#ec wanderer

[shadowlinktheshadow]

link au shenanigans

[endlesschain-au]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WANDERER🎉🎂🍰

Sadly I have not finished any of faers games but ouuuh... my Shayla....

[dresspheres]

COMMISSION. 125 for The Wanderer from Genshin Impact. These icons are free to use, but please credit me if you use them. preview && download link under the cut.

download link.

[spotaus]

Actor AU of Eternal Ashes where the kids are all teen YouTubers doing a personal series for Stereo's thesis project that blows up online. (Reset teases Kane on the regular for dying the first episode.)

Actor AU of Doppletale where it's a horror/thriller series. (K is absolutely great at crying on command, and the crew is really friendly outside the set.)

Actor AU of Ec-4o.Verse that's like The Walking Dead so it's super long, but it also functions like a sit-com at the same time. (The cast doesn't really talk to eachother outside the set, but they love being on the show.)

[kyber-ki]

Searching for Something

Jedi Survivor: Cal Kestis x F!Reader

Word Count: 8.6k

Summary: you're a prospector on Koboh, under the impression that you're assisted by simple luck and good hunches. When you catch the eye of the local Jedi, you slowly realize that it might not just be a case of good luck after all. And maybe, just maybe, your paths crossed for a reason.

Teaser:

“You’re the Jedi,” you mumbled, and the smile dropped from Cal’s face as your anxiety coursed through the air. It was jarring, overwhelming, for him to receive those emotions through the force this close to you.  “Yes. I just… heard you calling,” he said slowly, and you just glared at him, lips parting in surprise.  “I didn’t call anyone,” you stuttered out, the hand holding the blaster out faltering.  “That’s not true. And I think you know that,”

Cal stood from his meditative stance, stretching his neck from side to side and releasing the breath he had been holding. The lights flickered above his head, a brief pause from the constant low hum they emitted. He could feel the familiar beat of a song BD-1 particularly enjoyed from the cantina’s setlist reverberate through the floor. The noises here never bothered him, not after all those years on Bracca where the sounds of jacks, drills, stuttering ship engines, and screeches of saws had chewed into his brain night after night. No; here the sounds reminded him of comfort, of the pleasant but bustling atmosphere of Greez’s saloon that he had begun to recognize as his temporary home base these last few weeks. The trunk in the corner had slowly begun to fill up higher and higher with his belongings. Cal wasn’t surprised to see BD-1 lounging with both legs extended out beside him. The little droid tilted his head to the side, antennae twitching as he greeted Cal with a series of chirps. 

“Yeah bud, I’m ready,” Cal said down to him with a soft smile. BD-1 sprang up, scampering up to his usual perch across Cal’s back. 

“Let’s go find Greez.” 

***

The doors to the main room opened, unleashing the music and swarm of overlapping voices at full volume. It was a sharp contrast to the quiet peace that followed his daily meditation, but Cal welcomed it with open arms. He shuffled past a few familiar faces, nodding to Mosey as she raised her half empty glass in greeting. It seemed like the cantina was getting busier and busier every day, but today there were more fresh faces of prospectors lining the bar than Cal had ever seen in one place. They spoke in excited but hushed voices, the eccentric music provided by DD-EC, who had a tendency to keep the volume a few ticks too high. Despite the complaints, the droid had refused to budge, saying something about the fragile ears of organics. 

Cal continued to maneuver his way past the small crowd, sliding into the stool next to Greez. He laid one hand to rest on the cool bar top, head quirked to one side as he tried to overhear the commotion. 

“Greez- what’s with all the excitement today?” He asked the latero, who was busy shuffling around the concepts for his new menu items. 

“Cal! I couldn’t tell you what those guys are all worked up about. All I know is that they showed up with healthy appetites and have been slinging credits all over the place. I need to prep a new menu. You can be my test sampler,” he said with excitement. Cal chuckled at that. He was never one to turn down Greez’s homemade creations.

“Sure, Greezy-Money. I’ll be back later- BD and I have some things to look into today,” he explained, mind already wandering back to the meditation chambers that he had yet to explore. He longed to hear the centuries old-lessons of Santari Khri, to feel the awe that accompanied the massive and intricate builds. It was a similar feeling to what he had felt in training sessions with Master Topal, and again years later with Cere. Though Santari Khri was long dead, Cal had begun to foster an understanding of her teachings, and through them, an understanding of the Jedi herself. She had wisdom to share, if he only took the time to listen. BD-1 seemed to enjoy their journeys in the chambers as well, the hours of exploring often accompanied by countless relics for him to scan.

“Back to the wilderness he goes,” Greez muttered as he flipped back and forth between two displays on his datapad. “As long as you’re back for supper,” he added pointedly. 

“Sure thing,” Cal said, pushing off the bar and out of the stool once more with a creak. As he passed by, he heard one of the prospectors, a short human man, trying to wrangle his companions. 

“We should just ask her! I’ve spent two weeks in that sector and pulled up nothing. She must have found a deposit hidden away in the cave system. There’s no other explanation. Maybe there’s another spot she knows of,” he said, and he was met with faces of doubt. 

“You’re not listening, Isaiah. There’s no mystery gold mine we skipped over. The girl has a talent for this sort of thing,” another man whispered, and he wiggled his fingers.

“There’s gotta be a little something special at work there, if you ask me,” he said, with a serious expression. 

A scoff rang out.

“She probably just has a background in geology, that’s all. Identifying the mineral content and locating the deposits, that’s the only explanation. The girl has keen eyes and an education. Don’t start with your psychic banthashit again,” another prospector snipped back. 

Cal’s eyebrows rose at that. So, a successful prospector. That’s what had drawn in all these prospectors to Rambler’s Reach. Cal didn’t often feel a need to interfere with prospector business- aside from the group that went missing. His nose turned up slightly as he remembered the giant claws of the Rancor emerging from behind the big stone pillar down in the mine. Yeah, that had turned him off prospecting for the most part. Though, he and BD-1 had their fair share of luck in stumbling across priorite shards. 

Continuing past the group, Cal let their bickering and hyper force signatures fade into the background. He stepped out of the saloon, the blazing Koboh sun striking his face. Cal allowed himself to fall into a comfortable rhythm on his way to the stables, feeling the familiar weight of his saber swing gently against his hip. His blaster was tucked safely within the holster that ran across his chest. The heat was thick today, and he had left his jacket behind, letting the slight breeze cool his arms. 

“BD- how far are we going again?” He asked, and his companion pulled up the holomap quickly. The beacon was further than Cal remembered. But the itch to revisit the chamber, without the constraint of time weighing on him, was too strong to deny. 

“Alright. Let’s go,” Cal vaulted over the fence of the stables, and approached the blue Nekko that he had brought in the night before. 

“Hi again, friend. Feel up to some more exploring?” The Nekko nuzzled its head down into the palm of Cal’s hand, and he took that as a yes.

***

You strained, arm pulling at an uncomfortable angle that made your teeth grit and muscles burn. The rock wall you were currently dangling on had seemed like a simple enough climb. That was before the rock shelf began to quake, the series of handholds you had mapped out for yourself coming loose and cracking down into the depths below. Confusion had deemed you temporarily frozen in place, until you put together the sounds of mechanical drilling and clipped tones from the path through the rock ahead. Damn stormtroopers. You weren’t sure what they were searching for, but you weren’t pleased to find yourself this close to whatever the operation was. 

Your fingers burned and you couldn’t help but grimace as the jagged edge of the rock face dug into your palms. This wasn’t ideal. Swinging your legs as much as you could bear, you cursed and swung your arm up. The ascension cable shot forward, finding its mark in the jumble of vines at the top of the cliff. You dropped momentarily, and then were pulled forward roughly as the cable tugged you along its arc. Your side slammed into the rock, knocking the air from your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath. 

“Oh, come on,” you wheezed out, bloodied fingers clutching the vines tightly, grateful to have found purchase. The cloth of your gloves had shredded in the journey, and you rendered them useless.The air was dense with the scent of lush greenery, and it crowded your nose almost uncomfortably.

Still clutching the vines, you breathed air in, then back out. In, and out, until your racing heart calmed enough that you no longer feared it would burst from your chest. You continued the trek through the greenery, boots tucked securely amongst the tangled jumbles and fingers sticky from where your nails had cut into the vines. The top of the cliff face was nearing, and you sighed with relief once you finally pulled yourself over its edge. The rocky terrain seemed to be behind you for now; ahead was a new world of bright colour and exotic floral scents. Like a rainforest, almost. But more overpowering than the scents and the visual picture of the new landscape was the instinct driving you forward, insistent and sure.

You could feel something coursing through the air here. Something refreshing, powerful. In some of these little pockets of Koboh, you felt strangely integrated into the environment. The sounds of the strange insects, birds, the path of the wind as it wound through the rock columns with a gentle whistle. It was at times like this, when you felt ultra connected to the world around you, that your best priorite finds came to be. Today, you would be lucky. You could feel it. Like all the other prospectors fluttering around this planet, you were simply doing your job. You just happened to be really, really, good at it. And your hunches had yet to steer you astray.

A modulated voice barked out words you couldn’t quite make out, and you ducked behind the dense foliage. You tugged your blaster free from where it was lodged in your belt, and you couldn’t help wincing as your blistered fingers found their grip. Shucking off your shredded and blood spotted gloves, you peered through the branches, trying to catch a glimpse of the imperials ahead. A team of two stormtroopers blocked the path, one of which was operating some sort of drill, the other pointing and trying to direct his companion. Squinting, you realized they were trying to bust their way into the old metal doorway partly masked by vines and built into the rock. 

You’d given up on those mystery doors a long time ago, same as everyone else on Koboh. Without any real permanent residents, there wasn’t exactly a historian you could consult. They remained one of those unsolvable Koboh oddities. And those troopers could throw every power saw and explosive they had at that thing. It wouldn’t open.

Shrugging the fabric of the thin shawl out of your face, you adjusted your crouched stance and raised your blaster into position. You couldn’t help the look of disgust that crossed your face as you watched the fools bicker back and forth. Tired of hearing their voices, you poised your finger over the trigger and silenced one of them. The blaster smoked at the end, the plasma having sent the first trooper down to the ground. Too easy. The second whirled at the noise, dropping the drill with a clunk and raising his own blaster. Before he could locate your position, you dealt with him too. 

Stepping out of your concealment, you made your way over to the fallen troopers. The dirt crunched beneath your boots, the songs of avian species you couldn’t name ringing out into the ravine ahead. As you passed, you peered at the drill dropped at the feet of the troopers. You couldn’t blame the empire for wanting into that doorway. Your curiosity piqued as you reached forward to trace the strange doorway with your fingertips. It was cool to the touch, and remained undented despite the rocks that had undoubtedly crashed against its surface. They had been trying to drill underneath the entranceway without much luck. With one last look at the slumped forms of the troopers, you continued on with your search. You had credits to earn.

After another hour of hiking through the thick, dry vegetation, your boots were coated with dust and your muscles ached with the effort of climbing. The area around you was all jutting rock columns and dry moss. There were ruins of old watchtowers and outposts here too, though your focus remained further beneath the ground. The path you followed curved down sharply, revealing an extremely worn lift platform. The control panel was partially busted, and sparks flew sporadically when you pushed the level into position. After a moment of flickering lights, a deep hum rumbled through the ground. The platform rose quickly, sliding into place with just a bit of turbulence. Cursing, you stepped onto the platform, praying for the best. It lurched beneath your feet, and you spread out both arms, knees bending to maintain your balance. You tried not to think about how old this thing was. It brought you down into the depths of the rift, and your heart raced with anticipation. 

Stepping off the lift, you marveled at the large fallen basalt columns. There was stone everywhere, and light vegetation scattered many of the rock faces around you. You scampered over columns, climbed pillars and vine covered cliff sides until you could feel that you were there. Ahead, a sheltered alcove was tucked beneath a curtain of stringy yellow-green vines. You ducked inside, and took a breath. Closing your eyes, you let your hands fall upon the walls of the miniature cave, feeling where you needed to go with both your fingers and with that instinct in your mind leading you. After a few minutes of searching, you knew you had it when your index finger slid upon a new texture. The shard was formed into the layers of rock, and with a little pressure, it would give away. Flipping a small toolbelt down from your waist, you grabbed a pick, flicking on your lightstick and setting your eyes upon the shard. It was a decent size, the iridescent shimmer of the priorite glistening in the odd blue-ish hue of the lightstick you held. You pried it free, tucking it safely into the small leather pouch concealed within the pocket of your vest. Satisfied, you stood to your feet and shifted the vines aside. The journey back would be simple, with your path already charted and grappling points readily available. 

You had made it back to the old doorway again when you felt a wave of alertness course through you. It was an odd sensation, and one that left you sucking in a quick breath. You climbed high into one of the massive trees, crouching back against its pale beige trunk. You blended in nicely, in your sand-coloured shawl covering and faded trousers. The blaster you always travelled with was clutched in your hands once more, tight enough to worsen the sting of your blisters. You couldn’t see anything, even from this high vantage point. It was time to head back to Rambler’s Reach.

***

Cal flung himself to the next cliff face with ease, assisted here and there by a quick tug of the force and an encouraging chirp from the droid on his shoulder. The sun blazed even higher in the sky now, and he longed for the darkness and coolness of the meditation chamber. He was nearly there, according to the holomap. The lush nature of the far reaches of Koboh were a small comfort to Cal, and he found himself revelling in it. The trees and dangling vines thickened significantly, though they were dealt with by one twitch of Cal’s hand, lightsaber drawn and emitting a cool white light. Continuing to trek his way forward, Cal tried not to stumble as BD-1 flung himself down in front of Cal, one metal leg tapping the ground desperately as he beeped and whirred. 

“Find something, BD?” Cal asked, and the droid scanned something laying in the dropped leaves of the foliage. Cal frowned. A pair of shredded gloves lay discarded in the underbrush. He dropped into a crouch, inspecting them briefly. 

“Huh. Not sure, BD-1. Let’s keep moving,” Cal muttered. Continuing on, he spotted the metallic glint of the chamber doors, still sealed, before he noticed the bodies of the stormtroopers littered at its front. Cal frowned, and unclipped his lightsaber from his belt cautiously. BD-1 chirped again, scuttling forward and scanning the bodies and equipment that lay beside them. 

“They won’t get in by brute force. I wonder what they want from down there.” Had someone else managed to find their way into the old order chambers? The placement of the bodies seemed to imply it. Cal had yet to run into company in any of the other chambers. But he had to be ready for anything. 

Igniting his saber, he clicked the device in his pocket and the door unlocked. Stepping over the fallen stormtroopers, he was about to step foot on to lift inside when he felt something that make his head snap up immediately. 

“There’s someone nearby,” he said, heart fluttering in his chest. There was something unique about the force signature that he was sensing. Someone was brushing through the force, scattering little murmurs through it. It must have been deliberate- after all, most force sensitives knew to cloak their signatures to avoid detection of the inquisitors. Cal had a rising suspicion that this was just some sort of new trick by the empire. After he had destroyed the holocron, he had dreamt of finding more force sensitives. But things hadn’t exactly gone the way he had dreamt they would. It was best to stay on high alert.

Cal stepped away from the mediation chamber, his plans for the day forgotten. He followed the little echoes of the force, leading him further and further into the basalt rift ahead. 

***

Taking out the pouch once again, you shifted the priorite shard between your thumb and index finger. You had started the venture back to the old loft apartment you rented in town, but had the majority of your journey still left ahead of you. Despite having found a decent haul, you still felt an itch to keep looking. Like there was something close, something you should search for. You felt strange, like there was an energetic, almost twitchy presence nearby. It was accompanied by that same twinge of alertness you had felt earlier, but you didn’t necessarily feel like running this time. Your curiosity almost urged you to seek it out, to find the source of the sensation. But Koboh could be dangerous, and curiosity on this planet tended to get people killed.

Tucking the shard away once more, you patted your blaster and sprang up. Continuing on with your hike, you slipped past another squadron of troopers, creeping quietly though the brush as you skirted around them. They weren’t worth your time. 

***

Cal ran through the rocky hills, dodging the spine-covered creatures rolling along the path. He desperately followed the force, sensing that he wasn’t far behind now. Voices could be heard up ahead, and his excitement peaked. Bounding forward, saber unlit but held easily in his palm, Cal bounded into the clearing and narrowed his eyes. No, unless one of the stormtroopers happened to be a force user, this little squadron was not the source of his intuition. 

“Hostile spotted!” One of them shouted, firing his blaster immediately. Cal ignited his saber, deflecting the plasma shot directly back to the chest of the trooper. With a flick of Cal’s wrist, the other two went cascading down the cliff face. A final trooper stood, arms trembling as he raised his blaster. 

“Jedi! It’s just you and me, now,” he called out, firing a string of blaster shots in Cal’s direction. Cal sent them flying in different directions, tugging the trooper forward and dispatching him with one swift arc of his saber. 

That had cost him a few minutes. He continued on with an even more determined pace than before, whistling for the Nekko to meet him. 

***

In the distance, a hooded figure was scaling the rock face quickly, jumping from ledge to ledge, agile fingers maneuvering carefully through branches and vines. Beige wrapping covered their arms from the elbows to the wrist, and Cal squinted, trying to make out if there were weapons concealed beneath that thin hooded cloak.

“Let’s get a little closer, BD,” Cal cautioned, dismounting the Nekko with a gentle pat on the side of its neck. 

The figure ahead reached the top of the stone pillar they had been scaling, disappearing over the side with a little leap forward.

Cal put his upgraded ascension cable to work, springing to the top of the pillar with a grunt. 

As Cal stood to his feet, BD-1 chirped in alarm from his back. Spinning around quickly, Cal stopped with his fingers wrapped around his saber. Looks like he had found that force signature. It was pulsating into his awareness in the force, almost like a tracking fob. 

A blaster was trained on his chest, the bandaged hands grasping it held steady and firm. 

“You’re trailing me,” a female voice drawled from beneath the hood. Your gaze flicked down to his hand, which hovered hesitantly on his saber. 

“Don’t even bother. I’m not a bounty hunter and I don’t get paid for racking up corpses. What do you want?” You asked, tone still neutral despite the weapon pointing at his vital organs. 

“I’m Cal. This is BD-1,” he started, lowering his hand away from his saber. 

“And I’m not interested, sorry. I keep telling you people I don’t want a partner. I do my searching alone. If you want some tips, we can talk it over at the saloon like everyone else,” you said.

“Searching?” Cal questioned, honest confusion coating his words. 

You sighed. The hand not trailing him with the blaster coming up to toss the hood out of your face. Your features were smudged with dust and dampened with sweat, sporting an expression of fatigue combined with exasperation. 

“You’re… not a prospector then?” You ask, more cautiously now. Stepping back from him then, your eyes narrowed as you assessed him. Your gaze raked over his form, from his windswept hair to the droid clinging to his back. Your eyes caught on the unlit saber hanging from his belt, and they widened, skipping again to his fiery hair. 

“Oh,” you said, a little dumbly. Cal offered you a shrug and a polite little smile. His reputation had begun to spread throughout Koboh, even amongst the prospectors that didn’t spend much time in town. 

“You’re the Jedi,” you mumbled, and the smile dropped from Cal’s face as your anxiety coursed through the air. It was jarring, overwhelming, for him to receive those signals in the force this close to you.

“Yes. I just… heard you calling,” he said slowly, and you just glared at him, lips parting in surprise. 

“I didn’t call anyone,” you stuttered out, the hand holding the blaster out faltering. 

“That’s not true. And I think you know that,” the Jedi said softly, as if not to frighten you.

You took another step backwards, deciding that this Jedi was a lunatic. You’d heard rumours that Jedi were incredible warriors of course, but that they could also be cult members, following a strange code. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, with a finality in your tone. Shuffling back another step, trying to put more distance between you and this Jedi, you went back too far and your left foot teetered back over the edge of the rock pillar you stood on, your heart dropping to your stomach. 

The Jedi darted forward, two fingers gripping your belt and preventing gravity from clawing you down to the chasm below. Stunned, your blaster fell to the ground with a clatter, and you gripped onto the Jedi’s forearm with both hands. You could feel the muscles of his arm as he held your weight. He tugged you forward gently, enough for you to land both feet back safely on the rock before he released you, stepping back and giving you space. 

“Kriff,” you gasped out, heart still racing. You braced one hand on your knee, and looked up at the Jedi.

“Thanks for the save,” you said, and he nodded.

“You all good?” He asked, handing you back your blaster, the handle facing you. You tucked it back into your belt, and looked back up at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” you said, embarrassment flushing your cheeks pink. 

“Look, I wasn’t trying to freak you out-” he starts up again, and you sigh. 

“I’ve been alone all day. And I certainly wouldn’t be making all sorts of noise calling you over here. Not with all the imps crawling around,” you said, disgust evident in your voice.

Cal hesitated before answering. Were you playing dumb, or did you really not know the ability you had been tapping into in order to communicate with him? He couldn’t help but feel a little distraught. This was a new situation- was he supposed to try and explain the workings of the force to you? To insist, against your protests, that you had indeed been reaching out to him through it? He made his choice.

“My mistake,” he settled for, and you shot him a funny look.

