#like oh yeah the reason your skin is ripped apart and your knuckles have been fractured over and over again is bc of HORMONES

[ienvieu]

bros i don't feel so fly anymore

[sleepysnk]

i made this because honestly i could not get enough of dilf jean 😩❤ i hope you guys enjoy! ♡

Perfect Fit

Pairings: Dilf!Sugar Daddy!Jean Kirstein x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW

A giggle escaped (Y/N)'s lips as she watched Jean take another one of her shopping bags, he was already holding four or five of them around his forearms. 

"You sure you can hold all of that?" she asked, a smile on her features. 

Jean chuckled, "Of course, anything for you princess." 

Her cheeks grew warm from the nickname he had given her, Jean always treated her like a princess anyway; he got her anything she wanted. She was his sugar baby after all. According to Jean, she always deserved the best and the most amazing treatment.

"Where to now?" he asked, shoving his wallet into his pocket. 

She started to make her way down the street with him by her side, she wasn't exactly sure where she wanted to go. The two had been to almost every fancy store downtown and it was almost like she couldn't decide, almost like a little kid who got a million different candy choices. This time she got to pick the candy she wanted. 

"I'm not sure," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. 

Jean put his hand near the small of her back. "We can head back soon.. it has been a long day after all," he whispered, his voice husky. 

She felt a chill go down her spine. "Sounds good to me," she smirked. 

Jean caught the hint of amusement in her eyes, it was such a turn on for him. He loved the way she could look at him and make him harder than a rock, it was almost like her secret talent. 

He looked around the streets for other shops he could take her into, his eyes scanned over the different shops and clothing stores. Nothing really caught his eye, until his vision fell upon the dark maroon doors of the lingerie shop. 

His cock twitched at the idea of her in lingerie, she had always worn it for him whenever he asked, but it was always a turn on for him. He always ended up tearing it off and leaving the fabric all ripped, who could blame him? He just likes her that much. 

"(Y/N), love," he said, stopping her in her tracks. 

She turned to meet him. "What's up?" she asked, blinking. 

He nodded his head towards the lingerie shop next to them. "Let's go in here," he replied.

She eyed the shop, shock written all over her face. She was certain she had passed this shop many times before meeting Jean, and she did it for a reason, the lingerie was expensive and it didn't necessarily come cheap. 

"Okay.." she said, opening the doors, Jean following behind her. 

The smell of perfume filled their noses as they entered, it was warm, almost like a blanket was placed over the two. It was better than the fall air outside. 

Jean's eyes explored the different mannequins that had different lingerie placed on them, he could tell that it was the finest quality fabrics. It wasn't any kind of cheap thing a person could find online for $30, it was almost $190.

(Y/N) ran her fingers along the different bra and underwear sets, her mind wondering what she could try on or what color might fit her best. Jean always said she looked good in white or baby pink, he said it reminded him of an angel. 

"Jean?" she said, turning back to see him eyeing one of the body suits. 

His head turned towards her. "Yes? What's up? Did you find something you like?" he asked, nodding. 

She made her way towards him. "No, but I do want to try some things on. Should I start with this?" she said, running her fingers over the fabric. 

Jean blinked for a moment before speaking. "Yeah! Try it on, I want to see if it looks nice," he replied, holding it out for her. 

She took it from his hands and turned to make her way towards the dressing rooms, a few women stood around looking at the lingerie, others just gawked at the way Jean looked. Who could blame them though? He always looked good.

"Just one?" the worker asked, looking at (Y/N). 

She nodded, "Yes please," 

The worker led her to one of the dressing rooms near the far end, Jean trailing behind her with his phone in his hands. He was trying his best to distract the aching of his cock in his pants, but he couldn't help it, the idea of his sugar baby all dressed up for him made all the blood rush to his dick. 

"Let me know if you need any help princess," Jean said, leaning against the wall in front of the dressing room she was in. 

"I will!" she called back. 

Jean looked up from his phone and crossed his arms, he wanted to get back home as soon as possible to relieve this ache. If he didn't he just might have to fuck her in the car, but it'd be such a mess, especially with how the two of them are. 

An idea suddenly popped into his head, a dirty one too. 

He looked around the hallway he was in, the only visible people around were some of the women going into changing rooms or the one worker who seemed bored out of her mind just standing there. 

No one would catch him, right? He could always say she asked for help, plus it'd be quick.

Jean moved towards the door of the room, he could hear her shuffling around behind it. He assumed she was getting naked or somewhat nude, it'd be the perfect opportunity.

He knocked on the door. "(Y/N).. can I come in?" he asked, looking around to see if anyone was nearby. 

He felt the doorknob click, she had unlocked the door. "Mhm.." she hummed back. 

Jean opened the door and closed it as quick as he could, his eyes were filled with the sight of his sugar baby standing there with the lingerie on. 

Oh was it the sight.

It fit her perfectly, the swell of her breasts were outlined by the black material, black hearts covered her nippes, and it hugged her body. 

"Is something wrong?" she asked, blinking a bit.

Jean's mouth was slack, "N-No! You look.. so fucking sexy right now. I love it," he replied. 

She felt her cheeks growing warm, she always felt bashful around Jean; he had such a way with words that it always made butterflies form in her stomach. 

He plopped down in the small chair that was in the room, two mirrors faced each wall, giving Jean a view of both ends of her body. 

"Come here.." he said, patting the spot on his lap. 

She turned and sat down on his thigh, she felt a chill go down her spine as his hands began to explore the skin of her thighs. He played with the fabric near her cunt, which was starting to grow warm and pool with need. 

"J-Jean?" she said, her voice coming out almost like a whimper. 

