#Dream x FOC

[superblysubpar]

“As soon as we’re both sober, we can do every dirty little thing you ever dreamed of.”

A/N at the end

Might Love Me, Baby

bestfriend!eddie munson x fem! reader

Summary: Eddie and you spend a summer evening learning new things while getting high. |  masterlist | eddie's music | NSFW 18+ only

WC Range: 1k-3k

Warnings: Smoking weed (reader and Eddie both high), making out, oral (reader receiving), insinuations of more smut (everything consensual) 

Soothing, soft yet slightly calloused thumbs press up and down your lower spine. Skin buzzing as a hum to match the cicadas outside your window crawls out of your chest. 

Hazy, warm, and heavy summer air blows into the room, curtains dancing along to the quiet record playing. The heat of the fading day filling the room is your shared excuse to peel more and more layers off in front of each other. 

Well, and the high filling both of your bodies. 

Down to a pair of pajama shorts and a thin tank top, Eddie still in his jeans and a band t-shirt he's rolled the sleeves of. Turning to look back at him, you find his curls are sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed pink, brown eyes roaming over your body, and a joint smoking in between plush pink lips.

It's unfair for him to look like that. Should be illegal for his thumbs to feel like they do on your skin and make you moan like you just did.

His eyes peek at yours at the noise, his cheeks flushing pinker and you steal the joint from between his lips and face the other direction again, blaming the heat and high for the way your body warms and not his blush. 

Inhaling slowly as rough pads of fingertips graze your sides, pushing your shirt up slightly as his thumbs roam higher up your spine. Exhaling as you both make a move you can't take back at almost the same time. His fingertips brush the sides of your braless chest as you push and roll your hips back, the curve of your ass hitting the erection he's been unsuccessful in hiding.

Record crackling as the album ends, both of you hold your breath waiting for the other to say something - do something. 

It's Eddie that finally acts first, fingers brushing back down as he clears his throat behind you, "Sorry."

Body thrumming with what could have just happened, you seize the moment and roll onto your back, playing coy, “About what?” you bring the joint to your lips and watch his eyes look anywhere but your chest, hands still suspended just over your hips like he was prepared to keep going with the massage. 

Eddie clears his throat again and tugs at the collar of his shirt as you sit up, legs relaxed and laid out between his folded thighs. Exhaling, you place a hand on the ripped denim of his knee and laugh, “Relax, Eddie.”

He rolls his eyes, fingers spinning his rings and finally makes eye contact with you again as he mumbles, “I am relaxed. Relaxed is my middle name. It’s just,” he tugs at his collar again as you catch his eyes glancing down at your chest. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand when he looks away, he continues to mumble, “Just hate how hot it is.”

Shrugging as you extract yourself from underneath him, using his thigh to hop off the bed, fingers dangerously close to brushing his hard length that he’s quick to place his arm in front of, you hand him the joint. Padding over to your record player to change the album, head and gaze cast down to the bright red polish stark against the carpet, fiddling with the needle as you try to hide the eagerness in your voice as you suggest, “Well, take your shirt off then.”

Eddie’s coughing fit causes your bottom lip to pull between your teeth as you start a new record. Turning to him and rolling your eyes, “Eddie, jesus, I’ve seen you without your shirt on,” you steal the joint back from him and laugh, “Remember the party at the lake last year?” 

He nods as you exhale, “You were in the lake, and I shotgunned with Warner Reed, oh my god, it was terrible, bad breath and just awful.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow under his sweaty bangs, his eyes stay focused on your lips as he bites at his thumb, mumbling a sort of hum from the back of his throat and shrugs.

Handing him the joint, you mimic his shrug, “What’s that? Why are you shrugging?”

Eddie’s lips mold around the rolled paper, eyes on yours as you try to keep your legs from pressing together at the image of his lips wrapped around the burning paper and his hollowed cheeks and jawline cast in the golden fading light. He speaks through blowing out the smoke, “I’ve never shotgunned, so,” he shrugs again, “I wouldn’t know what was good or not.”

A scoff falls from you, “What? You, Eddie Munson, have never shotgunned?”

He shakes his head no and your insides squirm thinking of how you couldn’t have planned it better if you tried. Your hand finds his shoulder and you sit next to him on the bed, bare thigh pressing against his denim one. 

Before you lose your nerve, you turn your body towards him more, leaning into his space, and he inhales sharply, “Wh-What are you doing?”

A timid smile falling upon your lips and you gesture to take the joint, “Shotgunning. I’m gonna smoke, and instead of blowing it out normally, I’ll lean in, close to your mouth, and you’ll inhale it.”

“I know how it-” he interrupts, rolling his eyes. 

Your fingers tap on his shoulder as you hum, interrupting him right back, “Sure, but you’ve never done it so-”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know how it works,” his hand lands on your hip, finger resting on your exposed skin just under the hem, casual, like the skin to skin contact isn’t sending electric shockwaves through your body. 

Squeezing his shoulder, you laugh, “Alright, alright.”

Eddie’s brown eyes seem to grow larger - warmer. A fondness in his gaze as he watches you bring the joint to your mouth, an audible gulp from him as you slowly inhale. Your hand glides from his shoulder to curl around his neck, slick skin and tense muscles below your fingertips, playing with the edge of his collar. Peering into his eyes for a final confirmation, you tilt your head and remove the joint, leaning further into his space until he parts his lips as you open yours. Eddie’s eyes close as the smoke slips from your mouth and into his. Your lips brush his, a gentle and barely there pass, and neither of you move. His still closed, you let your eyes fall slowly as you hesitantly move your mouth against his, wrapping your lips around his bottom one. Not quite a shotgun any more, and not quite a kiss. 

Heart hammering in your chest as you wait for what feels like an eternity until Eddie’s hand squeezes your waist. His mouth moves against you, top lip pressing to meet yours and a moan escapes him as you squeeze the back of his neck lightly. Tongue slipping out, you lick across his bottom lip as his hands wrap around your back, pulling you closer to him. Reaching across his body, you peek an eye open to rest the joint in the ashtray, Eddie’s hands on your hips, the cool metal of his rings stinging your hot skin as you let your leg fall over his, straddling his thighs. 

You’ve wanted to kiss Eddie like this for years, and as your hands push his shoulders back down onto the bed, you’ve never been more thankful for Warner Reed, the Indiana summer heat, and your best friend’s job providing courage in the form of weed to finally do so. Bodies slipping together even with clothes between you, your hands dip under his shirt. Fingertips grazing up his side and he shivers despite the heavy heat filling the room, peeling his lips from yours as his hands squeeze your hips. Eddie’s eyes are dazed, a hazy warmth to them as he swallows harshly, tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip. His hands folded into fists, knuckles roam up your body and he closes his eyes, “We…” eyes opening as his hands find your neck, thumbs rubbing small circles, “We should stop.”

You can’t be bothered to try to decipher what he means, it doesn’t seem like he wants to stop. Your soft and thin shorts let you feel the hard bulge pressing into you as you roll your hips, nose rubbing along his sharp jawline, “What?”

Eddie’s breath is hot against your neck, goosebumps rising on your body as his whisper tinged with a whine hits your ear, “How high are you? Because I promise you, if you wanna do more of this, as soon as we’re both sober, we can do every dirty little thing you ever dreamed of.”

Your reaction is involuntary, a moan escapes your lips. At the sound, his is equally unable to control, a jolt of his hips into yours and squeeze of his fingers on your shoulders, a quiet, “Fuck,” falls from his lips. 

Pulling away from him enough to look in his eyes, your fingers in his hair tangle more, “I’m not too high to know I want this, that I want you,” nudging your nose against his, “I’ve always wanted you Eddie.” He sighs, his hands rubbing circles into your bare shoulders as your noses slide against each other’s. Heavy breathing, chests moving in tandem, sweaty skin pressed together as your eyes lock on one another, telling each other it’s okay to let this happen. 

A moment of freefall, the precipice of change, the minute the day dreams become reality - a charge to the air, a feeling you wish you could capture as you look into each other’s eyes, over too quickly and yet not quick enough. 

Eddie’s lips crash into yours, hungrier and sloppier than earlier and your body is rolling before you realize, his weight on top of you, pressing you into your bed. Mumbling against your lips, “Seriously, tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” 

Your fingers tangled into his hair tug slightly as you gasp around his mouth at the roll of his hips, “Don’t you dare.”

He laughs quietly, thumb brushing your jaw, his lips leaving one, two, three quick pecks before they move across your cheek. Wet and hot open mouthed kisses trailing down your neck. Wrapping your legs around his waist and back arching off of the bed as his mouth latches onto the sensitive spot you told him Matthew Jasons found at the Halloween party two years ago, body buzzing from the fact that he remembered. 

Large hands gripping at your stomach, shoving your shirt up as he continues to suck a bruise into your neck. The thought of walking around with his mark on you made a shiver run down your spine. His moan against your skin as his fingers brush the edge of your chest, this time definitely on purpose, causes your legs to tighten around his waist. 

Detaching himself from your neck, his kisses trail down your collarbone, meeting the bunched up shirt. Your hands locked around the back of his head and legs around his waist making him stuck halfway and he laughs against your skin, "Sweetheart, work with me here."

Sure, Eddie's called you sweetheart loads of times. But this was different, and he didn't realize the weight of it until your breath hitched at the petname. A little dizzy at his words, you watch his warm brown eyes start to be taken over by his blown out pupils, the golden light fading to oranges and pinks settling against his skin. Colors and the moment sweet like summer sherbert and you think you might just be in love with Eddie, but no way you're saying that to him yet. 

You think he knows though, as he reaches behind him, pulling your hand from his hair, bringing it up to his mouth. Silky lips pressing a small kiss to your knuckles and you practically melt underneath him. A confidence about his actions now that he’s seen the dazed and lovestruck look on your face. He finishes detangling himself from you, arms crossing and pulling off his shirt in a fluid motion. Palms finding his pale chest almost immediately again, you let them roam over his exposed skin, tracing the once hidden tattoos and start to pull him down to your mouth again. 

Lips salty from your sweat, sweet from the jolly ranchers you’d both been sucking on all day, and a hint of weed. Smooth and fluid movements, tongues sliding together, like your sole purpose in life is to kiss the other. Kissing that’s slow and patient, savoring one another as your bodies grind together. Your shirt finally pulled from you as you both whine in protest at the mere seconds your mouths and bodies aren’t connected. Eddie’s hands roam over your skin, calloused fingertips tantalizingly grazing over every curve, dip, and freckle like he was trying to memorize you. Lips detaching from yours only to pant your name against your still moving mouth. Begging him to keep saying your name as you roll your hips against his, fingers dipping down to work on removing his jeans. 

His hands rest on either side of your head now, he nudges your nose, your hands stalling as he whispers against your lips, “Can I take care of you, baby?”

All you can do is nod as his hands slide down your body, noses bumping together again as he presses one more chaste kiss to your lips before following his hands. Tugging your shorts off to reveal you hadn’t been wearing underwear either, almost a growl escapes him as he kisses your ankle, tossing the garment as his mouth moves up your leg, his voice cracking, “Jesus Christ.”

The sight of you laid out before him seemed to make him even more frantic, fingers squeezing your soft thighs, mouth kissing up them, nipping your skin gently. And when his lips finally make it to where you desperately wanted him, you squeeze your eyes shut, body tensing. Trying to relax, but Eddie was almost too excited. Nose and lips bumping just shy of where you wanted them, moving away too quickly. 

Legs sliding up, resting against his shoulders and you squirm against his harsh movements, “Ed-Eddie-” your hands in his curls, and he hums, refusing to come up for air and you tug on his hair a little, “Slow down, I think you’re-”

He pulls away, gazing up at you with big brown eyes, cheeks darkening, and the cool metal of his rings graze the outside of your thigh as he rests his forehead against the inside, and he sighs, “Not good, is it?”

Your bodies are barely lit now, an almost below the horizon pale pink sun casting you both in soft light. The way his clearly dejected face peers at you could have made your heart explode in your chest and you shake your head quickly, “No, no, it’s good, just…” propping up slightly, you push his bangs across his forehead and smile, “Just take your time, okay? Listen to the music, relax, no rush, I’m not going anywhere, Munson.”

He sighs again, but kisses your thigh before shimmying his body back down. You hold your breath, waiting, as you feel his own, warm and fanning across your sensitive skin. A barely there pressure, you hear him softly hum and your fingers relax in his hair as his nose swipes a straight line up, parting your lips and gliding easily through your slick. Moaning his name as his mouth sucks around your clit, you shamelessly scoot lower, pressing deeper into him, legs slowly falling back to the bed.

Eddie’s tongue swirls around the sensitive button under the seal of his lips, flicking along with the quiet music and you roll your hips against him. His hands find them, pressing you down gently and you whine, body filling with a warmth from your head to your toes. Body fully relaxing into him, his thumbs rub gentle circles into your hip as he slowly moves lower with his lips, nose bumping the swollen nerves now. Your body shivers against the pressure and he angles his head, hitting it again and your hands grip your comforter, needing to chase the feeling and run away from it all at the same time. Eddie’s mouth molds around one of your lips, tugging and sucking gently and your body convulses, shivering from the pleasure tingling throughout every nerve in your body. Encouraged by your reactions, his licks, kisses, and sucking only seem to get slower, relishing in every long sigh, gasp, and whine of his name that he’s able to pull out of you. 

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours that Eddie spent taking care of you. Your body melted into the bed, bodies wrapped together. Heavy and warmer than the summer sun that had disappeared, sweaty skin pressed together as your mouths moved in rhythm with the quiet music still playing. Humming into each other in tune with the cicadas that had only grown louder. Soft, soothing, though slightly calloused thumbs drift up and down your spine as Eddie whispers your name into the room now enveloped in a purple and blue dark twilight.

A/N: Life, Steve Harrington, and writer's block can all be the blame for the delay in responding to these Eddie requests in my inbox. I appreciate everyone's patience! Also, while this is a hobby, and for fun, I'm working hard at trying to find my voice/practice my skills vs. just sharing everything I write. I think I'm slowly finding it with both boys, and any feedback is appreciated!

Also, I can't thank @loveshotzz enough for reading this over and over again. Wanted to do right by my Eddie girls and make @boomhauer sit this one out for a surprise.

Taglist: @boomhauer @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean

[bearieio]

omg i just found your blog and i absolutely love it! idk if your reqs are open but if they are can i please request a simon / ghost x reader where the reader asks ghost to do something for them and they expect him to protest but he just does it no questions asks and when hes done hes like "okay now you have to do something for me 🥰" ! it can be sfw or nsfw, up to you!

dw if you can't or dont want to do this req, and if you do want to, take your time ! <3

OMG HIIII TYYY :D i love ur acc smmm!!! and YES! my requests are almost always open! it just takes a little while for me to get around to writing them! also YES! YESYESYES!

simon "stubborn" riley

warnings: ghost x fem!reader, sloppy blowjob, praising, deepthroating (readers a throatgoat fr), size kink(???), hair pulling, slapping (okay maybe just one or two slaps...), throatpie, spitplay(???)

a/n: AUGH! i was kinda nervous writing this bc i don't think i'm too good at writing.... oral situations... D; BUT i think this is pretty OKAY! also, not proofread because i'm sorta tireddd

@poisonedprose ♡

since the two of you decided to begin your relationship, simon has become the most stubborn and uncooperative person you know. especially as he’s gotten to know you better and discovered that he loves to tease and mock you. because of this, it’s hard for you to get him to oblige to even the simplest of requests. 

the one day he finally agrees to do something you ask of him, you’d be on your death bed…. or so you thought..

“wait… really?” 

simon looks up at you through his sandy blond lashes “yea, sure.” you can’t tell if he’s smirking 

expecting him to protest, you were caught off-guard. something like this had only happened in your wildest dreams. ‘who are you? and what have you done with the real ghost?’ you thought to yourself, absolutely dumbfounded at the way that he, at long last, has finally agreed to do something that you’ve asked him to do.

“wait are you messing with me?” you ask, still in a state of disbelief, scanning his partially covered face in order to determine if he was actually being serious.

“no, why?” he responds with a blank expression.

after a short pause you ask him again “are you sure?”

“yea.. it’s no problem..” he replies, low and raspy “but you’re gonna have to do something for me in return, sweetheart...”

with simons hand held on the back of your head, his pulsating cock was right up against your lower lip, waiting patiently to enter the warmth of your mouth. 

“beg.” he commands, looking down at you, eyes piercing right through you. 

with precum pooling against your lips, you whine, eyes looking up to meet his, you feel your lips fall into a slight frown

the hand that was gently placed on the back of your head has now turned into fist, his calloused fingers tangled in the delicate flows of your hair. kneeling, he brings your face closer to his, “you’d better listen if you want this to go well for you, girl.” he breathes shallowly, “beg me.”

“please simon, i-“ the desperation in your voice is enough to make him growl. he smoothes out the hair his fingers were previously intertwined in, his eyes looking down at the sight of you, on your knees, begging your boyfriend to shove his cock down your throat. 

“such a pretty baby… on your knees for me.. sucking my cock.” he groans, continually hitting the back of your throat. you can feel his legs tensing when you gag against him. you hollow out your cheeks every time you pull off of him, only for him to shove you back down onto him.

“look at me, baby,” he hums, keeping a steady rhythm, watching his cock disappear into your mouth and down your throat, over, and over, and over again.. watching his cock create a bulge in your mouth.

it’s not that you don’t want to look up at him, it’s just really hard when he’s shoving his entire length down your esophagus at a continuous pace. 

“i said, look-“ simon brings his hand down onto your cheek, “-at me,” he slaps you a few times, not hard.. just enough to help you regain focus. 

“god you’re doing so well for me, baby..” he wipes the mixture of your spit and his precum off of your chin and rubs it on your cheek, “taking my whole cock down your throat..” he smears the rest of the mixture against your lips before slipping his thumb into your mouth, feeling the inside of your cheeks and how soft your tongue is on his fingers. 

bringing his dick back up to rest it on your mouth, he makes sure he’s holding your head steady. “open wide for me, little girl.” 

he fucks into your mouth, thrusting at a even faster pace than before, making sure to hit every inch of your mouth and throat. he loves it when you gag and choke on him, loves it when your eyes roll back, loves it when he pulls out of your mouth and you groan and immediately try to suck him back in.

with stuttering hips, his thrusts become more sloppy and frantic as he reaches his the edge if his orgasm. “ah!- baby.. ‘m gonna cum down your throat, okay?” he says, not asking, but telling.

as soon as you hear his moans and whines becoming more and more desperate, you push yourself farther down onto his length, moaning onto him as he grips your hair yet again. throwing his head back, he stays deep within the comfiness of your throat, allowing you to attempt to swallow the last bits of his cum.

as he pulled out, you choked, coughing as he tucks himself away. kneeling down in front of you, he caresses your cheek, kissing your puffy lips and tasting himself on your tongue. “god, you did so good for me, baby.” he mutters, placing more kisses along your jaw and neck.

“maybe i should start doing what you ask more often..”

constructive criticism is appreciated !!!

[alivish]

Tsukasa 5th Event Predictions/Wishlist

So, with Mafuyu's 5th event it marks the 85th character focus event, which means we are 3 away from the 88th which we all know is Tsukasa's number. Even though that's probably 2 to 3 months away, I decided that I have sone predictions and I want to ramble. These are my predictions but it's also kind of a wishlist, so take these predictions with a grain of salt.

1. Story

Firstly, what will the events story be?

Most of Tsukasa's stories have been about his struggles as an actor.

On the Stage of Dazzling Light had Tsukasa play a character that was the complete opposite of him.

Towards the Phoenix at the Sky's Edge had Tsukasa struggle to play Rio and face his inferiority.

A Story Where You Are the Star had Tsukasa play what amounts to a background character as if they were a real person.

3/4 of his events revolve around his capability as an actor. I could see this trend continuing, possibly with film or television acting because Rui's 4th event did explore the film industry.

But that would make 4/5 of Tsukasa's event about his capability as an actor and while that is what his 5th event is probably going to be about I want something a bit different.

Wonderlands x Showtime disbandment Tsukasa POV.

Project Sekai has been kind of dancing around WxS disbandment, they've made Rui and Emu events about it, but they've never had the characters talk about when it's going to happen. I want Tsukasa's 5th event to be when they finally confront it and talk about disbanding.

The only issue with this is that I think it might be a bit too early for this cause they might want to stretch it out for a bit longer, but on the other hand their third years and world link has happened so this might be the perfect time to start the disbandment arc.

In this theoretical event, someone could tell Tsukasa that in order to achieve his goal of stardom WxS is going to have to disband or he gets an offer to join an actual theatre troupe once he graduates but there's no guarantee that WxS will be with them. The important thing is something or someone is going to force Tsukasa to think about leaving WxS.

And he thinks about it, WxS is trying so hard to stick together, they've even become freelance to extend their time together, but at what point does staying together stop them from achieving their dreams?

Tsukasa, Nene, and Rui have to leave WxS, insisting on staying together is going to limit their prospects as actor and director.

He doesn't talk to WxS cause Tsukasa doesn't really talk about his problems, they're probably preparing for a show of some sort and Tsukasa realizes how much he doesn't want WxS to disband.

At some point he'll go to the Wonderland SEKAI alone and talk to the virtual singers and then he'll finally admit that he has to leave WxS.

This time unlike in other WxS disbandment events Tsukasa will actually talk to WxS about it and say he's leaving, probably like once he graduates or something.

He tells them he doesn't want it to end either, but it's best for all of them to achieve their dreams. He says that they all know that the day will come when it'll all end and instead of fearing it and pretending that it won't come, they should enjoy every moment of it that's left and move forward with a smile on their face.

It ties in really well to a line in Fillament Fever, "There's no more fear for the unforseeable tomorrow."

Plus it'll lead to Nene and Rui's events very well, with Rui dealing with the fact that WxS will have to actually come to an end instead of being able to just push it off and Nene having to deal with that while also dealing with the fact that Tsukasa seems to be moving much faster than she is.

Again, this might be too early for them to actually talk about disbanding, but this is also a wishlist for a reason.

2. Cards

I want a lim Tsukasa focus and I do think there's a possibility that it'll happen.

June will have Colorfes so it'll be a mixed lim.

July has L/n World Link, the 86th character focus, and a mixed lim.

August has the Virtual Singer World Link, the 87th character focus, and the 88th character focus.

The only character focus lim we've had this year was An back in April, so getting another one on August isn't too out there.

However July and August are just guesses, for all I know they could make the 87th character focus a lim on July or have another mixed lim on August. It's all just speculation.

But I'll be talking about this as if we're getting a lim set.

Firstly, I want this sets theme to be the end of the world, because it marks the beginning of the end.

Something like an overgown city would be nice, one that's been abandoned to the point that nature has reclaimed it.

