#i let her out and instead of trying to get in through the door she trued coming in through the window

[valentinedrifter]

Days with Yuri: Packages

male reader x Jo Yuri

~12k words

A/N: A friend said "yuri fic when" so, here you go I guess? Also a lot of yapping involved, so apologies for that.

Enjoy.

You should’ve expected this to happen.

Jjoyul: Sharing Live Location. HELP NOW ASAP PLS

You blink. You squint.

What the fuck?

You read it again.

What the fuck, that’s not her address.

You: whats going on

Jjoyul: I NEED HELP I SWEAR ILL O U 1

You: with what where are you even are you safe

You sit up from your bed, rubbing a hand on your face in annoyance. Out of all the days, it had to be the day you slept in late for her to fuck about and make you find out instead.

Jjoyul: SAFEST PLACE IN D WORLD RN WILL XPLAIN LATR CAN U PLS COME T_T

You were halfway into typing the word “no” and go back to cuddling your comforter and enjoying some more well deserved sleep until your phone buzzed two more times.

Jjoyul: Image attached. PLSSSSSSS

You groan. Half tempted to throw your phone on the nightstand and forget all about the messages. Half tempted to open the image and hope that you can have an idea on what’s actually going on.

You let the angel on your shoulder win this round and open your phone.

Yuri’s face takes up your screen, sitting down on a couch with an all-familiar pout on her lips, finger pressing her chin, wide innocent eyes, and an adorable little head tilt. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen this type of picture so many times that you feel like she’s recycling old pictures.

You wonder how this brat can be this cute yet so annoying at times because you’re falling for her endearingly irritating tactic of cuteness to get you to help her with whatever it is she needs help with. You were about to press the location text she sent to see where she actually is when she sent one last message.

Jjoyul: ILL EVEN COOK U LUNCH AND DINNER NEXT TIME

Now while free food is nice, Yuri’s cooking is something else. Not that you’d ever tell her that because, well, her ego would skyrocket, but she could cook an egg and you’d think a sous chef made it.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and all that. Your sleep-deprived brain isn’t helping much in that regard to stop it. Besides, it’s free food on call.

What’s the worst that could happen?

You: fine, be there in 30

Jjoyul: U DA BESTTTTTTT IM AT 221 BTW TELL THE LADY THAT UR HERE 4 ME TYTYTY <3

And so began your quick shower, a salmon riceball for brunch, and you’re walking out the door heading to her location. Said place is an apartment complex that looks similar to yours—tall, muted colors, minimalistic design—and you start to wonder what she’s doing in a place so far away from where she lives.

She was surprisingly close to your place too—a good ten minute walk to wake the legs up—and you’re stepping into the lobby to be greeted by the receptionist.

You tell her that you’re here for a “Jo Yuri” and all she does is raise an eyebrow.

“No packages?” Her head tilts in confusion.

“...No?” You respond. “Am I supposed to have one?”

“Oh, no, no!” The lady chuckles. “She’s been getting a lot lately, I thought you would be dropping off some more.”

She points you to where you can get to 221, and after thanking her, your mind stops to think:

What the fuck is she doing here?

You take the stairs, faster that way since she’s just a floor up, and you’re standing in front of apartment 221.

You take a deep breath, curl your fingers, prep yourself to call the cops if you need to, and knock.

Tap-tap-tap.

Silence greets you. You wait. Then try again.

Tap-tap-tap.

Still, no answer. You air out a ‘huh’ and decide to just–

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-

“Just a second!” Yuri’s muffled voice comes out of the door, and you hear her padded footsteps rushing.

The lock clicks, the handle turns, and you’re greeted to the sight of a disheveled looking Yuri grinning up to you.

“Hey–” She huffs, grabbing your arm and tugging you inside. Her hand is warm against yours, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “You got here pretty fast.”

“It’s a few blocks away from mine.” You turn around to see her already closing the door before leaning back to it, arms behind her back to face you, giving you a chance to properly look at her.

Hair framing that lovable face, smile that radiates trouble, crescents that screams innocent excitement all wrapped in a baggy shirt hanging off one shoulder and some shorts that hides her figure.

Not that you’d know anything about it, you just…saw it a couple of times. Like when you two attended Minju’s wedding as friends. 

Totally not as each other’s wedding date.

You definitely didn’t give her that wide-eyed stare when you picked her up. Or notice how beautiful she looked in the white dress which showed off a bit too much cleavage that definitely didn’t do things to both your heads. Or stand a little too close when one of the groomsmen complimented her on her looks.

And you really didn’t hold her hips when she dragged you to the dance floor because her favorite slow dance started playing. Didn’t like how your hands felt perfect on her. Didn’t feel your heart skip a beat when she gave you that smile when it ended.

You swear it wasn’t awkward the next few weeks after.

Nope. You’re absolutely sure that you and her were totally okay for that period of time.

You focus back on Yuri, who’s gotten close enough to lean into your personal space, face almost touching your chest, shirt swinging low enough for you to see a hint of her generous chest. You can even smell the jasmine radiating off her.

She’s too close.

You blink. She chuckles. 

You take a step back. She straightens.

Speaking of personal spaces–“Where are we, exactly?”

“This, exactly, is–” She stretches it out, making drum roll gestures, dancing around you. “–drumroll please–”

She stops, expecting eyes and a beaming set of lips looking up to you.

She wags her eyebrows. You sigh.

“Seriously?” You ask. Her smile widens.

You roll your eyes. She grins.

You make drum roll sounds. She makes drum roll hands as she continues to step backward into the middle of the living room before stretching her arms wide and giving a tiny hop.

“Jo Yuri’s brand new, very own home!” She declares, posing like a little kid who won the lottery. “Ta–da!”

The place was semi-furnished, all the heavier things already out and ready to be used like the couch on one end and the flat screen mounted on the wall. But what’s really getting to you are the amount of boxes in the room.

All the colors you can think of, all the different sizes, labeled, unlabeled, packed, unpacked; They were everywhere, from the floor to the kitchen counter. You don’t even want to know what was inside. God forbid she hands you one of them and it just so happens to be her underwear.

She wouldn’t do that anyway. You trust her enough to know what’s inside all the boxes.

It’s still a mess overall though, and as you’re taking it in, you realize:

You’re here to help her unpack all her shit.

“Pretty nice ain’t it?” Everything about her screams pride of what she’s accomplished—she should  be—like the hands on her hips and the way she says it.

“Don’t know about pretty, but it is nice.” You look behind her, eyeing the amount of boxes that were basically mocking you at this point. “How much shit do you even have? And when did you move in here?”

“This is like, eighty percent of it, give or take.” Jesus Christ. “I tried doing it on my own but there’s too many and I didn’t wanna bother the movers because they already helped with all the big appliances and I thought–”

Yuri’s making that thinking pose then a lightbulb gesture like she’s in a sitcom. “–Why do it alone when I can do it with my favorite person in the whole wide world!”

“I thought that was Yena?” You deadpan. 

She opens her mouth to answer, then closes it. Her eyes look to the side. Her lips make a thinking face. She looks too damn adorable. 

She opens her mouth to answer. “My second! Favorite person in the whole wide world!”

“That’s not how that works, Yuri.” Your head shakes. “Not at all.”

“It is to me.” She giggles, picking up one of the smaller boxes. “Besides, this is a lot more fun than getting this done all alone.”

“Don’t I have a say in this?” She pushes said box to your chest. “This is gonna take us all day.”

“You said yes the moment you agreed to my cooking.” She patters back to the couch, sitting on the small empty space it still has. “No take backs.”

Well, she’s got you there. Her cooking’s worth a day of unpacking all her stuff anywho.

“Can I renegotiate to have that lunch and dinner for two days?” You ask, cross legging down on the floor, opening up the box that contained kitchen utensils.

Fitting, considering the conversation.

“If we manage to get this done before–” She pauses, a box in her lap as she picks up a boxcutter. “Before dinner, I’ll make you food for the next week.”

“Say no more.” You let out a chuckle, the prospect of having Yuri cook for you till the next week already makes you salivate as you stand up to head into the kitchen. 

As soon as you see the counter, you freeze.

The kitchen’s chock full of boxes.

Fuck.

—

They seemed never ending, but you two managed to settle into a rhythm. You handled everything that was for the kitchen and the living room, she took care of the bathroom and the bedroom.

She didn’t bother with the labels anymore, just ripped the box open and handed it to you if it was different things for her shelves. You open them with care and precision so as not to make an even bigger mess of the already boxed up fuckery mess that is her apartment.

You can hear her in the bedroom, the rustling of the boxes coming out of the doorway when you came back from putting some of the cartons away and into the front door, so you take the chance to pick out something easy to unpack since you’ve been given all the big ones—definitely didn’t feel like you were setup.

So you pick up one of the smallest boxes you could see, sit down on the couch and lay it down on your lap.

The box itself was small, jet-black and discreet, not unlike all the other bright and colorful ones that preceded it. It was tightly wrapped as well, red tape all over the carton in a criss-crossy pattern. 

Nothing the cutter couldn’t handle.

You open it up, thinking that it was another-some-set of something that you feel like you can convince her to sell off because she seriously has too much stuff for one girl so you part the flaps and—

Dick.

Surprisingly detailed, with all the veins and contours and curls shaping it, the smooth head at the top staring back at you. Although the color ruined any form of realism, somewhere between vermillion or coquelicot or sienna—fucking red—that was practically screaming out what it is.

You blink. Two, three, four times.

You close the flaps. Your eyes follow, nose inhaling deep, mouth exhaling slowly,  mind counting to ten.

And then you open it again.

Dicks.

Multiple, plural, a lot. Some were small, others looked like a lightstick—that’s a vibrator—and there was even something metallic tucked in the bottom, underneath all the bubble wrap. 

You squint, hands frozen on the black carton, not trusting them to touch anything inside and holy shit is that a pair of handcuffs?

You don’t even want to know why she has so many because your mind is already being sidetracked to what she’s doing with them. How often she uses them, which one was her favorite— 

“Hey, how’s it going with the rest?” Yuri calls out, casually walking back into the living room.

You’re stuck, heat creeping up your ears, brain short circuiting, doing its damnedest to hot wire it back into thinking, acting, anything as you’re left frozen in time staring into the deep abyss of the box.

“What’s up with you?” Her chin rests on your shoulder, a grin on her features, chest pushing against your back and the smell of citrus invading your nostrils. 

It wasn’t until she saw what was in the box that made her lose all emotion, utter the Lord’s name in vain and straight up dive bomb into your arms.

“Gimme that!” She screams, her chest flattening against you sending even more thoughts into your head, her hands already snatching the hellish thing from your grasp, one hand closing the flaps and the other wrapping around the carton.

“You weren’t supposed to see that yet.” She mutters, holding it close to her chest, protecting it from you, or vice versa. It didn’t really matter to you. 

What matters was whatever the hell ‘yet’ meant.

“Well, I mean, I can-uh-fuck-” You’re stumbling, sputtering. Because what the fuck do you even say when you find a box full of sextoys that weren’t yours? “I can forget this ever happened?”

“Can you?” She asks, glares really. Raised eyebrow, doubtful eyes, the complete package of disbelief written on her. “Can you really?”

No, you really couldn’t. But you don’t even get the chance to tell her before she stands up.

“Just–don’t bring it up.” She sighs, walking away from you and back into her bedroom.

And it wasn’t. Nobody brought it up for a while, the both of you focusing on unpacking, folding, cleaning. It was all you two did, not even bothering to make conversation. Not without bringing up the box again.

Until she started to do something extremely simple.

Be a mess. 

And she’s dragging you into becoming one when she keeps brushing past you even if she didn’t have to. You could be sitting down on the couch and she’d walk past you to get the box that was right next to you instead of the ones that were stacked up right next to her bedroom door.

It wasn’t like there was a lack of them, if anything there were too many. And she kept doing it anyway.

Yuri didn’t even do anything that you’d consider odd or anything and she’s already distracting you. Every pass, brush of your hands, glances that were a bit too long. 

You were trying to pretend that you didn’t notice anything and gaslit yourself into thinking it wasn’t intentional. To leave her to do whatever she wants because it is her house but this, this was like scratching an itch.

If an itch were to ask her why she had so many dildos, that is.

You were rinsing up a few of her mugs when she plops down the couch, halfway empty of the cartons that were seated a few hours ago.

It was a mistake glancing because–

“Why do I keep so much stuff.” She moans out, the first words uttered after the box. Her arms stretched upward, her shirt riding up just a bit to show that bellybutton of hers. 

You tell yourself you weren’t staring. She’s just casually seducing you with an arm stretch and the temptation to ask her about the damn box grows higher.

“That sounds like a you problem than anything else.” You snap back down, focusing back on the cups. “Why’d you even bother moving out? I thought you shared the old place with Nako.”

“I did, I just…” Yuri goes silent for a moment, before she crosses her legs and gives you these adorable little puppy eyes that make you wanna squish her cheeks. “Promise you won’t tell her? Or anyone else?”

“You don’t need to tell me if it’s too personal, Yuls.” You shake the glass you’re holding. “We can always leave it at that.”

“It’s not really for me, it’s more for her than anything else.” She shakes her head, grabbing a nearby plushie of a bear she left on the couch because she needs one for ‘couch cuddles’. You remember getting that one for her birthday along with a new set of guitar strings.

And she wonders why she keeps so much extra shit like her toys—

“Just please promise me you won’t tell anyone?” She hugs said bear, keeping it close to her chest. “Pretty please?”

“Alright, alright, I promise.” You place the mug down on the dishwasher.

“Swear it.”

“I just said I promised.” You give her a look, as if she’s seriously asking you to double down on an agreement made just seconds ago.

“I need your utmost trust on this.” Yuri glares. It wasn’t scary at all, not with the bear looking at you with a permanent smile on its face. You wonder what that bear’s seen. Or felt.

“Wha-Fine.” You sigh, leaning back onto the counter. “I swear on my need for an eight-hour-sleep that I won’t tell anybody about what you will say.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not enough.”

“You know how much I need my eight hours.” 

“Everyone needs eight hours, idiot.” She shakes her head, an arm gesturing upwards. She wasn’t exactly wrong. You just thought you needed it more than everyone else because you have the tendency to stay up a lot.

“On my rank in League.” You state. “Happy now?”

That seemed to do the trick when Yuri hums for a moment to think, then nods. She knows how much you play that game to a near unhealthy degree back then before you were convinced—forcefully, you may add—to take a step back from it. Looking back, you’re a bit thankful that happened.

Lord knows what you would be doing if you kept that up.

But it doesn’t mean you stopped though. Maybe a long break or two, but you always come back to playing it like a drug. You were simply volun-told how to take the proper dosages.

“Now, what’s the big deal about you moving out?” You move to sit on the couch, facing Yuri who’s now hiding her face behind the bear.

“Uhm,” She stalls. Eyes darting from you to the bear she’s holding, gripping it tighter. “So you know how Nako’s been seeing Hitomi for a while now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“They may or may not be doing things when theythinkI'msleepingnextdoor.” She rushes, cheeks reddening at the words that came out as she hides further into her bear.

Silence precipitates the room, giving you the chance to soak in whatever Yuri just said.

“Hold on.” You start, lips unconsciously curving upwards. “You moved out because you couldn’t stand them fucking?”

“It’s more than that!” She shouts, slapping you with the bear in such a weak manner it makes you laugh.

“They’ve been wanting to move in together so I thought I’d move out instead.” She explains, grabbing a small yellow box on the table. “They wouldn’t have to worry about looking for another place if I did.”

“Pretty selfless of you.” You comment, leaning back and watching her rip the carton apart. “What made you wanna do that?”

She bites her lip, hesitating, hands stopping from unfurling the bubble wrap covering something.

“Too much?” You ask again, knowing that this wasn’t about her roommate anymore.

“No, I’ve just…” She replies, before she turns to look at you. “I’ve been wanting to move out for a while now, you know? Nako’s been my roomie ever since uni, and before that I shared my room with my sister.”

“Ah. You have that dilemma.” You remember the decision to do it yourself. Your parents were fifty-fifty on it till you had to convince them it was better than hour long commutes to and from work. 

“Yeah.” She nods, going back to focus on the wrap. “You must’ve went through that when you moved out.”

“I mean, sure.” Solo living had its perks. Made you appreciate doing chores yourself, you didn’t have to worry about anyone else’s dishes being left in the sink. You could walk around doing whatever with complete privacy, and no one would bat an eye for it.

“It gets lonely at times but you learn to do things for yourself every once in a while.” You add, leaning back to enjoy the soft cushion, watching her open up a box of books.

“And that’s why you got me, dummy.” She teases, picking up one of the books and giving it a once over. You can see a very familiar tie as the book cover and decide to keep that away for safekeeping.

Because a box full of sextoys isn’t enough for her, you guess.

“You do live pretty close by now.” You nod, standing up to pick up another blue container. “We can meet up more if you want.”

“You just like free food.” She bites, stacking up a few books of varying sizes. 

“And you like my company.” You bite back, cutting the tape with the boxcutter, the ripping sound following each stroke. You won’t lie and say that you didn’t like the idea of seeing Yuri more often. Maybe even get a peak of what she’d be doing with one of those toys—

You immediately stop that line of thought and glance back at her after and notice one of the stacks she made was close to toppling. “Might want to put the biggest one on the bottom.”

“Shut up.” She looks down, biting her lip to stop the smiling forming on her face as she starts to fix up her makeshift jenga structure. “Anyway, it took me a while to find this apartment, and the movers were a pain in the ass to talk to.”

“What, they didn’t like that you had so much shit for a single person?” You grin, placing the cutter down. “You can always sell these things online.”

“What am I even gonna sell?” She mutters, arms up in the air as she stops re-arranging her novels on the table. She pauses, stares at the books, then looks up to you staring right back at her.

“Don’t say it.” She warns, shaking her head, eyes widening a tiny bit. “I swear to god, don’t you fucking say it.”

All you do is give her a smirk, extremely tempted to say exactly what you were both thinking. Her hands were already moving to hold onto a small novel, and while it may seem idiotic to tempt physical danger, it also sounds very fun to piss her off.

“The bo–” A thump resonates. A pained shout erupts. A groan follows.

“I told you not to say it.” She repeats, hands on her hips. 

“Worth it though.” You grumble, hand rubbing your chest where the book hit you. “You’ll get money on the side anyway, what’s the big deal?”

“Getting to know what to sell is a big deal, duh.”

“You’re unpacking. This is like, the best time to.” You place her novel book on top of one of her stacks.

She slouches, looking like she’s considering the idea when she starts glancing around her towers of books and the rest of the taped up boxes. “Promise you’ll help?”

“If you tell me why you have a box full of sextoys, sure.” You smile, sitting down next to her. Externally, you looked cool as a cucumber. Internally, you were dying.

Why the fuck did that come out of your mouth, you wonder. You should’ve just agreed and be done with it but now the awkward silence was eating you alive.

“...Oh my god.” She groans, leaning back onto the couch. “I thought we already went past that!”

“Did we?” You shrug, taking another glance at her stack of books, pretending that you were completely okay with what you just blurted out. “I never agreed to that.”

“I hate you.” She smacks you with her plushie. “I seriously do.”

You laugh, flailing your arms to protect yourself from a bear. “No–you–don’t–”

She hits you a couple more times before she eventually stops—from exhaustion or from being lazy, you don’t know—and glares. Eyes narrowing, lips flattening, mind deliberating. All the while the bear is just staring at you.

The bear’s got a pretty cool hat you have to admit—

“Fine.” She states, lips slowly transforming into a grin. “If we still finish before dinner.”

“Yeah, I still get food though right–wait.” You stop, jaw dropping slowly. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” She answers, crossing her arms around the bear. “I’ll even give you a live demo if you want.”

“I think I’m good with the story, thanks.” You chuckle bashfully, hands raising in surrender. Not that watching her fuck a dildo wasn’t hot as fuck, it’s simply very bad for your mental and physical health to be given a clear view to that show.

“You sure?” She draws the words out, smirking and teasing. She leans in, her hair falling, getting closer and closer till you can feel her breath on your face. “You don’t wanna see me suck on a strap like it’s your di–”

“Yes I’m fucking sure!” You answer—scream, really—as you stand up, away from any more of her teasing because your hands are starting to get that itch instead of your mouth. You scratch that itch by going back to the mundane job of grabbing boxes.

You don’t notice the grin on Yuri’s face become absolutely feral.

The next few hours were spent unpacking everything else that was still trapped in their boxes, and anything that she thought she could sell she’d leave in the living room. A bunch of books, extra cables, some plushies she has.

You’re sitting down on one of her chairs for a short break when you let your eyes wander the room. Aside from the large cartons that you both decided to leave for later, the place was halfway there to becoming a home.

It inevitably lands back towards her—it always does—where she’s pulling her shirt up to wipe the sweat off her brow. It also lets you have another peek at her waist, the same pair that you held with your own two hands on that wedding.

There’s always that lingering thought in your head on what her bare hips would feel like, caressing them, tracing every inch of skin with your fingers and wondering what her moans would sound like.

Your mind strays, imagining her face when you trail them upwards, moving closer and closer towards her chest, watching her features morph into something filthy. Begging for you to do more. Touch her, kiss her, tame her.

It’s a good thing they’re just thoughts and not actions cause you don’t know if you’d be able to stop yourself from doing all of that given the chance.

Her offer to give a live performance is enough to make your cock twitch. Add your thoughts into the mix and you’re becoming a horny teenager again.

You exhale through your nose, quietly, hiding it through a tilt of your cup and a sip of cold liquid.

“You never answered me earlier.” You let out, getting your mind out of the gutter for once. 

It’s been happening too many times today.

“About what?” She peeks over the rim of her glass.

“About when you moved here.” You reiterate, elbows on your knees, placing the cup down on her coffee table. “What’s up with that?”

“Technically I started yesterday.” She scoffs. “But I had this place for a few weeks now when–”

She goes on about how she found out about the apartment through Yena and went with her mother to get an initial view. She got a deal to own it after a few years with a down payment and had the movers prep all her items throughout the weeks and have it all delivered in one go.

“I remember one of the assholes tried peeking down my top when they were moving the couch.” She gripes. “Wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it cause he kept sticking close, the creep.”

“...Do I need to talk to the guy?” 

“Mom already handled it.” She answers, standing up to pick up a few leftover cartons, giving you a grin. “But I’ll keep the offer in mind in case I need to move again.”

“Open up one of the big ones while I put these away?” She says, already walking out to her front hall. You could’ve been seeing things but she might’ve been putting a bit more sway in her hips.

“Sure.” Your feet are already moving towards one of them. “Offers always up when you need it!”

And you’re back to the grind. Open, unpack, store.

Except she’s ramped everything up to eleven. 

Intentionally bending over in front of you to show off her ass in those short shorts—you’re totally overthinking it when you thought you saw a small indent in her shorts—or giving you another look underneath her top; Her bra’s this dark blue that’s almost black—it’s a bra for fuck’s sake.

The small touches become more apparent. Less boxes, more space, no reason to take the long way and keep walking in front of you for a touch of your forearm instead of anywhere else.

And the looks she’s giving. The winks she’d send your way when she catches you glancing. The bite of her lip when she’s trying to force her way inside a box. 

Now this isn’t just mere coincidence anymore.

It’s bothering you a lot; You feel like the air conditioner isn’t cold enough, you’ve been drinking a lot more water in between breaks alongside the snacks that Yuri’s kept feeding you with. 

If this wasn’t paranoia, you don’t know what it is.

Then again, you agreed to this the moment she convinced you to help.

You walk back from her bathroom after placing down some medical supplies in one of the cabinets—You really need to have her sell some of her things—where you find her laying down on the floor, now clear of all the rainbow colored cartons save for one last box. 

“Want some more water?” You ask, already heading to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses from her cupboard.

“Please.” She lazily throws an arm up towards you.

“Sit up.” You hold out her cup. “Or else I dunk you in it.”

You honestly could. Just shower her in water and soak that baggy shirt of hers, giving you an excuse to ogle her tits–

“Alright, alright.” She gets up to lean onto the sofa seats, grabbing the cup from your hands to take a sip. “Thanks.”

“It’s your house, I’m here to enjoy the free drink.” You sit down on a chair across from her.

“Always food with you.” She smiles underneath the cup. “Too bad you’re getting that story.”

“Speaking of which,” She continues, “Can you get the box from my bedroom? It should be by my desk.”

“Is it that box?” You put the cup down. “It’s that box isn’t it?”

“Are you actually scared of a box?” She giggles. “Yes, you dummy, it’s that box. Now go get it already. It’s important for the tea.”

“Do we really need it?” 

“Of course we need it dummy.”

“Just–making sure.” You cough, clearing your throat before doing as she asks, nervous anticipation consuming your thoughts.

You shake your head. You really need to stop with these things. 

She wouldn’t actually use them in front of you anyways.

So you distract yourself, focus on getting what you need, and get back to Yuri. It also gave you a chance to look around the place.

Her apartment started to look lived in, her shelves and cupboards full of items, the boxes all folded up and placed near her front door for recycling.

It looked a lot better than it was when you came in, that’s for sure.

You spot it immediately after coming inside her room. It was very her for the plushies to be used as a guitar stand alongside her many, many novels and right next to her keyboard standing near the desk.

Not even a day into living here and she’s already managed to make it into her own. Gotta give her props for that one.

Well, maybe not for some of her clothes still strewn about in her bed.

You can’t stare at it. You won’t. It’ll make you start thinking about what she’d look like in them. What she’d look like without them.

You booked it straight to the box—still black, still closed—your head staring at it, damn near putting holes in it as you walk out of the bedroom to avoid anything else except for the piece of carton in your hands.