His lips brushed against the skin of her neck, causing goosebumps to flare on her skin. "Do you like that..? It's very lewd of you to be turned on in a public place baby girl,"

A quiet moan escaped her mouth as his fingers found their way to her clit, her arousal pooled around it, soaking the lingerie she was wearing. 

"Jean.. please!" she cried, burying her face into the crook of his neck. 

Jean chuckled against her skin. "You gotta be quiet for me beautiful.. I don't want anyone to hear your pretty voice when I make you cum," he whispered. "Understand?"

She shook her head instantly. "Y-Yes.."

A smirk formed onto his face. "Good, now take this off. We can't ruin it now, can we?" he said, tugging at the material around her body. 

She stood for a second, peeling the lingerie off of her body. It dropped to the floor, leaving her naked and exposed in front of him. 

His cock twitched in his pants, he wanted to fuck her so badly. He knew deep down it was impossible to do it without any major noise, so he figured to do something small until they could get home and get the real show started. 

"Come sit here, this time facing the mirror," he said, moving the chair so it now sat in front of the mirror. 

She sat down on his lap, her back now pressing into his chest. She could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, his print pressing into her butt. 

Jean used his hands to spread her legs open, her feet now on his thighs, she was wide open for him and she could see it in the mirror. 

"Fuck me.. look at that pretty pussy," he said, spreading her lips apart to see her hot core; arousal pooling from it. 

She threw her head back as she felt his fingers circling her clit, bolts of electricity went through her stomach and down her spine almost instantly. 

"Jean.." she whimpered, digging her nails into his jacket. 

He nibbled on the shell of her ear. "You're such a good girl.. staying so quiet for me.. do you want my fingers in your pussy (Y/N)?" he asked. 

She bucked her hips as she felt his fingers go closer to the entrance of her pussy. "Jean, please! Go inside me.." she cried, squeezing her eyes shut. 

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. "As you wish, pretty girl.." he replied, shoving two digits into her hot cavern. 

A loud moan came from her mouth, Jean's fingers filled her hole instantly, she was so wet for him. He could almost cum on the spot from just fingering her, her pussy was always so nice and warm, it drew him in whenever he wanted to fuck her. 

"Look at the mirror.." he ordered, putting his arm around her waist. 

She looked towards her reflection in front of her, Jean's fingers were knuckle deep inside of her cunt, the sight was turning her on; Jean could feel her walls squeezing around him. 

"B-Baby.." she moaned, putting her hand near his wrist to draw him deeper inside. 

Jean kissed her at her neck, slightly sucking on the skin. "Look at you.. being such a good girl for daddy, take my fucking fingers," he said, quickening the pace. 

She covered her mouth to suppress any noises that threatened to escape, she felt her body growing warm, and her vision going white whenever his fingers hit that spot inside of her. 

"Yes.. oh fuck.." she whimpered, looking into the reflection. She could see Jean staring right at her, his honey eyes were blown with lust and desire. 

"You wanna cum for me? I can feel you getting close.." Jean said, curling his fingers inside her wet cunt. "You're so wet for me.."

She lifted her hips to inch him deeper, her walls were sucking him in; squelching noises came from her pussy as he thrusted his fingers into her without hesitation. Her hand went to his cheek where she turned his face to meet hers, their lips crashing onto one another. 

She gasped as finger curled towards her g-spot, he took the opportunity to explore her mouth with his tongue. The kiss was sloppy, salvia formed around her mouth making their kisses smack. 

He pulled away, his eyes going down to her puffy lips. "Fuck, you are one pretty sight. I want you to cum all over my fingers," he said, licking his lips. 

She whimpered feeling his fingers quicken against her cunt, his thumb playing with her clit to double the pleasure. It was almost becoming too much, her body was twitching and the knot in her stomach was threatening to break any moment. 

"J-Jean! I'm close.." she cried, digging her nails into his wrist. 

His eyes went to the mirror, she looked so fucking sexy like that. She was crumbling beneath him, her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were parted with small moans coming from them. He could feel the way her walls fluttered around him, her orgasm was approaching.

He gripped at the skin of her waist, he pulled her tightly against him; his fingers thrusting into her at that same quick pace. Her moans began to fall from her mouth, she could barely form sentences at that point, the pleasure felt so good and she wanted to cum so bad. 

"Cum all over my fucking fingers baby.. you can do it," Jean cooed, nibbling on her ear. 

She let out a cry of pleasure as her orgasm took over her body, her walls tightening around his fingers; arousal coating them. Her thighs twitched and her breath became uneven from the effects.

"Good girl.."

She smiled to herself from the praise, she could barely stand from all of it. Her body was warm, a layer of sweat was glistening on her skin. 

"Suck," he said, holding his fingers near her lips. 

She opened her mouth letting his fingers slide in, her slick coating her tongue; the taste filling her mouth. 

Jean removed his fingers from her mouth, a trail of saliva connected from her lips to the tips. He rubbed off the spit and tapped her thigh. 

"Come on.. let's check out and get out of here," he said, sitting up in the chair. 

She stood on wobbly legs, she quickly threw on her clothes and picked up the lingerie which was hanging on the wall. Jean came over to her, pressing a kiss onto her cheek before heading towards the door of the dressing room. 

Jean took her hand into his, heading towards the checkout counter. The two stood waiting as the cashier began to scan the item, Jean's hand went to her ass, causing her to look up at him. 

"Let me get you another one.. this one is covered in something," the cashier said, smiling a bit. 

(Y/N)'s cheeks grew warm, a chuckle coming from Jean. "Weird! We didn't notice that," he replied. 

The cashier came over with the same lingerie. "Have a good day," she said, handing over the bag.