4 Stars: Tsukasa, Emu, Rui

3 Star: Nene

2 Star: Virtual Singer

Tsukasa has 6 lim hairstyles, while Emu and Rui only have 5. Minori has 7 so it's certainly possible.

Well anyway I those 3 as the 4 star is because it's Tsukasa's event and Emu and Rui have had events dealing with WxS breaking up while Nene has not.

I'm just going to describe the 4 star cards vaguely just to get the idea out there.

Rui's trained card would have an expression similar to the one in his 3rd focus event but more emotional is the best way I could describe it. He'd look more hesistant, conflicted, and generally unhappy at the end of the world, but also with a hint of longing for a time long gone.

Emu would have a wistful smile, she's accepted what's happened but she also yearns for the past.

Tsukasa would look content, he has a look of acceptance on his face that the world has ended. The best way I can describe it is that he's found a reason to smile at the end of the world.

Also I imagine this cardset will take place at night, so it'll be mostly dark except for like some sort of fire lighting them up.

3. Producer

So I'm a pretty casual vocaloid fan, I know all the popular producer but not that much of the less mainstream ones. But here are 3 producers that I think could be asked to make Tsukasa 5th commision.

1. Hachi

This isn't going to happen. I do not think that the PJSK team could get Kenshi Yonezu, Japan's most popular singer, to commision a song for them and if they did it'd probably be an anniversary song or a VBS commision, but a man can dream and I think Hachi could make a banger Tsukasa commision.

2. Wotaku

Wotaku is definitely going to make a commision song at some point, it's just a matter of when and for who. Most likely N25 or VBS, but since this theoretical event is WxS disbandment and the card set is based on the end of the world I feel like it could fit. Also Wotaku makes some pretty jazzy songs and as of recent Tsukasa's commisions have been leaning that way.

3. KANON69

PJSK GIVE ME A KANON69 COMMISION ALREADY!

I like KANON69 and they're popular enough and have been around long enough to be offered to make a commision song, so I want it to happen. KANON69's jazz is immaculate and is a perfect fit for WxS, they can make both whimsical songs and songs with a somewhat sinister undertone, they can do both in one song. Anyway KANON69 is an amazing producer and I could be wrong about everything here, but if KANON69 is commision for Tsukasa's 5th event I will be happy.

[gghostwriter]

Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 2. Seventh heaven (how temporary it is)

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"There is no peace like the peace of an inner courtyard on a sunny day" - Yann Martel

At the edges of the grass filled courtyard, near the fountain, was a couple basking in the warm spring sun. The woman had her halo of locks spread on the man’s thighs. His free hand, the other busy flipping pages, was absentmindedly combing through her chestnut mane. The motion was familiar and well mapped out. Her book propped up creating a shade to cover her face as her mind whirled to thoughts off tangent to the words in front of her.

Cleo was thinking about routines and patterns. Specifically, human nature’s need for predictability. How early scholars recognized the need to identify sequences even in nature itself. The Fibonacci Sequence was a great example which then gave birth to The Golden Ratio, 1.618. A calculation that when drawn into 4 cornered shapes create a spiral. The same spiral that can be seen all around nature. She thought of the quote by an American historian, ‘chaos was the law of nature; order was the dream of man’ and how deeply flawed it was with all things considered. She closed her book and stared up at him. They were another set of example for the need for predictability. A constant companion for the other. When one moves, the other would too. Like a pair of magnets, Raina once stated when she observed their relationship. Two summers had passed since their fateful library encounter and Cleo found herself weaving Spencer into her daily routine. Breakfast or lunch in each other’s company, should the class schedule permit it. Study sessions in their own table at the library. Takeout dinners in the solace of his own dorm room. Friday nights spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or some obscure French film. Saturdays quietly reading their own choice of literature in each other’s orbit. And Sundays spent discussing their latest reading on and off tangents. 

The longer she looked at him, the more alluring he got and she was trying to understand why. His features combined scientifically did not fit the 1.618 ratio but there was something perfect about all the imperfections. He had those high cheek bones. A distinct sharp jawline further emphasized by his long neck. Lips that looked rather soft and pillowy causing a slight shiver down her spine. Faint purple bruising underneath his inquisitive hazel eyes that make him look exhausted, no doubt from the lack of sleep. 

The same hazel eyes staring right back as a smile graced his face under her intense gaze. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, always curious about the inner workings of her brain.

“Patterns,” she stated matter of factly. “The Fibonacci Sequence and how our cognitives are programmed to find patterns in everything.” 

“How did you get to this line of thought while reading—” he looked down at the closed book. “—Northanger Abbey?” 

She shrugged, not sure herself. The mind, after all, is like the unexplored deep sea. No paths to connect one area to another and filled with mysteries unknown. 

His thumb now busy caressing her sun kissed cheeks. At first it seemed aimless to her, meandering on her skin but she concentrated, he was drawing spirals. Just like The Golden Ratio. “What do you think about perfection?” She asked, wanting to hear his baritone voice ramble. 

“Well, it originated from the Latin word perificere—to complete—and then was transformed to Old French perfectio which then became perfect or perfection in Middle English,” he explained, still caressing her cheek. “In mathematics, perfection in the form of finite formulas and circles exist but in reality and in nature, it doesn’t exist.”

“I think perfection is subjective. We all have our own standards on what it is and what it would look like,” she added. This memory for her, as an example, is perfection. 

She took his hand and intertwined hers with it, marveling at the size difference. His hands were slightly calloused, possibly from scribbling down his never ending thoughts on paper. There was a time when he would stiffen under her casual touches, a certified germaphobe. They were similar in that aspect but she knew just how touch starved he was and he saw how readily she was to fill in the void so he gave his consent and never looked back since. 

“Hey Spence,” she started, trying to get his attention back from his readings. “What’s your plan after getting all your Ph.Ds? I realized you’ll be submitting your dissertations soon and we never really talked about what comes after. Will you still be pursuing being a profiler?”

He looked down, closing his book to give all his attention to her. “Actually yes, I’ll be applying for the Academy soon. There is a minimum two year probation period in the FBI before I can be eligible to join the BAU but that has always been the plan. As you know collecting more educational degrees is just a way to get back at my father.”

“I think you’ll be just fine in joining the FBI. You did profile me, after all, during our first meeting,” she laughed at the memory. That time seemed eons ago.

He joined in the laughter. “And what about you, Cleo? Still sure about becoming a prosecutor despite your father’s insistence in joining his company as a corporate lawyer?”

The idea of joining her father’s legacy in exchange of darkening her already stained soul was a choice she wanted to avoid. With a family that came from generations of wealth, her dream of working for the state was seen as a disappointment. Her mother always said that out of all her children, she was the disappointed. Doesn’t matter if she was smarter than Thalia and Marcus, her elder brother. She was still the disappointment. All because she wouldn’t become a puppet and say yes to all the things they tell her to do. “Yes, I’d like to think of it as my own little way of getting back at my family.”

“A rebel, huh?” He teased back.

She giggled. “Guess we’re both aiming to work for the government, Spencer.” 

Untangling his hand from hers, he resumed his familiar caress on her locks. “I guess so.” 

———

“Hey Cleo, your boyfriend is looking for you,” Raina teased as she entered their shared dorm room. 

She gave Raina a exasperated look and shot up from her tucked in bed, rapidly combing through her locks in hopes of looking more presentable than what she felt. Her state of relationship had been a running joke with Raina and her boyfriend, Adam ever since she had delivered those two croissants to go two and a half summers ago. Their confounding proximity without the label of a romantic relationship was enigmatic especially for the modern society that felt the need to label all kinds of relationships—pure friendship, friends with benefits, romantic relationship, open relationship to name a few. And yet, none of those deep enough to explain the sense of connection they had with each other. She wasn’t in love—she was after just 16 years old, it was more of intrigue mixed with curiosity and everything else in between. It was the type of chemical mixture that seemed far more euphoric than sexual or romantic attraction. 

“Hey Spencer,” Cleo greeted as she was closing her door. “Raina mentioned you were here. How’d your dissertation defense go?”

He shrugged mutely, knuckles white from gripping a pair of white envelopes in his hand. He wetted his chapped lips and swallowed nervously. “It’s—It’s my letter from the Academy. I haven’t opened it yet, felt wrong to open it without you by my side.”

She remembered how just three weeks ago he had submitted his requirements with the use of her school laptop. How his hands were visibly shaking with worry about the physical fitness self-evaluation and how she squeezed both in hers to calm his nerves. Pulling him to the alcove area of the dormitory for a semblance of small privacy, she drew calming patterns on his hands again.

“Would you like me to open it for you, Spencer?”

He shook his head. “I just need you here, please.”

Taking a deep breath, he then proceeded to methodically and carefully open the bigger white envelope of the two. He closed his eyes, possibly readying himself for the worse before beginning to read. “I got in,” he whispered unbelievably. “Cleo, I got in!” 

She choked back a sob and went in for a tight hug, extremely proud of him. There was no doubt in her mind that he would get in. None at all. Spencer would be a great asset in any field he’d wish to pursue. “I’m so proud of you, Spence. I knew you’d get in!”

With his face buried on her neck, she felt the telltale signs of tears escaping from his eyes. His windows to the soul leaking relief and happiness from the occasion. She let him go and wiped it away from his reddening cheeks. 

The other white envelope bringing a question to her lips. “Spence, if that is your acceptance letter. What this one?”

He bit his lip, also not knowing what the other envelope may contain. Slowly, he opened the letter and his eyes widened in disbelief. “It’s a letter from Jason Gideon, the Jason Gideon from the Behavioral Analysis Unit—”

The name rang a bell. He was a guest speaker during a criminology lecture that she and Spencer attended together from months before. Spencer asked the most questions during that lecture and was even approached by Gideon afterwards.

“—he’s scouting me to join the BAU after my graduation in the Academy,” his eyes going wide as he himself couldn’t believe what he was utter out to the universe. 

Cupping both his cheeks in her hands, she gave his forehead a quick kiss unable to contain her joy for her other half. That was what he was, she realized then, her other half. The half that completes her own set of imperfections to make a subjective perfection.

“You should give your mother a call, I’m sure she’ll be so proud of you.”

He smiled bashfully. “I’ll mention it in my next letter.” It was a flimsy excuse, she knew, but didn’t point out. 

“We should celebrate,” she suggested as she tucked her arm with his and pulled him along the stairs. “Let’s go to Cecile’s for some sweet treats!”

He laughed. A beautiful sound that echoed through the desolate hallways, all the same echoing in her chest making her feel warm. She would have done anything just keep him smiling and free. The idea that she had this effect on him made her feel intoxicated in her veins.

“When did it say your time at the Academy will start?” She asked with an assortment of sweets at the center of their usual spot in the shop.

“Within three weeks.” He sadly mumbled out, realizing the implications that it meant.

“Oh,” she sucked in a breath. “So soon.” 

Their days of mundane and comfort has come to an end. The sun was setting down and the curtains were coming down. Marking the end.

“It’s not a goodbye,” she tried to say optimistically. “It’s more of a see you later, Spencer.”

Saying it out to the universe almost felt like a taunt. Like she was egging the fates to try and prove her wrong. But she knew, she’d rather lose the light in her eyes rather than dim the lights reflecting back at her from his own windows of soul. 

[gerec]

So. Time travel. Do you know any focs where Charles or Erik time travel. 👀

Hi Anon!

I just recently made this list of time travel fics where Charles goes back in time (but not Erik).

And here's a list of fics where Erik (or both) do the time travelling!!! Hope you enjoy :D

Strange Lands (No Good Man Remix) by Unforgotten

Charles had a time machine. You'll never be able to ask him what it was for, why he programmed it for the time and place he did. Perhaps he meant to do little other then rescue a young boy and his mother. It would have been far from the first time he tried to save you. Or perhaps he'd meant something greater, something better: to stop the war in its infancy, and save millions from the horrors to come.

Charles of all people could have done it...but you're the one who's here.

Timeline by Unforgotten (series)

After Magneto of an X2-ish future succeeds in the unthinkable, Charles sends his consciousness back to 1962 to guide Erik away from the path that will lead to the genocide of the human race forty years hence.

Charles knows that Erik has always loved him, and intends to use this knowledge + sex to seduce Erik away from his ideals in his youth.

There’s no way this well-thought-out, sensible, debugged and 100% bulletproof plan can possibly go wrong.

Lucid Dreaming by listerinezero

Magneto finds himself in 1962, on the morning they go to Cuba, in the bed of the young Charles who'd spent months letting him think they were in love before breaking his heart. But he is not the same man he was forty years earlier, and as he gets to know young Charles again, he discovers that things might not have been exactly the way he remembered them after all.

When We Two Parted by nekosmuse

At the end of X3, a still depowered Erik travels back in time to meet 1962 Charles. Cue angst, desperate kissing and happy endings for all. Written for the x-men kink meme.

From Yesterday by AzarDarkstar

He stands on the edge of tomorrow but always lives today.

of shuttered and scented rooms by pearl_o

Whatever reason Erik has been brought here, whatever mission it is they need to carry out...

It can wait. It can wait long enough for this. It's been years, now, since Erik last touched Charles like this. He has never been one to throw away an opportunity.

Where There Are Still Gods by helens78

Erik comes from a broken world, eight years after a dark night in the water just outside Florida. He'll do anything to make sure that future doesn't come to pass.

By Any Means Necessary (Trial and Error Remix) by Unforgotten

After Charles' untimely death in the dark future, Magneto goes back instead of Logan—but no matter what he does to try to change the past, he can never seem to change himself. In the end, there's only one option left, and he's more than ruthless enough to take it.

Reality/Reality (Song to the Siren Remix) by unveiled

He should have understood it to be the curse it was, from the very beginning.

never too late to be who you might have been by acetamide

Erik wakes suddenly and takes a deep breath, and realises that there is nothing.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess x Leto - ” i miss you. i miss you so much it hurts. ”

Or, welcome to the hallucination continuity. PG-ish and also on ao3.

She knows, on some level, that this isn’t real.

Jessica was once trained for a great many things, and all of that training has been rendered useless in the past three days. She was vulnerable before the decision to ascend, and now…

Her mind feels separate from her body. Just as well.

It will be a painful few hours, if she’s lucky, if she survives. To drink the Water without any preparation, to do so impulsively… she was never on that track, she knows she was created for much different fates, and even those who are meant to ascend prepare for it for years if not decades, and-

Maybe this was a bad idea, but she’s out of better ones. That seems to be how her life is going at the moment.

Her body is overcome, as if she is surrounded by burning needles. This at least she would like to think she can handle, how good she used to be at numbing her own pain and… how little she needed to use that skill after her placement. She became too soft, she sees it now, allowed to bloom and defy what she was and-

Breathe.

A sense-memory at the worst time, all too vivid. She will be able to keep this, at least, the echoes of a love that she is now convinced ruined her but at the same time-

She wouldn’t have done anything differently, if she’d known. She’d like to think she would’ve, but she knows herself too well. She is too stubborn, and she had known just enough and she’d done it anyways, and-

“Stay with me.”

She knows this isn’t real. She knows her mind is projecting the greatest protection it can while she is in agony, and it will break when the rest is over, and the vision of her partner beside her is just that, a vision, and hallucinations have their limitations and-

She wants. Damn her for it, if she hasn’t been so thoroughly already. If this is how her subconscious shields her, with the ghost of the only person she has ever trusted was completely on her side even at their low points… so be it.

As long as you need.

This is how she is sure this is not real. He was never so attentive in life, and she never expected it. They were made for each other, or at least she was made for him, and the matched damage worked out in the end right until it didn’t and-

“I miss you. I miss you so much it hurts.”

Still an open wound of a loss. If it never heals, she would not be surprised. She ruined everything for him, broke the world and started whatever yet-unknown process will burn the pieces, and she still-

We have this.

“Do we? Or will you fade as soon as I am-“

You get to decide.

So, no.

Jessica is in control of very little of her situation right now and she suspects that won’t change anytime soon. She will take what she can get, just like she always has. If that means recurrent vivid haunting…

“Stay. I know you can’t-“

She will be held in dreams, she knows this much, but while she has conscious control there are limits and-

Remember what you have to.

She can’t.

In time, sense-memories will be in her favor. She will be able to recall every way her beloved ever touched her, and she will use that to calm herself through the worse-yet-to-come. Right now, her body is in too much pain for those echoes, and-

“I always thought it would be me.”

And that’s the worst part, she thinks. She was the one who made what was in hindsight a catastrophically bad decision; she should’ve been the one to die for it, not-

There was always an innocence to him despite everything, she remembers. Able to live alongside things he did not understand without questioning them. Never quite sure of what she could do or how she chose to do it, and never-

She was loved. Was. Until he took his last breath. He never regretted her either. She is sure of that much, even now that everything burns.

Breathe, my storm.

“I want to make it stop. I want-“

She hasn’t been self-destructive in a long time, but she’d do anything right now, shut her body down if she had the focus for it, if she-

Remember that one time you…

“This is worse.”

You are more stubborn than this. It will fade.

Sure. Sure it will.

Her body is on fire and she’s arguing with a hallucination of her recently deceased partner. Sure.

But she doesn’t want to spar, not when she’s not sure if she’ll ever even get this again, intentions be damned she’s not sure-

“Stay. I know you can’t… do more, but-“

Jessica allows herself to remember one of her favorite moments between them, near twenty years ago now, the first time she’d slipped into his spaces for reasons other than offering her body. There had been an understanding, even then, and she’d fallen asleep curled up around him and she’d always loved how warm he was and all the comments he made over the years about her icy skin were never with cruel intent and-

Her mind and body will protect her. She weaves a cocoon out of her memories, and nothing can harm her within it.

The pain lasts for hours, and she keeps her eyes on the vision. There is no need to speak, to waste any more time. If this is what she has left…

“Stay,” she breathes as the pain starts to fade, as she begins to worry.

Always.

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Part 14

Pretty Little Pieces

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 5371

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Summary: Party plans are coming along, and your hard work is rewarded, but it seems like secrets keep on growing.

Author's Note: I am so jealous of our numbers girl 😭

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Fluff, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Degradation, Unprotected Sex (stay safe out there), Bondage, PIV Sex, Large Cock, Masturbation, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Comeshot, Dom Mihawk, Dom Crocodile, Switch(?) Buggy, Death Threats, VERY Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

So many hands and lips on your skin, yet all you could feel were the weight of those words.

“You would… ”

“I’ll cut them down for you,” Mihawk whispered, rubbing his face along your neck and ear until your back arched for him. “We’re the only ones that get to make my little rabbit cry. What are their names?”

Crocodile let out a low hum as he settled closer to you, kissing across your shoulder while Buggy smoothed his hands over your legs.

“I don’t…” you choked out, closing your eyes against the dizziness that spun through you. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” Crocodile soothed as he pulled you against him. “Let’s get some sleep. You can write up your kill list in the morning.”

A dream. This is all some crazy dream.

A soft whimper left you as the hot tears staining your cheeks were caught just in time, and you knew it was Buggy’s fingers wiping them away. You sputtered, breathing too fast as you tried to gulp down air, to swallow the overwhelm. Mihawk touched your cheek before letting Buggy join his hands, sliding his body between yours.

“Hey, pretty star,” he soothed, stroking your hair while you clung to him. “I’ve got you.”

~

“How’s my girl?”

Dreams of stormy seas pulled away as that deep voice warmed the back of your neck. 

“Good,” you hummed, Crocodile’s body pressing in behind you. Opening your eyes, you saw Buggy still asleep, having rolled away from you onto his back. Mihawk’s amber eyes shined at you, and your lips parted to see him curled around the clown, resting his head against the other man’s chest while he stared at you. 

“Good. It’s been ages since I had a decent hunting trip. None of your enemies happen to be swordsmen, do they?”

Buggy tensed awake, his body frozen like he was playing dead, while you just gaped at Mihawk. Their offer came rushing back into your stormy mind, and you had no idea what to do with it. 

I can’t.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

All the bodies on the mattress went still.

“You trust us, don’t you,” Crocodile rasped, his voice somehow toeing a line between soothing and threatening. “You can tell us what you want.”

“I told you what I want,” you mumbled, breath catching in fear yet again. Buggy’s hand found your arm, and his warning grip on you was the only movement on the massive bed.

What am I doing?

“Why don’t we get some breakfast,” Mihawk offered lightly. “I prefer discussing murder after my espresso anyway.”

~

There was such a strange tension while you prepared for the day, while Mihawk carried you to the balcony, while they all stared at you over their plates. Chewing the inside of your lip as you tried to eat, you felt their gaze like a weight over your shoulders.

You realized why the tension felt so strange. It felt like the air in a room after a couple’s spat. 

I’m not afraid they’ll hurt me. I’m afraid they’re mad. 

“I’m sorry,” you spilled out, eyes wide as you looked between them all. “I trust you, I’m just not ready to talk about my past right now. Especially if you want me to focus on the party. I don’t want to be distracted.”

You’d expected Buggy to react the best to your apology, but he kept a hint of worry, maybe even hurt in his eyes as he smiled. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Crocodile nodded, lifting your chin toward him. “But I like secrets just about as much as I like lies. We can wait until after the party, but my patience won’t last forever.”

Mihawk chuckled softly as ice slid down to your gut, and it was only his prodding that got you to eat a decent amount of your meal before you were carried to your desk, your notebook and transponder snail pushed toward you. 

I hate this. I fucking hate this.

Falling into work mode, you schmoozed with your contacts as if you’d never left your old life. That itchy feeling crawled up your spine during every moment of silence, your loud, guilty thoughts only dulled by your work.

It was a long day.

You gratefully accepted a glass of velvety wine as you sat on the couch, Buggy across from you on that green chair. He had a pad of paper on his knee, twirling a pencil in his fingers with a silly amount of flair. He looked so fucking cute like this, his brow creased in thought while he looked up at the ceiling, quirking his lips before jotting down notes. Crocodile and Mihawk had very reluctantly put him in charge of the entertainment, and he was taking it quite seriously.

“We have a full list of attendees, and most will be arriving with a plus one. Here’s the details for the three backers I confirmed today, their donations will more than pay for the event,” you reported, pride pushing away some of that tension. “They will expect VIP treatment, of course, but that–”

“Amazing work, sweetheart,” Crocodile praised as he lit a cigar, puffing it a few times while you smiled up at him. 

“You really are a treasure, aren’t you,” Mihawk purred, flipping through your notes. “I’m curious though, what does this, ‘U,’ mean?”

He set your list of contacts in your lap, flipping through a few pages to point out the clients you’d marked with that letter.

“All of your other descriptors are highly detailed, and not a single contact with that letter was invited to the party. Surely we should expand our list of potential backers as much as possible.”

“Let me see,” Crocodile huffed, grabbing your notes to toss on the coffee table. He leaned over them, flipping through the pages before pushing them aside. You let out a yelp of surprise when he grabbed you, but didn’t resist when he sat you on the table to face them both. 