Right into even more trouble.

The very first thing you noticed when you came back into her living room was her shorts on the floor.

The sounds registered after. The squelches, the moans, the gasps. All so low, so lewd, so incredibly fucking fucked hearing it all come from her.

You’re almost tempted to go back to her room and leave her be. Pretend you never saw anything, play the dummy that she always call you by.

But you look up, because what you’ve been imagining for so long is right in front of you and the devil in your shoulder is whispering all the dirty things that you’ve been wanting to do with Yuri. Do unto Yuri.

Everything.

And boy, was it a sight.

Yuri made herself comfortable on the couch, legs spread with a hand between her legs, blue-ish black panties that matched her bra pulled to the side with a small silvery object playing in her fingers rocking back and forth into her tight ass. Her other hand’s busy pinching a nipple, her shirt ridden up to her chest along with her bra.

She’s easing into the plug, teasing herself, the tip all wet and shiny from what you think is lube. You can see her tense up every time she pushes it in, mouth trying to bite a piece of her shirt to stifle her moans.

Didn’t really work, but the view.

Hips rocking with every thrust, the plug slowly disappearing into her, thighs shaking, muscles rippling. The hand on her tits hasn’t stopped pinching and squeezing. Everything about her looks so fuckable in all the ways you’ve thought extremely hard not to.

It almost made you drop the box, with the sound of saving it alerting Yuri to your presence.

“He-Hey.” She moans, pushing the entire thing deep, taking all of it into her ass before fixing up her panties. “You were taking too long.”

“I–” You start. Your mouth stays open for a good while, trying to think of something to say. You can’t.

Because you don’t exactly know what to say when someone’s fucking herself on a butt plug in front of you.

“You want-wanted to know about the toys right?” She says, letting the plug settle, hand pulling away from it to cup her tits. “C’mere and give me one.”

You follow, mouth still stuck in that perpetual curse of being unable to move as you sit down right next to her, box in hand. 

The box moves from one pair to another. Yours to hers, where the flaps open once more to show her very bright collection of dildos, vibrators, and handcuffs.

Yuri’s planning something devious, or ambitious. Could be one, could be both. She hums, eyes looking through her box, tongue slipping out of her mouth to lick at her lips. 

Definitely both.

“Pick a toy.” She asks you, face full of perverse mischief, hand roaming over her wares. “We can take turns choosing.”

You were completely still, stuck from earlier, mind processing; Embedding the image of Yuri playing with her ass into your head like a core memory of hers that you would never delete from your brain.

“Yuri–” You exhale, making her hum—purr, really, but who gives a shit at this point. “Are you seriously asking me to pick a fucking toy?”

“Duh. They’re all clean by the way, so touch all you want.” She answers, rolling her eyes, leaning back into the couch’s arm. Her shirt’s still ridden up, her breasts out in front of you, nipples hard from her earlier teasing. “Or do you want me to go first?”

She’s already reaching out to the black carton, decision made on what she’d be showing you—or using on herself—before you cut her off with yours.

“The dildo.” You say, one of your arms picking it up. It was the same one you first found when you opened it earlier. Red, large, and girthy, something that looked like it would fill her up all the way. “This one.”

You hand it over to her. It looked comically large in her hands, yet she’s all grins and giggles when she brings it closer to her mouth, tongue already lapping at the tip of it.

“Would you believe me when I say that this is the first one I bought?” She’s slobbering all over it, sucking on the first few inches of the toy, tongue flicking and licking to get it all wet and ready for her.

Her eyes are closing, moaning as she takes it deep, likely imagining that she’s throating a real cock. Yours is twitching at the thought of it being yours that she’s fucking her mouth with.

“This became one of my faves too.” She lets out, biting her lip as she lowers it down to her clothed pussy, rubbing it over herself. Her panties are stained from earlier, a wet darker patch of it in the middle. “Other than the vibrator, but I use both anyway–”

She cuts herself off with a strangled moan, her hips raising, arching as she presses the toy into that spot, rubbing it in, wetting it even more with the saliva that stuck to it.

Jesus Christ, is all you can manage to conjure up in your brain as you watch her edge herself with her favorite fucking strap. The thought of pulling her panties aside never seemed to cross her mind because she’s pushing it inside her to no avail.

“God, the things I did with this fucking thing–” She’s babbling, starting and stopping about how she’d always use it whenever, wherever, whoever.

“Fuck, I’d just use this to get off when I needed a good dicking–” It’s probably why she never goes out on dates even when everyone’s telling her to go on them. Who needs a boyfriend to satisfy her if she can do it herself anyway?

“Had to-god-to get the smaller ones cause I couldn’t walk in public with this.” That gets you thinking, pacing, recollecting every moment you’ve been with her if she had one stuffed inside of her pussy.

“Yena even borrowed one of them–” Now the vivid picture of Yuri and Yena sharing the red toy with each other, fucking each other with it, wondering how’d be on top, is painted inside of your mind.  “And she still hasn’t given it back, the bitch–” 

You might never look at Yena the same again with that.

All the while Yuri’s kept on going, hands never quite stopping with her metaphorical blue balling. Her underwear is completely soaked with her juices, even marking the couch with the damp spots underneath her.

“Fuck, Yuls–” Your cock’s been straining against your pants since she’s started, in dire need of relief from the confines of your clothes. One of your hands comes to undo the draws of your sweatpants to relieve the tension but you’d think the air can get you off at this point.

“Fuck me, huh?” Her tongue paints her lips before a question—a very dangerous one, you might add—comes out of her mouth. “Is that what you want?”

“God yes,” You confess, eyes roaming all over her. From her delectable thighs, her perky tits, her adorably sinful face; It’s all so ruinable. “Wanted you ever since–”

“The wedding?” She cuts you off.

“Even before that.” 

“Tell me.” 

So you do.

Tell her that it happened at that university reunion party you all attended. It was pretty memorable, considering that’s when Minju was officially announced ‘out of the market’.

Yuri was blonde then, wore this green dress that hugged her curves and showed her off in all the right places. That was the first time you ever saw her outside of baggy clothing or the tamer casual wear she has on.

It didn’t help that she stuck to you like glue for the majority of it all. You and her were making sure Yena didn’t do something stupid when she had a bit too much to drink.

You tell her how much you wanted to pull her into the bathroom and rail her against one of the stalls; You would hike her dress up and pull her underwear down and go to town on her pussy, not caring if anyone walked in and found out about it. 

Watch her face morph into a state of euphoria as you give her a nice, thick load at the end of it. Steal her panties so she’s forced to go back out there glowing from the aftermath and dripping with your cum.

Her eyes are closed all throughout, hand lazily circling the dildo over her, clinging to every single word, and all the dirty things you wanted to do to her that day. It gets her even more riled up hearing you talk like that, judging from the way she’s pushing the toy harder through the cloth.

Then she grins, pulling at the fabric covering her cunt at the same time she pushes. Whether it’s to tease you or to pleasure herself, you can say both and you’d be rewarded, just like she’s doing to herself when she stops for a moment to hike up her legs and take off her panties.

It’s left dangling on one of her legs when she brings it back down and spreads them once more, wet pussy out in the open. You wet your own lips at the sight of it, wanting to put your cock in between her legs and feel how hot she would feel.

Even the butt plug is mocking you, the shine of it inside of her ass barely visible because of the grip that she has on it. 

“You-you wanna know something funny?” Her eyes are locked into yours while her hands are back to playing with herself, grinding back on her toy. The lack of ruined underwear makes it even better for the both of you. “I had this plug on my ass that day. Fuck, I even had this on ever since we talked about moving in.”

You two were fucking hopeless.

She slides just the tip in, relieving all the built up tension she’s had for the past few whatever long time has passed and the moan she lets out sounded heavenly, the relief of everything crashing down on her.

“It was my first time too,” She continues, slouching down further into the couch to give you a better view of her ass, holes filled up with her toys. “Having it in me in public. I was so fucking horny that day that I probably would’ve let you fuck me in that bathroom–”

The red toy goes deeper inside of her, shutting herself up with her own actions. A whimper rings out, her thighs trembling with each thrust of the dildo into her drenched cunt.

“Wish th-this could be your cock–” She squeals, biting her lip to stop the perverse giggles that were trying to sing out of her. “You’d stretch me out so well–”

You couldn’t take it anymore. All the stories, the teasing, the view of Yuri fucking herself to the thought of you. You’re bursting at the seams, needing to chase your own pleasure this time.

So you stand up, a visible tent in your pants—she’s already eye-fucking it—and grab something different from her collection; A vibrator, all white with teal highlights because of course she has the classic one.

You turn it on, watch it whir for a moment before turning it off. You turn your head back towards her, still fixated on your pants, your cock, before you take a step. Her breath hitches.

Take another, and you stop to take your pants off. Quick, crass, it did the job to relieve your own stress as your length is freed from its confines. Yuri visibly shivers in excitement.

One more, and you’re cock-to-face with Yuri, her gaze finally looking up from one head to another. 

“Holy shit.” It’s only two words, but those alone speak volumes. She reaches out, gripping you at the base, before she starts to lazily pump away at your shaft. “You’d ruin me for all my toys with this.”

“Would I?” You ask, moving to grope one of her tits. She felt so soft against your hand, so perfect. You needed to feel every inch of her, squeezing, pinching, tugging. Move from one breast to another, and you’re addicted. “All those toys, and I’d ruin you?”

“You fucking would.” She arches, hand between her legs moving faster, no rhyme or rhythm to it. Only a need to cum, and she didn’t care how she’d achieve that high. She pulls you closer, your cock resting on her face, the tip of her tongue having a small taste of you. “Because a real cock would feel so much more better.”

She starts kissing your cock, making out with the head, lips glued to you. Her tongue’s twirling and flicking and dousing you in her spit. She moans, the vibrations thrumming over you, making you clench your legs.

“Yuri, what the fuck–” You steady yourself by leaving her tits to grip her head, the other still holding onto her vibrator, waiting, begging to be used on her. 

“This already beats out sucking on Glassy.” She even has a name for the damn thing, and it’s not even made of glass. “I can feel you throbbing.”

And you were, when she presses you back to her face. You are when she giggles, giving you pecks all over your length. And you still will be when she inevitably goes back to sucking your cock.

Her hands pump what she can’t put inside of her, wetting your shaft, surrounded by the hot feeling of her mouth that shakes you to your knees. She has the perfect grip on you, stroking you just fast enough to keep you aching for more.

You don’t know if she’s practiced on a dildo to suck somebody’s—your—dick. Not that it mattered if she did it for anyone else.

Because it’s Jo fucking Yuri that’s loving your cock right now, and that is a dream come true.

Her cheeks hollow, tightening her lips around you, just like yours hands are around her hair. It might’ve hurt her scalp. In reality it turned her on even more, bobbing her head quicker, taking more of you inside her mouth.

Then you remember: You’re holding onto one of her toys too.

A finger is pressed on a button, and it begins humming low, drowned out by her filthy fucking slurps. She’s too entranced with your cock to notice that you’ve brought it down to her chest, letting it massage one of her tits.

She hums, eyes closing, enjoying all the sensations she’s feeling. It’s all a fucking mess; From her sucking you off to fucking herself on Glassy. And she’s enjoying every single minute of it.

She mutters something; Too hard to understand with your cock in her mouth, too obsessed with your cock to let go of it. Girl can’t even bother to let her lips go off your head. So she speaks with her actions instead.

Her hand leaves the base of your shaft in favor of your forearm, resting there while you move the vibrator from one nub to another. Still set low, massaging her breasts slowly, pressing it into her. 

Yuri even incentivizes it. She starts going at you faster, getting messier and messier with spit starting to drool down her chin. She keeps uttering indescribable things while she’s at it, and you can’t understand a single fucking thing.

“You know I can’t understand what you’re saying.” You pull at her hair, popping your cock out of her lips, now pouting at the loss of her new favorite toy.

“I was enjoying that.” She whines, trying to push herself back onto you, pulling your arm, anything to get you back. “You taste so good, I could just suck on you all day.”

“I’m not exactly part of your collection, Yuls.”

“Yeah you are.” She retorts, shaking her head at another attempt to escape your grasp. “I have Glassy, and you are Dummy.”

“Fucking–Seriously?” You’re in disbelief. Known each other for who knows how long and she suddenly treats you like an object. “I’m a toy to you now?”

“Of course not!” She grins, hand finally coming up from her legs with the sex toy. She’s waving it around, drenched in her juices, glistening in it. “I love each and every single one of them.”

The implications are damning, yet your lust-addled brain is too horny to comprehend that fact.

“So who’s this?” You ask, pressing the vibrator into her chest, watching her tits sink in. You so badly want to suck on them, make her cry out when you bite one of her nipples. But you save that for later. 

Right now you have other priorities.

“Oh, Cherry?” She has a name for everything. “A friend got it for me when she went to Japan.”

The only one you knew that went to Japan recently was—

“You wouldn’t believe the stuff she has.” She grins, the hand on your arm pulling you downwards, to the dip of her breasts, to her midriff, and stopping just above her clit. “She’s crazier than me.”

“Having toys isn’t enough?” You push the vibrator, making sure to up the setting and make her thighs quiver. “Nothing��s crazier than that.”

“You-You’d be surprised.” She admits in the middle of her moans. “Cherry’s the real reason why I moved out.”

“Yeah?” You bring it lower, the head of it moving directly on top of her clit, and you repeat the same words she told you minutes prior. 

“Tell me.”

So she does.

Tells you all about that time when she overheard Nako and Hitomi over the walls of her old bedroom. All the moans they were letting out. They were trying to hide it for Yuri too, when she says that they were a lot more muffled than usual.

She just got the toy you’re holding; ”All the way from Japan.” She comments, and was wanting—dying—to try it out. 

“The hearing aid helped out a lot.”

She continues with how she used it in tandem with her other toys. Had it go in the same places you had it while she bounced on top of a dildo while she had another smaller one up her ass.

“I’ve always wanted to have this in my ass but it’s too fucking big–”

Her breathy moans sing out of her lips every few words, drawing her story out even more. Yet the pressure on her clit never really goes away, only being released for a short moment when she gets too lost in the pleasure to keep on talking.

She knows what you’re doing because she’s done the exact same thing to herself. All the words, the actions. It’s gotten to a point where the both of you are getting so close to losing all composure, yet you still want to carry on with this game.

So she carries on, giving you a play-by-play of what she did that night. It’s so detailed it makes your cock harder if that was even possible, made you leak pre-cum right there in front of her. 

She’s eyeing it of course, has been since she’s started talking, still deprived of your cock in her mouth. She brings her hand back to your shaft, gripping you, jerking you slow. Another comes back to her pussy, her toy pushing back inside of her.

Her eyes meet yours, and the face she makes for you is extremely tempting; Tongue pushing into her cheek, eyebrows wagging, eyes full of perverse ideas.

A pull of her hair stops her, and with a whine or a whimper, she keeps on going.

She admits how she got a bit too noisy after a while, louder than the couple at the other side of her room. She didn’t stop even when they did, if anything it got her hornier at the thought that they knew about what she was doing.

All her thoughts about that night was how much she wanted to get in on the action between the two. Yuri’s heard them so many times and the one time they took her into consideration her libido was at an all time high.

“It wasn’t the first time, either.” Yuri giggles, confessing that she’s gotten off to the both of them so many times at this point. The realization that she got caught that night made her cum all over her bedsheets.

The morning after was awkward for the both of them, she says. How Nako had to sit her down and tell her to stop being so loud with what she was doing. But that only spurred Yuri on, knowing that Nako was listening in on her masturbating to said girl.

Her hands haven’t been idle; Stroking you faster, fucking herself deeper. Her clit’s being abused by the vibrator that you’ve constantly held there, and you can tell that she’s close to cumming her brains out.

Her hands haven’t been idle; Stroking you faster, fucking herself deeper. Her clit’s being abused by the vibrator that you’ve constantly held there, and you can tell that she’s close to cumming her brains out.

She’s all twitchy, legs and arms and mouth just begging for you to turn it up to the max.

“You are just…” You pause, trying to find a single word in your limited dictionary of horny thoughts. A lot of words spring up to mind, but only one really fits the description of Jo Yuri in this very instance. “Such a slut.”

“Yeah?” She cackles, depraved, debauched, deafening. Her entire being is screaming it, and you are loving every second of it. “Cute innocent Yuri being such a closet perv, who would’ve known.”

“Be-Bet you didn’t think of that when you wanted to-to dick me down at that party.” She’s abandoned Glassy in favor of bracing herself to your arm, the shaking in her thighs intensifying as you turn the vibrator up a notch. “Like–Fuck, like you wanna do me right here on this couch.”

You want to confirm something. It’s been gnawing at you ever since she’s decided to ‘obtain’ you as part of her collection. And just as she was about to cum, you slow down.

“One more.” You press a button, and the humming dims.

“One-one what?” She can’t focus anymore, so you turn the toy down to low and watch her exhale in annoyance. “What the fu–I was so close!”

“One last toy you gotta tell me about.” You answer her, tugging her hair back and making her fall back down into the sofa. “Swear on my rank I’ll make you cum right after.”

She’s taking deep breaths, her entire body having these micro spasms, angry and disappointed at her orgasm being halted as well as urging her to finish the job herself. But she decides to indulge you.

“Fi-Fine.” She accepts, “Which toy?”

You reach down, yanking the toy out of her pussy, a guttural mewl spilling out of her followed by a  yelp as you throw the vibrator away and pick her up by the waist. You take her place on the couch, ignoring the fact that there’s a giant damp spot where she sat—you’ll help her clean it up after—and manhandle her into your lap.

“This toy.” Your cock is pressed to her lips, dripping with need. You can feel the heat in her legs. “Tell me everything you want to do to me.”

Yuri takes a moment to regain her bearings. It doesn’t take long for those words to register in her head, and when it does, she looks you dead in the eye, and grins.

“Fucking perv.” She comments, grinding onto your lap, shirt up and thrown out of her frame somewhere into her apartment, her bra following soon after. You can feel the heat radiating off her legs and the cold plug in her ass. “Wanna hear me say how much I’ve wanted your dick?”

“I told you mine.” You slide a hand up to one of her tits. “Tell me yours.”

Her grin’s turned into this lewd smirk. Combine that with a bite of her lower lip, and you might as well forget about what you asked at this point.

“Remember that bachelorette party,” She’s edging herself with your cock now, toys all but forgotten. ”When you came to pick me up after we got in trouble with the club. That’s how long I’ve wanted you.”

She’s on a roll, going over all the times she’s gotten wet to the thought of you. The wedding, the after party, every night, to right fucking now. She hasn’t stopped rubbing her folds—like you haven’t been groping her tits—cock in between as she starts to lose herself one more time to the pleasure.

“Watching me fuck myself, having me suck your cock–” Her eyes are fluttering shut, the utter perversion of her words taking over the both of you, pouring gasoline into the already raging inferno of your libidos. “You could dick me down right fucking now and I’d thank you for it.”

Fuck it, you’ve heard, seen, and felt enough.

You grab her by the waist and lift her like she’s another damn box to unpack, and push into her in one smooth thrust. You’re both gasping at the sensation, her arms wrapping around your neck, yours around her hips.

“So much better than my toys.” She sighs out, finally getting what she wants. What you both want. “You’re fucking throbbing.”

“And you’re so fucking tight.” It’s unbelievable how true those words are, gripping you so snug every movement makes her squeeze you oh so harder. She’s had that dildo inside her for so long that it made fucking her all the more easier, and all the more better. You slither a hand down to have a feel of her ass, giving it a little pinch before you start to lift her up and down your length.

Her moans ring out in your ear alongside the kisses down your neck as you bounce her on your cock as if she’s your sex toy now. She’s not idle at all however, hands tugging your hair, her hips rolling in your palms, tits pressing up against your chest. 

“S-Shit, you’re the best.” She gasps, needy pants airing out straight into your eardrums. “Don’t think I’ll ever go back to my toys after having this dick all to myself.”

“What makes you think I’m yours, Yuls–”

“Shut up, you fucking dummy.” She cuts you off, straightening up before bottoming herself down, taking your entire length. “Thought about this for weeks. Got myself off at the thought of riding you.”

“I know you’ve thought about it too.” You can barely understand a word, her pussy almost suffocating you. “Fucking told me all about it, you dummy. And now you’re mine.”

She starts doing the repetitively damning motion of lifting herself up and slamming herself down on your cock. She was slow, enjoying the way you fill her up, taking every single inch of you before she rides back up again.

Her hands are still on your shoulders, staring right into the face that’s enjoying every small bit of Yuri’s doing. Every hip roll, every squeeze, every bounce; It is everything and more that you’ve thought about with her, and you are craving to have more of it.

You snap your hips up just as she comes back down, giving her ass a squeeze. The gasp she lets out when you do add a slap to the same cheek is like getting hooked up on drugs.

“And what does that make you, huh–” You’re grabbing onto both ass cheeks, keeping her steady as you take back control, setting a rough pace that makes her leave scratch marks on your shoulders. You catch glimpses of the cool metal of her butt plug on your fingers, still fitted so snugly inside of her ass. 

“Wh-What do you think?” She retorts amidst the cries of bliss that you’ve caused. 

“Say it.” A hand creeps down to the metal, giving it a tug before placing it back in. The guttural moan that comes echoing into the room makes your cock throb harder inside her, as if it wasn’t already throbbing enough for her.

“N-No–” She’s lost all control of her body, surrendering it to the pleasure she’s feeling yet she’s still putting up a front to you. Pretending that she hasn’t when you both know she already has.

“Say it, you brat.” Another slap to her ass before the both of you pause.

Yuri stares. Gives you that look you’ve seen a million times by now. Her entire body’s sweating, hair matted to her face, even with the cool blow of the AC. The playful glint in her eyes that never seems to leave, and you can’t help but be lost in them for just a moment.

And utters two words. Two words that caused you to come right down to reality, and snap.

“Make me.”

Your grip moves to her waist, hard, enough to leave marks on them as you start to pound into her needy cunt, as if you want her to regret ever saying those words. 

She won’t, and she never will. Doesn’t mean you won’t try.

“Oh my god–” Her hand braces itself onto her couch, absolutely ruined by what you two have done to it. “Give me more, fucking wreck me–”

You don’t stop. Make her perverse moans turn into desperate gasps in the air. Turn her body into mush in your hands as you do in fact, wreck her pussy for anything and anyone else.

Fuck her till she has tears in her eyes from how good she’s taking you. Until her toes go numb from all the curling.  Until she can’t take it anymore. Until she begs.

“Say it.” It’s a mantra you’ve repeated all throughout. Everytime you fuck her so close to cumming before you stop, slow down, whatever it took to keep her from reaching that high.

And she’ll keep denying it. Keep saying all these different ways to tell you no and you’ll keep forcing it out of her. Keep fucking it out of her.

It’s a game. Some fucked up, depraved version of an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Neither of you want to lose, but the both of you oh so want to win.

So you start cheating.

Your mouth moves to her chest, taking in one of her nipples, twirling the nub over and under your tongue and giving it a messy suck. You can taste the sweat off of her, that surprised gasp ringing in your ear when you give her a bite.

“Yes, fuck–” She moans, hands wrapping around your neck, mixing through your hair as she leans further into your mouth, keeping you locked in her entire frame. You’re hammering into her harder, the couch protesting in silence at the stress it’s received today. “I’m so close, please, please–”

You murmur those two words, the repetition breaking her down, sending the vibrations straight into her chest with a swipe of your tongue over a bud before clamping back down to suck on her tit.

Your other hand isn’t idle, dipping down low between her legs, your hand getting a coating of her juices before you bring it back to her plug, using it against her. Pushing, pulling, teasing her tight, delectable ass.

You repeat those two words one last time, reveling in the fact that you’re ruining her for everything else, just like she said you would. Feel her legs start to tremble, waist start to shake, face start to get a rosy hue from all the teasing. All the fucking.

“Please, please keep going, I-I’ll say it, just–” She’s pleading, demanding, begging, for you to finish what you’ve started. “Just make me cum!”

“Swear it.” You’re making her work for it, pushing that plug all the way in to her ass, making her take every inch of the plug as you fuck her into her much needed orgasm. 

You only need her to speak the words you’ve been wanting, no, needing to hear into existence, and you’ll give her what she wants. What her body is naturally telling her to do.

Yet she’s lost all manner of speaking, syllables coming out as broken moans because you’re not giving her a chance to rest. The heat of her pants brushes your face when she brings you up from her chest to meet her gaze. Yuri lets out this silly drunk chuckle, before her lips crash into yours.

It’s needy, it’s soft, it’s messy, it’s her. It’s a way of agreement, and you respond with fervor. Tongues meld, grips tighten around each other’s bodies, an urge to take everything this brat of a woman in your lap is giving you rising deep within your chest.

You accept it, all of it, and you return it in earnest by finally giving her what she wants.

You all but rip the buttplug out of her ass at the same time you bottom into her, and she’s reached that high she’s been denied for so long.

Yuri seizes up, abruptly pulling away from your lips as her jaw slackens, back arching as a silent scream is frozen on her features before she starts to shake, jerk, convulse everywhere. Her thighs, her chest, her pussy. She’s gushing, spilling herself all over your cock, the couch, the floor, and you’re left close to your own end.

Yet you pepper her neck with kisses, holding her as she trashes about on your lap. Give your entire focus on her, one of the most beautiful things you’ve seen, and the moans and whimpers that followed were so…fuck.

In that moment all you know is her, completely enraptured by the view of her being undone. Let her break, and watch her be remade. Her teary eyes return back to you, and she regains her bearings with a cup of your cheeks.

