#i could edit my fic because it's done i just need edits but i'm

[just-slightly-chayotic]

the fact that i can't go through airport security with all my jewellery on is homophobic actually

[luna-loveboop]

Legend sick fics you say 👀

Well I don’t think I remember too many sick fics off the top of my head but weathered and wavering by Quirkle is very good.

Once you have a collection please do share with the class 🫶

Hehe yeah. Here is the original post about Legend sick fics. I got a lot of recommendations in the replies and reblogs that are so cool- seriously I read a ton of them and you guys are so awesome (/gen)

@uniquevoidflowers wrote this fic for me which is amazing of course- it has some of the coolest imagery with a flower thermometer which makes me very happy

Pretty much all of @skyward-floored 's sick fics are awesome, including this legend one that was instantly recommended to me by quite a lot of people lol (since it was posted very recently) (go read it)

Fill the cracks with gold by @sister-dear was so fun to read, it might be one of my favourites for Four

I loved Hiding behind plaster and ceramics by @occasionallyprosie -it had a lot of takes I hadn't seen before and was also very good writing

@arecaceae175 recommended down, a nine chapter sickfic that is really good, I loved reading it.

There's a lot of other ones, and most of them are in the notes of the post I made:

@the-au-collector made this reblog with a ton of good recommendations, and @hero-of-the-wolf reblogged with one I liked. Idk if the links can work like that but we'll find out

And my wisdom tooth surgery went well :D I've stayed off the internet for a bit of recovery. I'm good I'm just not doing too much interacting when I'm tired *shrug*. I was scared because my health is always so bad but it was ok. :))) I have definitely spent a lot of time reading- I knew it was a good idea to ask for sick fics for surgery week XD

So that's the lovely list of sick fics I've been reading- for when you get your wisdom teeth out. Or you're not feeling well, or you just feel like reading. Anyways.

Also my mind is still pretty tired right now but I wanted to answer this- I hope it's ok for everyone I tagged, and my phrasing and language isn't good right now, sorry. Love you guys /plat <333

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[2neaky]

𓇼°₊.𝚃𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 ❀ 𝙵𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝 🥭

—Want you to suck it sloppy, make it spitty. I'm 'bout to call your phone, so come get with me.

Know you don't drink, can you sip me?

‘Dunk Contest,’ Cash Cobain

Last Installation of this ‘mini-series’ … P.1 here -> P.2 here

not the best editing, i know. this fic has been in the drafts for abt a month & ... it's time for their story to be closed out.

10.06k!Warnings: oral (masc. receiving), handj*bs (fem. & masc. recieving), mutual m*sturbation, filthy talk, *verstimulation, low refr*ctory periods, technically w*tersports (minor), edging, excessive amounts of ej*culation, squ*rting, descriptions of character’s body parts (curvaceous/thick/girthy), use of the n-word (all characters & the writer are Black), original characters

The next time the group gets together it’s well into the fall. 

Months of distance and busy schedules kept the friends separate. Yet, on a random weekend in October, the stars aligned to grant the friends a day of freedom to meet and catch up.

He won’t admit it aloud—that’s a bit too corny for him—but Ajani missed his people. The life of a working adult only gives but so much time for social gatherings. Especially with a whole friend-group.

Even then, it’s not like he hasn’t seen any of them since the party.

“I’on understand why you couldn’t just ride with me.”

“All my stuff is at my mom’s, ‘Jani.”

If he just closes his eyes, he can see the pout on her face. He glances at the screen, eyeing the contact name: Princxss Dia.

“Really? ‘Cause I almost tripped over your flat iron when I was getting in the shower.”

She groans out loud into the mic. “I knew I left it!”

He smiles, eyes now on the road as he makes a swift turn onto a busy street. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles upon seeing the traffic.

“But if I came with you … then they’d know.”

He kisses his teeth, face screwing up. “Man, I care less and less ‘bout that shit every day. I’m pretty sure they know—“

“‘Pretty sure’ is not a confirmation. And I wanna make sure the time is right when we tell them.”

He spots a parking space in front of the restaurant Boku had chosen for the night. No doubt, he’s going to snatch that shit up.

“Why shit gotta be ‘perfect?’” he asks, looking at his rear view camera as he backs into the space.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. He can hear her moving around on the other side of the line. “I’m trying to … figure out a way to introduce it without … making everything weird,” she sighs out.

“How ‘bout, ‘hey guys, me and Ajani have been dating for a few months now,’” he mocks her voice.

“No.”

He sucks his teeth. “Why not?”

“That’s too blunt!”

“Exactly. What more is there to say? You wanna tell them the whole backstory? ‘Cause I’on really think they need to know that.”

“I’m not saying they do. I just think we need to … soften the approach.”

He puts his car in park before shutting it off, the engine dying down. “I’on know … what approach you talking ‘bout, but when you ready to stop hiding, you lemme know so I could book my appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I wanted to get your name tatted on my forehead.”

“ … Shut up.”

He laughs quietly to himself as he pulls down his sun visor. “You almost ready,” he asks, checking his appearance in the mirror.

It’s quiet for a couple of seconds. “No.”

His smile drops and he kisses his teeth. A second passes as he glares at the phone. Then, he picks it up. “Yo, answer my FaceTime.”

The mode of the call switches, bringing both of them into view on either’s screen. He licks his lips, getting a clear view of her pretty face as her phone is propped up against her vanity.

“Why you only got your makeup done?”

She frowns, setting powder decorating her face. “Because I did my hair first. It’s hair, makeup, then clothes.”

He only releases a sigh, unable to even be really upset.

“Aight, then hurry up. I told you we gonna have to work on that late shit.”

She smiles, reaching for a brush to dust off the powder. “Sorry, baby.”

He hums, eyeing her as he holds his phone closely. “You look good.”

She exchanges her brush for a lip pencil. “Thank you.” She tries not to smile too hard, careful not to mess up as she applies her liner.

“What you wearing?”

She blends out the harsh line of her dark brown liner with a finger. “A dress.”

He waits for her to explain further, but the explanation doesn’t come. “That’s it?”

“Mhm.” She quickly glances at the screen, looking away before she cracks a smile.

“Can I see it?”

“Nope.”

Now she’s smiling, a devious little one, too.

“Yeah, okay,” he scoffs. “You just make sure it’s no crazy ass shit. You know how Big Daddy gets.”

Her head jerks back as she looks at the screen, flabbergasted. “Don’t ever in your life … call yourself that again.”

“You just make sure you know,” he pushes before breaking into a smile, almost laughing. “But nah, forreal. That ass ain’t been getting smaller so … keep it cute.”

She rolls her eyes with pursed lips. “Shut up.”

He scoffs, looking out the window of his car. “Yeah … you think I’m joking.” He scoffs.

“Are you?”

He looks back at her, noting her nonchalance as she applies gloss over her lip combo.

“Play with me if you want to.” He licks his lips. His gaze falls to the exposed middle of her chest as her robe has slipped open. “I’on need niggas eyeing my shit.”

“Okay, Ajani.”

“Nah, it’s not Ajani,” he mocks her voice, earning a glare. “That’s Big Daddy to you—“

“I’m hanging up!”

She reaches forward, snatching up her phone.

“Don’t you wear nothing crazy!”

“Bye!”

The call ends abruptly, leaving him to shake his head. Not too long after pocketing his phone, he leaves the car. 

The only thing that’s on his mind being her.

Just before he enters the restaurant, he shoots her one last text.

Jani: lmk when u ready Ima call a uber

His face almost splits in half with how hard he smiles as he daps up his boys.

“Finally, nigga! We expected your ass to be here sooner,” Boku tells him.

“Chill, it was mad traffic,” he laughs. 

“Nah, facts. It’s mad people out tonight,” Mykel says.

The three are huddled close in the waiting area of the restaurant. All of the constant shifting to make way for entering and leaving patrons has pushed them to the corner.

“Forreal. Yo, why you pick this place?” Ajani looks to Boku. “I seen this shit blow up on TikTok.”

“Nigga, that’s where I got it from.”

All three dissolve into boisterous laughter, because Boku would be the one to make such a mistake.

Mykel shakes his head. “I’m already knowing the food and service ‘bout to be ass.”

“Nah, facts,” Ajani agrees.

“Aight, now. Not too much,” Boku chimes in. “‘Long as the drinks good, I could give less of a fuck about what they onion rings taste like.”

He and Mykel break off into a mini side conversation of their own, a usual occurrence between all three of them.

As they do so, Ajani pulls out his phone to check his notifications. Even though he doesn’t see one, he constantly refreshes the screen for a possible hidden text message that he just happened to miss.

None.

“‘Jani, you know where the girls at?”

Hesitantly, he looks up at the guys. “Nah,” he shakes his head, face blank. “Why would I know?” He makes a face.

“I’on know,” Mykel looks off to the side. “I thought Diamanté would’a told you something.”

“Why it gotta be Dia?”

“Nigga, don’t act dumb,” Boku butts in. “‘Cause y’all be talking.”

“I talk to Aleya and Sevyn, too.” When he laughs—the loud music masking its awkward tone—his eyes shift between his friends. 

“Not like you talk to Dia,” he scoffs. “That’s for damn sure.”

Sucking his teeth, Ajani wear a mask of confusion. “Nigga, shut up. You still on that shit—“

“‘Cause I know your ass still likes her!”

“Yo, I’m not even gonna lie,” Mykel starts. “I’ma have to side with Bo’ on this one. You might as well tell her at this point.”

His face contorts with annoyance. 

Nigga, shut up.

“That’s if he not already fucking her,” Boku laughs.

His brows pull together at Boku’s brash statement. “Yo, what?” 

Mykel rolls his lips inward, watching the two with caution. He questions, should he step in between this?

“Nah, I’m just saying! You’on gotta be embarrassed—”

“I ain’t embarrassed, nigga. There’s not shit to say, fuck I’ma be embarrassed for?”

Boku laughs, glancing at Mykel for backup. The other man remains quiet.

“Aight, then stand on it! Just say you fuckin’ her—“

Ajani doesn’t even realize that he takes a step forward. “Yo, shut the fuck up talking ‘bout her like that—“

“Alright, chill out now.” Mykel steps between them, placing a hand in front of Ajani to keep him back. 

Boku pulls his brows together. “Yo, wassup with you?”

“Ain’t shit up with nothing, you just make sure you keep shit respectful.” The scowl on his lips only deepens.

Boku raises his hands in defense. “My fault, bro. I wasn’t tryna offend—”

“Yeah, that’s ’cause you just open your mouth to say bullshit.” Ajani backs up the more Mykel pushes against him. “Like she not your fuckin’ friend, too, my nigga. What?”

“You good, bro. You good,” Mykel tells him. “Relax.”

“Just fuckin’ talkin’,” he rambles.

Before he can acknowledge the apology, his phone buzzes in his hand. Fully stepping away from them, Ajani checks his messages.

Princxss Dia: I’m ready

He wastes no time to order Diamanté’s Uber ride. 

With the distance between them and the Lou music playing overhead, it’s hard for him to hear. He knows Mykel and Boku are talking about him.

He refrains from even thinking much about it, though. Because just talking to Diamanté is putting him in a better mood.

Jani: its coming in 5 min

*screenshot of the Uber order*

Princxss Dia: tyy daddy🤗

Jani: 🙄

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: send me a picture

I wanna c u

Princxss Dia: it’s gonna ruin the surprise

Jani: surprise 

🤨

Princxss Dia: 💀

Jani: stop playing Dia

read

Thankfully, Aleya and Sevyn arrive not too long after. Their presences lighten the atmosphere considerably. 

Especially when Sevyn and Boku fall into conversation—a playful argument as usual about some dumb shit.

“Oh my God, I miss Dia’,” Aleya pouts. “Where is she?” She does a full-body turn, looking to Ajani.

Boku keeps quiet this time.

The question garners attention from the others within the group, who are now curious of his answer.

He kisses his teeth. “Why yall not asking her? Damn, what the fuck?”

Sevyn’s face screws up as her neck jerks back. “Nigga, calm the fuck down.”

“Right,” Aleya eyes him as her lips twist into an ugly scowl. “I just thought you’d know since y’all seem to be close.”

Sevyn hums in agreement. “Real close.”

Now, he’s making a face. “What that mea—“

“Hi guys!”

The much softer voice breaks the conversation, catching everyone’s attention. 

Walking towards them, Diamanté’s bright smile lights up the dimly lit space. 

Her straightened, black hair flows down her back. Being pulled back, it leaves her entire outfit exposed: a simple black Skims dress, flowing to her ankles.

The classy, white Hermes slides on her feet show off her white French toes. A small white crossbody purse ties the dress with the shoes.

Yeah, she’s cute and all—Ajani would never deny her that. But even underneath the restaurant’s dim, multicolored lighting, he can see every detail of her body “hiding” beneath the thin, ribbed fabric.

Down to her fucking belly piercing.

His eyes flick up to look into hers. He’s staring hard.

“Finally!” Aleya screams.

She runs to meet the short woman halfway, throwing her arms around her. Sevyn is right behind her, doing the same.

The women hug each other and their bodies sway like palm trees in the wind. Ajani’s happy for them—Diamanté, at least. It’s been so long since she’s seen them.

However, the happiness is short lived.

Others seem to be enjoying the women’s show happiness, too. Ajani looks over them, catching a small group of guys watching them.

What hint of a smile that was on his face shrinks immediately.

“I missed you guys,” Dia tells them as she pulls back, covering her mouth.

“We need to go out more,” Sevyn says. “‘Cause not seeing each other for this long is fucking ridiculous.”

“I know,” she pouts.

“Girl, you look so fucking good—” A sharp gasp slices through Aleya’s sentence. She reaches out to grab Dia’s arm, pulling her forward to peer down her back. “Girl, your ass!”

Looking too, Sevyn’s mouth drops in shock. “Damn, bitch!” 

Diamanté only laughs as she looks between her friends.

“It looks so fucking big,” Aleya says in awe. She looks over at Sevyn. “No, like deadass. Like it looks bigger.”

“How she get more ass and mine getting flatter?” Sevyn jokes.

“Drop the routine!” Aleya reaches behind Diamanté, grabbing a good handful of her ass. She sticks out her tongue.

Diamanté only laughs harder.

“Fuck a routine,” Sevyn declares. “Who you been fucking?” The interrogative expression on her face is intense.

“Oh my God,” she says, hand over her mouth as her smile only grows.

“It’s so heavy,” Aleya says in amazement, using both hands to lift her ass. Squeezing tightly, the dimpled skin can be seen through the fabric. “I can’t even hold it all, what the fuck!”

As the girls continue to laugh, Ajani only continues to watch the leering men. 

It takes everything in him not to go towards the women and tell them to stop.

Playfully, Diamanté rolls her eyes. “You guys are chatting.”

“No, girl. Your shit is mad fat, like what the fuck?”

“Okay, okay,” Diamanté says. “Can we sit now?”

Sevyn purses her lips, eyeing her friend. “Mhm. Look at you, you just so tea. Like you come up in here glowing, ass fatter, face card on 10, inches—you just showing out tonight!”

“Facts,” Aleya agrees.

Finally, they return to the other half of the group. Diamanté breaks away from her girls to greet the guys.

“Wassup, Dia,” Mykel gives her a side hug.

“Hey,” she sings.

She pulls away to give Boku the same embrace.

“Hey, Dia.”

“Hi, Boku,” she smiles.

Boku and Ajani make eye contact for a split second. Quickly, Boku looks away just before pulling back.

Ajani doesn’t get the chance to really mug that nigga how he wants to as Diamanté makes her way over to him.

“Hiii,” her voice is much softer.

She’s trying to fight back a smile, he can tell. But, it’s too cute as her teeth slowly come into full display.

The corners of his mouth lift uncontrollably. “Hey.”

Wordlessly, she steps into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. His arms circle around her waist, pulling her body closer.

“Why you ain’t text me when you got here?” 

His chest vibrates with each word. She can even hear the smile in his voice.

“I forgot.”

“Would’a came out and got you.”

She pulls away with a laugh, careful to keep their interaction brief enough so that they don’t get their friends started.

“Damn, Ajani. She wasn’t going nowhere.”

Clearly, that didn’t work.

His smile drops as his eyes flit over to Aleya, who wears a smug grin on her lips.

“Aight, now that all y’all niggas is here, I’ma see if we could check in for the table,” Boku announces.

He parts from the group to make his way to the hostess’ booth.

Conversation between the remaining five is quite mellow. Ajani finds himself standing back, only admiring Diamanté as she speaks.

Even when she’s quiet, he’s paying close attention to her body language and the way she reacts to things said.

“Let’s go,” Boku says as he rejoins the group.

“Thank you, God,” Aleya praises.

“Facts, these heels are killing my feet,” Sevyn complains as she starts after Boku.

As everyone else follows, heading towards the table, Ajani stays behind. Before Diamanté can catch up, he grabs ahold of her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Hol’on, ‘cause I didn’t get a proper ‘hello.’”

He pulls her body back in close, missing the feel of her against him. He almost sighs when her soft body presses against his.

Diamanté allows herself to smile as big as she wants to. She angles her head up for a kiss. The gentleman he is, Ajani meets her halfway and presses his lips against hers.

A small peck isn’t enough, as he finds himself going back in for a couple more. And as he does so, he doesn’t resist the urge to reach behind her and cop a feel of her ass himself.

His lips plant mini smooches from her cheek all the way down to her neck. She turns her head to the side, giving him more access.

“You look mad good,” he says into her skin.

His muffled voice tickles her skin, pulling a bubbly giggle out of her. “You told me that already.”

“Aight, and I’m telling you again.” Ajani pulls back just far enough to look her in the eyes. 

Damn, he really meant that shit. It’s almost unbelievable how bad she is. Sometimes he wonders how the fuck he was able to bag her.

“But I also told you not to come outside wearing no shit like this—“

She squeals as he lays a harsh smack to her ass, gripping the fat immediately after.

“Ajani!” She whisper-shouts, eyes wide with shock.

He only bites down on his bottom lip, eyes flitting past her to see the group of men from earlier still in the same spots. 

Except this time, they’re glaring. 

“Told you I ain’t want you showing off my shit like this.”

His other hand cradles her neck, squeezing just enough as he plants another smooch on her lips.

When he pulls back, he sees the inkling of a dazed look in her low eyes. Even from behind those big ass glasses.

“Okay,” she whines softly.

“Mmh.”

She begins to laugh, because she can definitely feel herself slipping into a mood.

“C’mon, before I fuck ya lil’ ass up out here.” His hands fall from her. “Got niggas looking at you all crazy.”

He holds his hand out for her to take. When she does, they make their way over to the table. 

However, before they get close enough, they place some distance between themselves.

Conversation at the table is all smiles and laughter over their platters and drinks.

Speaking of drinks, no one at the table is too good to pass up a bit of alcohol. Not even those who drove here.

“See this? This right here?” Sevyn taps an acrylic nail to the glass of her fruity drink. “I’ma need me some more’a that!”

“Mhm,” Aleya hums, sipping on hers through the straw.

Liquor seems to bring the conversation out of the friends. But, Ajani refrains from specifically addressing Boku. And Diamanté finds herself becoming more and more quiet.

Even with her besties around her, she can’t seem to make herself speak. What can she say, when all of her thoughts are filled with Ajani? Definitely not anything that should be said out-loud. 

At the very least, on a FaceTime call with just the girls.

Hiding behind her lemon drop, she watches him from across the table with low eyes. Every time he smiles, he does so just enough to give a peek at his grillz. 

Fuck, he looks so good. He smells even better. And the way he was choking her up out there, smacking her ass—

No lie, it made her wet. Her clit was thumping for sure. The liquor isn’t helping as it’s bringing up memories.

Like how just a couple of nights ago, she was staying over at his apartment. It was a time. 

Two shots of Don was all it took for her to end up on her tummy, getting dicked down.

He fucked her stupid that night. She almost wished she wasn’t on birth control. But that was just the liquor talking.

Her eyes flutter close as her thighs squeeze together. She has to take a deep breath.

“And Dia’s ass is already off the shits!”

A chorus of laughter sounds throughout the table, knocking her from her thoughts. As she looks around her, she offers a shy smile.

“Y’all some damn lightweights,” Sevyn continues to joke.

“I ain’t—look—I ain’t no fuckin’ lightweight,” Boku shouts, holding his glass up.

“Maaan,” Mykel gives him a look. “You better slow down, nigga.”

More laughter sounds. With the spotlight off of her, Diamanté’s thoughts circle back to Ajani.

And speaking of, he takes a sip of his alcohol to hide his smirk. He’s not oblivious, he could feel her staring this whole time.

Of course, it flatters him. If it’s one thing about Diamanté, it’s that she gets freaky off the liquor. And he can tell what’s running through her mind.

Because he’s thinking about the same thing. He’s just got to hold out for the rest of the night.

Leave it up to Boku to plan some weird ass shit. Who the fuck goes bowling after dinner and drinks?

Shit, at least the place serves drinks. And if Ajani was fucking with him right now, he’d commend him for at least picking a good spot.

The alley is surprisingly busy around this time, for it being almost eleven pm. It’s mostly dark in here, just like the damn restaurant.

Why doesn’t Boku ever pick places with good lighting?

“On my soul, I’m washing y’all niggas,” Aleya swears. She shoves a foot into the rented pair of shoes.

Mykel shakes his head, strapping up his pair. “Here she go.”

“Oh shit … I don’t got not socks, y’all.” The usual rasp in Sevyn’s voice is worse due to the drinks.

“Me neither,” Diamanté says, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she fans herself.

Not only is she just a bit horny, but she’s fucking hot. The only downside to drinking. She only hopes she doesn’t sweat her silk press out.

“There’s a booth that sells them,” Boku says.

“Honestly, I don’t think I’ma play. I’ll just watch y’all,” she smiles.

“Ugh! Boringgg,” Aleya groans, throwing her head back.

Sevyn looks to Diamanté. “Okay, well, you could come with me while I buy my socks?”

She nods, prompting her to stand up. 

“Can’t wait to wear them shoes. Fuck these heels, bro.” Sevyn holds on to her shoulder for support.

“Aye, if y’all get lost, call one’a us,” Ajani says. “It’s too many people in here tonight.”

“Sure thing, officer!” Sevyn scoffs.

Ajani gives her a scowl, and Dia gives him a short wave before the two of them are off.

“Damn, that’s a long ass line!” Sevyn scowls seeing the bodies fill the area.

“Oh my gosh,” Diamanté frowns.

“I do not wanna be standing on these fucking heels any longer!”

Kissing her teeth, she reluctantly joins the line, Dia in tow. As they wait, both women are scrolling through their phones trying to pass the time.

But it doesn’t take long for them to get to talking.

“If I ask you this question, you gonna be honest?”

Diamanté peers up from her screen to look at Sevyn. Her brows pull together in question. “Yeah?”

Sevyn eyes her for a moment. “You and Ajani fucking? Like—and be honest. Don’t lie to me girl, I hate that shit.”

A sigh leaves Diamanté. Clicking her phone off, she fully looks her friend in the eyes. “Yeah—“

“I knew it! I fucking knew iiit!” Sevyn jumps up and down on her supposedly aching feet. “Fuck! Since when?”

Trying to keep herself from smiling, she stays quiet.

A gasp. “It was after the party, wasn’t it?”

She nods, her smile growing.

They move up in the line.

“Bitch! I fucking—nah, ‘cause I checked your fucking lo’ and your ass was still there after we all left. Uh-uh, y’all so damn nasty.”

“Okay,” she rolls her eyes. “Don’t say anything about it. I’m still trying to … figure out a way to tell the others.” She frowns to herself.

Sevyn makes a face. “Girl, what you mean? Just drop the tea,” she laughs. “Shit, you could do it in the fucking chat. Matter fact, I don’t even think niggas really give a fuck. We all grown, Dia’. And it’s not like we all didn’t see it coming…”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “But, I just wanna tell ‘Leya at least, before I really … break the news.”

“Aight, I feel you.” Sevyn looks her over before breaking out into a dirty smile. “So he the reason your ass been getting fatter.”

“Oh my gosh.” She looks away from her, shaking her head.

“That’s fucking crazy. Who the fuck knew he was putting it down like that?”

Just before she can respond, her phone lights up with a message.

Jani: wya

U got lost ?

“Speak’a the fucking devil,” Sevyn says over her shoulder, spotting the message.

“Hush,” Dia laughs, typingout her response. 

“I like how he ain’t even ask about me. So it’s just fuck me, then.”

“What if the ‘y’ means y’all?”

Sevyn rolls her eyes before her face settles. “But, at least he’s crazy about you. That’s all I want for you.”

Diamanté looks up at her friend with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Mhm. I seen y’all at the restaurant.”

Her smile drops and her eyes widen just a bit. “Sevyn.”

“What?”

“If you saw why did you ask?”

She smirks. “I just wanted to see if you would lie.”

The shorter woman groans out.

“Yeah, ya lil’ ass is mad freaky, eewww.” She laughs obnoxiously. “Never thought I’d see you get choked up like that. Or him smacking ya shit—”

“Stop, please!” She hides her face in her hands.

“Oh, I just know he told you not to wear that shit,” she cackles. “You in trouble,” she sings. “That nigga had that crazy look in his eyes. Especially when he seen them niggas staring in the restaurant.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mhm,” she nods with crossed arms. “You just make sure you stay on his good side. Before I become an aunty too soon.”

Diamanté shoves her shoulder. “Don’t wish that on me.”

“Oh, bitch, I’m actually wishing that shit and more. You know I always wanted a little niece or nephew—even if ‘Jani’s annoying ass is the father.” She rolls her eyes.

“I rebuke kids,” she laughs. “Hell no.”

“Yeah, okay. If you say that, you better not tell me that y’all be fucking raw.”

Diamanté doesn’t say anything to that.

When the game commences, Diamanté is the only one to sit it out. And she’s having just as good a time as any.

Mykel had ordered wings for the group—lemon pepper and garlic Parmesan. Drinks, too, of course.

She nibbles on a couple of wings, courtesy of Ajani feeding them to her.

He’s had his fair share of extra drinks. And with each sip, he’s caring less and less about hiding shit from their friends.

Speaking of drinks, Dia’s been washing her food down with sips of water and gulps of fruity, alcoholic drinks. And she really should’ve stopped herself. 

Because now she’s got to go to the bathroom.

“Nah, I dead gotta go, too,” Sevyn says.

“I’ma come with y’all.” Aleya gets on her feet.

“Damn, y’all just gonna pause the game like that?” Mykel says, biting into a wing.

“We’ll be back!” Aleya declares.

The women make their way over to the bathrooms, which—unsurprisingly—has a line.

“Fuuuck! All these fucking lines!” Sevyn groans, stomping her foot.