“You just told us the invite list was full, yet you didn’t call any of these people with the letter, ‘U,’ next to their names. Explain.”

His scarred face was like a force of nature, like looking into a sandstorm that you knew would swallow you whole. 

“It means un-unreliable,” you gasped, feeling the heat of their scrutiny against your skin. Your next words were hurried, but steadier. “I can call them if you want me to, and I would have if we hadn’t confirmed so many guests. But they talk too much, and they run in circles that could cause issues for the guild. A lot of them have connections to the Marines. I should have explained, I’m sorry.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie.

“Why are you so afraid, little rabbit?” That whispered taunt made you shiver as Mihawk took your wine glass, before lifting one of your hands to his lips. “Did you just remember who we are? Only a few days of spoiling you, and you already forgot that you answer to us now, not some failed party clown.”

Crocodile leaned toward you, his hand on your thigh while he studied your face. 

“That idiot didn’t listen to your work, but I expect full reports from now on. You’ll tell us everything you’re doing and why you’re doing it, you got that?”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, gratitude flooding you. 

“Good girl,” Mihawk teased, pulling you back onto the couch. “I would hate to punish you over a misunderstanding. That’s all it was, right?”

“Yeah,” you chirped, catching Buggy’s wide eyes. He looked away quickly, staring at his notes, but his cute thinking process was gone, the pencil not meeting the paper again. 

Thank gods for wine.

A few bottles amongst the group left the awkwardness behind, until nothing but their skin on yours remained. No need to hide on that bed, no need to be anything but theirs. 

That thought tugged you out for just a moment, but you smiled as you gave yourself to these three bad men, yet again.

I chose to be theirs.

~

The tension of that day faded, replaced by that comforting, delicious danger you were always in. They carried you from room to room for the next few days until a shipment arrived. Trunks were carted into the suite after dinner, and Buggy’s floating hands started to open them while you sat nude on the bed. 

“Get your grubby hands off her clothes,” Crocodile ordered lazily, pointing to the trunk on the right. “Bring that one here.”

It was hard to keep your eyes open while Mihawk kissed the back of your neck, long fingers leaving circles on your thighs, until Crocodile leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Open this one.”

His deep voice was so soft, and you hummed as you reached for the clasp, lifting the heavy lid.

What the fuck?

“Well,” he asked, tapping the contents with his hook. “Do you like them, or should I send for something else?”

“N-no, I love them,” you squealed, grabbing a book from the pile, and running your fingers over the dragon on the cover. You flipped the pages, that lovely scent making you shiver. “Fantasy books…”

You laughed to yourself as you remembered that dinner on the balcony when he’d asked you what you like. Crawling onto his lap, you kissed up his neck while he let out a low chuckle. 

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Mm, anything for my sweet girl.”

“Yes, bring it to the door,” Mihawk ordered into the transponder snail, pulling your attention for a moment, which the scarred man pulled back when he fisted his hand into your hair, sucking marks onto your neck. 

The movements and voices in the room didn’t distract you this time, until a very particular sound rang through the air. 

A meow.

“Really,” Crocodile asked dryly when you left his arms, searching for that sound. 

Mihawk stood by the door, a smug smile tugging at his lips before he met your eyes.

“Would you like to hold him, darling?”

“Why…”

“You like cats, don’t you?”

Your brain paused, the cognitive dissonance these men kept putting you through making it hard to think. 

But another meow from the little brown tabby in Mihawk’s arms shook you loose, and soon you were sitting on the plush carpet, laughing while Buggy floated a gloved hand around like a toy for the cat to chase. 

“Look at all of our pets on the floor,” Mihawk laughed, setting a hand on Crocodile’s shoulder, removing it at the larger man’s narrowed eyes. “Come now, you’re not a fan of animals?”

“I prefer scales to fur,” he grumbled, meeting your smile with a sigh. “And I was hoping not to have to share Y/N’s attention with anymore men.”

You giggled, the furry man in question already bumping his head along your legs, and climbing onto your lap. 

“Does he have a name,” you asked, grinning as your new cat tried to crawl up to your shoulders, rubbing his face along your chin. 

“Not that I’m aware of. He was a stray.”

The image of Mihawk hunting the island for stray cats was too much, so you put it out of your mind while you searched for a name. 

“Adam.”

All three men repeated you, each with a hilariously different tone.

“That’s the least flashiest name ever,” Buggy pouted, scratching behind Adam’s ears. 

“Surprisingly, I agree,” Mihawk chided, tilting his head like a hawk about to fly down to steal the poor cat from your hands. “Why–”

“Why Adam?”

Crocodile’s interruption made everyone but Adam go silent, too much weight in the simple question. Heat rushed to your face, and you blinked up into his serious eyes. 

“It’s from a story my dad used to tell me,” you confessed, closing your eyes as you smiled at the memory of his voice. “About a magic tree that survived endless wars. People kept coming back after the island was destroyed, and they’d rebuild around that invincible tree, the—”

“The Jewel Tree Adam,” Buggy asked, his blue eyes shining as he scooted closer. “It’s not just a story. I sailed on a boat made from a Jewel Tree.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, stealing a kiss from those red lips before anyone could stop you. 

“That wood’s been sold on the black market. It’s rare, but it’s real,” Crocodile asserted. Once again, your mind stopped functioning, Adam bringing you back again, this time with his paw reaching toward your face. 

“So it is a flashy name,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at Buggy.

“Barely,” he rolled his eyes as Mihawk sighed in defeat. 

You helped Buggy arrange Adam’s things in the suite, until Mihawk pulled the cat away from you. 

“Don’t worry, darling. I had my old suite set up for our furry friend. He’ll be across the hall in his own little castle while we rip you apart. I’m sure you wouldn’t want the poor thing to see what we’re about to do to you.”

“You set up…” 

“I’ll show you the cat paradise tomorrow,” he huffed a laugh, petting Adam as he lounged comfortably in his arms. “Now be a good little rabbit for me, and I’ll try to convince Sir Crocodile to let the cat sleep in here when we’re done.”

“Not happening,” Crocodile drawled, hanging up his robe before sitting on the edge of the bed, patting his knee. “Why don't you finish thanking me, since we were so rudely interrupted earlier?”

His satisfied smile made your skin flush as you moved toward him, and you saw his cock twitching beneath his boxers, growing as he watched your bare skin. It made your mouth fall open with need, and with caution that you didn’t think would ever go away. 

“Mm, is my sweet girl still scared of her daddy,” he taunted, palming himself through the thin fabric. 

“But what about...” you started, turning around as Mihawk returned to the room. “I didn't try on any of the clothes.”

“It’s too late for that now,” Mihawk laughed, walking toward you until you backed up against Crocodile, those large thighs surrounding you. “It looks like your daddy wants to check how well you fit something else, isn’t that right?”

“I know she’ll fit just fine. Huh, babydoll,” he pulled you to him, moaning softly at your desperate noises, and your instinctive writhing when your ass rubbed against his hard length. “Did you like daddy’s present?”

“Mhm.”

“Not as much as she li–”

“Why don’t you go sleep in your little cat paradise,” Crocodile cut Mihawk off, his shifting attention keeping you from relaxing into him. 

“I’ve got another pussy in mind for tonight,” the swordsman quipped, and you gasped as a floating hand grabbed yours, tugging you out of reach. 

Buggy wrapped himself around you from behind, so you were caught in his warmth as you both looked at the frightening men in front of you.

“When you fight, she wants me.”

Buggy’s words made you feel too many things at once. They felt sweet, and sad, and territorial, and you didn’t know how to react.

“Is that true, little rabbit,” Mihawk asked, danger growing in his voice. “Do you want the clown?”

Oh, that sounds like a punishment waiting to happen. 

But I can’t lie.

“I do.”

Buggy’s soft noise made you melt against him, until you pressed against that heavy need of his, both of you reacting to the touch.

“Do you see this, Crocodile,” Mihawk gestured toward you with a wicked smirk. “It seems she didn’t like either of our gifts. Would you rather have what this clown can give you?”

You’d started to shake just a bit, not knowing which direction you should turn. Mihawk’s words always seemed to twist you where he wanted you anyway. 

Crocodile took pity on you, clearing up the question. 

“Sweetheart, would it make you happy to fuck that stupid clown?”

Buggy let out another squeak, but he pulled away from you slightly, so you wouldn’t feel how much he needed you. 

“It would make me happy.”

As if he couldn’t help it, Buggy pressed against you again, making you gasp as he rubbed his clothed cock along the meat of your ass, pretty little noises leaving his throat. 

Mihawk charged toward you, and you couldn’t help but notice the hard weight of his cock through his silk pajama pants. He gave an evil little smirk as he looked down at you, grabbing your cheeks to tilt your face.

“Such a spoiled little rabbit. We give you so many things, so many gifts, but that’s not enough, is it? My precious little slut needs another toy. Needs another cock, even when she’s all stuffed up. What do you think, Crocodile? Does she deserve another gift tonight?”

“Maybe my sweet girl hasn’t realized she’s grown out of her old toys.”

Mihawk’s laugh was sharp, too pleased, and your breath caught when he kissed you, and then Buggy on the cheek. 

“Good point, sandman. Alright, little treasure, we showered you with gifts tonight, and now you get to play with your old favorite toy. Let’s see if it’s still as much fun to play with after we’ve been spoiling you so much.”

You were frozen when Mihawk gestured toward the bed, but Buggy picked you up, floating you to the center of the mattress before crawling up your body, caging you in. 

“This okay, star,” he whispered, barely audible. It woke you up, and you nodded with a smile before he kissed you.

“Just a moment, pets,” Mihawk called, bringing your eyes to him. He and Crocodile pulled the couch all the way up to the bed, staring with hungry eyes that made you shiver. “We want to see if your old toy is still worth playing with. Croc, what do you think her minimum is with us?”

“Four. Minimum,” he said, voice rough as he pulled his boxers off, his massive dick like a looming threat. 

“That sounds about right,” Mihawk agreed as he followed suit, stripping before lounging on the couch, his thick cock drawing your eyes as it twitched slightly. “Let’s see if this toy can pull four orgasms out of our little whore, since she wants to keep it so badly.”

“What if he can’t,” Crocodile asked, his voice full of more dangerous humor than he usually had with Mihawk’s games. 

“There are so many pretty holes on that bed,” Mihawk threatened, his eyes raking over your skin, and Buggy’s as the clown stripped. “If she’s wrong about him after going against our wishes, I think we should break her, and her stupid toy.”

“You hear that, sweet girl,” Crocodile rasped, fingers moving lightly down his shaft, then pressing upward until you noticed that lovely bead of precum start to spill down the side. “Daddy keeps telling you to get over that pathetic clown, but you don’t fucking listen. This is your one chance to prove he’s worth it. If he can’t fuck you properly, then I’m gonna ruin you. Daddy’s cock is gonna tear you into pretty little pieces. You got that?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whined, back arching while Mihawk laughed at you. 

“Should we roll dice to see which hole gets destroyed first,” he smirked, seeming absolutely giddy watching you writhe. His hungry eyes flicked to Buggy as the clown crawled back to you, holding himself above your body. “I suppose it’s show time isn’t it. Go on, clown. Make my little rabbit scream, unless you want to be a useless toy for the rest of your life.”

The insults still made you cringe, but Buggy smiled at you, that gorgeous, blue hair falling down around you like a curtain. 

“Will you be my flashy girl,” he rasped, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes. “Will you put on a real good show for me?”

“Yes, captain,” you breathed, moaning as he swallowed your smile with a needy kiss. 

“She’ll get that paint all over her,” Crocodile grumbled, but that was the last you heard from them as Buggy left trails of kisses and soft bites down your body, leaving your skin tingling while you laughed.

A gloved hand teased around your face, fingers pressing between your lips until you bit the fabric. He kissed your knees, grinning as you pulled his glove off with your teeth, like you had so many times before. He mirrored you with his other hand, tossing them off the side of the bed like a strip tease. 

Your breath caught when he positioned himself between your legs, so very close to where you needed him. 

“Want me to do that thing you like,” he asked, the heat and confidence in his words making your head tilt back before you could answer.

“Please, Bugs, I need you… ”

“Of course you do,” he agreed, tracing his face down your inner thigh until his breath teased your core. “No one can make you feel how I can, huh, baby?”

Dangerous words. 

Dangerous truth.

“No one, Buggy, please.”

“I’ve got you, gorgeous,” he purred as his hands pulled yours above your head, leaving one hand to trap yours there while the other caressed your body, toying with your chest. “Sing for your captain.”

Sloppy kisses to your clit made you squirm for him, whining as he sucked and teased, until you begged for more.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear ya down here. Whatcha need, dollface?”

“Gods, your tongue, your nose, Buggy, please.”

“Mm, your pretty pussy missed me that much?”

He chuckled as you whined for him, then tilted his face down to rub that perfect nose over and around your sensitive clit. Part of you heard voices, maybe laughter from the couch, but you were too busy pouting, still begging for more. 

“Your nose feels so good, baby. Give me more, please,” you pleaded as you shifted your hips, fighting for more friction. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” he winked, shoving his face into your dripping cunt while you cried out his name. 

It always felt like he was designed for this, that round nose giving the perfect pressure as he tasted you. You could feel him rutting against the mattress, his needy movements adding to the rhythm. 

That floating hand massaging your chest focused in, and the teasing pinch to your nipple was enough to push you over the edge. He kept that rhythm and pressure to your clit while you came, and you laughed when he yelled “one,” before returning to his work.

“Do you want me deep?”

His eyes were dark, and heavy with need as he checked in. The sight of his drenched, messy face made you moan, taking a few breaths before you could answer.

“I want you so bad, Buggy, please. You make me feel so good,” you praised, gasping as that teasing hand wrapped fingers around your throat, warning, but not squeezing yet. 

“Want me–”

“Choke me, Buggy, fucking take m–”

So many sensations at once. That lovely hand around your neck pressing tight, his face diving into your core as his nose circled your clit again, and his tongue going deep. 

He licked and tasted you, like he was licking his plate clean, but that wicked tongue went further. 

It had freaked you out a bit when he first tried it on you, but there was nothing in the world that could compare to Buggy’s tongue sinking all the way into you, that thick muscle tasting parts of you that no one could touch. It circled around inside you on its own until he found that sweet, spongy spot.

His tongue fucked into that spot, and tears streamed from your eyes while you screamed his name through his choking grasp. He didn’t let up as you rode through that orgasm, just released your throat to raise two fingers toward the couch. 

“Gods, oh fuck, Buggy. It’s too mu–”

His hand clamped over your mouth, and he lifted just enough to shake his head, his tongue too busy for him to reply. He released your face, that hand teasing along your body while he kept up his attack, until he pressed his palm against your lower stomach.

The pressure of his tongue ramming against you from the inside meeting his hand felt like being hit by a fucking train. Your hands almost broke free as you spasmed, the sheer force of pleasure turning you into nothing but twitching, desperate flesh while you came on Buggy’s face.

Your vision came back slowly, sweet hands smoothing over your skin. The feel of his tongue sliding out of you to return to its rightful place arched your back, aftershocks rolling through you. 

“Three,” Buggy bragged, leaving kisses on your arm. You hummed, hardly able to open your eyes.

“Ah, but the goal was four,” Mihawk taunted, his voice tensing through Buggy’s body beside you, “and it doesn’t look like Miss Y/N is able to finish the show. What do you think, Crocodile?”

“She knows what’s gonna happen to her,” he growled, and you rolled your head to the side to watch those frightening gray eyes. He looked at you like you were the last bit of food on a desert island, and his hand fisting over himself made your eyes roll back. 

“The show must go on,” Buggy laughed nervously, his well earned confidence already floating away. 

You reached out to him, your arms shaking until he crawled up your body. You returned his little smile, goosebumps rolling over your skin at the feel of him with you, and all he’d done. 

“Fuck me,” you whispered, voice hoarse from him. He looked you over, eyes pouring over your features, until he gave you another smile, wide and wicked. 

“Anything for my star.”

He wasted no time, his thick cock pushing into you easily with all the work he’d done. He let out little whimpers, and you clenched around him, wanting him so fucking bad. But he shook himself, rolling his hips into you as he brought a thumb to dance along your clit. 

“You like putting on a show,” he asked, his voice a bit strained as he fought himself. “I knew you were a star, and you’ve got the audience wrapped around your little finger, huh? Look at how hard their cocks are just for you. Give them a show, baby.”

Buggy’s breathing went rough as he fucked into you harder. He grabbed your cheeks, your lips pressing out as he made you look at them. 

Oh fuck.

Crocodile and Mihawk both had their cocks in their hands, jerking themselves off at the sight of you.

“Buggy, I’m–”

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking perfect…”

He held you close as you fell to pieces together. His racing heart, his ragged breaths, and the scent of his skin felt delicious. Even with the twitching of his cock as he spilled his come into you, even with the orgasm that rocked through you, the overwhelming feeling you had in Buggy’s arms was comfort.

“You feeling good, gorgeous,” he asked softly, kissing along your jaw.

“So good,” you hummed, gasping as he twitched inside you, your body clenching around his. 

“Well done, toys,” Mihawk praised as the weight on the bed shifted. “Now, open wide.”

“You looked so pretty for daddy,” Crocodile praised while Mihawk pulled Buggy off of you. “Be a good girl, and tell me where you want it.”

He bit his lower lip while you stared at his veiny cock, so fucking close. 

“My face. Come on my face, daddy, please.”

“Fuck, gods damn,” he groaned with a breathless laugh. “You are such a good girl. Mm, lick the tip for me sweet– fuck.”

You could already feel his come dripping down your skin when you reached out to taste him, his last shuddering moan making him thrust lightly against your mouth. 

“Look at you,” he purred, tracing his thumb over your lips after you licked them clean. 

“Our pets have been very well behaved today,” Mihawk praised, moving close beside the larger man before gesturing toward Buggy’s come-covered face. You let out a giggle, then tried to apologize when he met your eyes. 

“Not the matching face paint I was thinking of, but I’ll take it,” he interrupted with a wink, earning very subtle, but real chuckles from the other men on the bed. 

Crocodile pulled you against his chest, and you realized that in this moment you felt comfort with all three of these bad men. You grinned to yourself at the thought of what home meant to you while you watched Mihawk play with the come that had spilled down to Buggy’s chest. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, pets,” he said brightly, managing to crawl gracefully out of the bed. “We can’t have Adam curling up on these sticky sheets.”

“No cats on the bed,” Crocodile ordered, frowning at your pouting lip. “Don’t you start.”

“Sorry, daddy,” you laughed as you rolled away from him. 

Buggy grabbed your hand, and you laughed your way to the bathroom, leaving the other men to argue about the new furry roommate. Buggy tossed you a washcloth, and you both wiped what you could of those men off of your skin before he started the shower. He pulled you in to press you against the far wall. 

“There’s something I didn’t get to tell you before…” he whispered, tilting his nose away so he could be closer to your face while the water drowned out his words. “Can I tell you now, pretty star?”

His deep blue eyes seemed deeper than you’d ever seen, and your breath caught in your throat. 

Why am I tense? 

“Okay,” you managed to whisper, waiting to breathe properly again. 

He nodded a few times as he looked down, before cradling your face, rubbing his thumbs against your cheeks. 

“I know things are– well you know how it is, but…” he trailed off, scanning your face as if watching every movement. 

“Buggy…”

“I love you, Y/N,” he confessed, his brows lifting high as his breathing seemed heavy, heavier as he waited for you to reply. He stared at your parted lips until more words hurried out of him. “I loved you before, and I still love you now. You’re my pretty star, no matter what, right?”

The worry in his voice broke you out of your stupor, and you wrapped your arms around him. 

“Buggy, I–”

He pulled you under the water, the heat making you gasp as the door to the bathroom opened.

“Here you are, pets. Sir Crocodile’s list of expectations if Adam is to stay with us.”

Mihawk dropped a pad of paper onto the counter, cocking his head at you both while Crocodile followed close behind. 

“Why haven’t you started on that hair? It’s late enough as it is,” Mihawk tutted, and you couldn’t keep your mouth from falling open as you watched Mihawk take Buggy’s long hair into his hands. Buggy’s eyes fluttered shut at the swordsman’s touch, but his words kept ringing in your ears, even as Crocodile smiled at you, hunching down to rinse his hair. 

Adam wasn’t allowed in tonight, so it was just the four of you climbing onto that giant bed, four of you pressed in so close. You and Buggy curled in against each other’s chests, with Crocodile around your back, and Mihawk curling around Buggy to lay his long fingers somewhere along your side. 

Tonight Mihawk’s fingers teased along your ribs, his thumb almost tickling as it played down your stomach. Crocodile kissed the back of your head, and your comforting sleeping arrangement was complete. 

Something about the way Buggy held you felt different. 

Is it different? Or did I just not notice it before?

His breathing was slow, and the way he stroked your hair and pressed his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss should have been comforting. 

You should have fallen asleep by now. 

Instead, you laid there as the three men around you fell asleep. You laid there in the most comfortable, most comforting position you’d ever been in. 

But you couldn’t fall asleep. 

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

a/n: BUGGYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!! 😭🤡

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Part 15

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| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[kidotm]

"Snap"

written by "s0ymilk"

" So maybe she shouldn't be standing on the stairs and listening... " CH x FOC

...But she likes to think about it as, 'learning something new about her companion.'

She's coming back from Gob's Saloon around midnight when it happens.

She'd told Charon she'd be gone a while; that she was planning on getting piss drunk and possibly passing out on the floor. She's done this enough times that Charon isn't worried about her safety in Megaton or her ability to get home. Usually, he comes with her, but tonight she could tell he wasn't up to it, so when he moved to follow her out the door she told him to stay home.

She knows he's probably still awake, cleaning his shotgun or repairing something, waiting for her to appear. He won't expect her this early; she'd lost her enthusiasm for drinking halfway into her first beer and headed back, but usually she's gone until 2 or 3 AM.

It has nothing to do with the asshole at the bar, slinging names at her for having a ghoul companion, but really it has everything to do with him. She hates the things they say about Charon, that they say about her for treating him like a human being. She's heard every insult under the sun about his rotten dick and what she must be hiding under her clothes to choose to be with a ghoul, and she's even more frustrated because none of it's true.

Charon saves her life on occasion, and watches her back, and gives her enough shit that she thinks they're more than just employer and bodyguard, but she knows better than to jump someone's bones when they're under contract to her, even if she's maybe sort of madly in love with him. She doesn't want to roll over afterwards and realize she's expected to pay up, or to find out that Charon's just following orders. And she's too chickenshit to sit down and have a woman-to-man talk with him. He's never so much as glanced at a woman admiringly, and she refuses to fall into the narcissistic trap that any Ghoul would want a human just because they have all their skin. She may have all her skin, but that doesn't do much for her knobby knees, her perpetual awful farmer's tan, or the freckles that cover her face like a blanket.

