,” Homelander said. He had his hands folded behind his back, ever the good soldier. “We don’t need them.”

“Then they’ll just be your extraction. Now go.” Neither of you moved. She made a waving gesture with her hands. “Go. Go!” 

-

“I can’t stand the show outfit,” you muttered. You adjusted your neck in your soldier outfit, which wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It was too tight in the wrong places but at least it provided you more protection from oncomers. Homelander was walking in front of you, scanning the area with disinterested eyes. Another job. At least he was with you. 

“It’s easy on the eyes.”

“And this one isn’t?” He shrugged. “I like your outfit. It’s bold. It’s iconic.” He smiled a bit, awkwardly, at the compliment. “I need a cape.”

“It’s a nuisance.” You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You love that cape.” The cape was his thing though and you knew he didn’t want you to stumble onto his territory. “But I digress. Do you want to get dinner after this?” 

He always had food by himself, on the road, going from one meeting or killing to another. Dinners with you were sacred and special to him. You always asked and you watched a silly movie he pretended to hate and he could tell you about his day and you listened. He couldn’t remember any other person who listened like you. 

“As long as there are no noodles.” He always got them stuck in his throat. It was embarrassing. 

“No noodles. Duly noted. We could always-” Your sentence was cut short by you keeling over. You clutched your stomach. It felt like you were being drained, like all of the sudden you were far more tired than you had been in years. It reminded you of being run ragged, like you had run a marathon you weren’t prepared for. 

“What? What is it?” Homelander grabbed your elbow, holding you up. It was like you hadn’t even seen him, let alone felt him touch you. You stood up straight, giving him a pained look. 

“He’s here.” 

Homelander turned around, searching the warehouse the two of you had entered. It was abandoned by city records and vast. Not many hiding places. Homelander’s eyes turned red with anger and concentration. 

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” He called. He let you go, not being able to focus on your pain. You stood up straight, trying to allow your body to adjust. You tried to keep up with him but he was walking with purpose. You looked around, a blur of pain around your eyes. You had never felt so weak. 

“John,” you murmured. He didn’t turn around. 

“What? Scared?” 

There was a crack behind you. You turned on your heels, watching, waiting. The pain was getting bearable as your body started to adjust to it. Perks of fast feeling. High pain tolerance. 

Homelander shot his lasers at an abandoned car. It exploded into fire. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

“I don’t see anything!” he exclaimed. He turned to you. Just as he turned around, you saw someone come from behind the car, a gun in hand. Your eyes went wide. “You see-” 

You shoved him aside, taking the bullet intended for his head. 

It hit yours. 

It was like slow motion. He was stumbling and then you were down, a bullet between your eyes. The blood started to trickle down your forehead as you fell over onto the ground. He watched you fall backwards, eyes open in surprise. There was nothing going on behind them. 

He rushed forward to grab you before you hit the ground. 

On the bottom level of the warehouse, Starlight and Noir walked in. Ashley had sent them in only 10 minutes after the two of you. She was nervous, understandably so. Didn’t want to lose all four of you if you were separated and she knew that sending them afterwards was better for Homelander’s ego. 

“Do you hear that?” Starlight asked. She slowed to a stop as she listened closely. Some kind of whimpering. “It’s above us.” 

Noir looked up. Starlight started forward quickly, being followed by her Noir. 

When they reached the top floor they found a decapitated body at the feet of the stairs. A man with a gun was dead, two red dots between his chest burned through the skin. He still had his spinal cord dangling from his neck, clearly removed with force. 

In the middle of the room Starlight could see Homelander’s cape, sprawled on the ground. She could see your limp legs from behind him. He was shaking.

Annie had never seen him cry before. 

Noir approached before she even thought to. She wanted to call Maeve and ask her to come down in case Homelander decided to lash out but realized there was no time. If he hadn’t taken you somewhere…there was no pulse. 

She shared a glance with Noir. This was unsafe. 

“What happened?” Starlight asked quietly. There were tears streaming down his red cheeks. She wasn’t going to get a coherent answer. “We need to get help,” she said, even though she didn’t mean it. She just needed to say something. 

She had never seen The Homelander so broken. She thought about all the times before she saw him on the TV screen when she was growing up. Even now that she knew what he was, she held onto that shred of hope that he was like he had been on TV. She had never seen that in person, genuinely, until that very moment. When his shoulders shook and he was holding his only friend in his arms, wondering if she was really gone, if she was going to leave him alone. 

Annie never felt for Homelander until then. 

She shared a glance with Noir. He gave her nothing, he never did. 

“It should’ve been me,” he whispered. As Annie slowly approached she saw the bullet between your eyes. Your expressionless face was haunting. Annie saw dead people but she never saw those she cared about. She was reminded of Hughie. Homelander was holding his Hughie. “It was meant to be me.” 

Annie could give him no solace. She worried he would level the city for you. Maeve would try to remove him completely but she wasn’t strong enough for that. She would just have to let him stand there until your body got cold or he came to his senses that you weren’t going to wake up. 

Then you woke up. 

It was subtle, a slight breath. He hardly noticed it over his own drama but Starlight saw it. Her eyes went wide. Then you coughed, the bullet falling onto the other side of your head. Your head had healed itself, just like that. You squinted up at Homelander, unable to remember what had happened and why he was holding you. 

Your movement startled him. He tried to find a clear vision in his eyeline, something to blur away the tears. You brought your hand up and wiped them away. 

“I’m okay,” you said, voice dry. “I’m alright.” 

“But-but you-” he stumbled. 

“I’m okay.” It hurt, sure. You could feel the remnant of pain in your head, like your nerves hadn’t quite got the memo you were alive. You sat up and he threw his arms around you. The superstrength almost suffocated you but you were content with putting your arms around him too. 

You saw the big bad dead on the  other side of the room, between Annie and Noir. You shared a look with them. Annie was wiping tears from her eyes. You must have been dead for longer than you thought. 

“I’m okay,” you said again, this time for the two of them. Annie nodded. Homelander needed a moment. She gestured for Noir to follow her out. They collected the remaining body parts of the villain and left. 

Homelander let you go just enough to see your face. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easily big guy,” you whispered. He wanted to cry some more, now that the floodgates were open. But he took a deep breath, allowing himself to even. You were still in his arms and that’s where you wanted to remain for the moment. It was safe here. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” he promised. He stood up, much to your dismay. He helped you stand, which took some wobbling. It was like you had just been born again. 

“Can you fly us out of here? I don’t know if I can walk,” you admitted. He nodded, quickly. 

“Of course. Hop on.” You made a sly smile and he rolled his eyes. You let him pick you up and carry you away, through the sunlit sky. 

-

Vought confirmed that you were okay. They triple checked your vitals but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. You had sacrificed yourself for Homelander and you had lived. It was a curious thought, one not many people understood. They wanted to test your limits further but you vetoed it for the moment. You would rather not die over and over for the sake of science. 

Homelander decided he wanted to be on every mission you were on here on out. He would make up for that mistake time and time again. 

Sitting in his apartment, a place you were used to and practically lived in, was homey. Your ‘recovery’ was spent here. He had brought you some blankets from your room. The kindness from him was uncharacteristic but welcomed. 

He vowed if he couldn’t protect himself from Vought he would protect you. 

He would protect you and your silly movie nights and matching banquet outfits. 

He would have his life with you, Vought or not.

[meredoubt]

"Training"

Early, establishing incident for @hyperbali's incredible OC, Aavya'Raan vas Nedas, and my traumatized Paragon, Commander Ze'ev Shepard. Set early in Mass Effect 2. About 5k.

(We've got so much lore, so many little stories in messages. The artwork? Fucking phenomenal, y'all don't even know. Working to compile some of the extended one-shots into something a little easier to access. Absolutely obsessed with these two, tbh, they are so messy over time and so complicated and sooooo goooood)

“What do you mean, you ‘don’t count your shots’?”

“It’s not like I usually resort to guns to solve my problems, Shepard!”

Aavya’Raan vas Nedas flinches as another blast hits the warehouse wall over their head, and concrete dust floats down. Looking around for anything they can use, the quarian blindly lobs a toolkit biotically, in a wide arc over their head. It hits something with enough force that one of the many, many Blue Suns they’re fighting cries out. 

Ze’ev Shepard and his unwinnable damned situations.

Their suit is giving them comically placid warnings about their “alarming spike in heart rate,” and an extremely minor blaster burn they’ll have to patch. Aavya is over it. They have well and truly had it. 

They’ve only been signed on for two weeks, and it’s been non-stop heroic bullshit ever since. Aria T’Loak herself had bothered to negotiate the contract with the Commander, which meant it would be good reliable work. It was supposed to be dangerous, sure, but they’ve known Aria for years, worked with Aria’s contacts more times than they could count. T’Loak is many things-a pain in the ass as a mentor, for one-but she’s always been dependable in the shifting cesspool of Omega. Aavya’s never known her to give them more than they could handle. 

…but maybe the money had made Aavya a little less careful than they should’ve been, or their concern for the Flotilla’s vulnerability to the Collectors had blinded them to a rare bad call. Damn it. Damn it all. 

They shouldn’t have jumped into bed with Cerberus so quickly, that was abundantly clear. Aavya knew they should’ve listened to their instincts. They’d nearly laughed outright and walked out on the spot, of course, given the organization’s actions, but the Commander-

Well. He’s…something else. 

Shepard doesn’t seem like just another Alliance jarhead. They’d been sure he would be; they figured, given the politics, he’d be a nice governable lapdog to someone. Everybody knows what Spectres are really supposed to be like. It’s a job, which means somebody writes his paychecks, so he’s bought. Just a little fancier of an attack dog, for his government or the Council. Simple enough.

Shepard doesn’t seem simple. He might actually mean it.

Doesn’t matter. No Cerberus paycheck is outrageous enough to warrant getting shot at this much. One or two-maybe even three-they could handle without much of a sweat. But this? They couldn’t even lift this many people if they’d had the drop on the mercenaries from the start. And they can’t spend the money if they’re dead. No uptight human is hot enough to put up with these circumstances.

Aavya chances a frantic glance over at said Commander, a scant two feet away. 