“I know,” Dia says, shifting in her spot as she holds her lower stomach. “I gotta go … so bad,” she huffs.

“I bet you the men’s bathroom not even full like that.”

Sevyn scoffs. “I’m not going to no niggas’ bathroom at a bowling alley. ‘Bouta smell like funky dick and straight piss in there.”

Dia laughs.

“But, shit, since we here…” Sevyn turns to her. “Tell her.”

Aleya looks to Diamanté. 

“Oh, um … Ajani and I—“

“I fucking knew it!”

Sevyn throws her head back in laughter. 

“Y’all could not hide that shit!” Her eyes are wide as she points back at their lane. “When I seen that nigga feeding you them wings, it was certified!”

“Bitch, you don’t even wanna know what I saw,” Sevyn says, clinging to her.

As she and Diamanté catch her up on everything, they inch closer to the bathroom door.

Diamanté tells them about the most recent date they’d been on together. And while it’s an interesting story, Sevyn can’t help but to feel eyes on them.

She turns her head, to see a group of men looking their way. They make eye contact, as it appears that they’re pushing their friend to make a move.

“Oh fuck no.”

Aleya and Diamanté look at her.

“Y’all, is that them niggas from the restaurant?”

They look over at the men, one of them immediately making eye contact with Dia.

“Please don’t tell me they about to come over here,” Aleya scowls. “Ugh, I hate niggas!”

She says it loud enough for them to hear. And yet, one of them is still making their way over.

Sevyn kisses her teeth. “Bruh.”

The guy making his way over has his eyes dead set on Diamanté. His long locs are pulled back into barrel twists and a mature beard sits on the lower half of his face.

His dangling cross earring makes Sevyn scoff. “This corny ass nigga,” she mumbles.

“Wassup,” he greets, only looking at Diamanté.

Rude, she thinks. Her nose wrinkles as the smell of weed fills the space.

“Hello to you, too,” Aleya sasses.

“My bad,” he laughs. “I just wanted to come talk to you,” he nods over at Dia. 

“Okay,” she says quietly.

“You fine as shit, I’m not even gonna cap,” he smiles, showing a gold canine tooth. “Not on no creep-shit, but I seen you at The Palacades and,” he shrugs. “Don’t hurt to try, right?”

“Proceeds to be on some creep-shit,” Sevyn says.

“Right,” Aleya agrees.

The two share a laugh, causing the man to glance at them. He doesn’t let that deter him, though.

“You … saw me there?” Diamanté asks, her face creasing with confusion. 

“Yeah you and that guy.”

Now it’s Aleya’s turn to make a face.

“Hol’up,” Sevyn laughs, shaking her head. 

“Y’know, I just wanted to shoot my shot. Like, you never know. Y’all might not even be serious—“

“Well, they are. And you’re mad weird for asking.” She twists her face up. “What the fuck? Nigga is you cool?”

“Hold on,” he says, turning to Sevyn. “I don’t remember asking about you. So, I don’t know why you tryna get involved.” He’s getting visibly irritated.

“She don’t have to,” Aleya steps in. “If you seen my friend with her nigga, why are you harassing her?”

Worry makes itself evident on Dia’s face. She’s not sure where this conversation is going to go. And she definitely forgot her pepper gel at home.

“‘Cause that corny ass move that nigga tried to do wasn’t shit,” he laughs. “He think smacking ya ass was gonna scare somebody off? I don’t give a fuck about that shit,” he laughs. 

“Okay, no—“ Diamanté starts, but Sevyn is too quick to come to her defense.

“Get the fuck outta here, you weirdo ass nigga. She don’t want you!”

“She said that, though?”

“She ain’t say she wanted you neither,” Aleya says.

“Man, y’all bitches kill me.”

“Bitches?” They all say in unison.

“Yeah. It’s always the ugly ones talking the most shit—“

“Nigga you look like a fucking dog in the face yourself!” Aleya gets to pointing.

And as their voices climb, both sides growing more aggressive, Diamanté finds herself paralyzed with fear.

She is not sober enough for this.

Back at the lane, the guys keep themselves busy. Mykel cheats, taking the girl’s turns for them—and throwing horrendous gutter balls.

Meanwhile, Boku and Ajani are seated, munching on the leftover wings. Well, Ajani doesn’t eat as much as Boku, but he’s got a couple of bites in.

Neither of them address the other. And it’s … annoying. 

Although Ajani is still upset about what was said, it sucks that this is how their first time hanging out in a minute has to be like this.

But he’s not a pussy. And he’s damn sure not speaking first. 

A nudge to his shoulder brings him out of his phone. He looks up, seeing Boku stare at him.

“Yo, I’m sorry ‘bout earlier, bro. I should’ve never said that shit. I just be talking sometimes, you know that. And I be saying the wrong shit.”

“Mmh.”

“And Dia’s my friend. It’s not right’a me to be disrespecting her like that. If you want, shit, I’ll even apologize to her, too.”

Ajani watches him for a moment.

Their silence is broken by a shout from Mykel in the distance, cheering as he scores a strike.

“Nah … you ain’t gotta do that,” he finally says. “I respect the apology. But watch your mouth ‘bout her.”

Boku nods in understanding.

Silence falls over them again as the sounds of the alley machines, the music, people talking, and the arcade games fill the space.

Ajani almost feels himself dissociating again as his tipsy brain thinks. And one thing about him, is that his mouth runs.

Swallowing, he looks away from his friend. “Nah … you was right, though.”

Boku wears a questioning look on his face. “What you mean?”

It takes a second before Ajani finally looks at him. “We fucking with each other.”

He tries to conceal his excitement. But, he just can’t stop himself from dapping him up. 

“My nigga—uh, no disrespect, though.”

Ajani shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Y’all better come play before I do your turns!”

“Nigga, fuck the game! Come over here, Jay got something to say!”

Reluctantly placing the ball back onto the rack, Mykel heads over to them.

“What you got to say?” He takes the last garlic Parmesan wing, earning a glare from Boku.

“Guess,” Boku says.

Mykel turns to Ajani, eyeing him. “You and Dia?”

He nods, earning another smile from their standing friend. “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout,” he laughs. “You asked her?”

“Yeah,” Ajani says, keeping it short. But his smile says everything, as he reminisces on that night.

“When y’all got together?” Boku asks.

He kisses his teeth, feeling the liquor in his system. “Uh … at the party.”

Both men stare at him with wide eyes. 

“Nigga—that’s almost six months!” Boku shouts.

“It’s no way y’all hid that shit for that long,” Mykel laughs.

“Wasn’t my idea,” Ajani says. “She over here, scared to say shit. But me—I’on give a fuck.” He scoffs. “I’a get her shit tatted, she keep fuckin’ with me,” he shakes his head, toying with the ends of a braid.

Boku and Mykel share a look, and a thought—this nigga is drunk.

Before either of them could voice it, however, Sevyn’s raspy ass voice enters their ears.

“Y’all hear that shit?” Mykel asks, twisting and turning to find the source of the voice.

“Why the fuck she yelling?” Boku asks, looking for her, too.

“How they still not back from the bathroom?”

It’s Ajani that spots her first—in a nigga’s face.

“Yo,” he says, sitting up, more alert than ever.

The guys notice, too. And it doesn’t take long for Ajani to get out of his seat. He’s the first to make it over there. And immediately he’s hit with the smell of weed.

“What’s going on?”

He immediately looks to Diamanté, who has discomfort written all over her face.

“Hell no, come get this nigga,” Aleya shout, pointing at the man.

Ajani watches him back up an inch as he raises his hands in defense. As he stares at the guy, he finds him just a tad bit familiar.

“What’s the issue?”

“It’s no issue, bro—“

“Clearly, it is!” Sevyn cuts in. “‘Cause you was throwing that ‘bitch’ word around a lot—“

“Look, I was just tryna get at your friend,” he says, pointing to Diamanté.

Ajani’s brows furrow as he looks between her and the guy.

“She don’t want you,” Aleya screams.

Then it clicks; This guy was apart of that group that caught themselves staring Diamanté down.

“Go back to your fuckin’ group,” Ajani says. “You a fuckin’ cornball,” he spits.

“Bum ass nigga—and he stink!” Aleya points at him.

“Man, get the fuck outta here, she don’t need no other nigga.” 

Ajani steps forward as he speaks, the other man stepping back.

“Aight, my fault—“

“It was. The fuck?” Sevyn says.

Finally, the man walks off, leaving the friends alone once more. The women seem to let out a sigh of release, and Diamanté seems to cling to Ajani’s side.

“That fucking weirdo. Shit just pissed me off I don’t even wanna pee no more.” Sevyn crosses her arms, her anger slow to dissipate.

“No, I’m still gonna use the bathroom,” Aleya scoffs.

“Me too.”

Diamanté’s quiet voice grabs their attentions, especially Ajani’s.

His brows furrow. “Nah, you could use the bathroom home.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

“Yeah, fuck all this shit. We going.”

“Ajani—“

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’on give a fuck. That nigga got me fucked up.”

Aleya and Sevyn share a knowing look.

“Tell ‘em niggas we gone,” he says, taking up Diamanté’s hand.

Too tipsy to really object, she tells her friends ‘goodnight,’ promising to text them tomorrow.

Sevyn and Aleya’s farewells are drowned out by their quickly increasing distance and the overall loudness of the alley.

When they finally make it outside, the cool breeze of tonight hits her clammy skin. She squeezes his hand tighter.

“Fuckin’ bum ass nigga—I knew I seen him.”

She peers up at him, his eyes staring off into the distance as he speaks his thoughts.

“Should’a fucked him up, if I’m being honest.”

When they reach his car, Ajani opens the passenger door for her. She climbs inside, relieved to be off her feet.

But before he closes the door, he bends down to look her in the eyes.

“You good?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t touch you or nothing?”

“No, Ajani. I’m good.” 

With a nod, he shuts the car door and walks over to his side before sliding behind the wheel.

The drive to his apartment is quiet for the first few minutes. Even his music plays low over the speakers.

She watches his side profile, noting the lowness of his eyes and the way his shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes don’t leave the road, but his brows furrow. “For what?”

She only shrugs, the small action enough to garner his attention for just a second.

“You ain’t do shit. That nigga was just a creep.”

“Yeah,” she exhales. 

“Shit, but I definitely shouldn’t be driving right now.” He drags a hand down his face. “Just tryna get in my fuckin’ bed.”

Licking her lips, Diamanté busies her hands by toying with her phone. “Are you really tired?”

He gives her a quick side eye as a lazy smile presents on his face.

“Depends … what you tryna do?”

She looks forward at the nearly empty road ahead of them. Then she shrugs.

“Yeah, I seen the way you was looking at me back at the restaurant... Lil’ freaky ass.”

She laughs just a bit. “It’s been a couple days … what do you expect?”

He scoffs, leaning back in his seat as he leaves one hand on the wheel. “You really sumn else,” he says low, rubbing his chin.

Chewing on her lower lip, she stares at him as a thought brews in her head. Her silence cause him to look her way.

“What you thinkin’ ‘bout over there?”

She releases her bottom lip. Her eyes drop to his lap.

“Can I touch it?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “Could do whatever you want … it’s yours.”

With caution, she slowly reaches over the console and spreads her hand over his lap. She traces the barely-hard length through his jeans.

He retains his composure even as he struggles to focus on driving properly.

“You smelled so good today,” she whispers.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “So fucking good. She laughs softly, pulling a smile out of him.

The more she rubs up on him, the harder he gets. She licks her lips and reaches over with the other hand to unbutton his jeans and zip them down.

She slips a hand between the layer of his jeans and his boxers, feeling him up through the thin fabric.

“When we was at the restaurant, I was thinking of last weekend, when I stayed over.”

Cradling the underside of his dick, her thumb swipes over his fat tip. Excitement races through her as she feels every curve of the mushroom-shaped head.

A faint twitch makes her smile bigger.

“How you was fucking me.”

Her voice slightly lifts at the end of her sentence, as if the thought alone was enough to get her going.

He found that shit so sexy.

Her thumb continues to rub circles into him. However, she also begins to squeeze him in her palm.

Ajani shifts in his seat, his legs widening on their own.

“Fuck, you were so deep, baby.”

She’s squeezing him harder, her little hand working his tip.

“So fucking deep—“

He barely hears the tiny moan that slips out. It takes his attention off of the road for a couple of seconds.

Just long enough for him to catch her with her other hand now between her own legs, dress hiked up around her waist.

He quickly looks away. The sight sends another rush of blood to his dick, and she can feel it as he pulses in her hand.

As one of her hands feels along his length, the other presses against the seat of her damp panties. The pressure pulls a shiver out of her.

“Oh, shit,” she gasps, quietly. “Fuck, I still have to pee.” Her thighs clamp around her wrist as she remembers her plight.

He glances at her again, trying to fight the melting of his brain as she continues to get him off.

“Keep going.”

His raspy voice catches her off guard.

“W-what?”

He licks his lips and swallows, taking a turn onto a major roadway. “Keep touching yourself.”

“I still have to pe—“

“Hold it.”

Her silence earns another look her way.

“I mean it, too. Just got this shit detailed … so don’t fuck up my seats.”

The gentleness of his voice makes her clench.

His head almost falls back when a tight pressure surrounds his balls. It’s hard to keep his eyes open.

Kicking off her sandal, Diamanté pulls a leg up onto the seat. Her French-tipped toes dig into the shiny, smooth leather as she opens herself up wider.

She rubs herself through her thin panties with a full hand. As she falls into a rhythm, both of her hands sync together as she pleasures both herself and Ajani.

Her legs open up even wider as she changes from using her full hand to just her middle and ring fingers. 

Pushed together, she rubs slow, sloppy circles over her clit. The swollen bud pulses, pushing through her thick folds and even creating a small bump through the thin material.

Her wrist aches, but she doesn’t stop. Her pussy clenched repeatedly and her breathing grows unsteady.

Slow, lazy blinks come before her eyes roll back closed. She whimpers to herself.

Ajani tries not to swerve as his brain tries to focus on two things at once. But, he can’t stop his hips from fucking into her hand—even if just a little bit.

Diamanté sends three, solid smacks to her pussy. Upon the third one, her thigh snap shut and her eyes squeeze closed. Her mouth hangs open as her body freezes.

Before she can stop it, her body lets loose for a split second. Just a tiny stream lets out, creating a small soak-spot into her underwear. Immediately, she regains control, stopping her release.

The pace she’d been able to keep up falters as she grows weak from her own hand.

“Keep going,” he tells her.

She shakes her head first. “I … I can’t.”

“Dia—“

“I can’t, I can’t—“

“Move ya hand.” 

He pries her thighs open with his free hand, and snatches hers from between them. 

He replaces her with his touch, cupping the fat mound before sliding his fingers against her. He feels the small wet spot, and it makes his dick harder.

“Told you to hold it.” He lays a smack down on her clit, and her legs try to close around his arm.

A louder moan leaves her this time. But, she holds it as best as she can.

“And keep squeezing my shit,” he says, his voice deep and heavy with lust.

Mewling, she gives her focus to his dick. Rubbing and squeezing it. And when that’s no longer enough, she pulls him out of his boxers.

“Shit…” he exhales in relief.

The hot, length stands stiff in both of her hands. Dribbles of precum run down his length. She’s quick to swipe it up as she twists both hands over him, pulling at the veiny skin.

“Mmh … fuck, baby. J-just like that.”

Ajani doesn’t let that distract him, however. Hand between her legs, he rubs his middle finger over her protruding clit.

She almost cries out as he neglects to touch her, keeping her underwear between them. 

His pointer finger drops down to join the middle. And he pinches her bud. She yelps out.

“Hold it,” he says, pinching harder. “Hold it.”

Her head falls back as she cries out. The dam is about the break, she can feel it. 

Her body goes numb for half a second, and then she feel the wet spot spread just a tiny bit bigger.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming—“

He cups her once more, feeling her clench down on nothing in his hand. The pink G-string clings to her lips, conforming to their shape.

Her hands freeze around his dick, unable to focus on him as she tries to keep herself from finishing completely over his seats.

“We almost there … almost there,” he soothes, turning into his building’s parking lot.

After regaining her composure, Dia tucks him back in his pants and zips him back up.

Ajani removes his hand as he parks in his designated spot, giving her the chance to fix herself.

When they get out the car, it’s a bit of relief. However, Ajani still has to make it to his apartment without being caught with this boner.

Watching Dia walk ahead of him to get into the main building, he gets an idea.

It’s hard to concentrate as they stand there waiting for the elevator. There’s no one in the lobby, but that doesn’t make her any less nervous.

Standing, her backside pressed to his front, she feels his dick poking at her. 

Ajani’s so hard, it almost aches. He kisses his teeth, and his hand on her hip squeezes harder.

“Where this fuckin’ elevator at? Not tryna be waiting here all night.”

As he talks, his hips move just a bit, pushing his dick harder into the fat of her ass. It’s not helping, honestly.

But, much to her relief, the elevator finally arrives with a sharp ding. They walk in and Ajani is quick to press the button to the eleventh floor.

It seems like time slows as the shaft achingly climbs the floors. Dia doesn’t get to watch the numbers change as a hand comes around her neck and squeezes—her eyes flutter shut.

“Can’t wait to ruin yo shit,” he whispers in her ear. “Have you bouncing on my dick.”

She moans softly as his hand tightens.

He sucks his teeth. “Matter fact—“

It must be the liquor that has him doing this, and what’s got her letting it happen.

In one second, she’s bent over, her hands bracing the wall before her as he stands behind.

“Should just fuck ya lil’ ass in here.”

He smacks her left cheek before rutting into her. He spreads her ass with both hands, rubbing his clothed dick into her core.

“O-oh fuck,” she whimpers. The friction has her legs trembling.

“Keep fuckin’ moaning,” he pants, fucking against her. His eyes almost roll back and his balls tighten in his pants.

“Baby—“

Slapping a hand over her mouth, she tries to keep quiet … and from cumming.

Backing up just an inch, he instead holds her by her waist and bounces her hard against him. She almost wails, her pussy craving to be filled.

But her torture ends soon as the elevator dings again, announcing their arrival to the eleventh floor. They waste no time getting out and making their way to his front door. 

When they come to it, he hands her his keys as he remains behind her. She almost fumbles them, her hands shaking.

He grabs onto her hips again, gripping tightly.

“Hurry up … you’on feel that?”

The gravel of his voice makes her shiver, and the way his dick is pressed into her ass almost makes her eyes roll back.

His face drops into the crook of her neck and shoulder to press a kiss into her warm skin.

“He missed you, baby.”

The slight slur in his voice drives her crazy. But, not more than the way he presses his hips harder against her.

Click, the door goes as she finally unlocks it. The rush of air that hits them as she pushes it open is refreshing. It clears her senses for just half-a-second before her brain is plunged back into a hot pool of lust.

Ajani’s got his hands on her, spinning her around to press a wet kiss onto her lips. A heavy moan slips out of her as he squeezes her throat.

He sucks on her tongue like it’s his only lifeline, enjoying the taste of her spit too much.

His free hand encircles her waist and heads down to grip as much fat as it could.

The burn of his grip has her clenching in her panties. He pulls out of the kiss just to look her in the eyes.

“Take this stupid ass dress off before I rip it.”

His grip on her throat tightens and she feels herself go dumb a little bit. She nods.

He lets go of her completely, just to watch her pull the black dress over her head. 

All she’s got on is that tiny ass, pink G-string, no bra. The fabric is drenched with a wet stain as it clings to her. And her lips are damn near spilling out of it.

“Not even gonna be able to walk when I done with you,” he mumbles, staring at her as he squeezes his dick through his pants.

“Wait, I wanna do something else first.”

Diamanté’s gaze drops to the hard outline of his dick—so thick and long.

“Yeah?” He looks at her with low eyes, paying keen attention to the outline of her fat pussy. “What you tryna do?”

She starts towards him, walking slow. 

“I wanna suck it.”

His brows lift as an inkling of a smile is on his lips. “Oh, word?”

“Yeah.”

She stops right before him. A gentle push to his chest sends a big enough of message—he falls back onto his couch. And his eyes follow her as she gets down on her knees before him.

She crawls to him, sitting between his legs. Even pushes them apart wider. He almost shivers at her delicate touch on his knees.  

“Would you let me?”

She blinks up at him as her hands snake their way up his thighs and into his lap. He slips further down into the couch, biting his lip as he watches her undo his pants for the second time tonight.

She gets a peek of those grills again, and she just finds them so sexy.

“Awe shit, baby, you could do whatever you want…”

His aid comes as he lifts his hips as she drags the heavy denim down his legs. Drunken giggles pour out from her lips as she eyes his print through his boxers.

Even through the thin fabric, the familiar heat of her palm makes his dick twitch. He has to stop himself from humping into her hand as she grips along his length.

Her laughter melts away as she watches his face with a luring smile. 

“You’re so wet, baby.”

He almost doesn’t even hear her soft voice. But when he does, he looks down and notices the dark spot on his boxers.

“Shit … that’s all you,” he mumbles. His eyes bore into her as she pulls him out of his underwear.

He’s stiff and heavy in her hand. Her smaller fingers squeeze him just a bit tighter, a weak attempt at trying to get a better grip on him. 

It amuses him, seeing how the tips of her fingers don’t even meet when they’re around him.

The warmth blossoming under his skin goads her to run a fist over his length.

“You know how to do it?” he asks her.

She nods before looking back up at him. Looking into his eyes, she can tell that he’s fighting to stay present.

But with the liquor in both their systems, and lust running through their bodies, she can understand how difficult that must be for him.

“You don’t gotta … take it all,” he swallows.

His thigh twitches; Her tongue laves against the underside of the warm, soft tip. She holds him as she circles her tongue around the head, shining it with her spit. 

“Fuck,” he hisses softly, body melting into the couch cushions.

She brushes her tongue against him, picking up a perfect bead of precum just as it dribbles out.

He inhales, shifting in the seat. “Spit on my shit.”

Puckering her lips, she spits it back out on his tip and spreads it across his skin.

“Yeah,” he breathes out.

Holding him at the base, she takes his head back into her mouth. His stomach swoops and his breath stutters. 

Diamanté almost giggles, feeling his tip pulse in her mouth. She pulls off of him with a pop. 

She repeats the action a couple of more times, going pop … pop … pop! She enjoys too much how he groans above her.

“Stop playing, baby, c’mon.”

The sound of him begging makes her clit pulse. 

“Okay, okay,” she says softly, batting her lashes up at him.

Taking a deep inhale, she places her mouth back over the head. Slackening her jaw, she slowly descends his length.

“Awe … shiii,” he stares down at her in shock.

Already, her jaw aches, having to accommodate his size. She gets about halfway.

“Mmmh.”

The vibration of her hums make his toes curl. He jumps with a hiss. The movement gags her, and the sound only arouses him.

“T-take your time, baby—“ he grunts. “You don’t gotta—“

He chokes on his own words as he watches her continue to swallow him with a bit of effort. The sight has him clutching the couch cushions.

Her throat constricts around his dick as she bottoms out. She nuzzles her nose against the small bush of dark curls at his base.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, shifting his hips a bit.

Her eyes flutter close as she relishes the heavy weight her throat holds. His dick twitches, pulling a soft gag out of her.

He loves the sound.

Spit seeps from her mouth, dripping down his length. Trying to swallow around him is difficult.

Carefully, she lays her head against his open lap. She exhales through her nose, trying to relax as she suckles on him.

It’s almost addicting, having his dick stuff her mouth to the brim. She’s content … until she remembers her own arousal.

Her knees burn, but nevermind that. She brings a hand between her thick thighs, whimpering as she caresses herself.

The pads of her fingers slide back and forth over the soaked scrap of fabric covering her pussy.

Her thighs clench around her wrist. But still, she continues, sliding the tips of her acrylic nails against her aching pearl.

He watches her eyes open for just a second, only to showcase how they roll back. Her shoulders twitch.

“You touchin’ yourself?”

She barely nods as another twitch rakes throughout her body.

The already wet patch of her panties grows warmer as she leaks more arousal. Her fingers rub harder and her pussy spasms.

“Mmh—“

She whines around his dick, and his hips stutter.

“So fuckin’ nasty,” he groans. “Like my dick in your mouth.”

Another whimper.

Peeling a hand from the armrest of the couch, Ajani reaches for her straightened hair and gathers it in a tight ponytail.

“Relax your throat,” is his only warning.

Long, slow strokes have her gagging on him. The back or her throat makes wet clicks as his dick fucks the back of her throat.

Tears bubble in Diamanté’s eyes as her head bobs. Shaky fingers push her soaked panties to the side as she rubs through her sticky, creamy folds.

“Look so fuckin’ good like this,” he says through gritted teeth. 

She plays in her mess, webs of cream sticking to the pads of her fingers and her pink clit.

His hold around her hair tightens and his pace quickens. Her gags become harsher and louder as he face-fucks her.

A squeal sounds at the back of her throat as she DJs herself quickly. Her chest stutters as it gets harder to breathe with her choking on him. 

Her body tightens then releases; She sprays against her fingers and the hardwood floor. The hard stream catches his ears, making him sit up to watch.

The whites of her eyes are the only things that show as she cups herself between her legs.

A gooey mess of her spit and his precum drip down his balls and even her face, droplets falling on her bare chest.

“Shit, baby … awe shit,” he groans, head thrown back and mouth dropped open.

His stomach clenches as his brows pull together.

“I’m bout’a … c-cum—fuck.”

He pushes her head all the way down, holding her there as he fucks up into her. She tightens her throat around him, sending him over the edge.

Ropes of cum shoot down her throat, sending her pulling off of him in a coughing fit. 

When she calms, she pulls her hand from between her shaking thighs. It’s messy with the remnants of her cream and squirt.

She wraps it around him and spits his cum back on his dick.

It’s a bubbly, frothy mess. She jerks him off, milking him for the rest of his release as she mixes their cum and her spit together.

“So fuckin’ dirty,” he rasps, his body sagging against the chair.

The squelches of her fist over his dick is music to their ears. Her hand glides with ease as she squeezes him tighter.

“Beatin’ my shit so good.”

Breathy laughter pours out of her as she sticks out her tongue and flattens it. Staring into his low eyes, she taps his dick against the bed of her tongue.

She slides the pink muscle against him before flicking it twice against his leaky slit. He shivers beneath her, and she feeds off the reaction.

Taking his head back into her mouth, she sucks on it with her lips as she digs out his slit with her tongue.

He’s a whining mess as she overstimulates him.

“Fuck baby … fuuuck baby—fuck babyy—“

Ajani’s head falls back against the cushions and his eyes roll back. He opens his mouth to cry out:

“F-fuuuuuck—“

Lifting from him quickly, she taps him against her tongue as he erupts. His cum paints the pink muscle in white ropes.