“Yeah,” She lets out a weak laugh, leaning in to press her forehead to yours. “Definitely the best.”

She leans in, pecking your lips. Then another, and another, until she’s showering you with them.  She’s following it up with these giggles that sounded suspicious.

“Give you my spare key if you give me yours.” She whispers after leaving a kiss on your cheek. It’s a sign of an unspoken promise between you two. One you wholeheartedly agree to.

“If it’s an excuse to spend more time with you,” You reply, thumbs circling her hips. “Then it’s a deal.”

“Like you would say no after this.” Yuri laughs, before a flicker of realization crosses her face, followed by a short roll of her hip that makes your cock jump inside her. “You haven’t cum yet.”

“Close.” You groan, fingers tightening around her hips, head lolling to the sofa back. “Really close.”

“You gonna cum inside me?” You can see the perverted amusement twinkling in her eyes, lips turning into a smirk. “Make me swallow your thick cum? Maybe cum in my ass. You would, wouldn’t you, perv.”

“Christ, Yuri–”

“You’d cum on my face though, right?” She’s given you all these options but the brat’s already decided where you would cum. “Shut me up with that cock, make me choke on it, fuck my face till you burst–”

You’re not going to fall for it. Not gonna pull her off of you and get her down on her knees and cum all over her—the thought makes your cock twitch—when her pussy’s pulsing around your length, trying to milk you of your cum. You feel like you’d cum when you pull out anyway, and she would probably consider that a waste.

So you grab her hips and flip her on her back, pull her legs up to her chest, and give her another sloppy kiss. She moans into it, even as you shove your tongue down her throat just to get her to stop talking. You didn’t even realize that you'd placed your hand on her neck when you pull away.

“Just shut up and get fucked, Yuls.”

You give her throat a squeeze, firm enough to make her gasp, make her eyes blow out and this shit-eating grin forms as you slam into her, fast and rough, with no regard for her at all this time.

“That’s it.” She’s hooked her arms around her legs, keeping them upright for you, giving you all the leverage in the world to fuck her into the sofa. “Use me as your toy, make yourself cum. Fuck it all inside me, I’ll take it, I promise I’ll take all of it for you–”

“I said shut up.” You clamp down harder on her neck, feeling the vibrations of her gullet as she moans into every harsh thrust. Her walls are clenching around you, drowning you in her juices, making it so much easier to drive your hips down harder, urging you to flood her with your cum.

Yuri’s fucking you up with your eyes too. Her eyes are starting to roll back, jaw gaping in struggling sobs, perky tits swaying at every movement, a desire to slap the flesh stirring deep within you.

But you can’t. Not when you’re so close to filling her up with your cum. Your hips get punchier, unfocused. Keep hitting that spot that gets you dizzy from how tight and wet and amazing she feels, taking the hand out of her neck in favor of pressing down on her legs.

She’s almost folded in half, but she’s taking your cock so well, her wails burrowing the slaps of wet flesh against each other as she experiences another orgasm, and the last few thrusts makes your entire body tense up and you finally let go.

Every spurt felt larger than the last; Each rope of cum being unloaded deep inside her. The pleasure was immense, the feeling of filling her up seemed endless, giving her deep thrusts as if you wanted to fuck the cum deeper.

You don’t think you can ever go back to your hands after this.

You’ve collapsed on top of her, completely spent as you move your arms to rest on each side of her face, brushing a stray strand.

“So much…” She mutters, glassy eyes looking up at you, wrapping her arms around your nape. “It feels so good.”

Ditto, is all you can muster up, too tired to move a muscle. You can’t help but stare at her. The matted hair, the drool on her chin, the sweat of her skin, and she’s positively glowing after being wrecked.

She presses a kiss on your forehead, before dropping back down on the couch. “You’re helping me clean this up.”

“Anything for you, Yuls.” You blurt it out without thinking, and the giggle you hear makes you smile.

“Dummy.” She utters, giving you a small peck on the lips before pushing you up. “Come on, get up. I need to make dinner.”

“I thought I wouldn’t be getting free food anymore.” You chuckle, sliding yourself free from her. The both of you let out differing versions of disappointment in your mouths—hums, moans, whines, groans. 

“I’m hungry.” Is all she needs to say. “But we both need a shower first.”

“Is that an invitation?” 

“No.” She denies, pouts, thinks, then smiles. “Maybe after dinner.”

[dissociativewriter]

Unnatural Affinity- Part 12

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.6k

cw: angst, very vague allusions to self harm, semi-crash out from em i guess (?), hurt/comfort technically, yearning tbh, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns (i try to avoid that but sorry), im getting really casual with these content warnings, mostly bc i think no one reads what i actually write up here

Synopsis: While you talk with Rafayel, Sylus gets a visit from someone he thought had disappeared. (i’m bad at synopses)

author’s note: this took me a little longer to put out so im sorry >_< im really looking forward to writing zayne next though! then caleb and then its reader and em again and its gonna get crazy and then im gonna put up a poll so y’all can decide how i end it! i hope y’all are excited lol im getting closer to the end and its making me kinda sad cause i love this series but i have multiple ideas for different series so i might have multiple ongoing after this <3

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @junni-berry @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead

Series Masterlist

Onychinus’s base was quiet. Its occupants were comfortably off fulfilling their own tasks, no last-minute crises disrupting them. An unexpected peace settled, though an air of anticipation filled the space.

Sylus had been eyeing the door since you left this morning. Just like he had when you left yesterday.

He knew he shouldn’t worry. He knew you could handle yourself.

He also knew he was going to worry anyway.

You came to him after your talk with Xavier last night, a serious, somber expression painted on. You were quiet at first, sorting through the conversation. He let you. You’d filled Sylus in then, just enough to keep him updated, to know everything was fine. He respected your privacy, the distance you kept with such a sensitive subject, though he wished you’d confide in him.

Allow him to give you shelter from the storm in your eyes.

You’d stopped him, before you left for bed. Told him not to worry. It was sweet of him, you’d said, but unnecessary. That he didn’t need to give Luke and Kieran a task as boring as watching you talk to Xavier, that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

Sylus didn’t tell you that he knew that, too. He didn’t tell you that he wanted Luke and Kieran to watch you with Xavier to see if you were interested in him, interested in a way Sylus couldn’t compete with.

Instead, Sylus told you he’d let you be. Not before making you promise to tell him if something goes wrong, though. He’s only a phone call away, after all.

Even a panicked look to Mephisto would do.

You nodded, assuring him that he would be the first person you’d call if things went haywire.

He wasn’t quite sure if he believed you, but he relented nonetheless.

So, when you left the base early this morning, just as Sylus’s business day was ending, he’d told Luke and Kieran to simply drop you off where you asked, no need to watch you.

Of course, now his eyes hadn’t wandered from the front door.

Even as the dark circles under his eyes sunk deeper and his shoulders drooped, Sylus stayed. Waiting patiently.

He wasn’t sure when you’d be back. He just wanted to see you as soon as you were. Make sure you were okay under the guise of a smug smile and a teasing remark.

It wasn’t worth risking the raw vulnerability embedded in his worry if you had another man in your heart, after all.

The soft click of the back door pulled Sylus’s head up, listening carefully to the barely audible footsteps padding through the hallway behind him. Two sets, he noted. Luke and Kieran.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed again as he turned to see the two boys unceremoniously drop onto the couch.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Boss?” Kieran asked.

“I’m alright,” Sylus answered shortly.

“You sure, Boss-man?” Luke pushed. “Looks like the bags under your eyes could carry the weight of the world.”

Sylus stared at the twins. “Don’t you two have something better to do than worry about my sleeping habits?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Luke starts, sitting up. “I almost forgot why we came here.”

Kieran sighed. “We’re here to give you a report on the tracking.”

Sylus nodded. “Continue.”

“Looks like Em and Caleb have been staying at his apartment in Skyhaven since Little Boss came here. Haven’t been outside much,” Kieran explained.

“Yeah, they’ve just been holed up in there together. From what we could tell, things looked pretty tense,” Luke said. “But it was pretty much the same thing for a week. Except today. Em left early, about 7:30. Caleb left at 8:00. Went to the Fleet, a new mission or something. We couldn’t track him very far, too high of surveillance on the Colonel.”

“We could track Em after she left, though,” Kieran continued. “She boarded the Coelum Express at 8:00, arriving back in Linkon at 10:00. She first went to her apartment, where she checked every room before leaving. Then she went to the Hunter’s Association.”

“She went to her desk immediately, and she was stopped by Tara and Simone. They talked for about five minutes before Jenna called Em over,” Luke listed off. “Em reported on her most recent mission and then said she had to go. Then she went to Research, talking to Nero very briefly where he gave her very vague answers. Em then sought out Xavier, who seemed more worried about how panicked she looked then answering the questions she asked him.”

Sylus nodded. “Seems like everything’s following the plan,” he muttered. “Where is Em now?”

Kieran shifted on his feet. “That’s the thing, Boss,” he confessed. “We lost her.”

Linkon was incredibly lively.

Bustling streets filled with locals and tourists alike. The chatter rose, echoing through the city so that even the quietest corners were filled with the hum of connection.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

You navigated the busy streets, wondering just how anyone could manage to live here permanently.

Wondering how the you from before you landed in Love and Deepspace did it.

You’d almost forgotten it, how this life wasn’t really your own. You were filling in the slot of a life already lived, already planned, that you had no recollection of.

Was that person from before really you? Or did you steal the life of another, taking what they deserved?

Feeling your chest tighten, you tried to focus on your breathing instead.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

It wasn’t like the feeling was new. On the contrary, you often felt like your life wasn’t really your own. Like it wasn’t real, you weren’t real. That all that you’d experienced before was just a precursor to what life really was, what it was supposed to be. Almost convincing yourself that the life you had couldn’t be real, because wasn’t life supposed to be more than that?

Maybe you were still that kid reading Narnia, waiting for a world at the end of the Wardrobe to find her.

You were almost getting better, you thought as you sat down at a cafe. Your hands itched at your thighs, the lengths you’d gone to feel real again a constant reminder.

But then you got dropped into Love and Deepspace. A world that, as far as you were concerned, was just a game come to life.

This wasn’t real, you told yourself. Which is why the fulfillment this life brought hurt all the more.

You thought of what Xavier had said when you told him. How he wasn’t really surprised.

That had caught you off guard at first, but it all clicked when you thought about it later.

Xavier hadn’t been your favorite Love Interest, but there was always something there you connected to. Something quiet, lurking there but not making a show out of itself.

Xavier was never really present, it felt. He was quiet, reserved, always lost in his mind or his dreams.

Always thinking of something else, always something taking his focus, never truly being in the moment.

It made sense he would almost expect a twisted reality, after all he’s seen.

But then you thought of what he’d said after.

It’s real to me. That’s enough.

You hadn’t understood at the time, hadn’t gotten how he could so easily live with that doubt.

How could you live with the possibility that this life might not completely be your own?

But maybe that’s what you were missing. That doubt is just a part of life. No one’s ever really sure, you thought, and that’s okay.

Our reality is what we make it.

It seems this is your reality now. If this is what you have, it’s time to make the best of it.

Sylus was now settled in his office, eyelids still feeling heavy as he watched the security screens. He watched as you made your way to Mo Art Studio, Mephisto patiently watching you from a distance. He wouldn’t know what you were talking about, but he could see if anyone laid a hand on you, and that was enough for him.

Luke and Kieran had run off to who knows where, to sleep or to prank Sylus didn’t know. It was negligible to him, what they did. They had limits, he knew, and he could clean up any messes they made.

It had been a while since their last prank, though, so Sylus kept an eye on the door behind him. He wouldn’t put it past them to do something now, especially since he’s so tired and out of his element.

Sylus didn’t flinch when the door slammed open. Didn’t flinch when his chair was aggressively pulled back from the desk.

What gave him pause was, instead, the click of heels against the floor.

The feeds were immediately cut, any glimpse of what they had shown gone as soon as the door opened.

A security measure Sylus was now thankful he’d implemented.

“Where is she?” Em hissed.

Sylus rose from his chair leisurely, letting out a deep breath. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”

“You know damn well who I mean!” she exclaimed. “I saw Mephisto outside that morning. I shooed him away, but when I came back she was gone.”

“What a shame.” Sylus smirked. “If you’d let him be, he might have seen who took her.”

“I know it was you, Sylus, just admit it! I saw your stupid bird outside, and that same day she was gone!”

“And obviously, that means I took her.” Sylus raised an eyebrow.

“Well, who else would have?” she asked.

“Enlighten me,” Sylus sighed. “What reason would I have to take your little friend?”

“I don’t know,” Em groaned. “All I know is she’s gone. I—” Her breath caught, eyes watering ever so slightly. “I lost her,” she whispered. “And now I can’t find her.”

Sylus inhaled sharply, staying quiet for a few beats. “You lost her,” he began softly. “Have you ever considering she doesn’t want to be found?”

Mo Art Studio was bright, elegant, a seaside paradise. The soft crash of waves could be heard throughout the grounds, a view of the changing tides almost always visible. You checked your phone again, seeing Rafayel’s latest confirmation that it was okay for you to stop by. The gates in front of the studio were intricate and, most noticeably, open.

You hesitantly made your way through the grounds, stopping just before the front door. With a deep breath, you pushed it open, immediately met with the smell of paint, canvas, and seafood. Rafayel was easily spotted in the open floor plan, situated in an awkward position in front of a canvas.

“Great timing, cutie,” he said as he cast his paintbrush aside. “If I stayed in that position any longer, I’d probably be stuck like that.”

You chuckled as he stretched, white shirt opening slightly. You remained silent as he walked towards you, leaving down slightly to match your height.

“Now, cutie, why did you need to see me so urgently?” he asked.

“I’ve got something important to tell you,” you said, wringing your hands.

Rafayel straightened up. “Do you want to go walk on the beach for this?” He pointed back towards the opened French doors behind him.

Nodding, you took his hand as he led you out onto the sand.

You both discarded your shoes once you got off the boardwalk through the dunes, allowing the sand to shift under your bare feet. The incoming waves nipped at your heels as you took a deep breath.

“Do you remember the first time we met, that painting we were looking at?”

“Of course,” he nodded, “I loved that piece. So did you. But, it didn’t sell.”

“And you remember what you said about when you painted it? How that afternoon was really weird, like the universe was trying to fit in something new?”

Rafayel nodded again, the crease between his brows growing deeper.

“That afternoon was weird for me, too.” You exhaled. “See, I’m not from here, not like you are. I’m from a— a different world. I think that was what was weird about that day. It was me coming into this world.”

Rafayel stared at you. A few beats of silence passed. “So… so what? You’re saying there’s other worlds? Other dimensions? How did you even get here?” he sputtered. A deep sigh. “I knew something weird happened, I just didn’t think…”

“I don’t know how it happened. All I know is, I was there one moment, and the next, I was in Linkon,” you explained.

“Is it that Deepspace tunnel?” he muttered.

“There’s another thing,” you said sheepishly. “In my world, there’s this game, Love and Deepspace.” You tried to explain it slowly, carefully. You explained the events of the Main Story, everything that had happened that even he didn’t know all about. You left out the memories, the romantic moments stolen away that hadn’t happened yet.

You told him about the past lives, though, all that you knew. You watched as a myriad of emotions passed through his eyes, the ghosts of past loves haunting him.

“You know what’s going to happen, then? How it’s going to end?” he asked quietly.

“Not really,” you admitted. “I just know a lot about what has happened, even the things other people haven’t noticed.”

With barely a nod, Rafayel turned to the incoming ocean. Treading the water, his pants were soaked, up through the calf with salt staining the silken black.

“She had my heart,” he whispered, keeping his back to you. “I guess I never had hers, though.”

You took a step forward, the waves lapping at your legs. Pearls dropped, one by one, to the ocean, their tiny splashes becoming lost in the moving tides.

“Rafayel…” you began.

He turned to you, eyes bright and swirling like the eye of a hurricane. “She was never really going to be mine, was she? Not wholly, not completely.” He let out a dull, empty laugh. “Not in this life, not in the last, not in the next. I guess I was never really meant to have a love like that. All I get is something not meant to last, but something that can’t seem to let me breathe without aching.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Do you know… what happens to me? The bond, it’s still—”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know.”

“Then… did she ever really love me?” His hands trembled at his sides, the hurricane in his eyes nearly spilling out.

You rushed forward, taking your hand in his. “Of course she did,” you murmured. “She’s always loved you. I think she always will.” You laughed lightly. “I don’t know if it’s ‘meant to be’ like you say, but I think anyone would be foolish not to love you.”

Rafayel chuckled, looking back to the sun’s rays across the ocean before his gaze met yours again, leaning down once more so he was eye-level with you.

“Well, well, cutie. Does this mean you love me, too?” He grinned.

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks warm up. He moved next to you, pulling you against him with an arm around your shoulder.

Pressing a kiss to your hair, he whispered, “Thank you, cutie. That’s more than I need. She was never meant to willingly give me her heart. Maybe its time I find a new muse.”

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

masterlist

[saetiate]

call it what it is. (or, the five times sae and you are "just friends". and the one time it stops being possible to deny what this really is.)

itoshi sae x f!reader fluff. friends to lovers, first kiss, how love happens, reader goes by she/her pronouns and has some personality (sorry, i couldn't get around it bc of The Plot but i kept it as minimal as possible) word count: 2.3k author's note: you both have a whole dinner date, go to events together, take care of each other, and then get surprised when people think you're dating??? okay so the sound of fireworks are less obvious than whatever yall have going on

Bitterness churns at the back of your throat. Is it from the roasted beans of the coffee you've been slamming into your system for the last few days, or from the lack of sleep?

Not that it matters. You've worked OT, both your team and your clients are unhappy, and according to your Excel worksheet, you're on your 85th job application. So really, it doesn't get worse than —

The doorbell rings.

Who the actual —

You breathe out the biggest sigh at the pretty face standing before you. It's definitely the lack of sleep, isn't it? Either you really should've checked the peephole and put on something a little more flattering, or he's a hallucination.

Let's hope it's the latter. You move to close the door, and his hand reaches out lightning-quick, holding it still. In a spark of annoying rebellion, you press all of your body weight against the door, and it doesn't budge an inch.

Right. Athletes and their stupid, stupid strength.

"You didn't answer my calls."

They say sighing is a necessary part of your lungs, that one of the struggles of artificial lungs was getting them to sigh. You wonder if it meant this many times in a day. "Sae, I'm busy. Wait, I didn't answer your calls? You don't answer my texts 90% of the time."

Then he's in your entryway, because of course you can't argue where your neighbors can hear, that's rude. But then he's in your kitchen, washing his hands, opening your fridge.

"There's nothing in here. When's the last time you took a shower?"

"You come here just to insult me?"

A towel hits your face with an oof before it falls into your arms.

"Sae," you try again, as the towel slides down your cheek, "You can't just barge in here and —"

20 minutes later, there's two steaming bowls of katsu curry rice on your now-clean desk. Sae opens up the little ziplock of togarashi, leans it against your bento box with more care than you'd expect.

"Itakadimasu."

~

It's the strangest thing, walking into your place only for someone to already be in there. How the noise cuts through, something unbelonging but welcomed.

"You know, giving you the key wasn't so you could just walk in here whenever you want. It was for emergencies only."

The only answer you get is the smell of onions being caramelized, crackled sparks of savory in the air.

"I answered your call," you continue, undressing behind a half-open door. "So this can't be an emergency. And you have a much nicer place than this."

Sae barely glances at you as your head peeks into the kitchen. "You could stay there."

"What, with you? Like we're roommates? Nah, you'd see what a mess I am."

"I'm already seeing it."

A spatula waves in little circles around the pan.

“What are you doing here, Sae?”

Like he's already braced for the question, the refrigerator light beacons out into the descending night. Your favorite wine passes from his hand to yours.

"Got gifted it," he responds before you can even ask. You could've caught him looking at you, but the gold label glints with stars in your eyes.

"How'd you get gifted icewine? You've never talked about it in an interview."

He doesn't tell you he asked his manager for recommendations, that he knows they let it slip to someone looking for a brand deal with him. Instead, he watches as you struggle to pop the cork open, the xylophone clink of ice into twin wine glasses.

"So you do like sweet things," you comment as the nectared drink meets your tongue with a smile. There's a reverence to it: how he watches you chop the vegetables before sliding them into the pan, how the last remnants of today's sunlight filter through the window and past your hair.

Sweet things. He supposes he does like something like that.

~

"This event, is it a big deal?"

He vaguely hears a ruffle of clothing behind the half-shut bathroom door, lightstream swept across the floor. He offered you what he knows his teammates get their wives for these events — stylist, makeup artists — but he watched you stand in his bathroom layering on eyeshadow for yourself anyways.

I don't trust anyone else to touch me. A simple statement made stark.

"Sorry, Sae. Could you help zip me up please?"

Maybe it's that implication, that hidden trust you place in him, that makes his exhale a little shaky as one of his hands wraps around your waist to hold the dress down, the other carefully pulling up metal piece up.

You've often thought athletes would naturally be aggressive. You've seen Sae make a fast pass across the entire field without breaking a sweat. But when his hands are on you, they're always light. You think of the falling of snow, its soft and silent touch that comes unexpected, the easy descent it makes before it melts into the ground.

Love is a little like that, maybe.

~

It's a common feeling, to feel as if you're completely alone in this world. Easy to get into your own head, to see only yourself within four walls again and again and forget that there is a whole world outside. It's logical, well-researched, known. It's because of that that you can factor out the feelings when it hits you.

The four walls has never felt as striking as now, coughing into the hollow quiet. The morbid thought strikes that if you died here, no one would know. They'd find your body days later, after the smell starts to waft out.

But you chose this. To move and to fight and to create a life worth living. You, with your ambitions and heavy heart and endless survival faith that makes you somehow believe you can still make it. Sometimes you have to force a door close before wrenching another one open with nothing but your bare hands. Sometimes you have to swallow all your pride and roll up your sleeves and pray to no higher gods you worship that the decision you made is worth it.

You think you hear something click as your mind fogs back and forth into sleep. You hope whoever's burgling you will at least leave you alone and only take what they need. You hear your name, and then a shuffle, and god this is really the worst time to have a stalker.

The back of a hand over your forehead is cool to the touch, the night's breeze still pressed between the molecules.

"You're sick."

Thank you, intruder, for pointing out the obvious is what you want to say. But instead, your head lulls heavily to the side. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"You need a hospital."

"I'm fine. I'm just- being dramatic. But I'm fine."

Your world tips on its axis, warmth blooming into your side. He lifts you into his arms soundlessly. You almost envy how effortless it is for him; the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself.

It's only halfway towards his car that you find yourself processing, finally speaking, "Thank you, Sae."

There's a sharp intake of breath from him, the hard line of his body protecting you from the night's chilled-sweet air. His heartbeat against your ear is as steady as the shore, the way it waits for the kiss of the tide.

"Just call me next time."

~

Sae's not sure how he feels about this.

It's his first time being late when he's meant to be taking you to this event. He moves fast through the crowd, searches with keen eyes. Chandeliers flicker and crystal-light dances —

Only to find you propped up against the wall, Rin leaning down close.

Sae might be less confused if Rin didn't look — for what might be the first time at an event ever — like he actually wanted to be there. He's listening to you with all his attention, has no problem being in your space.

Sae only approaches once you've been whisked away by Bachira.

"Why were you talking to her?"

Rin whips around, and instead of looking guilty, he's in wide-eyed shock, and then narrow-eyed annoyance. "Ha? She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Sae blinks. Did he say that? He would've remembered, wouldn't he?

"You good-for-nothing older brother," Rin's voice is a grunt, nothing like the sweetness he gave you. "You didn't even introduce me. I had to fucking find out through Isagi."

"How does Isagi know?"

"Oliver."

"How does Oliver know?"

Rin gives him an begrudged, deadpan look. "He's your teammate?"

That explains nothing. Actually, Sae is even more confused. He has about a dozen more questions.

"She's nice." Rin mumbles low, playing with the stem of his wine glass, watches as it almost tips before swooping it back up.

"You like her?"

"I think she's nice." Rin grits, and Sae really doesn't know how Rin gets away with faux passes on the field when his reactions are this obvious, because he watches how his eyes grow with realization as another thought passes through his brain. "You don't like her?"

"I like her." Sae accepts quickly.

"Ha??? Then what are you asking me for?!"

~

If Sae's being honest, he knows he has more than enough. He wonders what this thing is that he's had since he was born, never satiated even as he reaches the top. He thinks about how Bachira describes his 'monster', a childlike wonder, whether this is his own version of something like that.

But even the blackhole-depths of his greed doesn't anticipate wanting you. Like remembering the sea upon the drink of an oyster. A second breath, heart soaked with knowing.

What am I doing, sleeping in his bed? The night grows darker with every step, so the invite was innocuous enough. You sink into the mattress and the blanket of night muffles the fear, the thought that love is never so easy. There will be complications and contracts —

You turn to him and all the braveheart strength seeps out of you. Maybe you can put it down here, just for a moment.

He looks at you love-first, in a thousand colors, something he can't find with anyone else. He brushes the hair from your face so delicately, you find yourself stuck between watching his relaxed expression and fluttering your eyes shut to absorb the feeling. The back of his fingers caress your cheek, a butterfly's wing.

"Are you happy? Satisfied?"

Sae is not abstract. It's a vague but concrete question. You understand him at first glance.

"Not yet," you exhale honestly. "I have more to do. I'm gonna get there."

I'm gonna be the person I want to be. And by that time, I'll also be —

I'll also be the kind of girl you'd consider worth dating.