“What are you doing out here, anyway? A little far from town, aren’t you?” You asked quizzically. Cal shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’ve just been exploring. There’s a lot to see on Koboh,” 

“Yeah. Sure is. I was just heading back to town. And if you decide to quit the whole Jedi Knight thing, this is a great area to get into prospecting,” you said with a smile. 

Cal laughed.

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind,”

“Sorry about the uh,” you nodded down to your blaster. 

“It wasn’t personal. You just can’t be too careful these days,” you explain, offering an apologetic half-smile. 

“I hear you. Between the troopers and the raiders,” 

BD-1 chirped, scurrying down Cal’s pant leg and pausing in front of you. You glanced down, flinching under the brief but bright green light of his scanner. 

“BD-1, we’ve talked about this,” Cal chastised him lightly, and you laughed. 

“Hi little guy,” 

BD-1 beeped at that, which you took as a good sign. 

“I’d better get going. See you around, Jedi,” you said, tucking your blaster away.

He smiled.

“Cal,” he reminded you, and you nodded, face bright with a little amusement.

Continuing on foot, you trudged back towards Rambler’s Reach, only turning back once a few minutes had gone by. The further you walked, the less you felt that flicker of warmth, the strange presence that seemed to have awoken. In the distance, you could’ve sworn you saw the mysterious metal doors slide open and close, with only a flash of red hair as a clue to how it had opened. 

***

It was a few days later before you ran into Cal again. You walked the streets past Pyloon’s Saloon, head pounding in the sweltering heat that persisted even into the late evening. After another day of hiking, climbing, and doing your best to dodge the imperial squadrons littering Koboh, you’d decided that you had earned at least one glass of spotchka. It was becoming a bit of a habit of yours.

The security droid guarding Pyloon’s Saloon trained its red gaze on you, and you dug the tip of one scuffed boot into the dirt impatiently. After another moment’s delay, the doors opened with a gentle whir of air, and you sighed in relief as the controlled air cooled the sweat sticking to your sun-warmed skin. 

The cantina playlist was kriffing awful, as always, and you winced as it invaded your eardrums. Patrons were scattered across booths, tables, and crowding the bar. 

Over the chatter, you heard someone shout your name, and you turned expectantly towards the sound. Oh, here we go again. 

“Hey guys,” you greeted the group of your fellow prospectors. You recognized Isahiah, Klotho, and Vedi amongst the group, and smiled at them. While they were sort of your competition in the priorite industry, you’d made a point to keep friendly and on good terms with anyone else you ran into on Koboh. Though, you couldn’t help but to keep them all at an arms length away. The last time you’d made a friend, it had ended poorly. Your heart lurched at the thought of the one person in the world you had let in, and how they had been taken from you. The empire had taken them from you.

Your mind jumped back to the present.

“Any good finds today?” Klotho asked you, and you shrugged.

“Nothing too exciting. I kept running into those damn stormtroopers today. It’s getting harder to get around them,” you explain with a sigh. The others nod; murmuring their agreement. 

“We thought maybe you had another one of your hot spots on the map,” Isahiah probed, and you offered him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, no luck this time, Ahiah,” you admitted, tossing his nickname in to soften the blow. When business was slow, you tried to give some help where you could. But between the imps and raiders, business wasn’t exactly booming. 

“That’s okay, kiddo,” he says, and you clap him on the back gently. 

“I’ll come find you if anything changes,” you yelled, over your shoulder. You spotted a free stool in one corner, collapsing down into it and raising a hand in greeting to the bar droid. 

“The usual?” It asked, and you nodded with a smile. The glowing blue liquid sloshed into the glass, and you raised it in tired cheers to the droid. 

You were about to take that delicious first sip when you felt something. Swiveling slightly in the stool, you straightened your back and faced the entryway for a moment. The chatter of the room was still swallowed up by the music, and you held your breath as you waited. The door remained closed, and you turned the stool back to face the bar. Stupid. You had thought maybe, just for a moment, that you had felt the Jedi from the other day. It was like knowing when someone was watching you, but turning to find nobody there. Maybe your intuition was worn down, replaced by paranoia. After all, you weren’t a psychic. And you certainly weren’t a Jedi. 

The spotchka burned down your throat, the initial sweetness of the liquor lingering on your tongue. You were about to down the remainder of the glass when you felt, or rather, heard, the saloon door open with a whir. 

Cal walked through the doors, and they shut closed behind him with a faint woosh. The alcohol turned to lead in your stomach, and you sucked in a sudden breath at the sight of him. The confirmation of your senses was as discomforting as it was shocking. Fear, alarm, and distress flooded your mind, and you let the rest of the alcohol in your glass glide down your throat. 

Cal paused in the entryway, head tilting a little as if he were scanning the room for someone who had called his name. The gesture caught you off guard, and your eyes widened of their own volition. At that moment, Cal’s gaze snapped over, eyes locked on yours. You tried to look away quickly before he caught you watching, without success. You had a sudden flashback to the other day, to the way he had shot forward reflexively quick. The thought of his fingers gripping the front of your belt so easily suddenly felt inappropriate, and you tried to push away the image of his tensed muscles as he had held you from plummeting off a cliff. 

“Hi,” he called out over the music as he approached you, leaning against the bar. His little droid stood tall and proud as ever on his shoulder. 

“Hi,” you managed to say, and his gaze dropped down to your empty glass. 

“Long day?” He asked, and you nodded. The long sleeves of his shirt were pushed back to the elbows, and he wore a leather bandolier draped across his chest. This time, your eyes caught on the unlit weapon clipped to his belt. You tried not to stare. 

“Yeah. Something like that. It’s funny, I swear I could tell you were about to-” you broke off with a slight shake of your head. 

He waited patiently for you to continue, but you didn’t, opting instead to twirl the empty glass against the bar top. 

“You never told me your name, the other day,” he points out, and your cheeks flushed with warmth. Right. Simple courtesies. 

You gave it now, reaching a hand forward in a gesture that seemed to fit the scenario. He reached his own hand forward, hesitating for just a moment. Your eyebrow tugged down at that, and you were considering whether or not you should have taken offense when he slid his hand into yours, shaking once quickly before releasing. You try not to wince at the pain still residing on your blistered hands. 

You were suddenly hyper aware of the fact that your hands were still partially wrapped with thin strips of bamadages, making you look like one of those professional fighting athletes from coruscant. Your blisters were in the slow healing process from your rough climb the other day, and you were well overdue for a break from the rough terrain.

“You all good there?” He asked, eyes dropping down to your wrapped hands. 

You nodded dismissively. 

“Yeah, just a rough climb the other day. My gloves are shot and the damn scrapes won’t stay closed,” you muttered.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” You shot out, before he had the chance to spark up any more pointless small talk. Cal fought back the urge to narrow his eyes at the urgency in your tone. He nodded, urging you to go ahead. BD-1 booped curiously, tapping once foot as he fought the urge to scan your bandaged hands. Cal appreciated his restraint. 

“Back in the Basalt rift the other day- some troopers were trying to bust in those metal doors. They were going to town on it with drills and explosives, and they couldn’t make a dent. But I could’ve sworn I saw you get the Kriffing thing open when I was heading back to town,” you elaborated, staring at him and awaiting his response. 

Cal smirked.

“You were watching me,” it was more of a statement than a question, you realized.

Pink creeped up your neck and to your ears. 

“I wasn’t-“ you started, feeling embarrassed for a moment before snapping out of it.

“If I’m remembering correctly, and I’m pretty sure that I am, you trailed me through the woods,” you said with a sniff. 

Cal chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand before letting it fall back down. Your eyes jumped to the veins webbing across the back of it briefly before you focused your attention back on his face. 

“I told you yesterday- I was just following the force,” he said with a shrug. You frowned at that. The force. 

“I was in the meditation chamber though,” he admits, and you leaned forward, eyes narrowed intently. 

“What?” 

“The doorway you mentioned. It’s an opening to a lift, from centuries ago. It leads to ancient Jedi meditation chambers. They’re all over Koboh,” he explains, and you have to admit your interest has been piqued, thoughts flying around quickly in your head. 

“Well, how’d you do it? People have been trying to get in there for ages. And nobody had any clue what could’ve been down there. For as long as I’ve been here at least,” 

“It’s a long story,” he said, but he reached into his pocket and pulled out something with a dull sheen. In between his index and middle finger rested a disc long worn by time. A passkey, then. 

“Jedi chambers, huh. What’s it like down there?” You probed, voice lowering and laced with genuine curiosity.

“It’s strong, down there. The force presence is so rich. I haven’t felt that many other places. This whole planet is connected. And the abyss…” he trails off then, a thoughtful determination painted across his features. One hand reached up to rub at the stubble lining his jaw, and he sighed.

“I don’t like that the empire is sniffing around them. I’m not sure what they plan to do once they get down there, but I don’t think we want to find out. You made quick work of them the other day,” he said, a complimentary lilt in his voice. 

You wondered inwardly when the two of you had become a ‘we’, but were surprised to find that it was a little comforting. It was tiring, being the only one striking back against the empire’s presence on Koboh. Even if it wasn’t for entirely selfless reasons. At least Cal had BD-1. Unlike him, you were completely alone. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t particularly like running into them either. Between the troopers and the Bedlam raiders, it can get pretty ugly. They’re spreading out further, too. I’ve been seeing them pretty much everywhere, even the more remote areas,” you say, with a shake of your head. 

“Yeah, the raiders are a whole other issue. We’ve had quite a few run-ins with them too, haven’t we, BD? Not to mention the bounty hunters,” The droid beeped his agreement. You started at that. Bounty hunters? 

Cal just continued on speaking. 

“They’re looking for something bigger here. And Rayvis… There's a lot of interest in Koboh. But BD-1 and I still have a few other chambers to explore. You’re welcome to tag along sometime,” he says, and you consider the offer for a moment. 

You reminded yourself that you don’t know this guy- and you weren’t sure if you could trust him, Jedi or not. But the draw of the underground chambers tugged at something deep in your chest. You wanted to see it, and now more than ever, you wanted to know if you would feel anything there. 

“Yeah, maybe. Thanks,” you say, and he just nods, standing back up straight. 

“Sure. I’ll see you around,” he says, pushing off of the bar top and skirting his way around the crowd, disappearing into the back of the cantina. You didn’t have to watch him. Even with eyes still trained in the bottom of your empty glass, you could feel him drawing further and further away. 

***

Two days later, you’re sipping on spotchka again, enjoying the warm dull sensation that coursed through you. Arms crossed over the bar top, you decided to rest your eyes for a moment. The bar was nearly empty, the sun long since set. Most of the town had gone to bed hours ago. You knew that sleep wouldn’t find you tonight, so why not quit while you were ahead? If you had enough to drink, maybe you’d get lucky and pass out right here. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A more somber tune than usual played from the sound booth in the corner. Given the hour and lack of customers in the saloon, it was easier than ever to wave down another glass to replace the empty one in front of you. Your head was light and airy, and your limbs were flooded with a tingly warmth. Enjoying the feeling, you let out a long breath. Closing your eyes again, you had an idea.

Focusing on what you could hear, you noted the sound of the whirring refrigerators, the shuffle and clinking noise of a glass being filled with ice. The grumble of voices, maybe from the upstairs section of the bar, followed by a quick cheer. And behind that, further away, the chirping of night insects. 

Still pinching your eyelids closed, you moved along to the sensation of touch. The bartop was cool against the skin of your forearms, and you suppressed a shiver. The glass you grasped with both hands had been sweating, dampening your fingers. Breathing in, you could smell the sterile scent of cleaner, and the sweetness of artificially flavoured alcohol behind it.

Another breath out through your nose. Rolling your shoulders back gently, you reached with your mind. It was difficult to tap into that awareness- for a moment, you had felt it, but then it disappeared just the same. It kept just out of reach, and you strained to grip onto it again. A flicker in your mind sparked, and you tried not to get too excited at the success. Something skirted just at the edge of your mind, and you could feel something. No, not something, but someone. Maybe it was just the buzz you had worked up talking, but you weren’t so sure. Like a campfire burning in the distance, you could feel the emitting bit of energy. It was warm, almost cozy. You felt drawn to it, but just as you began to consider what you were even doing, or how you were doing it, the feeling vanished completely. Once again, you were just a drunk idiot, sitting alone at the bar with your eyes squeezed shut and head in the clouds. 

Downing the rest of your drink, you stood up on your tiptoes, leaning your chest over the bar. Where did that damn droid go?

“Hello?” You asked, trying not to wince at the loud sound of your voice. Nothing answered you, just that low buzz of the appliances and distant footsteps from upstairs. Did that droid have to get charged? Maybe you had actually fallen asleep a moment ago, and you had been dreaming after all. 

Another few minutes went by, and you picked at the hem of your shirt idly as you waited for the droid to return. The empty glass on the bar taunted you.

With a loud sigh, you glanced around in a quick swivel of the barstool. There was nobody else on the lower level, at least. And you did consider yourself a friend of Greez, the cantina owner. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if you skipped behind the bar, just this once. 

Standing up again, you looked around once more before boosting yourself up onto the bar, then dropped down behind it. The bar looked different from back here, giving you a full view of the floor and booths that were usually crowded with patrons. Scanning the row of bottles on the shelving, you searched for the familiar bright blue alcohol that you were craving. 

You had to hand it to Greez- having a droid bartender meant that the bar was perfectly polished. It was organized well, except for a giant pile of papers labelled “menu ideas” that featured a messy drawl of handwriting and some poorly drawn doodles of dishes and presentation inspirations. 

The glowing blue of the spotchka bottle caught your eye, and you snatched it up quickly, popping the lid off and whirling around to grab your glass. You were in the midst of pouring a hearty serving when you heard the mechanical whoosh of a door opening. Your heart dropped to your stomach as you fumbled to re-cap the bottle, mind stuttering as you tried to find its home on the organized shelf. Placing it back with a clink, you turned around. The front door of the saloon remained closed, and you tilted your head to the side slightly in confusion. Had you just hallucinated hearing the door? 

But no, you could feel the dull thump of footsteps approaching, and you realized with a pang of dread that it had been the inner door, the one leading from the basement level to the bar. Stars, Greez was going to be pissed.

Hands braced on top of the bar, you were attempting to silently scoot your way back across to the patron side when Cal appeared from around the corner. You froze, and he stopped in his tracks for a moment too. He looked confused for a moment, his eyebrows lifted as he took in the sight of you, ass plunked on the bartop with your legs dangling over the edge. 

You swallowed nervously. 

“Hey, Cal,” you said, scooting the rest of the way down. Your boots hit the floor with a thud, and you offered him a strained attempt at a smile. He said your name back in a slow greeting, and you could do nothing but watch as his gaze shifted from your reddened cheeks to the overfilled glass sitting next to you.

Cal smirked as he put the pieces together. 

“I didn’t know Greez let customers make their own drinks,” 

You shrugged. 

“Yeah, well. He should get better bartenders. Empty ship over here,” you gestured to the deserted bar. Since you were already caught, you plunked down onto the stool once again and picked up your glass. Spotchka sloshed over the sides, adding another coat of alcohol to the already sticky bartop. 

“Are you gonna sit down or what?” You asked him, using the toe of your boot to pull out the stool next to you. Cal let out a soft chuckle, then took his place next to you. BD-1 chirped in greeting.

“Hi bud,” you said back, and he booped again before scampering off of Cal’s back and into the bar. His little head tilted to the side and you were blinded by that familiar green light again.

“Stars, BD-1, my eyeballs,” you groaned, and Cal shot you an apologetic look. BD-1 chirped a string of binary, and Cal frowned in response. You weren’t used to seeing him frown, and the sight of it alarmed you a little. You squinted at them both- your binary was rusty on a good day, and was considerably worse through the fog of spotchka clogging your senses. 

“Agreed,” Cal said back to the little droid. And then you were holding your breath as his head dipped close to yours, your heart thudding quickly in your chest. This close, you could see the freckles dusting his cheeks, his surprisingly long lashes. You noticed the scars that jutted across his nose and eyebrow, but your gaze didn’t linger on them; you had your own fair share of scars. 

Cal plucked the glass out of your hand and leaned away again, and your brain finally caught up. 

“Hey-”

“BD-1 is concerned by your blood alcohol level. He’s identified some symptoms that you might be in for a nasty headache. His scanner doesn’t lie- you’ll be thanking us tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly, just before he dipped his head down and took a steady sip of the alcohol himself. 

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to drink,” you muttered with a bit of a pout, drumming your fingertips against the bar idly. 

“All things in moderation,” he said simply. You hummed in response.

“What are you doing here so late?” He asked.

“What does it look like?” sighing, you scooted your stool closer to his, and he looked at you expectantly. Leaning in close, you tilted your head as you studied the green of his eyes again. You waited for him to look away, to let you win this little staredown you had started. He didn’t. He just watched you back, a calm neutrality painted across his features. 

“I was winding down. I don’t know what happened, though. I must’ve dozed off or something. I was just-” you broke off, with a slight shake of your head.

“You were just what?” 

“What?”

“You do that a lot. You start to tell me something, but then you back out,” he stated. You frowned.

“I don’t know. I was sitting here. Resting my eyes, just listening. But I must have fallen asleep and I guess I had a weird dream for a couple of minutes. I could feel this light, and I wanted it. I wanted to be near it,” you explained poorly. Cal shook his head softly. 

“You weren’t dreaming,” 

“And you must be a lightweight,” You laughed with a small snort, and reached over to steal your drink back.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” he said gently. 

You took a small sip of your drink, but it was sour and harsh against your tongue and burned all the way down. Fear prickled across your skin like little needles, and you suddenly felt the heat of Koboh catch up to you, even in the controlled cooled air of the saloon. 

“It’s not something you need to be afraid of,” he explained, shifting in his stool to face you properly. You remained silent, downing the rest of the glass. The alcohol hit you quickly, and you welcomed it. 

“You never asked what I was doing here,” he pointed out, and you grabbed the change of subject while you still could. 

“Okay. What are you doing here, Cal?” You probed, your throat dry. 

“I could feel you, reaching out. And I know you could feel me too,” 

“Cal, come on. Enough. I really don’t-” your words came to a halt as you spotted Cal’s hand extended towards you, his palm facing the ceiling.

“What are you doing?” You ask, disbelief and irritation creeping into your words.

“Go on. See if it feels familiar,” he suggests. 

“I’ve shaken your hand before,” you point out. 

“I’m showing you this time. No holding back, no shielding,” he says.

“Showing me what?” You barked out, and he just nodded down to his hand. BD-1 stands still as a statue atop the bar, observing the interaction. 

You scoffed, and decided it was worth it just to shut him up. Your hand shook, and you took a deep breath in before daring to touch him.

Your fingers slid atop his, and he welcomed the touch, letting his eyes flutter closed. His thumb settled atop your hand and brushed across your knuckles. 

You gasped, and though your eyes were wide open and your mind was fuzzy, you immediately recognized the energy, the warmth. It was the same presence that was teasing your dreams and coaxing you gently towards it more and more each time. Cal. That tug you had felt all those days ago, the instinctual draw within you to keep searching for something you couldn't name. Now that you could see him like this, feel him, your mind was calm for the first time in a long time. 

Cal opened his eyes, and gently let go of your hand. You fought the urge to reach forward and grasp it once again, to feel the quiet peace that his touch seemed to bring to your mind.

“There you are,” he smiled. “You weren’t dreaming earlier. You were meditating. And I came here because I could feel you reaching, wanting me to come to you. Through the force,” 

“The force? Come on, Cal. I feel things sometimes, but I’m not like you,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. He shook his head slowly.

“No, you’re not like me. I’ve been trained for this since I was a child. Did you ever even know what you are? What you could be?” He asked, more intently now. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know anything about the Jedi. I don’t know anything about the force, and I’m not sure I even want to,” you say simply. 

“Look," Cal spoke softly, a sympathetic expression across his face.

"Whether you meant to or not, you’ve been calling me through the force for weeks. It’s like you’ve been sending out a ping, calling anyone with a connection to the force straight to you. If there were an inquisitor in this system, they would be on your tail before you could even try to run. And trust me. You don’t want to know what they would do to an untrained force sensitive like you,” he warned, and even through your fading buzz you could hear the bitterness in his voice, feel the darkness in his words.

“Let me help you. I can show you, just enough to hide your force signature and keep yourself safe, if that’s all that you want,” he offered, leaning forward. His eyes searched yours for something, and after a moment, he saw it.

“Okay,” you whispered, and he sucked in a breath, some of the tension melting away from his face.

"Okay," he agreed.

[sakuraryomen01]

Valentino /Sukuna Ryomen x Fem! Reader/ .11 [Slight Nsfw]

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother, ec project with Nickolas the transfer student, drunk sukuna shows up at the dorm(!?), a small makeout session, some sexual touching and mentions of grinding/humping at readers thighs, caring for this stressed out man-slut, ooc sukuna.

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..

words: 5.036k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 .11 .12 .13 .14 .15 .16 .17 .18 .19 .20

a/n: hey guys! sorry for the delay ^^ i've been wanting to get some chapters drafted before posting them! ty sm for the patience i hope u enjoy and r ready for the upcoming drama between sukuna and y/n!

a/n 2: so so sooooo sorry for being three days later after saying i'd be posting right away!!>< I was with family and the wifi was being iffy the last few days. I couldn't access many of my socials and much less work on the final draft of the chapter!! i powered thro until i was satified and it's finally here! i hope you enjoy!!

chapter/idea cred to: @misslauravillanueva i needed to give credit for the help! i was struggling on what to do!><

. . .