“So good,” she hums, still tugging at him.

His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath and calm his beating heart. His ears ring and his vision’s got dots.

It takes him too long to return back to earth, as if she had hard reset him. 

But, that’s not where their night ends—far from it, actually.

[my-castles-crumbling]

OMG Clandestine is done!

I am so so so excited to say I just posted the epilogue to Clandestine! Featuring a beautiful commission from @itslotuseater!

Ships: Jegulus, background wolfstar, dorlene, pandalily, rosekiller Rating: M Length: 142k (FINISHED! COMPLETED! AHH!)

Summary:

He was crying. “You can do that?” He repeated, feeling like he was in some sort of dream. And then, Sirius seemed to realize. Because for a twelve-year-old, he was decently smart, and knew him better than anyone. “D’you…d’you want to do that, Reggie? I thought…I thought it was just a game?” But he could only shake his head. Because it wasn't a game. He was a boy. And he could tell from Sirius's nervously resigned expression that Sirius knew it, too. "It's...not a game." --- There's not enough Trans Regulus Black, so here's a fic to help fix the problem. Rated mature for lots of references to transphobia and Walburga Black being a piece of shit. COMPLETED (I'm not crying, you are)

Ahhh, my long-winded thank-you note:

First and foremost, thank you to Arson, my amazing Alpha Reader who brainrotted with me throughout almost the entire process. I literally could not have finished this without you, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. You've helped me through so many cases of horrible Writer's Block, encouraged me whenever I needed it, and you're an amazing friend. I hope you love your "Barty and Evan's Bitch" shirt :D

Second, to my wife, who literally dealt with me talking about this fic for TEN MONTHS. You're literally the most amazing and supportive person in my life, and I love you more than words. Thank you for being the James to my Regulus.

Third, to my Beta Reader, Kat, who is still wading through the trenches of this fic finding all my mistakes. I am so glad to have you and thank you for dealing with all of my errors and answering my messages at odd hours of the night.

Fourth, to all of the people who have encouraged me: Abby, Danielle, Kelz, everyone on the discord servers who has seen me struggle, you guys are amazing and I am so thankful to you.

Fifth, to the lovely people who created fanart for this fic. You all are amazing and you brought this to life. I bow down to you, truly, you are so incredibly talented.

Sixth, to the people who I interviewed about dysphoria and being on T, so I could have a more well-rounded understanding about Regulus's experience. Though I identify as trans, I am so thankful that other trans people were willing to give their experiences in areas I wanted to describe as accurately as possible.

And last, to all of you, who read and kudosed and inboxed and recommended and commented and kept me going. You all are amazing, and you've made this such a positive experience. This fic really was for me, to work through my own gender an discover about myself, and I am so thankful you have been here along this journey.

I want to reiterate that this is one trans person's journey, but I think it's so important to have representation in all forms of media. I'm hoping that my version of Reggie has helped with that a little bit! He's my baby, and he deserves all the good things.

Keep an eye out for the B-sides of this fic! I'll add a chapter to this work linking to it, so if you're subscribed to this, you'll get an e-mail. I'll also be editing this work to fix all the errors, and I'll be doing the B-sides as I go. It probably won't be for a couple of weeks, since I am now working, and I won't have any strict posting schedule, but I'm excited for those as well!

I love you all. Thanks for being a part of this journey.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

*cracks knuckles* @paper-lilypie

WEDDING BELLS YALL

and brainrot. I've been sketching these ideas out for like, a year. And done nothing with them until this point

this has been festering. in my mind.

*note: I didn't get around to drawing it, but I imagine Sun, Moon, and Y/n say their vows at the Bell place thingie that I need to reread in the fic. Y'know, the place Moon climbs up to, to get away from y/n. Yeh they declare their love up there and smoochies*

I should really reread that bit actually lol

Before moving forward, I'm gonna rant about outfits

this is the outfit that I base Sun and Moon's wedding look on because I just think it fits so well. I share this so you guys see the vision and forgive my inexperience with drawing these folds

Cool? cool.

Also, I went through several variations of what Y/n would wear before settling on this bc nothing that came up when I searched "gender neutral wedding gear" really fit

Wanted a mix between gown and suit and y'know this ended up being more suit but I like it a lot so we're going with that. It also came to me in a vision so that has to say something.

(Ok but I did envision Y/n having a dress similar to this one character's dress in Bad Guys but I couldn't draw it so I scrapped it)

(ok some details stayed but most of the concept had to go)

so like- you see it right?

Btw. All of them (including guests) have pockets. just. to ease your mind.

ok back to actually drawn wedding shenanigans

Because, there are many, wedding shenanigans

Y'know the trend of smashing wedding cake into the bride/groom/wedded partner's face right?

There's no way this wouldn't escalate and y/n wouldn't enlist their siblings in the chaos.

They'll get like- one or two good wedding pics before this.

the cake tasted good tho

Let me just say. I am so proud of how I did these hands I'm oogling my own art I did so good GHGHHHHHHFDS

I like??? Want to do more?????

cuties shenanigans below they are obnoxious and they know it

By the way by the way you may notice the flower dress

I WILL be getting around to Lily x DCA STUFF I WILL

Tho I got busy and had a really hard time drawing/finishing sketches when I did have time so. I chose to post what I have so far so it's out before November ends

CONSIDER THIS A PART 1

LILY YOU ARE NOT SAFE

well Ig u are safe

for nowwwww

Bouquet toss real

fun fact I initially wanted to draw Sun, Moon, and Copper y/n tossing the bouquet together

but their arm lengths would NOT make that work kjfdkljsdklj

so y/n tosses the bouquet bc they are the specialest

(Or they won the round of monopoly)

(who's to say)

(we don't talk about game night)

But all three of them are the criminal. masterminds. They planned this from the start. Holly and Chica HAD NO CHANCE after the role they played in getting Y/N AND SUN AND MOON together.

I think this video would also be something cute that I could see happening for their wedding lol

Y/n and the daycare attendants hand the bouquet to Holly and then she gets proposed to by Chica

Anyway I still have a whole list of wedding shenanigans I need to draw

Sarah and Yao being some because when I tried before I couldn't sketch them out to my liking.

And the more CCRT gets expanded on, the more I'm sure will be present in their wedding since there are only 3 chapters out so far and enough art for me to make my guesses dlkkldsf

I'm sure there are plenty of fun things that can be included into this wedding, or edited, once more is revealed of the characters and their relationships

and who would be wedding guests is a little more up in the air, for instance and... who'd be able to show up in the first place considering unknown state of... living

(*cough cough*-Glamrock Foxy-*cough cough*)

...and being on good terms! thats.. important too. y'know moon and foxy weren't really exes but it may still be a bit awkward if he got invited y'know yknow

[reverie-starlight]

For the MC returns fic you wrote, it's absolutely splendid. But I was wondering if I could ask for a part two with the dateables??

AHHH okayokay i'm so sorry this took so long, I have been so busy since school ended among other things, but here it is!!! and thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed part one <3

as always, gn!MC

disclaimer: I'm not that familiar writing the side characters' personalities, this is my first time writing for them, so please bear that in mind if you think they're a bit out of character. Also, I won't be doing a part three with the undateables (as much as I adore thirteen), bc I'm only on lesson 25 of the OG game :')

warnings: fluff!! slight reverse comfort in diavolo's bc if the game won't let him have a small breakdown, then I will, but it's like so minor. he cries a bit. poor baby deserves to let his emotions out a bit. his section got looonnnggg. slight making out in simeon's? nothing explicit, but definitely lots of kissing. blood mention in barbatos' but no gore or violence. he's just coming back from the dungeons bc I love him being just slightly unhinged. barbatos' is probably the most ooc because I had such a hard time trying to write his section, plus it got just a tad suggestive.

and once again, the details of MC's return are unspecified, just because I don't want to think too hard about it right now! did they complete the task and re-forge all 7 pacts again? did they just pop back into the present randomly? who knows? not me!

MC Returning to the Present: Dateables Edition

(aka MC goes back to the future... I missed out on that pun last time hehe)

After waking up in your room, where you rightfully belong in the present timeline, and getting through your teary reunion with the brothers, you were anxious to set out and find your lover.

You couldn't even text him to let him know you were back- with a shattered screen and an apparent dead battery, your D.D.D. had seen better days. The brothers offered to text the others to let them know of your return after they were done dog piling you, but you shook your head.

"I need to go see him now," you said, feeling guilty that you wanted to leave the warmth of their company so soon after finally having your chosen family back. You made a silent promise to them that you'd spend as much one-on-one time with them as they needed after this, but you were desperate to find him and they could tell. They could see on your face that you had been through a lot and just needed the comfort only a partner could provide.

So instead of fighting to keep you there with them a bit longer, they led you to the front hall and let you go find your beloved. You'd be back after all, you told them as much.

Solomon

As soon as you opened the door to run to Purgatory Hall, you walked right into a wall shaped like the sorcerer you were looking for.

"Solomon!" You gasped out, throwing your arms around him tightly.

"MC," he sighed in relief, cradling the back of your head with his hand, other arm around your waist, holding you just as tight. "I was so worried when you were nowhere to be found in the other timeline, I rushed here to see if you were back."

You hid your face in the crook of his neck, and blinked away a tear. "I made it, I don't really know what happened, it's all a blur, but I'm back now."

"You're back, you're okay..." he pulled back a bit to scan over your figure. "You are okay, yes? No injuries? No weird physical space-time abnormalities?"

You laughed a little breathlessly and shook your head. "No, I'm okay, my love."

He smiled fondly at you before glancing behind you, making you aware of your audience. The brothers were glaring daggers at your boyfriend, and you were sure that if Solomon wasn't, well... Solomon, any other human on the receiving end of those looks would perish.

"Guys, don't. He kept me safe when I was trapped back then. He took good care of me when I needed it, I swear."

You raised an eyebrow at them when they didn't immediately stand down, but they untensed after a second and just eyed him wearily.

Solomon smiled sheepishly. "Honestly, MC, you give me too much credit, but yes, I promise I kept them from getting into potentially catastrophically worse situations."

You returned his smile and squeezed his shoulder, tearing up again. "Don't be like that, you did far more for me than you realize..."

He knew you were referring to all the nights he held you in bed as you sobbed over the possibility of never getting back home, comforting you and acting as a distraction. If he weren't there, you honestly don't know what you would have done.

He sighed again, not wanting to get you too worked up right now. You looked like you were about to drop from exhaustion. His eyes lit up and he grabbed your hand.

"MC, why don't you let me cook for you tonight? A special treat in celebration of our return." The poor guy looked so hopeful that you almost gave in.

Before realizing that you wanted to live to see another day in the present.

"Oh, Solomon, that's very sweet, but you must be exhausted after everything as well! We can just go to Ristorante Six, or get take out..." the determined look in his eyes scared you and you glanced at the brothers for help.

"Nonsense, my love, you didn't let me cook for you once when we were living in Cocytus Hall, let me return the favour." Damn his persistence.

A few of the brothers snickered at that, probably picturing you frantically trying to keep your boyfriend out of the kitchen by any means necessary. It was then that they truly realized how many obstacles you had to overcome. You gave them another pleading look and finally Lucifer took pity on you.

"Actually, Solomon, it's Satan's turn to cook tonight, and we'd prefer to spend the evening with MC, so we insist that you join us for dinner. It'll give us a chance to go over some of the more... pressing details of what happened." His tone left no room for debate, so the sorcerer nodded.

"Oh... well alright, then, thank you for having me." He looked mildly disappointed but it didn't last long after you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

You let out a small sigh and silently thanked Lucifer as you walked further into the house again. You hooked an arm through Solomon's and went to sit with everyone else in the living room, finally feeling at ease for the first time in forever.

Diavolo

The second you were out of the house, you sprinted to the castle.

Normally you would be more courteous on the castle grounds, not wanting to piss off any of the nobles and have them think negatively of the Prince for choosing an ill-mannered human as a partner, but every rule of devildom etiquette left your mind as you ran through the halls.

You smiled at some passing servants as you slowed to catch your breath, wondering where he would be at this time of day. Finally you caught the eye of a servant you had gotten to know quite well during your visits and you visibly lit up as she greeted you.

"Hello, MC, it's lovely to see you again," she curtsied and you smiled kindly at her, insisting she didn't have to. She didn't seem shocked to see you, so you assumed everyone had tried to keep your disappearance a secret.

"Hello, it's lovely to see you, too... you wouldn't happen to know where the prince is, would you?"

She hummed and thought about it for a moment. "I believe I saw his personal butler bringing tea to his office not long ago... perhaps he's still there? He's been working in there far longer than he normally would, lately."

Your heart clenched at that, and you thanked her before running in the direction of his office.

You tried the knob, but it was locked, so you knocked frantically. It took a few moments, but finally it opened and there stood Diavolo. He had a welcome expression on his face, but you could immediately tell it wasn't genuine.

Until he realized it was you, that is.

All the pent up exhaustion you could see on his face melted away and he pulled you to him immediately. "You're back."

You closed the door with a gentle kick behind you as he dragged you further into the room. He lifted you up so that you were sitting on the edge of his desk, him in between your legs. His arms tightened around your waist before his hands trailed up to your shoulders, slid up your neck and finally rested on your cheeks. He rested his forehead against yours and let out a long, shaky, relieved sigh. Like the weight on his shoulders had just been lifted.

You let your own hands tangle in his hair and closed your eyes. "I'm back."

As you held him close, you started to feel him tremble slightly. You opened your eyes in panic, and your heart broke at the sight in front of you.

The future king of the devildom was doing his absolute best to hold back his tears, clinging to your shirt, his breathing unsteady. All because of you.

Your grip in his hair turned softer and you pressed your nose against his cheek, nuzzling into him. "It's okay, my love, I'm here. You don't have to hide from me, you can let it out," you whispered softly.

He listened to your words and immediately sank into your arms further, letting out a strangled sob. The tears that dropped from his face dampened your clothes but you didn't care at all. "Let it out, I'm here now."

You continued to soothe and shush him, all the while caressing his hair and kissing wherever you could reach. You knew Diavolo felt as though he had to remain strong all of the time, and honestly if you were in his position you'd probably feel the same. But since you started dating, you had been trying your best to let him know that he didn't have to be that way around you. He could let his walls down with you and never have to worry about being thought of as less.

A knock at the door made him tense up again and you looked at him in reassurance, silently letting him know you'd take care of it. He straightened up slightly, back still turned to the door, and nodded at you. "Come in," you called out.

You peeked over his shoulder and were pleasantly surprised (though you probably shouldn't have been) to see Barbatos standing there, composed as ever. When the butler saw your head sprouting from behind Diavolo's his eyes widened slightly before returning to normal.

"Hello, MC, welcome back."

You waved. "Hi Barbatos! I missed you."

He chuckled. "I must admit I missed you too. Young master, shall I prepare your room with fresh night clothes for MC as well? It's quite late."

You glanced at him and while he had dried his tears, his eyes were still rimmed with red and his nose was running. So he just nodded and said "Yes, thank you Barbatos. Could you possibly run us a bath, please?"

"Yes, my lord." He nodded at you once more with a knowing smile and closed the door behind him.

You looked back to your boyfriend and smiled. You gently kissed him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again. "My love, I'm so happy to be back. I missed you more than anything."

He managed a smile and helped you down from his desk. "I was so worried about you, MC, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back."

You squeezed his hand tightly as he lead you out of the office and down the hall that lead to his personal wing of the castle. "Well you don't have to think about that anymore."

He nodded and for the first time you've seen that night, and most likely in general since you've been gone, a genuine smile took over his face and his usual playfulness returned. "Will you spend the weekend here with me, MC?"

You nodded. "Of course, I was going to ask you if I could, anyway... oh! Diavolo..." you sheepishly looked at him and pulled out your D.D.D.. "Do you think we could get me a new one sometime this weekend?"

He laughed. "Of course, my dear. Is there anything else you need? Anything at all, just say the word."

"No," you started, opening the door to his room and flopping onto his bed. "Just you."

His smile turned soft and his eyes were filled with love. "That can surely be arranged."

Simeon

You knocked desperately on the front door of Purgatory Hall, hoping to see your boyfriend's face. All you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms right about now.

Soon enough, you heard faint footsteps from behind the door and the sound of a lock unlatching. The door opened a crack and you looked down to see a certain blonde boy's wide eyes. Your own eyes widened in surprise, as you weren't expecting Luke to be up at this hour.

"MC?!" He exclaimed, opening the door wider and throwing himself at you for a hug.

You laughed a little and kneeled down to hug him properly. "Luke! I've missed you."

You both walked further into the entry hall and he refused to let go of you after the door closed. "We were so worried about you, MC! Are you alright? Did you get hurt?"

You patted him on the head. "I'm okay, buddy, promise. I'm glad to be back in our time."

Another pair of footsteps was heard as you and Luke had your little reunion. Your heart raced in excitement, recognizing the pattern of the footfall.

"Luke? Who was at the-"

You smiled as his words cut off and he stared at you, frozen and clearly shocked by your arrival. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "Hi, Simeon."

Your voice brought him out of his trance.

He rushed to you and held you close. Everything about your boyfriend was gentle- his tone, his smile, his disposition... his touch normally was, too, but in this moment he held you tighter than he ever had before.

And you clung to him just as tight.

He pulled away after a minute, just taking you in- making sure you were real. His eyes turned glassy as he fought back tears. "MC... you're here. You're okay."

You nodded and felt your own eyes well up a little. "I'm okay, Simeon. I'm even better now that I'm here."

He took a shaky breath and composed himself, nodding once and turning to Luke, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Simeon, let's bring them to the parlor. We have so much to catch up on. We could watch a movie- oh! We could do some late night baking..."

The two of you shared a longing look as he rambled on about all the things you could do that night. There was a silent understanding between the two of you that you wanted some alone time, so he gave you a sly smile before addressing the boy.

"I know you're not going to like what I have to say, Luke, but it's getting late."

The angel frowned immediately and crossed his arms. "But Simeon, I want to spend time with MC!"

"I know, but you were already about to go to bed before answering the door. It's best to stay on schedule so you don't ruin your sleep cycle."

"But how is this any different than when you let me stay up late during our sleepovers?"

"Well..." he had a point. "I'm sure that MC is tired right now from their trip back. Time travel must be very draining, you know."

You stifled a laugh as Simeon grasped at straws to get more alone time with you and decided to help him out when he shot you a pleading look.

"Luke, how about we wake up early tomorrow and make breakfast together? Simeon's right, I'm exhausted and I want to be wide awake when we hang out. Does that sound okay? I'll spend the night and you can wake me up as soon as you wake up."

This seemed to satisfy him and he nodded, before hugging you one last time and running up to his room with a quick "Goodnight!"

You both waited for the sound of his door closing before his lips were on yours. You sighed into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. It was soft and needy and longing. Exactly what the two of you needed. Your hands tugged at his hair and his hands roamed from your waist to your hips. His touch was back to being gentle.

You stayed like that for a bit, one hand trailing down to play with the hair on the nape of his neck.

When he pulled away after a while, a little breathless, he tugged you to his bedroom and let you rummage around through the drawer of your clothes he let you have for whenever you stayed the night.

When you were both changed and laying under his covers, cuddled up as close as possible, he kissed your temple. "I missed you so much, MC..." he whispered. "I was terrified that you would be harmed."

You turned on your side to face him properly. "I'm okay, Simeon. I just missed you a lot. You were there, you know... and you were almost the same. It was so hard for me to hold back from acting how I normally would with you..." you traced a finger along the bridge of his nose and then over his cheekbones. "I had to remember that it wasn't a version of you that knows me like you do. You were so close but so far."

He caressed your cheek with his knuckles and gazed at you with a loving smile. "Well I'm here, and it's me. I'm all yours, MC. You're okay."

If he was being honest, he felt like he could breathe again. Being away from you, knowing where- when- you were and not being able to help in any way was torture. Having you back safe and sound was the biggest blessing he could ever receive.

You leaned up to kiss him again and then rested your forehead against the crook of his neck. "I love you, Simeon."

"I love you too, MC. I'm so glad you're back."

Barbatos

Once you entered the castle, you immediately asked around to find out if anyone had seen him. The first few servants had no clue, but welcomed you back to the castle with a smile. It wasn't until the fifth servant you had run into that you got an idea of where he might be.

"I believe I saw him heading down to the dungeon about an hour ago. He's been spending a lot of time there lately- when he's not tending to the prince, of course. If you wait there, he should be about done with his... ah... appointment," he said.

"Thank you!" And then you were dashing to the top of the stairs leading to the dungeon. Just as you were about to descend the staircase, a familiar figure was ascending.

You both froze and stared at each other for a good few seconds, taking in the fact that he was in his demon form, covered in blood and carrying a bag. This certainly wasn't the reunion either of you were expecting.

However that didn't matter, because as you were too excited to finally have him back, you jumped into his arms, not caring about any blood on your already trashed clothes.

"Barbatos, I've missed you so much," you sighed in the crook of his neck.

He finally seemed to register was was happening and dropped the bag, wrapping his arms around you. His tail curled around your leg as well, a seemingly unconscious act. "MC... I've missed you, too." He said, slightly breathless. It wasn't often that anyone could catch him off guard, so you smiled slightly at your achievement.

Once he regained his composure, he immediately pulled back and looked you over for any injuries he could attend to. "Are you alright, my dear? Are you hurt? When did you get back?"

You cupped his cheeks and smiled up at him. "I'm alright. I got back about an hour ago, I just woke up in my room. I wanted to see you right away after I got done with the brothers," you said, and then ran a thumb under his eye.

"I'm happy you're back." He said, bringing up the hand with the less soiled glove to rest over your own. "I feel much more at ease now that you're here."

He'd never tell you how much of an understatement that was. He felt like everything was right again. His heart had been pounding in his chest ever since you made eye contact. He'd never tell you, but he was sure that you knew.

You smiled at him teasingly. "Have you been taking your nerves out on the prisoners? Is that why you're covered in blood?"

He chuckled. "It might be. Would that be so wrong? It's an effective way to relieve stress."

You snorted as he uncoiled his tail from your leg and brought your hands down to swing in between you both as you walked. "That's fair... Barbatos, would it be too much to ask if I could stay with you tonight?"

He squeezed your hand slightly. "Not at all, I was going to insist upon it. I still have things I must tend to tonight, but I need to clean myself off first. And while I'm at it, I will get you some new clothes. Then you should see the young master to let him know you're back."

You nodded at him and clung to his arm. One thing that hadn't changed from back then was how to the point and blunt he was. It was admirable, really. He smiled a bit as you walked, feeling perfectly content for the first time in a while.

Once you were both cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothing, you headed to Diavolo's office. You weren't nearly as nervous to see him as you were your boyfriend, but nerves still bubbled in your stomach. He was a close friend, after all.

Barbatos knocked and entered, signaling for you to wait a moment. You could hear muffled speech from the other side of the door before it opened again and he ushered you in.

Diavolo's eyes lit up. "MC, welcome back! You must be so glad to be home safe. I hope you're able to rest well tonight. We'll call a meeting tomorrow with everyone so you and Solomon can explain everything in detail. For now I expect you to take it easy for tonight."

You grinned at him. "Thank you, Diavolo. I'm happy to be back." You looked at Barbatos briefly to address him in a softer tone. "Should I wait in your room or the parlor?"

He was about to respond before Diavolo cut in. "Oh, Barbatos, you're dismissed for tonight. I'm just about done here, anyway."

The butler's eyes widened. "My lord?"

"You deserve to spend this time with them, take the night off."

"...Are you sure, my lord?"

He nodded and then looked at you pointedly. It was clear he was conveying along the lines of 'get him out of here, I can't convince him on my own'.

You smiled and bowed your head at him in thanks and gently tugged your boyfriend out of the office. "Come on, my love."

Once you were back in the hallway, he looked at you. "Are you hungry? I could bake for you, it's not too late yet."

You nodded. "That would be great, thank you..." you kissed him on the cheek as you walked, laughing slightly at his still-stunned expression.

Clearly he wasn't expecting much free time tonight, but with one glance at you, he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it. "When we're done in the kitchen, I think we should turn in for the night a bit early..." he leaned in close and brushed his lips against your cheek. "Does that sound alright with you, my love?"

You shuddered and nodded, looking up at him with an expression that matched his own. "That sounds perfect."

He was so happy to have you back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so happy to have this done!! it was genuinely so much fun to write... I'm sorry for Barb's section being so... short? and ooc? I had the hardest time figuring out how I wanted to portray him and I think I'm going to have to keep working on it cause I'm not 100% happy with it, but we'll see!

I also dug up some unrealized feelings I have for Diavolo with this fic, cause now I'm like totally head over heels for him.

all in all though, I hope you enjoyed!!

[binniesbooks]

hi fayebae, imma send these before i go for my hiatus again(im not sure if you alr have smth planned for tyun n hyuka! cos i know u have a yj fic thats coming soon, so ill send these in for them)

was thinking of tyun x reader for this

uk the series “academy reincarnation”!! There was a salsa dance ep! I was thinking that reader decided to sign up to the salsa academy where tyun is one of the instructors?/student! reader wanted to learn salsa for the longest time but has always been afraid to as one would usually need to dance in pairs. afraid of having any physical contact with any stranger(due to a trauma she formed from a relationship), even tho it was difficult, reader eventually let down her walls with tyun as the many practice sessions go by, she finds herself now looking forward to salsa practices as thats the only time she can see tyun! And she craves his touch. During one of the practices, they got so lost in the dance that their faces ended up really close to each other! Tension arises(she wants him, he wants her, dare i say more 🤭smut of course!) [didnt wanna write too much to allow ur creative freedom!!]

i hope this is good gah(just thought i should send smth in for the other members too hehe, pls dont put aside ur wip again!! Do this after ure done w ur yj one gah) love u my soobie fav boobie💗

TENDER TOUCH

TH 002 .F22 2024

wc 5.3k

pairings gentle!Taehyun x abused!reader

warnings physical and sexual abuse, traumatic experience, traumatized reader, protected sex, abusive ex-boyfriend (idk what else did I miss)

faye's note *insert: Taehyun's 어디 있지 (where am I) in boba😳* as promised, here's my second fic for the day! this is my first Taehyun fic and I'm fucking obsessed that it got up to 5.3k words, wth. Anyways, @inkigayocamman I know you requested a Tae fic, but here's another one for u to enjoy I guess while I'm still working on it. 🙂‍↕️ I hope you like this too! And ofc, to my one and only Beomgyu's kitten, I love your brain, it's so sexy omfg. I'm totally sat. Plus yeah, the yj fic is still on the line. 🤣 Anyway, I did a few research(again) for this fic, so I hope it turned out good, fingers crossed!