So maybe she punches the asshole in the face a few times from frustration. And then knees him in the groin. And then spits on him as he rolls around in pain. She hadn't hurt him that bad, though she'll probably have to apologize to Doc Church for the wake-up call she knows he got.

Anyway, the point is, she just isn't in the mood to drink anymore, so she's come home. And she doesn't really want to explain to Charon why she had a sudden change of heart.

So she shuts the door as quietly as possible and toes her boots off in the corner. Dogmeat is snoozing in the corner, too far gone to give her away. She smiles at the way his paws twitch from whatever dream he's having. She contemplates cleaning the dirty dishes in the sink, but decides that's too much work after her traumatic experience and leaves them where they are.

Charon's door is closed. She'd half-expected him to be in the living area somewhere, but it's not unusual for him to retreat to his own space when he's wanting some privacy. Quiet as a mouse, she empties her pockets onto the kitchen counter and creeps upstairs, planning to slip into her room and catch up on some sleep. She can leave the door cracked so Charon knows she's home when he inevitably comes to search for her.

A strange noise stops her at the top of the stairs. It comes from behind Charon's closed door. She freezes and listens, because it sounded almost like a groan of pain to her, and she knows that if Charon's sick or injured, he'll hide it from her as long as possible so she can't mother him about it. She's caught him more than once attempting to tend his own injuries and botching the whole job.

The noise comes again, a soft groan followed by a rhythmic slapping sound that gets a bit faster as she listens. She's confused for a minute, but soon enough red blossoms on her cheeks as she realizes what she's listening to. The creaking of the bed cements it.

Charon is jerking off. And she's listening to it.

As gross as it is to be standing on the stairs, listening to someone masturbate, she can't move right away because the thought of Charon doing anything remotely sexual is completely alien to her. If you'd asked her what Charon does in his free time, masturbation would not have been on the list. He doesn't sneak off when they're out in the wasteland or ask for 'alone time'. He doesn't wink at cute girls in the bar or ask for separate rooms the few times they spring for a hotel room. Sure, he wakes up with morning wood occasionally, so she's aware that he's got working equipment (and hey, it's not like she's deliberating snuggling up to him when they share a bed, she just happens to get cold easily) but even then, when he goes to the bathroom after it's just to piss.

So really, she's just learning a little more about her companion. Nothing weird about that.

Not at all.

Charon groans again, and this time there's a word somewhere in the noise, though she can't tell what it is. The slapping gets louder, and she feels a sudden warmth in her abdomen that's horridly embarrassing. She is NOT getting turned on by listening to someone masturbate, not even someone that she's been mooning over for weeks now. It's enough to make her start creeping up the stairs again, resolving to slip into her room and shut the door and try her hardest to forget this ever happened.

The word is repeated two steps up, and this time she thinks she makes it out. It sounds like...

..her name.

The third time, it's completely clear. He's moaning her name, more frantic now by the sounds coming from the room, and she's been wrong this entire time about what Charon may or may not feel about her and now she doesn't feel at all embarrassed by the fire in between her legs. Charon wants her.

She's not wasting this opportunity.

She sneaks to his door without hesitation and, before she can lose her nerve, pushes it open. Still, it's more than she can do to cross the threshold, not until she's taken the scene in. All movement stops at the first squeak of the door.

Charon is lying on his bed, torso propped up with one arm. The other hovers above his shirtless abdomen, clearly snatched away from the angry red length protruding from his unzipped pants. His face betrays a little shock before he slams the lid down and forces it blank, but he doesn't move to sit or cover himself at all, just watches her like a wary animal as her eyes trace up and down his body. She doesn't let her eyes linger below the waist because it's making it hard for her to focus. Even just the fact that she'd managed to surprise him makes a little more warmth bloom in her chest, which is a really weird thing to get excited about but she doesn't have time to be embarassed by her weirdness right now.

“Was that my name?” she asks redundantly, because she needs to know. She has to make sure.

“...yes.” Charon says steadily, his calm only faltering a little bit. His honesty is impressive but unsurprising, not when she's been traveling with him for so long. She knows him inside and out. She takes a step forward and sees the way his muscles tense, his eyes plotting out escape routes and guessing at her next move. The atmosphere is horridly awkward, and she's not sure how to fix it, so she stops again.

“How long?” she murmurs then. He understands her meaning without elaboration.

“A while. ...few months.” he says uncomfortably. Finally, he moves, pulling a sheet over his exposed lower body, and hiding his lovely cock from her hungry eyes. It's been longer for him then her then. The thought is both surprising and a little arousing. She's always been a little slow on the uptake, but when she thinks about the way he watches her and realizes what his mind might have been doing while she was sweetly oblivious, her muscles clench with a sweet rush of pleasure.

That's all it takes to get her moving again. She strides up to the edge of his bed with no hesitation, careful to block any escape route by keeping her body firmly between his nightstand and the pack he's left at the foot of the bed. When he goes to sit up, her hand is there on his chest, blocking him, and she pushes him back. He slumps back down with a little grunt and then she's on him, legs on either side of his waist and hands framing his head. She leans down to catch his ruined lips with her own and waits patiently for him to respond.

He doesn't. In fact, he doesn't do anything at all. The lips below her own are rough and warm, just like she imagined, but they might as well be stone for all the reaction she gets. So she breaks the kiss and backs off, confused by his sudden lack of interest. Was she wrong?

Charon's face is uncharacteristically open. There's a little bit of shock there, enough to let her know that she's really surprised the shit out of him. Some suspicion too, which she tries not to take offense to. She knows he can tell she's not drunk, since she hasn't fallen on her face yet (not that she doesn't do that sober), but still, he's not giving in for some reason.

“Charon,” she says, “I want this. I've wanted this for a while.”

She lets her hand cup the side of his face and draw her thumb across the exposed muscle of his cheek, wondering if she's misread the signs. He doesn't react to the touch, still like a statue beneath her body. Some guys are pickier in real life than they are in fantasy, she knows, and she hopes with a selfish desperation that Charon's not one of them, because it's going to scar her forever if she has to do the walk of shame out of his room.

Charon catches her hand in his and draws it away from his face. She lets him, but the strength in his grip tells her that he would have forced her too, even if she fought it.

“You sure, smoothskin?” he growls up to her. “Because if you tell me now you are, there's no changing your mind later. I don't play easy.”

She reads the meaning behind the rough words, the way he covers his traces of uncertainty with callousness and distance. Charon's never been good at the soft stuff, but she's pulled too many bullets out of him to be confused by it now. So she leans down and presses her forehead to his, his breath a warm cloud against her face.

“As long as it's you, and me, and this, I don't fucking care.” she breathes. His icy blue eyes lock onto hers for a long moment, and then before she can react, he has one hand on her back and he flips their position with no effort at all. Her legs react instantly and lock around his hips, her head caged in by his long arms as he leans down. She's able to take one quick breath before his lips are pressed against hers. She whimpers as his body presses down in one smooth line, chest to hips, not resting all of his weight on her but enough to feel the largeness of the man above her. His half-hard cock is pressed into her thigh and his tongue is suddenly in her mouth, swirling around hers. He explores the flat planes of her teeth and the contours of her mouth like a man taking his first breath after nearly drowning. The experience is both overwhelming and just what she imagined. He draws her lower lip into his mouth and nips sharply, which makes her gasp and arch against him.

They've only touched a few times, just brushes in tight spaces and a few hurried medical procedures where survival was paramount to touch. Now, she can press her palms to the hard planes of his arms freely, feeling the roughness where his skin has ripped and the warm wire of his muscle. There's no hesitation or disgust in her fingers; she drinks him up like a fine wine as he tilts her head to the side and bites at her pulse. The feel of teeth makes her shudder underneath him.

He slides his hands under the bottom of her shirt and begins tugging it off. She helps him pull it over her head before he loses patience and rips the t-shirt into shreds, and then his hands are wrenching the straps of her bra down off her arms, baring her breasts to cool air. At the feel of his rough lips on one nipple, she keens, long and loud. When her hips buck up and her torso writhes against his mouth, he puts his hands on her shoulders and shoves her into the mattress. She feels the easy strength in his body as he holds her still and takes what he wants and it's more than a little hot.

He drags her out of her pants with little protest from her, panties following quickly behind, and she's naked except for the bra trapped around her waist. Charon moves his mouth to her other nipple and lifts his hips so he can slide one hand down her body. She gasps at the warmth of his hand between her legs, and then he is parting her lips with one finger and pressing deep inside, his finger crooked in just the right way. She squirms again, but another warning bite to her collarbone keeps her from pushing into to his hand in a quest for relief. She whimpers and scratches at his arms, but it brings a deep groan of pleasure from him instead of pain.

He opens her in sharp, swift movements; two fingers, three, and then he's practically fucking her on his massive digits as his erection grows against her leg. She wants to ask him to slow down, but she feels the wildness in his shoulders and the harshness in his breathing tells her he's already going as slow as he can. She wonders how long it's been since he last had someone underneath him. She's always been too afraid to ask, but she thinks it may have been a few decades, by the way he's rutting desperately at her leg as he struggles to prep her.

It's like being trapped under a wild animal, feeling the way he quivers under her fingertips and nearly loses control. He's a wire that's just about to snap. She loves it.

When she circles his erection with one hand and squeezes gently, he shudders against her body with a wild groan. He pushes his trousers down with one quick movement and kicks them off, so she can wrap one leg around him and squeeze. She pumps his length in her small hand, urging him to slide up her body and line himself up. He doesn't fight her, just props his body up on one elbow and removes her hand from him.

“Last chance to change your mind.” he says, his voice thick with desire, the head of his cock already nudging her in a way that makes her muscles seize. She can't think like this, feeling the way he's lined up and trembling with desire to piston forward. She nearly forgets that he even spoke.

“Would you stop if I told you to?” she asks, her own voice faulty and breathless. He looks her in the eye and lets one side of his mouth curl up in amusement.

“No.” he replies, just before his hips snap forward. Her breath catches and then she groans at the sharp pain that follows as he sinks in, but before she can catch up, his hip are already moving in a steady, relentless rhythm. It's too much, just this side of painful, but her hands grip his biceps and that grounds her against his bodily assault, and if he feels her nails digging in, he doesn't complain. Instead, he lifts his body up on his elbows so he can look down at where he's thrusting into her and lets out a low groan. The sight of it is intensely erotic, and though she knows there's no chance of her getting off this round with the rate he's going, she doesn't mind. The sweat on his face and the weight of his body on her is enough.

Before long, his rhythm gets erratic and his breathing intensifies on her neck. He thrusts twice more and then buries himself into her, sharp hipbones cutting into her thighs, and his teeth dig into the meat of her shoulder like he's trying to really take a chunk out of her. It fucking hurts, but the feeling of his cock twitching inside of her as she clenches distracts her away from the pain. He's not the only one it's been a long time for.

The throbbing in her clit reminds her that she should really make sure it's not quite as long until the next time.

When the aftershocks pass and he can finally move again, he pulls out quickly and collapses to the side of her in a boneless heap. His half-limp penis leaves a trail of slick between her thighs, but she feels no urge to clean up. She can't see his expression underneath his arm, but the crescent marks she's left on his skin make a thrill of something go through her.

“...sorry.” he says quietly to the ceiling. “I guess that wasn't very good for you.”

He goes to sit up on the bed, his eyes sliding over her without looking. There's a sudden change in the atmosphere, a tense feeling, and she knows by the way he's carefully not touching her that he's trying to give her another out, even let her pretend this never happened if that's what she wants, so she rolls over and into his side, trapping him on the bed. He could push her off, could stand up and walk out no matter what she tries to do, but instead he lets her sling one leg over his two and pillow her head on his shoulder. She traces his chest lightly, feeling the old leather of his skin against her callused fingers.

“Guess you'll have to make it up to me.” she says confidently, enjoying the ache between her thighs and the way he shifts uncomfortably as her slickness rubs off on his skin.

It's a gamble, but she wins. His mouth turns up at one side, just half a smile, and the arm under her head curls around her shoulder.

“Guess I will.” he murmurs. His large fingers brush an abused nipple, trail down her stomach, and nudge gently at the spot where she's pressed up against his thighs.

She smiles back and lifts her leg out of the way, closing her eyes. When she finds the strength to get out of bed and actually go somewhere, she's going to have a long talk with Nova about how right she was, but for now...

Well, she's got other things to focus on.

[dreams-of-valeria]

CHAPTER TEN

| Series: The Glass Cage Epidemic | Pairing: Evan Peters OC x FOC | Warnings: Obscene language, Smut | Word count: 3,196 | Rated: Explicit |

Paris was a dream.

Both in quality and time.

While I cannot in good conscience say it was not overrated, it was not not overrated either. I think what draws people in is the vibe, the energy of the city. The last time I felt the buildings thrum with the spirit of its residents was in New York and that was a good 10 years ago for a field trip. Paris, similarly, sprung charm and beau monde from its hallowed halls. While Atticus and I didn’t exactly fit into that cutout, we certainly acknowledged it, and quickly found ourselves slipping into shallow cracks like molten gold.

We danced to live music at cafes by the Arc de Triomphe, held hands as we walked through the Louvre–twice, because there was just too much to see and speak and too little time. We dined, we took long evening walks, made out in parks, made out in bars, danced in underground pubs to German punk rock. We let the city take us.

Atticus only left me by myself on the last day there, where he had to meet with a tech company rooted in France for a partnership. It must have been a huge win, because he was in a fantastic mood when he came back to the hotel to pick me up for dinner. He was singing.

His lifted spirits flew us right through a cancelled reservation at a swanky restaurant because we were late by a minute–it was probably going to be ridiculously expensive anyway and I didn’t want more discomfort for having him keep paying for me–and even through spilled chocolate on his shirt when we settled for croissants for dinner at a cart around the street corner.

We sat at a freezing park bench by the bridge and munched on our dinner, dressed to the nines. I wore sheer stockings, because as I recently discovered, Atticus had a mighty thing for women in stockings. His hand rested on the inside of my thigh, while his other wrapped around my shoulders. All we heard was our gentle breaths, violin from somewhere down the street, and the gentle lap of water against the rocks beneath us. 

“You know I’ve wanted to come here ever since I watched that stupid movie Monte Carlo?”

He tittered and buried his nose in my hair. 

“I still don’t get why you like romcoms so much.”

“I’m learning,” he said against my hair.

“Learning?”

“How to be a good boyfriend.”

I had to look at him for that. I saw no hint of a joke, no ghost of a smile. He really meant it.

“I feel like I come short sometimes, like there’s stuff I’m supposed to do but it doesn't occur to me.”

“What sort of stuff?”

He licked his lips. “Even simple stuff, like trying to do something nice for your birthday. It  doesn’t occur to me.”

“I don’t celebrate mine.”

“Me neither! Like, what’s the point?”

I moved to face him. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because, in a relationship, people expect certain things from a partner. I don’t mean me, I’m just so caught up in spending time with you that I don’t pay a lot attention to the what. Does that make sense?”

“It does. And that’s exactly how I feel too. Like all day yesterday, it didn’t occur to me once to take pictures. Do you know we have exactly three pictures of us together? I get caught up in you enough to conform to norms too. And I’m insulted that you thought I expected a fairytale romance from you.”

“Don’t you?”

“Not from you. You’re not ordinary so why would I want an ordinary relationship?”

“So you’re fine with being exactly at this stage . . . a year from now?”

I nodded. 

“Two years?”

“Yes! And I don’t plan on having kids either.”

“It’s just that the three year mark is the time most couples get married.”

“That is a ridiculous timeline and I’ve always thought so. Who decided these milestones in a relationship anyway? Three dates and it’s suddenly acceptable to have sex, then you meet each others’ friends, parents, have night caps, and oh, the throne that people place saying I love you on is ridiculous,” I sucked in a breath. Atticus was hanging on to my every word. 

“And then you move in, get engaged, go broke trying to get married and then have one kid, then two, then get a dog when the kids move out, work through erectile dysfunction in therapy, work through vaginismus in therapy, couples counselling for just being stuck with the same person for years on end just because of a fucking ceremony, be there mentally and physically for your kids until they’re old enough to do the same thing all over again and just to die like everyone else in the end? That, my friend, is the biggest scam people have fallen for. It’s not Ponzi, it’s not Nigeria, it’s the ancient false promise of organised religion and government telling you must find someone to settle down with and procreate as a means to achieving fulfilment in your mundane, pathetic lives and that there will be anarchy if you didn’t do exactly what’s been done for generations because you want to fit in, you must fit in, but really it’s just a form of control. Sure, we can pick who to fuck and marry but it is still institutionalised prison scraping the bottom of Maslow’s  pyramid of needs.” 

I looked too late to see my tone was not park worthy at all. My skin prickled and my breaths trembled.

“Jesus Christ,” Atticus whispered, a cautious smile on his face. Was that pride?

“I just had to get that out,” I grinned, rubbing my hands over my face. Where did all the air go?

“I’m glad you did, because same–”

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” I stood to my feet so suddenly that my head reeled.

“W–”

“I want you,” I leaned down and kissed him. With tongue. With teeth. With everything I could give him. I wanted him, I craved him. 

Within ten minutes, Atticus was buried deep inside me on the edge of the bed. He didn’t fold our discarded clothes this time. I wouldn’t let him. We didn’t turn on the lights, or the air conditioning. I clung on to him, damp with sweat and agonising desire, only the light from the Eiffel Tower in the window behind him illuminating the room. The air was heavy with our breaths and the musk of our bodies reacting to each other. I felt transcendent.

“You feel so sweet,” Atticus groaned into my mouth as I grinded my hips against him rhythmically, hands fisted in his hair. His lip was still swollen from when I’d bitten him, his eyes dark and pensive, like an abyss beckoning me closer and closer. And I needed to go. 

It took me by surprise: both our orgasms and what I said.

“Oh God, I love you, I love you, I love you,” I moaned with a final jerk of my hips and Atticus landed on his back. I slid off him and we stared at the intricate crown moulding on the ceiling, not saying a word.

What the fuck. Where the fuck did that come from? Didn’t you tell him the whole thing was a scam five fucking minutes ago? And now you’re fucking telling him you love him like you’re caught in a fever dream?

I wanted an undo button, I wanted to be anywhere but here. I needed myself to not have said that, or to say or do anything else to get his attention away from it. He probably thought I was a hypocrite, or a clueless hack, but I was frozen. Did I give that big speech because I actually meant it, or did I just want to see his reaction to save myself the embarrassment of saying it first? I so wanted to correct things, to make it better but I found nothing. My mind scrambled in white noise as I grasped at imaginary straws until I brought up something much worse, on a complete whim.

“I came to your office that day because I thought I was pregnant.”

I couldn’t explain the thinking behind that exactly. Did I bring it up because it was worse than what I’d said? Or because I finally decided it was time he knew?

He didn’t look at me, but his breathing changed.

“I was a week late and we had unprotected sex a couple of times and I just wanted to tell you before I even took the test. I think I was afraid you’d hate me or be disappointed in me and I wanted to face the consequences before even confirming it. But I got my period like ten minutes after that, so . . .”

“I wouldn’t hate you. Or be disappointed.”

I looked at him. His eyes were moist, and he was still looking up at the ceiling. 

“I think I would just be afraid.”

His adam's apple bobbed as we swallowed. 

“There is a lot of generational trauma in my family, Cleo. My dad was present but never involved, and I don’t think my mother has ever touched me.”

Holy shit.

“I think they just had me to establish an heir but I never wanted any of it, so I left. And that day,” Atticus swallowed again and looked at me. “I thought my mother was coming to see me.”

“That’s why you had the lawyers.”

“I just didn’t want to be alone.”

Holy fucking shit.

If I embraced him, I was afraid he would break. Atticus liked space when he was upset. 

“I’m so sorry,” I touched his face.

“Don’t be,” he sniffled. “I’ve moved on.”

I slid closer and kissed his neck, staying below his eye line. I knew the last thing he wanted was pity. Atticus, thankfully, leaned into my touch. If he rejected me right then I knew I would weep.

“Why did you say you loved me?” 

I froze again.

“We mustn’t waste our breath in fact affirmation.”

***

While I should have been ecstatic with the fact that Atticus felt the same way about me, it was severely dampened by the other details of that conversation. I spent a lot of time trying to correct his past traumas, but I caught myself, and focussed on understanding him instead. A lot of things about him began to make sense. The intimacy drift, why he was repulsive of marriage and having children–while we may have had the same ulterior motives, my apprehension stemmed from non-conformation to societal norms and a reluctance to assume responsibility of another human being while I had the glorious choice not to, while Atticus was so traumatised that he couldn’t bring himself to even consider the possibility.

I skirted around questions of therapy, subtle and mostly hesitant, but he assured me he had regular appointments, often surprised when I showed concern about it. 

It was tragic that there were so many ways to mess up children. There was no foolproof method to raise a good human being, and some mistakes in parenting eventually turned out to prove more malignant than others.  The whole thing was a gamble, even with the most favourable conditions. 

But I didn’t discuss this with him. Rather than dwell on what happened in the past and console his childhood persona, I found merit in dealing with the man he was today. Although he wasn’t sure how to show it, I knew Atticus was grateful for that. Over the next two weeks, he would often embrace me wordlessly from behind as I got the coffee ready, or engage me in a sincere, passionate kiss or hug out of context. He showed me appreciation in ways he knew how, in ways he wasn’t able to engage in as a child. But I was proud of how far he’d come, and how he was finally opening up to me.

Atleast, that’s what I thought.

On the morning of March 17th, as I was scrolling instagram, I came across an alternative film festival downtown, and signed us up on a whim. I couldn’t exactly explain why, I’d seen plenty of those flyers before, but perhaps it was just an excuse to see him. Atticus had been scarce the last few days, blaming work, and I thought a show at lunch would be a nice change for him. 

“Hey, Heather. Is he out yet?” I asked, sipping my coffee. The only time he didn’t take my calls was if he was in a meeting.

“Uh, not yet. But I could give you the number to the hospital if it’s an emergency.”

I set my cup down. “Hospital?”

As it turned out, Atticus has been having yearly angiograms and was scheduled to get one that morning at 11 AM. I ran all the red lights on my way there.

I found Atticus on the fourth floor in a private room, dressed in a hospital gown and nodding grimly at a doctor reading from an iPad. His lips formed a tight, thin line, and he was rubbing his index finger against the pad of his thumb too often. He did that when he was nervous. 

Taking a breath, I entered without knocking. 

“Sorry, I’m late,” I smiled at the doctor and kissed Atticus on the side of his head. He gawked at me like I had three tits. 

“Not a problem, Miss–”

“She’s with me, Hendy. Cleo, this is Dr. Henderson of Sigma kappa.” Atticus sighed and sat up. “And this is Cleodora–”

“The designated driver,” the doctor grinned and shifted his weight.

“You remember that?”