Thank you for reading this! Enjoy!

“Achoo!”

“Ah, are you alright?” Geto’s cool tone echoed from the kitchen, his brow raised with a curious expression written on his face. “Coming down with something? I told you to relax from studying for a while–”

“It’s not that!” You huff, cheeks burning with embarrassment. ”I just sneezed. I don’t know why though..”

“Okay, relax. I’m not gonna get upset.”

With a pout, you leaned against the armrest of the couch. Bowl of mac and cheese with little hot dogs in hand and a Coke on the coffee table. Eyes returning back to the TV screen and watching the current crime show playing, listening to the crimes that the murderer committed as he was handed a death sentence. 

Sometimes, when I let my mind wander to Sukuna.. It feels like that.

The idea that he’s now stuck on your mind despite all the anger he had towards you. The almost strange obsession and addiction to the idea of him. While you’ve been repetitively trying to control these new emotions and thoughts, you couldn’t help it. Seeing Sukuna that day in Ec class all those days ago. Having to tutor him. Even dealing with his weird smirks and teasing.

..That kiss too..

“Your face is doing that thing again, Y/n,” Geto’s voice chirped out of nowhere, causing you to jolt in your spot. “So jumpy over a guy? You know therapy exists, right?”

Returning a rather poorly chosen burn, Geto stood from his spot on the couch and waved a hand at you. Grabbing his things and his shoes from the carpet near the door, he sent you another telling look.

“If you're this upset, just ask what's up. Seriously, seeing you get stressed over this is kinda.. sad.”

There was a stabbing pain in your chest. You knew.

“Good night to you too, Suguru,” You hum, leaning on your fist as the door closed with a click. Leaving you alone in the dormitory for a few moments.

Your thoughts clouding your headspace until you decided to go to bed. Unable to understand this dreadful lil thing people called love, unable to understand why Sukuna Ryomen had crawled his way into your heart just by being an ass.

Tomorrow is another day.. Right?

. . .

“Today we'll be picking partners for class projects!”

Eh?? Ehhhhh????

You blinked a few times at the announcement, looking down towards Toji as students began to groan and complain a little. Quickly these were silenced as Toji lifted a stack of papers and chuckled deeply in his husky voice.

“It's not my problem, just get them done. You have two weeks to do it, so get your partners. The class is uneven so be ready for one of y'all's groups to have an extra person. It's a self-pick topic type of thing so start discussing today or tomorrow your topic and go with it!”

Toji tapped the papers on his desk and sat, letting his tie loose as he started relaxing for the rest of the period.

“If you need suggestions for your topic, there's a list in here along with your presentation requirements. I expect all names and correct citations with these as well.”

You let out a small groan and rub your temple. Not only were you stressed, now you had to deal with this? Extra shifts at work couldn't save you from this type of annoyance. It's not that you hated group projects, it's just a small tick when half of them throw the work onto you.

Pros and cons. Pros– none. Cons– work was usually tossed onto you.

You stood from your desk and began making your way down the steps to grab a paper. A strange chill ran up your spine as you passed Sukuna’s. Sparing a glance over, your cheeks warmed almost immediately.

Some bits of hair were pinned back and a pen rested on an ear. His shirt had a few buttons undone with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Black pants tight enough to have made a bakery spawn on the seat he sat upon. He looked really handsome, daring to battle even Toji’s good looks, and it was getting to you. 

What hit the nail in the coffin is when he just so happened to catch you ogling with your tongue practically hanging out of your mouth. His eyes sharpened at your expression as a smirk curled at the corners of his lips.

An almost playful yet teasing smile you weren't used to seeing on his face caught you off guard. It made your face hot, and your shame grow a few beats in that moment.

“Stop creeping” was basically what his face was saying.

Letting out a strained cough, you covered your face and made your way back up to your desk. Positive that his eyes had followed you all the way up the stairs before you sat in your spot. Hiding behind the paper and some random book you grabbed from your bag.

You couldn't be more obvious, could you?

While fellow students started to shift in their seats and partner up with friends and just random buddies from in the room, Sukuna was swarmed with a small audience of girls as he stood from his seat to also fetch a paper. The guys that sat around him gave him annoyed side-eyes and snorts as he absorbed the attention from all the women in the room. 

“Sukuna, do you wanna partner with me?” One asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and letting the blush on her cheeks show.

“Me too, we could all do it together!” Another spoke up, poking her button nose into their conversation. Her bright green eyes staring up at Sukuna with a needy gleam.

It makes you confused to an extent, making you press your brows together as you look to the side. Sukuna probably thought that's what you looked like every time you saw him. It makes your heart ache and head throb, another grand headache to your already upsetting day.

Just let your mind be normal for once in your life.

You begin to gather your things and part from the room, the hustle and bustle of the classroom quietly fading into the background. Letting out a relaxed sigh as the sight of your bed creeped into the corners of your mind– oh, how you wished to be relaxing in bed with your favorite stuffy.

“Hello, miss? Would you like to be my partner for the project?” A voice suddenly called from behind you, somewhat echoing throughout the quiet hallways. It startled you since you didn’t expect anyone to follow you out of the classroom asking such a thing, it piqued your interest.

Lifting your head, you come face to face with someone you didn’t know.

His dark hair was up in a bun with his undercut showing behind his pierced ears, a kind smile flashing behind yet another piercing on his lip. Tanned skin that seemed to glow like it was pampered with the best beauty products around, not a scar or pimple in sight. Cute dimples at the corners of his lips adding to his boyish charm while his honey eyes gleamed at you. It reminded you of Yuji in a sense, but this was not Yuji.

You’ve never seen this guy before– a really cute one at that.

“Hello,” you say, momentarily stunned at the stranger, letting your hand weakly wave. “Uhm, partner?”

There was an adorable chuckle that furthered your stunned silence before you heard a response. “Yes, I saw you walk out here alone and thought you might need one.”

You take in a deep breath, regaining your composure quickly and patting yourself down. “Ah, right. I actually don’t like having a partner, my past experiences have led me to conclude that they’re not the best option for a project. Besides, I’m a big girl, I can handle one on my own.”

“I can see why,” He starts, looking back at the classroom with the still clamoring students before returning his attention to you. “That horde in there was after one guy, they don’t care about this project. I was actually about to do the same as you when I saw my choices were so low.”

Rubbing a big calloused hand over his nape, the strangers’ almond eyes looked from the empty halls and to you, his smile sheepish. “Please? Don’t make me beg now.”

There was a small silence between you and the stranger as you considered walking off and letting him go with his original plan before the Economics class erupted with whines as Sukuna and a girl walked from inside. The color left your cheeks, seeing the girl’s arm wrapped tightly around Sukuna’s. Looking as if he was protecting her from the growing crowd of the class, engaging in an active conversation as they walked on by.

Your heart sank sharply, seeing Sukuna letting someone else into his circle. He used to be so cold, so annoyed with people when he was younger. Only letting you really hold him that close, giving you nuzzles of appreciation since he didn’t like to say it aloud.

Now, he gives you the cold shoulder and holds others that aren’t you close.

Without letting your head finish its last thought and your eyes still trained on the back of Sukuna’s head, you gave a nod and looked back at the stranger. “Sure. I’m Y/n L/n, by the way.”

“Really? That’s great!” He smiled, the warmth of his company lightening your mood sufficiently more than it was a few moments ago. “My name’s Nickolas Alveres, it’s nice to meet you, L/n.”

The both of you share a smile for a second before Nickolas nods down the hall, motioning for the both of you to head to your next classes. He doesn’t wait for you to join him, but you do anyway. Trying to make small talk with him as you try to get to know your partner, letting the smile on your lips stick.

While you wore a smile, someone else had a frown. A deep scowl, if you will. You didn’t feel it, but Sukuna’s partner saw it.

She raised a brow, cheeks tinted a slight color as she cast her gaze in the same direction. Seeing you close to another man, only escalating the befuddlement.

“What’s wrong, Sukuna?”

A disgruntled look was plastered all over said man’s face, his frown so prominent it was a waste of time to even attempt to hide it. A chasm of wrinkles forming on his forehead as his brows pressed together at the sight before him. Watching the way you and some kid walked side by side with a smile on your face, not a care in the world.

When did you get so chummy?

“It’s nothing.. Let’s go, Haru,” He said, not sparing a second to look back at you. With a huff, he pulled his work partner, Haru, with him to the nearby library to find a good subject for this project.

It’s what he wanted anyways.. right?

. . .

“Wait, wait.. He punched Gojo in the face?!” Nickolas laughed, holding his cup up to his lips quickly to cover his giggles and chuckles. His nose crinkled up as they continued despite his obvious resistance. “He must’ve been drunk too to get so defensive!! I thought he was just a jerk most of the time.”

“Usually he is,” You start, crossing your legs under the coffee table. Looking over some of the notebooks the both of you had sprawled out onto the wood to look for any good topics to talk about in the presentation. Quickly, you scribbled out one, taking a sip from your cup and looking back up to Nickolas. “Recently though, he’s been alright. Not as mean as he used to be, but not one-hundred percent rude and annoying.”

A calm silence filled the air as Nickolas rested his work in his lap, taking a moment to look from them to you. “Speaking of, how long have you known this guy? You talk about him like he’s an old friend.”

The corner of your lips twitch upwards for a short second before you let your face relax. “He was. Not really interested in joining forces again recently.”

Nickolas nodded his head in understanding, eyes glazing over somewhat on what response to give. Seeing that the idea of this guy somehow hurt you, it got him concerned. Why bother letting him get to you so deeply if this is the result? It doesn’t make sense.

“Don’t let it get to you too much, Y/n,” He mustered after a short silence, placing his cup on the coffee table and letting his ring tap against the plastic. “If he’s still letting you be this close, even helping you care for a friend, that’s gotta be something.”

You nod numbly, knowing the obvious has been said too many times. Talk to him, ask him how he’s doing about the relationship, what does he want from you? The same three things that you always wanted to say when you were with him, but how. Other than tutoring, other than being near each other in class, you and Sukuna spent little to no time together.

All you remember about him is that he was the tough kid in school with home problems that liked to play tag and hide and seek. That he scared you with bugs and frogs while at the lake or near the Willow tree. The fond memories you shared with him couldn’t be the only factor that you had to use to judge what you wanted, you had to be around him more.

How was going to be the hardest puzzle to solve.

“Oh well,” Nickolas yawned, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s about time i get headed to my dorm. I have an early class tomorrow. I’ll leave you my number so that we can plan meetings for the project!”

Jokes and laughter filled the room as you and your partner exchanged information when there was a loud commotion at the door. You glanced from Nickolas to the dorm door and let out a light hearted chuckle, waving your hands next to your head.

“Ah, I’ll go get that! Gather your things, okay?”

Nickolas nodded and turned to his open binder and mess of notebook paper splayed on the coffee table, humming to himself as you rushed over to the front door. Hair stood at attention when you opened that door, seeing a messed up man laying on the hallway floor. A big wine bottle squeezed tightly in his right hand, the other placed next to his head on the floor.

His voice came out in gentle hums of some random rock song, lyrics jumping out from his mouth every second or so in a drunken daze. His fluffy hair was messy and almost unrecognizable until you realized who it was.

It was Sukuna.

“Wh.. What are you doing here?” You shout, shocked at his arrival, but there was not really a response. Only his hand raising to wave his finger around to the hum of his song. “Sukuna, answer me!!”

“..rather be.. Than lonely..”

Letting out a sigh, you look back at Nickolas and see his confused face staring at the gap between you and the door down at Sukuna. He stood there ready to go with his bag strap on his shoulder and keys in hand, giving you quick glances for some semblance of an answer. You give a small shrug, looking back to the immobile man on the ground.

Gently, you kick at one of his legs to try and get something out of him. “Sukuna, get up!”

Not a single thing, just a grunt and a tussle before your eyes finally connect with glazed ones. Maroon pools that were foggy beyond belief, not having a thought behind them. Nickolas tilts his head to the side and shakes it, giving you a pat on the arm and a sheepish smile.

“I'll get out of your hair, Y/n. Good luck!”

You step out of the man’s way, looking down at the disgruntled Sukuna and give a weak chuckle. Parting ways with Nickolas for the evening and kneeling down to Sukuna and shaking his shoulder. “Sukuna, you’ll get sick, get up.”

“..Doesn’t matter,” Sukuna mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a sip of his drink. “F’m sick, I’ll just be sick..”

“It does matter, now get up.”

You did your best to pull Sukuna up by his arm and into a sitting position, hooking the limp appendage over your shoulder and lifting him up onto his feet. It was a struggle since Sukuna was so heavy, but you managed. The stench of alcohol reeked from his breath and shirt, mixes of dirt and some stains that you didn’t feel the need to ask where they came from. 

Stumbling into your dormitory you freed the near empty beer bottle from Sukuna’s grasp and pulled the door close. He wasn’t giving much fight– probably due to the amount he drank– and just leaned his weight onto you. Mumbling to himself about things you weren’t going to pressure him into answering. Still, it made you wonder.

What the hell drove him to come to my place?

Surely, he wouldn’t mind answering that.

With a huff to your lips you plopped Sukuna’s heavy ass onto the couch and folded your arms. The beer bottle in your hand swirling around as you rotate your wrist ever so slightly, brow raising at Sukuna’s nearly asleep form. It was odd to see the big, strong and mean Sukuna Ryomen on his last leg from intoxication. 

Despite this, you found it cute.

“I’ll go get you some water and maybe a change of clothes,” You announce, tilting your head to see if that gauges a reaction. Sadly there was nothing but a huff and some finger taps on the couch’s cushions. Letting your arms fall to your side, you grunt and place the beer on the table. “Whatever, I’ll be right back.”

You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and some extra sheets from your bedroom before making your way back into the living room to Sukuna. A fresh set of clothing was provided, thanks to Geto’s many late night bang sessions with Shoko, and some cooling pads were placed next to Sukuna on the couch. He didn’t do much but glance at the items, turning his face away in– what you assumed– was a quiet protest.

Sukuna never acted this petty and spoiled before. What’s gotten into him?

“Let’s get you changed, yeah?” Gently, you press your hands to his chest, earning a reaffirming nod and proceeding to undo the buttons of his collared shirt. 

It was strange to be in this position. On your knees, undressing the man you’ve pinned for for so long, only to be seeing this messy and unkempt side you didn’t like to imagine him being. The feelings in your chest that you wanted to put away were making your heart race once more, every glance you got to see from the mess you called Sukuna.

His hair made him resemble his brother more than anything else now, hanging over his sweaty forehead and tattoo. Arms hanging loosely at his sides, man spreading for all of the world to see. Shamefully, you enjoyed the calm attention. Even though it was unsightly, you liked getting to touch all over Sukuna’s body.

“There,” You mumble to yourself, having officially released Sukuna from his shirt. “N-Now, onto your..”

Trailing off, you look down at Sukuna’s pants. Swallowing thickly at the idea of pulling off his trousers, you took a deep breath. I’m never going to live this shame down!

Gently, you began to undo his belt. You face burning ever more as the air began to tense, wishing that anyone but you would be this bashful over something so silly. Still, regret hit you harder than the embarrassment or shame ever could.

Sukuna was watching you. Watching your hands slip the belt loose, pulling his button undone and pulling at his waistband. You tugged, unable to yank them down and free his lower half.

“Sukuna.. Can you lift your hips?” You ask in a soft voice, startled by the quick response. But what was it really, he was watching your every move. You felt like you were being examined in some office and not helping Sukuna undress. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

Making haste of the situation, you pulled down the fabric of his trousers and grabbed the loose shorts you had found from earlier. Ignoring all thoughts of Sukuna and how perfect his legs looked, the thick black bands of his tattoos on the fat of his thigh. The way the bulge in his briefs was much a cause for distraction, even denying that it twitched once freed from it’s confines.

Yep, never happened.

“There, all better,” You sigh, satisfied. “Now that your ready for bed, I’m going to do the same.”

It took a few minutes, but you had completely reclothed Sukuna and he now looked more sleepy and ready for bed rather than drunk off his ass and about to black out on the couch. You had struggled to even get him to take a sip of water and sober up, but to no avail. You figured you’d have to try again tomorrow morning and explain the situation once he woke up in a confused fit.

Getting him comfortable on the couch too was another ordeal you didn’t think you’d go through, but you did. Tucking in the large male until he was all cozy and warm, safely resting his head on one of your spare pillows.

“I’ll see ya in the morning, Ryo,” You mumble, letting your mind wander for a moment and tracing the outline of one of his tattoos on his bicep. Feeling the muscle twitch under your touch momentarily.

“Mgh,” Sukuna muffled out, cheeks warm to the touch.

Letting out another sigh, you stand from your spot next to the couch. Only to be pulled back towards the culprit at hand, falling ass first next to his lap. Sukuna didn’t make a sound, just grasped onto your hips and pulled you in for a hug. His arms anchored around your lower stomach, pressing into the arch of your spine and forcing you to press against him as well.

His nose was pressed into the crook of your shoulder, but you continued to crusade for answers from the sudden affection. “AGH! Sukuna, that was highly uncalled for!! What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Answer me, dammit–!!”

“Who was that guy?”

You flinch, caught off guard. The clarity and conviction in Sukuna’s voice was strange, seeing as he had been stumbling and leaning into you for the last few moments. “Uhm, my Economics partner Nickolas. It shouldn’t matter, you need to sleep!”

“I don’t need sleep,” Sukuna grunts out, lifting himself off of the couch and trapping you underneath him. Using his big arms like a cage, eyes locking you in place with a vice on your heart. “What was he doin’ hanging here?”

“Sukuna, this is childish,” You start, ready to defend yourself for a confrontation. “He’s my class partner, you shouldn’t be upset over it.”

Wait.. why was he upset?

Previously, he had never seemed to give a flying fuck what you did or whom you did it with. What’s with the sudden change of heart? It made yours ache at the possibilities, wondering what could it be that made him so hostile all of the sudden over Nickolas.

“I barely know him anyways..”

“And you let him sit here on this couch?”

There was a small slap sound as skin met skin, Sukuna’s palm and fingers grasping your chin and cheeks. A gentle but firm squeeze sent shivers down your spine, your hand reaching up to try and pull Sukuna’s off but to no avail. His eyes scanned your face for anything, a sign.

Something. Anything that would make this ache in his chest stop.

“What is he to you, huh?” His voice came out rough, deep. Intimidating. 

It was scary, but a shudder was sent up your spine. A lustful and unneeded shudder, one that sent ideas to your brain. That made your mind wander, but you held them back. 

Even as Sukuna’s lips captured yours, as his teeth grazed and nibbled at your lower lip, your hands reached up to tangle themselves in his pink locks. You had to deny, because the Sukuna that was here wasn’t really him. It was a drunk and dissociated version of him, a side that you normally didn’t see. 

A side that he probably didn’t like showing.

“Did you let him do this, mh?” Sukuna muttered, pulling away from your mouth. A string of saliva connecting the both of you for a moment as your lungs fought for breath. Chest rising and falling heavily, your hands hold onto Sukuna’s arms, trying to find something to stabilize yourself in this mess of kisses.

“N-No, we just.. Talked about class–”

“Talked? About class? Me? You?”

Sukuna retreated his touch from your face and instead placed them on your thighs. Laying beside you on the couch, keeping you trapped against his chest and making sure to dress the blankets over you.

“Sukuna, seriously, this isn’t funny anymore,” You whimper, covering your face. How could you push this away? You’ve wanted nothing but to be closer to him, haven’t you?

Desired, pleaded. You wanted everything.. But this wasn’t the way.

Feeling Sukuna’s hands wrap around your waist, having his hot breath on your neck and shoulder as he rutted his hips against the fat of your ass. You felt utterly guilty, like trash. Wanting to crawl away from Sukuna and save him the little grace he had, to avoid giving him something to wake up and regret tomorrow.

“Y/n.. look at me.. Look at what you’ve done,” The man in question ordered, hooking your top leg over his elbow. Letting the bulge in his pants grow more and more, his voice becoming ragged and deep as he got harder and harder. “You’re making a mess of me, can’t you tell?”

You nod, wanting to pull away and sleep in your bed. But the desires in you only wanted you to fall deeper. The strings of your heart being plucked as Sukuna’s lips found the sensitive skin of your neck. Marking and sucking, lewd sucking sounds erupting from his lips as he made harsh hickeys form on the skin.

Mewl after moan escaped you, your pussy wet and slick under the confines of your panties and pajama bottoms. Sukuna could tell, releasing your leg from his hold and slowing his hips for a moment until his hand migrated to your front.

Grinding the flat surface of his palm against your clothed cunt, whispering naughty words into your ear that you had to drown out. Even if the wants in your belly wished for Sukuna to be there, to fill up your insides and make a mess. To be closer than he’s ever let you been for the last month or so, you had to stop this.

And you did, with much regret.