(Y/N) smiled and exited the store with Jean, embarrassment written all over her face. "That was.. not good," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. 

Jean chuckled, taking her hand into his. "I found it pretty amusing.. but we should finish what we started," he said, smirking. 

"Sounds like a plan to me.." she replied, looking up at him. 

Jean laughed before taking her towards the car.

[chiliiscereal]

Well my standards have really lowered when I comes to writing fanfiction a XD

First I didn’t want to write any at all, then I didn’t want to write for any cartoons, then I didn’t want to write for cartoon turtles... and here i am.

Here I am starting a x reader fanfiction... with the 2014/2016 version of Raph

Still a bit uncomfortable with this but I had an idea so here we go! If I like it then I’ll keep going :p

Lol what am I doing with my life XD

Too tall

Raph x tall! Fem! Reader

Summary: yes this is me self projecting. Reader is 6 foot 4 inches tall and literally every boy she meets is too insecure to date her when she’s that tall. After a while of being treated like she unbreakable and a giant she gets tired of it. Luckily there’s someone else out there who understands how she feels.

———-

You tapped the cafe table impatiently, trying not to watch your friend and her boyfriend across from you. You attempted to look at the door instead. Maybe if you stared at it long enough then your date would show up.

“It’s okay! I’m sure he’ll show up.” She tried to console you as her boyfriend held her tiny little hand.

Perfect.

Small.

You looked at your own clenched hands and wished that yours could fit so perfectly in someone else’s hands. But, sadly, big hands come with height.

No boy your age ever came close to you.

It’s not that you minded.

It’s that they did.

You didn’t care that practically every boy you met barely went up to your shoulder. You wanted companionship. You didn’t need them to be a hulking giant. You needed someone who loved you.

This wasn’t Tall Girl for goodness sake.

You weren’t waiting around for some tall man to show up.

Unfortunately no guy was willing to step up to the plate.

Why might you ask?

Insecurity of course.

The last three guys that turned you down all said they weren’t comfortable with being shorter than their girlfriend. Others said they weren’t looking for a girlfriend.

Funnily enough they all ended up with girlfriends maybe a week later.

The other girls were incredibly tiny. They barely even made it to the boys shoulders. If that.

But you thought maybe this boy would be different.

He seemed like he was.

He seemed interested at least.

He SEEMED like he was excited when you asked him on a double date with your best friend and her boyfriend.

But an hour passed already and he wasn’t there.

You sat up with a bit of a huff. “It’s fine. Let’s just... let’s just enjoy dinner.”

Your friend frowned at you but decided to let it drop. She knew you hated whenever anything like this was addressed so she bit her tongue and changed the subject.

You couldn’t enjoy dinner or pay attention to anything brought up.

Oh you tried.

You gave it the old college try.

But you found your mind wandering back to the lost date way to often.

After another thirty minutes you stood up. “You know what? I’m kind of tired and I still have some homework to finish up. You two enjoy your date!” You grabbed your bag and walked out before your friend could even call you back.

You just needed some time to yourself.

Time to think.

You walked down the sidewalk slowly, half heartedly wishing that the boy would call you and give an amazing reason as to why he was two hours late.

You stopped yourself from reaching for your phone to check for a text.

No it was his loss.

Not yours.

Surely there was someone out there for you... waiting for you to come along.

Someone that wouldn’t care if you were a little taller than them.

You huffed and zipped your bag shut. Whoever they were, they definitely weren’t that boy.

“Hey girl, who you all dressed up for?” Came a voice from the alley you were about to pass.

“No time to talk.” You answered quickly and continued walking.

You weren’t about to give them the time of day. There was a tub of ice cream and a sappy romance movie waiting for you back at your apartment.

“Come on, a girl like you with legs like that? Surely you’re dressed up for somebody.” The man stepped out of the alleyway and leaned against the brick wall. “I’m thinkin’ maybe it’s me.”

Oh you wanted to turn him around and hit him with your bag.

But it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Hell no.” You stated curtly and walked by him briskly.

He snatched your wrist, effectively making your skin crawl. “Look at me when I’m talking to ya.”

He pulled you into the alley before you could stop him.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me.” You growled and tried to rip yourself away. “HELL. NO.”

“Come on, baby! Give me a chance-!” He attempted you sweet talk before he was interrupted.

You caught his hand before he could grab you anywhere inappropriate. “I have had a REALLY terrible day. I am a MINOR and if you don’t get lost RIGHT NOW then you’re gonna have some serious problems.”

He was close enough that you could smell the bitter alcohol on his breath.

He was probably a head shorter than you and had no idea what he was getting into.

“I don’t care if you’re a minor-.” He started.

Your fist smashing into his nose stopped his words.

“Like I said!” You growled as you shook the pain out of your knuckles, “I have had a really really REALLY bad day. And YOU are some little gnat just buzzing in my FACE!”

He gripped his nose with a cry, blood dripping down it like a waterfall. “YOU BROKE MY NOSE!”

“YOU PULLED ME INTO AN ALLEY AND TRIED TO TOUCH ME!” You shouted back, hitting him with your purse before he could charge at you. “YOU MADE THIS CHOICE AFTER I WARNED YOU!”

It felt good to take your rage out on somebody. And it was justified to! It wasn’t like you were just beating this man. He wasn’t letting you leave! He kept grabbing you before you could go.

————-

Turtles pov

They crouched above the alleyway, watching the man pull you into the alleyway.

“We gotta get involved man.” The red masked one whispered. “This doesn’t look to good.”

“I told you, we only get involved if it gets really bad.” The blue one responded with an eye roll. “We can’t risk being seen!”