"Just wanna be worth it," you smile weakly instead.

He looks at you with a tenderness that feels dangerous. You think of a bird's first flight, the swoop of the fall. The crackle of a flame before it eats the firewood.

"People are worth something the moment they're born," he recites with no inflections.

"I know that."

"You're the one who said that." It's not accusatory, it's a reminder: your own truth, a perception of love you've been made the exception of. It's too heavy with degradation for him to feel comfortable focusing on, so instead he asks something he knows.

"If you had everything you want now, would it be enough?"

You sit up, his eyes following you. Your body heat no longer pressed against his feels like a loss, something he's sure to correct.

"No. You know that's not how it works." You should know, better than anyone.

He does know. That greed is a bottomless abyss, ambition an infinite sky. There is no amount of good enough that could ever make it all feel worth it.

His hand circles around your wrist, pulls you in on top of him until you're chest to chest.

Love is not your right. Shattered somethings cradle your heart. Trees can grow around items. You wonder if your heart is the same — muscle grown strong around fractured glass, a whisper of a cutting edge with every beat.

If you're always going to want more, be better, go further —

Could you have a little something in the now?

He's so close to you now that it fills your mind completely. He's not naked but he feels so bare under you, your hands framing his cheeks, soft skin brushing against your fingertips. One of his hands skates up your back, the other slides up your jaw, cups the back of your neck.

You wonder when you started letting him touch you like that.

He treats you so gently, so unlike the overwhelming emotion that crashes into you. Both lightweight and heavy, you feel swept under, you just want to anchor onto something —

His lips touch yours and everything falls into place.

~

"How'd you know about her?"

Oliver could make it easy for him. He won't, because getting a reaction out of Sae is much more fun. Instead, he tries and fails to feign ignorance. "Who?"

"My girlfriend."

Oliver leans his head back against the wall, a playful smile over his face. "So she is your girlfriend. Loyal too."

Sae narrows his eyes.

"Relax. I just talked to her at one of those events you brought her to."

"You talked to her?"

Oliver gets the sense that Sae is trying to make it sound like a normal question, but all it sounds is exactly how annoyed he feels.

"She just said she's waiting for you."

notes: unbelonging is not a word, i used it anyways on purpose to strengthen the idea of something not belonging. nectared and lightstream are also not real words, but i like them. twin wine glasses is kind of a reference to twin flames, though i do think you and sae are actually soulmates. i wonder if people can be both. "the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself" is a double meaning, not just your body weight but everything else you carry too.

call it what it is: / a love created, hand-sculpted to fit. / a silent reprieve, / to be seen, / constellations bursting at the seams. / unfounded heart, / a tepid start,/ an easy, soft-sweet thing. / say what this really is. / place it on the justice scales of the abyss. / what you're meant to be / versus what you choose / you can decide you have a right to this.

[strnilolover]

new step brother matt request (pretty sure i sent like 3 other's already😭)

anyways since he doesn't like sharing things maybe you could do reader sneaking around his room and then trying on his rings (she wants to borrow one or something) and then walking out with it on and he catches her

⌗ . . . DID I TELL YOU, YOU COULD?

WARNINGS : JUST MATT BEING MEAN.

you knew Matt hated when people touched his stuff. he was territorial to a fault—about his shoes, his hoodies, his food in the fridge. but you don’t blame him really, you’d hate for people to touch things that weren’t theirs.

so you knew that sneaking into his room felt a little like walking into a lion’s den. you didn’t even bother turning on the light when you got in there—just let the sun bleed in through the little slits in the blinds as your eyes adjusted to the semi dark room.

you weren’t here to snoop around in his things—though you’d really love to. you were just here to borrow something. something small and something he probably wouldn’t even notice.

you wanted to borrow one of his rings. you always loved how they looked on his hands, making them stand out more and look more hot than they normally did. but you almost admired how cool they were, and you just wanted to wear one yourself for a little.

you promised yourself you’d give it right back to him at the end of the day.

your eyes scanned his room until a silver ring sitting on the corner of his dresser caught your eye. chunky. minimalist. very Matt. and so you walked over to it, your fingers ghosting over it for just a second before reaching for it and sliding it over your middle finger. it was heavy and smooth, and just loose enough that it could slip off if you weren’t careful.

it looked good on you, better than you initially expected it to be. but it’s matt—he’s got really good taste.

you were admiring it in his mirror and didn’t notice when matt started to come in until you heard his door creak behind you, his voice soon following. “seriously sweetheart?” his voice barely concealing that smug little smirk he always wore when he caught you doing something you shouldn’t.

you stiffened slightly, turning around as casually as you could—hand still half-raised to show the ring you were admiring on your finger. you didn’t want to get caught but obviously the universe had other plans.

you stood there for a moment, trying ti find the right words to say. your mouth opening and closing like a fish before you started to speak. but the words were cut short. “i was just—”

“breaking into my room?” he cut in, his arms crossed over his chest now, leaning against his doorway. “you know i don’t like people touching my things baby.” he stated, raising a brow at you now. you knew that. you both knew that.

“i wasn’t, I was uh..” you trailed off, watching the way his eyes dropped to your hand. to his ring on your finger. “okay, fine. I wanted to borrow it.” you say quickly. matt tsked before pushing himself off the doorframe, taking a slow step forward. “that’s not how borrowing works. usually people ask you know.”

you groaned, rolling your eyes just slightly at him. “and would you have said yes?” you retorted back to him. he just shook his head. “nope.” and he stopped right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “but now that i think about it, maybe i would’ve just put it on you myself.”

that made your brows furrow. you weren’t expecting him to say that. you felt your heart pound, but you ignored it. instead you decided to just be a bit of a brat.

“you gonna take it back?” you asked, smirking just slightly at him as if it were a game. but he didn’t answer right away. he just stared at it—your hand, his ring—then brought one of his fingers up to graze your knuckles.

he shook his head. “nah,” he murmured. “kinda looks better on you anyway.” and you blinked, caught off guard. so you decided to push your luck just a little.

“can keep it?” and you hoped he’d say yes, considering the mood he seems to be in. he laughed. “no. but you can for now.” he said, voice low. “long as you don’t lose it. or let someone else take it. that ring’s still mine.”

“and if i do?” you asked curiously. wondering what he would do if you were to do either. and matt smirked. “than I’ll come and take it myself.” his gaze dipped to your lips for a moment before backing up with a shrug. “and maybe a little more while I’m at it.”

a/n : matt isn’t always an asshole. and this is the last of the requests in my drafts, i’ll get the newer ones done soon i promise 🥰

[fuctacles]

[start here]

“What do you mean you forgot?!”

Eddie flails his hands wildly.

“I just did!” he yells back.

“What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“Language!” Claudia Henderson pipes up from somewhere in the house. Turns out, she could be just as loud as her son when she wanted, but that’s a given when you have to rise him by yourself.

“Sorry!” Dustin yells back. And then, after a thoughtful frown in his friend’s direction, yells again, not breaking eye contact: “Can Eddie stay the night?!”

“What?!” Eddie hisses through his teeth.

“Sure!” His mom’s answer is immediate. “As long as his uncle knows!”

Ms. Claudia knew he was living with his uncle? How much has their sons shared about him? Has he spilled unknowingly?

“Of course!”

Eddie was for now the only person maintaining a reasonable volume. He turned his whisper-hiss on Dustin again.

“I can’t just impose on your house like that, Henderson!”

“You’re not imposing, mom said it's okay.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. As always, Dustin was right in the most infuriating way.

“You’ll stay over until you finish the paper.”

“I don’t need babysitting to do my work!”

“You kind of do,” his friend points out, right yet again. “And here you won’t get distracted with your guitar or campaign.”

“Do you think it’s all I do?” Eddie bristles, at which Dustin waves his hand dismissively. 

“Or a book, or a nap, or whatever gross shit you ‘almost adults’ get up to.” He makes a face, as apparently talking about jerking off is below him.

“A nap sounds great, to be honest…” he hums thoughtfully, his mind zeroing in on its pick. Dustin huffs. 

“Well, write an outline and we can discuss a nap.”

Eddie did not expect being held hostage in Henderson’s house to write a paper, on a weekday night no less, but here he was. He’s been in worse predicaments, that’s for sure, considering this cell had a radio, a soft couch, and snacks. And as much hot tea as he can stomach, though Claudia Henderson might be underestimating his love for a good earl gray blend.

The afternoon goes more or less as usual, he and Dustin do their homework in the boy’s bedroom, and then Eddie gets dragged into a family dinner. But instead of finishing up or going home, he’s being approached by Mrs. Henderson holding a huge bundle of spare bedding.

“Is the couch okay? Steve got the guest bedroom, but if you ask nicely, he’d probably switch with you.”

Eddie is shaking his head before she finishes talking, but Dustin is first actually to speak up.

“Can’t he sleep here?”

His mom frowns.

“This isn’t a sleepover. Your curfew still applies.”

“But!--!”

“No buts! Eddie, sweetie.” She turns to the older boy again. “I’ll leave the bedding on the couch, you can sleep there or talk it out with Steve when he comes back.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, knowing he won’t be talking with the guy.

Dustin keeps trying to argue, so she adds:

“Dusty’s curfew is at 10 and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll tuck him in myself, madam.”

“Traitors! Both of you!”

When the outline is done, his belly full of toast and the outside properly dark, Eddie finds himself alone in the living room. Claudia advised him to help himself to the kitchen if he got hungry and not to stay up too late. She also told him Steve had a closing shift that day and always drives his friend home, but should be back soon as well.

Eddie manages to write the beginning of his stupid essay before he hears the keys jingle at the front door. He’s itching to look up and seek out Steve, but only does so when he hears him stop by the doorway. He’s surprised to see him but quickly schools his expression into an easy smile.

“Eddie! Hi!”

“Hi.” Eddie gives him a small wave.

“Staying over?” Steve walks in, eyeing the bedding next to him.

“Yeah.” He nods and points at the notebook in front of him. “Gotta finish an essay for tomorrow.”

“Uh, good luck.” Steve winces. “Want something to eat? Drink?” He points towards the kitchen, where he’s headed. Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He’s written three sentences by the time Steve leaves the kitchen and walks towards the bathroom. The sound of a running shower is incredibly distracting. He can picture a small waterfall, deep in the forest and glistening in the golden green sunbeams. Close by is a clearing, created by countless adventurers stopping by to refresh before continuing their journey. They’d strip naked, men and women alike, fighters and mages, dipping in the chilly water to clean off the dirt of the road, the sweat from fighting off petty criminals. The water would be just deep enough to tease at the curve of his ass, lapping against the skin and mocking any bystanders for their solid form, making them wish they could liquify too and slip over the rippling muscles, trace the dips and—

Bad Eddie!

He blinks so rapidly that he gets dizzy, but the paper in front of him becomes visible again. The shower is still running and he reminds himself he’s not into jocks. He’s not into his friends’ siblings, not into whatever Steve Henderson is, no matter how objectively attractive.

He writes another two sentences by the time the bathroom door opens and he makes a point of not looking up. The smell of coconut walks by and he focuses on the tip of his pen. He hears the fridge door open and the steps reach his spot by the couch again.

“Beer?”

The water still clings to the weary adventurer, dripping from his hair. He has no shame, no place for it in the life he leads, not with a body like that. There’s a towel strewn around his shoulders and he was nice enough to put on underwear. He’s holding two cans of chilled beer, and all Eddie can say is:

“Please.”

He’s not expecting him to sit down next to him, smelling of coconut and damp skin, reddened from hot water and scrubbing it with a towel.

“Cherish it, we’re drinking half of my weekly allowance.”

“You have a beer allowance?” Eddie gapes at him and Steve just nods, like it’s normal.

“I’m not 21 yet but Claudia knows I’ve been drinking already anyway. So as long as I’m doing it safely and out of Dustin’s eyesight, she’s okay with it. We share wine sometimes.”

"That's nice." Eddie smiles, cracking his can open. "Wayne doesn't monitor my alcohol intake, but it's not like I'm partying much. I just drink with him or with my band sometimes." He shrugs and takes a sip. It's a more expensive brand than he's used to but all beer tastes the same to him anyway.  

"Wayne is your uncle, right?" Steve asks, lowering his own can.

Eddie suddenly realizes it's nice to be remembered as something more than a freak or a Satanist. He gulps down the bitter liquid.

"Uh, yeah. I live with him. Been since I started middle school."

Steve nods thoughtfully, staring at the wall. For reasons he doesn't dare to name, Eddie wishes his eyes were on him instead. 

"Your band is uh, something Coffin? Sorry, I don't remember." He turns towards him and smiles sheepishly and Eddie is taking it all back, take these dark brown eyes away from his face immediately. Steve knows half of his band's name? Be still his traitorous heart!

"Corroded Coffin," he chokes out. 

Steve snaps his fingers.

"That's it! You guys were at the talent show a couple of years back, right?"

Be still, be still, be still. 

"Yeah," he manages. "I'm surprised you remember."

Steve chuckles, but it's not a pleasant one. Eddie prepares himself to be ripped into shreds. Again. He should be used to that by this point, shouldn't he? But his ego is as easily bruised as it is big. 

"How could I not? The biggest disaster Hawkins middle has seen in years."

Eddie winces. It was expected and it still hurt. At least his not-crush could finally go further into the 'not; category. 

Bust Steve had to open his stupid mouth again. 

"It was stupid, in my opinion. You guys are clearly talented, and the music you play shouldn't matter. Most people don't like metal--hell, I don't like metal." He slaps his hand onto his bare chest, making Eddie nod, because yes, he's listening, he's paying attention, and he is looking at his hairy pecs, thank you. "But it was a talent show, judges should be more objective." He slumps into the back of the couch. "You were great on the guitar, I've never heard anyone play like that. I was surprised you could sing too," he says, rolling his head to the side to look at Eddie, who chuckles nervously.

"Why, do I not look like I have an angelic voice?" he asks, tilting his head. 

Steve shakes his head, making a lazy motion against the couch cushion. The closing shift and the beer seem to be getting to him. 

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so..." He tilts his head to the side and rolls it back, considering his thoughts and how to voice them out. "Multifaceted?" he offers hesitantly like it's not a word he uses often. Eddie can relate. "I had heard the music teacher talk about your ear, how you can pick up any song insanely fast. I know your English essays get praised, and I know you're unafraid to be yourself, against all odds. It's something I couldn't do..." he trails off, suddenly looking sadder than Eddie knew how to deal with. But to his relief, Steve shakes his head to get back on track. "I just wasn't expecting you to have a nice voice like that. In Hellfire, too. It's like you're taking on a completely new persona. It sounds..." He hesitates before his next words." Freeing." He decides, nodding minutely to himself. "Like you can just tap into another dimension, a nice one," he presses for some reason. "And just live it out. Like for a moment, you're becoming a different person."

Eddie considers him. The thoughtful look on his face that he's still not qualified to deal with. 

"What's wrong with you?" he asks and he hopes against all hope that it doesn't come off condescending. He's genuinely curious, hell, genuinely worried. What makes someone like Steve--America's poster boy, attractive and athletic--think this way?

Steve rolls his head towards him again and his smile is everything but joyful.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "The adult life is more than I've bargained for, I guess." He shrugs, but Eddie knows it's the easy, dismissive answer. And he feels like he needs to get to the bottom of this, his essay be damned. Happily.

"You live with Ms. Henderson, though. You don't have to be an adult-adult," he points out and waits, hoping he's not prying too much.

"Yeah, but..." Steve seems to be collapsing in on himself. "A lot has happened," he says as much as Eddie knows at this point. "And I've been feeling so small against the world, against the universe..."

Eddie's surprised at the mention of the whole universe, but it's not like he hasn't been thinking about it too, so he nods encouragingly. 

"And I'm so grateful that Claudia took me in, I'm so relieved..." He hesitates for a millisecond before his face hardens. "That I don't have to deal with my parents anymore," he finishes with conviction. "But at this point, I don't know who I am. High school doesn't matter, the sports teams don't matter. I didn't get to college, I'm working a shitty job, and not even full-time!" He throws a hand in the air. "Actual high schoolers are taking up all the hours."  

Eddie winces. 

"You're talking to a super super senior here, I don't think I'm doing much better," he points out.

"But you have the band," Steve counters. "It's fun, you have friends for it and if you do it right, it's a great career path."

"If we do it right."

Steve turns abruptly towards him, eyes wide, before he settles back down with a sigh. 

"I believe you can. With your insane guitar skills and all," he offers. 

Eddie chuckles. 

"Thanks, man. But I'm pretty sure you can figure something out, too. I don't believe your 'sports don't matter' thing, there's a lot of money put into it," he points out, not hiding his disdain but Steve only snorts at his tone. "And you probably could land a role in a hair commercial if you tried. Hell, with your looks you could easily become an actor," he reassures his reluctant night companion.

"So you think all there is to me is my good looks?" Steve asks, rolling his head towards him again, this time pouting. 

It kind of is what he said, isn't it?

"Well, no." He straightens up, ready to fix his mistake. Well, maybe not ready, but hoping. "Henderson, uh, Dustin, sings you praises all the time and none of them are about your great hair."

"Good to know a high schooler values me," Steve scoffs, his pout deepening. 

"So!" Eddie ignores him. "If you're a good person and a pretty face, that's a whole world opening up for you. Because as sad as it is, people are simple and need pretty things to ogle. It's what sells and you could totally use it."

He looks at Steve again and when the pout doesn't disappear, he realizes he just dug himself a deeper hole, doubling down on relying on looks being Steve's only option. He stares at his bottom lip as if it could somehow pull him out. It moves and he's hoping for some guidance, but all he gets is...

"Should I just become a stripper, then?"

The flash of images is like a bullet to his head. Steve in fishnets and ridiculously high heels, bending on a pole, chest hair sticking to his pecs with sweat and shining with glitter. His lips tinted with lip gloss--

"I mean, um..." Why is Steve's hairy chest right there for him to see? "Who am I to stop you, right?" he offers with a nervous smile. "If it makes you money, it's a job." 

"I guess." He shrugs, eyes still on Eddie, but the pout is finally gone, so he can breathe easier. It's been replaced with a thoughtful expression. Steve presses the back of his hand to his arm. "Would you come to watch me?"

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at him, at the hand touching him, a single finger running against the sleeve of his shirt.

"If I was a stripper," Steve clarifies.

Would he?

It's never been something he considered, the environment more fit for sleazy older guys who can't get a girl, or businessmen too busy to bother with one. Or bachelor parties. Would he go to a strip club then, if he was invited? Probably. But would he go for someone specifically? That sounds stalkery. Would he go if it was Gareth?

Gareth would look stupid in fishnets. 

But if he asked Eddie, for moral support, would he? Probably. He tries to be a good friend. So he half-nods, half-shrugs.

"If you wanted me to."

"But would you want to?" Steve presses.

"I've never been to a strip club, I don't know." Eddie raises his shoulder in a defensive shrug, kind of lost in the weird turn their conversation has taken. 

Even more lost when Steve's hand drops lower, the back of his fingers reaching the hem of his sleeve and touching skin. The light scrape of his fingernails sends a shiver across his bones. He goes lower and lower, tantalizingly slow into the ticklish spot on Eddie's elbow.

"I'd give you a preview before the show, you could judge if it's good enough," he offers instead, hand sliding down to his thigh, resting just above the knee. Squeezing gently.

Eddie doesn't see Steve anymore. Just his big hand wrapped around his leg. There's a tiny mole on his wrist and a light dusting of hair all the way to his fingers. 

"Would you want me to strip for you?" Steve presses, snapping his attention back to himself. 

His brain is uncharacteristically empty, and It takes him a long while to register, process and understand the heavy gaze Steve's giving him, the fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, the boy next to him leaning in, his eyes dropping to Eddie's lips. 

Eddie jumps up.

"What?!"

Steve is up as well, hands out like he's placating a wild animal. Understandably, because Eddie feels like one. He wants to run like a startled gazelle, or drop dead like an opossum. But he's there frozen like a deer caught in car's headlights. Are the doors locked? How much time would he lose looking for the key if it's not in the lock? Maybe he should try the window instead?

"Shhh, please," Steve's hissing in desperation, but Eddie doesn't want to look at him. "I'll leave, I'm sorry. Please forget about it, I'm sorry."

He sounds even worse than Eddie feels, so he risks a glance towards him. His face is pale in the dim-lit living room, eyes widened in panic. 

Maybe Eddie has been the car all along. 

He knows Steve would flee if he reached out, so he doesn't dare to, slowly shows his open palms again, empty of weapons or judgement. 

"Hey, no, it's okay. I don't care about that. You just surprised me." Understatement of the century. Henderson's brother coming onto him? Impossible, abstract, a fever dream. Maybe he did have too much of Ms. Claudia's delicious earl grey. Something must have been in the tea, the school has been trying to tell him not to trust the Brits all along. 

"You don't care?" Steve repeats, not looking like he's going to puke at the very least. 

Eddie considers his words.

"Not in a 'I'm gonna punch you' way," he offers the best he's got for now. Which even he has to admit, is fucking shit. 

Steve finally relaxes, or rather deflates, half turning towards the dark corridor. 

"Thanks. Goodnight."

As the stairs creak under his steps, Eddie is still processing. He slumps back down onto the couch and for once is happy to find a distraction from his thoughts in the form of an unfinished essay. The thing gets done in no time but he barely sleeps that night. 

tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child @dreamercec @mightbeasleep @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ellietheasexylibrarian @wheneverfeasible @wormapothacary @estrellami-1 @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @blasvemous

[ananyako02]

Task Force 141 is on vacation. Tension between Simon Riley and a young recruit (a female!)

The team files into the lobby of a nondescript mid-range hotel. Price handles the check-in process efficiently, securing multiple room under false identities.

Once upstairs, the group disperses to freshen up and decompress. Ghost lingers near the recruit's room, leaning casually against the wall as she fumbles with the key card.

«Heard you snore loud enough. Try not to wake anyone up tonight». He remarks, a teasing glint in his eye.

Rolling her eyes, she jabs the keycard into the slot repeatedly until the light flashes green. Shoving the door open, she steps inside. Ghost following close behind.

«I don't snore». She says, tossing bag on the bed.

Turning to face him fully, she crosses her arms over her chest, fixing him with a stern glare. «Out. Your room is next».

Ghost doesn't budge, instead closing the door firmly behind him with a click that feels ominous in the suddenly charged silence. He takes a step closer, his presence seeming to fill the cramped hotel room.

«My room's got a view of the parking lot. Yours has a balcony overlooking the city lights. It's only fair if you let me stay and enjoy the view». He plucks the keycard from her fingers, holding it aloft with a roguish grin. «And by views, I mean…». He lets the implication hang in the air. His eyes are fixed on her, assessing her reaction.

Every instinct screams at the recruit to push him away, to maintain the professional boundaries they've carefully constructed over the past few months, but…

«You're impossible». Swallowing hard, she reaches out to snatch the keycard back. Ghost captures her hand. His grip was gentle but insistent. Slowly, deliberately, he brings their joined hands to his lips, pressing a searing kiss to knuckles.

«Do you want me to leave?». His hot and tempting breath blows over her hand. His free hand comes up to cup her cheek, thumb stroking along her jawline with devastating tenderness. The contrast between his rough exterior and this unexpected gentleness leaves her reeling.

The recruit's attempt to respond to Ghost's words is interrupted by Soap's voice from outside the door in the hallway: «GHOST! WHERE'S YOUR BIG ASS? COME OUT».

The recruit blinks rapidly, trying to dispel his sudden feelings, and crosses his arms over his chest, lowering his gaze. «It's time for you to go. Good night». Ghost's shoulders slump slightly at her words, disappointment flickering across his features. He lowers his arms and returns the key card to the recruit.

«Sweet dreams». With one last heated glance, he exits the room, closes the door behind him and greets Soap. The sound of retreating footsteps echoes through the thin walls, followed by muffled male laughter and the occasional curse.

Left alone with her thoughts, she sinks onto the edge of the bed. Outside, the city pulses with life, neon signs casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the balcony doors. Tomorrow promises new adventures, but tonight...tonight holds possibilities she never dared imagine.

Ghost's touch lingers on her skin, his whispered words echoing in her ears. Part of her yearns to give in, to explore the undeniable attraction crackling between them. But another part, the part forged in discipline and duty, hesitates. Getting involved with a teammate could jeopardize everything they’ve worked for, everything they stand for...

Flopping onto her stomach, she buries face in the pillow, trying desperately to quiet the storm of conflicting emotions. Sleep eludes her. Restlessness keeps her awake. Hours pass.

Somewhere down the hall, a door creaks open. Footsteps approach, then pause outside her room. Three rapid knocks reverberate through the wood. Startled by the sudden knocking, she sits up abruptly, heart pounding. Fumbling for the bedside lamp, she switches it on, squinting against the sudden brightness.

«Who is it?». After her question, she reached instinctively for the pistol tucked under the pillow. Paranoia dies instantly when she recognizes Ghost's distinctive silhouette through the peephole.

Opening the door cautiously, she takes in his disheveled appearance: wrinkled shirt half-unbuttoned and hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. The raw vulnerability in his eyes steals her breath.

«What do you want?». She asks, trying for sternness but failing miserably. Her traitorous body reacts immediately to his proximity, warmth pooling low in her belly despite her best efforts to remain impassive.

Ghost leans heavily against the doorframe, his usual confident demeanor noticeably absent. «I couldn't stop thinking about you». His gaze is intense as it locks onto her. «About what happened earlier. About what I wanted to happen».

His hand twitches at his side, as if fighting the urge to reach out and touch her. The air between them thrums with unspent energy, the unspoken tension stretching taut like a drawn bowstring.