“Sukuna, stop,” You whimper, pulling Sukuna’s hand away from your body. Breaths coming out in baited huffs, you sat up. Not taking a moment to let yourself get lured back in, feeling Sukuna’s hand find your waist again as you resisted further.

“Stop what?” He mutters, annoyance in his voice. Laced with an emotion you wished to unhear. “Didn’t you want this too?”

“Not like this.” Cold, respectful. You had to be this way, to give Sukuna another chance. Letting him have his way now in such a drunken state, you wouldn’t be able to recover a good relationship. “If I was like anyone else, you’d be taken advantage of.”

Sukuna’s touch softened, his glazed eyes clearing for a moment as he looked at the back of your head. Seeing a shimmer of something on your cheek, his fingers trembled. He desired to reach up, to brush those tears away. It was against his very nature, his very being.

He didn’t like the idea of being all cuddly and cozy, being soft and vulnerable with someone. The idea of it made his stomach churn and made the urge to vomit impending. 

But, with you. Seeing those tears form, for his sake. He felt irritated with himself. He caused it. Him.

“I’m going to bed now,” You say, voice shaken up. “Get some water, sleep.”

You stood from your place on the sofa and walked over to the small hallway, entering your bedroom and letting out a shuddering exhale. A weight was now firmly sitting on your chest. It ached, it hurt, it burned.

Everything that pain felt like was exploding in your chest. Reaching up a hand to try and comfort yourself wasn’t worth the effort either as you slid down the wood of your bedroom door. Curling into a feeble position as the tears fell from your eyes, finally free after holding them the whole time.

What you wished you could do about the man on your couch.

. . .

a/n: y'all i literally have a crippling addiction to crime videos and all that shit it's just so interesting for no reason oml (crying inside) also sorry for the month long pause (i say sorry too much) i was creating new characters and working on ideas for the next few chapters!

Chapter Song Them: — Granite - Sleep Token (Lyrics)

taglist: @mageyboo, @mzladyd , @mysticwonderlandangel, @sukunaspersonalfleshlight, @kawaiipenguin20, @k-indie, @okkotsufav, @cafeinthemoon93, @pulchritxde, @bontenbunny, @deepinballs, @kleebloomed, @fiierytearzx, @wo-ming-bai, @instantgalaxysheep, @watyousayin, @z3r0art, @sukunaobsessed, @lik0, @sukunasfirstlove, @princesstiti14, @nemoyr, @ladywolf44005, @cat-mak20, @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn, @hxlalokidottir, @domainofmarie, @the-moongoddess, @dark-n-dirty-duchess, @agentdedf1sh, @sukunastoy, @lyn-soso, @bao-yu-sarah-morningstar-wang-9, @heyitstacy, @lost-in-tokyo, @marksassybanana, @bozos-r-us , @p-3-4-c-h, @chaoticqueen33, @dxxny-loves-u, @l0tus-in-l0ve , @jiordeci, @opossum0-0, @gumisgirl, @mommasbigd, @heyitstacy, @misslauravillanueva, @fallenlostarchives, @infinitivesearch

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[teddiee]

Into Each Life: Chapter 11

Summary:

His hands tremble as he holds them in front of himself, and the room suddenly feels too tight. His pulse raises and he’s aware of every set of eyes on him now, including the shrewd glare of his father.

But most of all, he can feel Tiberius’s weighted presence, silent and steady. Tiberius hasn’t even acknowledged him for most of the evening, and yet now, with a simple caress, he’s reminding Tony of his power, of his control.

It’s deliberate, calculated, and that makes it all the more fucking infuriating.

“Sorry,” Tony gasps out. “My, uh. Foot fell asleep.”

Words: 13,112

Tony’s distracted. It’s why he misses so many of the signs.

And true, some hints that were once his most obvious tells are less apparent now. For the past week, he hasn’t given a second thought to pesky nuisances such as the constant throbbing of his scent glands or the ever-present flush of his skin.

The tightness in his lower abdomen feels like a factory setting whenever he’s in the same room as Bucky. And lately, his increased sensitivity seems more like an unexpected perk rather than a human-sized red flag indicating his looming biological crisis.

He’s practically a human slick-factory these days, impending pre-heat or not. What was once a source of shame linked to his deepest gender-specific insecurities has transformed into a nearly constant sensation that Tony has now, weirdly enough, grown quite apathetic to feeling in his underwear.

Sure, he’s done more loads of laundry in the past month than he’s done over the past two years, but it’s worth it to watch the way Bucky transforms when he detects Tony’s arousal. He’ll scrub his drawers and bedsheets in the sink every morning for the rest of his life if it means the Alpha will push out a breathy laugh, slot his thigh in between Tony’s, and croon:

“Oh, you poor thing. Wet for me already, sweetheart?”

Tony doesn’t remember Thursday night’s dream (if there even was one), but he wakes up on his stomach with his sleep shorts rucked down to his thighs. His release coats his belly and his half-hard cock, still fresh, while warm fluid dribbles out of his hole and drenches his cheap cotton sheets in a cocktail of bodily fluids that has his nose wrinkling.

Tony never knows what to make of his scent, usually—cloying, honeyed, and sharp to his own nostrils. Today, it’s practically overwhelming. He turns his head away and releases a low whine.

His lashes are wet, his lips red and bitten raw.

He knows one thing for certain, even while navigating through his post-climax haze—if he has to jerk off with his own hand or grind his mattress to one more half-baked orgasm, he’s going to fucking explode.

He goes through the familiar motions of cleaning himself off, his mind wandering. His muscles ache—he wants to crawl back into bed for the next week.

He sits through class and ignores the dull migraine pounding behind his eyeballs. He ignores the twinge in his jaw. He tries to ignore the—surprisingly aerodynamic—paper airplanes filled with study revisions that Rebecca Barnes launches onto his desk with frightening precision.

“You’re going to fail Home Ec. It’s called a ‘colander’, you dunce. Not a ‘water jail for vegetables’.”

“Leave me alone, wench,” he scribbles back, flicking the paper in her direction. He misses, and it hits Sue-Ann Whitaker—class snob and resident social climber—in the back of the head, one desk away.

The red-haired Omega casts him a glare fierce to melt carbon.

Tony responds by making an impolite gesture with his finger.

“You know, I heard the only reason Stark’s still here is because he got caught messin’ around, and now none of the Alphas want him,” Sue-Ann’s faux-whisper carries to two classmates Tony can’t be bothered to remember the names of. At the front of the classroom, their eighty-five-year-old professor grades papers at her desk, half-deaf and none the wiser. “He was supposed to be bonded off aaaaages ago, but now that all of New York knows he’s loose, no one’ll take him. Not even those Alphas shopping… secondhand.”

The girls snicker.

Tony rolls his eyes. If only he were actually getting any action, maybe he wouldn’t be dry-humping his pillow every night in his sleep.

“I heard that he was sneakin’ around with Rebecca Barnes’s brother. The army boy? My ma says she spotted them at Red Star on Sunday night. You know, that diner off Ellis Street?” Lackey Number One chimes in.

Tony doesn’t snap his pencil in half, but it’s a close thing.

From her own desk, Rebecca freezes.

“The older brother? James Barnes? Oh please, there’s no way,” Sue-Ann sniffs.

“I remember him,” Lack Number Two giggles. “He was here when Becca moved in. God, what a dish.”

The only dish on Tony’s mind is one he can crack over his own head so he won’t have to hear the rest of this conversation.

“They were sitting on the same side of the booth. Sharing a spoon. And—” Lackey Number One glances around conspiratorially. “—kissing.”

Becca shoots him a look, which Tony promptly ignores.

It’s a gross over-exaggeration, anyway. He tried one bite of Bucky’s pie, and the closest they got to any kissing was when Bucky hooked an arm around his neck and childishly licked the whipped cream off his cheek like an overzealous Saint Bernard while Tony sputtered in protest.

They had received several disapproving looks from the surrounding patrons.

Including, clearly, his classmate’s prudish mother.

“Whatever it is, it won’t last,” Sue-Ann declares. She sends another sneer in Tony’s direction. “Stark’s a boy-mega. My father says that his kind basically serve as chew toys for older men. Consolation prizes for disgraced, Alpha has-beens.”

Lovely.

“It’s a shame about the older brother, though,” Lackey Number Two sighs wistfully. “He’s gorgeous—like, a total dreamboat. That smile. I’d probably risk a little social impropriety myself to go to a diner with an Alpha like that.” Both lackeys burst into another round of giggles.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nancy,” Sue-Ann snaps. “He’s poor. The entire family is practically destitute. Have you seen Becca’s uniform? The buttons haven’t matched in six months. There are more patches than any original fabric. I suppose when you can’t afford a new uniform, you have to make do with what’s already falling apart.”

Becca scowls at her desk, her cheeks flushing with color.

“You don’t settle down with Alphas from families like that. My father’s a state representative; I already have offers pouring in from all over the country,” Sue-Ann boasts. “My Alpha’s going to be handsome and influential. I’ve already been corresponding with a boy who’s on his way to becoming a managing director for a private equity firm.”

Tony snorts. Loudly.

The three girls whip around to stare at him.

“Eavesdrop, much?” Sue-Ann hisses.

“Oh no, don’t flatter yourself,” Tony says. He’s carving at his pencil with Jarvis’s old pocketknife, shaping the wood to a fine point. By the end of class, he’ll probably have himself a make-do shiv.

God willing, he can use it to lobotomize himself.

“Just reminiscing on my own propositions. Of course, nothing so ostentatious as the, what was it? ‘Son of a managing director of a something-something-snooze-fest’? Mazel tov to you and your charming future doormat.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sue-Ann seethes. One of the lackey’s lips twitch. ”I mean, we all can’t expect to be so lucky. Last weekend, my sole offer was a pass from some sleazy U.S. Armed Forces Committee chairman.”

Becca bursts into a startled laugh, which she quickly disguises with a strangled cough.

“You’re a filthy liar,” Sue-Ann spits. “My father would never. My mother, God rest her soul, just passed this winter—”

“No, of course, you’re right,” Tony says with a dismissive wave of his hand. He hasn’t even bothered to look up from his shiv-pencil. “Richard, right? Representative Richard Wanker—sorry, Whitaker. Though, I suppose it must have been some other skank’s pervert of a father. New York is just so large, and my dumb, horny boy-mega brain gets all of the influential scumbags confused.”

“You complete WORM!” Sue-Ann cries, slamming her palms down on her desk. Several heads turn in their direction. “My father is an honorable man. He would never demean himself by associating with someone like you.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Your drunken slob of a father asked if I was ‘pure’—which, gross—and then made several observations about my ‘burgeoning wiles’. At this rate, Whitaker, you can expect to be calling me ‘Step-Dad’ by next Christmas.” He glides the pocketknife up the pencil with a satisfying scrape, and tosses in a wink for good measure.

He gets kicked out of Home Ec.

He’s supposed to go to the Headmaster’s office, but that’s always a colossal waste of time for all involved parties. Instead, he slinks back to his dormitory room and sleeps fitfully until it’s time for Jarvis to pick him up.

He wakes up feeling marginally worse, somehow. Groggy and disoriented, he tosses clothes into his duffle bag and splashes his face with cold water, hissing at the hypersensitivity to his pulsating glands.

By the time he’s dragging his feet into his butler’s awaiting chariot, he’s a half-conscious, delirious, shivering mess.

“Don’ feel so good,” he mumbles, tipping over and pressing his face into the cool, leathered interior of the Rolls Royce. “Might be dyin’.”

Jarvis takes one glance at him through the rearview mirror and sighs, long and heavy and audible.

“Oh, Tony. I truly have to commend your knack for somehow managing to escalate every potential disaster. Not to mention your gift for seeking out the most horrendous timing imaginable.”

“Missed you too, buddy,” Tony says into the leather. And then: “Wait, huh?”

“Having your real heat directly after we informed your father about your fake heat isn’t exactly ideal, you know,” Jarvis remarks, tone deceptively light.

Tony’s brain grinds to a halt.

“I’m not—” he pauses. He slaps a hand to his throat. His mating gland pulses so hot he can practically feel it vibrating under his palm. “Oh, my God.”

“Ah, I see you’re just now joining us in the real world. Welcome.”

“Oh my God. What the fuck, J. What the fuck.”

“You have always had a flair for the dramatics; however, I fear I’m missing the punchline to this particular bit.”

“Take me back,” Tony demands. He sits up too fast, and his head spins. He grips the headrest to keep from vomiting onto his shoes. “J, take me back. Turn around. Right now.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Jarvis sighs, sounding truly apologetic. “Your father is having guests for dinner, and your presence is expected.”

“Dinner?” Tony wails. He falls onto his back and presses his fists into his eyes. “Howard and his fucking vanity celebrations. Jarvis, I can’t be at dinner. I’ve been in pre-heat since… fucking Christ, since last night. I’ll be fully out of commission in a few hours, max.”

He’s so stupid. He’s so, so stupid.

The signs were right there.

And he was too busy basking in the glow of five-day courtship to notice.

Tony hates spending his heats at The Institute. The designated heat rooms are sterile and impersonal, and after three days Tony feels more like a lunatic locked in a padded cell than anything resembling a sexually satisfied Omega.

But Tony hates spending his heats at home even more, where his father’s disgust and scorn permeate every wall of the Manhattan mansion.

Besides, there’s nothing quite as humbling as sobbing into your childhood pillow with two fingers up your own ass.

“You’ve had a … tumultuous week, I’m sure,” Jarvis says, not unkindly. “I’m sure many factors could have triggered your cycle.”

“Gross, Jarvis. Please never say ‘cycle’ ever again,” Tony moans petulantly. “This is a fucking disaster. Howard’s going to know I was lying. He’s going to know I wasn’t at school. He’s—”

“Relax, Anthony,” Jarvis cuts in. “I can’t smell you, yet. Chances are, your father won’t be able to, either.” Small mercies for Beta noses. “I’ve just become more attuned to your early… tendencies.”

“Flattering,” Tony says dully.

“We’ll get you washed up. We’ll use those scented oils your mother always buys you for Christmas that you pretend not to throw away. Ana keeps spares. You’ll sit opposite the table, as usual. You’ll behave yourself for one dinner, and then you can hide up in your room for the remainder of the weekend. Your father will be none-the-wiser.”

“That’s ambitious,” Tony croaks. His eyes are burning a little. “Who’s coming to dinner?”

“I’m not sure,” Jarvis admits, and Tony’s heart sinks like a rock into the pit of his stomach. “Ana was just told to prepare four extra place settings in addition to yours and your mother’s.”

“Any Alphas will know,” Tony whines. “They’ll smell me.”

“Any mention of Howard Stark’s son’s biological well-being at dinner would be highly inappropriate, I am certain.”

Tony snorts. “Hasn’t stopped any of Howard’s friends before.”

Jarvis sends him an exasperated look. “Bath. Oils. It’s still early. I am confident that you will be fine.”

Tony swallows heavily. His throat burns. “Monday,” he says. “You take me back Monday. Regardless of… it doesn’t matter. It it’s not… over.” He wipes at his eyes. “Monday, I go back to Brooklyn.”

He doesn’t specify The Institute. It’s not what he means.

Somehow, Jarvis knows.

His butler nods. “Monday,” he agrees softly.

Now that Tony knows he’s in pre-heat for certain, the symptoms suffocate him.

Ignorance can indeed be bliss. After all, ignoring his sticky thighs and half-hard cock is manageable when he’s fully aware that a libido gremlin dominates his every waking thought.

But this time, when he tears off his clothes in his ensuite bathroom and is confronted by a familiar, inevitable mess in his underwear, he panics.

The whine that erupts from his vocal cords is shrill and feminine. He sneaks a frenzied look at his reflection—flushed skin, wild eyes, noticeably swollen scent glands—and knows he’s doomed.

He’s cut it too close. His thoughts are mostly lucid, but he can feel the fog creeping in on the outskirts—the familiar haze that makes his mind go a little soft, lets his brain float in and out of that submissive space. The urge to succumb to his body’s cravings is already palpable—last night’s interaction with Bucky outside the school was enough to send him dropping, and that was almost twenty-four hours ago.

He rakes a hand over his face and resists the urge to scream.

When he dunks his head under the bath water, he briefly contemplates drowning himself.

He scrubs at his overly sensitive skin. He washes away the evidence of the past week with scent-neutralizing soap. He rubs floral-smelling oils into his glands and even spritzes down his underwear, though the sensation immediately makes him physically recoil. His body only craves one scent, and it’s certainly not the artificial aroma of his mother’s expensive jasmine perfume.

He tucks his non-cooperating prick into the waistband of his pants and prays to a foreign deity that tonight’s predictably dull conversation is enough to suppress his arousal and keep his body in check.

He refuses to focus on the sliver of dread that curls in the pit of his stomach. The distant recognition that this pre-heat feels so much more intense—is already taking a heavier toll on his body—than any heats previously.

That he’s craving the presence of a certain Alpha so deeply, it feels all-consuming. He can already feel his desire for Bucky taking root inside his body, echoing within his bones.

“I need a drink,” Tony announces, pushing into the kitchen ten minutes later. The fabric of his suit scratches at his skin with an intensity that makes him want to pluck his eyes out. “Vodka, whiskey, lighter fluid. Anything.”

Ana opens a hidden cabinet, and moments later, a bottle of Old Crow is thrust into his hands.

“Bourbon works,” Tony croaks, swigging the cheap liquor straight from the bottle. He relishes the burn. It distracts him from the burning in his own veins.

“You look terrible, Antal.”

“Thank you, I’m fully aware.” Tony waves the bottle of bourbon for emphasis. “S’why we have to blame it on me getting… er… how do you say ‘drunk as swine’ in Hungarian?” He takes another large gulp before the bottle is yanked from his lips. He frowns. “Heyyyy.”

“If you’re wasted at dinner, I’m the one who will have to hear about it from your mother,” Ana chastises. The Beta presses a palm to his forehead, causing Tony to hiss and flinch away. “You’re too warm.”

“Noted,” Tony says. He reaches for the bourbon, but Ana holds it out of his grasp. “Who’s all here?”

“Your father is entertaining his guests in the billiards room. A group that I recognize from the last dinner. The officer, the Omega woman. That funny-looking German.”

Dr. Abraham Erskine.

Tony curses.

Suddenly, it becomes glaringly clear why he’s being forced to attend supper.

No one revels in a power play like Howard Stark. By forcing Tony to share a meal and engage in social niceties with the man who once attempted to enlist him in some secret scientific war effort—without Howard’s consent, to boot—his father sends a clear message to both: he’s still the one in control.

Heaven forbid Tony have a pipe dream.

“Jarvis said there were four extra place settings,” Tony presses.

Ana rolls her lips, returning to her kitchen station.

“Mr. Stone will be joining a bit later. Dinner is at eight; you can stay if you don’t make yourself useless. Come, finish the silverware for me.”

Tony doesn’t move.

“Tiberius is coming?” His voice pushes out as a strangled rasp.

Tony can’t remember Tiberius ever attending a family dinner.

“He… insisted,” Ana says delicately.

Tony stares blankly at the wall behind the stove.

“Oh,” he says, because if he says anything more he’ll definitely throw up.

Ana touches his elbow. The contact startles him.

“We’ll seat him at the opposite end of the table. Near your father,” she says carefully. “He won’t know.”

“He’ll know,” Tony replies numbly. He blinks away from the wall and stares at his family’s cook.   “He… I’m not sure what he’ll do about it. But he’ll know.”

Ironically, the only one who appears oblivious to the situation is Howard.

Tony’s mother blinks at him.

“You look nice, dear,” she says in that typical absent way of hers. But her eyes, usually distant and unfocused, trail from his throat to his face, and for a brief, startling moment, Tony detects a flash of clarity. His Omega mother’s nostrils twitch, almost imperceptibly, and she reaches for his arm. Her fingers tighten around his sleeve. “Jasmine, right?”

Tony nods mutely.

She smiles. “Lovely.”

The dour Alpha—Colonel Phillips—regards Tony with a look of such pure bewilderment, Tony would probably find it amusing if he weren't vibrating with panic. He sits on the far end of the table from Tony and avoids eye contact.

‘No one will notice’, my ass, Tony thinks petulantly.

The British Omega woman, Agent Carter, quickly schools her expression and shakes Tony’s hand, but not before sending a fleeting sidelong glance at Dr. Erskine.

The German doctor simply smiles at Tony. Tony ignores him.

He sits beside his mother while the group crowds around Howard at the opposite end of the table and resists the urge to bury his head in his arms.

As far as humiliation rituals go, he has to admit that a group of strangers sniffing out his impending heat ranks pretty high up there.

“Just waiting on one more,” Howard assures them, grinning like a shark. “My business partner. Running a little later, should be here any minute. Don’t be shy, dig in. Miss Carter, more wine?”

“Agent,” the Omega says primly. “And no, thank you.”

The seat next to Howard’s is empty, and suddenly doesn’t feel far enough away.

“Tony,” his mother says quietly. Her voice doesn’t carry past the two of them. “Are you feeling alright, dear? You look quite peaky.”

“Swell, Ma,” he remarks. He swirls his soup with the spoon but can’t seem to bring it to his mouth. “Just tired.”

“Still… recovering?” She asks. “From last weekend, I mean.”