“It already looks really bad!”

“If she gets anymore hurt then we jump in!”

The orange masked turtle jumped into the conversation. “I don’t know, I think my money’s on the girl.”

“Mikey shut up!” The purple masked brother whispered. “This is serious!”

“So am I! Look at her! She isn’t even scared!”

“I think she at least looks a little scared.”

“Probably cause she’s trying to keep herself from beating the shit out of him!”

Raph rolled his eyes and shoved his younger brother. “It’s our job to do the protectin’ round here. Shut up and- HOLY SHIT!”

The all gasped as you reeled your hand back and knocked your fist into the creeps nose.

“Damn that looked like it hurt.” Leo observed. “Maybe she doesn’t need our help.”

“I say we stay here in case it goes south.” Raph argued, waiting for Leo to argue with him.

“Fine, but we leave when it looks like she’s safe.” Leo nodded and looked back to the fight.

Raph didn’t have time to feel proud that he’d been listened to. Mikey was inching closer to watch. “What the hell are ya doin’?” He reached forward to pull him back. “She’s gonna see ya!”

Mikey leaned over the edge anyway. “Look at her go! I told you he didn’t stand a chance!”

“Who knew using a purse was so effective?” Leo nodded. “Think she’s got it?”

“Looks like it to me!” Mikey laughed and watched with glee. “This is real entertainment.”

“Mikey you’re too close to the edge!” Raph tried to grab him but was shoved away. “You’re gonna fall-!”

————

With that you shoved the man into the wall. “Are you FINALLY done? Have you FINALLY learned your lesson?”

He spit out the blood from his mouth and nodded. “Fine! Please just leave me alone!”

“Good choice!” You shoved him away from you. “Go before I change my mind!”

He was gone before you could even blink.

“That’s right! Get out of here!” You shouted to him as he scurried away.

You lifted your chin triumphantly.

Maybe you hadn’t gotten that date but you sure did beat the crap out of a creep.

You dusted your hands off and snatched your purse off the ground.

“If I catch you harassing anyone else you’ll get it twice as bad!”

No answer of course.

He was long gone.

Still, it felt good to shout.

You could finally go home.

You turned back to the edge of the alleyway with a sigh of relief.

You took one step forward.

Then, the least expected thing happened.

“OH SHIT!”

Next thing you knew you were on the ground after something very large crashed into you.

“What the hell!” You sat up and rubbed your head. “Who just sits on a roof above an alleyway?!”

You grabbed your purse quickly and stood up, ready for another fight.

It wasn’t another creep.

And from the looks of it... it wasn’t even human.

Well, THEY weren’t even human.

You didn’t know what they were.

Green...

Huge...

And shells...

The finally looked at you.

Why were they wearing masks?

What even were they?

Why were they there!?

The one in orange immediately scurried behind the one in red. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit!”

The one in red looked at you and then looked at the guy behind him. “You dragged me into this! You fix it!”

He pulled him forward.

Honestly you had no idea what to think.

There were two GIANT turtles right in front of you! And they were talking!

You gripped your purse a little tighter, waiting to see what they would do.

The one directly in front of you tried to speak only to look back at the red masked one and then back up at where they had fallen.

You looked from him to where he was looking quickly. “Are there more of you?”

He gulped quickly and attempted to hide behind the bigger turtle. “Uh... yeah?”

You took a small step to the exit. “Are you... are you gonna try to take my purse or something?”

The red one glared at you. “No! We’re just.. just here to protect the city. We ain’t monsters!”

You noticed him getting defensive immediately and nodded. “...okay then. Well, if you’re not going to rob me then I’m going to pretend I saw nothing and go on my way.”

The red one frowned.

You were acting waaaaaaay too casual.

Surely there had to be some other motive.

“Hold on a minute... you ain’t goin’ anywhere yet.”

You glared at him and held out your purse. “Are you gonna stop me?”

Mikey took a step back and Raph rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think a purse is gonna do much against someone like me.” He stated.

“I don’t even know who you are.” You stepped back again and tightened your grip. “I didn’t even know people like you existed until now.”

You looked them up and down, taking them all in.

This couldn’t be real.

It couldn’t be.

“You say anything bout this and you’re dead, got it?” He pointed around you as if aggression could make you quiet.

“Can you at least let me go home and finish my ice cream before you decide to kill me?” You backed up again.

You were so close to running away.

So close to escape.

Before you could back up any further, two more creatures dropped from the sky behind you.

You jumped and scrambled away, nearly running into the red masked turtle.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the way my brother phrased everything.” The new turtle glared at his companion. “What he meant to say is that we protect the city. We were watching that man just in case he tried anything and these two,” he glared at the first two again, “fell off the roof.”

The one next to him pushed up his glasses. “I’m surprised you haven’t passed out from fear yet. The first person we met did just that!”

Your back hit the wall and you had no where else to go. “I’m not too sure if I won’t do that.” You glanced between the four of them. “What even are you guys?”

“Turtles!” The orange one spoke up before the red one could shush him.

“Mutants as well.” The purple one joined.

“And ninjas.”

“And teenagers.”

You couldn’t help but snort. “Mutant turtle teen ninjas? I think you need to rebrand that.”

Maybe you were insane.

Here you were cracking jokes with large turtles at dinner time.

But so far they were harmless, despite their stature. According to the blue one they protect New York.

“Ya got a problem with it?” The red one grew even more tense.

You shook your head quickly. “No. Just... surprised.”

“And scared?” He added. “Scared of monsters like us?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I thought you just said you weren’t monsters.”

That seemed to stop him.