«I know I shouldn't be here...». He voices it rough with emotion. «Know we should keep things professional. But damn it, I'm tired of pretending I don't want you».

The sincerity in his eyes breaking down the last of her defenses. Against all reason, against every rule she ever set for herself, she steps aside, opening the door wider in silent invitation. In two strides, he's inside. His hands frame her face, thumbs brushing tenderly over her cheeks as he searches her expression.

There's a beat of hesitation, a final chance to reconsider. Then, with a groan that sounds suspiciously like relief, Ghost closes the distance. His mouth crashes against hers in a kiss that's equal parts desperate and reverent, pouring months of pent-up longing into the contact.

His hands tangle in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. The kiss is messy and hungry and perfect, erasing every doubt and reservation in its wake.

There's no stopping this now. No turning back. Clothes fall away piece by piece, each article discarded carelessly on the floor. He takes his time exploring her body, mapping every dip and curve with reverent touches. Calloused palms skim over sensitive skin, igniting sparks wherever they land.

«You're so fucking beautiful». His hand slides lower, fingertips skating over her inner thigh before dipping between her folds. A low growl vibrates against Ghost's chest as he finds her wet and ready.

«Christ… Been imagining this since the first time I saw you». Pleasure coils tight in her core as Ghost works. His fingers moving with practiced ease. She rolls her hips shamelessly against his palm.

«Please…I need you, Simon...». Ghost reaches blindly for his discarded jeans, fumbling in the pocket for a condom (Son of a bitch, he clearly anticipated this turn of events). Sheathing himself quickly, he lines up at her entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging the folds.

«Look at me». He waited until her eyes locked onto his. «Want to see you when I take you». Then he's pushing inside, stretching her deliciously slowly. They moan together at the exquisite friction, bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

«Fuck yes!». The stretch feels so good, making her gasp as she wraps her legs tightly around his waist and nails dig into his shoulders. Setting a steady rhythm, Ghost drives into her with deep, powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips hits that perfect spot inside, sending sparks dancing behind her eyelids.

«Fuck! Make you forget every man who came before me». The bed creaks rhythmically, the headboard banging against the wall in time with his increasingly erratic movements. The moans are getting louder. The room filled with the sounds of shared passion. Distantly, them registers that the whole floor probably knows exactly what's happening in this room. The thought only adds to the excitement.

«Touch yourself». Ghost commands roughly, he nears his own release. «Come with me». Obeying without hesitation, she slides a hand between sweat-slicked bodies, finding an aching clit.

Stroking herself frantically, she chases the rapidly approaching climax, teetering on the knife-edge of bliss. «So sexy. Come on, baby». Ghost's thrusts become erratic, his rhythm breaking.

The combination of skilled fingers and Ghost's relentless pounding proves too much. With a shattered general cry, waves of pure ecstasy wash over them. Their bodies trembling with pleasure.

Ghost pulled her into his arms. They're struggling to catch their breath, chests heaving in tandem as post-coital bliss settles over the room.

Their lips meet in a gentle kiss, and Ghost's fingers lazily trace patterns on her sweaty thigh. «I'd bet anything Soap heard every damn thing. Probably already texted Price and Gaz. "Mission Accomplished' or some such nonsense». Quiet laughter fills the room. Their lips meet again in a kiss.

«You stay?». She whispers against his mouth, hating how vulnerable the request makes her feel. Ghost's smile lights up his entire face, transforming his usually serious features into something impossibly handsome. «Try getting rid of me». After removing the condom, he hugs her again, pressing her against his chest.

The synchronized beating of hearts creates a soothing rhythm, lulling lovers to sleep. When their gazes meet again, she gently studies his appearance: a faint scar on his eyebrow, deep brown eyes and a light, relaxed smile. Love blooms unexpectedly in their chest, warm and terrifying in its intensity. Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever challenges await, they know that one thing with absolute certainty: this moment, right here, is worth fighting for.

[lumiileth]

let you break my heart again pt. ii

part 1 part 3

pairing: Shanks x Marine!Reader, Garp’s Daughter!Reader, Familial!Luffy x Reader, Familial!Ace

tags: Bittersweet, Angst, Unrequited Love, Angst, Non-Sexual Tension, No Use of Y/N, (Extra info on the replies!)

Egghead spoiler warnings

word count: 7.200

summary: She was an anchor, foolishly reaching for the tide, but Shanks was the sea—vast, restless, and never meant to be caught.

or: She realized that Shanks and Luffy were the same - both too wild and free-spirited to be held back, they were always going to chase their dreams, while she just had to accept being left behind.

Foosha Village

12 years before canon

Luffy had said something that made her stop in her tracks, something loud and offhand, like most things he said, but this one stuck.

“Ace is the Pirate King’s son!”

She blinked. At first, she just stared at Luffy, deadpanned, assuming it was just another one of his dramatic exaggerations. But the more she thought about it… the more it made no sense. There was a purge of newborns after the Pirate King was executed, but somehow she realized that Ace did bear a faint resemblance to Roger, with a hint of feminine features. 

“You sure he’s Roger’s kid?” she asked, trying to keep her voice flat, feigning indifference. But her heart was already racing with a strange excitement. She hadn’t spoken much to Ace since he’d shown up; most of her time was still wrapped around her Marine duties. And when she came back, it felt like Luffy had already found his own family.

“Yeah!” Luffy nodded emphatically, mouth full, rice flying. “He hates it, though. But that’s just stupid!” he declared, banging his cup on the table. “His dad is COOL! ”

“But I’ll be cooler!” 

She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she set down a plate of meat in front of him.

And then, just like that, it was gone and Luffy scrambled.

“I’m gonna go!!!” Luffy shouted, shoving the last of his food into his mouth before bolting out the door with the speed only a boy like him could manage.

She looked down at the empty dishes he'd left behind.

Her chest twisted.

It was a strange ache, half-hurt, half-warmth. Luffy had found his brothers. (brother, she reminded herself of the loss, brother, she repeated) He didn’t wait for her to come back to give him a family. He’d found one on his own.

And even if it stung a little… It also made her proud.

She decides to try and talk to Ace if given the chance.

Dadan called out her name.

“I didn’t know you were back!” Dadan said, despite her fear of Garp, she had always liked his daughter, she might even say that she thinks of her as her own daughter.

“Been here a few days,” she replied, gently pulling away from the hug. “I just didn’t have time to drop by. Sorry.”

Dadan lit a cigarette, leaned against the rickety door frame of her house, and exhaled. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. You’re glowing as always.” She laughed dryly. 

“Hah! That’s the alcohol,” Dadan smirked. “So, are ya hanging for a while, or just passing through?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked out toward the trees where distant laughter echoed, Luffy’s, maybe Ace’s too. 

“Not sure, my transponder snail is a bit lethargic, so I left her alone” she said at last. “If I’m getting calls from work, I wouldn't know.”

A silence settled between them before she broke it again.

“So. Ace and Luffy.”

Dadan let out a small laugh, flicking ash into the dirt. “Thank you for taking care of them, I know it’s hard, It’s probably like holding back two hurricanes with a wet mop.”

“You’re not wrong.” Dadan smiled, her expression softening. “But they grew on me. Those boys… they’re gonna tear the world apart someday. In the best way.”

“It’s weird seeing you openly be affectionate of these boys,” She smirked at Dadan,  who widened her eyes, looking like she was caught red handed, “So you do care!” 

“I DON’T!” 

“AUNTIEEEEE!”

Luffy’s voice rang out across the clearing like a cannonball, full of mischief and raw enthusiasm. His rubber arms shot forward, grabbing at her shoulders as he launched himself toward her with a force that would’ve knocked any other adult straight off their feet.

She caught him, barely. Her boots scraped back against the dirt trail as she braced herself.

“Luffy—ow! That’s my shoulder, not a slingshot target,” she grumbled, but she didn’t push him away. If anything, she allowed herself to smile just a little at the boy now clinging to her with the kind of desperation only Luffy could muster.

“Come on, come on, pleaaaase train Ace and me!” he beamed up at her, eyes sparkling with that wide, reckless hope of his.

She raised a brow. “Isn’t Garp training you guys?”

“He’s not here! ” Luffy complained, flailing his arms with cartoonish dramatics. “And when he is, he’s scary! He punches too hard, and he threw me into a mountain last week!”

“That sounds tamer than when he trained me,” she said dryly, crossing her arms.

“But you’re better! You’re cool! And you don’t yell as much!”

He gave her that look. That stupid, effective look. Big round eyes, quivering lip, like the entire world would end if she said no.

She sighed and glanced past him to where Ace stood a few feet away, arms crossed and expression unreadable. But there was a flicker in his eyes, curiosity, maybe? Or a silent challenge.

“I don’t know…” she started, only for Luffy to up the ante by grabbing her hands with both of his and practically shaking her. “Pleeaase, Auntie! We’ll be so good!”

She stared down at him, then she turned toward Ace. “What about you? You okay with this?”

Ace shrugged, but there was a spark of something almost eager behind the casual tone.

“I don’t care, I just want to get stronger,” he said. “If you’re gonna teach us anything, I’ll take it seriously.”

She folded her arms, pretending to consider. “I’m not going easy on either of you.”

“YEAHHHH!” Luffy whooped, already running circles around her. “You’re the best!!”

Along the way, they had realized, maybe, just maybe, her training was slightly harsher than Garp. 

“You’re worse than Gramps!” Luffy cried through a mouthful of food, crumbs spilling onto his lap as he stuffed his face with roasted meat.

“You’re the one who kept slacking off,” she muttered, unfazed, casually tossing a fruit toward Ace, who caught it one-handed.

The three of them were seated around a small fire, the meat they’d hunted sizzling faintly on flat stones and as per usual, Luffy fell asleep after taking in almost all of their food, he was now sprawled out on the grass, his stomach round.

“So, Ace,” she started casually, “I hea—”

“Why’d ya become a Marine?” Ace interrupted, sharp and unexpected.

She blinked, the firelight casting flickers across her face as the question settled between them. It wasn’t an accusation, but it was laced with curiosity. A question he probably couldn’t ask Garp, especially not to Luffy.

“As much as Garp yells at us to be Marines, I don’t think he can force us,” Ace added, picking at the edge of the eaten watermelon, eyes not meeting hers. “You’re strong. You could’ve just said no. Become a pirate. Do whatever you want. Was being a Marine your dream? Who in their right mind dreams of being a Marine?”

She exhaled slowly, watching the embers dance in the pit. “You’re asking a lot of questions tonight.”

Ace shrugged but went quiet, waiting.

“…To answer you,” she said at last, her voice even but distant, “I couldn’t throw away everything Garp gave me. As much as I wanted freedom, I couldn’t walk away from the man who raised me.”

She thought of Garp’s face when Dragon left. The grief buried under fury. The quiet in the house that followed.

“I don’t agree with the system. I’ve seen its ugliness more than most. But Garp… he believed in the good parts. He wanted me to be safe. To be strong. I joined for him… and because I thought maybe I could do some good.”

Ace stayed still, his expression unreadable.

“But my best… it’s not something big or heroic,” she continued, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “I realized I can’t change the world. I just try to keep the people I love safe.”

She hated being a Marine, but she loved her family more, even when it sometimes felt unreciprocated. 

“So you’re okay with me and Luffy becoming pirates?” Ace finally asked, quieter now. Less defiant. Seeking something, permission, maybe. Understanding.

She looked at him, really looked, and saw the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of worry in his eyes despite his tough exterior. He wanted her blessing.

“I want you both to be free,” she said softly. “No matter what path that is. If being a pirate gives you that freedom… then I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Ace turned to face the other way, but she can tell that he was flushing from the way the tip of his ears turned red. 

If Ace can ask questions, she can too. She was always curious if what Luffy had told her was ture or not. 

“Say,” she began gently, testing the waters, “I heard something from Luffy.”

Ace shifted where he sat, not looking at her. “Yeah?”

She hesitated for a moment, then continued, “That your father was Gol D. Roger… Is that true?”

The change in Ace was immediate. His shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and the flicker of peace in his eyes vanished. “Luffy told you that?” His voice was low, guarded.

“Yep,” she said, almost playfully, as if trying to soften the blow.

“That loudmouth…” Ace muttered, burying his face in his arms. Shame crept into his voice. “Of course he’d blab to someone else.”

She watched him carefully. The shift in his body language. The fear. The instinct to hide.

“Before you get angry,” she said calmly, standing up as she sat herself closer beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched. 

“he wasn’t trying to out you. He was just rambling. Bragging about wanting to be Pirate King, like always.”

Ace didn’t respond.

“Go on, then,” he muttered bitterly after a long pause, eyes still downcast. “Say it. Say you don’t believe it. Or that someone like Roger shouldn’t have had a kid in the first place. That I’ve got the devil’s blood or whatever crap people like to throw around.”

Her heart ached for him. This boy, so full of fire and will, still carried the weight of a name he never asked for. She ponders on what she should say next.

“I knew your father,” she said softly.

Ace’s head snapped toward her. “...What?”

“I was a stowaway on his ship when I was young and he took me in right then and there! An idiotic move seeing that my dad was Monkey D. Garp, not that he knew, anywaaays…” She rambled on.

Ace said nothing, but his gaze didn’t move from her face.

“I don’t know what you went through, Ace,” she continued, “truly. But you should know this, if your father had known you, if he’d had the chance… I think he would’ve loved you with everything he had.”

“A demon like that could never love his own child,” Ace muttered, his voice rough with a mix of anger and something quieter, something close to doubt.

But even as the words left his mouth, they didn’t settle like truth. They felt… empty. The kind of thing you say over and over until you start believing it. Except, for the first time, Ace wasn’t sure he did.

She didn’t speak right away. Just sat there, letting the silence work its way through the heaviness between them.

“You don’t sound convinced,” she finally said, quiet but firm.

Ace scoffed. “I have to.”

Her gaze flicked toward him, sharp yet gentle. “Why? Because it’s easier to hate him than to wonder what could’ve been?”

Ace clenched his fists in the dirt beneath them, jaw tightening. He looked like he wanted to yell, or run, or break something, but he didn’t. He just breathed. Shaky and uneven.

“You’re the first person,” he said slowly, “who’s ever talked about him like that. Like he was a person. Not a monster. Not a pirate king. Just... a man.”

“I didn’t know him long,” she admitted, “but I knew enough. He laughed too loud, ate too much, trusted people too easily, and risked his life for his crew. He wasn’t perfect. He was far from it. But he loved this world, and that’s why… he would’ve loved you, too.”

Ace blinked hard, head turned away as his voice cracked, “I don’t know if I could’ve loved him.”

She gently nudged his shoulder. “You don’t have to. But maybe, you can stop hating yourself because of him.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, he seemed so much younger than he usually let himself be.

“Thanks.” It was curt and mannerless, but she knew he meant well. 

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Say, Lass,” Roger called out, his voice booming warmly as he approached the girl seated cross-legged on a barrel near the ship’s edge. The salty breeze tousled her hair, but her gaze remained locked on the ocean. “Aren’t ya gonna tell me where you came from?”

She didn’t look back, only shrugged. “You never asked, old man.”

Roger barked out a hearty laugh. “Fair enough! So? Where’s home?”

“The East Blue,” she replied simply, her voice carried on the wind.

Roger whistled, his grin widening. “Well, I’ll be damned. What do you know, we’ve got more in common than I thought!”

“You’re from the East Blue?” She finally turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief. The man on his way to becoming the best pirate this world has ever seen, hailed from what is considered as the weakest blue?

“Born and raised,” he said proudly, jabbing his thumb to his chest. “Loguetown. Polestar Islands.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “Foosha Village. Dawn Island.”

Roger chuckled. “Now that you’ve had a taste of the world, the East Blue must feel a little smaller, huh?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes wandered back to the sea, shimmering beneath the moonlight. But something in her expression had changed, a flicker of awe, of longing, of possibility.

“The sea feels alive,” she murmured. “Like it’s calling.”

Roger smiled at that, his expression softening beneath the shadow of his hat. “That’s the pull, Lass. The sea only calls the wild ones.”

“Wild, huh?” she echoed, her lips quirking upward.

“You wouldn’t be on this ship if you weren’t.”

“Guess that’s true,” she murmured, her voice lighter now, like the sea breeze itself.

Roger leaned against the railing beside her, arms crossed as he watched the same vast sea. “You wanna sail your own ship one day?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. It hadn’t crossed her mind, not really. Not seriously.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, her legs swinging off the barrel now. “I don’t think I’d make a good captain.”

Roger glanced sideways at her, but didn’t say anything. He just nodded, understanding in his silence.

“But I think about it sometimes,” she admitted, “A ship of my own. A crew. But where would I even go? What would I be looking for?”

“Freedom,” Roger said,  like it was the easiest answer in the world, his smile brighter than the moon in the sky.  “That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

She smiled at that, soft and tired. “Then maybe I already found it.”

Roger laughed again, deep and genuine. “Don’t be so sure. The sea’s got a way of making you chase after more, even when you think you’ve got everything you need.”

She didn’t respond right away. But as the waves gently rocked the Oro Jackson beneath them, she glanced out at the world again and wondered.

Maybe one day, when she wasn’t just a stowaway or a tagalong, when she wasn’t behind closed doors surrounded by white uniforms, when she wasn’t faced and burdened with a father’s dream, maybe the sea would call her in a different way.

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “One day.”

“Ms. Marine-chan,” Makino’s voice called out gently through a knock on the wooden door. The teasing nickname lingered in the air, soft and familiar. “Ace is about to leave. Aren’t you going to come see him off?”

“That’s early,” she responded from within, though her voice came out raspier than intended. She held back a cough, stifling it with the back of her hand. The last thing she wanted was Makino’s worry. “Yeah, I’ll come. Is Dadan still pretending she doesn’t care?”

Makino gave a knowing smile just as the door creaked open, revealing the older woman with a faint sheen of sweat on her brow.

“She’s still in denial,” Makino laughed lightly, adjusting the basket in her hands. “I brought something. I peeled one of your tangerines earlier, by the way. It's sweet!”

She handed over the basket and watched as the older woman took it with a small, amused smile.

“That’s sweet of you. Thank you,” she said, plucking a slice and popping it into her mouth before turning to place the basket gently on her table. 

“Alright,” she said, exhaling softly as she reached for her coat, “Let’s go see Ace.”

They walked towards the outskirts of the forest, Ace ventured out not on the official harbor of the island, not when people don’t know who he is.

“Take care, Aceeeee!” she heard Luffy shout, his tiny arms flailing wildly as he waved with every ounce of energy he had.

“Yeah!” Ace called back, just as loud, grinning from ear to ear as his small dinghy drifted further down the river. “See you, Luffy! I’m heading out!”

“I’ll be a lot stronger when I leave in three years!” Luffy yelled with bright conviction, the kind only a child with a dream could have.

Ace’s gaze lingered, now not on Luffy, but on the woman standing quietly beside him. The woman who wasn’t his mother, but who had done more for his heart than most ever could. She had believed in him. Spoke kindly of the father he once despised. Showed him warmth, understanding.

Ace shouted her name.

“Thank you… for everything you’ve done!” Ace shouted suddenly, his voice cracking through the air. 

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She smiled, but it wavered.

“Dadan raised you more than I did, boy!” she shouted back, voice rough with unshed emotion. She tried to wave him off with a scoff, like this was just another casual goodbye, but the lump in her throat was impossible to swallow.

“Ya both did!” Ace yelled. “Thank you again!”

“Good luck, Ace!” she called, the words almost breaking in her chest.

“Bye, Ace!” Makino and a few others chimed in beside her.. “Don’t catch a cold!”

“You just wait!” Ace’s voice rang out once more. “I’ll make my name soon!”

And just like that, just like Shanks, just like Dragon, another person she loved disappeared into the horizon.

Another piece of her heart left to chase the sea.

“You’re leaving?”

Mayor Woop Slap stood at the doorway of her small home. It had always been quiet, always a little empty, but now it felt hollow, it was far emptier than usual.

“I’m a Marine,” she replied simply, folding a shirt into her half-packed bag. “I’m always leaving.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said, the weariness in his voice sharper than before. He stepped inside and slowly lowered himself into one of the rickety wooden chairs by her table, watching her methodically stuff the rest of her belongings into the bag. Essentials. 

He exhaled. “What happened, lass?”

She paused for a moment, hand still on the bag. Then, in a quieter voice:

“Luffy didn’t cry.”

Mayor Woop Slap blinked, confused.

“When Ace left,” she clarified, her voice strained but steady. “Luffy didn’t cry.”

She wanted to. She nearly did. If she had blinked, the tears might’ve slipped free. But Luffy? He was smiling.

Big, wide, bright-eyed.

Excited about the future, about setting out, about becoming stronger.

She remembered a time when he cried. When Shanks left, he’d cried. That memory was seared into her mind: the small boy with the straw hat too big for his head, screaming on the dock towards a man she had affections for.

But that wasn’t Luffy anymore.

That boy had grown.

Now, if she left, he wouldn’t cry. He’d see it as a challenge. As a step closer to the sea. He’d chase her, not to hold her back, but to find her out there. To cross paths, to brag about his crew, to laugh and share stories with Ace under the sun.

“He’s grown.” She whispered it to no one in particular, but her heart squeezed around the truth and for the first time, she realized—

He didn’t need her anymore.

“So now, ya leaving for good?” Mayor Woop Slap leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied the young woman before him, the one who used to run barefoot through the village, covered in dirt and mischief, now dressed in something neat, her pressed Marine coat not worn, it was folded and on her bed.

She paused.

“I wouldn’t say for good,” she said finally, her voice steady, but she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Because even she wasn’t sure she believed it.

“You’ve always said you’d settle down here someday,” he reminded her gently.

She smiled. “Plans change, Mayor.”

“Luffy woul—”

“Luffy wouldn’t mind,” she cut in quickly, almost too quickly. A soft smile bloomed across her face as she turned her gaze to the window, where the wind rustled the trees outside. “He’s got his dream now. A crew to find. Seas to conquer. Who am I in his grand adventure?”

Mayor Woop Slap studied her. “Does Garp know?”

Her breath hitched. “Huh?”

“Does he know?” he repeated, more quietly this time, his voice weighed down with understanding.

She gripped the edge of the table and swallowed hard.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she muttered, her tone just a little too rehearsed.

The room was quiet, filled only by the creaking of the wooden beams above them. Woop Slap didn’t press further. He just nodded, slow and grim.

“Makino’s worried too, you know,” he added, softer now. “She said you haven’t been by in weeks, just coming in and going, just to buy a drink for yourself.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said with a half-hearted shrug. “Marine work.”

“She thinks you’ve been avoiding Luffy.”

Her mouth tightened. “Maybe I have.”

“You know,” Woop Slap said after a pause, “that boy’s not stupid.” He paused again, realizing he’s wrong, “Okay, he’s an idiot and loud, wild, even more, but something about that boy means well..”

She walked over to the door and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

“That’s fine,” she said, turning the knob. “He’s gonna find me someday and he’s gonna introduce me to his beloved crew and I’d probably cry from being too proud of him or something, I thought of this, y’know.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she opened the door to the cool dawn air and stood in the doorway for a moment, as if trying to remember something she couldn’t quite grasp.

“Take care of them, Mayor,” she said, not turning around. “Take care of my home.”

Mayor Woop Slap knew she didn’t mean her house.

Everything changed, just from one simple mistake.

Isolated, alone, just like she liked, but why is this man in front of her, at her stay?

“Dragon,” she breathed, as if tasting the name for the first time in years. It sat strangely on her tongue, familiar, yet distant. “Why are you here?”

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Even breathing has become a chore these days.

“Luffy isn’t with me,” she added, her voice flat. “But he’s fine. Wants to be a pirate. Good for him.” She paused.

“I’m not here for Luffy,” Dragon replied, voice as steady as ever, but she could hear the undercurrent of something else. Concern. Guilt. Maybe both. His eyes, usually unreadable, watched her too closely for her liking.

“Then?” she asked coldly, unwilling to entertain hope.

“I’m here for you.”

She scoffed, sharp, bitter, disbelieving. “Don’t give me that crap,” she snapped. With a shaky exhale, she pushed off the bed, staggering slightly before finding her footing. Even now, she refused to appear weak in front of him. Especially in front of him.

He had been her first heartbreak—not as a lover, but as a brother.

He chose the Revolution over their family. Over her. 

She coughed harder, lurched forward in a way Dragon had never seen, he stilled as he stared.

“What?” she said, voice laced with venom and weariness. “Surprised the girl Garp trained like a damn warhound turned out like this?”

There was a pause. Then Dragon said, quietly but firmly, “Garp would’ve never let what they did to you happen.”

That struck something deep. Her jaw clenched, eyes burning—not with tears, but something colder.

“What do you know?” She clenched her hands that were on her side.

“You weren’t there,” She said, barely a whisper. “Neither of you were.”

She clenched her fists tighter and ushering Dragon to come into the humble abode, it was small, it wasn’t a proper house even, but it was enough for her to get by. She glanced at Dragon, who just stood there, looking at her as if she was some form of entertainment.

“How did you know I was here?”

“It took awhile, but I have eyes everywhere.” 

Silence filled the air once more, she hated this, hated that Dragon was calculating something in which she had no idea of, the air around started circling while the rain turned thunderous. 

“Stop that,” She glared at her older brother, even then, they could still be bickering like siblings, no matter how long time has passed, and contrary to what she thinks, Dragon had always had the best interest for her. 

“Also,” she snapped, finally lifting her gaze, eyes blazing, “stop staring at me. Tell me, why are you really here?”