Edit: Thanks for proofreading the whole ass fic @babymochibeargyu I'm dead now. 😭😂 luv uuuu 😖💓

"Learn how to dance Salsa, we offer multiple dance forms for beginners to professionals. Come join us..." You mumbled reading the flyer your friend handed you.

"Jia, you know I can't do anything like this anymore." You sighed as you handed her back the flyer.

"I know, I know, it's because of your trauma, right? But maybe this is the way that can only help you overcome that trauma," She started, "I'm worried about you taking this class but I'm more worried about you carrying that trauma all throughout your life." Jia gently holds your hand, still careful not to scare you with the skin contact.

You're lost in your thought for a while thinking if you can really let go of your trauma after all this time. It's been so long since you haven't engaged in any relationship after your last one.

"I-I'll think about it." You sighed, you really wanted to be free but you just didn't know how to start. "Please do, I really wanted to help you." Jia's eyes are full of worry, sadness and guilt. Because it's been so long yet she can't do anything to help.

You've always been wanting to learn how to dance Salsa. It's like your little dream ever since, however, your boyfriend from your last relationship did not even want you to be touched nor be grazed by any man's skin. You insisted you could just pair with a girl but he threatened you to hurt anyone who will be around you if you kept on insisting to register for the dance class. You ended up not registering for the class and burying your little dance dream into the depths of your heart.

The following week, you found yourself standing in front of the dance academy building. Breathing slowly, thinking deeply whether you really want to do it or not. You were clutching on the flyer tightly. Your knees fell weak as you stumbled down, retreating all the way to the confinement of your apartment to hide from the world.

It took so much courage for you to do this. Especially when you ended up trying once again a week later. You're standing in the front of the building, staring at the swaying banner of the academy with a "SALSA DANCE ACADEMY" written on it.

You softly knocked on the door before opening it. "Hi! Come in! How may I help you?" You were greeted with s young lady, clad in a salsa dance costume. She looks bright and bubbly.

"I.. Uhm.. wanted to register for the class." You meekly answered as you slid down on the chair. "May I know your name?" The lady picked up the pen on the table and grabbed a file.

"Y/n...y/n s/n." You silently answered.

"What class would you like to be included in?" The lady's smile never faltered. Her bright aura makes you feel comfortable for a bit. "What do you offer?" You asked back.

"Well, we have group sessions and we also have one-on-one lessons," you nodded at her, signaling her to keep going. "In group sessions, there will be 15 pairs -- 30 individuals in a class, plus the 2 dance instructors," you felt pressured with just the thought of being included in the group. "In the one-on-one class, we will find you a pair if you still have none, or you can bring one, and then also a pair of instructors," she explained.

"I'll take the latter."

"Please sign here and we'll wait for another one to sign up." She smiled again at you. You were thinking of bringing your friend to the class.

"By any chance, can I bring a girl for the one-on-one class?" Her expression suddenly turned sad, "I'm afraid we are only taking a man and a woman as a pair for the one-on-one class. Usually, the pairs who sign up for the one-on-one class end up acquiring advanced skills than those who are in the group."

You thought of backing out once again but you shook your head to clear your mind. You're already here, you're already a step closer to the most awaited time of your life: to let go of your trauma.

"We'll call you once we receive another sign-up for a one-on-one class. Thank you for dropping by." The lady waved her hand as you stepped outside.

You shrunk to the corner of the door, people are looking at you but you're too occupied to even give a damn.

It's been a week. You didn't know how to explain how you felt. Half of you felt happy that you hadn't received a call yet, because that would only means you didn't have to do it anymore and there wouldn't be anymore skin contact for you to trigger your trauma. However, the other half of you felt disappointed. You would have been lying if you said that you didn't get your hopes up, thinking that this would be the way to be finally free from your trauma.

"Still haven't received a call?" Your friend placed the pizza she brought on your coffee table. Today was the day she would usually pay you a visit to your apartment. She started doing this from 2 years ago, when you and your ex-boyfriend finally broke up.

You hummed in response as you dug out the box of pizza. Nevertheless, you don't want to bring your thoughts about the dance academy again.

A couple of minutes passed when your phone rang, causing both your heads to look towards your phone

"Hello?"

"Hi! Can I talk to Ms. Y/n s/n?" The voice over the line spoke brightly.

"Y/n speaking." You just answered back, looking at your friend who's anticipating a piece of good news.

"We just want to inform you that someone already signed up for the one-on-one class as your pair. The class will start this Monday, are you fine with it?" Your friend sighed in relief as soon as she heard it.

"O-okay. Sure." You felt a rush of anxiety travel throughout your body, as your fingers trembled hanging up the call.

"Hey, it's okay." Your friend wrapped the thick blanket around your shoulders before hugging you. Afraid that she might trigger your trauma. "You'll be fine." She tries to calm you down by rubbing your back.

2 days passed by quickly. Enough to make you coil up in bed instead of getting up. Your phone vibrates from an incoming message.

Dearest Jia: Take care later, okay? I know you can do it. I won't be able to go because of work, so I hope you understand:< but I'll pick you up when you're done! <3

You: I don't feel like going.

Dearest Jia: Noooo! You've come this far. You should go, I know you can do this!

You: Fine, I'll text you when I'm done with the class.

You tossed your phone on the bed as you grunt into your pillow. You're just glad your dance class starts at 3 in the afternoon. You still had a lot of time to prepare your body and mind.

Quarter to 3, you're already in front of the building, a few people going in at the same time. Probably for the group session. You wanted to go home but the lady called you out.

"Y/n! Please come in. I'll accompany you to the assigned room. I'm Daeun, btw." She extended her hand to you but you froze. You're too afraid. But someone else caught Daeun's hand. "I'm Taehyun, the one who signed up for the pair." A tall guy appeared on your side, shaking her hand. "I-i'm y/n." You meekly introduced yourself without touching any of them. The lady looked confused at first but she shrugged it off.

"Okay, I'll leave you two here, Mr. and Mrs. Hwang are inside already."

Taehyun pushed the door open, you were both greeted with a polished wooden floor and mirror walls in the wide room. Two people were sitting in the corner. They must be your instructors.

"Please come in!" The lady waved at the both of you.

"Do you know each other?" The man asked which the both of you only answered by shaking your head.

"I think we should start our class with an introduction. Don't you think?" The lady nodded.

"I'm Mr. Hwang and this is Mrs. Hwang. She's my wife and we mainly teach one-on-one classes. You are?" They turn their gaze to Taehyun.

"My name is Kang Taehyun. I also dance but not in this genre. So I wanted to learn this." They then looked at you.

"I... I am y/n. I signed up for the class t-to overcome my t-rauma." Your words are slurred, and your reason made your instructors gasp. "I-I used to be in a r-relationship. And t-they're the reason why I can't e-even touch people or let other p- people t-touch me." You bit your lip as you look up at them.

"Honey, but I'm afraid this dance requires a lot of holding and touching, what should we do?" Mrs. Hwang clasped both of her hands on her mouth as she turned a bit emotional.

"By any chance, can you hold someone when there's a barrier between them? Like, there is no direct skin-to-skin contact?" Taehyun spoke up, you nodded lightly at him. "It's been two years so I think I can tolerate it to an extent."

"Then I think we're good Mrs. Hwang. I'm thinking of using a glove or something. If that's what makes her comfortable. I don't mind at all." Taehyun remarked.

Taehyun ended up wearing gloves for your dance class. And as much as possible, he's avoiding any of your exposed body parts. He's also lightly touching you that you feel as though it's just air grazing your body.

So far so good, the 3-hour class ended up okay. Jia picked you up 30 minutes later after you texted her that you were done.

Your dance class went well the next day. And the day after that. And the following days after that. Days became weeks, weeks became months. It's all going well, with Taehyun's careful assistance over you.

Today was the day you decided to step further to your goal.

"Taehyun, I think we can now stop using the gloves. We've been dancing for a month now and I hate it whenever I think about the gloves. It feels like I'm being disgusted by you or something." You stated to Taehyun once the two of you were on a quick break. Within one month, you grew closer to Taehyun. The quick breaks were your time to tell stories to each other.

"Are you sure? You're not making me feel like any of that, by the way. But are you sure you can do it now?" His eyes seek yours. You simply nodded as you removed your jacket leaving you with your t-shirt on.

"Are you two, okay? Shall we continue?" Your dance instructor asked, checking on you, as you and Taehyun stood up. Taehyun discarded the gloves he was using on top of his bag as he folded his long-sleeved t-shirt up to his elbow.

You started off well. Taehyun holding your hand as gently as he could as usual. Letting you turn around with some quick footwork. It was all good actually, until he needed to lean in, holding your waist and your thigh. One more turn, his arms and fingers graze through your arms. His delicate fingers holding your waist once again. A quick turnaround. A step faster. A more closer proximity.

"You fucker! Come back here! I know what you did!"

"S-stop! We're already over Han!" You squealed as you blocked the door with your body.

"You're fucking dead meat when this door opens!"

Your tears wouldn't stop flowing from your cheeks as you kept your body pressed on the banging door. Han has been your boyfriend for 9 months now. At first, he was so good to you, treating you like the princess you deserved to be. But it was too good to be true that you started to feel it was wrong. Just 2 months ago he started hurting you physically and abusing you sexually. He was too obsessed with you too that he sometimes he would start locking you up in your apartment. Even your requests got declined. At first, you let it pass as you thought it was normal. But you started earning bruises and wounds. You barely ate, barely drank, you even barely slept. You would often get fevers too. The slightest noise would make your soul jump out and the slightest movement would make you flinch.

Jia, your friend, was the one who advised you to report him. So you did, that was why he was here banging at your door.

Han's voice can no longer be heard, hence you decided to quickly hide in your closet, as you dug out your spare phone you had hidden to contact your friend.

You quickly called Jia, telling her to call the police or something but you were cut off when the door bursts open. Han was holding a gun and laughing hysterically.

"Fuck you, you bitch! You're really dead!" You quickly covered your mouth.

"Come out, kitten. Come out from wherever the fuck you're hiding!" His voice echoed through the room drowning your quiet sobs.

That's when he forcefully opened the closet you're hiding. "Ohhh, you look so scared kitten, why?" He cooed at you as his lips stretched to form a mocking grin. "Move to the bed!" You shook your head. "Fucking move to the bed!" He fired a warning shot at the mirror, crashing it. You yelped at the noise. With your trembling body, you quickly scrambled your way to the bed covering your bruised-up body.

"Strip." He commanded as he pointed the gun at you. With no choice left, and your life at stake, you did what he ordered.

He crashed his lips on yours harshly. When he noticed you didn't kiss him back, he slapped you. Blood flowed through your lips as you choked on your sobs. With the gun still pointed at your head, he started harassing you again. His hand left a bruised mark on your neck as he tightly squeezes it. You could almost see the white light as your weak body just let him do anything. There was no use thrashing around as if you had accepted your dying fate.

"Freeze!" Was the only thing you heard before everything around you went black.

You opened your eyes inside the hospital, pulled every apparatus attached to your body and started screaming. It made Jia scream out and call for a doctor. They couldn't calm you down so they needed to give you a shot for temporary sleep.

Everything came swirling back to you. Pushing Taehyun away, causing your body to crash on the wooden floor. "Shit!" Taehyun cursed under his breath as he hurriedly pushed back his sleeves and wore the gloves again, picking up your jacket at the same time, before coming back to you. Your instructors let out a shock gasp as they also rushed over to you.

"Please grab a blanket or any thick clothing!" Taehyun shouts as he tries to ease you by covering your shoulder with your jacket.

Mr. Hwang passed Taehyun his padded jacket he always brought with him. Taehyun carefully wrapped the thick jacket around your body. He holds your face as he tries to soothe you.

"Y/n, look at me, please look at me." Sweat started to form on his forehead as tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "Please, look at me, and breathe slowly. Breathe slowly. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale." Taehyun guided your breathing as his glove-cladded hands rubbed your cheeks.

Mrs. Hwang was panicking but Mr. Hwang tried to calm her down before he went out to grab a glass of water.

Your heartbeat slowed down for at least a bit. Taehyun guiding you helped somehow as you slowly calmed down. Taehyun got the water from Mr. Hwang and held it in front of you as he let you sip on the water slowly.

"Are you feeling okay now?" Taehyun tucked your sweaty hair behind your ears. His eyes were full of worry. "Do you wanna go home and rest?" He's still carefully rubbing your shoulder. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have removed the gloves. That was too risky." Taehyun mumbled as he hesitated to hold your hand.

That same afternoon, he called your friend over. He introduced himself and explained the situation. He let your friend take you home as he bid you two goodbye. You're lucky it was Friday at that time so you don't have to worry about waking up the next morning to go to your dance class. For the next two days, you spent it caving in your room. It helped you calm down.

Monday. You opened the door. You laughed at the scene in front of your eyes.

"What's that?" You chuckled as you placed your bag on the corner. Taehyun looks at himself in the mirror. He's totally covered. He's wearing a thicker glove and a padded jacket. His usual dress pants are now sweats. He's even wearing a mask. He scratched the back of his head.

"Pft. That's too much. Don't worry I'm fine now. Thank you by the way." You smiled at him.

"Are you sure? Because that scared me. I don't know what to do." He removed his jacket along with the face mask and the thick gloves.

"Mhm, I'm sure." You assured him.

"Okay then. We'll try again. Slowly this time." His eyes are full of concern as he looks at you. You smiled at him as you accepted his hand.

For another month, Taehyun tried to connect with you. Stopping whenever needed. Wearing the things he needs to wear whenever he can sense your anxiety rising. For once, you realize how he gently holds you. How he's always careful with you, treating you like a fragile glass that would easily break if you weren't handled correctly. One month passed without much problem. If anything, you're actually growing accustomed to it.

For some reason, you learned to feel comfortable with Taehyun's touch. The graze of his skin, his fingers, and his touch never terrified you anymore, and his existence no longer made you panic.

Now, he's solely the reason why you're still attending your dance class. You're slowly putting your trust in him. You're slowly putting your walls down. He can now hold your hand without fear. He can now dance without thinking that you would startled. He slowly introduced you to the steps that requires your body to be closer. Teaching you how the steps are supposed to be done. You're no longer panicking. Even when your face is just only few inches from him, you were actually smiling at each other. You no longer feared his touch. If anything, he's only leaving you all tingly with his warm skin.

You could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Whenever you leaned on his chest, it made your heart flutter. His breath on your shoulder, your neck, any part of your body makes the knot in your stomach twist tighter.

You're slowly craving for his touch. For how he cares for you, for how he tends to you. Whenever you're home, he keeps popping into your head. How his sharky smile appears whenever he's happy. The small noises he made. His cat-like attitude. He's the perfect example of hot, sexy and cute.

Every last week of the month, you would have all the time to yourselves to gather all your skills acquired. Because every once a month, you had to show what you have learnt in class. This now left the two of you alone in the dance studio. Perfecting every step and move you needed to show on evaluation day.

Taehyun's lingering touches left you all tingly. His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine. His breath alone makes your mind go in a twist.

"One step back, two steps to the front... One turn and... Lean you down." He's matching his words on every beat of the step. You thought it only happens in a fantasy world. But it was like the world stopped when his eyes were fixed on yours. His steady breath makes you hold yours. His eyes traveled down to your lips as he gulped. He mumbles a soft "You're pretty," before pulling you back to stand on both your feet.

His hands are both on your face as he slowly backs you to the mirror. His breath is unsteady and warm. The moment he got you pressed on the mirror, he leaned his forehead on yours as he closed his eyes.

"You're really pretty. So pretty I'm afraid I can't control myself." He whispered. Your hands were on his chest, you felt how his heart was thumping so hard.

"S-should we head out early?" You whispered, your hot puffs of breath touching his lips got him reeling as he cursed under his breath.

He quickly pulls away, holds your hand and grabs both of your bags. Both heading outside to his car. "Tell your friend I'm taking you home instead." The air in the car throughout the drive was so thick. His hands were gripping on the wheels, tapping impatiently when the road slowed down.

"Calm down, Tae, I'm not going anywhere." You chuckled as you placed your hand above his when it was resting on the gear shift. He throws a quick glance at you. He bit his lip as a flush crept up on his cheeks.

The drive was short, but Taehyun's action made it look like it was not. He hurriedly got out of his car, running over to your side to open the door for you as he held your hand. His jittery steps were heavy as you both made your way to his humble home.

"Come in." He nervously spoke as he placed his shoe on the rack, switching the light on in the process.

"D-do you want a drink or something?" He was almost running towards the kitchen.

You flop on his couch, making yourself comfortable at some point. "Come here, instead," you chuckled, "You're so anxious for no reason, Taehyun." He sat down beside you, wiping his sweaty palms on his dress pants as he sighed. You scoot over, holding his face, lips just a few inches apart.

"Wait," he pushed you a bit, "a-are you sure about this?" You nodded and smiled at him. "G-give me a minute." He rummaged through his back pocket pulling a handkerchief. You looked at him confused.

He unfolded the handkerchief and gently placed the thin fabric on your lips before crashing his lips on yours. He holds your nape as he climbs up on the couch. He slowly laid you down. Lips unmoving, yet it feels so hot. His lips were just merely pressed on yours with the fabric separating both of your soft skin.

He pulled away, kissing your forehead. "I'm sorry." He whispered as if he was the one who did you wrong. You gently pull the handkerchief away as you tangle your fingers in his hair. Taehyun never failed to take care of you in the most gentle way possible. He's not thinking of his pleasure at this point. He's thinking about you. To the point that he even thought of putting a piece of cloth between your lips just to be able to kiss you.

You wanted to cry at how he's taking care of you. Your eyes welled up with tears as you pulled him back. "I'm good now Tae, thank you for taking care of me. There's no need for the hanky." You whispered before your tears rolled down your cheeks as you kissed him, bare.

He's a gentleman. He's too good to be true. But you let your walls fall down and let him enter. You let him protect you instead. But his hungry kiss spoke thousands of emotions. His kisses travel down to your neck.

"Taehyun..." You whimpered as you gripped his hair.

"A bit more... Just a bit more..." He started sucking and biting your neck and shoulder, leaving splotchy red marks. He pulls away for a while, enough time to tug your shirt off your body.

His fingers slowly traced every scar you have on your body. The marks on your chest from the bottle Han once threw at you. The cigarette burns on your stomach. He also pulled down your skirts only to see stitches from your thighs. You got this when Han pushed you down the stairs. His finger draws back to your lips. The scar from the cut when he slapped you is still visible.

You covered your face out of embarrassment. You no longer look pretty with your all bruised-up body. "We can't do this here." Taehyun got up and carried you all the way to his bedroom. He laid you carefully as ever in his bedroom.

The bed dips down at his weight as he kneels between your legs. His head dips down to kiss every scar you have on your delicate body as if he's kissing your trauma away. He took his precious time. Not wanting to scare or startle you at any point. His actions are being done with all tenderness.

"Do you still want me to continue?" He asks when he hovers above your body, his elbows on both sides of your head. "I want you Taehyun, please do..." You whined biting your lip. "How can I say no when you say it like that, sweetheart." He sighed leaning his forehead on yours again. Your arms crawled under his shirt, feeling his toned body hiding beneath the soft cotton shirt he was wearing. "C-can you take it off? I feel so exposed." You mumbled as you tugged his shirt. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry." He quickly backed up to discard his shirt on the floor.

You stared at him when he was all fours above you. His body is totally toned. You can clearly see the firm muscles on his arms. His buff chest and his perfectly defined abs. "Touch me. I won't stop you. Touch me so you won't feel embarrassed anymore. Touch me so you won't feel as if I'm taking advantage of you. Touch me so you won't feel scared." He grabbed one of your hands and placed it on his chest, slowly dragging it down to his abs.

When he lets go of your hands, you continue to drag them down to the waistband of his dress pants. "C-continue..." His eyes were shut close, his lips trapped between his teeth. You can clearly see his abs tightening as he clenches with the graze of your finger on his waist. He gulps when you hook your finger inside. You unhooked the clip that's binding his pants and pulled the zipper down. His breathing hitched at the lingering touches you're leaving on his lower body.

You gently stroked him as you looked for his eyes. His lips were swollen at how he was biting it. "You won't let it out?" You tried taunting him. "Fuck..." He lets go of his long-held breath, hissing through his teeth. "Y-you're making me crazy, sweetheart... You're totally making me crazy..." He huffed as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Condom?" You asked. He reached into the small drawer just beside your head, pulling out a packet of condoms. "D'you wanna p-put it in f'me?" His words were short, and he was catching his breath. You gently rubbed the head of his cock as you rip the packet with your teeth.

"S-sweetheart, you're... Shit... You're k-killing me." He shuddered when you pressed at his slit, his jaw clenched tightly, his hand grasping the sheets.

You slowly drag your fingers on his cock as you wrapped it with the condom. "T-take your time... I w-won't do anything to hurt you or...ahh... or m-make you s-scared of me." He's struggling to hold back but he's doing his best. As soon as you were done, you tangled your fingers on his again, pulling him for a kiss. A kiss full of care. Gentle. Delicate. Sweet.

He pulls away, caressing your face once more. He pulls your underwear in one swift motion as he lines himself up on you, slowly pushing in. He continuously soothes you by rubbing his thumb on your cheek. "Don't be scared, hm? I'm here. It's just me..." He keeps on mumbling, repeating the same phrase as you nod back at him.

Once he has bottomed out inside you, he stays still as he continues to plant soft kisses on your face. You were tearing up not because of the trauma anymore, but because of the love and care he's showing you.

He unhooked your bra as he gently groped your breast, his fingers flicked on your nipple as he suck on the other. "Mmm..." You whimpered underneath his big body squirming at how his tongue danced on your nipple. He didn't take long, afraid that he might hurt or trigger your trauma.

"C-can I move now? I might end up c-cumming now. You've been clenching f-for some time..." He muttered under his breath. You nodded and covered your face again.

He pulled both of your hands and intertwined your fingers with him above your head. "Please don't cover your face. You're beautiful. You're still pretty even with your scars. You're still gorgeous even with your fear and trauma. Please... Just let me take care of you. I know it'll be hard for you, but I promise. I promise to hold you dearly and cherish you." His eyes were looking for answers.

"Taehyun... Please... Please take care of me from now on. Please hold me when I feel scared... Make me feel loved..." Your silent weeps were drowned as he kissed your nose. "I'll be your peace, sweetheart." He wiped your tears as he slowly thrusts in you.

"I... I promise to hold you as gently as I can... But... I think I might end up g-going hard right n-now." He buried his face in the crook of your neck.

Your arms reached over his back as your nails dug and dragged over his bare back. "T-Taehyun..." You moaned out his name as you writhed in pleasure beneath him. The slow thrust becomes a little bit more sloppy. The skin slapping echoed through the solitude of his room.

"Fuck. Please forgive me if e-end up going t-too hard. But I promise to d-do my best to hold b-back." He grunted as his thrust went harder. You shook your head wanting him to go harder.

"I-i can't hurt you... I w-won't..." He steadies the way he thrusts inside you making the knot on your stomach tighten as you feel your high just around the corner.

You held him as if your life depended on him, "Taehyun... I'm close." "D-do it, sweetheart. I'm g-gonna cum any m-minute." He pressed his lips on you to drown your moans as you both came. He rubbed your waist as he soothed you before pulling out. Tying the condom and disposing it in the bin, zipping up his pants at the same time.

He bends down to kiss your forehead as he grabs a pack of wet wipes cleaning you up. He picked up his shirt and made you wear it. He finally laid beside you as he pulled you on his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" He checks on you, to which you replied by shaking your head and a smile. "Sorry for going too hard, I did my best to hold back," he mumbled as he kissed the top of your head. "I'm okay Taehyun. Thank you so much." Your eyes finally close as his warmth embraces you. He hums while still hugging you close to him.

"Please rest now, sweetheart. When you wake up, you no longer have to suffer anymore. You're safe with me. You're finally safe with me."

@binniesbooks 2024

[aerkame]

Alright I read your request rules and I’m ready to request!

Wally Darling x Curious Reader

You know that little fic you made where you wrote the puppets coming into the real world? (I commented on it!)——I hope you wouldn’t mind me trying to branch off it! Imaging it happening to me, I would actually like to inspect Wally since he’s clearly not human. Of course, with consent. I would open his mouth- see what’s inside, touch his felt, his hair, all of it.

And I’d imagine he’d be curious about us too.

Sorry for this being a bit late, I wanted a short break from writing and drawing all day. Also I'm perfectly fine with that being branched off of! Most of my previous posts are kind of like foundations for future fics and requests to go off of.

Also for the sake of simplicity I will just call this an AU(Alternate Universe). The Alive AU. It's exactly what it sounds like, the puppets come to life but as their cartoon selves in the real world and are capable of going back to their own world at any time. (Wally needs to do that though or they're stuck, he knows what he's doing). I'm also doing this so that in the future when we do have answers to Welcome Home, it won't interfere with theories or what is considered "canon". This request is based on a previous post (linked below this), for context.

Just a Little Look

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Out of all the other 'puppets', Wally was the one you were most curious and cautious about. It wasn't that he ate differently, it wasn't because his eyes looked different from the rest, and it wasn't because he was always staring at you. No, it was the way he acted. He acted like he's done this before. The whole going into this world and not being a normal puppet bit. You decided that you might as well ask Wally if you could feel him or look inside his mouth...maybe not that first one though, that might come out as weird to him and the others. It's not like he had a reason to say no really, you were just curious.

The 'puppet' with an Elvis cut was sitting down on your couch one leg crossed over the other like the distinguished dude that he was, face buried in a newspaper from this morning. You don't remember teaching him how to read the newspaper, where did he even get that? "Hey Wally..." You shuffled your foot a bit, getting somewhat anxious. "Can I look in your mouth?"

"Hmm?" He looked up from reading the paper with an almost dreamy look to him. "Can I look in your mouth?" You repeated the question, this time he heard you as his head tilted to the side. "Now what would you want to look in my mouth for?" His voice was as calm as usual, though he did have a bit of a smirk today.

"I'm just curious is all, you're not like the others and I've never seen what you guys look like on the inside." You gestured to the inside of your mouth, sticking your tongue out. Wally slowly got up from the couch and leaned over you, smirk still lingering on his face. "Well, I don't see why not, but I'll only let you look inside me if you let me look inside you." You nodded, excited to finally get a look. "Alright, sounds fair." You responded as Wally folded up the newspaper and neatly placed it on the coffee table.

Bending down, Wally opened his mouth quite a bit to let you look, making a small "Ahhh~" like a child would when letting a doctor look at their throat. You peered over to see inside. It was what a normal puppet mouth would look like save for the small black void at the back of the 'throat'. You're not even going to question how Wally speaks or eats, nothing surprises you anymore at this point. Kind of weird to see what is basically a tiny void though.