Tony’s spoon ceases its movements.

“Yes,” he says through his teeth. “Still recovering. Can we change the subject, maybe?”

He plays with his soup more than he manages to eat it, and his mother won’t stop casting him these frantic, worried glances, but miraculously, he somehow manages to survive the first course while preserving his dignity. Until:

“Sorry I’m late, everyone.”

Tony’s fork clatters to his plate.

Tiberius Stone sweeps the room, his presence immediately consuming the space like wildfire smoke—suffocating and inescapable.

Tony grits his teeth and holds his breath to avoid choking on it.

“Ty!” Howard exclaims. “The chair is all yours, my friend. Grab a seat.” He gestures to the vacant spot on his right.

A king and his regent.

But Tiberius isn’t looking at Howard. His ice-blue eyes are locked onto the Omega at the opposite end of the table, flushed and petrified and furious and trying desperately to conceal his emotional turmoil from escaping through his scent like a guiding torch.

For a brief moment, Tony’s own gaze flits to Stone’s, revealing a fleeting glimpse of something dark and predatory, only to be swiftly replaced by a facade of practiced neutrality.

The entire interaction lasts mere seconds, if that, but it feels like a lifetime. The Alpha’s nostrils expand, and Tony knows; he knows that Tiberius can smell him, even through the oils and the perfumes and the bullshit.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Tiberius chuckles with a good-natured wave of his hand. “I’m merely here to observe. Howard’s the pro at handling negotiations; I just sign the papers.”

The table laughs, Howard preens, and Tony watches with a dry mouth as Tiberius plucks the chair from next to Howard and stalks toward Tony’s end of the table.

“I’d rather not interrupt. Lord knows I frequently have Howard’s ear. You all can catch me up after dinner,” Tiberius offers. He pushes his chair next to Tony’s left. “Anthony, do you mind terribly?”

Tony gapes. The rest of the table goes silent.

Publicly, Tony doesn’t associate with Alphas. Not without a chaperone.

He hardly interacts with them. He doesn’t really speak to them. He certainly doesn’t sit directly next to them at his father’s dinner table.

As far as his parents are concerned, these are the first words Tiberius Stone has uttered directly to Tony since he presented.

His mother clears her throat. “I don’t think—”

“Can’t promise you’ll have as much fun on that side as down here,” Howard teases, signaling a servant for more wine. The rosy spots on his cheeks indicate he’s becoming healthily tipsy. “My son never did know when to keep his trap shut. But hey, pal, it's your funeral.”

“Howard, I’m not sure—”

“More wine, Phillips?”

And that’s that.

Tiberius presses in next to Tony, and when his shoulder brushes against the Omega’s, Tony drags his chair closer to his mother’s.

“Missus Stark. Tony.” Tiberius’s gaze flashes to both of the Starks. “You both look lovely.”

Maria smiles amicably. “Tiberius. So pleased you could join us.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Tony stares down at his placemat with a fixed, burning intensity and wills himself to ignore the looming presence of the Alpha just a few feet away.

His grip on his autonomy is already slipping with every inhalation of Tiberius’s encompassing, obnoxious pheromones, and Tony loathes the way his body betrays him.

The Alpha’s scent is everywhere—thick, invasive, clinging to his skin like it’s soaked into his very being. It’s overpoweringly earthy, like soil churned up by a storm, and beneath it lingers the faint metallic tang of iron, sharp and jarring, scraping against his senses. It slams into Tony like a tidal wave, raw and unrelenting, and he can’t stop how his pre-heat body responds, no matter how hard he tries to suppress his own primal instincts.

His subconscious doesn’t care that this scent feels wrong, that it grates against every rational part of him. His heat only cares that it’s Alpha, strong and undeniable, and it twists through him like a cruel mockery of what he truly needs.

He grips his fork with enough force to dent the sterling silver, the tension coiling through his body leaving his limbs feeling tauter than a bowstring.

Tiberius takes a sip of wine, and Tony avoids staring at the translucent, vampiric expanse of his throat.

“Maria,” the Alpha says. His voice is deep and controlled. Tony shivers. “Howard tells me you’re in charge of hosting the upcoming charity luncheon?”

“Oh, yes,” Maria replies pleasantly. “For the children. Education and care for those orphaned by the war. It’s going to be the event of the season.”

Tony takes his knife and stabs at his steak, pretending it's Tiberius’s head.

“I’m sure it will be simply dashing,” Tiberius says, and Tony’s mother beams.

Tony sends a long, resigned look toward the ceiling.

Tiberius prattles on with his mother over his head. They discuss luncheons and garden clubs, the latest opera, Maria’s bridge party. Tony chews his food without tasting it and challenges himself to hold his breath for dizzying expanses of time.

Lightheaded and feverish, he almost misses the brush of the Alpha’s finger against his thigh.

Tony’s breath hitches. It’s a ghost of a touch—Tony’s distracted, and the sensation is so light, so subtle that with anyone else, Tony might question whether he simply imagined it.

But then it happens again.

Tiberius’s hand, warm and insistent, slides across his thigh under the dinner table, and the sensation feels like an electric shock to his nerves. For a split second, he’s utterly paralyzed.

And then, without thinking, his legs snap away from the table, jerking him out of his seat with a sharp, involuntary motion. His plate clatters to the floor.

The sudden movement catches the small group’s attention, the quiet hum of conversation faltering as Tony’s chair scrapes harshly against the floor. He’s standing now, face flushed with mortification and the rush of blood in his ears, his eyes darting around in a blur as he tries to compose himself.

His hands tremble as he holds them in front of himself, and the room suddenly feels too tight. His pulse raises and he’s aware of every set of eyes on him now, including the shrewd glare of his father.

But most of all, he can feel Tiberius’s weighted presence, silent and steady. Tiberius hasn’t even acknowledged him for most of the evening, and yet now, with a simple caress, he’s reminding Tony of his power, of his control.

It’s deliberate, calculated, and that makes it all the more fucking infuriating.

“Sorry,” Tony gasps out. “My, uh. Foot fell asleep.”

Tony wants to carve the rotten smirk off Tiberius’s face with his steak knife.

“Sit down, boy,” Howard orders. He snaps his fingers towards Tony’s mess of dishes. “Clean that up,” he directs sharply toward a member of his staff.

“I’ve got it,” Tony says numbly, dropping to his knees. Desperately looking for an excuse to escape back into the kitchens.

“Don’t be absurd; get back in your seat,” Howard hisses. “Now.”

Tony’s throat constricts. Tiberius’s pheromones are an electric crackle in the room’s dense ozone; an oppressive humidity that the Alpha does little to conceal.

It’s a game, Tony realizes, and he’s the prey.

“Apologies, everyone,” Tony rasps. He sinks back into his chair, feeling ill with trepidation, angling towards Maria until their knees are practically touching.

Tiberius is still watching him, his stare heavy and knowing, the silent challenge hanging between them.

His mother’s hand reaches out to feel his forehead, and Tony cringes away.

Why do people keep touching his fucking forehead?

“Anthony,” she gasps. “You’re burning up.”

Tony bats her hand away.

“M’fine.”

He is so not fine.

Tiberius’s presence is a plague. Every moment that passes, the Alpha’s own arousal—subtle, contained, but unmistakable—becomes more palpable, and Tony knows with dreadful certainty that his impending heat is the thing that’s drawn it out.

And Tiberius is letting his pheromones linger, just enough to make Tony’s skin prickle with discomfort. Reminding him that the storm in the air is real, and it’s closing in.

Because the sick bastard knows exactly what he’s doing—knows that the heat pulsing through Tony’s body is a weakness he can exploit without ever having to look at him.

When the Alpha’s foot grazes his leg during dessert, it takes every modicum of Tony’s self-control not to fling his spoonful of pudding at Dr. Erskine sitting across from him.

It’s not until dishes are cleared and coffee is poured and Tiberius deliberately squeezes Tony’s kneecap with deft fingertips, forcing a gush of slick to pour into his underwear, that the Alpha’s intentions swell like a symphony.

Tony spills burning liquid all over the tablecloth and wretches away from the table for the second time, chest heaving. His lungs on fire and his disposition murderous.

“Excuse my son,” Howard grits out. Tony can hardly hear him through the dull pounding in his ears. “Table manners have never been his strong suit. He’s acting like a—”

“Bitch in heat?” Tiberius interjects mildly.

Tiberius is wide-eyed and contrite. His palms are raised in defense.

“My sincerest apologies, truly. That was distasteful of me—I assumed everyone was aware.”

Tony doesn’t bother to stick around for a scandalized response because he’s already ripping himself from the table and barrelling into the kitchen with some excuse about helping Ana with the dishes.

He barely registers his feet moving, his body acting on autopilot as he bolts from the dining room. His vision blurs at the edges and his pulse roars in his ears, fingers trembling as he rips at the tie at his throat. By the time he shoves into the kitchen he’s shaking all over, slamming against the door as it shuts behind him.

His legs finally give out entirely and he slides down to the floor, his head dropping back against the wall as his chest heaves in shallow, rapid breaths. The coolness of the tile beneath him does little to soothe the feverish heat rolling off his skin. His fingers dig into his thighs as he tries to suppress the wave of shame and anger threatening to swallow him whole. He clenches his teeth, his jaw aching from the tension as he squeezes his eyes shut, willing the sensation to pass, willing himself to breathe.

The kitchen staff stares at him, bewildered.

“Antal?”

Tony blinks up at Ana, vision bleary.

The cook sinks down to her knees, pressing her palms to his face. Stabilizing his lolling head.

“Howard knows,” Tony says dully.

His mother bursts into the kitchen. Tony winces at the intrusion, the slamming of the door jarring to his heightened senses.

Maria takes in the sight of her son—an undignified, crumpled heap on the floor—and straightens her back.

“Ana,” she says calmly. “Our guests would like more coffee.”

Ana hesitates. Her hands are still pressed to Tony’s cheeks.

Tony pats her wrist. I’m okay.

He’s not, but.

The show must go on.

Ana’s reluctance is palpable, but she pulls away. Slowly, the rest of the kitchen staff trickles out of the room as well.

Tony ignores his mother. He stares at his slacks and wills her to disappear.

She doesn’t.

“Your father is… confused,” she says instead, after a heavy beat of silence. Her voice is collected, her posture perfectly composed. Tony kind of resents her.

He says nothing.

“He was under the impression that you experienced a heat last weekend. That’s what Jarvis informed us: why you spent the weekend away from home. At The Institute.”

Again, Tony says nothing. He just sits there—shaking and raw. His fingers curl into fists against his thighs.

His distress leaks from his ears, but still, he keeps his mouth shut.

Maria sighs. “Tony,” she says carefully, like she’s speaking to a spooked, foreign animal and not her teenage son. “About Tiberius—”

“Tony!” Howard’s voice cracks like a whip. His father storms into the kitchen, reeking of fury and wine. “You.” He points to Tony on the floor. “Get up. Now.”

“Howard,” Maria says, tone placating. She places her hands on her husband’s bicep. “Let’s just try and be rational about this; I’m certain there is a perfectly reasonable explanation—”

“Our son can’t even sit through a simple dinner without embarrassing us. Do you have any idea what this looks like for me? I’ve been trying to iron out a private contract with the United States military for months. But you just have to make everything about you, don’t you, Tony?” Howard laughs, abrasive and sardonic, and Tony turns and presses his cheek into the wall. He screws his eyes shut and tries to ignore the way he’s already losing the grounding he has on his mind, the edges of his brain turning soft and weak.

“He’s in heat, Howard,” Maria mollifies. “He can’t help the way—”

“He’s always in fucking heat. We have a son who can’t keep it in his fucking pants. This is getting ridiculous. You’ve been trying to push off his bonding, and I’ve listened, I’ve been reasonable. But enough is enough, Maria.”

“If I may,” interjects a fourth voice.

Tiberius pushes past the kitchen door, cool gaze darting to Tony’s position on the floor before flickering to Tony’s parents. “I beg you pardon, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I simply came to apologize. But I believe I may have some sort of… logical explanation, for your son’s predicament.”

Tiberius’s argument for Tony’s second heat justifies the existence of his last, nonexistent heat— which Tony is certain Tiberius knows never actually occurred.

He listens with growing dread.

“Tony is an unmated Omega. His cycles aren’t regulated yet and won’t be until he’s fully bonded. It’s not uncommon for unbonded Omegas to respond dramatically to… external stimuli.”

Howard gives Tony a withering look. “External stimuli?”

“It is my belief that Tony is suffering a re-bound heat. His biological impulses are most likely still sensitive from last weekend’s heat. Omega cycles are unpredictable; no one knows for certain how long it takes for the hormones to flush out of the system. If an Omega were to encounter, say, a biologically compatible Alpha so soon after a heat cycle, with an increased amount of heightened hormones still coursing through their body, well. It’s fully likely that this interaction could trigger another heat.”

Tony feels like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.

He gapes at Tiberius in horror.

“Are you saying…” Howard’s brow furrows as he stares at his trusted advisor. “That your ‘biological compatibility’ with my son triggered a re-bound heat?”

Tiberius holds his hands out, shrugging his shoulders modestly. “It’s just a theory. I sensed something at dinner—you know, Howard, that my interactions with your son up until this point have been limited. I had no way of knowing prior… but, well.” He flashes his boss a grim smile. “I would be lying if I didn’t say that our close proximity tonight didn’t create a sense of intrigue. Omegas are fascinating, delicate creatures; like most Alphas, I feel a certain draw to them at a base level. I’ve heard rumors of a stronger sort of connection… one that transcends biology. If my instincts are correct, I am quite certain that our—affinity, if you will, very well could have been the factor that rekindled your son’s heat.”

The silence that follows is stretched. Endless.

Tony can’t move. His mind reels, a chaotic tangle of rage and realization as Tiberius’s words sink in like slow-moving poison.

The audacity, the sheer nerve of this man, to stand there so calm, so nonchalant, weaving this fabricated explanation while Tony’s entire world threatens to shatter around him.

Howard’s expression shifts, his frown deepening into something sharp and contemplative. “Rebound heat,” he says flatly, his gaze snapping to Tony. “Because of you?”

Tony opens his mouth to protest, to say something, anything, to deny it, but no sound comes out. His throat is dry, his tongue heavy, his pulse pounding too loud in his ears for him to string together a coherent thought.

Tiberius, the raging lunatic, has the audacity to look almost apologetic. “As I said, it’s just a theory. But if true, it would explain a great deal.” His pale eyes flicker to Howard. “Sir, this could even be seen as… fortuitous. A compatibility this strong is exceedingly rare. It could suggest—”

“Enough.” Howard’s glare pins Tony in place. “Well?”

Tony feels his throat tighten, the words of protest clawing at his tongue but refusing to emerge. If he denies it—if he even so much as hints at the truth—then Jarvis’s carefully constructed alibi crumbles, and Ana’s involvement comes under scrutiny. Both had lied for him, bent over backward to give him the freedom he so desperately needed, and now…

Now, Tiberius had him trapped, right where he wanted him.

“I… I don’t know,” he forces out, the words bitter and foreign on his tongue. “It’s been a strange week. Lots of Alphas at the gala.” The glare he sends in Tiberius’s direction is laser-sharp, pointed enough with the intent to melt the Alpha’s brain behind his skull. “Pretty sure I would respond the same way to a little heavy petting from the mailman.”

“Regardless,” Tiberius’s voice is suave, measured, the very picture of a benevolent Alpha with the best intentions. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Howard. Compatibility at this level could even be considered an advantage.”

Howard barks out a laugh, crossing his arms. “You think this is an advantage?”

“In the right context,” Tiberius says smoothly, “yes. A bond with an Alpha whose instincts align so strongly with Tony’s could stabilize his cycles, perhaps even regulate them more efficiently. Of course, I wouldn’t presume—”

“Please, Christ, no more presumptions,” Tony butts in, finally meeting Tiberius’s infuriatingly calm gaze. “Haven’t you already prattled on about this being ‘just a theory’?”

Tiberius’s lips twitch, holding back a smirk. “Of course,” he says mildly. “I only meant to offer some insight. I’ll take my leave, if that’s what you wish.”

Howard grunts. “You’ve done enough. Go.”

Tiberius dips his head slightly, gazes at Tony with something carnivorous in his icy expression, then turns on his heel, striding out of the kitchen as though the entire situation had been nothing but a minor inconvenience.

The oppressive silence returns. Maria hovers nearby, her expression unreadable, while Howard continues to glare at Tony as though he were a bug squashed on his windshield.

“Well?” Howard snaps. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

Tony bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood, willing himself to stay silent. He can’t risk saying the wrong thing, can’t risk making this godawful situation worse. So he shakes his head, lowering his gaze to the floor.

Howard made a disgusted sound. “Unbelievable. If this gets out—”

“Howard,” Maria said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”

Tony risks a glance at her. Whatever passes through her eyes is fleeting, and her usual composure returns quickly as she turns to him. “Go to your room, Tony,” she says softly. “We’ll handle the guests.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With shaking hands, he pushes past them and out of the kitchen, his steps wobbly as he makes his way toward the relative safety of the upstairs wing.

And as he climbs the stairs, his stomach twists with the sickening realization that Tiberius had just tightened his grip on the strings, leaving Tony to play the part of the obedient puppet

“Telephone,” Tony says numbly. “Need the telephone.”

Jarvis pushes the device into his hand, and Tony dials the number he memorized by heart the moment Bucky tucked the slip of paper into his palm, seven digits scribbled in hasty black ink.

He sinks to the floor of the Jarvis’s private quarters, cradling the telephone in his ear, and pulls his tie and suit jacket off. Unbuttons his shirt to his sternum. Presses his forehead against the wood of the desk and instructs the operator to connect him to the one person who might keep him from completely falling apart.

The phone rings. The receiver clicks. And then:

“Hello?”

Tony’s lower lip wobbles.

“Hiya, Rogers.”

“Tony!” His friend sounds relieved. “Buck said you were gonna call. It was getting a little late; I figured—” Tony hears faint rustling in the background, and then Steve’s voice away from the receiver, “Yeah, it’s him. Hold on, just—hold on.”

Tony clutches the telephone between his sweaty palms like a lifeline. Ana and Jarvis bustle around the apartment, stealing stealthy glances, pretending not to eavesdrop.

Tony hears more rustling, followed by Steve yelping, “Ow, Barnes, Jesus. Fine, Christ, take it—just, tell ‘im I said goodnight.” A little louder: “Goodnight, Tony!”

“Tony?”

Tony’s breath catches in his throat, the sound probably audible through the receiver.

He swipes at his eyes.

“Tony? You there?”

“Yeah,” Tony croaks. “Yeah, hi, I’m here.”

Tony hears the rush of Bucky’s exhale, and it’s the loveliest sound he’s heard all damn night. It cracks his splintered heart in half.

“Tony,” Bucky sighs. “Hi, darlin’. It’s getting late, didn’t think you were gonna call.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry. Got stuck at dinner.”

“No, hey, don’t apologize. I’m real glad you did.” He sounds like he means it, too, and Tony wants to cry.

Because two sentences from Bucky is enough to release that ugly, hateful feeling clenching in his chest. A quiet sense of rightness floods him, momentarily, replacing the noise and the confusion with something simpler, purer. The chaos in his head quiets.

The memory of Tiberius’s touch still burns on his skin. The way his body had responded to the Alpha’s presence—it was purely primal, a biological pull. Something out of Tony’s control.

But the way he feels when he’s surrounded by Bucky Barnes—even miles away, through the fragile connection of a telephone—is something sound. Sure.

A connection beyond hormones or heat or anything fleeting.

Even at a distance, even with nothing but memories to accompany him, he feels it—an anchor, a tether that keeps him from spinning out of control. Because with Bucky he knows, without a doubt, that something exists beyond the biology. Even if he can’t put a name to it, Tony recognizes a kernel of belonging that no amount of chemical attraction or external influence can replicate.

And that quiet epiphany after a night of shame and fucking chaos—that nothing had ever compared to the physical, mental, or emotional connection he shares with this Alpha—is relief unlike anything he’s ever known.

“Are you okay, Tony?”

Tony blinks up at the ceiling. His head feels foggy.

“Bucky?” He says.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be mad,” he begs.

A soft sigh through the phone. Tony wishes he were here.

“Could never be mad. Not at you.”

And God, if Tony isn’t already dreading the day Bucky will inevitably stop feeling that way.

“I’m going into heat,” he whispers.

Bucky’s lungs hitch audibly through the telephone, and Tony is pretty sure the Alpha stops breathing.

“You’re—” Bucky clears his throat. Tony pictures him running a hand through his hair, like he does whenever he’s anxious. “You’re in heat?”

“Going into heat,” Tony says miserably. “I’m in pre-heat. Have been since… last night, probably. It’ll probably hit full force tonight; it’s getting worse. I—” he licks his lips, chapped and bitten. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I usually notice. Everything’s been, uh. Different.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long time. Tony’s almost worried that he’s hung up. Until:

“Sweetheart,” the Alpha rumbles, low and steady. Tony rolls his forehead against the desk leg and suppresses his whimper. “Oh, Tony. I knew… fuck, I knew something was off. You smelled so—” Tony can practically hear Bucky gritting his teeth. “But you always smell so fuckin’ sweet. I should have—” The Alpha bites out another curse. Tony squeezes his legs together.