Shepard is, infuriatingly, completely at ease.

He’s outmanned, in the middle of a four to one gunfight, but he doesn’t even seem alarmed. The human’s wordlessly exchanging a series of completely unintelligible, but emphatic hand signals across the crates. He doesn’t flinch at the gunfire, at the din. 

Garrus Vakarian-

-and that had been a whole realization for Aavya, learning that Alliance posterboy Shepard was willing to work with, even seemed to like, the Archangel-

The turian shrugs good-naturedly, and cocks his rifle. 

Aavya has no damned idea what they just communicated, but apparently a consensus has been reached. 

Shepard brings up his omnitool, deftly enters a command, and turns slightly in Aavya’s direction, those long legs pushing up against their own. He indicates to someplace beyond cover without looking; he knows the layout. His hand is steady, his tone sure.

“Go get ‘em, girl.”

Aavya doesn’t see his drone drop, but they can hear when it does. Human technology has an entirely different sound to anything in the Fleet; feels different, too, every time they try to tinker with it. They can make it work in a pinch, but it gives them a headache. It’s coming from a completely alien perspective, and that shows up from the top down. 

The drone shoots bullets just the same, though. 

The Commander leans over further into Aavya’s space to be heard, and the quarian tries not to notice.

“Stay down,” Shepard orders loudly over his drone’s gunfire and the confused shouting; about to pull away, he pauses, looks to the scorched part of their suit. The Commander frowns, glances up to their face. “You’ll be okay. We’ll get you out of here.”

Before Aavya can even gather themself to respond, he whistles to Vakarian, and they stand up, rifles handled with practiced ease.

It takes a moment for Aavya to notice what they’re doing (they blame it on the suit warnings, and not on Commander Unattainable’s disarming proximity), as the two exit cover, backing up as they move at a continuous and steady pace, and always away from each other. 

Crossfire. 

Shepard and Vakarian are chillingly effective, thorough; like they’ve done this hundreds of times before. Aavya almost can’t bear the nearly mechanical shots: one high caliber bullet expended, the next a beat later. Clockwork. And the drone whirring away thoughtlessly, in the center of it all. 

The quarian dares a glance over their cover, despite his order, and sees…carnage.

Their stomach churns at the ease of it, the methodical efficiency, the gore. It’s the kind of scene  that, if you crossed it going down a familiar alley towards the Afterlife, you’d turn and run. Everyone on Omega knows the most dangerous place to get caught is in the cleanup of a hit. 

One merc is left, jabbering away, understandably, covered in his associates’ blood.

Shepard holsters his rifle, brings up his omnitool as he saunters towards the man. Aavya knows this is the boss they’ve been chasing; the datapad they’d glanced at around Shepard’s shoulder suggested he might have bribed one of Aria’s usual runners. 

Stupid mistake, they think numbly, jaded. She’d kill you for much less.

The panicked turian suddenly brandishes a pistol on Shepard, trying to stop his approach. He knows he’s not going to get away from whatever Aria has planned for him; knows that his meager chance has slipped away into nothing. The house always wins.

The Commander raises his hands calmly, tries to de escalate, seems almost bored by the threat, even after the turian gives a warning shot that whizzes past Shepard’s head, inches from his greying hair.

But Aavya-

It doesn’t even register when their arm raises. 

Bubbling, rippling, overflowing…the dark energy sparking along every nerve, blossoming through every vein, expelled through their very pores and out through their suit. They know the science intellectually, but it’s more than that. Aria had tersely said it was just a tool, when they’d curiously asked her once, how biotics felt to her. They knew she was lying, in her way; to protect them or herself, they didn’t know. 

Pure will, made manifest. 

It makes so many so afraid. 

The mercenary is choking on his terror, suspended in eezo-thick air, gun clattering uselessly to the metal grating at Shepard’s feet.  

Reckless, he could’ve shot anyone. I should’ve stayed down. Why did I-

But they slowly let out the held breath; become aware that their whole body is shaking with adrenaline. They just survived another gunfight. They finished it, even. 

The mercenary is pleading for his life to anyone who will listen. He has pissed himself. It’s grim, and sad. Vakarian keeps his rifle trained on the babbling Blue Sun, but is already picking up the man’s gun, wincing. 

And the Commander-

Shepard’s face is completely impassive.

His red eyes burn straight through Aavya.  

* * *

He takes them off the duty roster, until they give in to his demands to undergo combat training, at his discretion. 

They stare, unbelieving, at the side of his head, but Shepard does not look up from the message terminal. Companies and contacts still seemed to find him, somehow, even after two years dead. 

He’d shown them once, briefly, on their first day on the Normandy, and it seemed completely overwhelming. The man was inundated with threats, thanks, and decades long Alliance reply threads, and he seemingly viewed them all with the same long-suffering acceptance. Aavya wanted to ask why he didn’t just delete his old profiles and start over, but that seemed…personal. 

Command suits him like a glove, even at ease. Hunched over the terminal in a hoodie, dutifully reading messages, yet his profile is still distracting. Miss Chambers certainly seems to be surreptitiously noticing. 

It all only makes Aavya feel more put-upon by the entire farce of a situation. 

“Come on, Commander,” they croon, a final desperate tactic. Don’t keep me locked up on the ship. “We both know I’m an incredible biotic-one of a kind, even-and the sort’ve person it’s always good to have around. You’ve got grunts. You’ve got people who’ll shoot first, ask questions never. And I’m not without my skills; I can be very good in a fight. Give me a chance to work my magic for you.”

They lay their hand on the console just next to his arm. He at least looks down at it, for a long moment, before flicking his eyes up at them…and moving his arm away. 

“I don’t work with people who don’t do as they’re told, vas Nedas,” he replies flatly, returning his attention to the screen.

Aavya flinches involuntarily, pulls their hand back to fold their arms.

Shepard pauses. He doesn’t look over, but they can tell he noticed. Of course he did. 

“...Aavya. I’m telling you this as your captain: I won’t put any member of my crew in a situation they’re not ready for, and your lack of weapons training will get you killed. I won’t allow it. Dismissed.” 

Aavya knows that’s bullshit. They both do. But they also know better than to actively mouth off to the captain of the ship they serve on-their mother would never get over it-so they just mutter an obscenity in Khelish (they swear they see his lips twitch). They ignore the urge to call him on it, and stalk off to their quarters. 

At first, those first two or three days, they pace. They idylly daydream they’ll actually do something to piss him off deliberately. Aavya knows they won’t, of course; they’re too smart to get stupid. They’ve dealt with captains swinging their proverbial dicks around before. Still, it feels good to briefly pretend they’ll be that foolish, with Jack.

(“...we could fry the systems with your tech-”

“Jack. That man would hunt us for sport.”

“Spectre asshole.”

Aavya leans back against the pillar, and sighs. They glance over at the other biotic miserably; she’s looking over at them from beneath a raised forearm, laying on her cot.

They’d connected almost instantly; had vented before about all number of things, including how hot the Commander’s infuriating self-righteous schtick is. 

Jack barks out a rare caw of a laugh, when they curse.)

So, the plan shifts, to align with…actionable reality.

Collect the absurd paycheck; cruise around on this overpriced (beautiful) joyride (maybe even study it); eat the surprisingly decent food; work on their amp project on Cerberus’ dime-

-and continue to eye Ze’ev Shepard balefully, until he blinks first. 

They start making the effort to be in the CIC when the away squad returns. Aavya lays on the charm a little thicker; asks after any fun details of the adventures of their newfound friends.

And they do make friends, in that light casual way that…doesn’t matter at all. They’re liked enough to be reminded of drink nights, or sat with at meals. They haven’t had to be the center of attention in a very long time, but they still remember how to do a version of it, if they really have to. Being drilled on comportment and control as a child…you don’t forget it. Especially from an admiral. 

Mordin broaches the subject, at one point, in his way, maybe a week into their unplanned vacation aboard the Normandy. The doctor means well, and if anyone on the crew had earned their trust, it’d be the man who cured the plague that had ravaged the undercity of Omega, but his curiosity is unwelcome. 

They don’t really have an answer for him; can’t. Not for anyone who’d ask. They won’t get into their past, ever, if they have a say in it. It’s gone, only present in the agony it engenders when they remember it, and the person who experienced it’s loss…well. They weren’t vas Nedas. 

And anyway, it’s not like they’re being completely insincere; it’s just knowing when to be involved, who to talk to. Aavya knows half the battle is just being present in the Commander’s mind, making sure they’re not just another faceless member of the Normandy’s crew. 

They can do that. They’re good at it. They can weave their arm through Kasumi’s, and jokingly steal a dextro-fry off Garrus’ plate, and crack jokes with all of them, and watch Shepard watching them.

But the Commander never initiates, is never drawn into their web. 

They start to notice how deliberate he is with his time, with his crew. That he is always present, and astonishingly attentive to everyone’s details; but does not often engage.

He doesn’t need to be the center of attention. He simply draws everyone into his orbit, whether he tries or not. He’ll be silent, for long stretches, listening intently; when he opens his mouth to speak, everyone stops to hear. 

It makes it very difficult to get under his skin. To win. 

Eventually, they sigh, and lose. Just so they won’t be bored. 

* * *

He sets course for the Citadel, when they finally give in. 

Shepard’s face is completely neutral, and his tone mild, but his eyes hold a glint to them that proclaims victory. Graciously, he says nothing. 

They hate how attractive smugness makes him. Aavya pushes the feeling down, a little alarmed by its ferocity and inconvenience. It’s not like they have anywhere to put it, the man’s practically a monk. And he’s Shepard. 

But…the Citadel? Not human space? They’d done some feverish research into Alliance training to prepare themself (apparently for nothing), trying to calm their nerves.

Aavya’s playing it cool now, while the two of them are waiting on their shuttle outside C-Sec, but they can acknowledge it privately, in their own head: this feels like a big deal. The quarian’s never been alone with their Commander. They’re a little intimidated, and not just because of the actual session they’re about to endure.