“Well it was my house party and it's not everyday that Atticus himself is enchanted by someone,” he winked at me.

“Alright,” he cut him short and gestured with his hand to keep it moving.

“As I was saying, the vaginoplasty will yield great results and you can resume pegging from tonight, even. Right, Cleo?” He winked.

“Fuck you.” Atticus answered for me with an exasperated grin.

“In all seriousness, though, you’ll be fine. I have your back, man. Leave it all to me,” Dr. Henderson patted his shoulder, and that pulled another breath from him. He was really nervous. No wonder he was going to great lengths to calm him down. After the good doctor left the room, Atticus refused to look at me. I could tell he was choosing his words.

Before he could say anything, I went up to him and ran my hand through his hair. “You’ll be fine,” I cooed, tapping his nose. That made him smile. “Wanna know how I know that?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Because I need to yell at you and I’m not doing that until after the anaesthesia wears off.”

“How did I get so lucky?” he sighed whimsically.

“You’ll be just fine,” I repeated with a smile and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I know.”

A nurse then came in and wheeled him out. The last thing I saw before they turned the corner was his bright, smiling face.

They brought him back soon enough that I hadn’t had time to gnaw my entire finger off. He was still asleep, of course, mouth open. I stepped up and wiped the drool off.

“All good?” I asked Dr. Henderson as he eyed the monitor hooked up to Atticus.

“All good,” he flashed me a smile. “I’m happy he has someone to wait for him this year when he wakes up.”

“Me too,” I smiled and he left with a pat on my shoulder. Ouch. You can take the jock out of college . . .

After my mind decided I’d touched him enough to comfort me that he was alright, I sat at the couch, and immediately drifted off.

I dreamt of our week in Paris, albeit mixed in with other inexplicable elements. I woke up to the smell of coffee, and Atticus sipping it quietly with my feet in his lap, as he went through his phone.

“Hey,” he greeted me gently, and all the fear was gone. He was dressed in a casual white linen shirt and jeans. 

“How long was I asleep?”

“Just about four hours now,” he smiled again, squeezing my foot. I slipped them off him immediately and stood up.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

He shrugged.

“Oh God, how are you feeling?”

He pat his thigh wordlessly. I stared at him.

“SIt on me and I’ll tell you,” he proposed.

“Isn’t the wound still fresh?” I asked, eyes glancing to his right thigh where there was a slight bulge of the gauze dressing.

“Somebody’s been googling,” he smirked

“Youtube, actually. Driving myself crazy. Why do you need to get it done yearly, Atticus? Are you ok?”

He sighed. “Please sit.”

I took the place next to him, and he wasted no time mounting me, slightly wincing. He wasn’t all that heavy, actually. Atticus was not a tall man and he was one breath away from skinny. Toned skinny, but skinny nonetheless.

“You are aware that people have serious conversations without straddling each other, right?” I asked, as he put his arms around my neck. 

“Do you wanna know or not?”

I humoured him. He needed this.

“Well?” I started off, touching my nose to his and wrapping my arms around his waist. 

He stared at the space between us. “Both my dad and grandad died from cardiac arrest before they were 40. Just the one. There were no warning signs, no symptoms. Just one big attack and poof!”

I swallowed, but held my tongue.

“And they must have realised that emotional unavailability didn’t sweeten the pot enough as some familial hypercoagulability in the genes, so I’ve spent the last 5 years just trying to get ahead of it.”

“But you’re fine,” I said, holding his face.

“For now.”

“Kit,” I sighed. “You eat healthy, you exercise–” I paused as it hit me. This is why he had to make sure. “You take care of your body.”

“I’m just prolonging it, Cleo. My death has been dictated before I was even born.”

“No, it’s not. Certainly not with that attitude.” Why was I yelling? Well, I did say I would. But unlike before the procedure, Atticus wasn’t afraid. He had accepted his fate. Well, tough.

“You are not your father.”

His eyes glanced up at me.

“And you are not his father before him.”

His nose sniffled and eyes went moist. Did he really not know this? Had he accepted that personality passed down through genetics just like disease?

Holy shit, he did.

“You are so much more than you think. You’re compassionate, you’re loyal and you’re loved. And that’s only three differences.”

He smiled and gave me a peck. “You’re loved too.”

“I know. We’ll be fine, cherie,” I said, making him chuckle.

To this day, I think often about that phrase, because it was the greatest lie I ever said. Every night since Atticus was lowered in his grave, I think about that moment.

[music-is-love-90]

A Dream of Starlight

A/N: just a little idea I had. It probably won't go anywhere, but I thought someone might find it interesting.

Astraea dreamed.

She had always dreamed.  It was her nature, what she was created to do, but even as she dreamed, it was never her dream.  She walked the path set before her feet that led between dreams, ensuring all who entered The Dreaming were safe and where they should be.  She knew not who created her or gave her this task, but she did it to the best of her abilities and with light in her steps.

“Well met, Lady of Stars.”

She was in a far-flung corner of the Land of Dreams, where nothing dwelled but nightmares of cold and loneliness, but, still, she was not surprised to see him.

“Well met, King of Dreams,” she replied, bowing to the Lord of the Dreaming.  “How may I serve you?”

“Walk with me awhile and tell me of my people.””

She nodded and fell in step as they continued on her appointed road.

“Your kingdom thrives, my King,” she reported.  “I walk my path and find no problems that require your attention.  All who dream remain safe within your borders.”

“And are you ready to tell me who set you on your path?” he asked, as he always did.  “You are not my creation, little star, and yet you traverse my realm as if it were your own.”

“My answer remains the same, Dream of the Endless,” she replied, as she always did.  “I know not who created me, nor who sent me to your realm, only the path I have always trod.  I know only that I serve The Dreaming and, by extension, her King.”

“Do you enjoy your task?”

This question surprised her.  He had never asked her that before and so she gave it the consideration it deserved.

“I do, my King.” She said softly.  “I enjoy the watching the ways mortals can imagine any possibility, for good or ill, and I take pride in keeping them safe while they dwell within our borders, but…”

“But?” he prompted.

“I find I envy them at times,” she admitted. 

“Why?”

“Because they can dream and I cannot,” she replied simply.  “I have walked through every dream imaginable except my own.  Whatever made me, it made me to guard them but will never allow me to be one of them.”

“I had not realized,” he said, stopping to look at her.  “You are right, of course.  You are the only creature who’s dreams I have never walked in, save my siblings and the Creator themselves.  Even my dreams and nightmares have dreams of their own.”

“Truthfully, I do not mind most of the time,” she told him, resuming their walk.  “I serve a purpose and it is one I am happy to do, but, sometimes, I do long to experience it myself.”

“I would give you my gift, were it in my power to give to you.  Perhaps, one day, we will discover who it is you belong to and I will beseech them myself.”

“Perhaps.” She smiled slightly.  “But until that day, I will walk my path through your lands and look forward to our meetings.”

“As will I,” he said with a small smile of his own.  “I confess I did not come just for your company this night.  I am setting out to hunt a rogue nightmare and hoped you might have knowledge of his location from your tracks.”

“You hunt the Corinthian.”  It was not a question, but he nodded all the same.  “I wish I did.  I fear he will cause more trouble before he is done, but alas, he has cut himself off from The Dreaming, as you well know.  He has taken refuge in the waking world where I cannot walk and unless he choses to dream, I cannot find him on my path.”

“I thought as much,” he admitted.  “I will be going after him.  I will see you when I return.”

“I look forward to it, my King.”

Dream of the Endless, Lord of The Dreaming and King of The Nightmare Realm, bowed before fading into the darkness while Astraea, Lady of Stars and Guardian of the Path, continued on her way.

She walked and walked and walked some more.  She traveled from dream to dream, from paradise to hell and back again, never stopping, never pausing, until, for the first time in her existence…

She faltered.

A searing pain tore through her chest as if a great wound had been dealt to her.  She fell to her knees and landed at the base of the Throne of Dreams.

“My lady?”

She looked up as she clutched at the invisible wound to find a concerned Lucienne kneeling in front of her.

“He’s gone,” she whispered.  “Morpheus is gone.”

And then all she knew was black.

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Joshua: Second Chance (Part Eight)

Characters: Joshua x female reader (this part is more like josh x foc tho)

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst central baybee!!!!!!, mentions of depression and un-alive attempts, this part gets pretty dark around the middle so read at your own discretion!!!

Word count: 3,286

Summary: After his mate died, Joshua always blamed himself and never wanted to imprint again. However, fate has other ideas when he meets you: a young, energetic werecoyote that’s quite the opposite of him. He insists he doesn’t want a new mate – nobody’s even sure if he’s ready for a new one – but he can’t ignore his instincts.

a/n: things in italics are a dream and things in regular text (except at the very end) are a memory. also this takes place before the end of the last part. 

Previous | Next | Second Chance Masterlist

Why was it always this clearing? Jia wondered that as she found herself, once again, in the same clearing most of the pack’s dreams seemed to take place. It was where her and Minghao tended to hang out back before she found him. It was where Jooyeon would sometimes end up or start out in her dreams back when she was still afraid of Seungcheol. Every single member of the pack had a dream take place in that clearing, and for some, it was a place they almost always were. But Jia never thought to ask why because she thought it was just some generic clearing. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it. It was always sunny, there were pretty purple flowers there, and it just seemed pretty...plain.

The first thing she noticed was Joshua. He had her backed to her, kneeling in the grass. Slowly, she approached him. After the events that took place that morning, nobody spoke a word to Joshua for the rest of the day. Josh had left the house, anyway -- everyone presumed he was going back to his old habits that consisted of running off and causing trouble to deal with his problems even though that seemed counterproductive -- but when he had come back, he stayed in his room.

Jia didn’t see how the pack had reacted, but Minghao had ranted to her about the whole thing in their room while Josh was gone.

“How can he do that to her?” he burst, clearly angry with his brother for treating you how he did. “I’ve never seen Jihoon so angry with someone. He really seemed to like _____... Which is weird because she was very hyper. But he was so angry he had tears in his eyes, Jia! Seokmin cried! I think it’s a good thing Josh is gone or Soonyoung would’ve torn him to shreds when he got home -- he was pissed when he heard what happened.”

On top of that, Eunjin was complaining of a splitting headache all day, and while the pack thought it was nothing related, Jia had a suspicion that wasn’t the case.

Was Jia upset with Josh’s behavior? Of course. He degraded you, yelled at you, and no doubt must’ve confused you with how his actions contradicted his words. But she knew there must’ve been something deeper to all of this. Joshua was a grump, yes, but he was never mean to any of the mates. Joshua was capable of showing love and compassion. He wouldn’t just...yell at someone like he had, especially not someone so innocent and kind. If you had snapped back at him, she thought maybe then he would lash out, but you never did. There was something deeper to this, and she would get to the bottom of it.

Jia didn’t say anything as she walked up to him silently before kneeling down beside him. She sat on her calves and stared where Josh seemed to be staring. It was just a patch of flowers and grass. It wasn’t anything special, but his eyes were locked on the spot, his brows set like he was still angry. Maybe he was, but she knew he couldn’t hurt her in a dream -- and if he tried to, she knew Minghao would kick his ass.

“It’s strange that all of you come here,” Jia noted out loud, her voice soft. “More often than not, the pack brings me here. Minghao and I spend most of our time here, too.”

Josh turned his head to look at her, his expression softening, “You don’t know where this is?”

“No. Was I supposed to be informed?”

“Huh...” he turned to look back at the spot. “I thought Minghao or someone would’ve told you.”

She shook her head.

There was a few moments of silence, and Jia thought Joshua had just dropped the subject. But finally, he replied, “This is where Lilly is buried.”

“Oh...” was all Jia said.

Now it all made sense. The pack was drawn here. This was a place that meant a lot to all of them. Maybe it made them feel safe or brought them peace. Or maybe they just wanted to visit their sister more than they could.

“It’s behind the old house,” Josh continued. “I haven’t gone in a long time because of what happened. I figured it wasn’t safe and I was scared of leading danger back here.”

“I’m sorry, Josh,” she frowned.

He shrugged, “I went today. Figured I have nothing to lose anymore. My family hates me now.”

She knew that wasn’t true, but she had other things she wanted to talk about before either of them woke up.

“If you already visited her, why are you visiting in your dream?” she wondered.

He sighed, “You already know why.”

Because he didn’t know what else to do. He knew he fucked up. Nobody needed to tell him because he already knew. Because he didn’t want to do that to you. But he was too afraid to do anything else. So now he was here because he had no one else and nothing else without you. He’d just die.

“You can’t keep pushing your feelings down,” she told him. “That doesn’t make them go away. I know you know they can’t go away.”

“Jia,” he said her name forcefully, but she stayed looking forward and didn’t even flinch, “I don’t want a new mate. I want Lilly and only Lilly.”

The pair sat in silence for who knows how long.

“You know,” she began, looking up at Joshua, “I’ve heard a lot of stories of Lilly. I’ve heard how kind and open-minded, and patient yet stern she was. Like when Chan ran away for four days and she was the only one who could get him to talk. Or when she put herself between Seungcheol and Soonyoung because they were arguing about his sex habits. She sounds like she was one of the best people to ever live.”

“She was,” Josh said as one corner of his mouth tugged upwards slightly.

“And I know someone like that would only feel happiness knowing that you’ve moved on and made yourself happy,” she continued. “Not only that, but I think Lilly would approve of and even love _____. She’d think _____ was the cutest thing.”

“Jia--”

“I’m not done. Maybe you are feeling conflicted about moving on. Maybe you feel guilty knowing you love someone new. But I know the reason you pushed _____ away isn’t because you don’t want her. I know there’s something more to it.”

She watched as Joshua hung his head. He stared at his knees silently for a moment, closing his eyes. He squeezed them shut tightly, and then relaxed.

“What if I lose her, too?” he asked, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence.

Jia frowned, “Why would that happen?”

Joshua let out a sad laugh, shaking his head, “Lilly was smart and sure and always knew what she was doing. She was an old soul. And even still, look where she ended up,” he gestured sharply to the ground beneath them. He lifted his head to look at Jia, his eyes glossy. “_____ is the opposite of that. She’s too curious and excitable. She’s a hyperactive baby paired with some asshole with a short fuse. I mean, you’ve heard the stories about me! The two of us together is like letting a child play with a ticking time bomb!”

“Joshua,” Jia cupped his face between her hands when she saw how worked up he was getting, “nothing bad will happen to her because of you. Listen to me: Lilly was not your fault, okay? It was theirs. You? That was an accident.”

“I can’t afford accidents, Jia!” he cried. “I can’t lose another. I can’t-- I can’t have someone else I love die. I can’t do this all over again, Jia, I can’t!”

Tears were streaming down his face, and seeing Joshua cry broke her heart. She’d never seen him cry before -- not that she could normally, but she’d never heard it or anything. She held his head, hugging him to her chest as she let him get everything out. She could only imagine how scared he must’ve been, even if he wouldn’t let on that he was.

“Everything will be okay,” she promised him as she stroked his hair. “Josh, you have to go find her. You have to make things right. Remember Wonwoo and Danbi? Pushing people away out of fear only causes more problems, it doesn’t fix them. You have to remember that _____’s an adult and she can take care of herself. She’s been living on her own for who knows how long now, and she’s not exactly human, either. She’s sturdier than you might think.”

“What if she hates me?” his words were muffled against her chest.

Jia let out a chuckle, “Oh, honey, I don’t think she could ever hate you. Trust me on that one.”

After a moment to try to collect himself, Josh sat back up and wiped his eyes. He took a deep breath and nodded, avoiding Jia’s eyes.

“Okay... Yeah, you’re right,” he said through deep breaths. “But, before I... Um, since I’m just spilling my guts now, can I...?”

“What is it?” Jia asked with a small, amused smile.

“It still has to do with Lilly, but...it’s about Soomin, actually,” he explained, toying with his fingers. “All the guys know about it, but it’s kind of my thing to deal with. But, um...I’ve... Fuck, I don’t really know how to explain this...”

“That’s okay,” she nodded, “just start from the beginning.”

-

“This is all your fault!”

Soomin’s screams and cries rang in his head. They never stopped. They added to the scene of Lilly dying that played in his head over and over again. Those were the things he heard and saw all day and all night, all the time. As if the heartache wasn’t enough to want to die, but the fact one of the only people outside his pack that he cared about hated his guts made it all that much worse. He loved Soomin like she was his own sister. He helped raise her and he watched her grow up. He was there for her her whole life, and now she wouldn’t even speak to him. 

With the barrel of a gun in his mouth, he heard, “You’re a fucking monster!”

Laying in bed, hoping pills would work, he heard, “Lilly deserved so much better than that!”

With a rope around his neck, he heard, “I’ll never forgive you for this!”

Every single time he saw Lilly dying in his arms play in his head, instead of her last words to him, he heard Soomin sobbing, “I hate you, Joshua Hong!”

Those were the last words Soomin ever said to him, with Soonyoung calmly trying to hold her back from punching Joshua with whatever strength she had in her after hearing about Lilly’s death. Lilly, the only human and woman other than Beom she’d ever known. The only human girl around her own age. The girl she looked up to like a sister she never got to have.

Hearing about her death, Soomin was heartbroken. But finding out how it happened made her livid. She pounced on Josh and got a good swing right at his cheek. Soonyoung intervened and held her back, but at that point, Joshua didn’t care if she hit him or not. Actually, he wished Soonyoung had let her have a go at him. He hated himself, too. He knew everything she shrieked at him was right.

“You’re a fucking monster!” she sobbed as she uselessly fought against Soonyoung. But she continued, “Lilly deserved so much better than that!”

Beom tried to reason with her evenly, “Soomin, calm down. I understand you--”

“I’ll never forgive you for this!” she shouted over Beom, ignoring her words as she cried and kicked and thrashed harder. “I hate you, Joshua Hong!”

Beom sighed, and looked to Soonyoung before nodding her head toward the door, “Please bring her inside. I’ll talk with her,” then she looked at Josh with a remorseful look. “I’m sorry, dear.”

That was the last he heard from Soomin or a while.

Despite everything, Joshua never felt any negativity toward her. He didn’t blame her for feeling angry with him or or lashing out. He also knew that she didn’t understand how great the heartache was that he was experiencing. Soomin didn’t know that she was just making things worse -- not that they could get much worse, but still. In every suicide note he wrote, he always included Soomin and how much he loved her and how he wanted her to go on to live a long, happy life. There was never any ill-will toward her.

Not soon after Lilly’s death, Beom died. Things were just going all wrong for Josh. He wanted to reach out for Soomin, knowing Beom’s death was the heaviest on her, but he knew better than that. He was afraid of making things for the younger girl even worse, so he stayed away.

The alphas went by Beom’s place to help go through her belongings. The wolves wanted to do everything they could to help Soomin -- even though only a few members of the pack knew her -- but they didn’t want to overwhelm her, either. So Seungcheol, Soonyoung, and Jihoon took it upon themselves to help with everything.

But the first day of sorting, the alphas came home that afternoon. Jihoon went up to Joshua’s room and opened the door. The older wolf was laying on his back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room had a golden glow from the sunset.

Joshua was on very intense watch. After his many failed suicide attempts -- the pack lost track after thirteen -- the pack decided they had to be more controlling. They didn’t want to lock Josh up in his room, but they didn’t want to lose him, either. He even had to be escorted to the bathroom because of the couple times someone had walked in on him trying to end his life in there.

���I found something for you,” Jihoon said before tossing an envelope onto Joshua’s chest. He lifted his head and held the envelope between his fingers. His name was written on it in Beom’s handwriting. “She had it under her pillow. There weren’t any letters addressed to us, so I’m assuming it must be something important -- not that it’s any of my business.”

“Thanks,” Joshua barely murmured before he just laid back down like nothing had happened.

It wasn’t until that night that Joshua ripped the envelope open. He couldn’t sleep and figured he needed something to do. He wasn’t really interested in anything Beom had to say before she passed because he knew nothing she said could fix anything going on in his life at the moment.

Or so he thought.

The envelope contained about 20 photos, all of Soomin and Lilly. Joshua took his time to carefully study each photo, a small smile forming on his face as tears welled in his eyes. Some photos he remembered being taken, but others he didn’t. They were moments he’d completely forgotten about or weren’t there for. It was like he was getting to see new things about Lilly, and it made him happy but also made his heart clench.

Finally, he moved onto the small, handwritten note that she had left.

‘Joshua,

My time is coming to an end soon. When I go, there needs to be someone there for Soomin. I know I can trust your pack, but you need someone to be there for you, too. Which is why I’ve taken this upon myself.

Soomin will not remember any memories of Lilly, therefore, will not remember what you did. Her hatred of you will be completely gone with her memories. She will remember everything else just fine, including her treasured moments with you. If the time ever comes that you want her to remember everything, just show her these photos. Seeing photos or hearing memories of Lilly won’t affect her, but seeing herself with Lilly will reverse the spell. But I’ll leave this decision up to you.

With that, please look after her for me. If you feel you have nothing else to live for, live to keep her safe. You mean as much to her as she does to you. And please remember that though things are hard now, there will always be brighter days. Never give up.

-Beom’

The letter fell to Joshua’s chest. Beom took Soomin’s memories away? On her own? That seemed very odd for Beom. She would never do anything to manipulate Soomin like that. But Beom also knew what Joshua was going through, and knew how her death would impact Soomin. She must’ve known this was the best option moving forward, otherwise she wouldn’t have done it.

Joshua didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, he got up when he heard the rest of the house waking up. He went downstairs just before he heard the alphas leaving -- Seungcheol had stayed at Soomin’s cottage with her just so she wasn’t alone.

“Can I go?” he asked.

This took this pack by surprise. They knew what had happened with Soomin when she found out about Lilly’s death. They knew how she felt about Josh now.

“Are you sure...?” Junhui asked.

“I-- ...Yeah.”

"I don’t know if that would be good for her,” Soonyoung told him cautiously.

“Please just trust me.”

So the alphas reluctantly took Joshua along to Beom’s -- now Soomin’s -- cottage.

And they were shocked to see her sob his name and fling her arms around him when he walked through the door. She sobbed, her face buried in his chest. Even Joshua, though he believed what Beom’s note said, was surprised that Soomin wasn’t screaming at him.

As his own eyes filled with tears, he put his arms around Soomin and buried his face in her hair, whispering that everything would be okay.

-

“She’s lived in ignorance ever since,” Josh sighed. “I didn’t tell the pack about the letter until I got home, and they’ve kept the secret for me ever since. But...if I’m going to start trying to make things better, I should give Soomin her memories back, right? E-even--” he cleared his throat, “Even if she...hates me. Again.”

Jia shrugged, but ultimately nodded, “I’m sure Soomin would want to remember Lilly. And who knows, maybe Soomin will be understanding. She’s seemed to have grown up quite a bit since then -- at least, what I heard. She seemed very...childlike when Beom was around. She’s very mature now.”