“Come home.”

Home. Tony shivers.

“I can’t,” Tony groans. “My parents know. It’s a long story. Everything’s a mess. But I’m stuck here for the weekend.”

Bucky makes a noise of protest, something deep and primal, and Tony realizes that it’s probably not too long before he’s staining his butler’s floor with the evidence of his arousal.

“You should be here. Damn it. I don’t like the idea of you all alone in that house.”

Tony lolls his head backward. Croaks out a laugh.

“Yeah, well. You and me both, pal.” He doesn’t inform Bucky that he’s absolutely certain that this heat, in particular, is going to rock him.

His heats are always miserable and unsatisfying; however, this time, he has to contend with hormones are already a fucking mess due to his body’s very specific Bucky-Barnes-shaped-cravings.

Not to mention Tiberius’s wildly unnecessary interference.

The crash is going to be catastrophic, no doubt.

“When can you leave?” Bucky’s voice is gravelly, and it’s doing little to help reign in Tony’s already fleeting self-control.

“Jarvis already promised to take me back Monday. But I—my heats are always three days, at least. Sometimes four.” Not to mention Tony’s convenient susceptibility to post-heat sickness.

“Monday,” Bucky repeats. “Monday, you come back to me.”

Tony shudders.

“M’gonna be a mess, still. The worst of it’ll be over, but there will be, ah. After-effects.”

“I’ll take care of you.”

Tony’s face flushes, and he cups his hand over the receiver to give himself more privacy from the Jarvis’s prying ears.

“You don’t…” Tony’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. “I know we haven’t really talked. About that. I’m not expecting, uh, anything. I wouldn’t expect you to…” He trails off pathetically, cheeks flaming.

Bucky makes a noise into the phone, rich and throaty, and Tony’s toes curl in his socks.

“M’not gonna fuck you yet, gorgeous. Need you clearheaded for that. When you—fuck—when I get you coming on my cock for the first time, you’re going to be lucid.” Bucky’s voice is gravel and grit.

The sound that comes out of Tony’s lungs is an undignified moan. His own cock stirs in his trousers, and he draws his knees to his chest.

“Know this heat is gonna hurt, sweet thing. God, I’d do anything to be there with you. I’d kill a man to come take care of you.” Bucky’s delivery drops several octaves, sending reverberations that vibrate through Tony’s ribs. “Know you’d be so perfect, so sweet for me. Such a good boy for your Alpha, right, baby?”

Oh.

Your Alpha.

Tony bites down on the fleshy part of his palm and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels himself slipping, fast.

“Uh-huh,” he says instead.

“My beautiful, sweet boy. My perfect Omega. Just a few days, doll. Ride it out for a few days, and then you’re all mine.”

“S’not good,” Tony slurs uselessly. “By myself. After a while, can’t even…” He’s not usually able to make himself come anymore after he hits the height of his heat, on day two. Just writhes out the remainder in over-stimulated agony. He can’t reach the spot inside himself that his body craves, can’t simulate the pressure that he needs to crest that peak.

Bucky makes a wounded noise over the phone. “I’ve got you, pretty. I’ll take care of you. Make you feel so, so good.” Tony doesn’t whine, but it’s a close fucking thing. “I’ll take away all the hurt, sweetheart. Feels so good when I get my hands on you, my mouth on you, doesn’t it? When I kiss you nice and right, get you all sweet for me.” Bucky’s croon through the telephone is borderline obscene and just what Tony needs, making him feel deliciously dizzy. “You’re such a good boy for me, Tony. Always so good for me. Come home, and I’ll show you have fucking lucky I am to have you. My sweet, perfect boy.”

And Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s doing, really. Washing away the sins of Ty, replacing the acrid pheromones in Tony’s nostrils with something familiar, something trusted and sacred.

Dropping him right into his heat in a way that feels safe, cocooned.

“Promise?” Tony whispers.

“Promise, baby,” Bucky says back, hushed like a vow. “Think you’ll be able to call back tomorrow? Check in?”

“Prob’ly not,” Tony admits. “Can have Jarvis call you.”

“That’d be great. So thoughtful of you, honey,” Bucky praises, and Tony sighs.

“Miss you,” Tony says, voice wobbly.

Bucky sucks in a sharp breath over the telephone. “I miss you more, sweetheart. Thank you for calling. Are you gonna be okay?”

Tony’s mind drifts to Ty. He pushes that thought out just as quickly as it creeps in. “Maybe. Probably. Dunno. Hate it.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Hate this.”

Bucky lets out a strained laugh. His tone, when he speaks, offers no room for argument.

“Next heat, Tony, you’re with me.”

It is, predictably, the worst weekend of Tony’s life.

His heat rips through him like a raw hunger, tearing him apart from the inside.

He hardly has time to drag himself out of his second bath of the night (scrubbing the artificial oils and perfumes out of his glands) before he’s crawling into bed, naked and sobbing, hand wrapped around his weeping dick and wringing himself to the first of several wholly unsatisfying orgasms.

There’s nothing to extinguish the fire coiling through his veins, nothing to stop the relentless cramping in his abdomen. His desire is punishment, and he spends the next three nights in a delirious, frustrated state of constant over-stimulation, chasing a non-existent release. It doesn’t matter how many times he comes—by Sunday night, his cock is red and practically hot to the touch, too sensitive for his own hand anymore.

His fingers are no use, either; he can’t replicate that sense of fullness that his body demands.

Every time his heat hits, he almost understands why so many young Omegas get bonded off as soon as they present. The agony of suffering through his heat alone is so awful, so excruciatingly unbearable, that Tony knows he would have surrendered to Tiberius and his earthy, metallic pheromones by the second day if only to extinguish the flames temporarily.

The treacherous thought only adds to his overall misery.

He spends Saturday and Sunday in an incoherent, feverish daze, spilling bodily fluids all over his sheets and crying out for his Alpha into an empty room. Tony can’t stop Bucky’s name from tumbling past his lips like a drunken, agonized prayer, and when Jarvis half-carries him into the bathtub on Monday morning, he’s sore, raw, and shivering.

“This never becomes less humiliating,” Tony grumbles, swatting away his butler’s hands so he can scrub his own hair. His aching limbs scream in protest. A vast, empty chasm is starting to form in his chest—a deep, gaping void of loneliness that always looms during Tony’s more difficult drops.

If he starts fixating on it, the pressure becomes enough to restrict his breathing.

“I helped change your diapers,” Jarvis reminds him conversationally.

“Must we bring this up, every time you see my ticker?”

Jarvis drives him back to Brooklyn late Monday afternoon—after Tony washes up, eats as much of a sandwich as he can stomach, and sleeps fitfully until his father leaves for a work trip to some army base in New Jersey.

The worst of it is over—that’s to say, he’s no longer grinding into his come-soaked mattress for the umpteenth time, two fingers pumping into his ass, teeth tearing holes into his pillowcase—but he’s still in heat. On the downswing, mostly, and he hasn’t been able to touch his cock without hissing since Sunday afternoon, but the urgency no longer feels as ‘life-or-death’, so it’s a small victory.

His lower abdomen still clenches and cramps like a motherfucker, though, and he’s still daydreaming about the sweet, glorious, mouthwatering relief of an Alpha’s knot in a way that is probably devastating to Omegan suffragists and the feminist scholars whose journals he likes to sneak from the prohibited shelves of his school’s library.

When Jarvis finally pulls up to the Brooklyn side street, Tony practically falls out of the car in his urgency to reunite with people whose scents don’t turn his stomach. He bids his loyal butler adieu, trips up the rusty fire escape, and crawls through the familiar fourth-floor window Bucky promised to leave open for him, practically keeling over when he’s greeted with the glorious, familiar concoction of

Wintercedarfirewoodturpentineoilpaintsnowfallcharcoal.

His foot catches on the windowsill. Lacking any proper balance or strength, he tumbles gracelessly to the floor, landing flat on his back with his limbs sprawled.

Tony’s heart beats an erratic cadence against his ribs as he sucks in pheromones and blinks at the ceiling.

He inhales Steve. He inhales Bucky.

And that’s where Steve finds him, collapsed on the Alpha’s kitchen floor, releasing a syrupy warble of a moan that has his friend blushing up his ears.

“You made it," Steve observes, carefully diplomatic for a man who purposefully keeps several feet of distance as he regards Tony with a slight, shocked stupor.

“You know me and my grand entrances,” Tony croaks back at the ceiling. “Bucky left the window open. We felt it was best not to alert the neighbors of my current, ah, disposition.”

Tony can tell when Steve scents the air because the Alpha’s pheromones immediately swell into the space between them in a way that sends his weakened pulse hammering.

Steve’s pupils visibly dilate, and his blush heightens, but he doesn’t show any other indication that Tony’s heat is affecting him. Instead, he peers down at the Omega on his floor, and asks, “Are you hungry?”

Tony is not hungry.

Not for food, anyway.

But Steve coaxes him up with careful, platonic touches and helps him to the kitchen table. He regards Tony attentively, his brow furrowed, while Tony hugs himself with his arms, feeling lightheaded and woozy and a tad self-conscious.

The déjà vu is staggering.

"Wait here," Steve commands, as if Tony has anywhere to go. He disappears into Bucky’s room and returns shortly, a bundle of fabric in his arms.

“It’s Bucky’s nightclothes,” Steve explains. “And an extra quilt from the linen closet. One of his. I just figured… I don’t know. That it might help? For nesting?” The Alpha’s cheeks are bright, fire engine red. “I might be a little off base, I’m just goin’ off what I’ve heard. From school and books, things like that. I’ve never actually been around an Omega in heat before.”

Tony’s throat burns as he forces a swallow.

He’s never nested.

He never had anything to nest with, really, so he never saw the appeal.

“He should be home soon,” Steve continues anxiously, noting Tony’s extended silence. “He’s off from work at seven. If you want to… you can lie down if you need to; I’m sure you’re tired. Buck said to let you sleep, was sure you were going to be exhausted. And you look—” the Alpha cuts himself off, teeth sinking into his lip.

Tony—with his mussed hair and flushed skin and drowsy, half-lidded stare and abominable, sunken posture—knows exactly how he looks.

He takes the clothes from Steve. The bundle of fabric is warm and smells so heavenly he might keel over in his chair and black out onto the floor.

Alpha. Alpha. Alpha.

“These are perfect,” he rasps. The pheromones wafting from his Alpha’s pajamas rebound into his nose, his head, his dick, cracking into the parts of his body that have been relatively dormant for the past few hours. Reigniting sensation in his nerve endings.

Steve smiles softly. “I’ll warm up supper.”

Tony changes into the nightclothes and wraps the quilt around himself like a shawl, cocooning himself in the warmth of the only man who makes his blood sing.

It’s exquisite.

He collapses back into his chair, feeling drugged, euphoric, and half-hard. Everywhere he turns he’s surrounded by soft fabric that smells like Bucky, clinging to his skin and seeping into his pores, and the dying embers of his heat spark back to life in his veins.

Steve reheats dinner on the stovetop. It’s clear that the Alpha is on edge—his movements are carefully tight, his muscles rigid and his jaw flexing frequently. Still, he regards Tony with subtle, easy restraint and only reveals his discomfort through the barest slip of his microexpressions.

“Eat,” he says simply, pushing a warm plate under Tony’s nose. “And then you can sleep.”

Tony shakes his head. “Don’t wanna sleep. Slept all day.”

“Y’look like you’re about to collapse right into your carrots.”

“Blame my hormones, Rogers, not my circadian rhythm.”

Steve huffs. He fixes his own plate and sits across from Tony. His eyes are completely pupil, his nostrils flared, and his cheeks have a constant, splotchy pink hue. It’s the only indication that anything is amiss as he cuts into his own meal and chews thoughtfully.

“I didn’t schedule 'entertain a cranky Omega in heat until his Alpha comes back' into today’s itinerary," Steve muses. “Aren’t you supposed to be all sweet and sensitive right now? You know, amenable, affectionate,” he raises an accusatory brow, “docile?”

Tony launches a carrot at him. It hits the Alpha square between the eyes. Steve yelps.

“Sorry to ruin this lurid domestic fantasy, but the only thing feeling particularly sensitive right now is my dick after three days of being rubbed raw.” Tony spears a carrot with his fork and ignores Steve’s indignant sputtering. “If there are any Omegas managing solo heats with the poise and grace of Mother Teresa, please direct them to me. I’d love a few tips.”

Steve blinks at him, wide-eyed and sincere. “What would help?” He asks.

Tony recognizes his own posturing, aware that in his current state, there’s probably no discernible universe where Bucky’s cock inside him wouldn’t reduce him to a docile, mewling, submissive mess.

That, however, is not any of Steve’s business.

Instead, Tony asks, “Do y’have a deck of cards?”

When Bucky returns home an hour later, it’s to a thoroughly incensed Tony, bundled in his nightclothes, wrapped snuggly in his quilt, scowling terribly as the Omega loses his sixth consecutive round of Gin Rummy to a smug, self-satisfied Steve.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you’re a dirty, filthy cheat,” Tony sulks, tossing his hand onto the table. “I don’t know how. Don’t know why. What are you doing, marking cards? Stacking the deck?”

“Could’ve warned you to pick a different game. He’s godawful at Pinochle.”

Bucky strides into the apartment, smudged in soot, smile weary but eyes sparkling, and Tony briefly forgets what muscle groups are used to inhale because the Alpha is immediately crowding into his space. Bending over to wrap his arms around Tony from behind, around Tony’s blanket cocoon, and nuzzling into the Omega’s neck. Relief becomes palpable, tangible, in both Bucky’s body language and his scent. “Would’ve warned you that he’s a real sore winner, too.”

Tony’s tongue cements to the roof of his mouth. After a weekend of heat-induced fantasies of Bucky doing heavily explicit things to his body, his physical presence feels somewhat like a fever dream.

He thought bundling himself in Bucky’s clothes was enough to reignite his stagnating heat, but even that pales in comparison to the blazing flames that ignite in his belly from being bracketed in Bucky’s embrace and feeling his smile against his throat.

“S’all luck,” Steve volleys back, shuffling the cards with a modest shrug. “Just had some good hands. Dinner’s on the stove, Buck.” Too busy soaking in his victory to regard the way Bucky noses at Tony’s jawline. The way Tony trembles and sags in his embrace.

Pulled and picked apart during their separation, already slowly getting woven back together.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Bucky croons lowly, breath caressing Tony’s ear. “Did you eat?”

Tony nods.

“Good boy.” He hugs him tighter and presses his lips to Tony’s temple before releasing him. Tony tilts his chin up to follow him like a flower seeking sunlight.

Like Steve, Bucky’s composure is betrayed by small hints. The faintest sliver of gray iris, overshadowed by glittering, iridescent pupil. The way his jaw swells below his ear, Tony’s eyes fixating on the knot of tension. The warmth to his skin, curling from the unbuttoned expanse of his chest up to his temples.

Unlike Steve, however, Bucky doesn’t bother masking his scent signal. It blooms and swells, rich and musky, feeding off Tony’s pheromones to respond with an aroma so tailored to Tony’s specific brain chemistry that he has to bite down his primal urge to moan like a wanton animal.

The instincts that drive the deepest parts of Tony’s heat edge back into his body and churn like a roiling, crashing wave in his gut. His knees lock underneath the table.

Bucky keeps a hand on him. Sweeps it through his hair. Tony’s lashes flutter.

“I’m going to clean off, real quick.” If Bucky’s telling him or Steve, he doesn’t know. He lets the Alpha’s voice wash over him like a drug. “Keep an eye on him, alright? Try not to do anything that sends him down any further.” A thumb caresses his cheek. Tony pushes into it. “He’s dropping fast.”

“He was fine,” Steve says, a little quiet. Stunned. “A few moments ago. I mean, I knew he was in heat, but. He wasn’t… we played cards for an hour. You know Tony, he was talkin’ all about chemical radiation. Stuff I couldn’t keep up with.”

“Vita radiation,” Tony slurs, dropping his forehead against Bucky’s hip. The Alpha buries his hand under the blanket, under the edge of Tony’s shirt collar, palm flush against the expanse of Tony’s neck. Grip warm, steady and secure. Tony shivers. The skin-to-skin contact turns his spine turns to liquid. “Stabilizin’ properties. An’… electromagnetic wavelengths.”

“He’s in heat, jerk. What do you expect him to do next, help you with the dishes?”

“No thanks; I’ve already witnessed him attempt that task clearheaded. It’s fine, go shower. I’ll help him into your room—”

“Don’t touch him,” Bucky says, command sharp and laced with something a bit carnal, a bit more uncontained. Steve sighs.

“Put your knot away. Ain’t gonna try anything, Jesus.”

“Christ, don’t ask me to be level-headed here, Stevie. It’s taking every ounce of restraint to keep myself from throwing your scrawny ass out the window for stinking up the room.”

“He’s an Omega in heat. I’m not some superhuman who’s suddenly immune to thousands of years of biology. But he’s also Tony. I would…” Steve’s throat clears, hoarse and strained. “I would never, alright?” His voice quiets. “You know that.”

Tony tunes out the posturing until Bucky’s pulling Tony into his bedroom himself. He coaxes the Omega to sit on the edge of the bed but Tony refuses, doesn’t want to pull out of Bucky’s embrace, and when his hands cradle Tony’s cheeks, Tony nips at his thumb.

“Hi,” Tony says finally.

Bucky rocks his forehead against Tony’s. “Hi, honey.” He pulls back to assess Tony, his gaze sweeping over the disheveled, drowsy Omega. “How are you feelin’?”

Tony considers the question for a beat too long.

“Warm,” he says.

Bucky’s lips twich. “I can tell. You feel warm to me, too.” He pushes Tony’s curls out of his eyes. “Are you tired? Do you need to sleep?”

Tony shakes his head vehemently. The motion leaves him feeling dizzy.

“No. No, I need—” he cuts himself off, his voice hitching as he tries his best to assess the gravity of the situation through the thick, syrupy fog leaking into his brain. He releases a trembling breath and squeezes his eyes shut. When he reopens them, Bucky’s expression is an open chasm of affection and concern.

“Anything,” Bucky promises lowly. The weight of the word sinks like a stone into Tony’s whirling, cramping stomach. “Anything at all, and it’s yours. Tell me, Tony.”

The command activates his synapses.

“Need you,” he pushes out in a rush. His following breath is a whine. “I was alone all weekend. I’m alone every time. Wasn’t enough. S’never enough. Everything hurts, s’not done and I need to come but I can’t anymore. I tried,” he hiccups, and Bucky’s fingers spasm on his cheeks. “Tried everything by myself. Thought of you the whole time. Wished you were there, needed you—”

He’s cut off by Bucky’s mouth on his, kissing him silent. He grabs the back of Tony’s neck and devours him, ravenous.

Tony releases a soft, strangled warble when Bucky separates Tony’s lips with his tongue and pushes the quilt off Tony’s shoulders, his fingers reaching to grip the ridges of Tony’s spine. Tony’s heart gallops against Bucky’s and he feels the bow of his ribs as he’s arched backward. For a wild moment, he thinks Bucky’s going to lay him on the floor and oh, Tony would let him, can’t imagine anything he wants more in that moment than for Bucky to push him onto the cold, hard, unforgiving surface of his bedroom floor and fuck the ache out of his bones, quick and rough and dirty.

A low, predatory growl rumbles from Bucky’s chest, the vibrations pushing into Tony’s mouth, and Tony sucks them down greedily.

“Needed you too, gorgeous,” Bucky drawls, voice hoarse. His lips trail Tony’s jawline before sucking on Tony’s scent gland, and Tony shakes. “Drove myself near crazy, thinkin’ about you. My sweet boy, all alone. Hurtin’ real bad for his Alpha.” Deft fingers nudge Tony’s—Bucky’s—sleep shirt up to Tony’s navel, and Bucky’s fingers grip the skin of Tony’s bare waist like a vice.

“Please,” Tony gasps, not entirely sure what he’s begging for. He pushes his hips against Bucky’s, blindly seeking purchase, and his stomach dips when his sore, leaking dick presses up against Bucky’s own staggeringly huge, clothed erection.

“I’m gonna take you apart. M’gonna take my time with you, give you exactly what you need. And you’re gonna come for me, Tony,” Bucky croons. His own hips pitch rhythmically, his hands keeping Tony locked in place for the inevitable onslaught of magnificent, glorious friction. Bucky’s own breathing is shuddery, and he pushes his promises out through his teeth. “Bet you could come just like this, couldn’t you, doll?”

Tony’s responding moan cracks and shudders into a wail, and it has Bucky chuckling into his throat, low and dirty.

“Oh, baby doll. Pretty baby. So easy, just needs a few sweet words and a little help from his Alpha, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that, honey. Take what you need, baby, I’ll give you more.” His voice is rough yet soothing, warm yet dangerous, washing over Tony and heating him from the inside out.

He is going to come like this, no doubt—right into Bucky’s sleep pants like some hormonal pup, and it’s going to be the best damn orgasm he’s ever had.