He was getting regularly talked about, even in the Terminus, when he died. Made a splash, had all the pirates and corporations nervous. Even buried as they were at the time, in their own problems, Aavya had heard some version of what he’d accomplished. Not every day someone defends the Citadel, hunts the equally notorious Saren Arterius. Saves the day. 

It was all pretty romantic, enough to make them just a hint shy, maybe. Sure, Aavya was certain a lot of it was fake or overexaggerated. But then…he did look so good and right on the recruitment adverts.  

The Alliance knew it, too, they thought cynically. You couldn’t escape his soundclips to al-Jilani for a while. Which is why they would’ve bet on him setting up some awful ramshackle course in a field, on some human backwater for their training. 

When Aavya hesitantly suggested this during decontamination, Shepard looked at them like they’d grown two heads. It was easily the most emotion they’ve ever seen from him, followed closely by his disapproval when they began to laugh. Loudly.

The Spectres have their own office and training grounds. Who knew. 

“You think the Alliance wants anything to do with me?” Shepard points out, glancing over at them as he swings into the cherry red skycar that pulls up. 

Aavya eyes the vehicle appreciatively, before sliding in. The interior alone is worth more than apartments they’ve lived in, though not any recently, not since working with Aria. It’s a little disgusting, and absolutely gorgeous. They supposed it made sense, given his other ride. 

“I’m surprised the Spectres do, if you’re so much trouble,” they hum playfully.

Shepard’s hands fly across the holo-controls. 

“Mm. But the Spectres count on it. They just find it…politically inconvenient, currently.”

Aavya bites their lip, unseen, watching him as he maneuvers the shuttle smoothly between traffic. “So, if you’re so inconvenient…I mean. The Spectres seem more strict than your human military, surely. Why are they letting you waltz right into their office, and use a bunch of their weapons?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t even go to the Alliance. But as for the Spectres…as if I’d let them tell me no.”

Aavya turns, sudden, to watch the flashing lights, the life, of the station flash by. The billions of lives he’d saved, maybe. They’d be thinking about that answer too much, the conviction in his voice, otherwise; turning it over in their head when they had so much else to worry about. The upcoming training, if nothing else.

“So…quality time, alone with the Commander. What will the others think, Shepard?” Aavya teases, a little too brightly, after a beat. May as well have fun. 

Ze’ev snorts. “That you’re a terrible shot.”

“I’m a great shot, when the odds aren’t outlandish.”

The Commander doesn’t answer. Aavya knows he heard them. 

* * *

The sheer number of guns Shepard signs out when they sign into the range is daunting.

Aavya eyes the lineup, as he inspects each one, checks the chamber, and lays it carefully on the long bench. It’s overwhelming. They can’t even use most of these. Their nervousness builds in their chest, makes them fidget. The quiet doesn’t help. 

They’d tried to make conversation, but when he seemed to mostly be listening rather than bantering back, intent on his task, it only made the anxiety build. Seeing all this makes it feel like work, makes them feel out of their depth. It starts to really feel like they’re not supposed to be here, with these people, on this mission.

They don’t need him to make them feel that. He was the reason they’d even taken a chance on this stupid thing, to begin with.

Finally, Shepard seems satisfied. He turns towards them, begins shrugging off his jacket. 

Arms, Aavya thinks dully, dutifully. 

“So, ground rules,” he begins. “One, no biotics.” 

He holds up a hand as if to preemptively curtail an argument that wasn’t coming; when it doesn’t, he tilts his head slightly. 

“...interesting.”

Aavya shrugs, smiling ruefully as though he can see it.  “I know what I’m in for.”

“Do you.” There’s challenge there, in his tone, and the slight lift of a dark eyebrow. 

The quarian sighs, and leans against the bench. They look down at the pistols, the only weapon they have any experience with, and gesture, maybe a little dejectedly. 

“Commander…I’m never going to be good with most of the guns you signed out. I don’t have the years of experience with anything here that you’d need. I’m a great shot-truly, when it counts-but we both know where my primary skills lay. It’s why you took me on.”

They make themself look up at him; it causes something in them to flinch, curl away and in. The unguardedness of his expression, in the ease of his body, in his folded arms. The way his eyes rove over a face they know he can’t see.

“So, yes. I understand ‘no biotics.’ Because that’s not why we’re here. I’d tear this room apart, if it was about my…ability to destroy.” 

They almost can’t say this part-it sticks in their throat-and the next part is harder. They can’t meet his gaze, no matter how hard they try. 

“You know I’m capable. You know I prefer biotics, and talking more. This is about the rules themselves. You can’t stand when I struggle to obey.”

Well, they’re in it, now. Aavya runs a finger along the dark countertop, scuffed with use. They brace.

“I won’t,” he says sharp and sudden, and they flinch. He clears his throat, and his voice is less stern. “Tolerate it. It’s about safety, Aavya.”

Shepard hesitates, weighing something.

“I need to be able to trust you to trust my judgement. That’s what we’re struggling with. I take information, interpret it, and make calls, and if you’re with me, that’s what you agree to, alright?”

Aavya nods, small. They sense, hear, him come close. When he speaks again, it’s…not soft, exactly. But it’s earnest. It cares. 

“You listen, and I keep you safe, and between us, we change things for the better. We will save everyone we can, because…” they see him, in the periphery, gesture between them, “...we move together. I don’t need to look back to make sure you get out alright, because if you’ve listened, I know you’re safe. And I need to know you’ll follow me, no matter where we may go. That’s our deal. That’s what I ask.”

Aavya can’t respond, not with the lump in their throat. It feels like they’re getting a dressing down, but it’s not unkind, and that makes it so much worse. It makes them…angry, and embarrassed, and-

It’s because Shepard really means it. He really believes they can be part of this, that they can accomplish the insane, insurmountable task ahead of his crew. That they’ll be able to get through the uncharted Omega 4 relay, defeat the Collectors, and…ride off into the sunset at the end. They can read it, in every line of him. That’s what he intends to do.

Aavya’s finding that they are upset because…they don’t want to disappoint him. And where the fuck did that come from?

Shepard paces, just slightly, just a little, like he can’t stand still.  There’s an energy between them that is not good, but also isn’t bad. Just-changing, maybe. He continues thoughtfully, almost to himself, like he isn’t tearing into them in ways he can’t possibly know. He has to know.

“What we’re doing…it’s too important for you to introduce doubt, for me. Too many people are counting on the choices I make. There is so much out here that will swallow us whole if I make the bad call. And I can’t know when to let you go as far as you want, out into all of it, without trusting I’ll be able to draw you back in. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

His eyes are intent on them, intense. At some point, Aavya looked up-couldn’t help it-and now they find they can’t look away. He’s…resplendent, with his conviction, his drive. They’ve never seen anything like it, and they’ve seen leaders before. 

They are glad for the mask obscuring their face, for the bench supporting their hip.

Shepard looks down the long road of weaponry he’d had brought out for them. It’s a small army’s worth. 

“I know you can’t use most of these. I wouldn’t ever ask you to,” he agrees, surprisingly gently. “But I’ve been wracking my brain about our problem, our issue. And it occurred to me that the only real way for you to believe me, was if I could demonstrate why I have my job. It’s challenging, trying to…translate my experience to people. There’s not really a way to describe it with words. I’m sure you have much that I’ll never fully understand, too,” he adds quickly, almost in apology. 

“So…yeah. This is the closest I could come up with. Adjust your audio levels,” he adds, the spell broken almost mundanely, like he doesn’t know what he is, as he indicates the protection he’s about to put over his own ears. “And step back…we’ll call it ten feet. Some of these kick.”

Aavya’s eyes go wide, but they do as he orders, somewhat sluggishly. The quarian feels almost exhausted, numb, like they’re fighting off a fever, but their suit’s quiet. They hug their own arms, as he walks to the left and picks up the first rifle. Surely, he can’t mean-

Shepard glances over at them, and taps his ear in a question. Aavya nods, without thinking. The human turns, hits the target button on the underside of the bench, and lets out a long breath.

Everything goes by shockingly fast, but then, he clearly knows what he’s doing. 

It’s rote practice, muscle memory. Calculations and angles he’s had to run so many times that he must feel the weight, the swing of his arm, the way each weapon favours one side or the other when the hammer hits. The guns that spray, he knows how to conserve bullets. The lasers, he knows how to charge. When he gets to the precision weapons, it’s art, it’s textbook, it’s perfect. 

Aavya knows just enough to know they’re standing on the edge of a cliff, and it’s a long way down. They watch as he lifts, shoots, reloads, places back down in almost mechanical motion…at least three dozen times. They lose count. They couldn’t tell you what happened, yet every second is seared into their brain, as though they could experience the entirety of it again in an instant.

When he places down the final rifle, there’s a moment of silence. Shepard doesn’t look at them. 

“...holy shit, Ze’ev,” Aavya breathes. They blanch immediately, but he waves them off. 

“As I said: a demonstration. I’m hoping it helped convey my point.” He finally looks over. “I know what I’m doing, Aavya’Raan.” 

* * *

They practice, legitimately, for some time after. It’s easier, now that they’ve cleared the air. Shepard shares his criticism thoughtfully and his praise sincerely, which helps. Aavya finds they don’t bristle at it, the way they might’ve before. They can tease him again, and he deigns to respond to some of it, and it feels…good. They feel good. Really good.

They feel companionable, now; not again, but for the first time, maybe. He’s easier to be around, when it’s just them. 

The praise is even…well. They’ll deal with it. It’s truly unfair that he’s just-like that.

It’s starting to get on, and Shepard indicates it’s about time to head out, when he stops. He’s looking down the range, and starts adjusting the holo-targets with a furrowed brow. His face pulls only slightly, but it conveys a lot, for the Commander. Shepard shakes his head.

“...this has been bugging me for weeks, it’d drive me crazy if we didn’t try it while we’re here. Test your standard. I’m aware the biotics will always be your go-to, but I wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t look it over. Something’s off.”

Aavya hesitates, but proffers their heavily modified gun. 

Shepard takes it slowly, and stares down at it.

“...alright. I’m starting to understand,” he huffs dryly.

They’re roused to action. “Don’t badmouth my work, Shepard. I’m quarian. You’ll cause an incident.”