So you continued with a deep breath. “You’re all just... really huge. I thought I was tall but standing next to you...” you swallowed and tried not to let your nerves get to you. You turned to the blue one since he seemed to be the leader. “...can I go now? I won’t tell anyone you exist or... whatever it is you want.”

The blue one was skeptical but the purple one butted in.

“Do you have a way home? Like a friend you can call?”

You opened your purse. “Yeah I should be able to call an Uber with my...” you pulled out the broken device. “...my phone.”

Well crap.

You stuffed it back in quickly. “It’s okay I’ll just walk-!”

“I can fix it.” He offered. “Besides it’ll be an extra security measure for us if we have your contact information.” He gestured loosely to the hand you’d punched the creep with. “We could also bandage up those cuts.”

You brought up your hand and inspected the blood with surprise.

Well... when were you gonna get another opportunity like this? It’s not everyday a girl gets invited into the homes of local mutants.

Besides you really didn’t want to walk home with your phone destroyed.

The red one looked at the purple one angrily. “You wanna being ‘er back??”

“Our job is to help people, Raph.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m with Donnie. It’s only fair since we broke her phone.” The blue one nodded.

“Well if it’s not too much trouble...”

—————

Next thing you know you were whisked away to none other than the sewers.

Well that kind of made sense.

No one would ever really want to go down there anyway.

The purple one, whose name you learned was Donnie, had your phone in his three fingers the moment you stepped foot in their home.

“I’ll do a little fixing up, maybe an upgrade, and Raph can take a look at your hands.” He muttered as he started to disappear into a lab like room.

Raph...

He was the red angry one wasn’t he.

The tallest and biggest out of them all.

He didn’t seem too happy about it either.

“Why me?” He protested. “What ‘bout Leo? Or-or Master Splinter? Heck, even Mikey!” He gestured to his orange masked brother as if to showcase how he’d be better at it.

You couldn’t help but silently agree with him.

Mikey seemed the most open on the way here. He’d talked your ear off the whole trip, asking questions about what it was like to be a human and bragging about all the people he’d saved. He’d even wanted you to play a video game with you when you got to their home. He’d been a bit overbearing but that was better than Mr. miffed muscle mountain.

“Hey you’ve broken the skin on your knuckles before. You’ve got experience in it. Just fix her hand and be done.” With that, Donnie was gone.

You shared an awkward moment of eye contact with Raph before he sighed.

“Well, I’m gonna go play my game.” Mikey dashed over to the tv. “Let me know when you two are done and we can play!” He grabbed Leo by the back of his shell and pulled him along.

You bit the inside of your cheek nervously.

It was just you two.

You and the giant turtle boy beside you.

“Aight well...” he cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll take you up to the work out room then?”

He stopped and you realized he was waiting for you to say something. You quickly tried to scrounge up a comprehensible sentence.

“Y-yeah, sounds good with me.” You followed after him quietly, holding your hand so the blood wouldn’t drip everywhere.

The room was smaller than you imagined but still... it was huge to you.

He began rummaging through a box on the table, fumbling with objects. “You can uh... you can sit down while I grab the-the stuff.” He told you quickly.

You didn’t know where to sit so you interpreted his words to mean that you should sit on the work out bench.

You watched patiently as he found the roll of gauze.

Clearly he was just as nervous as you.

You didn’t know why HE was nervous though. He was a giant turtle for goodness sake. He could snap you in half easily.

“Here lemme see that hand.” He shuffled over and reached out.

You gave your right one to him, trying to hold in your nervous shaking.

“Ain’t gonna bite ya.” He rolled his eyes.

“I know.” You commented, watching him start applying disinfectant. “Just never been in a situation like this before.”

He snorted and continued his work.

You couldn’t help but notice how small your hand looked compared to his. Ha. That was new. Usually it was you watching little pick me girls compare their hand size to their crushes. How strange it was for it to be you.

“And I thought I had big hands.” You couldn’t help but blurt out.

He kept his eyes on your hand, examining it a little more. “Ya call this big?”

“Yep.” You glanced around the room, taking in the ‘scenery’.

He snorted. “Damn tiny to me.” He pulled out the gauze and began wrapping your knuckles. “Look, I’m uh... I’m sorry ‘bout the way I handled earlier. My dumbnut brother got us exposed when ya clearly had the situation handled.”

You cringed, remembering that they’d seen you beating the creep. “Yeah I could have handled that better as well.”

He paused for a half second, as if considering his next words, and then continued. “Heard ya say you were havin’ a shit day as well.”

You weren’t exactly sure if you wanted this brought up in the middle of the weirdest experience ever but you were desperate for a smooth conversation. “Yeah, some jackass stood me up.”

He frowned and momentarily made confused eye contact with you. “Stood ya up?”

“You know, as in he said he was gonna go on a date with me and just didn’t show up.” You forced out a laugh. “But it’s fine I got ice cream at home.”

“Mmm.” He muttered. “Sounds like a douche bag.”

Well outta room! Part two will be up I had too much fun :)

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

[esmealux]

Hi there! For the two-part drabble, may I request Deckerstar in situation 13 (someone does something stupid) with sentence 6 ("Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.") Thank you, and I've really really been enjoying your the updates on your Planning a Hell of a Wedding fic!

Hey! It took me two months (including more than one month of writing) but I've now finally finished your prompt. Another anon had requested 25 (being somewhere you're not supposed to) + 6 and dear @my-crazy-awesome-sox had requested 26 (a very cheesy date) + 6, so I've merged all your prompts into one 7K+ long 'drabble'. Hope you don't mind!

And I'm glad you like the updates on PHW! I'll try to write some more now that I've finished this.

Hope you like this!