Sensing Tony's resolve faltering in his shaky limbs, Bucky hooks his arm around Tony’s waist and hauls him toward the nearest surface, crowding the unsteady Omega to perch on top of the small, wooden desk pressed into the corner of his bedroom. Pencils and pens go clattering to the floor, papers scattering, but neither boy pays the mess any mind.

Bucky pulls Tony’s legs around his hips. Presses a bruising kiss to Tony’s mouth that’s mostly tongue and teeth, fingers gripping Tony’s thighs. His skin is still smudged in a layer of grit, his work clothes wrinkled and stained with grime, and he smells like smoke and sweat and something else so deliciously animalistic that Tony wants to sink his teeth into it.

When Bucky peers down at Tony, his eyes are a little wide, a little wild and unfocused, and Tony thinks it’s the most beautiful the Alpha’s ever looked. The Alpha pushes their foreheads together, his own damp with a layer of perspiration that Tony wants to lick.

“For three days, I thought of nothing else but you. I thought of every single way I could take you apart. I popped a knot into my own fist picturin’ you, just like this.” With single-minded determination, he rocks his hips into Tony’s, and stars explode behind Tony’s eyelids. “And maybe I’m a selfish bastard, sweetheart, because I promised you such sweet things, promised you a bed, and promised to take my time. And I will, darlin’. God, I’ll do everything. Anything you want.”

Tony’s gasp saws out of his lungs, slick gushing out of him like a faucet. Dripping into Bucky’s sleep pants and pooling between his thighs. Bucky’s nostrils flare and his scent spikes with something feral.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on every part of you. My hands on every part of you. You’re not leavin’ this room until all of Brooklyn knows you’re mine.”

“Bucky,” Tony whimpers, the familiar, delicious pressure in his abdomen building and swelling like an ocean wave. Bucky drops his head into the crook of Tony’s knock and grinds his hips into Tony’s and Tony burns, the contact bordering somewhere on the delicious cusp of pain and pleasure as his weeping, oversensitive prick drools against his bare stomach.

He tries to orgasm like this, in heat, on his own. Usually on his stomach, crippled with exhaustion, dragging his hips against a soft, unyielding surface after hours of spilling into his own hand.

It’s either a fruitless endeavor or bookended by the shame Tony feels immediately after. Stuck humping the mattress like a dog.

This is neither of those things.

This is Bucky’s scent curling in his nostrils. This is Bucky’s hands on his thighs, his waist, his cheeks, his neck, anchoring him in the Alpha’s grip. This is Bucky’s shallowed breathing punching into his ear, the press of his straining erection against Tony’s inner thigh, the lewd, filthy promises spilling out of Bucky’s lips that the Alpha can’t seem to contain.

So when Bucky’s hand trails from his hips to lift him, just enough to shift his grip to Tony’s ass, Tony knows he’s done for.

Because Bucky’s fingers ghost the unmistakable, dampened trail left behind at the seam of Tony’s borrowed sleep pants, and he snarls.

Raw. Uninhibited.

He runs a finger down the seam, just the tip applying the barest, teasing amount of pressure, before he pushes in and catches the rim of Tony’s hole with damp, sodden fabric.

Tony jerks like he’s been shocked, a full-body quake that makes his spine arch and his thighs squeeze tighter around Bucky’s hips. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, a strangled, desperate whimper spilling from his lips. The friction of the soaked flannel against his most sensitive spot is maddening—too much and not enough all at once.

“Ah, fuck, Buck—” Tony's voice cracks, breaking on the last syllable as his head tips back. His throat is bare—vulnerable—and his scent thickens, sweet and heady with desperation. It hits them both like a freight train and has Bucky’s pupils blowing wide.

“Language, baby doll,” Bucky chides, though the low rasp under his words betrays his self-control. His lips curve into a sinful smile, the hand at Tony’s waist squeezing just hard enough to remind him of the strength coiled beneath the Alpha’s flesh. “You keep talkin’ like that, and I might start thinkin’ you’re beggin’ me to ruin you.”

Tony’s brain short-circuits. He doesn’t know whether to gasp or nod, so his body does both at once, resulting in a breathless, trembling noise that seems to light a fire in Bucky’s chest. The Alpha grins wider, his teeth flashing sharp.

“You want that, don’t you, pretty?” Bucky murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling purr that slides down Tony’s spine and pools molten in his core. He presses his finger harder against the seam of the sleep pants, rolling his hips in a deliberate grind that has Tony keening, his hands scrabbling at Bucky’s shoulders for something—anything—to hold onto.

“Yes,” Tony breathes, his voice trembling but certain. “Anything. Alpha. Please.”

The words snap something inside Bucky. His fingers tug at the waistband of Tony’s sleep pants, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly to his skin. He growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating through Tony’s chest, as if the barrier between them is some kind of offense. With a single sharp motion, the pants are shoved down, past his ass and taut at Tony’s thighs, leaving him bare and dripping onto the desk.

Bucky’s hands seek out the newly exposed skin and palm the flesh of Tony’s slick, leaking bottom.

“You’re mine,” Bucky growls, pressing his face to Tony’s neck and inhaling deeply. The rough scrape of his stubble sends shocks of sensation racing across Tony’s skin, and the scent of cedar and pine thickens in the air, blanketing Tony in warmth and safety. “All mine, Tony. Say it.”

Tony’s lips part, but the words don’t come immediately. His chest heaves, his pulse racing under the heavy weight of Bucky’s gaze. The Alpha waits, his nostrils fluttering as his thumbs trace soothing circles into the flesh of Tony’s hips, grounding him.

“I’m yours,” Tony finally whispers, his voice soft but his conviction steady. Surprisingly clear-headed. “Always yours.”

Bucky’s response is a deep, satisfied rumble that vibrates against Tony’s skin. He presses his lips to the sensitive spot beneath Tony’s jaw, a kiss that lingers just long enough to leave a burn, and then his hands begin to roam. Every touch is deliberate, claiming, and Tony melts into it, his body pliant and willing.

“Good boy,” Bucky praises, his voice rough and reverent. “I’m gonna take care of you, honey. Gonna give you everything you need.”

Tony trembles beneath Bucky, too overwhelmed to process the mix of sensations flooding him. His body is caught between an unbearable heat and the aching, empty feeling that comes with wanting more.

Bucky’s eyes darken, catching the raw need in Tony’s expression as the Omega squirms beneath him. “You want more, don’t you?” Bucky murmurs, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down Tony’s neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. “Want me to take care of you properly, baby?” He doesn’t give Tony a chance to answer, rolling his hips again, the hard press of his cock a cruel tease against Tony’s bare, slick-coated thighs.

Tony can barely breathe, let alone form words. He nods, his hips instinctively rocking up into Bucky’s, seeking that friction, that release.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, pressing his lips to Tony’s ear. “I know, sweetheart. You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re needy like this. Want my hands on you again, don’t you? Want me to finish what I started?”

Tony can’t stop the whimper that escapes him, his fingers clutching at Bucky’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer as the heat in his belly builds again, stronger, more urgent. The ache is overwhelming, but Bucky’s own fingers are already trailing lower, down to the waistband of Tony’s sleep pants, his breath hot against Tony’s skin.

Without warning, Bucky pulls Tony’s hips forward, his free hand gliding under the fabric. His fingers brush over the wet, slick mess of Tony’s dick, trapped under the flannel and already straining with the desperate need for release.

Tony gasps, his back arching, his breath catching in his throat as Bucky’s warm, callused hand finally finds him, wrapping around his hot, aching length.

Tony bucks into the touch, unfamiliar and perfect. His mouth drops into a surprised o.

“Look at you,” Bucky murmurs, his voice thick with wonder and hunger. “Is this what you need, baby?” he croons. “Let me make you feel good, Tony. Let me help you come.”

Tony’s head falls back, eyes fluttering shut as Bucky’s hand starts to move, slow and deliberate, up and down the length of his cock. It’s perfect, the pressure just right, sending waves of pleasure crashing through his already overstimulated body.

Bucky’s thumb runs over the tip of Tony’s dick, spreading the pre-cum leaking from the slit. “You feel so good like this,” Bucky murmurs, his voice rougher now, the tension in his body palpable. His own arousal pours into the room through his scent, wolfish and unrestrained. “You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you, sweet thing?”

Tony can barely form a coherent thought, his body too consumed with the building pressure to focus on anything else. All he can do is nod, his legs trembling, the intensity of the pleasure hitting him hard.

“Fuck, Tony, I can feel you. You’re so close. Come for me, baby. You know you want to.”

Bucky’s pace picks up, his strokes faster, rougher, wetter, until Tony’s body is trembling uncontrollably beneath him, every inch of him aching with the need to release. He leans in, his forehead pressing against Tony’s, his gaze locked onto the Omega’s flushed, blissed-out face. “Let go for me, Tony,” he commands, his voice low. Wrecked. “Come for me. I’ve got you.”

The command hits Tony like a lightning strike, and his body obeys without hesitation. His release crashes over him, white-hot and all-consuming, ripping a broken sob from his lips as his release coats Bucky’s hand and stomach in thick, sticky warmth.

His entire body trembles, his posture threatening to give out, but Bucky’s strong arms are there, holding him steady, murmuring, “Baby, baby, baby, oh, that’s it,” with the reverence of a prayer as he grounds him through the rolling crests of his orgasm.

“Sweet boy, pretty Omega, so perfect.” A hand sweeps through his hair fingers gripping his curls. Teeth scraping against the hinge of his jaw. “Let me hear you.”

“Alpha,” Tony near-sobs. The world tilts, the pleasure consuming him completely, and all he can do is hold onto Bucky for dear life as the Alpha continues to guide him through it, gentle but insistent.

When Tony sags against him, boneless and spent, Bucky presses his mouth to Tony’s sweat-dampened hairline, his voice a soft rumble in Tony’s ear. Tony is left panting, breathless, and utterly spent. He slumps into Bucky’s arms, his body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks.

Bucky presses another kiss to Tony’s temple, his hand lingering on Tony’s waist. “You’re so good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice softening. “So fucking good. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

Tony nods, his chest heaving with the effort of catching his breath. “Always,” he slurs, sinking into Bucky’s embrace. “Always w’you.”

And for the first time in days, Tony feels like he can finally relax—finally let go.

That sweet, syrupy feeling washes over him again.

He’s in Bucky’s arms, and that’s all that matters.

[regulusblackkkk]

Marauders era characters favourite subject if they went to a normal British high school

James- PE he's defo one of those guys who's brilliant at every sport

Sirius- Music or English probably but I think he'd make up the most random bullshit and get full marks

Remus- History. One look at that guy bro you can just tell

Peter- Home economics/food tech, he's that friend that brings random stuff he's made for you to munch

Lily- Biology or geography I think she'd be the type to really love them

Marlene- Photography, I think she'd love going wanders taking photos. Half of them are horrific photos of Sirius, the other half he looks literally majestic

Mary- probably like childcare or home ec/food tech

Regulus- I'd say English cause bros a poet but I think he'd hate having to analyse stuff, I think he'd love maths. He'd defo be a maths lover

Evan- Science. Does triple science and loves it

Barty- Photography cause he just goes wanders but he actually loves physics

Pandora- Art, I can see her either making the most beautiful pretty things or stuff that disturbs literally everyone

Dorcas- admin I can see her loving making her little spreadsheets and emails

Snape- liked Geography but it was even better cause he sat with lily in it (hates Pe cause James absolutely rips it out him there)

Xenophilius- I can see him loving rme I think he'd be really into the life after death stuff

[parkcivconfess]

nobody's gonna hmo anywhere else so I'll say it here

toxic homoerotic Seawatt and Evil Champion

think about it. Seawatt os probably the ONLY and the MOST trusted person to EC

He belittles him out of habit bc he does that to everybody but just like what if he starts to not treat him as shitty out of fear SW could betray him

he knows all of his secret operations n stuff after all

and not only that - i think Seawatt is helps EC bc at the beginning when he first leveled up to the master level, it was too foreign of a place for him, not to mention it felt like the universe was against him, deleting his home level like that

he helped EC bc he saw the potential he held, and wanted to be at the top too, wanted to be safe in this new level thats too risky for him to wander aimlessly alone in

but as time went on i feel like Seawatt becomes familiar and skilled on his own enough that he didnt need EC anymore, that he's even more skilled than him in fact

but also he know EC Would Not let him go, not after how much dirty work he's done to help him get this far

Its not like its that bad anyway though, right? Seawatt iirc is the richest person in the Master Level. Massive paycheck for being the right hand man of EC but also my yaoi brain is going "Aw He Spoils Him"

I wrote this while shitting

my ears are WUHHHIDEEEE open!!!!!

just me and my evil sugar daddy who i might like a little bit hi guys

[ultrameganicolaokay]

Epitaphs from the Abyss #11 by Curt Pires, David Lapham, Andrea Mutti, Jeff Jensen and more. Main cover by Lee Bermejo. Variant covers by (2) Anwita Citriya and (3) Albert Monteys. Out in May.

"A NEW MOON RISES... AND MORE FRESHLY ETCHED EPITAPHS SHALL BE UNLEASHED!

The most notorious name in terror—the immortal EC Comics—proudly presents the penultimate chapter of the runaway hit horror anthology! Courtesy of our ghoulishly gregarious host, the Grave-Digger, steady your nerves for another eye-searing dose of brazen bone-crunching and hilariously horrendous carnage!

Leading this month’s tales of tension and torment, we welcome Curt Pires (Indigo Children) & Andrea Mutti (Rebels), Jeff Jensen (HBO’s Watchmen) & David Lapham (Stray Bullets), and more to join the legions of the damned who wander the endless abyss...

Come and join them—there’s always room to spare!"

[endlesschain-au]

🧚 " wanderer "

[volvolts]

Does the bear have a name?

ok so i had this idea for a bit but im not sure how far to go with it so here we go. the bear is a palismen owned by an oc i made for the too late au story

Alberic lived as a wild witch until he was recruited by Emperor Belos himself in his 20s and became one of his most loyal officers, almost to fanatical levels. He was one of the few who as ever fought the emperor and lived to tell the tale (he got his scar from Belos in fact). For the past few decades, he hunted wild witches and forced them into covens. Currently Alberic is about Lilith's and Eda's age range so around late 30s to early 40s(?). Also since Alberic is a part of the EC he can do all magic but excels best at construction, plant, and abomination magic specifically

(Also I like to believe that giving up your palismen is only a requirement to join the EC in the last 15 years and high ranking officers get to keep theirs.) Alberic's only companion for most of his life is his palisman, a black bear named Obron. I don't know what size the bigger animal palismans get to be but I'm gonna assume that they're roughly the size of small dog no matter their real scale. Alberic adores him to bits.

Obron is very shy around most people but rather childlike and curious. He loves to wander around on his own but always knows his way back to Alberic one way or another. Obron is incredibly loving and loyal to his owner. He is almost always in his live form and likes to cling onto to people he especially likes like a koala.

(also if anyone wants to know more about alberic feel free to drop an ask cuz i have a lot of ideas with this guy too if i don't post about him in time lol)

[idontplaytrack]

Capri x reader

Reader is the “water boy”/manager of the football team, Capri does cheer

It’s senior year, Capri and reader have been dating in secret…what happens when a football boy tries to make a move on Capri?

Don’t talk to me

Capri Donahue x fem! reader

Warnings: coarse language, mentions of periods, a bit of quarrelling

“Why are you even talking to me? Didn’t you see me with her?”

Capri Donahue, Frederick Douglass High’s lovely, lovely queen bee. She’d be the death of you, in good ways and bad. Beneath that bubbly and sometimes snarky, facade, Capri was a big ‘ol softie. The sweetest partner one could ask for. Anyone would be lucky to call Capri theirs. Well, you would. You were the lucky one to be dating the Capricorn Donahue.

“Hey, baby.” Capri says, “Where the heck are you? I’ve been waiting here for like, five minutes. You’re usually waiting right outside for me to pick you up. Are you alright?”

“I’m coming down the stairs now, sorry.”

You hung up, quickly made your way downstairs and out the front door. You sat in the front with Capri, like always. “Is everything okay?” Capri asked cautiously, you seemed a little tense.

“Everything is perfect.” You replied, each word laced with sarcasm.

“Babe.” She sighs, starting to drive away.

“It’s stupid.” You revealed to her, “I got my period.”

“Oh.” Capri says, relieved. “Then are you sure you wanna go—”

“The school will call my mom if I just don’t show up, Capri. It’s fine, it sucks— but I’ll be fine.”

“Do you need anything?”

You shook your head, “Already took a painkiller. That should hold me over till school’s done. Thanks, though.”

She keeps her hand on your thigh for the whole drive, as she always does. You especially appreciated this little gesture today. It comforted you. Capri stops the car right near the school, knowing that you’d get off here and walk the short distance to school on your own, rather than together with her. You appreciated your anonymity and would rather have it for as long as you could, Capri didn’t mind that and just went along with what you wanted immediately.

You two were in homeroom then trig class together, after that she went off to home ec while you were in social studies. Anyway, you tended to see her a few times throughout the day in classes. But that depended on schedule so some days, you saw her more often, other days…not so much.

Today was one of those days where you ran into her more often. Not because of classes but because at lunch, while the cheer squad was practicing, the football team was also practicing in the field right near them. You walked onto the field with the team, settling down on the bleacher. The team gathered in front of you, awaiting your instructions.

“Okay, guys— since coach will only be here in the afternoon, y’all are stuck with me.” You started, “Line up. Start with: Calf stretch, walking lunges, side steps. Stay hydrated! Let’s go, let’s go!” There was some chatter, but the team got right to it. You didn’t care if they chatted while doing warmups or not. At least they were still doing what you said. You watched them in the meantime, making sure they weren’t completely goofing off or if someone were to get injured. Your eyes wandered a little bit, landing on the cheer squad. Capri spots you, her face lit up just a tad, a small smile on it. You smiled back, quickly resuming your task on hand.

Lunch was forty minutes, and when the sports teams had games or tournaments coming up, they’d spend about twenty minutes of their break practicing. Everything was going well until right at the end, the team lost focus because a guy told two of his buddies to check out that cheerleader’. You bit back a scoff, it was typical of them sometimes to ogle at the cheerleaders. You couldn’t care less. Because you’d tried telling them to stop, but they never listen.

“Dude! You should totally ask her out, Brett!”

“Totally, you’re a football player, Capri’s a cheerleader. You guys would be perfect together.”

Wait— Capri? Your Capri? Your eyes darted to Capri’s direction and saw the trio of boys jogging up to her. Capri didn’t seem to really react. You blew your whistle, screaming, “Brett, Marcus, Ray! Five minutes to go— what the hell?!”

“Yo, chill out, y/n. We were just gonna be gone for a minute.” Brett laughs, throwing his hands up in mock defeat.

You rolled your eyes at them, glancing at Capri again. She didn’t even pay any attention to you, already tumbling across the grass. You sigh, plopping back down on the bleacher, recounting the number of water bottles in the crates.

For the rest of the day, the image of Capri being hit on by Brett and buds kept running through your head. It annoyed you to no end, more so right now as you were on your period. Capri knew you saw her, she didn’t even acknowledge you in the slightest. Heck, she didn’t even acknowledge that that’d happened. You didn’t even get a text from her to assure you that it didn’t mean anything to her. Not that you didn’t trust her, you did. Your mind was just racing right now and you hated it.

Staring at the whiteboard in your American History class, you started seeing double. Then, your hearing gets muffled and the volume amplifies. You hear laughter, snickering…you clasped your hands together, fingers intertwined as you pulled at them irritatedly. When your breathing got heavy and laboured, that’s when you couldn’t take it anymore and bolted out of the classroom and to the bathroom. A hand was on your wrist as you pulled it away with your movement of standing up from your desk— Capri’s.

————

You stayed in a stall until you calmed down, well, you stayed in there until you heard footsteps outside the stall.

“y/n?”

“Uh— Darby…?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” She says back, “Are you…alright?”

“I guess?” You sniffed, standing up and unlocking the stall door.

“Are you sure? Do you need anything?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I uh— my mind just drifted and I started thinking about just…everything and got really not good. But thanks for checking on me.”

She walked back to class with you, without saying another word, but you could feel her gaze on you constantly. She was worried, and so was Capri. You could feel her staring too, but you didn’t want to look at her.

When school was over, you didn’t have a ride home and walking home would take you truthfully an hour. So, you had no choice but to go with Capri. You waited near her car since her last class for that day wasn’t with you. Once she got in, you quickly did so as well and she started to drive in silence.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“We both know something happened.”

“So then why do you have to ask?” You snarled, looking out the window while your head leaned against it.

“Fine, don’t talk to me then. Just keep everything to yourself.”

Shit, that hurt. The cramps, and what she had just said to you. You didn’t mean to snap at her, you were just feeling irritated by the cramps that were returning now that the pain meds have been wearing off, and whatever happened at lunch.

You notice her driving right by your house, but you couldn’t be bothered. When her car stops in the familiar garage, you got out right when she did. “I don’t know what you want from me.” You grumbled, side stepping her to enter the house via the garage door.

Capri takes in a deep breath, chewing on her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing. Or screaming. Or both. You ran up to her room, and she catches up so quickly. “What’s with this whole thing going on right now, y/n?” She asks after closing the door behind herself.