He ignores them, inspecting their weapon more thoroughly. “It’s impressive, Aavya. If I wasn’t persona non grata to every law-enforcement agency, I might even feel bad about not caring. It’s astonishingly dangerous. I’m not even sure where you’d find some of these parts.”

Aavya can’t help but preen, just a little bit. “You say the sweetest things.”

Shepard relents, and hands their gun back carefully. He taps his fingers consideringly along the surface of the bench, looking downrange. “...alright, so it’s not the gun. That seems custom to fit your uses. Hm. Try out some of these. It might help us figure out what the discrepancy is that I’m noticing, without having to mess with your actual weapon.”

“Good. You don’t know what I’ve rigged it to do,” Aavya replies archly, picking up the Acolyte and getting into firing stance.

“I can only imagine,” he deadpans. “...ah. Loosen your hips, pay attention to the weight distribution on your feet.”

At their sidelong glance, he sighs.

“People always think it’s the shoulders, but it almost never is. There’s your problem. Wasn’t sure while we were training, but now I think I’ve got it. Admittedly, I don’t know how the Flotilla trains, or the specifics of Quarian anatomy that would influence what they tell you.”

“...I could always answer any questions you might have about ‘Quarian anatomy,’ Shepard,” Aavya teases over their shoulder. “Give you a thorough crash course.”

They can feel him shooting them a look. 

“I’m sure you’d like that,” he replies darkly. “But no. No sex at the gun range. There’s a rule.”

Aavya laughs low, turning to him, firing stance utterly forgotten. “Now, who said anything about sex, Shepard? I think you’re-wait. You’re joking?”

Damn their curiosity. Shepard actually chuckles, his flash of teeth doing all sorts of pleasant things to them. Damn, damn, damn.

“If you actually put the work in and we fix your stance so I won’t need to worry about it, I’ll even set you up to ask the poor guy at the desk about it.”

Aavya dutifully turns back to the targets, and thinks, carefully trying to follow his advice. Shepard being a little mean? This they’ve gotta see, they’ll earn it. 

“Promise?” they hum playfully, sighting down scope.

They jump slightly when his hands alight at their hips, correcting just a little. Aavya shivers, and Shepard goes very still behind them. The moment hangs between them, heavy. They hear him breathe out, and they could swear it’s off.

Ze’ev steps back. 

“Promise,” the Commander teases lightly.

[stellamancer]

2.6k words of absolute ridiculousness. contains essence of selfship coding. inspired by and takes place in @nagumoan's hsr office au so thanks goes to loni for letting me play in her sandbox!! i apparently love office aus. i was originally writing something different but uh. idk how this happened. proofread to the best of my ability.

There are many evils in this world and, for you, public speaking is one of them. Always has and always will be, but despite that, here you are, about to speak to a sizable group of people. You know well enough that this is just a part of your job, but it doesn't make it any less agonizing.

"Well then," Aglaea urges you and her normally soothing tone sounds more like a death march right now. "Go on."

She gives you what you assume is supposed to be a reassuring smile, but it doesn't help. It must be nice being her; not only is Aglaea good at this sort of thing, she's already presented— went first even.

Since Aglaea's no help you look past her at Blade in the futile hope that he might be able to save you, but he merely gives you an impassive stare before saying, "…it'll be over soon enough."

Should have known better.

As much as you love your coworkers you know full that they can't help you, can't fight your battles, and they certainly can't do your presentation for you. But, Blade is right, it'll be over soon enough— you just need to start.

With that in mind, you take a deep breath before standing up, gripping the folder in your hands like a lifeline. Shakily, you pull out a stack of papers and walk the room, offering a handout to everyone who's decided to attend the meeting. Obviously, there are your fellow members of the product design and development department, and naturally a few people from sales and marketing, and—

You stop short.

Sitting in the very back corner of the room is none other than the HR department's very own Mr. Sunday, legs crossed, notebook on his lap and—

Oh god.

You're not sure what's worse— the fact that Mr. Sunday is here right now or the fact that you can very plainly see an annotated drawing of the dildo prototype that Blade just showed off to everyone present.

He holds out his hand expectantly, offering you that pleasant yet chilling smile he always has in exchange for the handout you've been giving out. After a split second of careful consideration, you decide that Mr. Sunday's presence is much worse than the contents of his notebook; it's only natural to take notes at a pitch session after all.

You nearly crumple the sheet as you shove it into his hand before you spin around to make your way back to the front of the room. Why is Mr. Sunday even here of all places? You know that anyone in the company is allowed to sit in on pitch sessions, including anyone in the HR department, but as far as you're aware, Mr. Sunday has never come to one. Not only do you think that, as head of HR, he would be too busy to attend, but you can't imagine he has any reason to unless—

You nearly trip as the realization that he might be here to keep an eye on you dawns on you. There's no way, right? That would be ridiculous. Sure, you'd earned a spot on his watchlist, but everything you've done pales in comparison to what you've heard about Sampo in sales. You remember seeing him here too, so maybe he's the one Mr. Sunday's keeping an eye on. That has to be it, you tell yourself, if for no other reason than your own sanity's sake; you're only mentally equipped to deal with either this presentation or Mr. Sunday's scrutiny, not both.

When you get to the podium, you choose which problem to deal with and banish all thoughts of Mr. Sunday from your mind. Unfortunately, that does very little to dispel your unease because as you turn to face the crowd you remember, all over again, how you are not made for this sort of thing. You clear your throat and say, in an unintentionally squeaky voice. "Um… good morning everyone!"

If anything, the chorus of good mornings that echoes back at you is mildly comforting.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Aglaea give you a soft smile and next to her Blade nods, both of them encouraging you in their own way. You take a deep breath and continue. "So, the product I'm pitching today is called, um… nipple nibbler."

There's a quiet snicker somewhere in the room and you try to ignore the instinctive reaction of feeling like you're the one they're laughing at and not the product name. You swallow your self-doubt down and give everyone a sheepish smile as you add. "The name's still a work in progress.

"That said, the current name does an effective job of conveying the product's intended use. It's meant to—" you pause and glance down at your notes, "—be applied to your partner's skin, be it their… nipples or any other part of the body (excluding the vaginal area) and essentially licked off. It's similar to food play, though this product has been made with intimate scenarios in mind."

You look at the crowd to gauge their reaction and the fact that they seem amenable so far makes you sigh in relief. "Truthfully, since the product is this fairly straightforward, that's all I really have to say, so if anyone has any questions, I'll do my best to answer them."

Though you hope that no one has any questions.

To your dismay, a hand rises and it's March 7th, the marketing intern. "I was wondering, how exactly is…. nipple nibbler applied to someone's body?"

You flinch. That information is on the hand out you've given everyone, but it's something you should have probably explained yourself. "It's applied directly to one's body using your hands like a topical."

"Oh! I see!" She nods, seemingly satisfied with that answer.

"Any others?"

To your horror, not only does someone else have a question, but it's Mr. Sunday, of all people. Your anxiety shoots through the roof once more and you wish you could ignore him, but you can't. "…yes, Mr. Sunday?"

There's a quiet murmur of surprise throughout the room and it's obvious you're not the only one that's surprised that he's here. He stands and eyes the crowd, silencing everyone who has turned back to look at him instantly, then he turns his attention to you and asks, with that trademark smile of his, "I have a follow up to the previous question; is there a particular reason why you chose for this product to be applied by hand and not with some sort of applicator?"

"Packaging costs," you say automatically and while you wonder if perhaps you shouldn't have been so candid, it is something that needs to be considered if the company chooses to go forward with production. "For the most part anyway. I think there is probably some appeal in using one's hands."

Though, you suppose, for someone like Mr. Sunday, who is known to be a bit of a germaphobe, there is no such appeal.

"But, if the product is popular enough, we can look into investing in alternative packaging that's less hands on." You grab a pen that's sitting on the podium to jot down a note about looking into applicator options. "Any other questions?"

One more hand goes up; this time it's Sampo from sales.

"Yes?"

He gives you a smile and there's something about it that seems… odd, but then again he's an odd kind of guy. Reminds you of a used car salesman and you're not sure if that's a good or bad thing for someone in his department. "Do you happen to have any samples?"

"Oh." You take a second to process the question. "Oh, yes— yes, I do! They're not very big but, I do have some. Just come ask me when the session is over."

"Okay, sounds good~" he says, seemingly positively thrilled. You try not to give too much thought as to why.

You wait to see if anyone else has any questions, but when no one raises their hands you take that to mean that you're just about done. Excited to finally be done, you thank everyone, give a small bow and scurry as fast as you can back to your seat.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Aglaea whispers to you as the next person moves to take your place at the podium.

"I guess…" It could have been worse, though you realize that you should have been much, much more prepared. If anything, this will serve as a lesson for next time. You make another note under the one about the applicators about being more thorough with product descriptions next time.

The rest of the presentations proceed smoothly, with a couple of people from R&D pitching a few ideas too. Of those, the most notable is Anaxagoras' lubricant which sparks a borderline argument with Aglaea that Mr. Sunday is forced to intervene on.

Once everyone is done and the session is officially over, a few of the attendees make a beeline for you, looking to obtain samples of your nipple nibbler. In addition to what you think is a good chunk of the sales team, both Ruan Mei and March 7th ask for some as well. As you hand out the samples, you get the distinct feeling that you're being watched and when you look around, you lock eyes with Mr. Sunday.

The bubblegum flavored nipple nibbler sample nearly slips from your fingers as your entire hand goes still. You can't begin to fathom why he might be staring at you. Quickly, you duck your head and and try to see if there's anything or anyone behind you he might be looking at instead.

There is none.

So, then why? You don't get it.

"Thanks for the sample!"

It's like a lightbulb goes off in your head. Could it be that he wants a sample too? But then if that were the case, wouldn't he just come over and—

Mr. Sunday's question echoes in your head. Right. It makes sense that the lack of an applicator would keep Mr. Sunday from trying a product, even if he wanted to. Even if he makes you nervous, you'd like to give him a chance to try the product if he wants to.

As if on instinct, your brain starts to spew out ideas for Mr. Sunday friendly packaging alternatives. It almost feels as if your fingers are itching to get back to your desk to look into the possibilities because surely there's one that can appease someone like him.