Also, an immense special thanks to @my-crazy-awesome-sox for helping me with this fic. She truly has been a godsend, and a lot of the wording (especially in the later parts) is kindly and almost directly borrowed from her mind. Thank you again, babe!

Also thanks to @lightbringer-666 for assisting me with some French. If all the French isn't perfect, it's because I also googled my way to a lot of it. Apologies in advance (and please do let me know if there's anything I should change!)

Someone does something stupid + being somehwere you're not supposed to + a very cheesy date + 'Do I love you? Yes. Do I like you? That's still up for debate.'

Rated M. Post 5B - contains spoilers!

Read on AO3 (includes list with English translations)

It’s ridiculous, really. The butterflies fluttering in her stomach like she’s a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date. It’s not even their first date. It’s not even their second. The thing is, between becoming God and Consultant, revising a few laws of the cosmos, fixing some bugs in humanity, bringing Dan to Heaven, and going to therapy, she and Lucifer haven’t had much time for, well, each other. At least not in ways that didn’t involve discussions about the redesign of the afterworld and how to sate world hunger. So yes, she is a little giddy with excitement at the thought of having a whole evening to themselves—no celestial craziness. Just the two of them and a bottle of the restaurant’s finest.

If Lucifer would just show up.

She checks her phone. 06:14. Unlike last time she anxiously waited for him in a restaurant, there’s a text.

Running a bit late. Please forgive me. Can’t wait to see you ❤

And one more.

Sorry. Can’t wait to see you naked*

Chloe shakes her head, a stupid smile spreading across her face. She resists typing back a flirty reply—he’ll be with her in a minute, and she is nota schoolgirl—and puts her phone back in her clutch. Hands trembling a little, she smooths out invisible creases in the dress he’s bought her. It’s short and tight, of course, but perfectly so. Reaching mid-thigh, with a small slit revealing a bit more of her left thigh. Black, unsurprisingly; he still hasn’t gotten over how delectable she looked in the LBD she wore on their last ‘date’. And this one makes her legs look even longer, which is undoubtedly the primary reason Lucifer picked it. Still, it isn’t skimpy. He could have opted for a deep neckline and cold shoulders—she almost expected him to when he said he’d bought her a dress—but he didn’t. Instead, the short and skin-tight skirt is perfectly balanced with a high neck and long bell sleeves that are cut open just above her joints, making the soft fabric flow around her bare underarms. She likes it—would probably have bought it herself if it weren’t crazy expensive. Likes how it makes her feel both sexy and classy and most of all comfortable, likes that he knows her so well.

She fidgets with her earring and traces the rim of her empty wine glass with her fingertip, watching people as much as she can from their semi-private corner. She spots an Oscar-winning film director, a retired NFL player, that pop star Lucifer pretends to hate, and just how expensive isthis place?

She’s immediately distracted by the shift in the air and the sound of Italian loafers approaching her.

‘My me, Detective!’

His brown eyes roam her figure as she stands to kiss him. Their lips meet in a soft peck that could easily have turned into more if Lucifer hadn’t pulled away to look her up and down.

‘You look like a goddess.’

Chloe snorts and chuckles, not yet used to the title he insists is hers if she’ll have it. She puts a hand on his chest, gazing up at him with a smile.

‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

He hums and leans in for another kiss, but something comes between them this time. They both look down—at a dozen red roses.

‘Those for me?’ she asks, warmth spreading in her chest.

Lucifer hands her the bouquet with a nod and that soft smile she loves more than anything. He pulls out her chair, a gentle hand on her shoulder as she sits down, and sits down himself.

There’s a card nestled between the velvet petals: ‘For the Detective & Consultant’, her old and new moniker scribbled side by side in his annoyingly elegant handwriting. The latter nickname, however, is written in smaller, cramped letters—an afterthought. She smiles.

She turns the card, expecting to find a dirty, eye-roll-deserving comment on the back. But there’s no lewd joke or naughty promise.

It simply says, ‘I love you.’

Her heart swells, filling her chest till it aches. It’s all so new still. Not the love between them, but how it’s uninhibited now. It’s not like they don’t have their obstacles—just yesterday they had a fight—but there’s no doubt anymore, no voices telling them some dreams simply cannot be. They might have a whole universe to deal with, but for the first time ever, things between them are easy. No words are left unsaid. No feelings are squashed. No time is wasted. Every day is spent wrapped in each other’s love. Finally.

‘I love you too,’ she tells him, and he lights up, amazed. Confident. Their hands find each other on the table, fingers intertwining.

A waiter comes by with two menu cards and a vase for the flowers. Chloe reads through the menu carefully, pretending to know what kind of food hides behind the fancy French names. Lucifer sees right through her, sighs, and orders some hors d’œuvres, two of something she couldn’t pronounce if she tried, and a bottle of red.

‘So, were you stuck in traffic, or…?’ Chloe asks him with a glint in her eye as the waiter pours her a generous glass of wine. The celestial being with the supernatural metabolism can drive home.

The being in question looks confused for a moment before he answers, ‘Ah, no. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ For a brief second, he looks at her as if he’s apologising for more than tonight, but she strokes his knuckles and smiles at him, you’re here now, and he moves on to explain himself. ‘I just couldn’t find this bloody suit. Only when I’d ransacked the house did I realise it was still at the penthouse, so I had to make a detour.’

He is a little excused; so many things are impossible to find right now, with more or less unpacked boxes spread out between her apartment, Lux, and their new home. In hindsight, moving in together while taking over the almighty family business probably wasn’t the best idea, but they’ll get settled soon enough. Besides, right now, what’s important is that Lucifer was late because of a wardrobe crisis, and she will not let that slide.