Your eyes flicked up to meet hers. Her tone was harsh but her gaze was soft. “What’d I do? Did something happen in the classes I’m not in?”

You wanted to tell her, you wanted to so badly. But instead, what happened first was you bursting into tears. With the pain and the hormones in a rage, you couldn’t control your emotions too well. “Shit.” Capri mutters, sitting down beside you. You fell against her, head on her chest as she held it. And you, close. “It’s okay.” She hushed, “You can tell me anything, baby.”

“I saw you— at the lunch practice. Brett asked you out and you didn’t even react. You acted like it was the most normal thing, not even acknowledging that I was there. I definitely overreacted because I was the one who asked you if we could not go public—”

“y/n, I didn’t react so he couldn’t react. He wouldn’t have anything else to say to me. I didn’t look at you, because if I did, that would be giving them hints to who I was seeing. And that I was seeing someone. Which isn’t something you wanted. But maybe now you do.”

You sigh shakily, “I’m sorry, I’m just in a terrible mood and I can’t control it.” You cried quietly, “And it hurts— so I just blew up. I’m sorry, I should’ve just talked to you when I got to instead of keeping things to myself. You’re right.”

“No, I also shouldn’t have been so snarky. You didn’t need that, any of that tone. It was wrong of me, I need to remember that I’m talking to my girl and some musty ass boy that only wants to see me naked.”

“I’m sorry— I—”

“y/n, please. Stop that, I get it.” She presses a kiss to your head, “Don’t keep saying sorry. You don’t need to apologise over and over again. I hear you, it’s okay. We’re good.”

“I love you.” You told her, eyes meeting hers once again.

“I love you too, baby.” She says, stroking your hair, “Your painkiller must’ve wore off. I’ll go get you another. Okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed, she carefully manoeuvres herself to get out from behind you and then off the bed.

She comes back a minute or so later with the pill and a glass, well a mug— your favourite mug, of water. You took it without hesitation and set the mug down on her nightstand. Curling up comfortably under her covers. She was still standing, and watching you. “Want me to cuddle with you?” She asks cheekily. You nod, face pressed against the pillow, “Yes please.”

“Could you make me pasta for dinner?” You asked meekly as her arms wrapped around you.

“Mhm.” She agrees in a heartbeat, “Of course.”

“Yay.” You let a chuckle slip. She plants a kiss on your shoulder, “I know you’re sleepy so just rest for a while, alright?”

You nod, she was fully pressed up against you as you shut your eyes.

————

You’d spent the night at Capri’s, and once you two got to school, you and Capri walked into the building together— hand in hand. And you, were even wearing her clothes. Clothes that she’s worn before, and recognisably hers. Not comfy loungewear that she’d only be donning at home.

“Capri!” Brett exclaimed, happily running over. She intentionally swung your intertwined hands a little bit exaggeratedly.

“Yesterday at practice I asked if you’d like to go out with me Saturday? But you didn’t say anyth—”

“Exactly.” Capri smiled sweetly.

“Oh, who’s this?” He asks.

“Oh, her? I dunno. Who do you think she is, Brett?” Capri chuckles, fingers still linked with yours. She raises that up briefly then put it down, letting your hand go. Smoothly, she cups your cheek and gave you a kiss. Right in the middle of the hallway. “Thought I’d show you since you guys seem to be such visual learners, hm? Her telling you all to stay focused on warmups wasn’t clear enough? Want her to show you guys how to do them? Even though she’d already done that months ago?”

“I— I— uh…”

“Stop it. Don’t look at her. Look at me. I’m gonna say this once and if you forget it, that’s not my problem. Don’t you ever look at her, don’t look at me, most importantly, don’t talk to me. And definitely not her. Stay away from us.”

🏷️Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

💭A/N:

Thank you sm for the request! I had fun writing this one heheh

[another-lost-mc]

OC BIOGRAPHY: Azra, Owner of The Fall

THE BASICS

Formerly known as: Azazel

Nicknames/Aliases: Az, The Butcher, Zell

Gender: Male

Birthday: November 18

Species: Incubus demon; fallen angel

Abilities: Aphrodisiacs; elemental magic (fire)

Sin Alignment: Lust (primary) and Greed (secondary)

Likes: Fashion/jewelry, music

Dislikes: Cooking, paperwork

Devilgram: @.Azra (personal) / @.TheFall (business)

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Hobbies: Riding his motorcycle, working out, reading

Best Classes at RAD: Seductive Speechcraft, Phys. Ed

Worst Classes at RAD: Potions, Home Ec

Favourite Foods/Drinks: Sandwiches, steak, or stew; certain vintages of Demonus (special occasions only)

APPEARANCE & ABILITIES

General Appearance: Azra is tall with a muscular build. He has faded scars on his face, neck, and left shoulder, some of which he has tried to cover with intricate tattoos. He has wavy brown hair that he prefers to keep cut short. His wardrobe is filled with expensive and perfectly tailored suits and club wear. He has a strong preference for silver jewelry and has silver earrings in his left ear. He wears tinted glasses despite the Devildom darkness when he's wandering around town. Sometimes he carries a dagger hidden under his clothes. If he wears nail polish, he prefers dark red or purple shades with an optional metallic silver flake top coat.

Demonic Traits: He has a long, whip-like tail that he can control with surprising speed and strength. He also has two tall, dark horns that sprout from his curls and curve back slightly. His outfit is usually accessorized with silver chains and bands draped around his chest, arms and wrists.

Powers and Abilities: What Azra lacks in raw physical strength, he makes up for with his speed and agility. Although he’s trained to use several types of weapons, he prefers blades over anything else. He has an affinity for fire magic which is useful for combat purposes or making jewelry/weapons. As an incubus, he has additional powers that allow him to satiate his appetite. He prefers not to visit dreams to feed; his specialty is using magic with an aphrodisiac-like effect that increases/prolongs the desire and physical pleasure of himself and his partner(s).

Pacts: Azra avoids making pacts with humans if possible. He also prefers to seek out demon partners to satiate his lustful appetite rather than humans.

GENERAL INFO & BACKSTORY

Social Status in the Devildom: As the owner of The Fall, the realm’s famous club, Azra is a high-status demon in the Devildom’s bustling metropolis despite his angelic heritage. Azra has thrived thanks to the support of other powerful demon lords such as Belial. According to the Devildom gossip rags, he has a reputation for being a sleazy socialite that enjoys partying with the likes of Asmodeus and other incubi/succubi. It is a poorly kept secret among older demon lords that he once worked as an assassin and even in modern times, he isn't above using secrecy and violence to secure his legacy. Although Azra is a long-time supporter of Diavolo, he doesn’t get along with Lucifer. Despite his public career and outgoing demeanor, very few demons see past Azra's carefully crafted persona that hides his true thoughts, feelings, and motivations.

History before the Exchange Program: In the Celestial Realm, Azra was known as the angel Azazel, one of the Powers that helped stand guard in the human world to protect it from demonic influence. He wasn’t overly ambitious but he was content. He had a reputation for being a strong warrior, especially when it came to close-range combat. During his free time, he honed his skills as a blacksmith and amateur jewelcrafter. He enjoyed weapons training and sparring with other angels including warriors of higher ranks than his own. He also spoke to other angels, including as Michael and Asmodeus, about his interest in jewelry and fashion. After meeting Metatron, one of the Seraphs and the Celestial Realm’s head librarian, their unlikely friendship eventually became romantic in nature. Conflict arose between Azazel and some of the other Seraphs including Lucifer, and it was during this period of doubt and resentment that he met a powerful demon lord who promised a better life in the Devildom. He was later detained by the Seraphs when knowledge of this meeting came to light. During his trial, Azazel admitted that the offer was tempting at the time even though he ultimately refused. For that perceived betrayal, he was branded as a traitor and cast out of the Celestial Realm.

After falling to the Devildom, Azazel (who renamed himself Azra) was found by Belial who tended to his injuries and offered him protection. In exchange, Azra used his combat skills to work for Belial as a saboteur and assassin. While on an assignment, Azra met Zekhan, a lesser demon that worked for one of Belial’s business competitors. Instead of fighting each other, Zekhan offered to help Azra and they teamed up to carry out Belial’s ambitious schemes. As a reward for their efforts, Belial gave them what they needed to move to the Devildom's main city and open The Fall. Early in Diavolo’s transition to power, Azra gave the crown prince his support by donating resources to help with RAD’s construction and he even attended the school when it first opened.

During and after the Exchange Program: Azra spends most of his time at the club, making the rounds and checking in with the VIP guests while ensuring that everything is running smoothly. He is invited to a lot of parties and other social functions including those hosted by Lord Diavolo. He supports the exchange program publicly, but he is privately apprehensive about meeting his former friends from the Celestial Realm that may eventually visit the Devildom should peace between the two realms become a reality.

IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS (CANON)

Lucifer: Azra and Lucifer have a complicated history that goes back to their time as angels in the Celestial Realm. Azra was upset when Lucifer fell and they nearly came to blows when they met again at the Demon Lord’s Castle. In present times, they mostly avoid each other when they’re not trading thinly-veiled insults and snarky comments.

Asmodeus: Azra and Asmodeus are friends who spend a lot of time together, whether it’s shopping at Majolish or partying at The Fall. Asmo is also a consultant for the club when it comes to the latest trends in music, fashion, and decor. Unlike some of his siblings, Asmo sympathizes with what Azra went through as an angel and likes to be the voice of reason when Lucifer tries to insult or criticize him unfairly.

Diavolo: Diavolo was present when Azra pledged his loyalty to his father, the Demon King, and has tried to maintain a good working relationship with him since. The Fall hosts a lot of events on behalf of RAD and the demon prince.

Solomon: Azra and Solomon do not get along. Azra is bitter and jealous because of rumors that Solomon and Metatron were involved romantically in the past. Solomon makes this even worse by criticising Azra’s character and behaviour after becoming a demon and he will often mention Metatron in passing just to get a reaction from him.

Simeon: Unlike Lucifer, Simeon was one of the Seraphs that tried to argue for leniency during Azra’s trial as an angel and was disappointed with the outcome. During the exchange program, they’re able to become friends again with only a little bit of awkwardness at first.

Raphael: As angels, they were acquaintances at most; despite their common interests in training and weaponry, they rarely interacted face-to-face due to their vastly different ranks and responsibilities. Raphael seized him and brought him before the other Seraphs when evidence of his treason was discovered. During the exchange program, their relationship is strained until they can both make peace and move on from what happened before.

MC: Azra ensures that The Fall is equipped with human world food and drinks that the exchange students will be able to tolerate (as he remembers how difficult it was for him to get used to the Devildom’s cuisine). Security’s also been improved because he won’t risk anything happening to the human at his establishment. For the most part, the exchange program doesn’t bother him. He does anticipate that the human’s arrival will provide some sort of entertainment, hopefully at Lucifer’s expense, and will use the opportunity to his benefit if he can.

IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS (OCs)

Zekhan: Azra’s best friend and longtime business partner. Zee runs the day-to-day operations of The Fall while Azra makes public appearances and socializes with other Devildom business owners to secure lucrative deals.

Belial: The demon lord that manipulated Azra as an angel and schemed to bring him to the Devildom for his own selfish purposes. In the Devildom, Belial was Azra’s sponsor and helped him adjust to becoming a demon; later, they eventually became friends. Belial is a long-standing VIP member at The Fall.

Metatron: One of the Celestial Realm’s Seraphim and Azra’s former lover. They had a vicious argument during Azra’s trial and parted on bad terms which they both harbor deep regrets about. They haven’t seen or spoken to each other since Azra was cast out.

Dantalion: Owns Azra’s favourite bookstore and carries an impressive selection of Celestial Realm texts. Azra has been a generous patron of his shop for a long time, dating back to the old days where such items could only be found through the Devildom’s black market.

CREDITS

Modified OC/MC profile template: jabberwockprince Dantalion (OC) belongs to @meggs-wonderland

Read More: Azra's Masterlist | Obey Me OC Masterlist

[altocat]

EC Sephiroth-Glenn Halloween Event Spoilers

I'm providing a spoiler summary for you guys here, since this concerns (noncanon??) FS content for the Halloween event. Chill dumb holiday fun below the cut.

The FS trio is minding its own business on the Rhadoran island getting the new mako reactor ready when they come across a strange portal! Matt explains that it's used for teleportation. Hojo gets namedropped again.

Glenn, like an idiot, just immediately hops on in. Sephiroth decides to go in to get him. Matt and Lucia stay behind.

They end up in spooky Halloween Nibelheim! Sephiroth says that Glenn is TOTALLY getting written up for being so reckless. He's concerned about staying focused on the mission. Little stickler for the rules!

While he's lecturing Glenn, the portal closes behind him. Now they're stuck here.

Glenn approaches a strange red hooded figure that turns into a spoopy pumpkin thing. Battle time!

This event is in honor of some sort of strange harvest festival for the holidays. Seph dumps some spooky lore. But there are real monsters wandering around. Glenn wants to evacuate everyone asap! Sephiroth advises that they take it slow and logical.

They come across a scared kid without a costume. The kid pleads for them to save his town from the Dark Army (festival lore shit). The monsters came out of a hole somewhere apparently, aka the portal.

So we gotta go find the leader of the Dark army if we want to find the portal materia. Glenn keeps calling himself a superhero. Aww.

To weed out the real monsters from the costumed civilians, we have to go up to them and say "tussle or treat". This is so fucking stupid lmao It's so cute. Glenn and Seph keep snipping at each other. Also cute.

After wandering around the town, Glenn and Seph can't find the army's leader. Montage of them butting heads and having no luck at all! Seph is gonna look into more Dark Army lore to find some clues.

The boy from earlier explains that the Dark Army eats people's feelings (anger, hate, fear, etc.) and they use them to grow. They scare people in order to feed. Glenn decides to go look for a main hideout. Seph, wanting to minimize casualties from this outing, still wants to keep a low profile.

Seph is STILL pissy about Glenn getting them into this situation. Glenn calls him a hard-ass. The monsters are dwindling but STILL no results! The boy points out that maybe they should wear costumes so that they can trick the monsters.

WHERE CAN THEY FIND COSTUMES YOU MAY ASK??? Oh shit oh fuck Seph run baby please.

Sephiroth is VERY suspicious of the boy since he keeps giving them perfect advice. The boy says that he and his friends sometimes go into the mansion to play. HMMMMMMMMMMM.

They arrive at the mansion (fuck). THEY ARE IN THE LIBRARY (FUCK FUCK FUCK). The boy reveals he doesn't know what Shinra is.

OH SHIT SEPHIROTH STARTS HAVING AN EPISODE.

Flashback dialogue HOJO: "ENDURE THE PAIN SEPHIROTH, YOU HAVE YET TO REACH YOUR THRESHHOLD THE MORE YOU ENDURE THE GREATER THE POWER WILL AWAKEN WITHIN YOU HEHE"

SAEDRFGHJGFDSFG FUCK ABUSED LAB RAT BACKSTORY FUCKING CONFIRMED.

Sephiroth seems okay after his brief spell. But Glenn is concerned, especially since he says Sephiroth always overworks himself. Sephiroth is surprised at this. No one has ever told him to take it easy. In fact, it's always been the opposite.

We're interrupted by another monster. Sephiroth is nervous that he led them here, after all they feed off of negative emotions.

Seph and Glenn find their costumes. Seph in his demon costume and Glenn in a pumpkin mask with a top hat.

It looks like we're finally nearing to defeat the leader. The boy reveals that HE'S been the leader all along! Called it. He reveals that in killing all the monsters, he gets to feed on as many people he wants.

After kicking the leader's ass, we finally reach the ending. Seph slices that fucker, while it warns them that so long as negative emotions exist, so will it.

Seph and Glenn seem to reconcile now that the portal is open, even finishing each other's sentences. Glenn suggests that for once, Seph should follow his lead and slack off with him at the festival and stuff their faces with festival food.

Seph's tummy rumbles and he's about to relent. But Glenn gets sucked into the portal anyway. Seph is sad he can't try the pumpkin soup now. Oh well!

In the epilogue, Seph and Glenn return to the others through the portal, still in costumes like idiots. Neither of them remember the events of the festival. So basically square can shitpost all they want without anyone remembering rofl this is SO STUPID AND GREAT

This was a cute story! And not without substance. The reveal about Hojo is genuinely horrifying.

Happy Halloween everyone!

[zhoumeyourlove]

Meet My OC - Elowen

Also known as Lo (by Xavier and Kieran), Lowen (by Longclaw), and Wen (by Seren, as kids)

Elowen is the adopted daughter of my The Cursed Heart MC, Xavier, and Kieran. She is a changeling - half human, half Fae.

She has pale skin covered in pink spots (especially on her face, around her eyes, and on her shoulders), light purple eyes, pointed ears, and red hair.

She's very creatively inclined - she loves singing, playing the lyre, and painting. Her favorite color is green, which is generally the dominant color in her art, and stems from her love of nature.

She considers the Fae Woods a second home of sorts, since she lived there for a time. As a result, she loves animals. Kieran's ravens quickly become her best friends when she comes to live with her fathers, and she's the only person the Fae cats tolerate, much less enjoy spending time with.

She spends a lot of time with Xavier and Kieran. Her favorite things to do with them are picking flowers in the woods (with Xavier, while he looks for herbs - at the end of each trip they show each other what they found) and reading in the library (with Kieran, who has been reading books to Elowen since shortly after they took her in).

Below the cut is her backstory, the story of her adoption, and her future. I'm planning to write a fic showing her childhood and how she meets Kieran and MC as well, so consider this a teaser ;D

Backstory

In some ways, Elowen is very similar to Jack. She is the half-sister of Foxglove, born of a mortal mother and a Fae father. She was raised in a mortal village, never known of by the Fae courts at all. Her and Foxglove's father knew that her parents' relationship, and especially their child, would not be met positively by the Sun Court, and so he told no one. Before Elowen was born and for a short time during her life, he would come to visit her and her mother Cerys. However, rumors began spreading around the Courts about why he left so frequently, eventually ending his visits to prevent Elowen and Cerys from being discovered, which he feared would cause them harm.

Elowen grew up extremely close with her mother, primarily because the two of them were not fully accepted by the community. Firstly, because Elowen's mother had no husband and there was no man in their household, eliciting judgement from some villagers. But also, many people were afraid of Elowen. Shortly after her birth it became apparent she was part Fae from her mottled skin, and by the time she was a toddler her ears were pointed.

The only person who was not afraid of her and her Fae-ness, her only friend other than her mother, was another young girl named Seren. Seren's parents warned her against becoming close with a changeling, believing her to be dangerous. But Seren, who was brave and stubborn, befriended Elowen anyways. The two of them grew practically inseparable.

As a result of the village's fear of her, Elowen often felt ashamed of her Fae features. She hid her ears with her hair or headwear whenever possible, and tried desperately to cover the pink parts of her skin, even putting flour all over her face to hide them. Being a small child, she could not understand why people feared her. All she knew was that they did, and all she wanted was to be loved.

When Elowen was ten years old, her mother caught ill and passed away. Elowen was devastated, but more than that, she no longer had a home. Seren begged her parents to allow Elowen to stay with them, but they refused, still afraid that Elowen may hold power that she did not know of and would be unable to control. No one else was willing to take Elowen in, so she made the decision to leave the village in the hopes of finding somewhere that might accept her. Might love her.

Adoption

For over two years afterwards, Elowen wandered around the Fae Woods. None of the human villages accepted her as she was clearly part-Fae, and so most of the time she was either on her own or temporarily with groups of animals.

She saw Eclipse around a few times, and was fascinated by them. She discovered that there were more people like her, who weren't entirely human or Fae. However, she never approached them. She was afraid of the weapons they held, and the anger they held towards the Fae Courts.

One day she wanders into the Bird Court, who take pity and allow her to stay with them for as long as she should want. Leaf asks her about her past, and Elowen tells her about her flee from the village and her partial Fae ancestry. Leaf immediately goes to the Moon Palace to tell Kieran and Xavier of this abandoned changeling girl.

The first time Xavier and Kieran visit the Bird Court is to see Elowen, and immediately ask her if she would like to live with them. After months and months of searching for someone who would love her, who would not fear her, she almost cries with happiness.

At first she is nervous around them. She's incredibly grateful, but she's also just met them. Xavier and Kieran are understanding and patient, and she quickly warms up to them and comes to think of them as her fathers. She refers to Kieran as Father and Xavier as Papa.

Future

Elowen grows up knowing she will likely far outlive one of her fathers. It's something that makes all three of them nervous, but it's not something they like to focus on or talk about frequently.

As a young adult, she musters up the courage to visit her home village to see Seren. She never stopped thinking about her best friend and is desperate to see her again. When she arrives, she finds Seren much older than her and nearing the end of her life.

This devastates both of them, knowing they could have had more time together. However, they both resolve to make the most of what little time they do have. Both of them have grown, but they have the same core traits they've always loved about each other.

Elowen is at Seren's bedside as she dies, and though they both mourn for the years of friendship they lost, they're both grateful that they found each other again.

As seen in...

Writing

WIP: Elowen adoption fic (title TBD)

Visual

Elowen's original sprites (OLD)

Elowen's sprites (Revamped)

posted for day 7 of @choicesmcappreciationweek <3