Dragon didn’t flinch. Instead, his voice came steady, deceptively calm, “How was everyone at the village?”

Of all the questions, that was the last she expected.

He was still Dragon, still the stoic, calculated revolutionary. But for a moment, she could see through the cracks. He missed it—home. Their village. The peace they once thought would last.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

“They’re fine,” she replied, voice clipped, unwilling to give him more than he deserved. “They’re doing fine.”

But her brows furrowed. Why ask about the village now? Unless—

“A close confidant of mine died a while back,” Dragon said slowly, the shadows in his voice sharpening. “She was captured by the Celestial Dragons. Died from an experimentation’s side effect… She was someone’s… eighth wife. Before she passed, she left behind her child, she’s growing up with the same side effects.”

She didn’t respond at first. Only stared, a distant memory tugged at her, half-forgotten and buried deep.

“When she escaped and called,” Dragon continued, slower now. “Your name came up.”

That made her blink. Once. Twice. Then a bitter sigh escaped her lips.

“I’m not in cahoots with them,” she said. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

But Dragon wasn’t satisfied. He moved suddenly, grabbing her hand, holding her with more desperation than force. His voice dropped to a growl, “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

“No,” she hissed, trying to pull back. “I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t subjected to something that cruel.”

It was a lie. Or, at least, a half-truth.

She was the other thing.

And she would never say it—not to Dragon, not even to Garp. Especially not to them.

Dragon stared at her like he was trying to pull the truth from her soul.

“Are you like this because of what they did to you?” he finally asked, voice low.

“No!” Her voice cracked on impact. Raw. Furious. Desperate. “It’s entirely different.”

But even as she said it, her hands trembled. The kind of trembling that doesn’t come from weakness, but from the exhaustion of holding back too much for too long.

“When was the last time you went back to the village?” Dragon asked, his arms folded, voice calm but edged with something deeper. “You told me you didn’t want Luffy to be alone… so why are you here? Come with us. Join the Revolutionaries. We can change things, bring justice to places no one else dares to see.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she rose from the bed slowly, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. With trembling hands, she grabbed the front of Dragon’s worn green cloak, clutching it as if she could somehow shake the hypocrisy out of him.

“How dare you,” she said, voice thick with disbelief. “How dare you talk about Luffy being alone.”

Her fists clenched tighter around the fabric. She looked up at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears, not weak, never weak, but exhausted.

“You say that like you weren’t the one who left. You left everything. You don’t get to say that to me,” she spat. “ Me. ”

The last word echoed between them like a punch.

“You only ever cared about the Revolution,” she continued, her voice rising. “If Ginny—” her voice faltered at the name, and it tasted bitter on her tongue, “—if Ginny hadn’t said my name, would you even be standing here right now?”

Her nails dug into the fabric of his cloak. “After everything I went through, everything they did, you think I’d just come crawling back to your cause?” Her voice cracked.

She had once hoped that, just once, someone from her family would come for her .

But Garp had his unwavering loyalty to the Marines, a system that built itself on silence and suppression. Even if he didn’t participate in its cruelty, he never stopped it either.

And Dragon… Dragon had the Revolution. Justice on a grand scale. Justice for the world. Never just for her alone.

And Sh—

“I’m not the only one Luffy has,” she said suddenly, voice quiet, a shift in tone.

Her hands loosened, releasing his cloak. She stepped back.

“He found his own family,” she continued, almost fondly. “You didn’t ask, but… he has brothers. Two of them, I guess… One now.”

She smiled softly, sadly.

“I’m just his aunt. And no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I raised him, nothing will compare to the bond he has with those two boys.” Her voice trembled slightly. “He’s going to be a pirate. He’ll leave when he’s seventeen. I can’t stop him.”

She didn’t need to say it, but it hung there anyway.

Just like you. Just like all of you.

Another person she loved, destined to leave her behind.

She remembered all the little moments Luffy had chosen others over her. The times he chased after Sabo and Ace, leaving her behind in the trees. The nights he rambled on and on about Shanks, eyes glowing with hero worship, until she wondered if he even remembered how she used to sing him lullabies when he had nightmares.

And in those moments, the truth settled in like fog.

She wasn’t the person in his life.

But Luffy—oh, Luffy—he was everything in hers.

“I can’t stop him,” She reiterates, clutching own shirt, over her heart, a feeling of heaviness washing through her.  “And I won’t,” 

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Hey,” Shanks started, his voice light with curiosity as he stared up at the sky. “If you could do anything in the world… what would it be?”

They were lying on the deck of the Oro Jackson, the ship gently rocking beneath them as it sailed through calm waters. The stars above glittered like a sea of fireflies. Buggy snored a few feet away, limbs sprawled out in a mess of blankets and dramatic snoozing.

“Hm…” she hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowed in concentration. “Anything in the world?”

“Yeah. Anything,” Shanks grinned, rolling onto his side to look at her.

“Then I guess…” she trailed off, eyes locked on the stars above, “Anywhere.”

“‘Anywhere’ isn’t something you do, stupid,” Shanks chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her dark hair with affection.

She pouted and swatted at his hand, but not too hard.

“I don’t care,” she admitted, voice soft. “As long as I’m with you guys, it doesn’t really matter what I do. Anywhere would be enough.”

Her eyes sparkled beneath the starlight, and for a moment, Shanks forgot how to breathe.

“The sea sure is pretty,” she added.

“Yeah…��� Shanks murmured, though he wasn’t looking at the sea, his gaze stayed fixed on her, his expression a little more serious now, a little softer.

“It’s pretty alright.”

Blood coated her hands. It dripped from her fingertips, splattered across her boots, and soaked through the once-pristine white shirt she was wearing. Crimson trailed along the cracked cobblestones beneath her feet. 

The air was thick, still, eerie in its silence. There were no screams, no sirens. No approaching Marine warships, no hurried footsteps of panicked bystanders.

Just bodies. Dozens of them. All fallen in grotesque stillness, twisted mid-motion. Among them, one stood out: a man slumped at the base of the desecrated fountain, clad in the unmistakable attire of a Celestial Dragon. His glass helmet was shattered, the remnants glinting like ice around his pale, lifeless face.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across. It should have been beautiful, serene even, but the bloodied scene turned it into something else. Something wrong. The stench of iron and ozone lingered in the air.

“Boss?” Lucky Roux’s voice cracked through the silence, uncertain. Even he, always the cheerful, carefree one, looked disturbed, his eyes wide as he took in the carnage.

“You guys stand back,” Shanks said quietly, his tone hard in a way rarely heard. He stepped forward, slowly. Deliberately. His crew obeyed without hesitation. “I’ll handle this.” 

She stood at the center of it all, alone, shoulders tight, breath shallow, her face turned slightly toward the dying light of the sky. Her knuckles were scraped raw, arms trembling from restraint more than fatigue.

And yet, the moment she heard his voice—

“Look at this,” Shanks called her name gently, as if afraid he might break her with too much weight behind the word. “What happened here?”

She turned slowly.

Her face, once furrowed with fury or grief, or perhaps both, softened in recognition. That voice. That familiar drawl, steady as the sea and just as endless. It had been years since she'd last heard it, but time did little to dull its comfort.

She dropped the Celestial Dragon’s body like it was nothing more than trash.

Shanks didn’t flinch. He never had, not even when she got like this. But something about the way she looked now, standing ankle-deep in blood with her hands still faintly glowing with Haki, made his heart twist.

No Marines. No Cipher Pol. No Navy dogs on the horizon.

Not even an admiral.

And yet a Celestial Dragon was dead.

“Shanks.”

Her voice was quiet. Hoarse. Almost like it hurt to say it.

Only now did she seem to fully register the chaos surrounding her , the mangled bodies, the blood drying on her clothes. 

She was suddenly hyper aware of every breath she took. But still, her eyes didn’t waver from the red-haired man before her.

That hair.

It reminded her of them . It wasn’t recent that she found out about Shanks, she never knew Shanks came from there. Not until much later. He knew her kin, her pain, and still never told her. That betrayal sat bitter at the base of her throat, but this wasn’t the time.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was still clipped, tight.

“Can’t I greet my favorite Marine?” Shanks offered with a half-hearted grin. It was lighthearted on the surface, but not a single muscle in his body was relaxed. His stance was measured. Ready. Even his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Long time no see, Ms. Marine, how are you?”

He walked forward, and with each step, the air thickened with the pressure of Haki, his own Haoshoku clashing faintly against hers. It wasn’t hostile, but it was undeniable. The ground beneath them groaned as if to bear witness to what could happen if they didn’t tread carefully.

Shanks sensed that some of his newer crew members collapsed behind him on their ship, unable to bear the weight of it.

“You’re leaking too much,” she muttered, not looking back at the chaos behind him.

“Right back at you,” Shanks replied dryly. “Half my men are face-down and we haven’t even talked yet.”

Silence again. Not awkward, just... heavy.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kill a Celestial Dragon out in the open like this,” Shanks said eventually, his voice low, gesturing with a small nod toward the bloodied corpse slumped on the stone pavement.

She didn’t look away.

“Didn’t think I’d go this far, to be honest,” she muttered, her breath still unsteady, “Something snapped, I...”

Around them, the air still hung heavy with the iron scent of blood. It was eerily quiet now, but still she realized that this wasn’t a place to linger.

She finally glanced down at her hands, still faintly glowing with the remnants of her power, slick with crimson. Reality began to settle in. The Celestial Dragon lay still. Dead. The world government wouldn’t let this go unpunished.

“It’s not safe here,” she murmured, wiping her palm against her coat with a grimace. “I have to go.”

Shanks looked at her hands, still bloodstained, trembling with something deeper than exhaustion.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly.

She stared at him. “What?”

“Not forever,” he clarified. “Just for a while. You need to disappear. At least until the heat dies down.”

“I’m not afraid of this.”

“I know,” he said, his voice gentle. “You were never afraid of anything, were you?”

Shanks smiled sadly. “But you think I want to watch them erase you? You think I haven’t seen what happens to people who stand up to them ?”

She didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened. Her whole body was wound tight, like the wrong word could make her snap.

But Shanks didn’t move closer. He just let the weight of his words hang between them, steady as the sea.

The sea he had chosen over her. 

“Shanks,” She had whispered, loud enough for Shanks to hear, “I’m dying.”

Shanks’ smile faltered.

Just slightly.

Enough for her to notice.

The weight of her words settled like lead between them. The battlefield, the blood, the bodies, suddenly all of it dimmed beneath the gravity of what she had just confessed.

“I’m dying,” she said again, this time with a strange calm. Not a plea. Not even sorrow. Just… fact.

Shanks’ brows pulled together. “What are you talking about?” Shanks’ fists clenched at his sides. “Have you told anyone ?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Of course she hadn’t.

“That’s why you’re doing all this,” he said, looking at the carnage around them. “You think if you go out swinging, it’ll mean something.”

“No," She shook her head, but gave no explanation, "you wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

Shanks stepped even closer now. Close enough to see the cracks in her mask, the tremble in her lips, he wasn’t sure if that was from adrenaline or some sort of weakness.

“You always felt too much,” he said softly. “Even back then. That’s what made you beautiful.”

“Don’t even start, Red-haired,” She spat out, not wanting for old feelings to resurface, but she knew why Shanks was saying nonsense, “Why are you even here, go back to your precious Red Force,” 

“I’m not letting you die here,” Shanks said with finality. “Not like this. Not alone. Not in blood.”

Her eyes met his. And for a brief moment, she looked like that girl again. The one who laughed too loud. Who dared to dream, even when dreaming was a crime for herself at that time. 

“Shanks, that’s not why I told you.” She closed her eyes, feeling too much.

Her voice was low, ragged, as her bloodied fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, dragging him closer. Her breath ghosted just shy of his lips, had the moment been different, it might’ve meant something else entirely.

“I’m not your captain,” she said through clenched teeth, each word laced with bitterness. Her grip on him tightened. “I will never be your captain.”

Shanks didn’t speak. He understood. This wasn’t a moment for argument, this was her flare, her fire still burning even as her strength faded. Letting her talk was the only right thing to do.

“Don’t you dare,” she rasped, drawing in a breath that trembled, “don’t you ever dare let my body fall into the hands of those World Government bastards. Do you hear me?”

Shanks’s expression darkened, but he remained silent, his eyes steady on hers.

“Shanks.” Her voice cracked, and something unfamiliar flashed across her eyes, grief, anger, betrayal. Something raw. “As much as you hurt me… as much as you humiliated me…The times where you forced me to even think about leaving Foosha for good, but even then…”

She faltered, her knees buckling. Shanks caught her before she could fall.

“I trust you more than anyone,” she breathed, almost like a confession. “More than Dragon. More than Garp.”

"So that's why I want you to—"

And that was the truth that broke her, Shanks widened his eyes at the revelation she had just spat out.

This woman, the Vice Admiral feared across seas, the sister of the world’s most wanted man, the grandchild of a Marine legend, was strong. She wielded all three forms of Haki. She had once sailed under the Pirate King (Though as a mere stowaway)

She was strong.

Until she wasn’t.

As the tears finally fell, they didn’t fall from weakness, but from the weight of everything she was never allowed to say. It cascaded to her bloodstained cheeks, she faltered.

All that strength, the kind that had carried nations on her back, that had stared down gods and monsters, trembled now in the space between her and Shanks.

“I have no idea how and why you’re here, but I trust you , Shanks,” she whispered again, as if saying it louder would make it too real, too dangerous. “So don’t… don’t let them get their hands on me, don’t you dare let them near me…”

Shanks swallowed hard. Her grip on him was iron, trembling but stubborn.

“I won’t,” he said at last. “Not a damn bone of you will be theirs.”

Her head dropped forward, resting against his shoulder now, the weight of her frame sinking into his. She wasn’t unconscious, but she was tired. Soul-tired.

“You always did talk too much,” he murmured into her hair, voice low, trying to steady her. His coat draped itself around her shoulders like instinct, like memory. “You could’ve just said you wanted me to stay.”

“Shut up,” she muttered weakly, and he almost smiled.

The air around them was heavy still, tainted with blood and silence, but it was no longer suffocating.

Behind him, Lucky Roux and Yasopp kept their distance. Not out of fear. But reverence. They knew better than to interrupt this kind of moment.

“Don’t fall asleep on me just yet,” Shanks whispered. “We’ve still got a ship to catch.”

She let out a broken chuckle.

“I just…” she rasped, a trail of blood leaving past her lips, trembling with every word she had forcefully spat out. “Wished I could see Luffy, just one last time.”

And just like that, Shanks’ composure cracked. Just for a second.

Because he knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill her wish.

And so, without another word, he held her tighter. As if that could stop the inevitable. As if memory and history and pain could hold her here.

And for the first time in a long, long while—

Red-Haired Shanks was afraid.

[alittlegiraffe]

em smut plss😭🙏🏻

Title: Say It Again

You weren’t stupid. At least, you didn’t used to be.

But all it took was one late night call from your mother and every fear you'd spent years silencing began whispering again—no, screaming. The kind of screaming only she could provoke.

“Men like him always cheat. Especially when they’ve had a taste of power that long. Wake up, sweetheart. You really think he’s working late every night? Open your eyes before you look even dumber than I raised you.”

You didn’t say anything then. Just stared at the phone screen as it blinked out. As if that one call cracked something loose in your ribs.

He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t. You’d told yourself that all night while he was gone, told yourself that again when he came home and dropped a kiss to the crown of your head like nothing was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong. Until you made it that way.

You were cold. Short. Quiet. The kind of quiet he didn’t mistake for tiredness—no, Marshall clocked it fast. It was one of his dangerous skills, that man could read your moods like sheet music.

And he didn’t appreciate the shift.

"You mad at me or something?"

His voice was low, gravelly from his shower, hair still wet as he leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom.

You sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I don’t know,” you murmured.

His brow twitched. “You don’t know?”

Your silence throbbed in the air between you.

Marshall stepped closer. “Nah. You do. You know. You just don’t wanna say it.”

You flinched when his shadow fell over you. Not fear—just shame. Because he hadn’t done anything. Had he?

“Are you cheating on me?”

He didn’t even answer at first. Just stood there. The stillness around him was scarier than if he’d exploded.

"...What?"

You finally looked up at him, tears already prickling. “I said—are you—”

“I heard what you said.”

He exhaled slow. Turned. Walked away. You blinked after him, expecting a slammed door, a snapped word.

Instead, he came back seconds later with his phone, his face unreadable.

“You want my phone?” He held it out to you. “Go ahead. Look. Check my messages. My emails. GPS. Whatever you need.”

You hesitated. “Marshall—”

“Nah.” His voice cut through the air. “You think I’d ever step out on you? You think I’d risk this? You think I’d give up us for what—some random bitch with no clue how to look at me like you do?”

He got down on his knees in front of you, fingers gripping your thighs.

“I fuckin’ worship you,” he growled, voice trembling with emotion. “You walk in a room and I forget every other name I ever knew. You think I could even get it up for someone else? You’re the only person who knows what I need.”

He rested his forehead on your legs, exhaling hard like he couldn’t breathe until he touched you.

“I come home to you, baby. Every time. Always. You’re my peace. You’re my punishment. You’re my fuckin’ everything.”

You crumbled then.

“...She called,” you whispered. “My mom. Said men like you—”

His head snapped up. “Your mom?” His mouth curled like the word tasted like poison. “That woman’s been trying to ruin your happiness since I met you.”

“I know. I know, I just—she got in my head.”

He cupped your face. “Then let me in louder.”

He kissed you hard then, desperate and rough, like he needed to erase her voice from your body.

Between kisses, he murmured against your lips:

“Say it again. Ask me again. I dare you.”

You broke. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said, pulling you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you so tight it hurt. “Don’t be sorry. Just remember. You don’t have to question me when you can just come to me. I’ll remind you every damn time.”

You nodded, burying your face in his neck, and his voice dropped to that low, obsessive tone he saved only for you.

“You’re my fuckin’ girl. Mine. I don’t want anyone else. I’d burn the world before I let anyone else near what’s mine.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was lifting you.

One arm under your thighs, the other behind your back, Marshall stood with you cradled in his arms like you weighed nothing. His jaw was tight. That look in his eyes—wild, territorial—sent a flash of heat between your legs before your mind could catch up.

He didn’t speak as he carried you across the room and tossed you gently but firmly onto the bed. You gasped as the mattress bounced, but before you could move, he was crawling over you, caging you in with his body.

His mouth was at your ear, breath hot.

"You wanna know how obsessed I am with you?"

You swallowed hard.

“I’m gonna put it in your body, baby. So deep you’ll never question again.”

You whimpered under him, your hands finding his chest, but he pinned them above your head with one hand, pressing his weight into you like gravity had doubled just for him.

"You don't get to doubt me and walk away clean," he murmured, licking down your throat, pausing where your pulse raced. “You’re gonna take this reminder. All of it.”

He kissed you—hard, claiming, punishing in the way you loved. Teeth dragging across your bottom lip, tongue leaving no part of you untouched. The hand not holding your wrists trailed down your body, under your shirt, nails scraping over your stomach.

"Every fuckin’ inch of you belongs to me," he growled. “Say it.”

You gasped. “Y-Yours.”

He bit the inside of your thigh, then kissed it like an apology. “Louder.”

“Yours, Marshall.”

He released your hands, only to yank off your clothes like they offended him. His were next, shed without ceremony, until there was nothing between you.

Then he was there. Hot. Hard. Heavy against your thigh.

"You feel that?" he whispered, grinding against you slowly, teasing. “That’s you, baby. That’s every time you looked at me and didn’t believe it. That’s every lie she put in your head."

You nodded, breathless, already trembling before he’d even entered you.

And when he finally did—it wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. He pushed in to the hilt in one deep thrust, and you cried out, legs wrapping around his waist, nails digging into his back.

"Who do you belong to?"

“You—you, Marshall—”

He set a relentless pace, one hand gripping your hip so tight you’d feel him tomorrow. Every thrust shoved you deeper into the mattress. Every growl in your ear tightened the coil inside you.

“You think I’d ever want someone else when I have this?” he snarled, fucking you harder, eyes locked on yours. “This tight little cunt that squeezes like it knows who it’s made for.”

You couldn’t answer—your voice broke into a sob, pleasure flooding your veins like lightning.

“That’s right,” he whispered, kissing away the tears. “Only me. No one else gets this. No one else even fuckin’ looks.”

Your orgasm ripped through you fast and violent, your whole body shaking beneath him. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t give you time to come down. Just chased his own high with the same possessive hunger, grunting your name like a prayer.

When he came, he held you so close it felt like he wanted to crawl into your skin. His arms wrapped around you from behind as you both caught your breath, your back to his chest, his voice low and firm at your ear.

“Next time you doubt it, you come to me, you hear me?”

You nodded, boneless, spent, and totally his.

He kissed your shoulder. “I’ll prove it every damn time.”

[ateotdwinchester]

ꨄ︎ bait

a/n: ahhh my first ever spn fic. i loved writing about sam and dean, and hopefully this fic all sounds okay :’)

pairing: sam x reader

summary: you used yourself as bait on a hunt with dean and sam wasn’t too happy about it. along with a little confession (sort of) at the end

warnings: mild (but typical) spn violence with a demon/spirit, injury mentions

word count: 2.1k

✩ ✩ ✩

This isn’t how you’d planned for things to go.

This isn’t what you’d agreed on.

This was your only option.

Dean was practically carrying you back to his car, and you couldn’t wait to feel those comfortable, squishy, leather seats of the impala underneath you.

It was expected, after being thrown against a wall too many times to count.

The hunt wasn’t meant to go this way. You were just supposed to go with Dean, find the spirit and trap it underground in a ring of salt. All while Sam would be continuing his research at the motel to find where exactly the corpse was buried to salt and burn it. It should’ve been easy.

However, when the spirit didn’t show when Dean was luring it in, you had no choice but to act as bait.

This spirit had taken and killed specific people back when it was alive. And you fit the profile perfectly.

It took a lot of persuading Dean to let you be bait while he used the salt instead of the other way around. But there were no other options.

Once the spirit turned up, things went bad pretty fast.

You got thrown into the wall, knocking the air out of your lungs and deeming you defenceless for a few minutes. All while that gave time for the spirit to grab hold of you and strangle you.

Dean always had your back, he stalled the spirit, got it off of you while you took over with the salting. But the spirit had its eyes on you, you were its target.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t exactly the hardest fight you’ve ever been in, but it scared you nevertheless.

and you knew full well it would scare Sam.

By the time Dean had finished the salt circle, pulling you out of the way of the spirit, it was a miracle you were still conscious and standing.

You almost collapsed against Dean, but he had you. He got you back to his impala, and rushed as fast as he could to get you both back to the motel where Sam would be waiting for an update.

Of course, the sight Sam saw as Dean walked you through the door wasn’t at all what he expected, or wanted, to see.

Dean was keeping you upright, helping you to walk. One hand supporting your back, the other holding your arm firmly. It took a lot of effort for him to keep you awake on the way to the motel. And he didn’t want you sleeping until he, or most likely Sam, could check you over.

“What the hell happened?” Sam stood up at an alarming speed as Dean sat you down on the bed.

“What does it look like?” Dean looked at you, checking you were still conscious. “I hope you found where the grave is, Sammy, otherwise we just got the crap beaten out of us for nothing.”

“We?” Sam looked between you and Dean. “More like she got the crap beaten out of her.”

Dean glanced to Sam for a second before focusing back to you. He held your head up straight before it could fall, seeing the droopy look in your eyes.

“Hey, stay awake,” Dean tapped your arm lightly. “Can you breathe okay?”

“Can she breathe okay?” Sam folded his arms.

“Yes, I’m checking she isn’t hurt too bad.”

As Dean checked for any bruises, his fingers grazed the bruise just at the bottom of your neck. Exactly where the spirit had been choking you.

You winced, pulling back from Dean immediately. But it did make you become more aware, finally looking up at where Sam was standing.

“Hurts,” you mumbled.

“Sorry,” Dean pulled at the top of your shirt, trying to see the extent of the bruising. “I’m gonna grab some ice from the ice machine, Sammy?”

He stood up, Sam giving Dean a frustrated look, “you used her for bait, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“She fits the profile,” Sam followed Dean to the door. “That’s why it took you longer, because the spirit wouldn’t show up. So, the only way you could get its attention was with her.”

Dean huffed out, “Come on, Sam,” he shook his head. “I didn’t force her to do it, how else do you think we were gonna trap it.”

“Not with her as bait!” Sam almost shouted. “You knew this one was dangerous, I thought we agreed that she wouldn’t be the bait.”

Dean glanced over to you, seeing you looking at them arguing. Usually you would have butted in by now, but you were clearly too exhausted to bother.

“Don’t act like she’s incapable of fighting,” Dean defended you. “Don’t forget she saved your ass last month.”

“Yea, well she’s not invincible, Dean, it just takes one hunt too far and she could end up like—“

“Guys,” you managed to speak loud enough for both their heads to turn in your direction. “Can someone please just get me some ice. I feel like everything is burning.”

Dean nodded, quickly leaving the motel to rush and get you some ice. Sam stayed with you, walking over to the bed where you were just about keeping yourself sitting.

“Are you bleeding anywhere?” Sam asked softly, his gentle demeanour coming out again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if i was,” you chuckled tiredly.

Sam stood, instantly hooking one arm under your legs, the other against your back, to pick you up. You whined quietly, but he was fast to get you into the bathroom to sit you on the counter.

“Can you lift your arms?” He asked.

You took a breath, lifting them up just enough for Sam to get your shirt off of you. Only then did he see the small cut on the side of your stomach.