It's not uncommon for Sunday's office to receive visitors; as head of HR, one of his many job duties is to lend an ear to the company's employees and help them resolve any issues that he can. While he would prefer that people tell him ahead of time if they'll be stopping in, there's still a fair number of people who will drop by unannounced.

Like right now.

If anything, though, this visitor has the courtesy to knock before just walking in.

"Yes?" Sunday answers, looking up from his computer.

The visitor slowly pokes their head out from one side of the door frame and Sunday recognizes you instantly (though he's proud to say that he's memorized everyone's name and face by this point). As usual, when you're in Sunday's presence, your expression is hesitant and unsure. "…do you have a moment, Mr. Sunday?"

This is a surprise. Sunday doesn't think you've ever come to his office of your own volition before; your visits have always been summons to address your attendance issues. You've since remedied your truant behaviors, but he's been keeping an eye on you to make sure you don't relapse. "Of course, how might I be of service?"

"Um…" You slowly walk into the office and your visage makes Sunday feel as if he's watching a fawn walk into a lion's den.

He motions to the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. "You're welcome to sit if you'd like."

"I-it's fine, this won't take long." You reach into your pocket and pull out a clear plastic zipper bag that contains a single plastic tube that resembles chapstick. Carefully, you place it on Sunday's desk before elaborating. "So I thought about what you asked at the pitch session the other day and came up with this. The nipple nibbler's consistency is a little softer than regular lip balm, but it's still solid enough that you can use this twist tube rather than your fingers."

By the end of your explanation, your features have relaxed a little and you give Sunday a small smile.

"O-oh. I see." It's clear that you're quite pleased with how you've decided to address the question he'd posed during your presentation. Truthfully, he had been merely voicing a thought that he believed consumers would have, but Sunday gets the impression that you believed that he had a personal interest in the product. After all, why else would you come here? Still, as HR he should be congratulating you for this accomplishment. "It's rather fortunate that you've come up with something so quickly. Am I correct to assume this applicator has roughly the same production cost as your previous prototype?"

You blink at Sunday, your expression growing oddly blank. "…yeah, it's about the same."

The disappearance of your shy enthusiasm only confirms Sunday's suspicions. While he doesn't quite know why you thought he he was interested in the product, your reaction makes him feel like he's failed you in some way.

"Anyway!" Your voice is an octave higher, the chipper tone obviously forced. "I just thought I would come tell you, Mr. Sunday. I'm sorry if I interrupted anything."

Hurriedly, you grab the new sample that you clearly meant to offer Sunday from his desk and start to rush from the room but before you make it out the door he manages to call out to you, "Wait."

Your entire body stills and slowly you turn back toward him. Sunday holds your gaze for a moment before he holds out his hand. You stare down at it before looking back at him.

"I don't mind if you leave that sample with me," he tells you.

You look away, "It's okay, Mr. Sunday, you don't need to feel obligated to take it if you don't want it."

"Nonsense," Sunday argues. "It would be rude of me to not accept since you came all this way to bring it."

Hesitantly, you turn back toward Sunday and, for once, he has trouble trying to figure out what you might be thinking. There are too many thoughts on your face to discern just one alone. Finally, you settle on one: hope. "Are you sure?"

"Of course."

You seem to search his face, evaluating his answer before you move back to his desk and place the bag back on it. "…If you use it, would you mind with giving me feedback?"

He smiles at you. "Naturally, though, I cannot tell you when exactly that will be."

You nod, and Sunday isn't quite sure what to make of the lack of surprise on your face. Now that you've accomplished what you've come here for, you move to leave the office again. It's not quite 5PM yet so Sunday can only assume you're going to return to your department, but…

"Before you go, may I ask one thing?"

You pause once more and glance back at Sunday, tilting your head in an odd way.

"…What flavor is it?" He'd heard from the other employees who had sampled the product mention a variety of flavors, most of which seem to be fruit inspired.

Sunday watches as your expression slowly morphs from a blank slate to sheer embarrassment. You avert your eyes as you answer in a quiet voice. "…caramel pudding."

A beat passes, then you add, your voice barely audible, "…because I heard you like it."

why is it that long. it shouldn't be that long i don't understand. if you read to the end, thank you, you're a real one.

[miniscule-meow]

Isabell and the Lads (17)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~2.9k Warnings: angst, swears First Part | Last Part | Next Part (eventually)

It has only been two days since her… incident with Marcus, but Zeke seemed to pick up on the disconnect instantly. He came home after class that day, and it was like he could smell that something was wrong. He’s regarded her cautiously ever since, but he hasn’t said anything about it. His gaze has just lingered between her and Marcus, his brow knitting together as if he’s trying to silently solve a puzzle. To their credit, the humans seemed to realize that she needed some space, and they didn’t push the issue. Marcus has hardly even looked at her since that day, and he absolutely refuses to hold her.

Frustratingly, she has mixed feelings about the whole ordeal. She doesn’t know why part of her twists uncomfortably when Marcus pointedly avoids her. Getting a human to leave her alone should be a major victory. There’s just something so bittersweet about the whole thing, she can’t figure it out. It can’t be that she likes these humans. Tolerating them is one thing, but actually liking them? Looking forward to spending time with them? Craving the warmth of being held- No. That’s not it. The fact that she’s even considering it makes her insides cringe with the sense of her own betrayal. She doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t plan on getting attached. As soon as she’s able to, she’s going right back home and all the entrances to this apartment are getting her signature big black ‘X’ across them.

That day can’t be too far off. Her leg has been slowly getting better now that the stitches are out, but she’s still stuck here for the time being.

She’s been taking stock of everything that she has and everything that she needs to get together in preparation for the journey back home. She wants to bring as much as she can carry back with her, so that when she gets home, she can finally have a respite from humans before having to turn around and go borrowing again. And since she’s in a position nowadays where she has humans just willing to bring her whatever she wants, it would be foolish not to get what she needs. It’s just a matter of figuring out how to gather supplies without them figuring out what she’s doing. If they suspect that she’s getting ready to leave… They’ve been nice so far; she’s just not convinced that they’ll let her go so easily. She can easily imagine what they might say:

Why don’t you just stay a little longer?

Do you really have to go? You’d be much safer here anyway.

 Of course, we think of you as a roommate, you just can’t leave.

Just let me take care of you.

Absolutely not. They’ve been nice enough, far nicer than she could have imagined, even despite the bumps along the way. But she’s not going to let herself become some little pet for them to keep. She just has to wait a little while longer, just until she’s ready.

The movement around her snags her attention, pulling her away from her planning. She’s out on the kitchen counter, Zeke had suggested they all watch a movie together. Marcus had tried to get out of it, but it’s growing apparent that both of them have a hard time saying no to one another. Hopefully, they can all just watch the movie, and things will smooth over on their own. Zeke is the sort of person who just seems to be able to fix things. It might be a lot of pressure to put on him, but to her, that’s what he does. He must have a plan, so she’s confident that things will be fine.

“Why don’t you two go pick out a movie?” Zeke suggests. He steps aside to let Marcus scoop her up and whisk her off into the living room. Judging from his previous track record, he should have leapt at the chance to hold her. Instead, he gives a noncommittal hum.

“You go ahead, I always pick. I’ll just make popcorn this time,” Marcus responds quickly. His words are so nonchalant, one might think that nothing was wrong, but it’s his quick movement across the room that betrays him. It’s as if he’s putting as much distance between them as the kitchen will allow. He’s not a very good liar, she observes. She shares a look with Zeke, both of them clocking the oddity of his actions before she just shrugs.

“Okay,” Zeke says finally, freezing Marcus in his tracks. “Would someone like to tell me what happened?” He leans against the counter in front of her, “Isabell?” he prompts.

“It’s really not a big deal, you don’t need to be upset or anything,” she responds simply.

“I’m not upset, I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on. You two have been weird the past couple days.”  She looks away, unwilling to respond. He blinks down at her slowly before turning his gaze over to his roommate. “Alright. Marcus?”

For a moment, Marcus remains silent, leveling his own stubborn gaze to meet Zeke’s. She can’t see the look he’s giving but she can see his jaw flex. Even from her extreme angle she knows, he’s displeased. Eventually, Marcus succumbs to his measured stare.

“I hurt her,” he says fiercely, “that’s what happened.”

Slowly, Zeke’s eyes drift down to find her again. As they do, the atmosphere in the room freezes. She avoids his gaze while he inspects her. She can’t even begin to chisel through the wall concealing his thoughts. Perhaps he’s wondering why she didn’t tell him sooner. Perhaps he’s just checking to see how hurt she might be. Maybe he’s just irritated by the tension that’s been sparking between them for the past few days and that’s all.

She can’t help but feel as though he wants something from her. She just shakes her head, unable to find any words that might satisfy him. His eyes narrow in response.

“Like, visibly? Or…” He turns back to Marcus, prodding for more information.

“Yes, Zeke,” his voice is clipped with irritation. “She’s bruised all over, and then I freaked her out so bad that she tried to jump out of my hands. I yelled at her when I caught her, so I probably traumatized her too. It wasn’t cute.”

Zeke’s stare finds her again. There is a dangerous intensity in his eyes now, and all of it is focused on her. She wants to tell him that it’s okay, everything is okay. It doesn’t even hurt, and she knows he didn’t mean to do it. But the nerves sparking through her make it impossible for her to speak. Not while he’s looking at her like that. She’s seen Zeke look at Marcus like this before, and she swore that if she was ever the focus of his ire that she would simply disintegrate on the spot. Now that she’s finally found herself on the receiving end, she can confirm it is every bit as uncomfortable as she imagined it to be. Her mind is static, her tongue is ash, and her lungs feel as though they have filled with water.

“May I see?” He leans towards her, keeping his voice even with notable effort.

Isabell knows that Zeke won’t respond the same way Marcus had, grabbing her and taking a look for himself. Or at least, she thinks she knows. That small seed of doubt is enough to confirm for her that it’s not a risk she is willing to take right now.