‘You couldn’t just wear one of your three hundred other suits?’

A flicker of hurt and sheepishness flashes across Lucifer’s face.

‘Well, this one is special.’

Chloe takes in his suit: the navy jacket, the matching waistcoat, the royal blue shirt.

‘Oh.’

He smirks at her as heat creeps up her cheeks (so much for not being a schoolgirl).

‘You remember?’

She does. Of course, she does. She remembers vividly—how shocked he’d been at first, how new and soft his lips had felt against hers. How they’d held onto each other until the sun was setting and she really did have to go home and feed Maze and Trixie.

She also remembers how she, later, behind closed lids, had ripped off the shirt and waistcoat in desperate need. How it’d earned her a husky chuckle and a breathy ‘D’tective!’, and the sinful Heaven that was his hot and open mouth.

‘You okay, darling?’ Lucifer looks at her, his expression somewhere between concerned and amused. His thumb brushes the back of her hand.

Chloe takes a sip of wine and clears her throat. Adjusts her necklace.

‘Yeah, just, you know. Reminiscing.’

He studies her flushed face for a second before his curious smile spreads into a full-blown Cheshire grin.

‘You had a wet dream about me, didn’t you?! After our first kiss?’

Chloe glares at him. ‘Say it a little louder for the people in the back, will ya?’ He opens his mouth, and she immediately feels the need to clarify, ‘Do not say it a little louder for the people in the back.’

His smile doesn’t falter. ‘I’m just ecstatic to know our first kiss left you all hot and bothered. I mean, not that I’m surprised.’ He brings his wine glass to his lips and lets go of her hand to gesture down himself.

Chloe rolls her eyes. ‘Yeah, like you didn’t go home and wanked yourself blind that night.’

He laughs, surprised by her bluntness, and shamelessly answers, ‘Why, of course I did. That night, other nights. Before and after that kiss. This morning. You serve as quite the spank bank, my dear.’

She definitely doesn’t blush at that. But she does glance down at his waistcoat, at the soft skin and hard muscles she knows hide beneath it. She gives him a slow and dirty smirk, appreciative.

‘You too, baby.’

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, his eyes darkening. Much to Chloe’s satisfaction, his neck and cheeks redden a little. Then he gives her a lopsided grin, smug and impressed.

‘Pray tell, Detective.’ His eyes glide down her face, her chest, her stomach, and slowly back up again.

In another time, she would have given him a stern look and told him it was none of his business, but she doesn’t. She also doesn’t tell him about lonely nights and long showers and crying his name into her pillow when they were still just friends. Instead, she leans across the table and half-whispers—

‘If you behave yourself tonight, I might show you.’

He gulps. Squirms a little in his seat, and—when he’s regained his composure and quite indiscreetly adjusted himself under the table—leans forward till there’s only mere inches between their faces.

‘Is that a promise?’ His voice is low and husky, his breath hot against her face. His eyes drop to her lips.

‘Pardon, monsieur, mais l’entrée est prête.’

They lean back in their seats and turn to the poor, young waiter, who’s balancing two seemingly heavy plates, a carafe of water, and a basket of crusty bread in his arms.

‘Lovely!’ Lucifer’s eyes follow the food as the waiter puts it down in front of them. ‘Merci beaucoup, Olivier.’

Olivier smiles at Lucifer, shy but with a look in his eyes Chloe knows all too well. She doesn’t blame him.

‘Ça va?’ Lucifer asks, his voice lined with genuine fondness.

Olivier nods. ‘Oui, ça va. Et toi?’

Lucifer looks to Chloe, beaming. He takes her hand on the table and interlocks their fingers again.

‘Tout va très bien,’ he answers, looking back up at Olivier with a dazzling smile.

Olivier’s eyes drop to their hands and, probably, to the ring, white and pearlescent, on Chloe’s third finger. His lips tug up at the corner.

‘Je peux voir ça. Félicitations!’ Before Lucifer can respond to that, whatever it means, Olivier gestures towards their food. ‘Et bon appétit.’

Lucifer replies with a friendly ‘merci’ and calls out something like ‘Salue ton père de ma part!’ as Olivier walks off.

Chloe stares at Lucifer, twirling the smashed bullet around her neck between her fingers.

‘What?’ he asks, curious.

She tilts her head, smiling. ‘French suits you.’

He smiles back, lasciviously. ‘Yeah?’

‘Mm-hm.’

The look he gives her leaves no doubt that, sooner or later, he’ll be whispering foreign phrases against her skin.

But right now, they have other appetites to sate. They dig into the first course, and the (assumedly) insanely high prices suddenly make sense, because it is frigging good. The main course is even more delicious—divine, actually, to the point where Chloe has to ask Lucifer if he accidentally spiked the food with a blessing or two. He assures her it’s all Olivier’s father, no holiness involved, apart from Chef Beaumont’s heavenly cœeur de filet de bœuf. Chloe moans in agreement, savouring every bite.

He watches her with a smile, jokingly apologising for not serving her grilled cheese, and she makes a bad joke about this date being cheesy enough as it is. Because it is cheesy. Him buying her a dress, bringing her red roses, the love note, the candlelit restaurant, the French food, not to mention the suit. It’s like a rom-com parody.

But it’s also perfect. It’s everything she’s longed for, an over-the-top romantic date night with her- with her partner. A date that isn’t cut short by a horny stewardess (may she rest in peace) or a failed attempt at exorcism; where Lucifer actually shows up and isn’t just trying to outdo another man; where Chloe isn’t trying to make him ‘do something good for a change’; and their parents aren’t tagging along on a headache-inducing surprise double date that is also a sting in disguise.