“I’m gonna get this cleaned up, okay?”

Sam grabbed the first aid kit. Leaning down to start cleaning up and bandaging this cut that seemed to still be bleeding.

Neither of you were talking, Sam thinking about how badly you must’ve been getting thrown around by that spirit. Meanwhile knowing you’d all agreed to not have you as bait. He didn’t understand what happened, why Dean let that happen.

It took you hissing loudly while grabbing Sam’s wrist for him to snap out of it. He looked up at you, seeing your head leaned back against the mirror.

“I’m almost done,” Sam held your hand in his, squeezing softly. “You’re doing so good.”

He rushed the last part, getting all the cleaning done, finishing up by placing a bandage over the top.

And then… it was silent.

Sam was looking at you, seeing your bruises, a few smaller injuries elsewhere. He never wanted you to get hurt. If he had been there instead of Dean—

“Sam,” you got his attention, his eyes shot up to yours. “I’m okay.”

He chuckled, “you’re not okay, you can hardly move without being in pain,” he wasn’t wrong. “Why did you agree to be bait? Last time we had that conversation you were too scared to do it.”

“I didn’t agree to be bait,” you slowly sat yourself up fully. “I persuaded Dean to let me do it.”

He sighed, perching on the edge of the small bath tub that was to the right of where you were sat on the counter. Sam took a good look at you, not believing that you would willingly be bait.

“You’re not just saying that to stop me from being mad at Dean?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” You folded your arms. A second later, shaking your head. “Don’t answer that.”

He finally laughed.

You tried to move yourself from the counter, wincing slightly as your feet reached the floor. You leaned against the sink, trying to hold yourself up.

“I’ve got you,” Sam was quick to be at your side, placing his arm around your back.

He helped to walk you to the main room, letting you sit down on the bed you’d claimed before the day had taken a crazy turn.

He sat beside you, now getting a closer look at the bruise on your neck, showing that you’d been held by some force for it to be marking so badly already.

“You know what I thought about?” You suddenly spoke.

“Hm?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

“There was a second that I thought Dean wouldn’t get to me fast enough,” you explained. “And I thought about what would’ve happened if I was the one staying here to find the body instead of going to trap the spirit.”

Sam didn’t want to admit it, but he knew you’d be nowhere near to getting rid of this spirit if things had gone differently.

There needed to be bait to get the spirit to show up, and if Sam had gone in your place, no spirit would have shown. Maybe it would’ve claimed another innocent life. You’d helped out, as dangerous as it was.

“When Dean walked through that door with you… hurt, and almost unconscious, I just—“ he cut himself off, looking away.

You subtly placed your hand over his where it was resting on the bed. He looked towards you again, slowly linking your hands together.

“I don’t wanna lose you,” he finally admitted. “I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me, Sam,” you squeezed his hand. “Injuries or not, I’m still here, I’m sitting right here, with you.”

“I know,” he whispered. “It’s just… when Dean didn’t check in on time, I thought to the worst, because, well, you know.”

You nodded. Understanding. You knew that he’d lost too many people before you met the brothers. Family, friends, people he cared about.

Now you were here. Going on hunts with them.

“Dean had it covered,” you smiled softly. “He had my back the whole time.”

“But I wasn’t there to make sure of that,” Sam moved to cup your cheek in his hand. “I wasn’t there to keep you out of harms way.”

“Sammy…” you paused, making clear eye contact with him. “Things like this are gonna happen, I’ll get hurt, you’ll get hurt… it’s the job, you know that.”

Sam caressed your cheek softly, as if taking in having you sat here in front of him. It was like he was memorising your features for if he had lost you today.

“I’m good at hunting, remember?” You leaned into his grip. “I’ve saved you more times than you’ve saved me.”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Sam shook his head at you jokingly.

“What moment is that exactly?”

He thought about his next move carefully. But considering he was worried about you the whole time you were gone… he had no time to waste.

“This one,” and without a second thought… he kissed you.

It was one of the softest kisses you’re sure you’ve ever experienced. He was so gentle with his hand on your cheek, he kept his movements to a minimum in fear of hurting you further than you already were.

Maybe this moment had been long overdue. Maybe Sam had been too worried about getting too close to you out of fear that he’d lose you like he kept losing everyone else he loved.

He couldn’t hold off any longer, he cared about you too much for that.

Somehow, it was always Dean who interrupted your moments like this. Although, the previous times you never got around to kissing.

The door swung open, “the stupid ice machine was out of ice, can you believe that— oh,” Dean’s eyes widened. “I assumed you’d take care of her while I was gone, just not like this.”

You and Sam had separated as soon as you heard Dean speak. You were looking at the ground, Sam was clearing his throat while moving away slightly.

“Can’t believe it took her getting this hurt for you to finally act on those feelings, huh Sammy?”

Sam rolled his eyes. You were already looking at the bags of ice Dean had with him.

“So did Sam stop the pain or will you still be needing the ice?” Dean raised his eyebrows at you.

“Just give me the stupid ice,” you tried to reach for it, but Dean took a step back.

“If it’s so stupid, do you really need it?”

“Quit being a jerk,” you folded your arms.

Dean placed the ice down on your bed, raising his hands in defence, “looks like you’re back to feeling more normal then?”

You glared at him, “Sam patched me up,” you explained. “Hopefully the ice and some sleep will help some more.”

You grabbed one of the bags of ice, holding it against the side of your neck where the worst of your bruises were. You let out a sigh of relief at the cool feeling.

“Sure you’re okay?” Sam quietly asked, glancing at Dean across the room after.

“I’m okay, Sammy,” you held his hand in yours again. “Promise.”

✩ ✩ ✩

taglist: @h8aaz | if you would like to join my supernatural taglist, please comment here or see this post

[angel06babysworld]

Almost a Family

babydaddy!rafe x blackcat!reader

Chapter Four

❀⋆｡˚⋆ฺ｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡ฺ⋆˚｡⋆❀

didn’t owe him an explanation. But she gave him one anyway.

“I have plans tonight.”

Rafe looked up from the spot where he was crouched beside Vivi, trying to detangle a Barbie’s hair with half the patience in the world.

He blinked once. “Plans?”

“Dinner.”

“With…?”

She raised a brow. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded, eyes lowering back to the doll like it suddenly needed urgent attention.

“I need you to stay with her,” she said after a pause. “Just for a few hours. She’s already eaten. You just need to get her down by eight.”

“Okay,” he said, too fast. “Of course.”

She didn’t look relieved. Just… tired. Like the weight of asking him for anything still pressed heavy on her chest. Like no matter how many times he showed up lately, she still held her breath waiting for the moment he didn’t.

“She’s been clingy this week,” she added. “If she wakes up, don’t just put a movie on. Talk to her.”

“I always do.”

“I know.”

She lingered near the door. A coat draped over her arm. Lip gloss soft and barely there. Nothing loud. Nothing flashy. Still, she looked different—like someone who remembered she was more than just a mother.

Vivi ran up and hugged her legs. “Where you going?”

“Out,” she said, brushing a hand over her daughter’s curls. “I’ll be back before you wake up.”

“Can Daddy stay ‘til morning?”

Rafe answered before she could. “If you want me to, yeah.”

She didn’t object.

She didn’t say anything else, really—just kissed Vivi’s cheek, grabbed her keys, and left.

The door clicked shut.

And Rafe sat there for a long time after, staring at it like it might open again.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know this would happen.

They weren’t together. She didn’t wear his name. Didn’t ask what he did on nights he wasn’t at the apartment. Didn’t offer up her own answers either.

Still. It felt different now that it was real.

Vivi climbed into his lap with her favorite book, curling up like a cat against his chest. Her voice was sleepy when she said, “You smell like the ocean.”

“Is that good?”

She nodded. “You smell like when I’m not sad.”

Rafe blinked hard, arms wrapping tighter around her.

“Do you think Mommy smells like that too?” she asked.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, bug. I do.”

They read the book. Brushed teeth. She argued about pajamas and won. He tucked her in, lights off, door cracked.

And then it was just him.

Alone in her space.

He paced once. Sat on the couch. Looked around at the little things—artwork on the fridge, the same mug she used every morning, the basket of folded laundry she never got around to putting away.

His phone buzzed once. A text from Kelce:

“Yo, beer?”

Rafe stared at it. Then typed:

“Can’t. Babysitting.”

“Lame.”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he opened the camera app. Snapped a photo of Vivi asleep. Then stared at it like it might answer something for him.

The front door didn’t open for a long time.

When it did, she stepped in quietly, coat over her arm again, hair pinned back like she’d been picking at it the whole car ride home.

Rafe was still sitting on the couch.

She didn’t look surprised.

“You stayed.”

“You asked me to.”

She nodded. Toed off her shoes. Didn’t speak right away.

Then: “He was nice.”

Rafe didn’t look up. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“No,” she said honestly. “It’s not for you to feel anything about.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Was it serious?”

“It was a first date. I left halfway through dessert.”

His head turned now. “Why?”

She shrugged. “He didn’t ask about her.”

Rafe didn’t move, but something in his chest loosened.

“I’ll let myself out,” he said after a beat, standing.

But before he could reach the door, she spoke again.

“Next time, I might not come back early.”

He paused.

“I know,” he said, without turning around.

And then he left—quietly, like always—carrying something heavier than just his keys.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @sc04 @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @icversvoid @honeyinthesummer @dolli333 @lolabunnyworldss @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @rafessbaby

[aldisobey]

Here. ao3 and under the cut for smut. Order up just for you.

He would try again tomorrow. Neve assured him. As soon as Harding returned she would wake him. And Manfred would serve tea and he would have more lyrium to experiment with, and perhaps an excursion to... his steps veered. The detective had seen him to his quarters but surely she wasn't listening? Slowly he reached for a fresh page, new thoughts, new plans, they would have to see if this worked. He was already scratching away, ink set to fiber as he pulled his chair out

ssskkrrrrrt

Immediate betrayal. A shout came from the hall passed his door.

"Don't make me tuck you in professor!"

He groaned. And whether Neve heard it, or guessed it, her exhausted voice spoke sincere. Final.

"I will get Taash to help."

Emmrich sighed, ran a hand through the hair clinging to his forehead, tried to set it back, but the movement of his fingers, the cold touch against his fevered skin, for a moment ghosted memory of a different hand there. His own shook, and he ruffled the mess further with a swallow and weak shout back.

"No!" And the chair scraped in punctuation, some promise made in the noise. "No... I am... going to bed."

And he meant it he would try to rest. But the last two nights had been an ordeal, a useless trial, he'd used the time for research instead. It was a thankful thing when Taash dumbed that bucket over his head to rinse off the blight from Tearstone. Thankful as well when Neve had seen to looking after Johanna tonight. This morning? He blinked, room unsteady, but he needed Hezenkoss he had another... Neve's warning flashed.

He was still leaning on his desk. He hadn't heard his door open. Didn't realize Neve had returned until she put a hand on his shoulder and pried a pen from his pale hand gone bloodless. Gracious, she even had the courtesy to not wrinkle her nose immersed in his 'aura'. She steered him to the door to his bedroom, just out of sight, opened it for him, saw him through.

"And Manfred—" he began as her touch departed and he kept walking. Something about needing a force to stop motion, something easier in continuing directed movements instead of thinking, simply, to stop.

"Fred's helping Lace, remember?"

"Right." He stumbled, stopped as his booted foot stubbed into his end table. A wine glass shivered with a clink. That's right. His last night here. He sniffed.

"Emmrich." And Neve, blessedly, interrupted the thought, "Do you—"

He turned with a wide smile, but his eyes were pinched. Too tight.

"Tomorrow! I'm sure I'll have it then, nothing further Neve, thank you for all your help." His hands clasped together, a short shake in their twist and fold, "I can see to myself to bed now." And he gave a small bow, the grasp released to gentle flare and his hand brushed the wine glass. He flinched, grimaced. But straightened. Stared at it.

We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.

The sight burned.

But he took a long breath in through his nose.

back home

And let it out even slower through his lips.

I promise.

"Tomorrow."

He met Neve's gaze with the word. And his voice was strong enough, his gaze clear enough, that she nodded once.

"Goodnight, Emmrich."

And left. The door shut soft behind her.

Emmrich listened for her steps. Leather, metal, leather, metal. And then he heard the swing of the outer door, and finally it's louder clang shut.

He collapsed. Thankfully had enough presence of mind to fall backwards. The wrong way across the bed. By chance, fate, or will, his head landed where Rook's ass normally might.

He stared at the ceiling. Couldn't see it. Eyes blurred as their scent registered below his head, next to it, around him in the sheets. He twisted in place, drew his legs up. Hugged hard metal, let the adornments on knee and arm dig hard in. Needed some pressure into chest, thight wasn't enough. Needed something to hold. He wasn't enough. And still. The bedding all around, it was too heavy with them.

He wasnt sure how long he lay there. How long he simply curled in on himself and squeezed as small as he might. There in the dark. He could almost imagine his mother cradled around him again. Still. Soft going stiff as the wood creaked above.

Much the same wood frame creaked below now. He roiled in place. Small stretches and a hard gulp as his wet face burned.

How long that lasted he wasn't sure. He tried to sleep. He tried to breathe. But it all came stuttering and fluttering. The air, the thoughts, the way Fade's sleeping dreams invited and bounced away as if it were a dog with a stick it shouldn't chew.

He twisted again and this time his arm stretched out, long enough to reach the heardboard, and it grasped Rook's collection of pillows. The edge of one, two, and three caught in his wide grasp. He dragged them languid across the bed. Let them gather sheets, blankets, whatever, his way—plow gathering dirt. Leaned one way, and shoveled the whole mess below, clutched the collection to chest, cradled with curl at hip, he enfolded the odd shape with his length, buried leg, arm, pieces of himself in it.

And deepest went his face. He sobbed at the tickle of some hair that wasn't his brushing his cheek. Poured the spill into the spot he knew Rook's head to lay. Knew once a spot where drool had surprised him mid-morning cuddle. Found now his cheek rehearsing the scene without a grimace or flinch away as an aching hitch of lonesome breath dampened stuffing where once it warmed a neck. And his hips thrust, body clenched.

He was so tired. And he wept.

And time had no meaning while the Fade dashed in and out away, back and forth, in play.

Bad dog.

His hips moved again, a more forceful thrust. The sopping pillow mess at his face drove their smell, his despair, and release. He bit down on the edge. Fabric on tongue, grit between teeth, he focused on that grind, as his cock found a spot just right.

The pressure. The comfort. He squeezed into it, and out, slow dumb movements, fully clothed, his bedding a lump below—he humped.

For how long. How hard. He didn't know.

But he couldn't stop muttering Rook, Rook, Rook... and shuddering. Used that shake of his sobs to grind himself more forcefully.

Too hard. For too long. He shouldn't be doing this, couldn't be...

It's natural after all—a lecturing voice in head, his own—helps relieve stress, induces sleep.

He pressed in, hips jerked, cock twitched—aching, but not quite. Again and his hand dove in, fumbled through pillows and sheets, felt only the brush of sash and pants as he thrashed. Over and over, until it came slow and deep once more, just once more as his body shuddered, legs a violent quiver, a high-pitched groan timbre near squeak of relief.

A splash. He shivered hunched in place, and crashed.

His fingers never made it further than feeling his spend on his soaked trousers. For a moment he thought fingers caught a wet lick.

Good boy.

His lectern-voiced mind muttered as the Fade gave up it's stick.

thinkin about emmrich having a sad, shameful wank while rook's trapped in the fade. like, crying and humping the mattress because their pillow still smells like them. he forces himself to sleep in the wet spot out of shame

[darkfalcone]

Love Thy Neighbor - 1

Pairing: Dark!Older!Rio Vidal/Neighbor!Reader; Kate Bishop/Reader

Warnings: Nothing in this chapter

Summary: You make the mistake one day to accept the invite to drink with your neighbor, Rio. Who you have known for a few years now.

You didn’t mind cutting the grass for your parents, considering it gave you something to do during the day when your friends were busy at work. The weekends were boring for you, considering the moment you turned eighteen, your parents left every weekend. Now that you were in your twenties, they were still going. You didn’t mind all too much—in fact, you loved having privacy and time to yourself. You dragged the lawnmower out of your garage, wanting to get it over with as fast as you could. You hated how hot it was outside, but as you were putting your earbuds in, you were surprised to see your neighbor outside on her patio. You wondered if she was going to go into her pool, but you shook the thoughts out of your head as you turned your music on and started the lawnmower.

You did the front of your lawn first, which was the worst in your opinion. After twenty minutes, you stopped, rushing into your house through the backyard to get something to drink. You wished you had brought it outside with you in the first place. Before you could go through the back door, your neighbor waved at you as she made her way to the fence.

You pulled out an earbud, walking up to the fence just as she put her arms on the top of it. She smiled at you, and you gave her a small smile back. You hated how awkward you felt—wiping your forehead before speaking up.

“Is everything okay, Ma Vidal?” You asked, looking behind her instead of at her. You hoped that she didn’t notice.

“Please, you can call me ‘Rio’.” Rio stated. “I can’t believe you’re out in this heat.”

You chuckled, “The lawn isn’t going to cut itself.”

Rio nodded, “Well, when you’re done, you’re more than welcome to come join me. Your parents won’t be back until Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah, like each time.” You stated, not realizing that it sounded like you snapped at her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

Rio cut you off. “No need to apologize, I get it. If you ever want to come over when they’re gone, you’re more than welcome.”

You stood there silently, forgetting that you were going in to get something to drink. Rio stayed in place as well; her eyes lingered a little too long. The silence was awkward, unsure of what to say next.

“Well, I’m going to get something to drink and finish the lawn.” You stated.

“Think about my offer!” Rio called after you.

You gave her a thumbs-up as you walked into your house. You grabbed a water bottle and headed back outside with it, not wanting to waste any more time. You took a few sips before putting it on the porch.

You finished the front and back in an hour and a half, only stopping to take sips. You were surprised to see Rio was still outside, but she was working on her garden. Once you put the lawnmower away, you took a deep breath. You were bored, and your girlfriend, Kate, was still at work. What’s the worst that could happen?

You made your way to the part of the fence that she was closest to, clearing your throat to get her attention. “Hey, is it okay if I take a shower and then come hang out for a bit? It’s hot, and I’m all nasty.”

“No.”

You gave Rio a confused look. What did she mean by ‘no’? At first you thought she was joking, but the way she was glaring told you otherwise.

“No?”

“No, you can’t take a shower.”

You let out a laugh, trying to cut through some of the tension.

“What’s so funny?” Rio asked, crossing her arms.

You stopped laughing as panic started to set in. Did you do or say something wrong? Or did something ruin her good mood?

“No—nothing, I thought—“ you began, but Rio started to laugh.

You were left confused as she laughed, holding her stomach as she finally calmed her laughter down.

“Oh, you should have seen your face!” Rio cried out as she shook her head. “I was fucking with you, darling. Go take your shower, and if I’m not out here, please knock on the front door.”

You slowly nodded, but when you processed what she had said, you felt your face heat up. You walked away, trying your best not to rush as you still felt her eyes on you. When you were inside, you grabbed some clean clothes and went straight for the bathroom.

She had called you darling.

She wasn’t flirting with you.

Of course not.

You took your time in the shower, listening to music at the highest volume since your parents were gone. You weren’t sure what they did Friday to Monday, but they always made sure you had food and money. As you scrubbed your body, you wondered why Rio was now just talking to you. The two of you had been neighbors since you turned nineteen, and now that you were in your twenties, she randomly offered to hang out with you. You shook your head, realizing that that sounded odd. Normally when you left the house, it was to hang out with your friends or go to work, so you never saw her much.

When you got out of the shower, you dried yourself and quickly put your clothes on after using your deodorant. You turned your music off when you were done getting ready, wanting to be over at Rio’s house as quickly as possible. You grabbed your phone and keys before heading to her house. You were thankful she was next door, hating how hot it was outside.

You checked her backyard, and she wasn’t there, so you quickly made your way towards her front yard. You took a deep breath as you made your way up the stairs, knocking ever so lightly. You scrolled on your phone, trying to kill time as you waited for her to answer the door. Too busy with watching some video, you hadn’t noticed her opening the door.

“Hey!” Rio shouted.

“Ah—“ you gasped, almost dropping your phone. You got a better grip of it just as Rio moved to the side so you could come in.

“Please don’t sneak up on me again like that.” You frowned.

Rio let out a sigh, “I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you this time.” You said with a smile as she led you to her living room.

You couldn’t help but look around; her house layout intrigued you. You also loved that she had things all over. Before you could continue to admire her house, Rio brought you back from your thoughts.

“Make yourself comfortable, and I promise you that you can ask for anything; you’re not a bother.” Rio smiled, sitting down across from you on the other couch.

“Thank you,” you said, giving her a small smile.

“So… you got a boyfriend?” Rio asked, causing you to choke on spit.

You weren’t expecting her to ask that randomly, but you shook your head when you composed yourself.

“Absolutely not.” You chuckled. “I do have a girlfriend, though.”

Rio leaned back in her spot, and with an eyebrow raised, she asked, “Oh? Is that so?”

You nod, “Yeah! Her name is Kate, and we’ve been together for about two years now. She’s an amazing person, and she’s actually my first girlfriend.”

Rio gave you a soft smile. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

You watched as Rio got up and made her way to her kitchen.

“Want something to drink?” Rio asked as she opened her fridge.

“I’ll take a water if that’s okay.” You said, and for a second, you thought you heard Rio laugh.

“More than okay.”

When she handed you the water bottle, you smiled and said thank you before opening it. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence when your phone went off. You took it out of your pocket and smiled when you saw that it was Kate.

“Hey,” you said, answering your phone.

You smiled, taking a sip of your water as Kate continued to talk. “Yeah! I’m just at my neighbor’s if you want to pick me up?”

You hummed, too focused on your conversation with Kate to notice that Rio was now glaring at you.

“I’ll see you in twenty minutes. I love you.” You said.

When Kate said it back, you hung up and turned your attention back to Rio, who was smiling. You were too oblivious to notice that it was a fake smile, but Rio couldn’t help but enjoy that about you.

“I’m sorry I’ll be having to cut this short; Kate just got off work, and she wants to go see the new movie that just came out.” You admit, but Rio’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s okay. Tomorrow, if you want to, you can come over and check out my physical media collection.” Rio suggested.

You nodded excitedly, “I would love that! I love looking at people’s collections.”

“Good, good.” Rio continued. “If you wanted to, you’re more than welcome to stay here until she gets here.”

“Thank you, I appreciate you.”

Rio smiled, making a mental note to go and buy as many movies as she could once you left. She wanted to impress you, and so, if this was what it was going to take, then so be it.

[reveriederayne]

𝐈𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ?

Remus Lupin x Reader; 1.170 words

A/N: so a lot of the fandom likes to think of Remus as this Casanova of Hogwarts that gets everyone but also deeply hates himself and thinks he can’t have anything good. Good characterisation, not my cup of tea, so here’s how I like to imagine his character. Also as someone who appeared as if I hated people because of my previous introverted nature this was a fun idea to write.

CW: Reader appearing as mean; Remus’s pov (point of view); Reader is friends with Barty; Reader and Barty are in Ravenclaw; let me know if I need to add anything else !

There was one constant emotion on Remus’s mind, through all of his life as far as he could remember, and that was anxiety. How could it not be when he became a werewolf every full moon and thus a danger to everyone around him ? Not only that but he could put himself in danger if anyone were to ever find out about his problem, especially when he became a student there and he had friends for the first time. His anxiety probably doubled with that, tripled when they started getting suspicious of him.

But that was all in the past. That was kid Remus, and he finally grew up, his priorities as well. What was he getting anxious about now ? Is that the only girl he seemed to like appeared to be feeling the exact opposite for him. Remus was not the most sought after guy in his friend group, with his quiet nature and his numerous scar that decorated his face that made people a bit wary of him, but still, people weren’t out right mean to him. Which is why you almost completely ignoring him, and sending him glares, when you two were assigned to do a project along his three other friends made him loose his head, trying to figure out what did he ever do for you to hate him this much.

“I just don’t understand what happened ! Did I do something to her in our previous years and don’t remember ?” He was pacing in his dorm, clutching his head so hard the other three boys were afraid he would rip off his hair.

“Maybe she’s just shy. Don’t beat yourself up mate” Said James reassuringly.

“Shy ! With the glares she was sending me ?!”

James threw a look to Petter, both boys sighing at the sight of their friend. Sirius didn’t even bother paying that much attention, knowing that any attempt of comforting him would be like talking to a very panicked and deaf baby deer, instead comfortably laying in his bed and drawing. “You should talk to Junior then. He knows her like the back of his hand, will probably know what you did to her”

At that Remus stopped, letting his hands fall (surprisingly without his hair) down to his sides to questioningly stare at Sirius “Crouch ? The crazy Ravenclaw guy in our year ?”

“Yeah. Their families are close, unlikely friendship sparked, same house, yada yada… Go talk to him” He waved his wand at the door, opening it successfully. The scared boy took it as a sign that he was meant to investigate now and promptly left the dorm, and as a precaution Sirius closed, lest his friend decided to come back.

Remus had one advantage when it came to his anxiety, and it was that he could easily mask it, or at least he didn’t need to try very hard to subdue it. What guy full of scars and taller than everyone else would appear on the verge of anxiety attack when asking if he could talk to a guy along while pulling the most bitch face man kind has ever known ?

Barty almost look scared if it wasn’t for the gigantic smile adorning his face as he was left with Remus alone in the corridor. He leaned against the wall, getting comfortable for whatever discussion the Gryffindor was gonna put him through.