He closed his mouth once you were done looking before leaning closer to softly grab your face in his hands. It wasn't what you'd thought it'd feel like. You were expecting something like felt, but that wasn't it. It was some other material you've never felt before, it was soft and smooth like silk, but not in a sense that it was fabric. "I believe it's my turn to see the inside of your mouth now." You nodded quietly and opened your mouth as wide as you could, showing off your canines and molars.

It was awkwardly quiet in the living room for a while and you slowly found yourself leaning further and further into the soft hands that held your head up earning a small chuckle from Wally. "Tired?" You nodded. It's been a rough week both from your job getting busy and you being busy at the house trying to keep your new guests out of trouble. "It's like I'm taking care of a bunch of kids.." You mumbled into his hands.

"How about you take a good nap then, you'll be up and full of that energy you need." There it was again. You could feel him staring at you with those eyes. You were too tired to say anything this time though and opted for just getting up and heading to your room. Leaving behind a still smirking Wally.

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I told you guys, I write medium to long posts even if they take a while.

Next up? Barnaby and Wally teach the dear reader how to slow dance. :)

[kassiekole22]

Can you do a Syzoth/Reptile x reader, about him telling the reader about things they should know about him & his reptilian form before they date each other? Thank you!!!

Are You Sure?

Picture lightly edited by me.

Description: It takes all the courage in the world to tell Syzoth how you really feel about him. But Syzoth isn't so sure that you can handle a Zaterran as a lover. So he decides to tell you everything you need to know, before taking your relationship to the next level... Warnings: Fluff, Pining, A Small Bit Of NSFW. (For brief mention of breeding.) Word Count: 1.4k A/N: I am sooooo sorry this took so long for me to finish! I've been dealing with some health issues and other personal struggles recently so I've been having a hard time getting things done quickly. But I'm getting better so hopefully that will change soon. I want any other anons to know that I still fully intend on finishing your requests and to other readers, please don't let this discourage you from sending any requests. I love hearing all of your ideas! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this fic. 🖤 MasterList: 🖤 Kassie's Angels: @lorebite, @mornandil, @bihansthot, @katiralovely. (If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! 🖤)

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I slumped down under a shady tree after practicing fighting for a solid two hours. Lord Liu Kang told me the monks would be harsh, but I never expected training to be just as hard as it was. So I sat — the back of my head hitting the bark of the tree as it fell back onto my shoulders — and I let out a tired sigh. My eyes began to fall shut but then the wrestling of tree branches jerked me right awake as I let out a startled gasp. I looked up to find the source of this sudden commotion only to see Syzoth — in his human form — staring down at me from a high branch with a cheeky smile stretching his lips.

"You scared me!" I laughed as I reached an arm up to swat at his feet, which hung down from the branch he sat on.

After responding with a huff of laughter, Syzoth jumped down beside me. He sat down on the ground so close to where I was that I subconsciously held my breath, now very weary of moving in his presence. But not from fear — because it was the closest I had ever been to Syzoth before. The soft touch of his skin touching mine when our elbows brushed together, being engulfed in a cloud of his natural scent, even being able to hear his breath was enough to get my heart beat racing. To say I liked the man was quite an understatement. In my eyes, he was beautiful; I just wish I knew how to tell him that.

"It's so nice out here," he breathed before letting out a relaxed sigh. "I could sit out here for hours."

"Yeah, me too." I agreed, looking in every direction but his. Of course, I wasn't subtle about it — despite trying to be — and he noticed instantly.

"Are you ok?" He asked as his tone dipped softer with more concern.

I simply nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired."

I finally mustered up the strength to look back at him and make eye contact. But as soon as my eyes met those pale green ones, I could feel my cheeks burn with a sudden heat of desire. The expression that grew on his face was much like his tone moments ago: concerned and worried.

'Shit! He notices!'

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?" He asked while placing a hand gently on my own. The sudden contact did not help my rosy completion and I felt my skin burn even more.

I quickly pulled away and nodded my head, "Yes, yes — I'm fine." I assured him. "I just got too much sun today."

It was a good lie and I just prayed that Syzoth was as gullible as I had hoped. He did not answer me after that and for a good moment, peaceful silence had fallen over us and I was glad.

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and finally felt myself relax again. Looking up at the sky, I noticed that not a single cloud covered it, allowing the sun to beam down upon us. The birds chirped happily and the butterflies fluttered in the air — watching them helped all of my stresses melt away and bring me to peace. It truly was a perfect day. I let my eyes flutter shut as a cool breeze blew passed us, and then I felt completely comfortable in my surroundings.

That was until Syzoth's voice broke the long-lasting silence...

"(Y/N)," His voice came out serious as he spoke. His sudden change in tone instantly caught my attention and I turned to face the man. "I have a question that I must ask—"

"Ok — what is it?"

"Do... Do you have feelings for me?" He asked hesitantly and almost... Shyly?

I froze as soon as the words came out of his mouth and I instantly felt my cheeks burn with intense embarrassment. The shock I felt was overwhelming and I had absolutely no idea how to respond. I just sat there, thinking deeply about a million things at once.

'Does he know? Am I really that obvious? There's no way! I mean, I've done so well to hide it!... Haven't I?

As humiliating as it was, I knew I couldn't keep the truth from him for any longer. So after heaving a deep sigh to gain just a little more confidence, I spoke my confession: "Yes, Syzoth — I do have feelings for you."

He stared at me with a blank and not so surprised expression for a moment. I felt as if I was under a burning spotlight while under his gaze. Finally — after a moment that felt like a lifetime — he let out a soft sigh. It didn't seem necessarily stressed or disappointed in anyway — it was just a normal huff of air.

"Are you sure? Because — as you know — I'm no ordinary individual. I'm not human like yo—"

"I don't care, Syzoth!" I cut him off as I raised my voice slightly. I didn't mean to come off aggressive in any way — I was just eager to tell him how I felt. I exhaled slowly and lowered my voice to a more calm pitch. "I like you for you; that stuff doesn't matter."

He looked at me for a moment, almost like he was reading over my words in his mind. Something told me by his expression that he did not believe me and would need further convincing. And unfortunately, I was right.

"No, (Y/N). You do not understand." He heaved a deep breath and shifted so he was facing me more before continuing, "There is still a lot about me that you do not know. Things you are not prepared for—"

"Well... Prepare me!" I basically demanded with an enthusiastic smile and he raised a brow at me for a moment. He seemed almost hesitant to let me into his world but eventually he did nod in agreement.

"Ok... For instance, our diet mainly consists of raw flesh of animals and humans. We can eat cooked foods but we don't prefer it." He paused for a moment to check my facial expression before continuing, "We shed our skin once a year. It's a very long and uncomfortable process and I will become very irritable at that time. I like warmth and do not do well in the cold — I can't handle it, in fact. I also have to keep my skin hydrated and... There's also mating season... Um..."

His eyes averted away from mine as he shifted uncomfortably on the ground while letting out a cough. I blushed at the thought of this "mating season" he mentioned, but tried my hardest to keep my composure for his and my sake.

"I may appear human sometimes, but do know that my reptilian nature still lingers within. Are you sure you want to engage in a romantic relationship with someone like myself?"

I smiled warmly at the man sitting before me and took his big hands in my own, massaging the backs of them with my thumbs to sooth him. It was obvious he was nervous and I didn't want him to be — he deserved to be comfortable with someone for once in his life and I was going to make sure that I was that person.

"Like I said before: I like you for you. And I would be more than happy to engage in a romantic relationship with you — that is, of course, if you want to engage in one with me?"

I gazed up at him through my lashes with hope blossoming in my heart for the first time that day. I felt his hands grow sweaty in my own and the look of concern on his face remained, causing a little bit of that hope to die off.

But then his worried expression melted away with a fond smile as his cheeks turned a faint tint of pink. He leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against mine — not necessarily molding them into a kiss, but just holding them there. So I decided to take charge of the situation and pressed mine into his in the way a kiss would be formed. And happily, he kissed back.

I knew that loving a Zaterran would be a challenge, but I wouldn't have it any other way. My heart longed for him and now that I had him, that's all that mattered to me. I had finally found the one for me and I knew I'd be happy as long as he was at my side — this I was sure of.

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

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

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag. 

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had. 

God, you’d never have friends like that again. 

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen. 

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up. 

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment. 

A city now filled with killers. 

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil. 

Not good. 

Shit. Karver, where did you go!? 

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US. 

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air. 

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed. 

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy. 

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.” 

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been. 

So that was where you came in. 

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.  

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.” 

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty. 

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back. 

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips. 

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple. 

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses. 

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing. 

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured. 

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper. 

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same. 

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come. 

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder? 

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death. 

Your mark has been met. 

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow. 

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze. 

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman. 

The Reaper. 

Oh, what would they think of you now? 

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times. 

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all. 

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries. 

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete. 

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling. 

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set. 

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group. 

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play. 

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching. 

“Hm,” their command affirms.  

 Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–” 

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different. 

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances. 

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow. 

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit. 

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys. 

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant. 

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat. 

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate. 

Price grunts under his breath. 

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask. 

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?” 

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over. 

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves. 

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion. 

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’. 

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand. 

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all. 

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.” 

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell. 

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate. 

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.” 

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer. 

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?” 

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in  – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book. 

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit. 

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over. 

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted. 

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm. 

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before. 

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows. 

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture. 

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.” 

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head. 

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant. 

The room is more silent than Ghost is. 

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.” 

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow. 

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.” 

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time. 

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered. 

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague. 

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim. 

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes. 

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.” 

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders. 

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now! 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.” 

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do. 

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping. 

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself. 

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission. 

And Ghost. 

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks. 

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt. 

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work? 

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky. 

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.  

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch. 

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens.  He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.” 

“Sir!” 

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been. 

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back. 

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself. 

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest. 

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly. 

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily. 

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time. 

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen. 

But there were ups to this constant downward slope. 

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market. 

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.” 

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks. 

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters. 

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky. 

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull. 

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean. 

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me. 

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

 Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt. 

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant. 

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice. 

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked. 

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point. 

If I had known…you frown. 

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.” 

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it. 

Like blood lining the street. 

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you. 

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you. 

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver. 

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins. 

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch. 

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days. 

Your Captain scurries after. 

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type. 

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude. 

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle. 

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case. 

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth. 

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement. 

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?” 

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.” 

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms. 

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?” 

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’ 

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat. 

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’ 

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves. 

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report. 

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued. 

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom. 

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat. 

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race? 

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute. 

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted? 

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound. 

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.” 

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit? 

“Now that’s dark.” 

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights. 

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore. 

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you. 

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?” 

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how. 

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left. 

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely. 

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath. 

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets. 

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles. 

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare. 

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious. 

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.” 

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh. 

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow. 

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way. 

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around. 

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you. 

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around. 

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led. 

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–” 

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it. 

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after. 

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you. 

Boxed in. 

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it. 

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you. 

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it. 

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you. 

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps. 

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious. 

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah! 

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!” 

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs. 

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement. 

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.” 

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant. 

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that. 

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow. 

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee. 

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.  

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time. 

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter. 

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant. 

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now. 

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip? 

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side. 

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate. 

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years. 

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated. 

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks. 

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet. 

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should. 

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors. 

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth. 

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong. 

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

“There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you? 

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[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

You Can't Swim??

SUMMARY: The Octotrio don't know that you have never learned to swim. And you went to a beach. What could go wrong? WORD COUNT: 1.9k (I need to sleep)

WARNINGS: Floyd almost let you drown, reader kind of gets panic attacks? Idk (I'm the writer I should know, someone hit me), reader thinks about whacking Floyd, Azul is genuinely in love, Azul is also very traumatized I think, Azul overthinks A/N: Gotta love how I have no warnings about Jade I- Gotta love getting a fic idea about me being unable to swim- And I've had this thought swimming (lol) in my thoughts for a couple of days?? Idk if reader is the significant other of these guys or just besties. I think it leans toward s/o though This reads like a crack fic to me but honestly make sure you know how to swim so you don't die (i don't but that's not the point here) Maybe OOC Jade because he hides himself too well for me to get an accurate read on personality lmfao When Jade is genuinely sweet but the others are unhinged so naturally the unhinged ones are longer- I'm sorry I get no decent ideas for Jade </3 Another late late night post (it's 1:50 AM)

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

You had never learned to swim. It wasn't that you were afraid, really. It was just that you had passed the age where people normally learned, and now you were too lazy to and/or didn't have enough time. Whatever excuse to stop a nagging person.

Now, this wouldn't have been a problem if you never went anywhere near bodies of water. Which you mostly didn't. However, knowing merfolk was not the best idea if you didn't know how to swim.

Now you have gone to the beach with him, and that probably wasn't the best idea for either of you.

Floyd Leech

You had been sitting on the beach near the water, absently looking over some shells as Floyd splashed around deeper in the ocean. The shells really were interesting - nothing like the ones where you had come from (although they had some similarities) and were colorful. So many shapes and varieties, although most were not intact.

You had been so engrossed in this, in fact, that you hadn't realized Floyd had been sneaking up on you. Before you could say another word, he playfully dragged you into the water. While you were fully clothed.

You weren't expecting to go into the water, but you should've known better with Floyd. He was playful and loved to do stuff like this. Usually if Azul was around, he'd have done something… But he wasn't here.

Before you knew it, you were deeper in the ocean than you ever had been before, courtesy to the teal-haired boy swimming and dragging you along. You flailed around a bit, eyes wide in panic. You were, quite honestly, terrified. And it obviously didn't help when Floyd just immediately let you go.

Was he an idiot or was he an idiot?

"Floyd-" You got out before coughing as water shot up your nose, still flailing miserably. It didn't work. You didn't know what to do. Surely, Floyd would help… If he realized what was going on. No matter what you thought, he was bright, wasn't he?

Not bright enough, it seemed, as he was still laughing and not realizing how actually panicked you were.

"Koebi-chan, you look so ridiculous like that," he laughed, almost in hysterics, and you would've smacked him if you weren't so close to actually dying.

And then you sunk.

Your desperate attempts to go to the surface were pointless as you didn't even know how to float or move around in the water.

After a few seconds, Floyd finally noticed you were gone and quickly dove under the surface. Maybe you were trying to get him back?

But his gaze immediately widened as he saw you literally sinking to the ocean floor. His eel tail moved quickly, almost without thinking as he shot to grab you and take you up, up, up so you could actually breathe.

When you came to, you were on the sandy beach again, Floyd leaning over you. His eyes, normally filled with a joking light, were unusually subdued.

"Koebi-chan, why didn't you tell me you couldn't swim?" A pout grew on Floyd's face. "If I knew, I wouldn't have-"

"Yes you would have. We would still be here, just having a different conversation."

"But-"

"No buts."

"I would've made it more fun-"

"Drowning in the ocean is the opposite of fun, Floyd-"

~Bonus because I don't know how to fit one into the story~ "I can teach you how to swim. You just go whoo and let your body move. Y'know. Like dancing." "No, I don't know, Floyd, and this is not going to help me with anything-"

Jade Leech

Jade had been spending his time on the beach with you, but you were almost certain that he wanted to be swimming in the ocean. It was his natural element, after all.

"Jade, you sure you don't want to go in the water?"

"I'm fine staying here with you, [Y/N]." He gave you a soft smile.

You shook your head. "We've come all the way here, you might as well go swim." You gave him a gentle nudge.

"Well, I'd like you to come with me, if that is possible?" He watched you quietly. "You never go swimming with me."

You paused. Although it was sweet that he wanted you to go with him… "No, I don't think so…" You trailed off. You never liked telling people that you couldn't swim. At this point, it was embarrassing.

The pair of heterochromia eyes staring at you only left you feeling more jittery. "…I, er… I can't swim. So going into the ocean with you sounds kind of like… A bad idea." You froze. "Did you use your Signature Spell on me?"

"Of course not, [Y/N]." Jade stared at you with eyes of hurt, one that looked almost identical to that of his twin's. Only, it was almost obvious that Jade didn't mean the hurt in his eyes. "You just trust me enough to say things to me."

You couldn't deny the truth there. You trusted Jade. "And you wouldn't use your Signature Spell on something so trivial, would you?"

"No, I would not." He shrugged. "On a different note, I can help you learn how to swim."

"I really don't need it-"

"What if someone tries to hurt you one day and they know your weakness?"

"Why would-"

"It's an example, [Y/N]. But if that person decides to do that, you wouldn't be able to do anything. So I should help you in case that scenario occurs."

You sighed softly. "Fine, I guess I can take lessons from you… If it's not too much of a hassle."

"Of course it would not be a hassle or anything of the sort." Jade inclined his head. "All to help you stay safe."

The day went on with Jade helping you learn the basics of swimming - he was a good teacher, which you were happy about. He was patient, and always was there if you ever started to panic.

"We wouldn't want you getting scared of the ocean now, would we?"

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul had gotten used to you after a couple months. Sure, he hadn't opened up to many people in a while (only Floyd and Jade, but they also teased him constantly about everything, so), but you were soothing and nice. Sure, you teased him sometimes, but it was different. It didn't feel mean, you stopped as soon as you noticed him looking a little uncomfortable, and… He honestly felt like he could open up about anything.

So when it was decided that you two were going to the beach - together - alone? It kind of made him very messed up.

Would you like being at the beach with him? He wasn't completely against showing his octopus form… Would you want him to swim with you? Was he even ready for that?

Those thoughts led him down a spiral, and the day you two were to go, he had bags under his eyes and looked like he was half-dead.

You gently nudged him, murmuring how he should've tried to get more sleep for this day supposedly filled with fun, but he just shrugged.

Soon, you were at the beach, and as Azul saw your smiling face, his gaze softened a little. He loved seeing your happy face.

"C'mon!" You grabbed Azul's hand as you started to run to the water, ignoring his surprised stumbling as he was dragged along. He had a light flush on his cheeks that he was glad you couldn't see.

Soon, you had reached the edge of the water, splashing around in your sandals. It was really fun, even though you knew that you were going to be getting sand in your toes later on.

Azul just kind of watched on, a relaxed expression on his face. This really was soothing… Although he was still thinking about if the Mostro Lounge would be okay with him gone. Surely Jade would do something if Floyd got into trouble… Hopefully. And hopefully, no more dishes would break.

"What are you looking so glum for?" Your voice brought him back to his senses.

"Nothing, just hoping that Jade and Floyd can take care of things at the Mostro Lounge." He sighed softly.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be fine. Jade's there, right?"

"He can cause as much trouble as Floyd, you know. Although he won't be outright about it." Azul shook his head, a small frown on his face.

"C'mon, turn that frown upside down." You moved closer to him, gently squishing his cheeks. "Today is for having fun, Azul."

"Yes, yes, I know." Azul couldn't help himself; he let out a soft laugh. A genuine one.

You smiled brightly. "You aren't charging me for hearing your little cute laugh?"

"I will charge you if you call it cute."

"Of course you will." You rolled your eyes before abruptly changing the subject. "So are you not going to swim?"

Azul paused. Did you want him to swim? To see his true form? There was an even chance. What should his answer be? "Er… I don't know?"

"Of course you don't have to, Azul, I just thought… I mean, there's no one around." You shrugged a little.

And now more pressure on Azul. Great. He was used to dealing with pressure, yes. Just not this kind from you. "Er… Would you come swim with me?" If you were with him, then maybe…

"No." Your lips parted, maybe to offer an explanation, but it was too late.

Azul was in a downward spiral. Why had you said no? Perhaps octopi merfolk were really too much. Perhaps you would rather be with someone with a pretty tailfin than tentacles. Or maybe a human, one of your own kind. Who said that you even liked him at all? Perhaps you were only with him out of pity, because he was that useless, chubby, good-for-nothing-

"Azul? Azul, are you listening to me?"

He snapped back to attention.

"Seriously, are you okay? Did you seriously get enough sleep last night?" You sighed.

"That's none of your-"

"It is if you're literally zoning out every five seconds." You rolled your eyes. "And anyway, I was just saying that I kind of can't go deeper into the ocean where you probably feel comfortable swimming. Because I can't swim." You shrugged nonchalantly.

But for Azul, it felt like a figurative bomb had been dropped.

You? Couldn't swim? Now that he thought about it, it did make sense… How you always looked so awkward and uncomfortable with water, especially when you came to the Octavinelle dorm. But seriously? How could you not know how to swim?

"Is not knowing how to swim… Normal?"

"Definitely not." You rolled your eyes. "But I'm just too lazy to learn now. And I have no time."

"You do if you have time to scroll on Magicam." Finally, Azul felt a bit better. At least you didn't hate him.

"And this time, I'll teach you how to swim. I'll even do it free of charge." Azul shook his head. "Seeing as I'm so generous."

"You sound like headmage Crowley."

"Do be quiet."

Azul was a pretty good teacher. He ended up not turning into his octopus form until nearly the end of the day, you were practicing your swimming and then just playing around on the sand, building sand castles, anything that you might do at a normal beach outing.

His octopus form was beautiful (as expected), and although you couldn't go to deeper waters, you enjoyed seeing him swim around, always eventually coming back to you.

"Today was truly relaxing, [Y/N]. We should do this again another time."

As always, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ♡ Send your thoughts grr

Feel free to send requests! Check out this post for info ^^

[strawberrychampayne]

Hi, could you make an enemies to lovers evie x fem reader fic where reader is gaston’s daughter, so she’s very vain and basically acts just like gaston but the more girlypop version

End Game

Evie x Fem!reader

Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 3321

Edited: No

A/N: AHHH this is my first request so PLEASE bear with me! I'm still pretty new to writing fanfic so there is always room for improvement. Thank you for the request Anon, I hope it's to your taste!!

She can remember the first time she decided she hated Evie. She had stolen a piece of bread from a couple of men on the road. She was hungry and bored and they looked preoccupied with yelling at each other. What she hadn’t accounted for was the fact that they would notice and were fast. They chased after her but she managed a little distance between them. Darting around a corner she bent over trying to catch her breath. She watched as blue heels made their way into her vision. 

“You truly never know who you’re going to run into, do you?”

She knew that voice. One that haunted her dreams like a siren of the night. Evie and her never had fought or even interacted besides looks when they passed by each other. Mal and Uma hated each other so she was supposed to hate Mal and her friends by association. She only knew Uma because her brother, Gil, was a part of her “crew.” Though she always thought it was because he wanted to prove something to their father. She picked her head up and leaned against the wall behind her. 

“You really don’t. Is there something you need?”

Evie glanced down at her. Her heels making her slightly taller. Her face held an emotion the other girl couldn't understand. Evie nodded slowly, glancing around the corner. A wicked smirk began to make its way onto her face.

“Excuse me,” she yelled, “I think I have who you’re looking for here.”

The girl's heart stopped. Not understanding why the blue haired girl would out her. She’d never done Evie wrong. She stood dumbfounded and watched as the brown eyed girl turned gracefully on her heels and walked away with a bounce in her step. That’s the day she realized that she hated Evie. The scar on her cheek from the fight that occurred served as a reminder. It would stay that way from then on, she’d throw insult after insult. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t mad when Evie, Mal, Carlos, and Jay got to leave the Isle. She held a grudge, wondering what made them so much more entitled to it. Though she wasn’t expecting them to be returning so soon. 

She was wandering around the Isle. Uma had wanted her to retrieve something she couldn’t remember. She honestly didn’t care, Uma could have someone else do it. Walking up to a stand she smiled at the man working there. She slowly made her way over, making sure to act innocent and interested in him. She trailed her hand on the baskets and stopped at his arm. She talked to him about how his day was going and kept his eyes on hers as she slipped bread into her pockets. Though she lost focus when she heard a familiar voice in the distance. Her heart dropped and she abruptly left the man hanging. She slowly crept around the corner and her question was answered. There they stood, there she stood. The girl who still haunted her dreams, the girl she hated most. She acted like she was just walking and “accidently” bumped into a man. A king. 

“Oh hey, do I know you?”

She watched with a small smirk as Ben fumbled on his words. The other 3 crowded behind him. 

“Um no, don’t think you do.”

She laughed and then looked up. Posters of the man in front of her were taped on the wall. She glanced at them and back at him. 

“King Ben. That’s where I know you from. You don’t know who I am?”

Ben’s eyes widened and he glanced back at Evie. 

“No I don’t.”

The girl's eyes lit up and she realized the man truly had no idea. Truly an opportunity to mess with him. 

“You should know my father, I’ll give you a hint. Quick, slick, and his neck,” she pointed at her neck, “is thick.”

She watched as the boy's face realized who she was referencing. The 4 teens scrambled away from her. 

“It was wonderful seeing you. Oh and Evie,” the girl yelled after them.

Evie stopped in her tracks and turned around slowly. A frown on her face.

“You truly never know who you’re going to run into, do you Belle?”

She watched with glee as the girls face dropped and she stared before running after her friends. 

“I’m loving this, Uma is going to love this.”

The girl said aloud to no one. 

The girl walked with Harry down the alley. They had captured Ben when he was trailing behind the group. Now it was her and his job to find everyone else. She watched as they all turned around and watched as they both walked down the path. 

“Ben?” Evie questioned into the dark. “Ben, don't scare us like that.” She said with a huff and her hands on her hips. 

“Don’t scare you?” Harry mocked

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” the girl added.

She watched as the 3 faces of Evie, Jay, and Carlos drained color. 

“What did you guys do with Ben?” she questioned. 

“Him? Yeah we nicked him from you and if you want to see him again, Mal will come to the chip shop tonight.” the girl replied, slight malice in her voice. 

“Yes, Uma wants a little visit,” Harry added, looking at the group. 

“Aww Jay, looks like you’ve lost your touch” the girl said with fake pity.

She laughed as the boy lunged at her, only to be held back by Evie. 

“Well, this has been fun but we must be going.”

She turned on her boot and began to walk away. Harry followed closely behind her. 

“See you later!” she yelled behind her. 

She had been tasked with keeping Ben in his place and not letting him escape. She walked slowly around him, like a predator stalking its prey. She was in her own head, Evie and the others being back brought up feelings she’d want to let out for so long. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” she heard from beside her

She turned to look at him. A small smile playing on her lips. 

“And why is that? You don’t know what I need to do.”

He looked like he was deep in thought. 

“I’ve heard the story, you know. About your father, conniving, misogynistic, rude. I can only imagine what he was like to his daughter.”

Rage filled her body and she took her sword to his neck. Putting pressure on it, not enough to slice him but enough to scare him. 

“You don’t know anything about my father. You live in a pretty little castle above everyone else. You’ve heard stories, that’s all they are.”

“I could help you, I could get you off this island. I understand how you feel.”