She knows how he got when he saw her bruise from before, the one that had convinced her that she had a broken rib. That one wasn’t even caused by one of the lads, and yet the way he stilled around her… the way he held his breath as his eyes took in every sallow green and blossoming purple that had printed itself against her side…. his rugged voice whispering, ‘is that from me?’ That bruise has since faded, and she would be almost back to normal if it wasn’t for the small smattering of purples and blues that have replaced it. She’s certain she just bruises easily. Marcus hasn’t been that reckless with her. Besides, she spoke to him about it already. She can fight her own battles, even if they’re against humans. Sure, the conversation was a disaster, but admittedly it had results. You can’t bruise someone if you refuse to even look in their direction.

She shakes her head insistently, gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turn white. It’s fine, she wants to insist, but her throat constricts, refusing to let her generate any sound. Zeke studies her for a moment, long enough for her to fear that he’ll override her choice, and he’ll make her show him the bruises after all. Instead, he eventually breathes a small sigh.

“Okay,” his massive fingers drum against the countertop in front of her. “Marcus,” He finally turns his attention back to his roommate, his tone is deeply disappointed.

“I don’t need a lecture from you, alright?” Marcus snaps back, “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve told you to be careful, I keep telling you to—”

“I know, Zeke. I know!” Marcus interjects, growing louder. Zeke doesn’t yield, his own voice raising to match him. Isabell’s hands clamp over her ears quickly. Zeke is always so collected, part of her didn’t think it was even possible for him to raise his voice. She was wrong.

“You don’t listen! She is the size of one of your fingers. Seriously, can you imagine how terrifying that must be for her? She’s already putting so much trust in us, you can’t—”

“I know!” Marcus repeats himself, finally fully shouting. “Step off! You’re being overbearing.”

“Over—” Zeke echoes with a sputter, visibly taken aback by this.

“Yes! You’re overbearing and you’re controlling. I know I fucked up, but at least I treat her like she’s another person.”

“Excuse me?” Zeke hisses the words, and the air feels like it’s been sucked from the room.

“You hover over her like she’s going to break if you look at her the wrong way,” Marcus presses on, apparently not at all concerned that he’s winding Zeke tighter than a spring.

“First of all—”

“Like, she’s an adult, dude. She’s survived this long on her own, do you think she needs you?”

“No. No, you don’t get to do that. This isn’t about me! You hurt her. You can’t just—”

“I know! I feel awful. She told me I was hurting her; I’m trying to be better. She doesn’t need you cooing over her all the time like a mother hen.”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do.” Marcus plows on, hardly letting Zeke get a word in edgewise. “Yes, you do! What do you think you’re doing right fucking now?”

Their voices continue to overlap. Marcus punctuates his words by talking with his hands, slamming things around. Zeke remains anchored to the counter, his hand balled into a tight fist.

And then there’s Isabell. Stuck, as is becoming the pattern lately. She’s stuck right in the middle of this shouting match the humans are having about her. They’re fighting about her like she isn’t even here. She feels so bottled up, she finally just bursts.

“Stop it!” She shouts, maybe louder than she ever has before in her entire life. It has to be fruitless. How could a little borrower possibly cut in on a fight between humans? But to her surprise, they both stop. Right in the middle of their sentences, they just freeze. Zeke jolts, his hand that was resting nearby on the counter jerks away, as if she’s burned him. “You are fighting over me like I’m a toy! Just stop,” breathing heavily, her voice already feels raw. She was not made to be loud.

A muscle twitches in Zeke’s cheek as his jaw clenches. His sharp eyes bore into her now. He throws a glance back to Marcus, then with a breath, his expression smooths. His shoulders straighten, and it’s like a wall slides evenly in place over his feelings.

“I’m going to take a walk,” he grumbles coldly. She feels like she just watched him pack all of his stray emotions into a tidy little box. Before anyone can stop him, he’s gone, slamming the front door behind him.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Marcus breathes a heavy sigh in response. Then, the room settles into a thick silence.

“Marcus?” She calls out to him tentatively. Part of her expects him to storm off too, leaving her forgotten on the counter.

“What.” His response is sharp and dry.

“I just- I’m- I didn’t mean to—”

“Isabell, I swear if you fucking apologize to me right now—” he cuts himself off. Obviously on a jittery high from his fight with Zeke, he pushes his blonde curls back away from his face.

“Can you- Can you just let me get through what I have to say? Please?” There is a quiet desperation that leaches into her voice. If Marcus starts yelling at her too… Having humans yell over her is bad enough, she doesn’t want him yelling at her. Not again. He just nods, clamping his jaw shut and crossing his arms. She takes a deep breath, hoping she can actually manage to say everything she needs to. “I got scared, and I overreacted,” it’s a good start. Maybe most of her life could be described that way. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but I’m sorry. I am.” Now that she’s begun sorting through the words that have been jumbling around in her brain the past few days, they just keep coming.

“I mean, it’s hard. I’m afraid of humans. Obviously. I always have been, and for good reasons. But I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of either of you, really. Not anymore at least. It’s just weird, because I keep feeling like something bad is going to happen. Like something really bad, worse than a fight or a couple of bruises, but it just never happens. You and Zeke, you literally saved my life. It’s not fair to you that I just keep expecting you to do something to hurt me. Logically, at this point, I know you’re safe. It’s just that I’m fighting every instinct I have to even just talk to you. Sometimes it just takes my brain to catch up with me, to go from, ‘Danger! This is a human!’ To, ‘Oh, this is one of my humans, it’s okay.’ I didn’t mean to make anyone upset. I didn’t want to start a fight. I’m sorry. Can we just be okay now? Please?” She didn’t mean to say that much, but it feels good to finally get some of that off her chest.

The enormity of what she said catches up to her like a freight train.

My humans.

She looks up at him, wondering if he noticed. Marcus is finally, finally, looking at her. His eyes are misty, and his lips are pulled into a wobbly smile. One thing she’s grown to appreciate about him is that you can always tell exactly what he’s thinking when you look at him. He blinks, and two tears roll down his cheeks, with more soon to follow. He definitely noticed.

Wordlessly, he offers her a trembling palm. She climbs into his hand without hesitation, hugging his fingers tightly. He pulls her right up to his face, holding her against his damp cheek.

“Bleh! Don’t cry on me!” She laughs, halfheartedly pushing against him. He turns his face, nuzzling his nose right into her middle.

“Sorry, sorry,” the world trembles around her as he laughs and as he cries. He moves her down to his chest, holding her close.

“Are you okay?” She rubs his thumb comfortingly. The irony of someone so small like her being able to offer any comfort to someone as big as him is not lost on her.

“Me?” He says with a laugh, though it’s followed by a small sniffle. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m pretty tough.”

“And Zeke?” She asks cautiously, “I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“He’ll cool off eventually,”

“You really know how to push his buttons, huh?”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” he takes her over to the living room as he speaks, reclining back on the couch. “Zeke and I pretty much grew up together.” As he shifts, she goes from sitting in his hand to laying against his chest with his hand just resting around her comfortably. She settles into him, it’s like the bubble of fear that had been clinging to her has just suddenly popped.

Thinking about Marcus and Zeke growing up together makes her think about her brother. Her heart squeezes in her chest, leaving behind a hollow ache. If he could see her now… He’d have some strong words for her, that’s for sure. She really hates how big this world is, how she’s too small to fit in properly, how it’s separated her from the people that she loves, and how unlikely it is that they’ll ever find each other again. But right now, with Marcus’ warmth surrounding her, it doesn’t seem so bad.

She realizes that she might be incredibly touch-starved. Before all this, when was the last time she spoke to anyone else? Never mind the last time she hugged anybody. She has grown so accustomed to being completely alone that she hadn’t realized that this was something she was lacking. Of course, now that she knows, her resolve to escape back to the walls slips from her grasp, just ever so slightly. Enough for new, dangerous questions to creep at the edge of her mind.

Can she really go back to living all alone?

What have these humans done to her.

[fleurhcss]

Hii, so I saw you take requests soo I guess here is one🫶🏻: lee know x fem reader who is a roommate of a former/or still employed coworker from jyp (like make ip artist or stylist) and the friend is still in touch with skz and they are really good friends still and reader gets to meet Minho and rest and Minho is like really enchanted (not that obvious, but visible to the members) and wants to know more about reader. Idk they hang out as a group a few times and he is like trying to leave hints that he likes her but she doesn‘t get it and is oblivious (even though she totally has a crush on him too…which he knows) so he gets like frustrated and asks her out eventually after a group activity and she is like…mE?! You could ask everyone and you ask ME?? Hahahah idk and then it‘s like a cute date or something…

Well I hope this sounds great, if not that is fine too, thanks for taking req and have a wonderful dayyy💕

♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ 🤎 HONEY SATURDAY NIGHT - Minho Imagine !

Your best friend and roommate was a sunny and friendly person, unlike you, and managed to maintain a firm friendship for years. It was amazing how she didn't care how long she hadn't seen a person, especially one she didn't like, she still managed to sneak into everyone's heart and make them love her, you were incredulous to see how many people she knew and asked out to dinner. You hadn't had that many friends since kindergarten, so much so that your only friend now was actually your flatmate, who was working and older than you while you were still a college student. You used to go out together in your spare time and watch her stop every ten steps and talk to everyone - hallucinating.

You could somehow understand her, as she had worked for many years at one of the biggest music companies: JYP Entertainment. And it was quite unexpected when one day you found her at the foot of your bed begging you to go to a group gathering with her. As fate would have it, it was with one of the most famous and successful bands: Stray Kids. You knew the band well - who didn't? Heejin had been their stylist and hairdresser for years, apparently enough to form a nice friendship bond that she wanted to pull you into. But she was well aware of your interactions on a social level. And you didn't want new friends, even if they were eight Adonis. Too bad no one could really resist Heejin. "Please, Y/N, I haven't seen them for a long time, they were so nice to ask me to come and invite a friend of mine because they were afraid I would feel uncomfortable since they are all male," she said with folded hands, begging you for the umpteenth time. "But look at you, how considerable! Too bad I don't care, and besides, if there are two of us, it won't change much," you told her, throwing a pillow at her.