“Lupin ! What do I owe the displeasure ?”

He stayed quiet for a while, not really knowing how to interact with the boy in front of him. He never talked to him prior, barely saw him due to different friend groups, and weird rumours about him didn’t help gain the confidence for a talk.

“You’re… I heard you’re friends with-“

“Yes yes, we’re friends. What about it ?” he interrupted, letting out a sigh as if talking to him was already exhausting enough.

“What did I do for her to hate me ?” He let out, surprising himself at how quickly he got to the point. Though considering he was talking about his crush that seemed to not stand him, understandable.

He also surprised Barty, who looked at him like he just said complete gibberish and not actual words. He put his hands on the taller boy’s shoulder, bringing him down and effectively bringing him on the same eye level.

“Are you… are you blind Lupin ? Do you need glasses ? Or maybe you need therapy ?”

He did need it, but not for what he just said, he was sure of it. “What ? She clearly hates me. She completely ignored me during our group project”

The raven haired boy slowly blinked, before letting him go, looking at the ground like a concerned mother. “Just… just talk to her. God, you’re insufferable” And then he just walked away, no further explanation, which left Remus even more confused. Why would you ignore him then if you didn’t hate him, even sending weird looks every time he tried to talk to you ?

Well he went to you next for his answers. Which caused even more anxiety. Truly Remus would need a week of doing nothing to prevent grey hairs from growing by the time he’s twenty for the stressful day he was having.

Thankfully he decided to talk to you when you were alone in the library, his sacred little place, that he thought would maybe give him a bit more confidence. It wasn’t the case, but a man could dream. Instead much like Barty he blabbered and then asked not so subtly why you hated him.

“Pardon me ?”

You looked like a lost kitten. Confused and unsure if you should even be here. It made you look cute to him. Though probably not the best thing to think in this situation.

“Just because I don’t pay attention to you and your loud friends doesn’t mean I hate you. You’re not the center of the universe Lupin”

Now it would look like you disliked him to anyone else. But Remus saw how you dicked your head, how your cheeks were taking a darker shade and how nervously you jit your lip.

Tentatively, he ducked his head as well, whispering in your ear. “Can I assume that you… fancy me then ?”

He almost regretted asking that. You were practically stranger, you didn’t show him any signs of liking him, and he was now going to ruin this entire relationship before it even started and then-

“Yeah… I just didn’t know how to process it. People are not my strong suit”

“Oh” Well that changed everything…

“Oh. Well it’s okay. They’re not mine either…” He nervously looked down at you. You didn’t seem anxious or nervous like he was. Just a bit confused. He liked it. He really like it, and you, especially you.

“I know a place where there isn’t much people where we can do… whatever couples do ?

And there was a smile. A cute little smile that made his heart beat a thousand miles with the feeling that it could jump out of his chest.

© reveriederayne; every work posted on this blog is my own. I do not give anyone permission to copy, translate, or repost my works anywhere under any circumstance.

[novaursa]

GRRM gives you free reign to make whatever changes you want to the books

What do you do?

Alright, gloves off. If GRRM handed me the keys to A Song of Ice and Fire, and told me to do whatever I wanted—no canon restrictions, no fan expectations, just raw narrative freedom—here's exactly what I'd do:

1. Daenerys Gets a Spine (and a Brain) Back

Her ADWD arc is a dragging mess. She goes from a fierce conqueror with moral ambiguity and raw ambition to a mopey, dithering queen playing house with slavers and whining about prophecy and dragons like they're misbehaving pets. No. I’d gut that entire Meereenese knot.

She embraces being a dragon. No more pretending to be Mhysa the goat herder. She burns Astapor, sacks Yunkai, and crucifies more slavers when they resist.

She leans harder into her Targaryen side, but not in the cartoon "madness" way. Cold, brilliant, and terrifying. Think Cleopatra meets Alexander the Great with actual dragons.

Her dragons are weapons. Not metaphors. Not unruly children. Weapons.

And yes—she flies west before the end of the book, either to Westeros or to Valyria to find something that actually matters.

2. Trim the Fat — Cut the Dead Weight POVs

GRRM’s biggest crime is not writing too much, but writing too much that doesn’t matter. We don’t need:

Areo Hotah: His POV is like being stuck in a silent film with color commentary from a bored eunuch.

Quentyn Martell: Killed off to prove a point that was made five chapters earlier. Waste of ink.

Arys Oakheart: I’d keep Arianne, but his chapters go in the fire.

Instead, consolidate that narrative real estate into making sure we have consistent arcs for Jon, Dany, Arya, and Tyrion. Or give it to overlooked characters with actual stakes—like Sandor, who could carry at least one book-worthy POV.

3. Let Aerys Burn It All Down (Alternate Timeline)

I’d absolutely write a full-blown AU where Rhaegar doesn’t "kidnap" Lyanna—he fails to stop his father. Aerys torches King’s Landing. The wildfire caches erupt. The Red Keep collapses. Tywin doesn’t betray him in time. The capital becomes a cursed ruin—Harrenhal 2.0.

The Targaryen dynasty ends on dragonfire, not with a whimper but a cataclysm.

Make that the starting point for a darker, post-apocalyptic Westeros where the Starks, Martells, and Greyjoys pick through the ashes for power, and Dorne rises through fire and smoke.

You want a mad king? Let him be mad. Not just whisper about it—show it, full nuclear.

4. Bring Back the Supernatural with Real Purpose

The Others: Give us a hard magic system behind their resurrection powers. Less vague “winter is coming” and more “here’s the blueprint for undead conquest.”

Bran: No more magical wheelchair Jesus. Make him a morally ambiguous, terrifying greenseer who may or may not be responsible for the Long Night returning. Think less Druid, more Lovecraft.

The Wall: Tear it down. That’s your end-of-Book-6 climax.

5. Endgame: The Final Four

By the last book, only four characters matter in the Song of Ice and Fire:

Jon Snow: The Song itself—fire and ice in one man. But he doesn’t get the crown. He sacrifices himself to stop the Others permanently.

Daenerys: She becomes Queen. Not of Westeros, but of a new order. She reshapes the political map.

Tyrion: He survives, bitter, broken, and the last witness to everything that died with the age of dragons.

Bran: Not king. God. A broken, root-bound oracle at the center of the weirwood network. Neither man nor boy anymore. Something else.

Everyone else—food for crows.

6. Cersei Dies in the Pettiest, Most Ironic Way Possible

Forget getting crushed by rubble. She dies locked in a room with wildfire she ordered to be moved, trying to light it and screaming “I am the queen!” as Jaime slams the door shut.

7. Theme Fix: No More Moral Shrugging

The series started out with a strong theme: actions have consequences. But it loses that bite by Book 5. I’d bring it back hard. Every lie, every murder, every betrayal—you pay the price. Maybe not today. But someone does.

Bottom line: I’d make it tighter, darker, and more mythic. No rambling travelogues, no food porn, no filler chapters of people describing other people who are off-screen doing something maybe interesting. Less talking about dragons. More dragons. Less hinting at the end. Deliver it.

Let the old gods bleed, let the throne rot, and let the last page be written in fire and shadow.

[catierambles]

Once in a Blue Moon Ch. 25

It was late afternoon by the time Samantha woke, Sy and Mike having gone back to the cabin, packed, and returned before she emerged from August’s room.

“How’d you sleep, baby?” Sy asked, pulling her against his chest and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Okay, I guess.” She said, “With August holding me hostage, I couldn't do much else.”

“Princess, if I had been holding you hostage, you'd still be in my bed.” August said simply and she arched a brow at him. “Leon got back to me, a cleaning crew is going to come out and deep clean the house in the next couple of days.”

“Yeah?” Sy asked and he nodded.

“Turns out they don’t just “clean up” after territorial disputes.” He said, “They do actual cleaning as well.”

“Good.” Sy said, “Johnny-Boy’s aftershave is startin’ to give me a headache.”

“I washed the bedding.” Geralt said, “And remade the bed.”

“I had to help.” Walter added, “The fitted sheet was the worst.”

“It should help you sleep.” Geralt said and she nodded, relaxing against Sy’s chest and breathing in deep through her nose, trying to fill her nose with his scent instead of the one firmly lodged in it.

“We also opened the windows and let some fresh air in.” Walter said, “Should help as well.”

“I’m sorry.” She said, burying her face more in Sy’s chest.

“You got nothing to apologize for, sweetcheeks.” Mike said, “If it helps you, we don’t mind doing it.”

“I’ve been nothing but a burden on you guys.”

“Bullshit.” Sy said simply, “This was the best outcome from one of Mikey’s fuck-ups we coulda asked for. We got our Mate.”

“At least we didn’t have to bail him out of town lock-up again.” Geralt said and she gave him a questioning look. “He tends to get into fights when he goes out by himself to the bar.”

“Only when some jackass can’t take no for an answer from a girl.” Mike said in his own defense. “I never throw the first punch, but I always throw the last.”

“Just like I taught ya.” Sy said, “Never start a fight, always end one.”

The next day, Sy and Walter pulled the rest of Jonathan’s things out of the closet and dressers, tossing it all into trash bags and throwing them in the garage.

“He’s about Mr. Solo’s size.” Samantha said, “You think he’d like his suits? He’d probably have to get them tailored, but I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“No, he won’t accept second-hand suits.” August said, “They’re also too cheep for him.”

“They’re three-thousand dollars suits.” Samantha said after a pause and he looked up at her from his phone. “Each.”

“I said what I said.” August said, “I’ll let him know you offered, though. He’ll appreciate the gesture.”

“Can you also let him know I have records and a computer for him?” She asked and he gave her a questioning look. Going into the now half-empty closet, she went to the back and knelt by the large safe in the bottom, punching in a code and opening the door, pulling out several heavy ledgers and binders. “Mike?”

“Yeah?” He asked around August who had followed her and was standing in the closet doorway.

“Can you go into the office and disconnect the tower?” She asked, “We can put your tower in there and you can use the monitors.”

“Yeah.” Mike said, “I was looking at that ultrawide monitor anyway and wondering if it would fit on my desk.”

“I’m guessing these are all “church” records?” August asked and she nodded. “Oh he’ll be thrilled, and because you own the house and all the contents inside, it’s not theft as you handed it over willingly.”

“Exactly my thoughts.” She said and he helped her carry out the safe contents, putting them on the bed and leaving only to grab a box that he had used to transport some of his things from the cabin, sending a quick message to Napoleon letting him know.

Napoleon was there in less than an hour, which made her wonder if he lived nearby, even though she thought he would live in Washington DC. August moved his SUV so Napoleon could back into the garage just in case Jonathan had someone watching the house.

“Pretty sure it’s not my nameday.” Napoleon said as he opened the trunk of his luxury sedan, “But this is the best present I could ask for. Do you know what’s in the records?”

“Not entirely.” Samantha said, “I know it’s congregation records and that he forbid me from going on that computer.”

“Password protected?” Napoleon asked and she nodded. “That’s easy enough to get past.”

“Can you promise me you will only use the information in those records to...hurt Jonathan and not the others?” She asked, “They’re good people, and it’s not their fault they’re being taken advantage of and manipulated.”

“If—if—I find anything that implicates him or anyone else in his dealings or anything explicitly illegal, I will make sure it gets the proper authorities. I’m not in the business of blackmail.”

“Since when?” August asked and Napoleon shot him a look.

They took her back to the cabin when the cleaning crew showed up early one morning so they didn’t get in anyone’s way, and so she could flush the scent from her nose with the mountain air before returning when they were done. Sy let them know where they would be and to call any one of them once they were done, also calling Jack and letting him know what was going on in case Jonathan tried to take the opportunity of them not being there to pull something.

She and Mike lay on the couch, Samantha dozing on his chest with their legs tangled, a throw blanket covering them.

“Hey, Sam?” He asked and she hummed at him, not opening her eyes. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“Why—are you sure you love me?” That made her open her eyes and she picked her head up, looking at him. “I mean, I attacked you. I hurt you. I tore your humanity away and nearly killed you. I remember you said you were going to—what you had planned that night, but I almost did it for you.”

“Mike...”

“And seeing you with the others, seeing how happy they make you. I just—they’re Alphas, and you’re an Omega, mostly, and I’m not, I’m just some Beta who can’t protect you and again, I almost killed you.” She was quiet as he spoke and she reached up when the stream of words had stopped, touching his face gently.

“Mike.” She said and gave a sigh before shifting position, straddling his hips and moving so she was eye to eye with him. “I love you.”

“But I—” She silenced him with a kiss and his chest deflated with a sigh. “I love you, too.” She just kissed him again, easing down onto his chest, and his arms came around her. A shiver raced down her spine as his hands pushed down her back, palming her ass and squeezing.

“Mike.” She whimpered, rolling her hips against him. He pulled up the lacrosse jersey she was wearing, one of his from high school, sliding his hands under her small clothes to grab her fully. Samantha raised herself only so much as to reach between them, helping Mike shove down his sweatpants. Moving aside her small clothes, she kept her eyes locked on his as she stroked him to full hardness before aligning them and guiding him into her.

“Fuck, Sam.” He sighed, his head falling back against the couch and she started to ride him, rolling her hips against him. She was mindful that they were still in the living room and the one of the others could come downstairs at any time. His arms came around her again as she buried her face in his neck, the springs of the couch starting to protest as the movements of her hips quickened. He pressed against that spot inside her with each roll of her hips, the coil tightening in her lower stomach as his base put friction against her clit. His hands gripping her ass guided her movements and tears pricked at her eyes as the sensations started to become overwhelming.

“F-fuck.” She almost sobbed and threw all caution out the window, sitting up on him and rocking her hips, balling the jersey up by her stomach so he could see himself move inside her.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He whispered, looking between them before his head fell back again. “Fuck.” He breathed and she fell forward again, kissing him, letting him swallow the sounds she was making as she pushed them further and further. Samantha tucked her face into his neck, his arms coming around her and her cry as she tumbled over the edge was muffled against his skin. His hands went to her hips, keeping her moving, and it wasn’t long before he joined her, his jaw clenching and his head going back as he released inside of her.

“I love you.” She breathed, taking her face from his neck to kiss him and he held the back of her neck, keeping her close.

“I love you too.” He said, moving the tip of his nose over her face before pressing another soft kiss to her lips. “We are so lucky no one decided on a trip to the kitchen.”

“Yeah.” She said with a weak chuckle. “Let’s not press our luck and move this to your room. I need you again.”

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He said and she moved off him, fixing her underwear and tugging the jersey straight as he shoved himself back in his pants before getting off the couch. Taking his hand, she led him up the stairs, his room door closing behind them.

Later, Sy walked through the living room but stopped, his brow furrowing and he sniffed the air slightly before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Really?”

[schemmentisimpasours]

Monsters in My Head: Chapter 9 ~ILY

Summary: It is Melissa and your one year anniversary. Things are necessarily right between you to yet but Melissa is tired of waiting for everything to be perfect to tell you what she feels.

Warnings: Small Angst/ Insecurity

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Song: Wish that we'd say it // But scared it will change us// And I// I'll say it first if you do// I-I, I love you

Dear Y/N,

Today is our one-year anniversary. I have been planning this day for weeks. I wanted to be able to wake up next to you and shower you in kisses. I would have recreated our first date night meal, and we would have laughed at our dining room table. We would have fallen into bed together, and I would have shown you all of the ways that I adore you. I would have spent the night tracing the lines of your body that I have memorized as you slept, wrapped in my arms. It didn’t work out that way. Instead, I woke up before my alarm, to you still sleeping over the phone. My bed was cold, but waking up to you for the first time in days is the best one-year anniversary gift I could have asked with all things considered. When you woke up, there was an easy smile on your face when your eyes caught mine. It was like you forgot all about our arguments and what had been going on. It hurt when I saw the switch flip, and you told me you had to hang up to get ready for the day. I could tell that you wanted to say so many things, but instead, you just said that you would see me later. Fuck I miss you and the way you looked at me. Like I was the sun on your darkest days. I don’t know if we are ever going to get back to that point, but it is what I dream about every night. 

I am trying to be positive, and Ouida mentioned that we should work on our communication, so I wanted to tell you about how I felt during our first date. One year ago, I asked you to have dinner with me. It was the first thing in the morning, and you still had that grumpy crinkle in your brow like you always do when you aren’t fully awake. As if you are upset that you had to leave the dreamland behind. I was nervous as hell. Barbara had spent at least twenty minutes talking me through what I should say and how I should ask. I think she was sick of hearing me swoon over you like a love-sick child. I don’t think you could tell, though, because you smiled and nodded immediately. There was a little glimmer in your eye that I had already come to love. I wanted to kiss you right then, but I was trying to take it slow. Learn how to get through your walls without breaking them down like a bull in a china shop. 

When you said that you were free to come over to my house for dinner, I felt like I was walking on clouds. I had cornered Janine to tell me your favorite meal. I wanted this date to be perfect. The monsters in my head were calm for once, so caught up in all that I had to do. It was the first time that I hadn’t felt suffocated by them. Barbara stopped by the house to pick out an outfit for me. I told her it really didn’t matter, but it did. Of course it did. It was you. It was nothing fancy because it felt weird dressing to the nines in my own house. My signature leather pants, black tank top, and black sweatshirt. Simple yet brought out all my damn curves. Barbara said she wanted me to be comfy but sexy. I know it shocked me that she said that too. I kicked her out just in time because moments later, you pulled into the driveway. When I opened the door to you, I was immediately in awe. Oversized burgundy cardigan with loose mom jeans and a black t-shirt. Comfy and casual. It was perfect. 

Dinner was amazing, and our conversation never stopped. Everything always felt easy with you, and when we curled up on the couch to watch a movie, I couldn’t help but pull you next to me. Holding you felt like gluing pieces of me back together. It is the first time that I have felt whole in years. I knew then that I could never let you go. You turned to look at me to ask me what movie to watch next, and I kissed you. I couldn’t wait anymore. My heart was beating so loudly I swore you could hear it. My body was shaking, but then my lips pressed yours, and the world stilled. Absolute quiet. For a person who lives with a raging demon in the back of her head at all times, the silence was… comforting. Like finding a peace that I thought I lost forever. When I pulled back, I pressed my forehead to scared to look at you in case everything I felt was one-sided. 

Instead, you giggled, a short musical one, so then I had to look. You were grinning up at me, and then you pressed another kiss to my lips. Before you left for the night, I asked you to be mine. I didn’t want to wait for more dates to pass by because I knew then, sitting on that couch, I wanted to be with you. For as long as I could have you. This last year with you has been the best year of my life. I hope you know that…I should tell you that when I see you today. I promise you I will. I should have told you before, but I love you Y/N. I love you more than all the stars in the damn sky.

Melissa arrived at school later than usual, her journal entry swallowing a large part of her morning. She rushed to your classroom, where you were already writing on the board. You had that same burgundy cardigan on from your first date, and she wondered if it was intentional. With your back turned, Melissa studied you, trying to build up the courage for everything she had to say. As she glanced at your desk, she smiled when the pictures of her were now back amongst your knick-knacks. Pieces were slowly coming back together. There was hope pulling her further away from the demons in the back of her mind.  

“Your coffee is next to the dolphin,” You smiled, catching Melissa’s attention, “May be a little cold.”

“I am sorry I was a little late getting out of the house this morning. Was writing in my journal to you,” Melissa responded, grabbing for the coffee, “I will take cold coffee from you any day though.”

You laughed, moving to stand on the other side of the desk opposite the redhead, “Remember the cardigan?”

There was a silent plea in your face. You wanted her to remember but were terrified that she had forgotten. Melissa sat on the edge of the desk, pulling you in until you were slotted between her legs. She moved a strand of hair behind your ear, “Of course I remember. You wore it on our first date. One year ago today, when I asked you to go steady with me.”

A snort escaped you as you rolled your eyes, “I still can’t believe that is how you phrased it. So old-fashioned.”

Melissa grinned, “Happy anniversary, baby.” “Happy anniversary Angel,” You closed your eyes as if debating what to say next. 

Melissa was terrified of the worries that would come spilling out, so she cut you off, “I have your gift. I bought it a couple of weeks back, and I was wondering if maybe I could give it to you.”

“I have yours too,” You went to move back, but Melissa wrapped one arm around you and held you close to her, “You have to let me get it.”

Melissa relented, and you moved to your backpack, pulling out a small bag. She reached inside her own purse, a small black box clutched in her palm. You moved back, standing further away than Melissa would have liked, so she curled her fingers through your belt loop, pulling you back in front of her. Giving gifts always made you a little extra self-conscious, and you handed over the bag without looking up from the ground. Melissa pulled away the red tissue paper until a small box revealed itself sitting on top of two tickets. The older woman opened it to a small number-one silver charm. 

“For our one-year anniversary,” You mumbled, twirling your fingers, “I am sorry if it is lame…”

“No! This is amazing,” Melissa reassured you, a smile already on her face, “You have to put it on though. You know the rules. Only you can take off the necklace.”

You shook your head but smiled as you remembered the day you had given Melissa the necklace. You had sealed the lock with a kiss, and Melissa had said that now only you could take it away. She pulled up her hair, and you pulled the clasp to the front, gently pulling the lock. You slid the new charm on until it rested against her baseball bat. You placed the lock back, leaning down to kiss the metal gently. You positioned the necklace back to its original spot, and immediately Melissa fiddled with the charms.

“Just imagine how many are going to be on this one day.”

You nodded in agreement and pushed the bag back towards her, “You still have more.”

Digging inside the bag, Melissa pulled out two tickets to the Philadelphia Eagles v NYC Giants game. She let out a whoop of victory, scanning them over, “You didn’t! These seats are amazing. How did you pull this off?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” You grinned.

“You are coming with me, right? I have an old jersey you can wear, and I can tell you all about the game. We are going to have so much fun,” Melissa said excitedly, practically vibrating from joy.

A note of insecurity lipped through your voice, “If you want me to come. If not, you can take Barb or Ava.”

“I want you to come,” Melissa promised, but you could see the pain behind her eyes starting to grow again. The reminder that originally you would have said yes immediately, but a part of you still felt like you didn’t deserve to have access to that part of her world anymore. She pushed this from her mind, grabbing your hand, “There is no one else I would rather take with me, baby.”

“Then I will be there,” You said, attempting to break apart the tension.

“Open your gift now,” Melissa urged, putting the box back in your hands.

You pulled back the lid to a gold necklace. The word Always was written in handwriting that you had to come to know immediately. Melissa had a small blush across her cheeks as your fingers traced the lettering. You extended it out to her.

“You have to put it on. Those are the rules.”

You turned around and pulled up your hair up to expose your neck. Melissa looped the gold chain around you, and you involuntarily shivered. You could feel her hot breath as she leaned in to press a kiss to the lock. She lingered for a moment, kissing the top of your spine and each side of your neck before she pulled away. You were covered in goosebumps when you turned back to the redhead. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you caught that look in her eye. A twinkle was there with her pupils blown that any other day would have made you weak in the knees. Making sure the door was locked so that you could run your hand along her bare skin before school began. But this wasn’t any normal day. 

“Please don’t, Mel. Don’t say it. Not like this,” You begged, looking at the other woman backing away from her reach. Tears were filling your eyes, and your heart already ached. You could see the words on her lips, ready to be said. You were so desperate to hear them that you could have crumbled. But you didn't want to hear them like this. When there was still a gaping hole between you both. When you were still afraid that she was going to pick up and leave at any moment, leaving you in shreds.

Melissa just shook her head, “Somebody told me that I have to say what I feel, even when things are not perfect. I know we aren’t perfect right now, but I can’t go another day without saying this. This last year has been the best year of my life, and I love you. I should have told you a million different times. I have loved you for months, and I am still in love with you. I will continue to love you every single day of my life. You are my always. I will continue to work every day to rebuild what I have broken. I love you Y/N, and I am not leaving. Not today…not ever if you let me.”

The words were sweet to your ears, and they melted your heart. You could feel the corner of your mouth start to turn into a smile, but the weight of all of it came crashing down upon you. You were both two broken halves, and the thought of losing her to alcohol again by rushing this was all-consuming. Mostly, you were afraid of ruining it like you always had before. Tears were falling down your face as you went to turn the door handle to leave. 

“You told me you loved me first,” Melissa said, standing up and digging through her purse, “Six days ago on the phone, you told me that you loved me.” 

You stopped, and a watery smile crossed your face, “You remembered.”

Melissa pulled out a folded-up note and handed it to you. As you read the words, she repeated them out loud to you, “She told you that she loved you. She said that it hurt to love a person who was drowning themselves before her very eyes. It hurt to hear how much pain you caused, but she said she loved you. If you get a second chance you can’t fuck it up Melissa. You love that woman. You would marry that woman. Build a life with that woman. Get sober. Stay sober. Earn that love back.”

You handed the note back as the bell rang. Brushing your tears away, you leaned in to kiss the redhead gently on the cheek, “You never lost that love, Mel.”

You didn’t elaborate, just stepped out into the hall where kids were already running to their classrooms. You disappeared into the chaos, and Melissa was left standing, one hand wrapped around her charm necklace and the other one clutching her note. 

Dear Melissa,

It’s our one year anniversary today. It feels… hard to be separated from you. Especially today. I still remember that first date like it was yesterday. I had been so nervous. I hadn’t been on a date since Kylee. But you were so sweet and patient. It didn’t feel scary it felt like coming home. And waking up to you over the phone today broke my heart. I wanted you to hold me. To tell me everything was going to be okay. What have I done? Did I create a crack between us that never should have been? Are you ever going to forgive me for what I have done?  I am sorry Mel, I am trying not to be scared all the time, but I don’t know if I can do it. Please forgive me. I love you. 

-

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