“Yeah...” Joshua seemed to be lost in thought now. But he suddenly looked Jia in the eyes and smiled softly. “Thanks, Jia.”

She grinned up at him, “Anytime.”

-

He wanted to be fast. It was still dark outside and he hoped he could track you down before sunrise -- even though there seemed to be at least a few hours before then. But the fact it was dark was worrisome on its own. Who knew what kind of creatures or people were lurking about?

But even in a hurry, Joshua sat down at his desk and scribbled a quick note. He put it in an envelope, along with the 20 or so photos he kept in his nightstand drawer. And as he passed through the hall toward the stairs, he paused to bend over in front of Wonwoo and Soomin’s door and slip the envelope underneath it.

[gryffindors-weasley]

Tender Confession

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: Draco feels he can no longer keep his feelings from you.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: mild angst, self doubt, insecurity, fluff, kissing

It was well past midnight as you remain in the greenhouse, it’s vast array of greenery providing far too much serenity for you to want to leave it just yet. The fall air was brisk that night as it swept through the windows that had been open on its roof top, the gentle breeze brushing through each and every leaf and petal it could come across. There wasn’t any real reason for you to be there on a Tuesday night, or on any night you suppose, other than to revel in its natural beauty and have a moment to yourself. What more reason could you need?

It was the most calming place on the seemingly endless premises, one that only brought with it peace and quiet at almost all hours. That, and the Black Lake had been your favorite places to wander off to should you want to. The smell of soil and moss had always been immediate upon your arrival, paired with the ever so delicate floral scent should some of the magical plants blossom their flowers. Most students hadn’t come there past their second year, having had enough of it after experiencing the shrill cries of the Mandrakes. You suppose you don’t blame them, it worked in your benefit after all.

Occasionally Professor Sprout would leave you with some tasks should she need your help; she knew of your liking for it and she was merely happy that someone enjoyed the place just as much as she did. It was more than she could say for most of the students attending Hogwarts.

That evening, you had nothing in particular to do. There was no checklist when you had arrived two hours prior, nothing out of place to be organized. No plants to be repotted or windows to be cleaned just yet. You suppose you were grateful for the free time to simply just be there with no other responsibility than to take a moment to breathe, to take a moment to admire your surroundings. It’d been your last year, your seventh year. Once it’s concluded you would no longer be able to sneak off to this very spot, so you were determined to take in each and every second. And that’s just what you had been doing for the past two hours.

Sleep had not been on your radar quite yet, your mind far too busy with exams, too busy with trivial things, too busy with fond feelings to rest your eyes. You’d read a fair amount of your book in your time there, leaving yourself with half left to read before you could go digging in your bag for another to start. The library didn’t offer much in the form of entertaining fictional literature, rather it was filled heavily with books of history and spells, each and every word proving to be factual. It was interesting you will admit, but not quite something you’re searching to read in your free time.

Flourish and Blotts had been a place you’d frequented most often when you’d found yourself needing to replenish your collection. They had just about anything you could dream of crammed into uneven shelves, shelves that never seem to be empty. It was ironic to read books of fantasy and magic, to see others depictions on things they can’t quite fathom. The very magic you’d known the entirety of your life was sometimes strikingly different to that of what you read. It was more fabricated and dramatic, more whimsical than what you knew it to be. Despite that, it was something you easily fell into, something that was hard to put down until you reached the very last page and started another.

A sigh left your lips as you looked around the vacant structure, moonlit reflections bouncing off each and every window it landed on. You hadn’t known just when you’d make your leave and head back to the bed you should’ve already been in. It should be now, for you don’t think you could go another day yawning in each of your classes. But despite all logic and reasoning, you stayed put.

You startled when you spared a glance to your right for the sake of taking a small break from your book before a headache could form, spotting the ever familiar head of platinum. Your heart settled only slightly at the sight of him, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“I almost didn’t recognize you in uniform,” you jest, noting the white dress shirt and vest, the slytherin tie dangling loosely from his neck. He rolled his eyes though you did not miss the smile he wore. “Do you have more than one of those black suits or is it just the one? Do you ever wash—”

“You’re starting to make me regret coming here already,” Draco sighs, stepping closer to you to join where you sat perched on a vacant wooden table. “And yes I do wash it.”

Your smile only widens as you try your hardest to stifle your laughter, looking up to meet his gaze as he huffs. “So you do only have one?”

His blue stare narrows down at you and you finally laugh, the mere sound of it softening his defensive mood entirely, not that he was all that offended to begin with. He feels you could say just about anything to him and his heart would not stop fluttering for you, though he knows you could never be cruel.

“You’re a pain, you know that, Y/n/n?” He asks, the softness of his smile remaining all the same despite his lighthearted teasing.

“I can’t be any worse than you, that would be preposterous,” you quip as your gaze returns to your book briefly, and the laugh falling from his lips made your heart nearly skip a beat. You missed just how he’d looked at you in that moment.

He says nothing more then, the grin he held speaking more than enough of what he’d thought of your counter. You couldn’t help but to watch as the tips of his fingers brush over the leaves of the plants by his side, lingering over each one before moving on to the next. It was in your best interest to look away from him before he catches your gaze, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so in the very moment as you peer over the top of your book.

He plucks a single petal off of the plant just to his right, a new one regenerating almost immediately in its place. He holds it up to the moonlight, eyes bouncing over the pale colors that pigment his fingers as it lay pinched between them. It wasn’t hard to tell when something had been plaguing his mind, it wasn’t hard to figure him out really, especially considering you could imagine him setting foot in the greenhouse of his own accord. Plants were not of his interest. But you kept quiet for now.

He drops the petal from his grasp after a few moments and it’s sent fluttering to the ground, landing amongst moss and dirt before falling between a crack in the cement. It’s then that he looks at you once more, your gaze averting back to the text in your lap as your cheeks burn. You feel the table move slight and his knee bump against yours as he settles next to you, breathing out a sigh.

It was quiet for a little while then, save for the soft whistle of the wind gushing in and the chirp of the crickets. You noticed the way he’d been twirling the ring around his finger, the way he’d been suppressing his urge to hum as he so often did. You try to focus on the book held loosely in your hands, it’s pages quivering in the breeze. You try to immerse yourself into the world contained in paper before you, but the task was rapidly proving to be difficult with your newfound company.

His presence beside you was distracting, the warmth radiating from him something impossible to ignore, something you hadn’t wanted to leave. He, on the other hand, desired to be closer to you. To rest his head on your shoulder and stay there. He supposes he could, you’re his best friend after all. But he doesn’t think he can bring himself to do such a thing, his fear of never wanting to move from it keeping him still in his place. He knew he’d never want to.

“Is this all you do here? It’s quite boring,” he comments softly, resting his head back against the chilled windowpane.

A soft snort escapes you. “Yet here you are,” you jest playfully, “if I recall, it was you who came to me.”

He turns his head with the softest of smiles on his lips, his cheeks staining a pale pink having gone unseen in the dim lighting. The burning of his blush hadn’t gone unnoticed, however, that was very much obvious to him. You were right, you were always right it seemed. He found himself thinking of the striking realization that he’d always come to you, he will always gravitate towards you no matter how much he tells himself he shouldn’t. For your sake, he tells himself. For your sake is his reasoning for why he felt he should stay away, yet he can never bring himself to do just that.

He looks at you, with a look far too obvious of his feelings for his own good. “I suppose you’re right. But just this once.”

You laugh softly and he brings himself to look away, he has to otherwise he might just fall apart as his heart races. “Whatever you say, though I believe it’s more than just this once, Dray.”

Dray. It was a nickname only ever used by you, only ever thought of by you. Perhaps that’s why it had such a profound effect on him. If anyone else had used it he’d be indifferent to its meaning, annoyed rather because he felt it was something sacred, something for just the two of you. He doesn’t quite know if you feel the same, he only hopes it to be so to save him from creating his own anguish by thinking otherwise.

“What are you reading?” He asks, changing the subject as he snatches the book from your hands. His eyes skim over the cover, noting the whimsical and wondrous imagery on it. “The—”

You grab it back from him, with a frown, his laughter sounding once more. “Stop that!”

“How come you read of fake magic when you can use your own? I’m sure ours is far better,” he says with a raised brow, brushing his hair from his forehead.

“Because it is fun, Draco,” you sigh. “Besides, wasn’t it you who I found reading Shakespeare in the library?”

“That was one time! And in my defense it was rather good,” he grumbles, brows knit together in a glare focused on you and only you and he bit this inside of his cheek.

“You finished it, didn’t you?”

He tips his head back and sighs, his eyes fluttering closed. He would not be getting out of this one, he knows it. “And if I did?”

You ponder your response and he can feel your smile, one of his own forming on his lips. “If you did, then I just might tease you forever.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose, turning his head to look at you. Forever sounded like bliss with you. Forever sounded far more wondrous than your ridiculous book of fantasy, far more than the love between Romeo and Juliet. “Then yes, love, I did finish it.”

It felt as though you flushed cherry red as you looked away from his gaze, the nickname setting loose a multitude of butterflies in your stomach. You resisted the urge to smile like a fool, to over analyze each and every time he called you that. Had he said to anyone else, or was it just you? Or was it just common for him to do such a thing? You were already doing it, already getting lost in a sea of possibilities that will have you winding up in a sour mood of hope and longing.

Before you could fall deeper into the depths of your mind, you open up your book again, your smile still very much evident as was the feeling of his eyes on you briefly. You didn’t dare to look, you’d look foolish if you did. You were aware of how you could be as such to him, but you were remarkably oblivious to the very same of him.

Conversation fell silent after that, and soon you fell into your book once more as he sat with you, quiet and content to simply be in your presence. He couldn’t help but to dare his glances, he’d chance any form of playful banter just to admire you. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, the way you laughed softly at a particularly humorous part in your book even if you’d read it before. He knew you did, could tell by the way you underlined sections, and the way you filled the margins with hastily scrawled notes.

Something that got to him in particular was your bookmark. It was tattered and scratched, the very one he’d gotten you from Hogsmeade in fourth year. At the time he hadn’t wanted to admit he’d gone and done it, tried to say your owl brought you the parcel at dinner. You knew it to be false the moment you saw the crimson stain his cheeks. But he saw it, stamped with your initials, his own carved in with the tip of his quill some time ago. It was worse for wear as it sat tucked within pages yet to be reread, the very same ribbon tied to it in a shimmering gold that was frayed at the edges.

He decided against bringing it up, perfectly content with basking in the moment he had with you. One that was free of the stress pressing down on him constantly, free of the prying eyes he so strongly despised. For without them, he was free to be as vulnerable as he truly was, as he always had been. Not even in his own home could he be as such, not unless he was in the confines of his own room and even then he felt under watch. But here, as he sat with you amongst a myriad of plants and glass and moss, picking at the loose string on his sweater vest, he felt he could be that. He felt as though he could breathe, as though he could relax.

He exhaled a sigh as he stretched his legs, allowing them to dangle over the edge of the table as he slouched against the windows. It had to have been a half an hour at the very least, though in the absence of a clock, time could be deceiving when spent with someone you care deeply for. It could have been ten minutes, and it could have been an hour, you hadn’t known. What you did know was that you couldn’t read another word, the letters on the dimly lit page starting to blend. Your eyes couldn’t sweep across another line, and your mind couldn’t focus either.

You breathed out a sigh too, closing your book for good that night and tucking it within its rightful spot in your bag.

“Why did you come here anyway?” You ask softly, curiously, seemingly out of the blue as you closed it.

Regardless of how much he had expected that very question to fall from your lips, it took him by surprise as if he hadn’t been dwelling on it and his well thought out answer. He knew definitively just why he’d wandered out to that greenhouse that night. He knew it wasn’t because of whatever silly reason he’d conjure up, preferably in the next few seconds so he doesn’t look like a fool.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue; he found himself barely sleeping at all as of late and rightfully so. But his answer wasn’t entirely true either. He doesn’t quite know how to say he found himself unable to be without you for extended periods, he doesn’t even know how to explain it to himself. He’d never felt that way around anyone—to be so full of contentment in someone’s presence, to be so hopelessly enamored by every little thing you do. It was new and it was profound and it was scary. He knew himself to be vulnerable even if he’d been the only one to hold such knowledge, but this, this was different. It was love. He was in love with you.

You nod, your gaze softening from its once teasing stare. “Or maybe you just missed me.

He did. He absolutely did. He doesn’t even quite know how he’d made it as long as he did before he set off to come here. How anyone could possibly be away from you for more than a brief period of time. So yes, it was safe to say he missed you, and Draco Malfoy does not often do such a thing. But he simply laughs ever so softly.

You cast your gaze upward, focusing your attention on the moon and the glimmering flecks that spatter brightly in the sky. The clouds passed over it and dimmed the greenhouse each time they did so, quick to continue on their wind blown path before the next array took their place. The tip of your nose was cold with the chilly weather seeping in, and you knew it’d been rosy. You could nearly see your breath for that matter, but none of it had been important, not more so than the beauty present all around you.

It was when you sat there, head tipped back against glass walls and eyes fixed on the stars above that you felt it. You felt the brush of his fingertips over your palm, featherlight and fleeting, before it became all consuming as his fingers pushed between your own and his hand envelopes yours. You could feel the hesitancy in the sudden action and the flutter of your heart, you could feel his stare before he’d even done it. And it was then that you turn your head, meeting the eyes so longingly fixed on you.

His hair was no longer as neat as it usually had been, platinum strands dipping over his forehead in soft waves as the humidity did what it will do. He made no attempts to fix it either, the annoyance of his hair nearly in his eyes of no importance as you sat with him. What was on his mind was the way your hand remained in his.

You turned away, biting the inside of your cheek in an effort to hide your smile, to hide the giddiness that would surely betray you.

“I came out here,” he starts, huffing out a soft laugh, “I came out here because I wanted to be with you.”

Your smile was immediate, one he knew the meaning behind and he knew the fate he’d put himself into. You were never one to refrain from teasing him. “I’d assumed so. I knew you missed me.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile as he looked down at his lap, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand and he shook his head. He was in trouble. That much was true. With each passing second he’d wanted to admit the very words that had been weighing so heavily on his mind. He wanted to say them a million times over yet not a single time at all, he wanted to make it known without doing just that but he knows that is entirely impossible.

As he sits there, his hand within your own he feels as though he may just explode if his inner turmoil worsens. He’s at a crossroads and he wishes he weren’t, wishes he didn’t have to be so conflicted. If he speaks he could lose you and be utterly miserable. If he doesn’t you’d still be there, clueless to his love until you inevitably find someone else. Both options leave him utterly miserable when he thinks on them too long, and it doesn’t improve his situation in the slightest.

His heart is beating wildly in his chest at the prospect of telling you, that paired with the fact that your hand stayed entwined with his own—he’s certain it couldn’t race any faster. He wonders if you could feel him shaking. He felt foolish for being so nervous. His entire life, he’s had no problem spouting out whatever he so pleased, most of it having been undesirable and he hates that thought. But this, this was different. He’d make an even bigger fool of himself if he did this. No, he couldn’t do it, he shouldn’t—

“I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

It tumbles from his lips without pause and he feels as though if the ground swallowed him whole it would be perfectly suitable. He hadn’t said those three words, but he felt as though there was no difference at that point.

Your breath catches and your heart hammers, his eyes filled with something you cannot place, but the heat in his cheeks is a bit more noticeable under the glow of the moon. He hopes somehow you hadn’t heard him but he knew it was a ridiculous hope.

“Me?” You ask, and he nods softly. “What about me?”

He swallows thickly, his eyes bouncing between yours as he weighs out his options once more. His heart feels as though it’s in his throat by then, and surely his voice would falter as a result. He knew he couldn’t go another day without telling you, couldn’t go another moment tormenting himself on what you would or wouldn’t say. His feet gave him no option as he walked towards that greenhouse. Towards you.

It was terrifying to be in love, to feel so strongly for someone that a minute without them feels like a lifetime. It was terrifying to love you so wholly, for you to bring insurmountable light to his otherwise darkened life. He didn’t imagine it to be so when he first met you in Diagon Alley. Then, he only knew you to be his best friend, the one who told him he was an idiot for being mean. The one who still tells him just that. It was now or more than likely never to tell you.

So he looked at you, hand shaky in your own as your patient gaze made him melt. “I love you.”

Three words. They were whispered and they were truer than most things he’s ever spoken. They were faltered and they were the first time he’s said them in a long while.

“You—you love me?” You ask, the corner of your mouth quirking up as it settled into you. He pauses for a moment as if to give himself the option to take it back and save himself further embarrassment. But still, he finds himself nodding.

Your expression was awed and your lips parted as you looked at him, a look he couldn’t quite read and it left him to sit frozen as a flurry of emotions rained down on him. Seconds feel like hours as you look at him, each more agonizing than the last but before he could stammer your lips brush over his own. You could feel his sigh against your lips, his hand squeezing yours. The other was quick to settle on your cheek, the ring around his finger cold against your flushed skin as his hair tickled light against your forehead.

His heart was bursting in that very moment as you kissed him, a feeling most electrifying, most spellbinding. So much so that he followed your lips for another when you parted, your smile instant against his mouth.

“I love you,” you murmur, breathless and giddy.

His lips were kiss swollen and pink as you looked at him, his smile so soft you kissed him again. His forehead presses to yours and your noses bump, his breath warm as it fans across your lips. His grin widens at the rush coursing through him, his skin set ablaze and his heart pounding within his chest.

“You really do, truly?” He asks softly, pulling away to look at you in search of doubt, in search of realization. As happy as he’d been in that moment, he couldn’t quite believe how you, beautiful and wonderful you, could feel something so profound for him. Surely it must have been a dream and surely he’d wake up and be miserable, be just as hopelessly and foolishly in love as he always had been. He’d—

“Truly, I do,” you say, pulling him from his own mind and capturing his attention once more.

His eyes sparkled in the moonlit greenhouse, beaming and bright as he smiled, one reserved for you. He couldn’t have imagined his night to end like this when he wandered through shadowed and vacant halls to get there. He nearly turned back around more times than he could recall in his lovestruck state, dizzied by your kiss. He hadn’t imagined he’d have the courage to tell you, he didn’t feel he was courageous at all really. But there you sat, mere inches from each other, your hand still enveloped in his.

It might not have spilled from his lips as he imagined it to in all the times he’d thought about it, but it was tender and it was true.

—

Tags: @anchoeritic @slytherinsunrise @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @dracosathenaeum @snitches-at-dawn @lunalovecroft @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @harrysweasleys

[kikis-writing-world]

Showed Up in Boots

Summary: Years ago you left Jack, unable to handle sharing him with  Statesman. Now that he’s retired from fieldwork, he’s coming back to see if he has a chance.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Female Presenting Reader (she/her pronouns, wearing a dress. No name or Y/N used.)

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating/Warnings: A little bit of swearing. Touch of angst, bit of fluff. All that good stuff.

A/N: This kind of came to be by picturing Whiskey as the narrator of Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks, but... well, you’ll see. Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“What’y’a mean?”

“This, Jack. The secrets, the days- weeks on end without seeing you, no word if you’re dead or alive. Out seducing god knows who with god knows what diseases-”

“June bug, you know I’m safe, and Statesman-”

“It’s not just that, Jack! It’s… it’s all of it.”

The silence hung heavy in the air, like the tears that clung to your lashes, sticking there before streaming down your cheeks.

“I… I don’t know how to fix this.”

“There’s nothing for you to fix. It’s my problem.”

“So what do we do then?”

His large hand was warm in yours. You could feel the calluses against your skin, further proof of the tools and the weapons he used to make a living, just reminding you of the heartache you were trying to force down. Just keep it in check long enough to make a rational decision, not an emotional one.

You gripped his hand in yours, lifting it to your lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “When… if you ever get out…”

“June bug, no-”

“I don’t see any other way, Jack.”

A deep sigh as your hearts beat brokenly, together despite the growing chasm of hurt between you.

“Will you wait for me?”

“I can’t promise that. You might never leave. You might never make it out alive.”

“You know I will. Especially if you’re waiting.”

“If that was true, I wouldn’t be leaving.”

The air was sucked out of the room. You both knew what was happening, where this conversation was leading, but that was the first time it was said out loud. You were leaving him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Blame it all on my roots I showed up in boots And ruined your black tie affair

The last one to know The last one to show I was the last one You thought you'd see there

Jack was nervous, and Jack Daniels was rarely nervous. Something about you had always managed to catch him off guard, throw him off centre until he was stumbling and clinging to anything he could while the world righted itself. Even after all these years, he felt the same.

He’d checked in on you from time to time. Misusing Statesman resources - not that anyone would dare mention it to him - to look you up, make sure you were okay. He watched you through grainy surveillance footage as you walked alone at night, waiting until you were safe indoors. Peered at the carefully edited social media feeds, wondering what was really happening behind the quotes and selfies. He kept his distance, but always made sure you were safe. As safe as you could be, without him.

He knew you still lived in the little bungalow. It had been your dream home once upon a time and he wondered if it still was. It had never gone up for sale or rent, and he may have pulled some strings in the background to keep taxes to a reasonable level. Even so, he double and triple checked the database before navigating his old Bronco down the suburban streets.

The tree in the front yard had grown, but the fairy door you had attached to its trunk remained. You’d redone the walkway, changing the crumbling paving stones to whimsical chalk walkway. It fit the tiny, picturesque home perfectly. He wondered what else had changed. If you had changed.

He knocked on the blue door, noticing the paint peeling a little around the door knob. You always said the spring humidity caused the paint to peel, making you touch it up every year. You must not have gotten around to it yet.

He knocked again, removing his hat and holding it in front of him. He picked nervously at a stray thread of the hat. Better to focus on that than the things you might say to him once you answered the door. He could only rehearse this conversation so many times before he went mad.

He knocked a third time.

“She’s not home, dear.”

He turned, seeing your older neighbor watching him from her porch. Mrs. Margetson. She was thinner than the last time he’d seen her in person, hair more white now than the medium grey it had been. He wondered if she remembered him or he just looked like another gentleman caller. Had there been a long list since… he stopped himself from following that train of thought.

He stepped off your stoop, moving closer to the woman. “Do you know where I might find her?”

“They must be at the church by now,” she offered. “I think the wedding is due to start about 1.”

Jack nearly dropped his hat. He could hear the blood rush through his ears, it all moving god knows where and leaving him in a cold dread.

“They were here maybe 30 minutes ago, getting their pictures in front of the garden. Beautiful.”

“Which church?” Jack asked.

“St. Peter’s, over on the rock.” She pointed in the general direction, but Jack was already gone. He barely had the mind to thank her as he raced back into the truck and threw it in gear.

The dashboard clock told him it was 12:50. That gave him 10 minutes to get there, if the wedding started on time. He’d never been to one that started on time. His own hadn’t, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Would yours?