She backed off slightly. Getting off was all she wanted for as long as she could remember. She almost wanted to ask him how before Harry approached. She watched as he got all in Ben’s face. 

“Just think about it.” Ben said, staring at her. 

She shook her head and walked to the side of the ship. Watching the water crash against the wood. Before she could get lost in her thoughts again she heard commotion behind her. Turning she saw Mal standing there, her friends behind her. 

“Well let’s get this started” she thought aloud.

Grabbing her sword she began to advance. She was stopped by the Gilsf hand on her stomach. 

“Hold on, we have to wait for Uma.”

She sighed annoyed and began to pace around the ship, sword swinging around. Her heart began racing with anticipation as Uma and the rest of the crew drew their swords. She glanced over at Ben and Harry. He was playing with him, pretending that he was going to push him in. She felt conflicted after what he had said. She walked up behind Uma and Harry. Watching as her and Mal went back and forth. Glancing behind Mal she saw Evie giving a slight wave, to egg them on. Bringing her hand up she blew a kiss and a wave back at the girl. To hopefully throw her off. It did and she watched as the girl lowered her hand and eyes. 

“Hey! We don’t have to choose. There has to be a better way. Uma I’ll give you a chance, you’ll have your say,” Ben moved his focus onto her, “and you I’ll get her somewhere better, I promise.” 

She watched as Uma stood her ground and she didn’t make a move either. She couldn’t trust him. With her breath held she watched Mal begin to hand Uma the wand.

“Too easy, why don’t you give it a test drive? I want to see it work, we all do.”

Mal scoffed and turned to a dog that had walked onto the port. The girl watched as Mal casted a spell that would make the dog talk. 

“Does this vest make me look fat” 

She laughed with the rest of the crew at the words. Surprised that the wand was even real. She moved to the side as Harry drugged Ben along with him. Giving him back to Mal. Gil walked up to them. 

“And, before you go, tell your mom that our dad says hi. And also let your dad know that my dad wishes he finished off yours when he had the chance.”

Shaking her head she watched as Mal and Uma got ready to make the trade. She was concerned as to why they’d give up the wand so easily. When Uma finally had the wand in her hands the crew began to cheer loudly. She held her breath as Uma tried to cast a spell and let out an angry huff when the wand didn’t work. Uma snapped the wand in half and yelled out. The girl grabbed her sword and advanced towards the group. It was almost like fate that Evie was the person she had to battle. She swung her sword towards the girl and their swords clashed into each other. 

“You know, I knew it was so weird that you’d give up a want that easily”

Her and Evie struggled against each other to get the upper hand. 

“Yeah? And yet, Ben is in our hands and you all have nothing.” The girl replied with a laugh. Rage once again filled the latters body and she pushed heavily. Knocking Evie to the ground she wrapped her legs around her. 

“This almost feels like you’re trying to kiss me.” Evie said, trying to distract the girl. The other decided to play along.

“And if I was? Would you let me belle?” she whispered back with a smirk. Evie's face turned a dusted pinkBefore a reply could be said a cloud of blue smoke made the girl panic and tumble back. Her head hitting the wood below her. Her vision went blurry and the sounds around her were drowned out by a ringing in her head. She could just make out Evies figure running away from her. When she finally was able to stand again she watched as Mal kicked out the bridge that led to a tunnel. With her chest heaving she walked away. Her head pounding and her thoughts going a mile a minute. What just happened. 

As she walked away from the port she glanced to the ground and saw a familiar book. With a curious glance she picked it up and ran back to Uma. 

“You’ll never believe what I just found.”

Uma looked at her with anger in her eyes. 

“What.” she said 

“A spell book. Mal's spell book to be exact.”

She watched as Uma’s eyes brightened and a smile began to grace her face.

“Well I know just what to do now. Follow me, we have a boat to catch.”

The girl was spelled into a red dress. It clung to her body and shimmered in the light. She was on the boat. Hidden downstairs in a random room. Uma had left to go and find Ben. She said he was important to her plan. She was pacing around wondering what exactly she was doing. The words Ben had said to her were swarming her brain. Would he truly help her? She didn’t have time to think before she heard the sounds of trumpets. She heard an older man introduce Mal. She couldn’t hear what the people were saying until trumpets were heard again. Now the man was introducing Ben. This time she heard louder cheering as he made his way. She decided to move up to get a better view and was peeking around the corner so she could see everyone. Her eyes were locked on Evie. Ever since the boat fight she couldn’t get what happened out of her head. Ben slowly walked towards Mal and bowed to her. The girl watched curiously. 

“Mal, I wish I had time to explain.”

The girl watched as Uma walked in front of the stairs. So that was her plan, to steal Ben? Ben leaned down and kissed his ring that rested on Uma’s hand. She almost felt bad for Mal. Though pride wanted to get in the way. She watched as Ben tried to explain the connection him and Uma had. Uma claimed it was love. Mal was trying to get his attention. Asking if he had gone back for her. 

“He didn’t have too. I dove through the barrier before it closed.” Uma said to him. Uma grabbed Mal's hand and thanked her, giving her a hug. Slow music began to play and Ben and Uma began to dance. Twirling around the dance floor. Jane ran up the stairs and yelled for the man to reveal Ben's gift. It was a beautiful stained glass piece of him and Mal. She now really felt bad for the girl. It was stunning. Ben looked as though the spell was going to wash away. Uma yelled for them to cover it back up. 

“Why don't you tell everyone the present you have for me, Ben”

“I have an announcement. Uma will being joining the court tonight,” Ben said

His father tried to reason with him. “Not now, Dad!” Ben yelled at him. 

“So as my gift to her, I’m bringing down the barrier, once and for all.” Ben finished. She wasn’t expecting all that. People around the boat gasped. Ben told the fairy godmother to take down the barrier and she told him no. The girl watched as Mal advanced on Ben and Uma. Begging him to see that he really loved her. Mal finally confessed that she loved Ben and leaned in to kiss him. Uma began to rage and tried to grab the wand from the Fairy Godmother. She held her breath as Uma jumped into the ocean, her shell necklace glowing. Swirls of gold began to circle in the water and Uma rose up out of it with an octopus tentacle. She hadn’t known that she could do that. Water splashed onto the deck and drenched people with the smell of salt. Uma began arguing with the people on the boat. Her tail whipping around and launching at people. Mal walked away from the crowd and her head began to twitch. A swirl of purple gas filled the space around her and she rose up as a dragon. Soaring into the sky she let out a breath of fire onto the water. Her and Uma begin to fight. The boat was swaying back and forth. The girl was losing her footing. Ben let out a roar and dove into the water. He pleaded for the girls to stop fighting. Ben held his hand out for Uma. Hoping she would take it, instead she gave him his ring back and swam away. As Ben climbed the rope, Mal landed back on the ship. When she turned back into a human, gone was the blue and gold dress. It was not replaced but a purple dress that complemented her hair. Walking towards Ben, he and Mal kissed. The hidden girl thought this would be a good time to make herself known. She stopped in her tracks when she heard what Evie said.

“Actually. Ben there’s a lot of kids who would really love it here in Auradon,” her voice trailed off as she looked up and made eye contact with the no exposed girl. “People like her.” she said and pointed behind them. This made the girl tense up with all eyes now on her. Ben looked at her funny and the other teens stared at her. She cleared her throat and began to speak. 

“I completely understand if you want to send me back to the Isle, but I was hidden away on this ship thinking about what you said, and I was hoping I could get a second chance? I’m sorry for the chaos I helped cause but I didn’t have a choice. If you’ll let me, I’d love to help make a difference here, at Auradon.” she finished, her eyes glancing down at her feet. Ben was silent for a while, seemingly in thought. Before he could say anything Evie spoke up. 

“She is truly a quick learner, Ben, and I really think she could do some good, if she’s given the chance.” She finished and smiled at the girl, who then smiled back. 

Ben nodded his head and started to smile. 

“You’ll be our fifth kid out of many that will come to Auradon.” he said. 

The girl wanted to cry and thanked him a million times. She smiled at all the VK’s and mouthed a thank you to Evie. As the night progressed, there was singing and dancing happening all around her. She had the time of her life, until the party ended and everyone made their way back to the school. Ben set up a room for her to stay in for the night and she was able to sleep on a bed that felt like it was made for a queen. 

When she woke up the next morning a box was awaiting her on a desk in her room. It was tied with a blue ribbon but had no name. Inside was clothes for her to wear, almost exactly like the clothes she wore on the Isle, though these were clean. Under everything was a note. Nothing was written except for an E. That's when the girl knew who it was from. She got dressed quickly and set out to find Evie. After an hour of searching she noticed the girl in the courtyard. She was sitting under a tree sketching what seemed to be a dress. She took a deep breath and walked up to her. 

“Thank you for the dress, and thank you for what you did last night”

Evie jumped and looked up, startled by the girl. 

“It was truly nothing, us VK’s have to stick together.” she replied with a smile. 

A silence filled the air as the 2 girls stared at each other. 

“Can I ask you something?” Evie questioned

“Anything,” the girl replied, leaning down to listen better. 

Evie began to blush again, her words caught in her throat. 

“This almost feels like you’re trying to kiss me again.” Evie said breathlessly. 

“And if I was? Would you let me belle?” the girl replied with her eyes on the blue haired girl's lips. Evie gleaned between her eyes and leaned in more.

“Well I’d have to let you” she said before closing the distance and smashing her lips onto the other girls. Grasping the blue hair and pulling her in more. 

“I KNEW IT!” Both girls jumped away from each other and turned their heads to see Jay, Carlos, and Mal making their way towards them. Both girls laughed at said peoples reaction.

[syneilesis]

[fic] Pampertime

Pampertime

Love and Deepspace | Xavier (Shen Xinghui) x Main-Character!Reader | Explicit | 6.7k words | ao3 link

Butler Rule No. 1: From the moment you accept the role, be prepared to obey your lady’s every command. The bunny butler outfit makes a grand return. In bed.

Content tags: Established Relationship, PWP, Roleplay, Bunny Butler Xavier, Dom/sub elements, Sub!Xavier, Strip Tease, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Cowgirl Position, Riding, PIV sex, Creampie

A/N: My contribution to the bunny butler Xavier train. Only gave a cursory edit once, so any mistakes still my fault. I'm just glad I'm done, whatever. Divider by @/saradika

One bright and sunny afternoon, Xavier texts you: Emergency can U come up here to help me?

You're in the middle of cleaning your living room, after weeks of neglecting your household responsibilities due to the sudden influx of Wanderers in the neighboring city. The Hunters Association had been scrambling to send out their hunters due to the sudden invasion of Wanderers that resembled bafflingly like corgis—which was both a blessing and a curse, if one were to be asked. Blessing because, well, they were a breed that incited cute aggression and fluffiness, and civilian evacuation had resulted in minimal problems, if one ignores the influx of people into doglike Wanderers. A curse, because—well, they did look like corgis—fluffy like a bread with a cute butt, the kind that you would expect to see in the plushie line sold at Twinkle Toys Store. They're irresistible to drag your hand across their soft coat. A not-inconsiderable number of hunters realized the error of their ways in overlooking the fact that these floof of creatures were still Wanderers, and as a consequence, Linkon hospitals suddenly found themselves busier for a week or two.

Regardless, the corgi Wanderers were easy to take care of, once you saw past their clever ruse. The difficulty lay in the numbers. Like a relentless tsunami flooding the city, they undulate in droves, shaking their butts and bouncing around and generally making an oxymoronically cute menace of themselves.

As one of the hunters dispatched to the area, you valiantly resisted the siren cute-call and eliminated as many as you could. It took you and your team more than a week, and it would have been shorter than that, had Xavier been in the fray. But he had been sent in another region the week before, and was unable to join you in your fluff-filled resistance.

But now it seems that he's back and is in need of your assistance. Flashback to that time when his oven exploded due to his attempt at baking tarts, and you drop everything you're doing and fly outside, towards the elevator, fueled by fear and sheer panic.

When you burst into his apartment, using the spare key he left you, you cry out, “Xavier! Sitrep!”

A cursory survey of the area indicate neither fire nor flood, and his apartment seems undamaged. Fear subsiding, you finally take stock of the situation.

Perhaps it's not a kitchen emergency after all? There’s no smell of something burning, thank heavens for that. You do not want to apologize to his neighbors in his place again.

You call once more, “Xavier?”

“In here.”

His voice is coming from the bedroom, and that makes you waver. Why is he still in his bedroom? Maybe he's stuck in bed? Did he sleep for three days and wake up in an unusual position and in need of assistance to set back his limbs again? Weirder and weirder thoughts spiral in your head, and your lack of response prompts him to speak once more.

“You can go in, if that's what stops you.”

“Why can't you just go out?”

“I ... can't.”

The hesitation captures your attention. Xavier is probably entangled in the bed. You may as well help him.

“All right, I'm coming in then.”

When you open the door, you're expecting some sort of layers and layers of blankets, a sea of them, not just on the bed but also on the floor and other furniture. Xavier might be underneath in any of those blankets, and it's your duty to locate him and fish him out. You're ready to swim against these blankets, fight your way into it. Do your utmost duty as a combat partner.

Except.

Except it's not a sea of blankets that welcome you once you enter the room. It's—different.

So different.

So utterly different that you drop your phone. It clatters muffled against the carpeted floor, where it slightly nudges a gift-wrapped box. And that gift-wrapped box sits next to another gift-wrapped box, and another. And another. Until you lift your widening gaze to see that Xavier's bedroom is littered with a lot of them. And Xavier—

He's on the bed, all right. But he's—

He grins lightly, leaning back from his sprawled position. The pillows behind him sink under his weight.

“Kjalfjdsj?” you say, eloquently.

“I'm glad you came ...” A pregnant pause, before he drops the bomb. “My lady.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Xavier is sprawled on the bed, bunny ears on his head, waistcoat and tie, and—you just know, you can feel it in your bones—bunny tail on behind. It's exactly what he wore when you had your couple's photos back then. The fact that he's wearing it and, judging by the sudden change of interior design of his room, that he's replicated the decoration of the studio—actually, you don't know what you can glean from those points, because you're too busy picking up the remains of your brain matter to form a coherent thought.

He drops another bomb: “Why are you just standing there, my lady?” he says, and going by the quirk of his lips he knows the effect he has on you. Compared with the first time it happened, the shy reluctance is no longer present. “This bunny butler is ready to serve, just say the word.”

Your brain melts.

“Wha—I mean—um, guh—” You studiously reacquaint yourself with the concept of words. “I just—what is going on?”

Xavier blinks, and the bunny ears on top of his head twitch as if they are truly connected to his head. Your fingers twitch themselves in response, that urge to touch and feel them again.

“I just thought,” he begins, slowly at first as if testing the waters, “that you need to relax and get pampered after that difficult mission you've just had.”

The words percolate in your mind and you scrabble for an appropriate reply to that. To be fair to the man, Xavier is sweet thinking of your well-being like that. Or maybe he's guilty that he wasn't there to help during that corgipocalypse of a week. Regardless of his intent, you have to ask:

“You thought I need to relax and your solution is to dress up as a bunny butler?”

He has the gall to think about it at length. “Yes, my lady.”

You don't miss the way he spreads his legs a little wider at that.

And really—you're only human, with wants and needs and desires. It just so happens that the common denominator of those three aspects point to the ridiculous man before you, in that ridiculous bunny butler getup that you secretly love and hope to see again. Which—yeah, it's definitely the perfect solution.

Stomping your hesitation and pride, you stride towards the bed, and Xavier, watching your every step, reclines further, giving you space for you to place your knee on the soft mattress, between his legs.

The bedfoam dips, and he shifts to avoid sinking down the indent your knee makes. Your other knee follows, and you move towards him until the heat of his inner thighs touch the outer sides of yours.

At the proximity between the two of you, Xavier tips forward, and in spite of your positions he doesn't need to tilt his head much upward to meet your deliberating gaze. An anticipatory sharpness falls on his expression and, oh, you realize, he must've wanted this too.

Which is all that you need to fall into this completely.

And it's a transformation: a reshifting of limbs and the straightening of spine, something like a lock unlatching.

“Mr. Bunny Butler,” you begin, low and relishing and shy of being predatory, “bow your head.”

Xavier's nostrils flare at that. After a couple of seconds he complies, and seeing the sliver of his exposed nape opens something within you.

Against your shoulder the bunny ears snag, their length not allowing to fall along Xavier's pose. You bring one hand up to trace an invisible line across an ear, the fur short and soft. Xavier's quiet beneath you, but you can feel him stiffening at your every move. Braced a little behind his sides, his hands clench tightly.

“Can you feel it?” you ask, pinching the colored tip of the ear, pushing it back to observe its make. It's well-made, and you wonder if this one costs more than you'd expect.

Xavier shakes his head. You want to hear him, however, so you tap the back of his head in warning. He exhales loudly; breathes out, “No ...” and then tacking on: “Master.”

Your eyes narrow in pleasure, the flesh of your cheeks bunching from how wide your smile is. “That's my good bunny,” you praise him, caressing the curve of his head. He shivers—whether from the praise or the touch or both, you don't know.

To see him like this—a formidable hunter with centuries of experience, the force of stars pulsing underneath his skin, ready to rupture at his command—head bent low before you, hands closed in restrained fists, the lines of his body intersecting into a show of surrender. Yielding. It heats the core of your belly and your blood, and you can't help but bite your lip as you savor the image.

Leaning back and sitting on your calves, you catch Xavier's downcast stare. His brows furrowed as if concentrating, and when he notices you trained on him, his eyes do something that reminds you of the existence of the concept of puppy dog eyes.

Every time he does that, you think, you want to gobble him up.

Closing in on his face, you raise your left hand and cradle his jaw, tipping it up, gazes never leaving each other. Then you draw nearer, and nearer, until your lips almost brush against his. The sharp sound of his inhale is deafening in this lack of distance. Your eyes never leave his, but his drop down, nearly crossing, as he's distracted by your lips. His breaths are hot on your skin, and finally you aim at the corner of his mouth, and open your own to say:

“Don't move.”

And then you descend, trailing butterfly kisses along the edge of his lips, his cheek, his temple. Xavier goes spine-rigid at the first contact, forgetting to breathe for a second, before slowly exhaling, as if trying to hold himself together. His brows knit again and his eyes flutter closed, the line of his lips sloping downward.

He's controlling himself. And that delights you so much that you shift to kiss his earlobe and tug it once, then whispering directly to his ear, “That's my obedient bunny. Keep this up and I'll reward you.”

You stop to wait, and when nothing happens, you tug his jaw and take a bite at the shell of his ear—he gasps—and continue:

“What do you say?”

Xavier's shoulders lurch. He breathes once, twice, before answering.

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Good boy.”

The first reward: a kiss on the lips. A quick, initial press before you pry him open with tongue, and he welcomes you eagerly from the way he surges to meet you. The hand on his face holds him back, but his own hands fly to your hips and plant themselves there.

You slap them away, he resists. You break the kiss, and he makes a disappointed sound, chasing you, and then realizes what he's done.

“I'm sorry—my lady,” he stumbles, putting his hands back in their previous position. He looks so properly chastised, you love it.

Outwardly, you sigh in disappointment, and he whips his head up, stricken. “After I said that you're obedient, you do this. What shall we do, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

“What—” He swallows. “What do you want me to do, my lady?”

In all the times you've tried to fluster him, Xavier doesn't really redden. At best his skin produces a soft sheen of pink across his cheeks that linger over his ears. Never tomato-red though.

But now, his face glows bright pink that gradiates to a noticeable crimson, ending at the tips of his ears. This is good development, you decide, something that you want more of. So you push further.

“Are you truly sorry, Mr. Bunny Butler?”

He nods meekly.

“Then”—a finger pokes at the center of his forehead and pushes, his head docilely tilting back, exposing his slender, beautiful neck—“don't move this time.”

You slip two fingers under his tie and pull it loose. The unobstructed slide of the silken fabric echoes around the room, punctuated by the hitch of his breath. The bunny ears jerk. To his credit, he's still as a statue, and the giddiness that you've been feeling for a while now mounts to a dull yet insistent ache that pools between your legs.

Then you unbutton his collar, which reveals more of that pretty neck. An alarmed sound forms in his throat, and you call his name in warning. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows whatever he's about to say.

And that Adam's apple becomes your next target: your mouth molds around it, sucking, and Xavier gives a full-body shudder. A groan bursts out of him. He's trembling, his hands—leather-gloved and creaking at the strain of his fists—his thighs, his shoulders. You can see how he wants to turn his head, to retreat from your hot mouth, but thinks himself the better of it.

You place your left hand under his head and kiss him under the angle of his left jaw.

“Ah—”

With your free hand, you trace down the outline of his neck to shoulder. His breath catches, he jolts away, his eyes shoot you a betrayed look.

“My lady—”

You plant another kiss in the dip of his collarbone. “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?” you ask against his moist skin.

He releases a shuttered exhale. Behind you, his legs move in a way that comes across as avoidant, as if he's hiding something from you. You glance down and realize the reason for his discomfort.

Saliva pools in your mouth.

But you swallow the surging desire ignited by the image of his arousal. It isn't time yet; you want to draw this out as long as you can.

Head still tipped back, Xavier doesn't see your discovery of his want, his eyes half-mast and his focus directed on reining himself in. If you remove yourself from the scene and study him from head to toe, you'd find Xavier the perfect picture of temptation, restrained, controlled on the surface but a collapsing star underneath, gravity pulling you to him and there's no way to escape.

Not that you'd like to escape in the first place.

You repeat your question, this time against his Adam's apple: “What does Mr. Bunny Butler want?”

“My la—” He chokes. Tries again. “Whatever my lady wants.”

Ah. Such a good bunny.

Your hands drift down to the next closed button. His tie is loosened enough that you can remove it in one hard tug. And isn't that a nice thought: one strong pull and he's dragged along by the force, his lips inevitably landing on your lips, a welcome collision.

But you don't follow that path; instead, your hands drop lower, to the last button of his waistcoat. The sides of your hands brush against the seam of his pants, dangerously close to his already obvious bulge, and it dawns on Xavier that you're already aware of his worldly response, if the widening of his eyes is an indication. He whips his head to shoot you a meaningful look, as if begging you to ignore his lapse of control—as if that is an unwelcome development.

Sometimes, you think, Xavier wants to show you a side of him that only exudes assurance, a sharp blade and sturdy shield that envelop you in sidereal protection. Be it from outside forces and his own—and even yours. Physical dangers, most especially, but curiously enough: information. Knowledge. The matters of the past. The matters of the heart. The both of you may have confessed that day, the words of your promises embedded in your heart like an oath under the stars, but there are times when a shadow passes through Xavier's expression, and he seems so far away. Light-years away.

But right now, that thought isn't at the forefront of your mind: it is the way the redness climbs up his neck, his face, his cheeks, painting him a beautiful hue that reminds you of a recently blossomed rose. He truly is gorgeous this way.

One of his hands encloses around yours, stopping your ministrations. Minute tremors hum under his callused palm.

“I'm—” A quick breath. “I'm supposed to serve you, my lady.”

Ah. Truly such a good bunny.

You capitulate, hands retreating from the button of his pants, but not before caressing his trembling hand and squeezing it once. An indulgent smile unfurls in the line of your lips, and you make a snap decision.

The second reward: freedom. Xavier has expressed his desire to serve, to please, and you'll give him the freedom to choose how to enact it—

Under a specific instruction, of course.

“Yes, of course,” you say, tapping his warm cheek fondly with your index finger. “Serve me, then, Mr. Bunny Butler. Strip for me. Slowly.”

He catches that finger quickly with his mouth, bites it lightly, like it's a warning—or a promise. You let him nibble and lick your finger for a couple of seconds, the wetness sending electricity down your spine, and you can't stop the shiver that echoes throughout your body. Xavier narrows his eyes in satisfaction at your response, hints of a smirk around his lips, and that's insubordination if you saw one. So you snatch your finger away from him, and punish him by dragging your wet finger along the column of his neck.

He jumps at the sensation.

“Strip, Xavier,” you repeat firmly. “Make sure it's a good show.”

It just proves how dedicated he is at this roleplay: by this point he should have already ended this little act and would have taken over, but he's holding your critical gaze as his hands settle over the topmost button of his vest.

“I'll try, my lady.” His voice drops to a low, husky murmur, one that summons pinpricks down your nape and the back of your shoulders, crawling in a slow, deliberate tease.

He does try, indeed. He moves back, affording you space to see his torso without having to change your position. One hand to brace his weight, the other deftly maneuvering each button at a comfortable pace. For every button opened, he takes a deep breath, gives you a confident smile, albeit awkward at the edges. But the rhythm of it lulls you, and you find yourself playing with his bunny ears again—a right decision, because he makes a surprised sound, which morphs into a moan.

The returned proximity grants you the ghostly brushes of his knuckles against your clothed stomach when he opens another button. Because of this, the way your stomach contracts every time he brushes you becomes known to him, and Xavier huffs a laugh, and proceeds to be more purposeful with it.

You tug at his bunny ear, hard. “Mr. Bunny Butler,” you warn.

His shrugs his vest off as his reply.

Now, only left with shirt and tie, Xavier stares down at them, thinking about what to do next. You help him by pushing yourself flush against him, making sure that your thigh grazes his cock. He judders, shoving his face on the crook of your neck and groaning. Idly, you continue playing with the furred ears.

“My lady, my lady,” he mutters, and you feel him sighing, “don't tease me.”

You hum. “Then put more effort in your show.”

He peeks up at you under those pretty yet underhanded lashes of his, and you spy hints of a smirk in that mouth.

But before you can question him about it, a hand grabs yours and guides it to his tie, wraps it around the silk fabric, and pulls. Slowly, carefully. From this angle more skin is revealed under your wandering gaze—the tease of a nipple, flashing beneath that white shirt—and you gulp at the flutter in your belly.

Once the necktie is completely off him, he takes it from your hand and, indeed like a show, re-ties it around his neck, a ribboned gift. At this point you're ready to combust—and he's not even naked.

“Do you like it, my lady?”

“Yes,” you rasp, suddenly off-kilter, “very much.”

“Then ...” He resumes undressing, the buttons of his shirt easily extricated, his movements economical, and bit by bit his bare torso opens before your anticipatory eyes.

He stops at the tucked-in part of the shirt. Glances at you, bites his lip, and goes back to pull the front off so the shirt opens just below his shoulders, presenting you such a gorgeous view.

Xavier sinks into the propped-up pillows—and you unconsciously follow—and smiles. “All yours, Master.”

He knows—that little shit—the allure of incomplete nakedness. The gap, the gape, the patches of exposed skin surrounded by fabric. Xavier's using it to his utmost advantage.