"I'll buy you the latest Vivienne Westwood that you like so much if you go out with us." But unfortunately, as you had said, it was impossible to say no. Especially to a proposal like that, especially when you collected fashion items and your favourite was Vivienne herself. And so you had found yourself that Wednesday night preparing for this night out. Heejin had checked your wardrobe because, according to her, you had to be perfect in the eyes of the boys. You wondered why, especially since your best friend seemed to be planning a combo date. You looked like one of those debutantes who had to make a good impression on her way into society. She had bought you a little white St Gallen lace dress with balloon sleeves, paired with Camperos boots and a black leather jacket, and carried your usual handbag.

Standing in front of what looked like eight Adonis, you were struck by how much better they looked in person. But one in particular was particularly attractive and interesting in your eyes, even if he was very taciturn compared to the others - yes, these guys were always fooling around. What you did not know was that this same man was so enchanted by your beauty that he had to have his companions call out to him several times because he was staring at you too much. Strangely enough, you hadn't even tried too hard to interact with them, they had made you feel comfortable right away, and their sweetness towards you was endless, so much so that you struck up a friendship with Seungmin and Felix right away - the two of them were a strange duo, so sweet but almost devilish, especially Seungmin, who was always throwing strange spicy mixtures at Chan that he almost had to be beaten. What you did expect, however, was to become Minho's favourite prey. The way his friends described him, he was a real devil with feline features - more like a panther than a cat.

All this in an evening that lasted eight hours.

What you didn't expect was that you wouldn't go out with them several times and get on well with them, but that you would fall in love with Lee Minho. Yes, because after going out with them so many times in the last two months, you had become quite interested in the grey-haired guy and destiny wanted you to be his favourite prey. You were very close and he took every opportunity to tease you. Maybe that was what made you crazy about him. Not knowing that it was totally reciprocated from day one. Minho had a crush on you. Seriously - maybe you were a bit stupid - but you didn't take any of the hints he left you every time you went out with your friends. And he would say things about it, take advantage of every situation to sign with you, and you were the only one who didn't get it at all. He, on the other hand, was so curious that he always found a way to find out something new about you.

"Please Hyung invite her out, I can't stand all this tension every time we go out," Jeongin complained with a pout on his face. Minho laughed. "Seriously, how could she not see that you have a crush on her? Hannie figured it out too," Hyunjin said, clutching the arm of his best friend who made a fake offended face - he knew it was the truth. "Everything has its time guys, I want to tease her some more," the boy said, earning a dirty look from the rest of the group. On the other side, you lay despondently on your bed with your best friend, who was now tired of hearing your complaints about him. "But why don't you stop feeling sorry for yourself and just tell him that you like him like normal people do," Heejin said to you. But you were not normal and you were too afraid of the rejection that was so obvious in your eyes. "I'd ruin our friendship and therefore the group," you said, sinking your head into the pillow.

"I don't give a shit, I can't bear to see you in a state of self-pity. You're pathetic. And move that ass, we have to go out with the boys tonight" from bad to worse, you thought. Too bad you hadn't imagined that tonight, because of a stupid game suggested by Felix - who did everything in his power to get you and Minho together - you would find yourself locked in a room with Minho himself staring at you with his mega-brown eyes. "So, your idea is to keep silent and stare at me, or?" he asked you, making himself comfortable on the bed. You frowned at him and flanked him on the bed. Maybe Heejin was right and you needed to talk to him, this was a good opportunity. "Listen, I need to tell you something," you started and got his attention. He had his usual grin on his face, that slapping expression.

"Me too, will you go out with me?" her brain went into overdrive. What had he just said? You almost couldn't believe your ears. Was it a joke? It had to be. "So?" he asked again, expecting an answer. "Are you serious? I mean, you want to ask me out, just the two of us - a date?" you asked, still in shock. "Do you see anyone else in this room by any chance?" he asked in his usual sarcastic tone. "Really?" you asked again. "Really, Y/N," he said, giving you a shove. "Sure...I just wanted to tell you that...in short, I like you," you lowered your head. He raised it with his forefinger, then planted his lips on yours in a kiss that made your head spin. "Finally, I thought you'd never tell me," he chuckled. "What? You knew?" you asked in shock - what a fool you had been. "Yes, I just thought you'd be more awake, that you wouldn't notice my signals," she laughed, "Oh come on, was he teasing you? "Signals?" "Yes, signals, I've liked you for two months."

You really had been an idiot.

Your crush had always been sending you signals and you hadn't been able to pick them up - who knows how long you would have been together if you had... .... Now it's time to redeem yourself. At least as much as you can. "Ah, um. Well, you know, I'm looking forward to going out with you," you said shyly to your boyfriend? You still didn't know what you were. "Perfect, that's pretty much reciprocated. I'll pick you up on Saturday and we'll go camping for our first official date. Make sure you bring everything. I'll be there around ten in the morning. And to clarify your thoughts I have read so far...yes, you are my girlfriend now," he said, stealing another kiss from you and then sneering back at your friends. When Heejin saw you he knew immediately what had just happened and you laughed heartily.

The evening, like the week, flew by and you and Minho were in his sports car, ready to go camping. His hand was caressing your bare thigh and your mind was flickering all over the place. He was singing along to the songs on the radio and you just looked at him and smiled, thinking how lucky you were to have a man like that by your side. Who wouldn't want a Lee Minho to be their boyfriend - this boy was a dream on earth. When he turned to look at you, you always blushed like an idiot because he would catch you, but it was impossible not to, given the look he gave you every time. When you arrived at the campsite you smiled like a fool, you looked like you were on your honeymoon. He took you like a bride and carried you inside, into the bedroom of your tent. You pulled him to you, kissed him gently and nibbled on his lower lip, which turned cherry red each time.

"Princess, I have to get the things in the car, the food is in there too, you don't want it to go bad, do you?" he tickled you and then walked away to arrange your things in the tent, as if he was used to all this, and from there your mind began to wander a little too much. You imagined what he was like as a husband, surely perfect as he cooked for you or entertained your children. At that thought you couldn't help but smile and think what it would be like to make love to him day and night, to feel him close to your body - skin against skin, cold against heat. "You know I love coming here, I always come here when I want to be alone and I'm too stressed. But today I'm sharing it with you, because you're my favourite person," he chuckled, hugging you, throwing himself on top of you. "More than Jisung?" you giggled, knowing what a soft spot Minho had for that little squirrel - after all, everyone had a soft spot for Jisung, that guy was sweetness personified as well as being extremely adorable. "I should think about it," he said laughing, and you pretended to be offended and threw a pillow over him, straddling him and filling him with kisses.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" he smiled, then began to kiss your neck slowly, but there was no malice in it. "Never as much as you, mister," you smiled, ruffling his hair - Minho was gorgeous, you could feel the warmth emanating from his body as it clung to yours in a gentle embrace. You had never been good at relationships, nor had you had ideal partners, but it was as if all the forces of nature had been concentrated to give you Minho. The boy had just the right amount of sweetness, sympathy and kindness, and you could go on like that for a long time. The only thing that was serious and overwhelming about him was his beauty, Minho seemed to have been sculpted by the gods.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, waking you from the trance-like state you had fallen into. "I was thinking about you, I'm wondering if this isn't all a dream, ready to disappear when I open my eyes," you confided, seeing him staring at you as if thinking about something. "I have a way of letting you know it's real, sit down and wait for me here," he told you, disappearing from the tent and returning with a small bag. "Open it, it's for you," he said as he stood next to you. You opened the bag and then your smile widened as the gift appeared before your eyes, you looked at it almost in disbelief. "It's the same as my bracelet, I wanted to give you something special that we could share together," he smiled, you were almost speechless and motioned for him to help you put on a small necklace with a blue pendant, it was a lapis lazuli. "It's wonderful!" you cried and then catapulted yourself onto him and began to plant sweet kisses on his lips.

Kisses that became deeper, more mischievous. You wanted to make love to him all day long.

This did not displease the older man, who worshipped your body by filling it with kisses and caresses, you only stopped to eat and to feel Minho's hands on your naked skin had driven you as crazy as your hands on his chest had driven him crazy. It was late in the evening by the time you really stopped, too tired and sticky - you took a bath before going to bed. The older's hands ran through your wet locks as you listened to his heartbeat through his chest.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

⋆.˚

a/n : i hope u will like it!! i love sweet minho as a boyfriend 🩷🩷

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[spotlightlowlife]

The plot HAZBIN lost

The hazbin pilot allowed Charlie to have a socially opposing view point and do something about it with pride. She moved to a new locations and started up her own business, still at any time she could call her supportive parents, one may be more willing to listen, one may have an "I told you so" attitude but either way the impression of closeness is there. She was a hardworking person using her privilege for good.

Charlie's goals complemented the secondary plot of the angels dealing with an overpopulation problem, she was the whole solution to this problem, all she needed to do was start up her business that she had the resources to run, she did that, then, all she needed to do was be herself.

This series no matter was always likely to face the one issue major issue, who are the candidates for reform and upgrade likely to be? Probably nobody of the main cast. Now that we have elitism and animosity, chances are this will only prolong this question.

We had yet to meet any angels but like with the demons, she could have faced adversity, she could have faced support.

The angels were robotic copy pastes of eachother, their was plenty of direction to take them in.

Now they're the leading adversaries who don't just professionally deal with the problem that is a crowded hell, but they slaughter because they fear hell toppling heaven but seems to see slaughter as a form of sport, they fear being overpowered and their fears apparently just come true.

Question.

Why would anyone want to be amungst them?

Why would Charlie want to send those she rehabilitated to heaven, which we haven't been sold on at all.

Before, we saw the destruction left behind after an angel mass slaughter, it fit that Charlie believed residents of hell deserved better and better objectively existed, but a prehistoric conflict and war combined with 'chosen one' Charlie strips her of her goals, they are no longer hers but what is to be expected, which stripped of her quirkiness, she's no longer that bizarrely nice and caring person because there's no reason to believe her behaviour is exceptional, everyone is there because they are a loser. The winner in heaven and loser in hell concept tells us nothing about a person, it highlights corruption which goes well with this new conflict we are now sold on. The political elements take away from wanting to do good deeds for little other reason than wanting better for people, furthermore, since Lucifer is now a depressed and misunderstood figure who created this world and his charming wife as good as run it, throw in what we now know about the angels and what's so wrong with this place?