The thought stole the air from his lungs. You were getting married and he was rushing to the church to… what was he going to do? Stop it? Sit down and watch? He’d gone over this day so many times in his head: what he might find when you answered the door, what he would say and how you might react. None of the options he’d thought up led him to where he was now, going at least double the speed limit and using all of his Statesman driving training to avoid rolling the Bronco or hitting anything.

The spires and bell tower of the church came into view ahead. It was quiet outside, no stragglers coming in late and the door was already closed. Glancing at the clock only for a moment, not wanting to take his eyes off the road at these speeds, he saw it was only a few minutes after 1.

He pulled up to the large, imposing Church - not at all the kind of place he imagined you getting married, but that was a thought for another time when he wasn’t trying to catch you before it was too late. There were no parking spaces, the front of the church taken up by a large black limo with the classic “Just Married” painted in the rear window. It made his stomach churn.

He pulled up onto the curb between the front of the limo and the back of the blue hatchback in front of it, smashing his right hand mirror on the way by. He didn’t care, he could deal with it later.

“Sorry, girl.” He grumbled to the beloved car as he spun her around in the grass. Turf and soil kicked up behind the car as he threw it into park as quickly as he could. He didn’t even bother to turn it off, let alone take the keys out of the ignition, as he jumped up over the door. The second his feet hit the ground, he ran.

Jack could hear the last few notes of an organ processional as he climbed the stairs. With the silence left by the ending music, the creaking of the door echoed loudly in the quiet antechamber. He hurried up the carpet-lined stairs to the second door, hoping it would lead to the cathedral. He pushed them open with all his might, barely stopping moving.

There was a collective inhale from the crowd as they all turned to see who was bursting into the sacred, special event. Jack slowed to a jog, panting as he ignored all the eyes on him to look at the altar. At….

Not you.

“Jack?”

The way your gasp echoed through the hall it took him a second to locate you, standing next to the bride.

The bride, which he recognized now as your sister.

It was your sister’s wedding.

Not yours.

You were the maid of honor.

He would laugh if he wasn’t suddenly overcome with just how awkward it was that he just ran into your sister’s wedding.

“‘Lo everyone.” Jack waved with one hand as he took his hat off with the other. “Sorry I’m late.”

Your sister glared at you and you floundered under her gaze, passing off her bouquet to the next bridesmaid in line. You picked up the skirt of your coral gown and rushed down the aisle to him.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed in a hushed tone, keenly aware that just about everyone you knew was staring at the two of you.

“I came to your house, lookin’ for you-”

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

“I’m a little busy.” You pointed out impatiently.

“Yeah, uh… Sorry.” He grinned bashfully, nodding at an older couple nearby still eyeing the two of you.

“I can’t do this right now.” You shook your head, feeling tears welling in your eyes. “Today, of all days-”

Your sister called your name, reminding you exactly why you couldn’t talk to him right now.

“Go,” he gestured to the front of the church. “I’ll wait.”

You were torn. You wanted him to leave. He was the last person you were trying to think of today, with all the talk of love and romance and a fairy tale “happy ever after.” Yet, he was all you could think about when you had those fleeting moments to yourself. Now, almost as if your thoughts alone had summoned him, here he was.

You said nothing as Jack slid into the nearest empty pew, setting his hat respectfully on his lap. You turned your back on him, taking a steadying breath as you tried to ignore the eyes on you for the second time today - for all the wrong reasons this time - as you made your way back to your sister’s side.

As you walk back down the aisle behind your sister, the crowd clapping and cheering for her new union, you nod at Jack to meet you in the antechamber once the processional has finished. He nods his understanding, leaving you to finish walking with the rest of the wedding party.

The group of you head outside, sending the newlyweds away in the waiting limo. A few people are looking and pointing at the mess made on the lawn by the glaringly familiar black and white Bronco. You flush in embarrassment all over again, seeing the mess Jack had made.

With the limo gone, the guests start to disperse and make their way to their own vehicles. The reception will begin shortly and they’re all headed to the hall for a night of dancing and celebrations. You head back inside to find Jack.

He’s waiting to the side of the doors to the cathedral, hat still in hand as he seems to pick at it nervously. You use the moment to take him in, noticing the little things about him that have changed over the years. More wrinkles, mostly around his eyes. A new scar on his neck - you wonder how many more are hidden under his clothes. You shake the thought away, not wanting to think about Jack Daniels undressed until you get to the bottom of why he’s here.

“Jack,” you call, his name on your tongue feeling so familiar but so foreign at the same time. He looks up from his signature Stetson, taking a few steps forward to meet you in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Margetson said wedding and-”

“You were at my house?” You cut him off.

Jack nods. “I was lookin’ for you.”

You sigh heavily, shaking your head as you look away for a moment. “Why?” You ask finally.

“I’m done. Done with the missions.”

Your eyes tear up at his admission. It’s what you had wanted to hear all those years ago, even if  you understood why he couldn’t. Your jaw sets as a hot flame of anger licks up your spine.

“So you thought you’d come back, and I’d just be waiting for you? What if I was getting married today, Jack? What if you were too late?” You bit.

He shakes his head, his face falling. “Then… then I’d let you go.” He admitted, swallowing past the emotion in his throat. “But I had to try.”

You turn away from him, wrapping your arms around yourself, almost to protect yourself from the man who still held your heart in his hands. Just because you still loved him didn’t necessarily mean he deserved your love, deserved to hold your heart.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” he continues. “But there’s younger agents comin’ up the ranks now, Statesman is in good hands so I know I can step back. They’ve asked me to stay on with the Distillery, and as a consultant to the new agents, but I’m done with the field work.” He takes a deep breath and you hear him take a step closer to you.

“I’m sorry turnin’ up outta the blue like this.” He apologizes, his warm hand touching your bare arm. It makes you shiver, your skin pebbling with goosebumps “Tell me to fuck off-”

“Language, Jack.” You admonish, keenly aware you’re still in a church.

“Tell me to leave if you don’t want me, June bug, and I’ll go. I’ll do what I’ve been doin’ all these years, but I’ll go.”

You couldn’t help but take the bait, looking at him over your shoulder through misty eyes. “What’ve you been doing all these years?”

“Missing you like crazy.” He chuckles sadly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Keepin’ an eye from afar, makin’ sure you’re safe, you’re healthy, you’re… happy.”

“You’ve been watching me?” You breathe.

He nods once. “Just to make sure you’re okay. I promise, nothing untoward.”

“I should have known you would be.” You huff under your breath, shaking your head with a soft chuckle. “You’re shit at letting go, Jack.”

“Language.” He teases, a small grin making his dimple pop. “But you’re right. I am.”

You bite your lip, turning your eyes upwards - both to stop the tears from falling and ruining your make-up, as well as searching for some divine sign of what to do. There is none: tears or signs.

“Me too.” You admit quietly, turning to face him.

Jack hesitates visibly, a far cry from the confident, cocky cowboy you were used to, but he settles a large hand on the side of your neck, his thumb sweeping gently over your jaw. “Am I too late?” He whispers.

You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed and the familiarity of it. You can smell his cologne, the same one he’d been using since the last time you’d seen him. You’ve missed it.

“No.” You admit softly, opening your eyes. You cover his hand with your own as you stare at those beautiful brown eyes, watching a glimmer of hope overtake the worry. “But-”

You hate the way that light snuffs out, but you need to protect yourself. “We can’t just pick up where we were.”

“I understand.” He nods with a sigh. He starts to drop his hand, but you hold it firm. He quirks an eyebrow questioningly.

“But we can start again. If you’re up for it.”

The smile spreads across his face faster than wildfire. It makes your heart flutter to see it after so long without him in your life. He pulls you close, resting his forehead on yours. “Whatever it takes, June bug.” He promises, his breath fanning lightly across your face. “I made you wait, and I’ll atone for the rest of my days as long as I get to do it by your side.”

You can’t help but giggle, your own smile matching his. Your nose brushes against his, your breath hitching in your throat as your lungs constrict. “Oh, I’ll be taking advantage of that offer.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” He agrees. He’s so close, you can smell the mix of coffee and mint on his breath.

“You can start-”

He cuts you off with his lips on yours, an insistent pressure built from years apart. You gave in, returning the kiss immediately.

You hadn’t been celibate while separated from Jack. You had dated, had a few flings, but nothing stuck. No one made you feel the way he did. You relish the kiss: the way his mustache tickled your nose, how his plush lips enveloped yours even as you both smiled into the kiss. It was everything you had been missing. Your hand naturally finds its way to the back of his neck, playing with the longer strands of hair at his nape.

“You were gonna say “start with a kiss,” right?” He jokes when you separate, leaning his forehead against yours.

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. “No, I was going to say you can start by explaining to my family why you crashed my sister’s wedding.”

Jack groans, letting his head fall back as he remembers his entrance to the church. “Surely I’ll get points for enthusiasm when I explain I thought I was losin’ my girl.”

“Your girl, huh?” You challenge, but the smile you can’t wipe from your face gives you away. “Mighty presumptuous of you.”

“Try tellin’ me you’re not mine when I can’t taste your lip gloss, sweetheart.” He whispers conspiratorially.

You toss your head back, laughter echoing in the hall. Jack joins in your laughter, burying his head in your neck as he wraps you in his arms. You feel him take a deep breath against your skin, settling in like he’d finally made it home after being gone for years. You suppose he was.

You tangle your hand deeper into his hair, pulling him away to see his face. Sure enough, the pale pink glitter on his lips gives him away. You rub your thumb against his bottom lip to remove it, but he grips your hand in his, holding it still as he kisses your knuckles.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupts the moment between you. You turn to see Clara, the older woman who works in the church office. “Sorry to interrupt, but do you happen to know whose jeep is parked on the church lawn? Is it one of your guests?”

You turn a scrutinizing gaze to Jack, watching as he tries not to argue that his beloved classic is not a Jeep.

He bites down his comeback, hanging his head as he admits that it belongs to him. “Bit of a misunderstandin’ ma’am. I do apologize. I’m happy to pay to get the lawn fixed.”

She hums, crossing her arms in front of her as she sizes Jack up.

Jack hands you his hat. “I’ll go square this away, then we’ll get you to the reception. I’ve got some groveling to do. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I’ll be right here.” You promise softly, sealing it with a kiss.

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @seasonschange-butpeopledont @kesskirata @phoenixhalliwell @dihra-vesa @vonschweetz  @insideafictionaluniverse @driedgreentomatoes @computeringturtle @spideysimpossiblegirl​ @thottiewinemom​

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

ANGEL REYES x READER ⨟ PROMPT

Anon #1 asked: heyyyy, im so happy to see that you’re back, i missed u a lot❤️ i wanted to request 52 and 71 with angel reyes

@aquamento asked: hey hey miss arizaaaa i could i request prompt random 4 and prompt fluffy 73 with angel reyes?❤️

Anon #3 asked: just saw that you’re taking prompts again !!!!!!!! yaaaaay i wanted to request 58 & 65 with angel thank youuuuuuuuuuuuu💖

Prompts:

71. “Yuw butiful”. “Are you drunk?”

52. “Let me take care of you”.

73. “Want to share an ice cream?”

4. “Where the fuck is my shirt?”

58. “It’s cold, hold me”.

65. “Read for me, I love your voice”.

Word Count: 1.4k

Author comments: This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Someone starts to hit your door angrily and with some kind of desperation, using the palm of a hand and not the knuckles. Placing the bowl of ice cream on the table, you walk towards the entrance, unlocking the door to open it. Angel is there, staggering and carrying a bottle of tequila in his right hand. He smirks at you, brushing back his hair with the ringed fingers, resting his body against the frame.

“Yuw butiful”.

His voice sounds proud, pointing you with the right forefinger, about to let the bottle fall down but holding it up masterfully before spilling it to your feet.

“Ain't gonna be a cowboy anymo'”.

“You mean… a coward?”

“Ya', that's wha' I said. A cowboy”.

“Are you drunk?”

“Who knus, querrrida?” Angel hiccups, covering his lips with a fist for a second.

“Okay, big guy… Let me take care of you, ain't gonna let you drive back home”.

“Yu ma hom, mami”.

“Sure…” Rolling your eyes, you palm his back as he comes into the house.

After closing the door, you take out of his hands the tequila, leaving it over the auxiliary table in the hall. Then, you proceed to take off the kutte, until he grabs your wrists.

“Wo, mami, tak'it'slowwww… Guv me a kiss fir—first”.

“If you don' let me go, Angel, I'll kick your ass into a cold shower”.

“Da'ya like ma ass?”

“Do you want me to call Bishop?”

“NO, NO, NO, NO. SHHHHH… no”. He places a finger on your lips, pressing them to make you shut up.

“Good. Now, give me the kutte”. You demand pulling away his hand from your face.

He obeys like the good boy he really is. Then, he takes off his boots using his heels and supporting his body against the wall. Angel is drunk. Too drunk that he can't even speak well. And looks so funny and adorable trying to flirt with you. You are finding it too difficult not to tease him, when you watch him walking, stumbling over his own feet, to the sofa before falling down on it with a heavy sigh.

Raising up both eyebrows, containing a loud laugh, you come closer palming his back.

“Hey, make me some space… You're bigger than my sofa”.

“Da'ya wanna know wha mo es' bigge?”

“Fuck, no, Angel”. You can't help but break in laughs finally, sitting in a corner of it when he decides to rest his head on your lap.

“Wha ya wa doen?”

“Watching a movie. Want to share an ice cream?” You ask, taking the bowl with both hands.

“Wa flivo?”

“Pistachio”.

“Foc is tha?”

“Ok, try it”.

You offer him the spoon right to his mouth. He licks it, like a dog, before spitting it over his shirt with a disgusted sob. You laugh again while he complains and curses in a drunk spanish, until your neighbor hits your wall.

“Di ya col Bichop?”

“No, Angel. I didn't call Bishop”. You chuckle putting down the bowl over the floor to get up. “You look like a baby”.

“I can be whatava ya wan, mami”.

“Take off your shirt, before you… stain it all”.

“Ef ya wanna see ma nakid jast tell me”.

“Por Dios, stop talking, Angel”.

“Shot ma ap”.

“Yeah, I wish I could really shoot you right now”.

Having to help him, you undress the old Reyes, throwing down the shirt. And before you can press the play to continue with the movie, he grabs your arms to hug himself with them.

“It's cold, hold me”.

You try to get comfy by lying your body down under Angel's, and resting his back on your stomach. He has his eyes closed, with his callous hands touring your knees and your legs from top to bottom. You know how drunk he is, and you're not going to take any advantage, but you like him too much just to not feel anything right now. Your fingers do their work too, watching the film oblivious on the TV, stroking his bare chest with ephemeral caresses.

Under his warm skin you can feel his heart beating quietly, just like his breath. You're not sure if he's sleeping or if he's resting his mind, but he jumps a little between your arms when your phone dings.

“Wasap? Wha's tha'? Where the fuck is ma shirt?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ…” You're laughing again, bowing on the table to take your phone.

“Who is? Ya bofren? Lemme fack hem up”.

Angel begins to throw up some punches to the air, as if he was boxing, making you frown and wrinkle the nose. Bishop is asking you if Angel is there, because he spent the night telling them that he was going to propose to you. You're blushing so fast that even the drunk man notices it.

“Tall ya bofren to fack hem, am ya bofren now”.

“Is your jefe, asking for you”.

“Read da text. Read fo me, I luv ya voice”.

“No, Angel. You should sleep”.

“Bu here with ya”.

“Angel, you weigh a lot”.

“Da'ya wan—”.

“Fuck, no. Stop”. You laugh again, trying to get up while he clings onto your body like an octopus. “Angel, please… Let me go”.

“No…” He sobs once and again, grabbing you stronger. “I came wolken from da club, don' go, plez”.

“Oh, shit… Let me… lie a little comfy at least”.

And he does. Of course he does, after walking for almost one hour to your house, even if it is no more than ten minutes away. Molding your body to his, you turn off the TV, placing your head over a cushion. You fall asleep sooner than you thought you could do it, with Angel resting peacefully on your stomach.

But when your eyes open up again, he's not there anymore. Not even his boots. Not even his kutte. For a second you think that maybe it was a dream, but your shirt smells like him too much. You sigh heavily putting your gaze on the rooftop. He was so close. So close of asking you out that it hurts a little to know that he probably won't remember what happened.

The doorbell ringing pushes you back to reality, getting up from the sofa and having to stretch your back and arms, before starting to walk towards the hall. Somewhat upset you open it, having a flashback of last night. Angel is there again, holding two cardboard glasses of coffee and a small bag.

“I think I owe you an apology”. He's trying to not sound ashamed, but he looks too adorable to think about it.

“Yeah, maybe…”

“I shouldn't have come… drunk. I just…” He purses his lips wrapped in a bundle of nerves, offering you what seems to be breakfast.

“You just what?” You ask then, holding it and leaving him enough space to come in.

“I like you”.

“Should I say that I didn't notice it?” You're holding a sarcastic laugh in your throat, closing the door and leading your feet to the living room.

Angel shakes his head following you, until he's finally in front of you again.

“Listen… I don't know what I said last night, I don't know what I did. I just… woke up without my shirt and betwe—”.

“You spit my ice cream all over your shirt like a fucking five years old eating… baby food”.

“Oh, shit…”

Now, he's more ashamed. Angel covers his face with both hands, drowning there a growl. And you can't help but break in laughs shaking your head.

“Then you… begin to… punch the air 'cause you thought my boyfriend texted me. I don' know, maybe you were feeling like the fucking Conor McGregor”.

“Oh, shit…” He repeats, looking at you between his fingers. “I'm so fucking sorry, I swear”.

“Was a… curious night. I had so much fun”.

“Fuck, I swear I'm so sorry, (Y/N). I only... remember to tell Bishop that I wanted to propose to you”.

“Yeah, he texted me. I just hope you won't do it”.

“Wh—Wha—Why?”

“Angel, the only night we have spent together, you were drunk. I'm not gonna marry you”.

“Not now, but one day”.

“Ahm… yeah, Angel. Not now”.

“But you want to marry me”.

“Maybe. One day. But we can start for a date”.

[twistedrunes]

Rec’tember Masterlist

Rec’tomber is over!

Below is a list of all the fics recommended, as you can see more than enough to keep any reader, no matter how voracious, happy for a while.  If you do read a fic and enjoy it please let the author know; kudos, like, reblog, rec and/ or comments are all greatly appreciated. 

Recs are organised as follows Fic Title (link to fic) - author - Pairing (link to review/recommendation post)

Tommy x Alfie

In The Woods Somewhere by @tinypinetrees (AO3) - Tommy x Alfie Gone Too Soon - @justanothershelby - Tommy x Alfie Bathing Suit -  (AO3) -  Tommy x Alfie In the Vault - @darkandstormyslash​  (AO3) - Tommy x Alfie Birthday greetings, bottle of wine by @fiveaceslike (AO3)- Tommy x Alfie Snow by @storamogul / Schist (AO3) - Tommy x Alfie Sideways by @mintjamsblog (AO3) - Tommy x Alfie The Wicked Way of Our World by menocchio (A03) - Alfie x Tommy Masterlist by @whentommymetalfie​ - Alfie x Tommy La petite mort - by Lairdofthelochs (AO3) - Alfie x Tommy i hide my tongue behind my teeth and buy myself a new belief - by Cunninglinguist - Tommy x Alfie Vox Audita by @bakedapplesauce​ (AO3) - Tommy x Alfie A Fleeting Dream by @vamillepudding​ (AO3) - Tommy x Alfie The Bakery by @unicornsapplesandstuff​ / annieapple24 - Tommy x Alfie Temper by @mintjamsblog​ - Tommy x Alfie This Is Not A Diary by @comebackjessica - Tommy x Alfie

Tommy

There’s A Woman - @prettieparker86 - Fem!Reader Daybreak by @tommysmutnothingbut - Tommy x Fem!Reader Preferred Pastimes by ForASecondThereWedWon (AO3) - Tommy x May Cigarette Daydreams by carrionkid (AO3) - Tommy x Freddie A Shelby Shave by Convenient Alias (AO3) - Tommy x Freddie Promises Not Kept by Jubilee44 (AO3) - Tommy x FOC The mirror has a mirror in its teeth by deadendtracks (amonitrate) (AO3) - Tommy x Lizzie Stark Home by tommysmutnothingbut (AO3) - Tommy x FOC End Of Days by  @evelynshelby - Tommy x FOC

Alfie

On the Line by @inkinterrupted - Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader Right a Wrong - @lucachangretta​​ - Alfie x FemOC New Day by @evelynshelby​ - Alfie Solomons x FOC The Bind That Ties by @cheekyblinders​ (AO3) - Alfie Solomons x FOC Masterlist by @boogiewrites​ - Alfie Solomons x FOC Blue Eyes by  Jubilee44 (AO3) - Alfie x Shelby Sister

John

Car Show - @xxdearlybeloved - John x Fem!Reader Birthday Boy - @the-blue-tiefling - Modern!John x Fem!Reader

Isaiah Jesus

Perfect - @blinder-secrets - Isaiah Jesus x fem!reader Third Times a Charm by @danceyreagan​ - Isaiah Jesus x Black!FOC

Michael Gray

Children by @angelaiswriting​ - Michael x Fem!Reader American Boy - @butiworkharder (convenience) (AO3) - Michael Gray x Bonnie Gold

Others

Slumber - @the-west-meadow - Aberama Gold x Fem!Reader Sharing Is Caring - @thepaperpanda​ - Tommy x Fem!Reader x Alfie Various - by @chellestrash​ - PB x NonBinary!Reade Out To See Again - by @hazelnmae​ - Alfie x Fem!Reader, Tommy x Fem!Reader Little Things - @collecting-stories - Finn x Fem!Reader

[cowboyshit]

La Princesse (Part Two)

I ahhh! here’s part two! I thought it would only be two parts, but I think it’s going to eventually go into a third part. no smut happens yet (sorry!), but I did decide to make jungle boy the foc’s best friend and might have hinted at a potential oc love interest for him IF I ever get the courage up to write a fic for him askjfkdfllsj hopefully I didn’t butcher any of the characters too much here!!!

Previously: part one

Ship: Chris Jericho x Sarah Rose (plus-sized FOC)

Summary: It’s been one week since Chris Jericho singled Sarah out at an AEW company party and asked if she’d let him be her sugar daddy.  One week.  That was all the time he gave her to make up her mind.  The more days pass, the more Sarah realizes she kind of really wants to say yes.. and when she does, she gets a small taste of just what Chris Jericho has in mind for her...

Rating: Mature (sexual talk / sugar daddy/sugar baby stuff)

Warnings: sugar daddy kink stuff, mainly dirty talk

Length: 4,991 words

Available below the cut

“Are you kidding me?!”  Her voice echoed around the empty, one-room studio apartment, yelled in irritated agony from her cramped adjacent bathroom.  “That’s the second time this month the hot water has gone out,” she muttered as she stumbled out of her bathroom with a large towel wrapped and secured around her, searching for where she’d set her phone.  Her large calico cat stretched and mewed softly from where it’d been lounging on the bed.  When she glanced over, she noticed her phone was lying by the cat’s side.