By now you could have clawed his clothes away from his body, but somehow, this tastes more delicious, the promise of a tease, the prolonged heat-pulse that thrums in your core, and you're pretty sure, if Xavier's shallow breaths are an indication, that he's into this too.

Well. May as well take advantage of this luxurious present.

One hand descends on the side of his neck, and you see him tamp down the surprised jolt. This hand, light in its touch, ghostly, virtual, traces the edges of the necktie. You can hear Xavier's bated breath, waiting for your next step.

Then down, down, down to his collarbone, the dip of it, your index finger making laps twice, end to end.

Then further: his chest. And this time, it's not only your hand that wants to participate. You brace yourself on his shoulder and bend down to kiss the center of his chest. Xavier lets out a sound, and inhales sharply.

Next: his left nipple, with an additional teasing nip. His hips buck from the sensation.

You stay where you are, lifting your gaze to ascertain his expression. His head is turned away, hiding his face, a hand covering half of it. But it's useless for him to hide, because his ear is in your direct line of vision, and it's a glaring red.

This propels you to indulge more: the hand on his shoulder slides down to pay his other nipple attention. His legs shift, restless. The sounds of his gasps and moans occupy the room. You feast on him, laying your tongue flat on him and dragging it wetly until you hear him stutter your name.

“M-My lady—I—”

You surge forward, and the force topples the stack of pillows behind him. In the midst of this, you reposition your legs so that you're finally straddling Xavier, your skirt bunching up just below your waist, and—teasingly—grind against his straining cock.

He jerks, grabbing at your hips, attempting at more friction, but you remind him who's in charge, and he eventually relents, taking deep breaths to calm himself.

“Sorry about that, my lady. I'm—I'm good now.”

“That's my good bunny.” Then you continue exploring his body with your tongue.

He tastes faintly of sweat but also the scent-taste of his body wash. He's showered just before calling you up. And for some reason, that does you: you rise to kiss him again, and your free hand sneaks itself under him—and grabs his bunny tail.

Xavier yelps, scarlet, shocked at the action, gaping at you and your smug face.

You squeeze the fluffy ball of a tail in response.

“M-My lady...!” he blurts.

“Shame that I didn't get to play with this last time,” you muse, feeling up the soft thing. It twitches under your curious touch. Delighted, you shift around Xavier's torso to lift his hips and study and poke at the tail repeatedly, entranced at the bounce and fuzziness of it. “A wasted opportunity, don't you think so?”

When you check Xavier's reaction, you have to hold back your laugh. He's clearly uncomfortable, but the discomfort is brought upon by embarrassment, as evidenced by his squirming and the persistence of his blush.

Words have left him, so he just averts your leery gaze, bury his face into the nearest pillow, and groans.

Taking pity on him, you release his tail—but not without giving it one last flick; he jolts—and slide your hands around the waistband of his pants. You're fumbling for the button and then the zipper when two gloved hands hinder your actions.

Xavier's face is rearranged into an indulgent yet mischievous smile. “My lady can enjoy me as long as you like. There's no need to hurry.”

But that's the thing, isn't it? You have already enjoyed him so much and enough that at one point things are bound to snap. He as your focal point of your want, the desire that thrums alongside your veins, almost like blood.

“But Mr. Bunny Butler,” you start, adopting a light, airy voice and tilting your head up at him, “there are a lot of things to enjoy from you. I'm not sure if one evening would do.”

Before Xavier can even get a word edgewise, you tear his pants open and yank his boxers down, freeing his cock.

“My la—”

His cock is a firm, solid weight on your hand, and Xavier bucks at the first contact, a halfway gasp ripping out of him. You watch his reactions as you stroke him slowly—painfully slowly, tantalizingly slowly—as your other hand crawl up his waist, flat palm spanning his side.

You know, intellectually and objectively, that Xavier is pretty. Gunmetal-grey hair that shimmers under the starry night sky. His smooth, unlined skin that you're harboring unholy envy for, soft under your curious fingers, almost pristine, untouched all his life. The column of his neck, strong bones underneath the layer of skin and muscle, the prominence of his Adam's apple. The outline of his body—even and proportioned, balanced like a finely crafted sword. And most of all: his eyes, the most expressive part of all of him. The color of an unperturbed sky, always clear and never lost. A steady glister in the darkness.

Right now, though, he's different altogether. Almost otherworldly in the way he's unraveling under your clever fingers. A shift of pressure and he's biting down the meat of his hand in a poor attempt to muffle his groans. A fleeting trail across the slit of his cock and his eyes flutter shut, his hips jumping off the mattress. He thrashes in chase of the pressure and pleasure you're providing him in crumbs, your need to see him lose that frustrating control of his. You keep stroking him and watching him blossom before you, petal by petal, limb by limb, nerve by nerve.

“My lady—” He's panting, running out of breath, his voice gaining that frenzied quality. It's music to your ears. “Master—Master, haa—”

He's coming, you can feel it. You can see it through his quickening breaths, the flush of his skin all over his body, the white-knuckled fist of his hands, the throb of his cock.

“My lady, I'm co—”

You release him, and the slow transformation of his face is such a fascinating phenomenon. From the crunch of pleasure, then crumpling into confusion. He raises his head to see you leaning back, hands away from him, his hazy eyes taking in what's happening—or its lack of. Then they widen, his mouth dropping open to release a sound of distress, round and full and cracking.

“Why did you ...”

You tug at the ends of the ribbon-necktie. He clicks his mouth shut.

“You said I can enjoy you as long as I like. There's no need to hurry.”

His gaze finally clears, and he gulps, nodding. Near your hips, Xavier's cock leaks.

“Then ...” You lay on top of him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, your belly pressing against his pulsing cock (he freezes at this, and then continues to freeze), and place your arms on the sides of his head so your hands can reach the bunny ears. They still react delightfully under your roaming touch. “I'm going to enjoy these a little more. Don't move too much, okay?”

The room becomes pinched with quiet, and while you're intent on the furry ears atop Xavier's head, you can sense in your periphery his eyes on you. He's careful not to jostle you, the air he breathes catching on your skin, and you feel his arms snaking around your waist, settling on the small of your back.

“You really like the costume that much, huh.”

You hum in acknowledgment, rubbing the area where accessory meets scalp. You scratch it with your light fingernails, and Xavier sighs at the feeling.

When you leave the ears, you turn your attention to Xavier's expression next. He's still observing you, his flush now pale but enduringly distinct across his cheeks, and that entices you to meet his lips in a slow, patient kiss.

“It's nice, seeing you go through such effort to make me happy,” you answer him after you separate, punctuating the statement with a pleased, narrow-eyed smile.

A thought takes over Xavier, with the way his brows knit. Moments pass, you regard him, until he finally opens his mouth to articulate whatever has occupied him.

“My lady,” he begins, hesitant at first, but each word gains confidence, “there's something I want to do for you.”

“Speak.”

“I want you to”—and here his stare morphs into that puppy dog eyes again—“sit on my face. Please.”

You're stunned. The room continues to be quiet, and you're stunned. Xavier doesn't add anything after that; just waiting for your response. He's probably not sensing how you've finally shut down. You, felled by nine words, the last one an imperative period that brooked no refusal.

When he calls you, his face and his voice are tinted with uncertainty.

“Stars, Xavier.” You scramble up to reposition yourselves in accordance to his request. During this transitory moment, Xavier removes his gloves with his teeth. Now bare, both his hands come up to hold your thighs from behind, adjusting their spread and angle. You want to whine self-consciously, but glimpsing Xavier's eager expression as you move towards his head, you stamp that part in your mind. “Okay down there?”

He doesn't reply—instead he just goes for it.

Your hands shoot for the headboard, a surprised cry shocked out of you. Is this Xavier's way of revenge for denying his orgasm earlier? The way he confronts you is not unlike a battle, with his single-minded focus on his goal and his preciseness. He parts your folds with his tongue, pays attention to your clit first: sucks it lightly before dialing it up. You convulse, your hips digging down, and he moans, the vibration thrumming your flesh.

“Xavier,” you sob, “Xavier. Xavier.”

He laps around your clit like a thirsty man, hands kneading your thighs. He must've been thinking about this for a while now, with how methodical he's going by it, strategized to push you into becoming a complete and utter wreck. He kisses your clit then mouths it, moves his tongue in lateral glides that have you thrashing on your position. You grind against him, and he welcomes it wholeheartedly, and behind you his hips thrust helplessly in air, his stubbornly hard cock drooling with pre-come.

One hand nudges you forward and you follow, until his tongue enters inside you—you gasp and shiver at the slick intrusion—drinks you with such loudness that you wouldn't be surprised if his neighbors overhear what the two of you have been doing.

He knows how to prolong the barrage of pleasure, that heat and swell around your core, your undulating hips, sustained until you buckle and collapse from the force of it, your orgasm torrential like a storm.

When Xavier emerges between your legs, his face shines from your slick and his saliva. A fond smile slips out of you, and a finger traces the length of his lips; then your entire hand, cupping the side of his face, a tender caress. A smile of his own appears and he nuzzles your hand, kisses the center of your palm, eyes closed and sated.

“Good boy,” you praise, and he sighs happily. “So good for me. Have to reward you, don't I?”

The third reward: release. You move back to pull his pants and boxers off him completely, and Xavier just watches you with anticipation, breaths in quick bursts.

“You know the drill: don't move.” You underline this order with a tease of his cock, a line-trail from the tip to the base and then a quick squeeze of his balls.

When you align yourself above him and begin to sink down, Xavier goes rigid-stiff, daring not to breathe, careful not to move. You pause from your progress, and send him a worried look.

“Xavier?”

“I—I'm—” He bites his lip, exhales through his nose. “I'm okay, I just. I'm just trying not to react too much.”

“Why?”

He casts you a helpless gaze. “Because, my lady, I'm afraid that my control would slip, and I would have my selfish way with you.”

You falter at that. To be honest that's not such a bad idea at all, but Xavier knows that this is for you and your needs, and what you need right now—and what you want, if one were to ask—is him under you, at your mercy. Just as he is right now.

So you move lower, feeling the head of his cock open you up, slowly. And you can hear the hitching breaths unwittingly made by him, his eyes shut and his whole expression folded inward, as if he couldn't handle the pleasure descending over him.

A groan tumbles out of his lips, low at first, quick and fleeting, but as you inch lower and lower, the feel of his cock molding you inside, the wanton sounds he makes lengthens, gets louder, until he parts those glistening lips and vocalizes his satisfaction.

“My lady—you feel so—”

“Good, I hope.”

He doesn't wait until you bottom out; he bucks his hips to sheathe himself inside you completely in one smooth motion. You cry out from his action, his cock pulsing against your walls, and the feeling of him pulls you in further bliss that your eyes flutter closed and your back arches as the pleasure spreads throughout your body.

“The best, my lady.”

He gasps when you clench around him, your wetness dripping between your joined bodies.

You really think the best position Xavier has ever been is here right now: underneath you, helpless to your demands, seized by pleasure that you're giving him and taking from him. The way his face doesn't know what to do in the undulating waves of pressure as you begin to move above him, your hips lifting and then slamming back down; the film of sweat coating his skin all over, moistening the sheets beneath the two of you. The severe grip of his hands, bunching up the blankets in their deathly clutch. His rapid heartbeat under your palm as you support your weight by bracing yourself on his chest. His moans, his filthy, filthy moans—his moans that you will remember until your dying day because they are so far out of his cultivated normalcy—open-mouthed, slack-jawed moans that come from the core of his abdomen, surging upwards, frantic, crazed, melodiously and sublimely wanton.

“Look at you, Xavier,” you pant, and one of Xavier's legs kicks out. “Look at my bunny butler.”

“Master—Master—”

“What do you want, darling?” you ask, shakily tracing the side of his face. When your fingers near his mouth he turns his head to place a kiss at your fingertips, then drags his tongue out to lick at their length. Your index and middle fingers press flat at his tongue, and he groans around them. His puffs of breath beat in time with the movement of your hips.

One hand crawls towards your thigh, haltingly slides upwards, up to the junction of your hips, where it disappears under the spill of your skirt. Then it reaches behind to squeeze at the meat of your ass, and you gasp, stuttering your pace.

You take out your fingers so he can answer you, but Xavier grabs your wrist with his other hand and brings it back to his lips, trails kisses on each finger, murmurs nonsensical things against your saliva-coated skin until, louder, he tells you—

“Everything you can give me, my lovely Master.”

And, oh, isn't that a wonderful thing to hear? That readiness of his—be it in battle or in bed, he rolls with everything you throw at him, as though there's nothing that can taint you in his eyes, no betrayal to feel forsaken by. As though all that he's done, all that he's doing, is in service to you.

And it's because of this that you use the same hand to cup at his jaw and jerk it in your direction, bowing down to kiss him, bite his lower lip, thrust your tongue inside, lick the roof of his mouth, suck his own tongue—devour him fully and utterly.

He meets your intent with his own, just as intense, just as parched and hungry as you are for him. Every exhale is accompanied by a soft sigh, and you swallow his every sound—that lovely and soothing voice that lingers in your mind and haunts the edges of your dreams. His reaction just drives you to speed up your pace.

He's trembling all over, and tries to shift the angle from which you're riding him. Doing so affords his cock to hit something inside you, lighting up your body, starburst behind your eyelids, and you jolt, a whimper tearing out of your throat that Xavier drinks greedily. His hand on your ass traverses to your clit and plays with it, intensifying the blast of sensations on your lower body.

Obstructed by your mouth, Xavier tries: “My lady, I think—I'm close.”

“Me too, I'm—don't hold back—”

He doesn't. And he doubles his efforts in relentlessly stroking your clit and pounding up inside you, and the pleasure crests and crests and crests until you pulse and clench and come, sobbing at the white-hot crash flooding your nerves, collapsing on top of Xavier, mouths still connected.

And he doesn't stop. This time both his hands bracket your hips; grinds you down as he pushes deeper and deeper inside you. You're oversensitive but you don't stop him, just clinging to him and whimpering, and he begins to assail your ear, his panting tangible and hot against your skin.

“My lady, my lady,” he chants, voice shattering like glass. “My lady—Master—”

His orgasm feels like an echo of your own release, his spend filling inside you. Xavier gives a few more thrusts before slowing down and stopping. A self-satisfied sigh ripples over his relaxed body, and his hands climb to your back, guide you to pillow your head on his chest, embracing you as you melt on top of him.

Minutes pass, and his breathing evens; you expected him to fall asleep after, but when you look up his eyes are emphatically open.

“Aren't you sleeping?”

He glances down at you. Quirks a smile. “No, not yet.”

“Oh ...”

“We're not finished, my lady.”

“Huh?”

“You've had your fill, Master.” He smirks. Then flips you over, reversing your positions so he's now on top of you. He starts unbuttoning your shirt. “Now let me have mine.”

[beautifulchris]

obsessed

pairing: dancer!lee minho x videographer!gn!reader

summary: minho was the most perfect guy you had the privilege of encountering—and working with. without even trying—or meaning to—, he got you wrapped around his fingers

genres: fluff, angst, strangers to lovers to exes!au, colleagues!au, first person pov!!

wc: 4,4k

tw: obsession, toxic relationship, swearing (in lyrics only, who would've thought), violence, injuries, mention of blood

notes: heyyy! this fic is part of my collection of fics! indented are the lyrics, banner made by me on canva. andddd i'd appreaciate it greatly if you could tell me what you thought about it!! happy reading!

listen to the song for a more immersive experience: spotify link | youtube link

networks: @kflixnet @k-labels @kwritersworld @whipped-kpop-creators @straykidsland

permanent tag list: @soobin-chois @exfolitae @linos-catnip @prettymiye0n (tell me if you want to be added/removed)

stray kids tag list: @raethethey

Lee Minho (1998).

Have you seen this man?

Perfect skin, heart face shape, a sharp nose, wide cheekbones, cat-like eyes, long eyelashes and pretty, pouty lips.

The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew it was over. He was just so attractive, always walking like he owned the place, and, without realizing it, I became infatuated with him.

I was a newbie videographer in this dancing company called Twinkle Toes. Yes, I did apply there because of its name, being an ATLA fan and all. Anyway, Minho was the best dancer they had.

The obsession started when I first saw him dance. His technique and control were perfect, I could clearly see why he was a professional dancer. All the fluid and effortlessly looking movements he made gave me goosebumps every time I was behind the camera. Or anywhere inside the room, really.

I approached him first. Complimented him on his dancing, which seemed to please him. I kept being supportive and throwing seductive glances his way every now and then. I became hungry for his attention.

Oh, my Lord, never met someone like you before Think I'm kinda going overboard Now I'm obsessed, how can somebody be so perfect? Boy, you really got me by the neck Whatever you want, you just gotta ask

I made no secret of my admiration. Soon, everybody knew but I couldn’t care less.

“You’re so strong, Minho,” I mused from behind the camera. “Thanks to your efforts, the video will come out perfectly.”

He failed to suppress a smile, yet dismissed the compliment with a vague movement of his hand. “It’s a team effort.”

Of course, I knew that. Yeah. The fourteen other dancers were good, but none of them were in the same league as Minho. He was above everyone in this company.

I was usually right.

After filming ended, I took my stuff—camera, tripod, laptop—and walked towards my designated studio where I could work on editing. I wasn’t totally installed when someone knocked on the door. It was so faint I thought I’d dreamed it, until they knocked again.

I opened the door, revealing a shy looking Minho, who didn’t seem to be able to meet my eyes. I found it adorable.

“Yes?”

“Uh, I… Can I come in?”

Now, why would he even want to come inside? Was my flirting so powerful that he already wanted to spend more time with me? I wasn’t one to complain about that.

“Sure,” I said, taking a step back and closing the door behind him.

“So that’s what your studio looks like,” he commented, looking around.

It was a small room with a large desk filled with everything I needed to do my job. The stuff I had with me in the danceroom plus a computer, lenses, microphones, cables, memory cards… Everything was perfectly organized. Bigger equipment—camera bags, studio light, reflectors, tripods—were tidied next to the desk. A gaming chair was in front of it, and on the other side was a two-seater sofa.

“Do you mind if I stay with you while you work?”

I smiled internally. It was so easy.

“No, of course. Are you done for the day?”

“Yeah, finally. Thanks.”

“What for?”

“For letting me stay with you.”

SCREAMING. PUNCHING THE WALL. I could’ve smacked his arm right now for saying this so casually. Sure enough, I didn’t. Instead, I motioned for him to sit on the sofa while I placed my laptop on the desk before opening it.

I could tell I was professional with how well I handled the situation I was in. I kept my desire to turn around and stare at him buried inside me as I edited the video. I had a week to finalize it for an upcoming dancing contest. I was determined to show the dancers’ best side through the video. I also tried not to show Minho too much, even though he was around 20% more present than the rest. It wasn’t my fault the videos he was in were better.

Oh, well. It was common knowledge he was our best hope at winning.

It was getting late, and I was feeling hungry. I saved my progress, switched off the computers and turned around. I’d imagined Minho to be fast asleep, as my job could be found boring from the outside. To my surprise, he was looking straight at me.

“Are you OK?” I asked, conscious he had been waiting for a long time.

See, I checked the time before closing my laptop. I had been working for a bit more than two hours.

He nodded. “Are you, though? Don’t you feel sore?”

Now that he mentioned it, I couldn’t feel my butt anymore. A common occurrence in this field. I got up, stretched arms, back, legs and unintentionally yawned.

“Do you want to get dinner?”

He seemed nervous all of a sudden. Ah, if I could make him mine right now…

“Only if you pay.”

“Deal.”

Ten minutes later, we were walking side-by-side toward a little restaurant owned by a strict-looking yet lovely grandma near our workplace. We’d eaten there before, with our coworkers.

As a typical small-business Korean restaurant, the room was approximately ten times bigger than my studio. Twelve four-seater tables were placed around the room at a relatively safe distance from each other. On every one of them were a wooden cutlery holder for four, and a matching little box full of thin napkins. The walnut-colored counter was on the far end of the room, and the hole that was supposed to be a door behind it led to the kitchen. The only thing giving a bit of privacy to the cook were white lace curtains attached to each side of the… door-shaped hole. On the left side of the room, a TV screen and posters—with pictures—of the menu were displayed on the wall. While on the right side, as well as a bathroom door, were decorations and an ‘appreciation wall’ with a lot of little notes and doodles from customers.

I wanted to sit next to it. If we ran out of things to say, we could always talk about that.

Grandma greeted us with a smile when she saw us, showing us to a table on the opposite side. “Hello grandma, can we actually sit at that one? It’s easier to watch TV there.”

Of course, I had no intention to watch TV, but no one needed to know that.

“Sure, my child, go sit. I’ll be right there.”

Thanking her, we sat right next to the rating wall.

There was one other customer closest to the counter. A regular, by the looks of it. Grandma went to the kitchen and came back with a steaming dish. She delicately put it down in front of the man before providing us with the menus. He thanked her and resumed his reading of a journal. Which I couldn’t identify because I don’t read journals.

Minho and I looked at the menu like we had no idea what to order. While I already knew what his favorite dish was, I opted for something I hadn’t tried before. You see, I like to try everything on the menu. It was a habit in restaurants I often went to. Of course, if it were to be a one-time restaurant, I would order the food that makes me salivate the most. Minho preferred savory foods. The tastier, the better.

He rapidly scanned the plastified paper on the table before looking up at me. “I’ve chosen. You?”

I straightened up, flashing my signature grin, and nodded once. “Same. Any drinks?”

“Soju?”

“Sure.”

Three young people entered the place. Grandma placed them on the left side of the room and came to us. “What would you like, my children?”

“Bulgogi bibimbap for me, please.”

“Jajangmyeon and a bottle of soju, please,” Minho ordered, taking the menu from me and giving them both back to grandma with a sweet smile.

She smiled like a lovely grandma would—contently with a hint of nostalgia.

We never got to speak about the appreciation wall nor did I once glanced at the TV, because we talked a lot and there were few moments of silence.

After that dinner, we spent a lot of time together outside the company. I believed he enjoyed my presence as much as I savored his. We flirted, went on dates every now and then, and recently started dating.

Then, around two months after our first day together, a new, talented dancer entered the company. Her body had beautiful curves. She had long, black silky hair, and toned abs. It didn’t help that she was gorgeous, social, and easygoing.

In just a few days, she had befriended the whole building. It felt like she had always been there. To my dismay, even Minho seemed to like her.

“What do you think of Soojin?” I asked as casually as manageable, considering I was eager to get an answer.

“She’s cool.” Minho shrugged, looking up at the blue sky. “And a good dancer. Why do you ask?”

How he could manage to look so ethereal under the sunlight yet give me such a soft glance was beyond my understanding. He got a hold on me, that was for sure.

“I agree, she’s good. You might have to share your spotlight in the next competitions and projects.”

He smirked. “Was about time. It’s been lonely up there.”

I knew he was joking. He never considered himself as above his colleagues. I frowned for another reason. I couldn’t ignore the thought from overwhelming me. Was I not enough for him? Was I just a pastime? I wasn’t a dancer. Was it a dealbreaker for him? 

Minho’s gentle glance became a concerned stare as he stopped in his tracks. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you like me?”

He opened his mouth, but I couldn’t wait for his response.

“Am I good enough? Do you like Soojin more? Do you want to date her? Are you just playing with me?”

Because I would still be wrapped around your finger either way.

“Hey, breathe, babe. I’m here, I’m with you.”

I did as told, and my next words came out as a whisper.

“Are you though?”

“Where is all this coming from? Why would I be interested in Soojin?”

“She’s gorgeous, talented, and a sweetheart. Who wouldn’t like her?”

He smiled softly, taking my hand in his. “Is this your way of telling me you’re interested in her?”

“I’m serious.”

“You have nothing to worry about. I like you.”

I wanted to believe him, but I couldn’t get rid of the voices.

Soojin and Minho were the jewels of the company. Meaning they had way more screen time—which was my job—and training sessions together—which was their job. I had to stand behind my camera for hours while watching them dance together. Helplessly watching their bodies touch and their breaths tangle. The sensual moves made me want to break something.

Jealousy stirred up inside me, and I think it showed, because several colleagues around the room sent me looks of pity and sorry.

I knew it was just the job for Minho, but I couldn’t help it. It was beyond my control. Ever since the choreographers created this dance, I have been vile to Minho. Exposing my jealousy to him in private.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I hate hurting you. Really. However, I can’t simply stop dancing. It’s my dream life.”

“I’m not asking you to stop doing what you love, I’m asking you to stop doing it with her!” I snapped.

“Doing that will get me fired, you know that. I told you I picture you whenever I’m dancing with her. Is it not enough?”

He was pleading, but I could sense he was tired and frustrated.

“I like you, not Soojin. I need you to understand that.”

“You say that now,” I said in a low voice, “but I see the way she looks at you.” My voice broke, and I looked away.

Minho shook his head. “Please, stop. I’m exhausted. I’m dating you, aren’t I? What more do you need to be satisfied?”

It stinged. The worst part was he didn’t scream. His voice was stern and accusing. No words would leave my lips. He took my silence as a cue to leave the toxic environment I created. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to stay away.

But I could blame someone else.

I tried to film Soojin in her less good angle, but it felt like she was flawless under any angle. It was frustrating, not even being able to compromise her while doing my job.

Minho, being smart and all, realized what I was trying to do while Soojin was doing a solo dance. His eyes were glued to me the whole time. He grabbed me by the arm the minute I finished for the day and brought all my stuff back to my studio. He made me turn around to face him.

“What did you do back there?”

I was hurt by his suspicion, even though he was right. I stood my ground and lied through my teeth. “I didn’t do anything.”

He sighed in exasperation and let go of me. “Look, I won’t say I know you because clearly, as much as I thought I did, I actually don’t. But I know you did something.” His face softened, but his lips stayed pressed in a thin line. “Please, help me understand. Why would you resent Soojin so much you’re willing to risk your job? What do I ignore?”

I was angry. Why would he defend her if nothing was happening between the two?

“Why do you care so much, Minho? Who is she to you?”

He stepped back, blinking a few times. “This again? I don’t recognize you anymore, Y/N. I thought I knew you. Since Soojin joined our crew, you’ve changed. I believe I didn’t give you any reason to be jealous of her, excluding my job. Then again, I know how to separate professional and personal matters. I chose not to where you’re concerned because I liked you. But now, I don’t think I want to do this any longer. It’s draining me, and I lost my will to fight for us.”

Wait. What?

“Are you breaking up with me? Is that it?” I sounded frantic—and I was. All I understood from his tirade was that he was leaving me, probably for her. This bitch. She dared steal my boyfriend.

“All these past weeks fighting made me reconsider our relationship. I’m sorry, Y/N. I like you, but I can’t be with you.”

He silently stared at me for a moment, hurt and determination visible on his face, before turning heels and heading out.