Her parents have a backstory and she doesn't, she didn't to begin with but after years of waiting for an adaptation, Charlie becomes a byproduct in her own show. Her parents get to be mysterious absent figures while Charlie is simply absent fo the most part.

Maybe she's busy ruining a whole hotel? An easy job that nobody is interested in seeing apparently.

It's like Charlie just wasn't edgy enough? She has lost her stable family, unique perspective and choice. Her status continues to account for nothing even thought technically, it has boosted since her parent now built hell and there hasn't been an involved god figure.

No longer is she someone going into the unknown with nothing really to lose but a lot to gain, now there's war and a whole host of adversaries, taking us away from the hotel, those that check in and those who would upgrade.

[fragileruns]

welcome backk !!

request for tasm!peter - peter would always blow off reader on dates because he's busy fighting crime and stuff like that, and reader has always been patient with him and understanding until she finally had enough. peter went to her apartment without thinking ( so he was still wearing the suit ) because he wanted to make up with reader right away and then he reveals his identity to her and they make up ( can end with smut )

i am terrible at making requests, and sorry if it would be hard to understand T T

anywaysss happy that you're back :D take caree

sorry this request took so long, lovely! i hope you enjoy! sorry for not including any smut, i’m just not the best at writing it yet.

summary: peter’s been showing up late, or not at all, for all your dates recently and you’re upset, until you find out why.

content warnings: fluff mainly, very slight angst, peter being a stressed baby, gn!reader (i think, let me know if not!), not proofread

The first time it happened was a study date. You had been struggling to grasp the new topic that had been introduced in your mathematics class and Peter, being the braniac he was, had been quick to offer to tutor you. He was supposed to come over that Friday night and have a movie night, after you finished studying. You gave him the benefit of the doubt, that maybe he was just running late or had an emergency, but then the hours creeped on and he still never showed. He apologized the next day, claiming May needed help with something and he couldn’t get away (apparently, this ‘something’ had kept him from messaging you that he wouldn’t come, as well, but you decided not to bring that up).

The next time was a bit more annoying. It was date night. You and Peter always set aside at least one day every week to be ‘date night.’ It usually just consisted of take out food and really cheesy movies, but it was nice to be able to spend time together, especially when classes filled up most of your schedules. You had a stressful week, with exams coming up and final projects being due, and you had been looking forward to spending a night with your boyfriend. He always knew how to put you at ease. You waited up for him for hours, but he never showed, again. At least this time he did text you, even though it was nearing midnight and it only read ‘I’m so sorry, this huge emergency came up. I’ll make it up to you with an icecream date tomorrow???’

The cycle continued on. He kept missing minor dates, sometimes showing up hours late or texting you that something came up, and other times just going radio silent until the next day. And you had forgiven him everytime, but he could tell you were getting annoyed and feeling rejected. Rightfully so. He knew he had to make it up to you, somehow, and his best plan of action was to scrape together whatever money he could and find the fanciest restaurant nearby (which wasn’t as fancy as he’d have liked, but it had foods he had never heard of, so he figured it was good enough).

“Okay, listen, I know I’ve been really, really bad at showing up to our dates on time, as in, I haven’t been,” he had started one night, coming into your apartment after one of his classes. You were sitting on the couch, surfing through movies to find something to watch, and he walked over to plop down next to you. “And I know you’ve been stressed with exams, and I just… I want to make it up to you and tell you I’m proud of you for getting through them. So, I made us a reservation at that fancy place - the italian one, down the road? Anyway, it’s for Saturday at 7, and if you don’t totally hate me, I thought it’d be nice.”

You glanced over him, furrowed eyebrows and with only a hint of hope. It was hard to keep believing he’d show up whenever he had missed so many. “I don’t hate you. I just… are you sure you’re gonna show up? I’m really tired of embarrassing myself by just waiting around,” you admitted with a doubtful sigh, and Peter’s heart nearly broke. He felt even worse for missing everything, and he wished more than anything that he could just tell you why.

“Hey, I swear, okay? I — I’m really sorry for missing any of our dates, and I’m sorry you felt embarrassed. But, the only way I don’t show up for this one is if I’m dying in a hospital somewhere, alright?” He rushed to reassure you, hand reaching out to cup your cheek and keep your attention on him. Seeing his puppy dog eyes made you give in quicker than you would have liked to, and you just nodded with a small ‘okay’ to agree. He grinned, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss, before turning back to the TV, decidedly picking some action movie that he thought you’d like.

Saturday came around, and you hated to say it, but you were excited. You had dressed nicely, taking over an hour to get ready just to make sure you looked perfect. You even arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, waiting outside for Peter to show. He ended up texting you that he’d be running a few minutes late and asked that you went ahead to claim your seats, told you he’d still be there shortly. You lost some hope, but still trusted he’d keep his word and went in to sit down.

By 7:30, most of that trust had died and you apologized to the waiter for wasting so much of her time, but you were sure your date would show. She gave you a sympathetic smile that made you want to curl up and die as you ate your complimentary bread.

By 7:45, you had already send Peter a string of texts, letting him know you were about to leave and would talk to him later. You still hoped he’d respond though, but no luck.

Finally, by 8:00, you had given up all hope and just left, apologizing again to the waiters as you hurried out, eager to get away from the stares. You stopped by a small pizza place on your way back, starving as you hadn’t ate since before noon that day, scarfing down the slice before going to your house. Part of you worried that Peter was, in fact, dying in a hospital somewhere and that was why he didn’t show, though you knew that wasn’t why. Knew he just got caught up with something else, like always.

Peter stared down at his phone, mask held in his other hand as he frowned at your string of texts, all consisting of things like ‘this is humiliating, are you showing up??’ and ‘you promised you’d show.’ He felt that deep pit of guilt, and he didn’t think before swinging to your home, only wanting to make things up to you. Only wanting to make things better before you finally just gave up and broke things off with him. He wasn’t at all focused on the fact that he was wearing his tight suit, mask in his mouth now, identity fully revealed if anyone squinted enough.

His heart was beating a mile a minute, but not because of the adrenaline of the fight or the feeling of whipping through the air. Because he could only imagine how upset and angry you must feel right now, and he felt awful for being the cause of it.

He got to your house in less than half the time it would usually take, moving as quickly as possible, tapping on your bedroom window as soon as he spotted you in bed. You had rolled over at the noise, eyes squinting to see what was going on at first before you spotted him. He noticed the split second of anger that came across your features, but it was quickly replaced with wide eyes as you rushed to let him in. He glanced behind him to make sure nobody was about to throw something at him.

“Peter, you’re —” you had started once you pulled the window up, but you didn’t have time to continue before he started rushing to apologize.

“I’m sosososo sorry, I know I promised and I don’t have a good excuse, and I know you must be so upset right now,” he started, his own eyes wide as he climbed in, hands immediately finding your waist to stand you in front of him, ignoring your own shocked look and attempt at getting words out. “Tell me how to make it up to you, I’ll do anything, I swear. Seriously, Do you want a puppy? A cat? A — a lion? Anything?” He was practically begging.

“Spiderman,” You had responded. His eyebrows furrowed, hands dropping from your waist as he took in what he thought was your request.

“You want — you want Spiderman? Like, a cutout? That’s… okay, I didn’t know you were that big of a fan.”

“No, Peter, you’re… you’re Spiderman,” you stated and he was more confused than ever, but then your hands reached out to grab the mask that had dropped to the floor, and everything clicked together. He had never changed.

“Oh, that — um, I was at a costume party,” he attempted to lie, and it was clear on your face that you weren’t falling for his bluff. “Okay, yes. I’m Spiderman. That’s… sort of why I’ve been so late to everything.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me? Did you not trust me?”

“No. No! That’s not it at all. I just — it’s dangerous. For you to know anything. For you to even be with me, but I’m too selfish to end things. I just didn’t want someone coming after you just because you knew my identity,” he admitted with a frown, upset that you were now in harms way just because of his own stupidity.

“You’ve been doing this alone? You haven’t had any help?”

“What?” He questioned, looking at you as if you had asked the most absurd question possible. You were worried about his help when he had just missed his probably fifth date in a row? And put you in danger? “Um, yeah, I’ve been doing it alone. Look, I’m really sorry about tonight, and I promise —”

“Peter. It’s fine, I’m not mad. Anymore. I just can’t believe you hid this from me. I could’ve helped you, you know?” You cut him off, reaching out to rub your hand over a bruise forming near his eye. He hadn’t really noticed it from the fight, used to being punched around and overly focused on trying to get home to you.

His eyes were wide and filled with both worry and guilt. Guilt over missing tonight. Worry because he had no idea what was going to happen now, because it was about to become ten times harder to keep you safe. If anyone found out you knew his identity, they’d come for you, and Peter really didn’t know how to deal with that.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I was scared something would happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he admitted, his voice small, and your heart broke.

“You won’t, okay? Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I’m here. But I wish you would’ve told me, I hate thinking about you out there, getting hurt. Not having anyone to patch you up. Is that why you’d wear hoodies so often?”

“Yeah,” he looked slightly embarrassed, and he moved to sit on the edge of your bed, keeping a hold of your hand as you went to sit next to him. “I usually heal up really fast, though, I promise. So it’s not that bad. And I’m really good at patching myself up, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Of course I’m gonna worry about you. I worried about you before I knew you were Spiderman, why would you think I wouldn’t worry about this?” You sighed, scooting closer to him as he wrapped his arms aorund you, moving to hide his face in the crook of your neck. You could tell how messed up he felt about it all with how openly he was craving your affection, but you didn’t say anything and instead just put your hands in his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

“Sweetheart, ‘m gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,” he said, but you didn’t stop and he didn’t stop you.

“That’s fine. Just go to sleep, bug boy.”

He grumbled something out about the nickname, something about being a man and not a boy, but it was quiet, and he almost immediately fell asleep soon after.