“Thanks Vixen,” she said, as if her cat had told her where her phone was and reached to grab it before dialing her landlord.

The phone rang.  And rang.  And rang.

No answer.

Suppressing a frustrated sigh, she kept her voice as level and calm as possible when the answering machine clicked over.  “Hi Blake, it’s Ashley.  The hot water is out again.  I’ll be leaving out of town today, back Thursday evening, so if we could get someone to come look at it before I get home, that’d be fantastic.  Thank you!” Ending the call, she groaned in irritation and sighed through her nose to settle her frayed nerves.  Getting upset about it wasn’t going to solve her problems and she had places to be.  Ice cold shower it was.

It’d been six days since Chris Jericho had cornered her at the company party and propositioned her to be her sugar daddy.  Every day since, when she came face-to-face with areas of her life that were less-than-ideal and would be easily fixed with money, his deal sounded better and better.  When she browsed social media and inevitably came across a post about him, she’d pause and eventually catch herself staring at him for a little too long.  All in all, the closer Wednesday drew, the more she began to realize she was considering accepting his offer.

She assumed he was only going to have her as his arm candy behind-the-scenes and couldn’t see him wanting to parade her out every time he had a show.  She’d been a bigger sized girl her entire life, bullied in school, bullied at home, and shunned from social events just because she wasn’t the “ideal size” by society’s skewed, incorrect standards.  Sure, the world was changing, growing, a body positive movement was on the rise, but there were still leaps and bounds to make.  She’d only just begun to respect her body herself and still stumbled from time to time, catching old, hurtful thoughts returning, but she supposed it was all a learning process.  All that aside, this was Chris Jericho.  He wouldn’t want a fat girl on his arm as a sign of status, right?  This would probably just be a fun, private thing.

Her heart sunk a little bit and she took a breath to steel herself against the disappointment.  Shaking her head, she glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror and rolled her eyes.

“You’re letting old insecurities get the best of you,” she reminded herself.  Besides, the point wasn’t whether or not he wanted to show her off. The point was that Chris Jericho confessed not only that he’d been watching her behind the scenes and not only that he thought she was beautiful, but that he wanted her.  He wanted to shower her in gifts his wealth and status could bring.  He wanted to spoil her.  All he asked in return was her dutiful obedience and her returned affections.  Which wasn’t a downside in the slightest, considering she was attracted to him.

She looked around her small studio apartment and met the green-yellow eyes of her cat, who softly meowed at her.  “We wouldn’t be heartbroken to leave this place behind, would we baby?” She asked as she moved to scoop her kitty up into her arms and scratched her affectionately behind the ears and under her chin.  “I’ll be back Thursday night,” she pressed a sweet kiss on her forehead, “you be good for the sitter.”

Goodbyes given, dressed and showered, she gathered her small carry-on and caught a rideshare to the airport.  Having to fly practically every week got her used to the hassle quickly, making most airports less intimidating than they’d originally seemed. Plus, since her best friend lived nearby, she often got lucky enough to fly to the shows along with him.

“Sarah! Hey!” Right on cue, a soft, warm male voice beckoned, raising just loud enough for her to catch it above the background chatter of the airport terminal.

“Jack!” She grinned as she caught sight of the slender, fit young athlete with the luscious, long tumble of soft, curly hair.  Jungle Boy Jack Perry was a few years younger than she was and the two had become surprisingly quick friends.  Surprising on Sarah’s part because she hadn’t expected to consider herself friends with any of the talent on the roster.  Jungle Boy was humble though, and down to earth.  Sweet, and caring.  She appreciated his friendship more than ever as well as his advice whenever she was faced with a problem in her life.

She hadn’t told him about Jericho’s offer yet… she didn’t think he’d be so interested in the idea as she was.  Not that she and Jungle Boy were anything romantic – they’d probably both laugh at anyone who suggested it – but because he didn’t trust Chris Jericho as far as he could throw him, and he wouldn’t want Sarah getting mixed up with the likes of the Inner Circle.

“Always love it when we get the same flight,” he said after a quick hug, then raised an eyebrow pointedly at the ticket in her hand. “I’ll like it even better if you tell me you’re sitting with me.”

Sarah looked at her ticket and read her seat number aloud.

A grin lit up Jungle Boy’s gentle, youthful face.  “Perfect! I’m next to you and Marko’s next to me. We’ve got the row.  Come on, we’re waiting over here.”

Jungle Boy reached with his long arms, fingers scooping the handle of her carry on and tugging it out of her grasp before she could say a word.  He led her toward the waiting area in front of the gate which was still only half-crowded and sure to gain numbers the closer that loading time came.  Marko glanced up from his phone as they neared, his voluminous mane of curly hair barely contained by the baseball cap he wore backwards on his head. His grin picked up bright, showing all his teeth, and Sarah found it infectious as always, smiling back.

“Sarah!  It’s been forever!”

“It’s only been a week, Marko,” she said with a laugh as she lowered to the seat beside him.

“Oh yeah!” He laughed and went back to typing on his phone.

Immediately, naturally, Sarah cheated her body toward Jungle Boy as he turned toward her.  They started talking, mostly about their day since they texted or talked on the phone or met up and hung out occasionally throughout the week.  When she’d first started in AEW as backstage personnel she’d felt completely out of her element and sure someone was going to point a finger in her face and tell her she didn’t belong, but Jungle Boy never did that.  When she confessed to him that she had pipe dreams about being a wrestler, he’d been encouraging.

And still was.  She hadn’t taken the jump yet to try and pursue that avenue, even though she was lucky to have so many chances at her fingertips.  Jungle Boy didn’t press, but he constantly reminded her of how important it was to follow your dreams, no matter what.

They were called for boarding and as they shuffled through the loading ramp to the airplane, Marko elbowed Jungle Boy in the ribs and jerked his head toward her.  Sarah caught it out of the corner of her eye, but it was clear she wasn’t supposed to.  They were exchanging looks, communicating without talking, Jungle Boy frowning and shaking his head as he motioned for Marko to stop, and Marko nodding encouragingly and lifting his brows higher.

“Uh, guys?  What sort of super-secret meeting are you two having?”

Jungle Boy jumped a little in place at having been caught and a sheepish expression crossed his sweet face as he looked at her and then down at the ground, readjusting his grip on the handle of his rolling carry-on.  Marko, on the other hand, didn’t look too upset at having been caught. His blue eyes jumped between them, back and forth and back and forth, and he raised an elbow and jabbed Jungle Boy again.

“Someone’s got to talk, otherwise this is going to be a long plane ride,” she said as they shifted closer to loading.

“Let’s talk after,” Jungle Boy suggested, his deep voice ever calm, but when Sarah met his eyes she saw something that gave her pause. Worry twisted in her belly. Jungle Boy said nothing, but reached between them and gently wrapped his long, artful fingers around hers. He gave a comforting squeeze and separated their hands.

The flight was only a couple hours, but Sarah spent the entirety of it wondering what on earth Jungle Boy wanted to say to her. And why did Marko know? Was Jungle Boy… into her beyond their friendship?  Never in a million years would she have the thought that he could want their relationship to be romantic, and nearly laughed the thought off. But you never thought Chris Jericho would look twice at you, did you?  Sarah frowned and pretended to be interested in the in-flight film, but she hadn’t been able to pay attention to it the entire time and still couldn’t, too caught up in the thoughts running through her mind.

She hoped that wasn’t it. It wasn’t any fault of his, he was handsome and sweet and charming… but he wasn’t her type.

They shared a ride to the hotel and had just checked in when Marko noticed a fellow roster-member loitering in the lobby. “Sammy!” He shouted, grin spreading with imp-like delight over his face as he ducked through the crowd, quick, and went for the phone Sammy Guevara was using to record his YouTube vlog with.  Sammy shouted as Marko snatched it out of his hands, and the shenanigans were on. The two sped off into the crowd, chasing one another, and Sarah grinned and shook her head. Boys.  

After realizing their rooms were near one another’s, Sarah and Jungle Boy started for the elevators. He still hadn’t started talking and she was too nervous about it to prompt him.  The tension between them on the elevator was thick enough to cut with a knife.  They’d never been like this before… Sarah was worried. Maybe she should be the one to start, to rip the band aid off and just get it all out in the open.  The doors opened, and they stepped calmly out into the hallway, beginning to walk toward their rooms. Hers came up first and they came to a stop.  Sarah drew in a heavy breath and turned toward Jungle Boy.

“Why were you with Jericho?” He said it softly, but it was loud enough. Sarah stared, still open-mouthed, and slowly closed her lips.  Jungle Boy’s brows dipped, and his eyes lifted to her face. He looked… concerned. Not angry. Not jealous.  Worried.

“When?” She said like an idiot, her brain still scrambling through the fact that Jungle Boy had seen her with Jericho when he proposed the idea she be his sugar baby.  How much had he seen?  Had he seen Jericho tilt the glass and gently pour expensive champagne past her lips?  Had he seen Jericho pull her in close as he leaned forward and leave a sweet, lingering kiss against them?

“At the party. Last week.”  He said it calmly, but with a rising edge to his tone. Don’t play dumb and innocent with me, Sarah Rose. I know you too well.

“Oh...I…” her face was getting hot. Damnit! She was always so susceptible to blushing, and remembering that intimate, shared moment with Jericho struck energy in her veins and made her heartbeat quicken.

“Look, Sarah…” Jungle Boy started, one hand on his luggage, the other pinching the slender dip of his hip, “I care about you, okay? I’m not going to sit here and tell you who to talk to and who not to talk to, but Jericho…” he trailed off for a minute in thought and shook his head, brow pinching in as his dark, worried eyes returned to hers.  “I just don’t think he’s a good person. I don’t think he’d really care about you.”  Her initial worry about not telling him for that very reason (that he mistrusted Jericho) had been right.  He and Jericho had their own slowly-brewing rivalry, after all.

Still, his concern touched her. Would it be different if he knew the truth? 

“Jack…” she glanced around and knew they might run into another familiar face or be overheard. “Come on,” she jerked her chin toward her hotel door and pulled the keycard free, swiping and unlocking it.  They walked in and she set her bag by the bed before lowering to sit on its edge. Jungle Boy leaned on the entertainment center in front of her, arms crossed over his slim but muscular chest.

“Chris Jericho isn’t going to be my boyfriend.”

He looked a little relieved but could read her and knew by her tone and expression that there was more coming.

“He… look, this is probably going to sound crazy, okay, but… hear me out.  He asked me if he could be my sugar daddy.”

Jungle Boy’s brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead, and then fell and pinched hard inward. 

“I know, I know. I couldn’t believe it either.  I mean,” she frowned and glanced down her front, seeing her belly protruding with how she sat.  “I’m not exactly sugar baby material for Chris freaking Jericho, you know?” She laughed, intending it to come across as a joke. A natural defense mechanism. Make the joke about yourself before someone can make it about you. She still hadn’t quite outgrown that gut reaction, even in Jungle Boy’s presence, who constantly chided her any time she said anything negative about herself. Even now, amid this new revelation, her self-deprecating comment had a stern frown from him thrown briefly her way.

“I haven’t given him an answer yet.” She said.

“And when you do? What are you going to say?”

She hesitated, gently pinching her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought. But it wasn’t her answer she was thinking so hard about. She was worried what Jungle Boy was going to say and how he was going to look at her if she told the truth.

“I think…” she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I think I might say yes?  I know it’s crazy, but I could really use the financial help, and… you know me well enough by now to know I like my men to be older. I dunno… it might be fun to just live a little, and I’ve never really been anyone’s first choice, romantically, especially not someone as in the celebrity spotlight as him.  It makes me feel…” she was bright red, but forced the word out, “sexy. It’s not like we’re going to fall in love or anything serious. It just makes me feel good that I have a multimillionaire who wants to spoil me and give me pretty things and have some fun with.  I’ve never had anything like that before, you know?”

Sarah trailed off, quiet, and swore she could hear the heavy beats of her heart as she waited for what he was going to say.  He sighed a long, low breath and reached up, pushing his long, thick curls out of his face.

“I get it… kind of. I mean, I don’t, but I’m… trying to.”  He looked at her and she saw the confliction written clear as day across her face.  “Just… promise me if it starts to go sour or he isn’t treating you fair, you aren’t going to keep it from me? Just… be safe, Rose. That’s all I’m saying.”  She could tell he didn’t like it, not one bit, but what could she expect? He already told her he didn’t like Jericho, so she couldn’t think he’d suddenly get over it and cheer for her. But… it meant something that his only worry remained for her. That he wasn’t going to tell her what to do or what not to do, even if he didn’t like it himself. He just wanted her to be safe.

Sarah smiled, standing from the bed and walking over to him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest.  He sighed the tension from his body after a lingering second, then reached with his long arms to gently wrap around her and hold her against him.

“I’ll be safe.” She promised and felt a little giddy.  Saying it all out loud somehow made it more real. Like it wasn’t some fantasy in her mind. It was concrete. Factual. Tomorrow she’d be one-on-one with Chris Jericho, telling him she wanted to be his sugar baby and he, her sugar daddy.

“Alright,” he said, his chest rumbling gently with that smooth, low voice of his.  His arms squeezed a little harder for a second, then released their tension.  They stepped apart but remained close.  “And if he ever hurts you, Sarah, or tries to make you do something you don’t want to…” something crept in the underbelly of his voice – the hero’s tone – and he pulled her back, so his eyes could squarely meet hers, “you’re not going to keep it from me.  Me, Luchasaurus, and Marko… we’ll always have your back.”

Sarah doubted a man who was ready to spoil her was going to cause her harm, but she reminded herself Jungle Boy saw someone far different than she did when he looked at the likes of Chris Jericho.  The fact that he wasn’t making her feel bad for considering going for it and only making sure that she knew she had an out if things went sideways was what was most important.  So, Sarah held her tongue and didn’t argue or try and point out that Jericho could be different than what he thought he knew.  She smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“Thank you, Jack.  I don’t know what I used to do without you.”

His grin pushed higher into one side of his cheek than the other. 

 “Hey, by the way,” she kept her tone lofty as she released his hand and turned to start unpacking her suitcase, “I heard Valentina was going to be at the show tonight.”

There was a small stumble behind her, and Sarah bit down on her smile to keep it from spreading as she glanced over at him.  He tried to play cool, but she had always had a feeling he liked the little spit-fire independent wrestler.  Valentina hadn’t been signed to the AEW roster yet, but word was tonight was her try-out with the audience.  She’d have a match that’d air on Dark next week and they’d see how receptive everyone was to her.  Sarah had a feeling she was going to have an AEW contract in front of her before long… and it’d be fun to tease Jungle Boy about how bashful and tongue-tied he got around her.  

“Just thought you’d like to know.”  Sarah said with obviously feigned innocence in her voice and grinned over at Jungle Boy, who frowned and tried his very best to pretend he wasn’t personally interested.

“Oh, uh, that’s good for her…” His voice trailed, and he frowned and nodded. “I’m sure she’ll do well.”  He was doing his best, but Sarah was struggling to fight the smile from spreading across her face, clearly seeing how affected he was by just a mention of her. Sarah couldn’t believe she’d actually been afraid his feelings had gone romantic for her.

“Yeah,” she agreed, calming her grin as best she could. “Good for her.”

*****

“There you are.”

Everything inside her body seized and twisted tight.  Butterflies in her stomach.  The voice had come from behind her, and she’d been bent, reaching to fix where the cords had been taped to the ground.  A glance over her shoulder at him as she stood showed Jericho with his head tilted, eyes peering over his sunglasses as he appreciated her large ass bent toward him.  On the shoulder of his flashy, sequined suit jacket he held the beautiful AEW World Champion belt. For a second her eyes were stuck on it and the way it glittered like stars, even under the unflattering fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

Then she looked at him.  She’d turned to face him and felt entirely underdressed for the moment in her company t-shirt, a pair of worn jeans, and tennis shoes.  Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she hadn’t bothered wearing make-up. Sometimes she needed to run around backstage or jump in and help move something heavy, and she could work up a sweat.  Her job didn’t require her to look glamorous, though she’d thought about it that night, knowing Jericho would be coming to her before the show.

Damnit… she should have put some on.  What if he changed his mind?

In contrast to her, Jericho was ready for the spotlight as ever.  His long blond and peppered white hair was tied neatly back, not a strand out of place.  He must’ve shaved before coming to the convention center, because his face was smooth, without even a hint of a five o’clock shadow.  He had on a sequined black suit jacket, no shirt underneath, and it gave a peek of his aged, but sturdy, strong chest underneath.  Sarah swallowed her nerves down and met his eyes as he slowly pulled the sunglasses off his face.

Jericho leaned in and, gripping her gently on the elbow, turned her this way and that so he could lay a sweet, fondly lingering kiss to either side of her cheeks.  Sarah could feel how warm her cheeks had gotten when he moved back and saw the way his grin deepened as he noticed it too.  She was blushing beneath his stare, her heart beating quickly beneath his all-knowing stare.  He knew how much he affected her, and he seemed to like it.

“Did you consider my offer, baby girl?”  He reached lazily and brushed a strand of her hair back over her shoulder.  His eyes met hers.

This was it.  Sarah was going to tell Chris Jericho she wanted to be his sugar baby.

“Yes,” she squeaked and cleared her throat, floundering shyly beneath his steady, amused stare.

“And?”  His pupils jumped, studying her.  Was he… actually nervous she’d say no?  Was Chris Jericho worried that she wouldn’t want him?

“I… want to.”  She whispered it, couldn’t say it too loud, but she managed to push the words out somehow.

A smile spread over his face as he pushed his sunglasses up into his hair.  It was that same celebratory grin he wore whenever the world was turning in his favor; when thousands upon thousands of people chanted the phrases he spoke.  “Ohhh princess,” he chuckled breathy in a lower tone, licking his lips and letting his eyes drop purposely slow down every round curve of her body.  He leaned in, careful not to bump her into the world championship belt, and lowered his mouth softly against hers.  Sarah found herself naturally pressing up on her toes so she could deepen their kiss, pursing her lips.  Jericho pushed his tongue along hers and groaned as he did.  The sound of it rumbling in his throat tightened the muscles in her lower abdomen and made her shift her weight, pressing and squishing the fat of her thighs together.

“Heh,” he pulled away slowly and stared down at her.  His fingers slipped up and down the back of her arm, raising goosebumps where he touched.  As if unable to keep himself from her, Jericho leaned in again, one hand steadying the belt and keeping it on his shoulder as he pressed his nose into her hair and littered quick, soft teasing kisses warmly on the sensitive skin of her neck.  He spoke low, whispering promises as his free hand pinched into the fat over her hip.  “Mmm baby… daddy can’t wait to spoil you… I’m going to buy you the world.”

“God…” she whimpered, eyes wanting to roll.  Her fingers bent at her sides, desperate to touch him, to grab him and pull her hard against her.  She refrained, but just barely.  This was pornographic perfection and they hadn’t even done anything yet. It had to be some sort of dream or something, because real life couldn’t be like this.

“You can just call me daddy, princess.  No need to call me a god.”  He said as he pulled away from her, mouth spread in that trademark conceited grin of his.  It was the one that said he knew exactly what a shit he was being.  It was the one that said he knew he could get away with being a shit because he was who he was.  “Now,” he said, straightening and shifting the weight of the belt more comfortable on his shoulder.  He wore the strap with such comfortability, like an extension of his arm.  A piece of himself.  “We need to get you to wardrobe and make-up.  Come on.”

Jericho turned, hand settling on her arm, fingers gently pinching her arm.  He guided her alongside him and didn’t break stride, even when her confusion caused her to stumble a bit.

“Wait- Wardrobe?  Make-up?  Why?”

“Baby,” Jericho tilted his head and glanced down at her, sunglasses still pushed up into his hair so his blue eyes could be hers. “You’ve got new status now and daddy wants to make sure the whole world knows it.  You can’t come out with me and the Inner Circle in your company clothes.”

“C-come out with you?  Like… on live… television?”

“Princess,” he laughed gently, not mocking, “if you really don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do - hey-” he reached out and stopped her in the hallway, turning to face her. “I need you to understand sweetheart… anything that makes you uncomfortable, you need to tell me, okay? I want to show you off, but if you don’t like that, you don’t have to.”

Sarah barely felt like she could breathe for a minute, touched by the concern written sincere across his face.  She hadn’t… expected that. But then again, he was so good to those who were closest to him, should she be so surprised?  She was, essentially, a part of Jericho’s Inner Circle now, and she saw how much he touted the greatness he saw in every member of his faction.

“I… want to.”  She decided, nodding and looking up at him, nervous but excited smile pushing into her soft, round cheeks.

He lit up with what appeared to be genuine happiness, and Sarah’s heart lifted.  She had a feeling being his sugar baby wasn’t going to be hard at all, because she genuinely enjoyed doing things that made him happy.  She liked to think of herself as the one person Chris Jericho wanted enough and cared for enough that it’d keep his eyes and make him want to spend what he earned on her.  Only the best for a man like Chris Jericho, and he wanted her.

“Then come on princess, let’s get a taste of all the ways daddy is going to spoil you.”  He said, playfully slipping his fingers down the large curve of her ass and pinching into the ample fat there.  She squeaked in surprise and jumped a little, making him laugh and smacked his palm against it.  The clap bounced around the narrow cement walls of the hallway as he rubbed his hand gently over where it’d stung.  His fingers curled and squeezed into the fat and then released, finally pulling away.

“Daddy’s going to have so much fun with you,” he said with a chuckle, “I’m having trouble keeping my hands off you”

She ducked her head, cheeks warming again, and laughed.  Her dazed gaze reached his handsome profile. “I can’t wait until you don’t have to keep them off me, daddy.” She managed to say it, though it took a second longer than a natural flow to a conversation.  He didn’t seem to mind the hesitation, eyes jerking to her face and smile twitching over his lips. To hear her call him daddy seemed to have an instant effect, a damn near magnetized pull. 

“This is going to be the longest show of my whole damn career, isn’t it?” He asked as they neared the doorway with the printed paper sign slipped in a clear plastic sheet protector that read: WARDROBE.  He reached for the door handle and ran his eyes shamelessly again up and down her curved figure.  “All I’m going to be thinking about tonight is all the ways I’m going to get you to say, ‘thank you daddy’ afterwards and how many times I’m going to get you to say it.”

She couldn’t find sense to respond - she was breathless, dizzy, mind running wild with all the dirty thoughts he must have in mind and how badly she wanted him - he winked and pushed the door handle open, holding it for her before he nodded for her to step inside.  “Come on princess, let’s get you ready. Daddy wants to show his sugar baby off to the whole damn world.”