My legs gave out. Minho broke up with me. I had no intention to accept this. It was all this woman’s fault. She had bewitched him, I was sure of it.

When I ran into Minho the next day, he avoided looking me in the eyes. Everybody could see something was wrong. They could even sense it, as the tension was thick in the air.

“Is something wrong?” Soojin asked as she entered the room. She looked around the room and offered me a sweet and innocent smile.

I wanted to lunge at her. It took everything in me to stand still.

“Let’s get started,” the director said as soon as his left foot touched the floor. He clapped his hands, getting everyone’s attention. He stopped at the center of the room. “Today we’re going to film a two-minute promotional video for our project. I count on you, Y/N, to make this video as appealing as all the other ones you made until now.” He winked at me. “Dancers, I expect you to be in good shape. I need you to accentuate your moves.” This time, he winked at Minho and Soojin.

I was close to rip my hair out.

We did as told. While the dancers gave their all in their dancing, I moved around them with my camera to capture their moves from different angles, creating a nice flow. Nowadays, videographers would use a gimbal to provide support and stabilization, but my camescope and feet were all I needed. This type of work called for a more natural flow, which could only be done without any device.

I knew how to be professional, too, but hated every second I spent filming the top dancers sensually touching each other’s bodies, especially from this close. The looks they gave one another, were they really only professional? I wasn’t sure Minho had ever looked at me like he was staring at Soojin at this moment.

I decided to put aside my anger for the sake of my job, and made the best promotional video yet. Not that I would ever admit it, but their chemistry was undeniable and greatly increased the quality of the video.

Slowly, but surely, I watched Minho and Soojin grow closer. I tried multiple times to reconnect with him to prevent the inevitable, but he was unyielding. He wouldn’t let me touch him and refused to be in a room alone with me. I found his reactions a bit over the top and insulting. But, even worse, he seemed to be protective of Soojin, as if he was scared I would hurt her if he let her out of his sight.

I would, but it was still vexing.

If you go and get yourself somebody new I don't know what the hell I'd do But if I found out, I will go and turn up at her house Break a nail and rip her hair right out Huh, and I hope you like that I'm crazy like that

Life went on, Minho still got me by the neck unbeknownst to him, and I was still wary of Soojin. A month had passed and a new project started.

“This time, crew, the theme is love. I want to feel it, alright? Do whatever it takes. I’m not worried though, because I believe in you all.”

The little speech the director gave ended up with a round of applause and a whistle from several of the dancers. The choreographers were sending each other smirks, as if they were waiting for this moment. I, obviously, loathed the idea. I had barely managed to contain myself this past month. That was going to be torture.

I was right.

The first official practice for the dance, a week after the announcement, I was behind the camera. If I thought they were close during the past month, I was mistaken. For the most part, their bodies were colliding with each other in a way that made the young managers embarrassed. My blood boiled. If there weren’t all these people around, I would’ve ripped Soojin’s hair out already.

When the song ended, their faces were mere millimeters from one another. They closed the gap between their mouths. I heard a few gasps from the crowd. My eyes lost focus. The fury building inside me sent a throbbing pain in my head. I left the room in a hurry before I could regret my actions. The last thing I saw in the long mirrors were their lips connected in a heated kiss.

I wanted to throw up. I ran to the restroom and sat on the ground in one of the cabins. I touched my cheeks with the back of my hands to check my temperature and realized I was crying. I couldn’t possibly be sad, could I? I stayed seated for what felt like hours, developing a plan to get revenge on Soojin. I was not going to let her go unscathed after what she had done.

The pain eventually subsided. Rage was all that was left in me. I was determined to make the bitch pay. I checked myself in the mirror, relieved to see there was no trace of me crying, and nodded to myself to give me courage. I came back to the dance room like nothing happened. Everybody stopped moving and watched me walk to my camera.

“Sorry, I had an emergency,” I told no one in particular, shooting an apologetic smile around the room. “Please, continue.”

I changed a few parameters on the camera and the room came back to life.

I was one of the first ones to leave the room. I stored my stuff in their respective places. Minho was waiting for me when I walked out of my studio.

“Y/N, I’m sorry—-It just happened—”

I scoffed. “Whatever.”

I'll do anything for you, boy, anything Yeah, I'll do anything, anything for you Yeah, I'll do crazy shit And I'll get away with it Boy, I'll do anything, anything for you

I raced to my car and waited there until Soojin entered her own car. I watched Minho go to her window and talk to her when she rolled it down. She nodded and smiled at him. Sickening. He went to his own car and I followed Soojin when she exited the parking lot. I stayed at a safe distance, but what if Minho knew what I had in mind and warned her?

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. She drove around fifteen minutes and parked in front of what looked like a family house. Was it her own place or did she come to her parents thinking I wouldn’t dare touch her there?

I smiled conspiratorially. None of them really knew me. I parked right behind her and stormed out of my car. I stopped at her window like Minho had done earlier and waited for her to roll it down. She stared at me with fear in her eyes and gulped.

I put on a fake smile and my sweetest voice. “Come on out, Soojin, don’t be scared.”

She slowly reached for the handle and opened the door.

“Look, I’m sor—”

I grabbed her by the neck and threw her on the asphalt. She grunted and rolled over. I pulled her hair up and ignored her faint struggle, whispering in her ear. “You really thought you could steal my boyfriend from me and get away with it?” I let out a nasty laugh.

She shuddered, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’re not together anymore,” she cried. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to, I swear.”

“You’re too cute. I guess that’s your advantage.”

I pulled her hair a little higher and balled my other hand into a fist. I moved my arm back to gain momentum, but never got to use it. Minho shouted my name from his car, parked right behind mine. I let go of Soojin and watched him dash towards us.

“What’s happening?”

He kneeled next to her, checking her face and scratched arms. She cried, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her arms around his stomach. I huffed and folded my arms over my chest. The second she calmed down, Minho got up and faced me. He frowned.

“What did you do?” His tone was accusing. It angered me.

“Are you for real? How could you get over me that easily? Was I nothing to you?”

“Y/N,” he warned, pinching his nose bridge. Then he gave me a firm stare. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to. I just assumed you got over it the way I did.” His voice matched the look on his face.

Got over it? Oh, boy.

“I guess I loved you more than you ever did me.”

His surprised expression made no sense to me. He did not comment on it. Instead, he reached for Soojin’s hand and helped her up. “I’ll get you home,” he said softly.

He used to talk to me like that. Take care of me like that. My blood boiled but I just watched, feeling abandoned, as they walked away from me.

When he returned, a few minutes later, I was waiting, my back pressed against the driver’s side door of my car. “What was that about?” he inquired, stopping around three meters away from me, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll do anything for you, Minho. Anything. And I got angry at the way she snatched you from me.”

He stepped back, dropping his arms at his sides. “What do you mean, anything?”

“Literally anything.”

“But, Y/N, we broke up. You don’t have to. Besides, she didn’t snatch me, I fell for her.” My heart hurt. Did he really stop loving me that easily? “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I can’t undone our history, nor can I control my feelings.”

“You would undone our history if you could?” That was what hurt the most, I think. That, right there. He regretted being with me.

“No, but what you did today… I’m not sure I can forgive you. You scared Soojin, you scared me. If I knew you would be like this, I—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please.”

Minho sighed. “I enjoyed being with you, Y/N, honestly. However, that was too much. I won’t ask you to quit your job, but can you please, leave Soojin and I alone? I feel like a dick asking you, especially since you’ll have to watch us a lot, and I also don’t want to quit this amazing company.”

“I’ll do it,” I breathed. A single tear ran down my face. “I’ll quit. I can’t stand by and watch you both all lovey-dovey. And I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

It was my fault. I planted the seed of desire in Minho’s head, and my jealousy nourished it. The plant grew and he fell in love with her. I should've known. He never explicitly told me he loved me.

Minho reached for me and for a second, I was tempted to just let him, but that would've been wrong. I wasn’t sure I could leave if he showed me affection. I turned around and hopped in my car.

“Have a good life,” were my last words to my beautiful ex boyfriend before I took off.

The next day, I gave my resignation letter to my boss, and apologized a ton for leaving so suddenly. I pretended to have an urgent family matter hundreds of kilometers away, and moved out during the week. I wanted to put as much distance between Minho and me as possible to help me forget about him. It wasn’t an easy feat. But I moved into a small apartment in another city, got a job in a dancing company named “Encore Dance” and resumed my life.

There, I met a man so pretty I could cry.

Hwang Hyunjin.

Have you seen this man?

thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated :) masterlist

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: Reviving that Love

Let's have an assortment of mature, (mostly) fluffy, coupley Revival fics, shall we?

This list only scratches the surface; but hopefully it's enough to soothe a particular itch.

**Note**: Another Revival list I've done is Beefy Revival Mulder (and Other Muscular Mentions)-- perfect pairing to this, I believe.

Loose chronological order below~

@oohnotvery/the_eternal_optimist's Always Wanted

But he has a key to her place, because they’ve always had keys to the other’s place, even in horrible times. It arrived in the mail one day, sealed tightly in a bubble-wrapped envelope, addressed from her to him with a handwritten note that he hadn’t even bothered to read before crushing it up in a ball and tossing it into the trash can. Several hours later, in a fit of frustration, he had fished the note out of the trash and shoved it, unread, into a kitchen drawer.

Breakup Mulder realizes Scully has been waiting for him.

@aloysiavirgata’s (Ao3, WBM, Gossamer, LJ, Alt. LJ)

Si Hoc Legere Potes, Liberaliter Educatus

"It was very important to Deputy Director Skinner that you two meet with me. He felt that you needed some guidance before you could resume any kind of professional partnership."

I grit my teeth. You're a dead man, Skinner. 

S10 Mulder and Scully run laps around the FBI recruitment therapist.

I need a fic with Scully's stolen dog Dagoo, and her wearing a Knicks tshirt.

“This is the one I ripped a piece off of for Boggs, Scully. This isn’t just my Knicks shirt. This is my favorite Knicks shirt. I’ve been looking for it!”

She pulls Tesla closer. “Stop violating the fourth amendment, Agent.”

“Stop violating the eighth commandment, Doctor.”

Post The Weremonster Mulder and Scully debate dog names and Knicks T-shirts.

What's your Mulder and Scully Thanksgiving sex headcanon?

"I'm going to die," she mumbles, her eyes half-lidded in tryptophanic stupor.

Mulder and Scully are stuffed after dinner.

@flukemen?/@pinebluffvariants/scienceandmysticism/contradictiontonature's (Ao3) Tie (prompt #1)

“Hello?”

“You know it’s me.” He did. “What are you doing?”

“I’m shopping. And I hope you’re using your bluetooth.” He could tell she was driving from the white noise over the sound of her breathing.

Mulder uses Scully's expertise to pick out a tie.

@hemisphaeric's (Ao3)

"Mulder you need new clothes"

The next day they decided to go into town and do some shopping, after Scully had had to tell Mulder for the tenth time he needed clothes and that no, he couldn’t wear those old ones just to seduce her.

Scully helps Mulder pick out new suits for his new job.

Let me carry some of the pain for you

Suddenly warm hands were touching him but he didn’t react. He couldn’t react, feeling so distant from everything. Scully was speaking, he recognized her voice, but not her words, those were like a white noise in the back of his head, which was so loudly screaming.

“I am better Scully, for real” he didn’t realize he had started talking at first, but he couldn’t stop, tears fogging up his vision.

Mulder panics, thinking Scully will leave him again.

touch.

Things had changed again in the last period though, she had come home; she had been spending time there with him more and more frequently. He understood her necessity to take things slowly, to test the territory before diving in head first, but he felt ready for it.

Mulder is glad to have Scully back.

Mulder, Scully and Elon Musk

She pushed him away and swatted at his arm. “You woke me up early to talk about Elon Musk??”

Mulder wakes Scully early for Elon's rocket news.

grumpysimon's Morse Code

He asks you for a pen. The genius always loses things. Your coffee comes and he spills a little on the napkin. He taps on the table. Morse code, maybe. You’re too tired to figure out what he’s saying to you in secret. You say his name and that smile is more crooked than ever.

Scully secretly loves Mulder's obsessive passion.

@baronessblixen/Baroness_Blixen's

Belong

He closes his eyes and counts. What will it be, he wonders. The sound of a car or their creaky door?

Another minute passes before he hears the soft squeak behind him.

Mulder tells Scully he's "done okay without her."

A few months after they're back on the x-files, Mulder's notices that his neck and shoulders are sore.

Mulder feels better and promises - with a wink - to do the same for her, she just needs to ask. She doesn't ask but Mulder knows her feet are sore a few days later, after hours of walking around. He silently starts massaging her feet while consorting in his hotel room, half-empty take-out containers on the bed next to them....

Mulder doesn't replace his chair-- which is just fine, because Scully becomes his masseuse.

Mulder giving Scully a foot massage

“Exactly. My feet hurt and I need a break. I’m not…” She trails off again as she massages her foot. 

“Not young anymore?” Mulder offers and her head shoots up like a rocket, her eyes shooting daggers. 

“Not used to it anymore.”

Post Ghoulie Scully's high heels finally catch up to her.

There's No Place Like Home (Ao3)

He loves her stubbornness. Once, she told him that she fell in love with him because he was stubborn. Well. That was the pot calling the kettle black. No one is as stubborn as his Scully. 

AU-- Nothing Lasts Forever Mulder brings an injured Scully home.

Growing Old (with You) (Ao3)

“Just wait til you’re my age,” he jokes.

“55 looks good on you.” She proves her point with a kiss on his nose. “I can only hope to look as good as you when I turn 55.”

“You will. And I will remind you of it. If I’m invited to your birthday, that is.”

“You’re always invited to my birthday.”

Scully drops in for Mulder's 55th, assuring him his aging concerns are overblown.

A Study in Chemistry

"I didn't know you cared for this kind of movie, Scully." Mulder, sprawling on her bed, in her motel room, looks slightly disgusted at the small screen where two generic actors share a truly boring, less than passionate kiss in a typical, cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie.

"I don't," she says, returning her attention to the case report they're supposed to be working on. Despite his words, Mulder's eyes are glued to the movie and Scully can't help but smile.

Mulder and Scully bridge the gap between them-- and all because of Hallmark and memories.

Surprises Are Best Served Ice-Cold - Chapter 1

They both start towards each other at the same time, laughing.

“Mulder, I don’t remember how to stop,” she says, trying to get her skates under control.

“I’ve got you,” he says calmly and she hopes he’s right because she loses her balance, stumbles the last few steps towards him and crashes right into his chest, knocking him to the ground.

Mulder surprises Scully with a frozen over lake for Christmas.

A Day in May (Ao3)

Mulder puts on cheesy Christmas music and turns down the lights, creating a mood. They share a cup of sugary hot cocoa with mini marshmallows and whipped cream. When Scully raises her eyebrows at the cream, Mulder dips a finger in and deposits a blob on her nose.

“Live a little, Scully.”

And she does.

Mulder forgoes sleep to help Scully decorate their tree on Christmas Eve.

Night Out

"I can't breathe." Mulder is pouting. She wants to be angry with him - all of this is his own fault, after all - but he looks so miserable and yet so adorable that she feels sympathetic. She strokes his cheek and smiles at him.

"I'll make you make some soup."

"Are you sure I'm not dying?" he asks again, coughing. She offers him some tea and he sips it noisily.

Mulder gets sick after a night of Squatchin.

@wtfmulder/@momdadimpoppunk​‘s (Ao3) 

post-Plus One

“You reasoned your doppelgänger out of existence,” he says flatly. She smiles against his bare shoulder, nodding.

“She was a very reasonable woman.”

He laughs softly, the rumble of it caressing her cheek. 

Post Plus One Mulder and Scully catch a few winks.

ficlet; twenty-six years

On her side of the desk, he has procured for her a plain blue baseball cap, a skinny caramel macchiato, and a not-skinny blueberry muffin.

She sits down as he hums and types away at something, taking a bite of the muffin and putting the cap on her head.

Scully always guesses which anniversary Mulder is celebrating.

fluff 🤢

They’re packing up the basement just one last time. They both learned early in life that saying goodbye is so much easier when it’s a choice, and the moment holds no bitterness, no fear.

Post Revival Scully finds flowers she'd once given Mulder in their basement office.

@myassbrokethefall's untitled rm9sbg93zxjz post-ep

Scully had chanced to see a picture of a blobfish on the internet some months ago and he wasn't sure he had ever, in their years and years together, seen her laugh so hard. It was one of the best things that had ever happened to him, frankly, watching the outsizedly hysterical reaction of Dana Scully MD, his serious scientist partner, to a picture of a lumpy, slimy, theatrically frowning fish on the internet. He had brought it up at every opportunity for weeks, renamed the wireless network at the house Blobfish Cove, found a way to work a reference to it into a meeting with Skinner, once printed out a picture of it and left it on Scully’s pillow, and watched in utter delight as she got the helpless giggles every single time. (Even the Skinner time. He hadn't even asked, just looked wearily at some point behind their heads for a few seconds before sighing and continuing on.)

AU-- Robot episode Mulder dreamed up the whole thing.

@onpaperfirst's (Ao3) Honey Hi

The doors slid open and Mulder wrangled a cart from the corral.

“They set up the little rooms and it makes you feel like you’re at home,” she said. “It dulls your senses. You forget you’re in public. And all of a sudden you’re in the middle of a fight about which rug matches the couch.”

“Let’s not fight in Ikea, Scully. It’s so bourgeois.”

Part II to Home, Home, Mulder and Scully's romantic life is examined through the lens of perfectly balanced humor... and their IKEA trip.

@ghostbustermelanieking's (Ao3) bearing north (Ao3)

“The cops out front will stop him,” Mulder says comfortingly.

She nods. Her skull is still pounding, but she feels limp in his arms, safe. “I tried to fight him off,” she says. “I almost did. But he got angry and shoved me into the pool. I hit my head.”

Mulder takes Scully home after she's injured while pursuing a perp.

"You’re beautiful, you know that?” (Ao3)

She turns her eyes up to meet his, burning blue eyes in the night. “You’re… all I have left now, Mulder.” Names are left unsaid between them, but they all register in his brain, like a knife. “I think my leaving was for the best, but I’m ready to come back. You’re my family, Mulder.”

Scully proposes to her Mulder.

@settle-down-frohike's Headcanon: It started after her first disappearance, on a flight to nowhere North Dakota.

It started after her first disappearance, on a flight to nowhere North Dakota. She was flipping through a dossier and he was dozing, as per usual. She heard a mumbled version of her name and threw a distracted “Hm?” his way without glancing up. “Scully.” Firmer, more forceful this time. She looked over, annoyed, and spat “What Mu-“ and realized he was still asleep, but fitfully so.

My Struggle II Scully hopes she can comfort Mulder once more.

@lilydalexf/LilydaleXF 's My Andromeda

He looks back at the road and answers honestly, "I didn't watch many shows. The ones I really wanted to see I wasn't allowed to watch. Except after excessive begging."

"And on nights you could successfully sneak into the TV room after your parents fell asleep." It's a statement, not a question.

"You know me so well, Scully."

Mulder and Scully imagine a night of stargazing.

Eternity Awaits

"Mulder…. We need to go to bed."

"You don't want to freeze together?"

"Not on this decrepit couch I don't."

Post This Mulder and Scully discuss their eternal conversations.

Apostrophic/@mappingthexfiles's

This

Mulder said Push a third time and they both groaned with the effort of heaving the massive piece another three feet, barricading it firmly against the bedroom door.

“What does this,” he gasped, “remind you of?”

Scully, drawing in deep gulps of air, pushed herself up on her elbows, propped on the edge of the chest. She did not say the fleeting thought that had gone through her head: maybe it was not a bad thing Mulder had not been present at the birth of their child.

“Um,” Scully said.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. Panting out, “Towers of furniture.”

Post This Mulder and Scully move their furniture back into place.

The Scully Treehouse of Horror

The automatic taps don’t turn on and off for him. He’s invisible to its sensors. The alarm, on the other hand, blares every time he walks in the door. Sometimes, even, once he’s inside the door and has been for some time. He’ll get up at night for a drink of water and Scully gets jarred out of postcoital bliss by the klaxon siren of intruder alert, intruder alert, Mulder cursing at the sink in the kitchen, yelling for Scully....

If she yells back for him to punch in the code, he does the wrong birthdate or botches the spelling of Queequeg. More often than not, she pads out in bare feet, tying her robe, entering the right code, filling the glass with cold water, sleepily herding a grumbling Mulder back to the warm bed.

Scully's house hates Mulder; and she loves him all the more for it.

Lapsed_Scholar's Wake-Up Calls

On their way into work, his phone rings. It’s just a wrong number, and the other commuters don’t really take any notice, but Scully arches her eyebrow.

At her questioning look, “Do you recognize this theme?”

“Vaguely. Should I?”

“It’s our theme song, Scully! And I think it suits us. Kind of spooky.” A beat. “Don’t you remember our movie?”

If possible, her eyebrow climbs higher.

Mulder always ratted he and Scully out to people-- and still does now, years and years later.

@slippinmickeys/SlippinMickeys's

Prompt: ballet slippers, chocolate pudding in a can, Wyoming

It was like a Carlton Varney fever dream; like a brothel with aspirations. Mulder actually paused in the doorway and leaned back out to double check the address number on the side of the house.

“Wow,” Scully said, daintily setting down her suitcase a few feet inside the door. She wanted to make a joke, but Mulder looked appalled.

Mulder books a truly terrible vacation spot.

Prompt Drabble Collection - Chapter 12

“I want something I can’t make.”

It was Day 18 of self-isolation and if you looked at quarantine like the stages of grief, they had rolled easily past panic and guilt, skipped loneliness altogether and were deep in the grip of isolation.

Scully shot him a look.

Mulder and Scully are sick and tired of COVID quarantine.

Prompt: Mulder & Scully vacation Christmas/Hanukah at the Quonochontaug cabin post season 11

“When was the last time you stayed here?” she asked, wrinkling her sensitive nose at the smell of dust, of mildew.

One suitcase on the floor at his feet, one still in his hand, Mulder closed the door behind him, his face ponderous. “Overnight?” he clarified. “I think I was nineteen?”

Post Revival Mulder and Scully spend the New Years in the old Mulder summer home.

outsquatchin94's Joy to You and Me

“Those hipsters… But Scully, that was such a look. Also, I hate to break this to you, but I’m quite sure it’s in the back spare room somewhere in a box.”

For a moment, he thinks she’ll spring off the couch and go find the offending object. She doesn’t though, she only smiles a little.

“I think we turned out okay in the end, even without the sleeping bags.” And Mulder has to agree with her.

Mulder and Scully discuss her old jacket.

@msrafterdark/msrafterdark's A concept : slow dancing on an ill lit front porch late in the evening while it’s thundering and maybe just starting to rain?

When they’re like this again, as though no time has passed, the pleasure of the familiarity is so good it almost hurts her. To have him well again, to be safe and wanted and in his arms is only made sweeter by the fact that the knocks and falls they have taken ultimately only made them stronger.

Mulder and Scully, the Unremarkable House and dancing.

@tofuttim's Comfort and Chaos (Ao3)

The rain pelted relentlessly against the windows of the small cabin. The night air was cold, but inside the cabin, a fire and a shared bed with Mulder kept her warm. The sound of the storm thrusted her thoughts back to the beginning. 

The beginning of forever.

Scully asks Mulder what he remembers about their first case.

@defnotmeyo's (Ao3) The Cost of Living is Just Right

The beds are wrapped in white and light grey sheets with sky blue pillow cases on the spare pillows. The tables all look like something you would have seen on the Jetsons.  

It takes a bit of time for Mulder to feel comfortable at Scully's apt.

Ingot Silver

“Birthday time, huh? We could go uh,” he licked some sauce off his finger as he moved a dish over to the sink, “we could go squatchin’.” He turned and winked at her.

Mulder learned plans an evening dinner for he and his Scully.

the “before i even needed glasses” line

Then, on days he doesn’t hate himself (and those days are multiplying and growing closer together all the time), he remembers he has a son, healthy and alive. He has the love of his life and while she’s not home yet, her toothbrush is back in his bathroom.

Post Cathedral episode Mulder isn't letting his homie get away ever again.

It really looks like Mulder when youre seeing two of everything.

“Mulder… you… you hurled a raccoon down our stairs.”

He shrugs, sheepish as ever.

“Like… you hurled him.”

“It was for Daggoo!”

A raccoon holds the Mulder-Scully household hostage.

I always laugh at that bit in detour where mulder is like “if ur lucky u get seventy-five (75) yrs. if ur rly lucky u get eighty

She refrains from rolling her eyes, instead slides in front of him and slinks an arm around him, patting that soft of his oblique threatening to turn into a love handle.

“Charlie has a decent head of hair,” Mulder mumbles.

“Charlie is four years younger. And you made it passed 50, Mulder. You won.”

Scully reassures Mulder he still looks gooooooooood.

BONUS (HAD TO INCLUDE THESE FOR THE MSR)

@monikafilefan/MonikaFileFan's

Language of Love: Prompts of Angst and Romance - Chapter 6

A sudden rise in emotion crests in her throat when she sees the wondrous look of awe and admiration seize the love of her life.

It’s the exact look she saw grace is face eighteen years ago.

“Mulder…” she whispers, raking her fingers through his silky hair as he grins up at her with a trembling chin.

Post Revival Mulder feels his baby move during the witching hour.

39 and 82 from the prompt list 😁/Just Breathe

“She’s here and she’s beautiful, honey, she’s just—”

“What, Mulder?” Scully shot up onto her elbows with her heart in her throat. “She’s just what?”

“It’s fine. She’s fine, Scully. She just looks like a he.”

Her jaw dropped. “What are you—are you sure?” Their slippery, pink baby covered in layers of vernix and blood mewled in protest as Mulder lifted the tiny bundle away from the comfort of his warm chest and pointed wide-eyed between its legs.

Mulder and Scully and unexpectedly fast Halloween baby makes a chaotically competent three.

RoseThornhill's

Spooky Mulder: The Revenge

Excited dad!Mulder wants a spooky theme for his Halloween daughter's name.

Alice is a Punk Rocker

Mulder, Scully, and their Halloween baby are happy together, despite a few bumpy patches.

@myownsuperintendent/MyOwnSuperintendent’s Renewal

She tries to shift in the bed, to touch him too, and he stops and pulls back.  “Don’t try to sit up,” he says.  “They made me promise I wouldn’t disturb you.”  He’s trying to smile at her through the tears in his eyes.  “You’re all right,” he repeats.  “Please don’t scare me like that again.  Not ever again.”

Post Revival Scully loses a lot of blood during delivery, which helps convince Jackson to stay with his family and new sister a bit longer.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!