So, in some ways, it is kinda their first date.

And it’s a really, really nice date.

They laugh—they laugh so much. More than they’ve done in the past few months combined. Or so it feels, at least.

They laugh, and they talk. About movies they cried to, favourite drinks, and how they’re gonna paint the living room. About the summers spent under the plum tree in Nana’s garden, and all the pranks pulled in the gilded meadows of Heaven. About chasing Amenadiel through the clouds, and how Chloe always wanted a sibling. About her short-lived Hollywood experience and that one time she may have gotten a little high at a Backstreet Boys concert. (He seems impressed by that, her ‘abhorrent’ taste in music aside.) They exchange secrets they never told anyone, stories of bad kisses—Jed used too much tongue; Will was always better with words—and tales from drunken nights out. They reminisce on the first time they met—how annoying she’d found him, how compelling he’d found her—and the many, many cases, some really weird, that first encounter led to.

They talk about Dan.

About missing him, even though he’s making waffles with Charlotte now.

About Trixie, and how therapy seems to be helping her, too. How she still sometimes breaks down crying, but no longer crawls into their bed in the middle of the night, shaking and gasping for air. How she’d laughed the other day, and it’d made them both cry. How incredibly strong she is, that little urchin.

They talk about going to Paris one day, all three of them—the French do make excellent chocolate cakes—or maybe somewhere else she wants to see, once everything is calmer. They talk about some of the prayers Lucifer has been hearing, about faith and free will, what they miss about solving crimes together, what they don’t miss, and how they’re still very much partners, even more so now—in every corner of life.

They talk till their cheeks hurt from smiling and Chloe’s half-drunk on expensive Burgundy. Lucifer asks for the cheque, their food long gone, and pays with cash, making sure to leave a tip possibly the size of Olivier’s monthly salary.

They leave the restaurant giggling about a stupid joke Lucifer makes, his hand splayed out on the small of her back. Her own hand is placed much lower than what is decent for such a fancy place like this, practically cupping his ass, but she’s tipsy enough not to care, and he doesn’t seem to mind the attention. It’s his own fault, anyway, for having his pants tailored to hug his butt like this.

Naturally, Lucifer drives. He doesn’t hold back his comments on how slow and boring her car is, but at least he stays somewhere close to the speed limit. She wishes he’d also wear a seatbelt, and keep both hands on the wheel, but his palm is nice and warm on her thigh, and she trusts he’ll get them home safely. She leans back in her seat, her head comfortably buzzing from wine and him, and watches the blurry city lights through the window. He’s turned down 2ndStreet.

‘Where are we going?’ She looks over at him, curious.

He smiles in the shadows, his fingers stroking the skin left exposed by the slit in her dress. His touch leaves hot, tingling paths on her thigh.

‘I thought we’d go for a second desert.’

Chloe is beyond full, her dress stretched over her now slightly rounder belly, and she can think of other things she’d rather do (things that include pinning Lucifer to their bed and making him groan and beg and laugh), but she’ll never say no to a freshly brewed latte and watching Lucifer obscenely enjoy some Sicilian pastry.

She turns up the radio, fumbling a bit, and closes her eyes with a smile, more content than she’s been in… a long time. His hand stays on her thigh as they move through the night, fingers tapping to the beat of the songs against her skin, creeping higher, teasing, just enough to make her breath hitch, but nothing more, and then back down again. Maybe they’ll just take that latte to-go.

The car comes to a final halt, and first then does Chloe realise they haven’t stopped outside the late-night café and bakery that’s opened down on Spring Street.

‘Lucifer, what’—she looks around, double-checking—‘what are we doing at the back entrance to the precinct? You said we were getting desert.’

He leans across the centre console, fingers spreading on her thigh, and brings their faces so close their noses touch. Chloe swallows.

‘We are,’ he assures her with a wolfish grin, his gaze lingering hungrily on her, and she could jump him right then and there. But he takes his hand off her body and clicks her seatbelt free, pulls the key out of the ignition and exits the car. He strides to her side and opens the door for her, gentlemanly as ever, and she watches him with narrowed eyes as she takes his hand and steps out, sceptical even in her cloud of lust and inebriation.

He heads directly for the back entrance and opens the black iron door with ease, rudely ignoring the state-of-the-art security locks. A part of her knows she should stop him right there and give him a stern talking-to about respecting human laws—he still can’t do whatever the hell he likes just because he’s God now. But another part, the part of her who helped him empty two bottles of French wine, really wants to step over that threshold, to intertwine their fingers and go on a late-night adventure. And that part of her must overpower the other, because she lets him snake his arm around her waist and lead her through the door and inside the familiar building.

She senses him grinning by her side, his fingers curling around her hip in a deliciously tight grip that only stokes the heat pooling low in her belly. He takes her down the corridor, around the corner, and then they’re there, in the middle of the precinct. Everything is covered in darkness, the wide, open space only illuminated by a never-resting info screen and the purplish glow from the vending machine. Still, she can make out the shape of their desk, the door to Ella’s lab, the interrogation room. The fridge in the breakroom still hums obnoxiously, and the air smells like strong coffee and sugary glaze—or maybe that’s just a phantom. Either way, it all tugs at her heart, beckons her down memory lane, and she lets herself be pulled. Through the good, the bad, and the crazy.

Lucifer is quiet beside her, probably lost in nostalgia himself, or maybe just letting her have this moment. But not for long. With titillating eagerness and a devilish smirk, he wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her by the hand—towards the evidence closet.

He presses her up against the door, his body hot and hard against hers, and pins her hand against the cold glass of the frosted window. His dark eyes sparkle with mischievous excitement.

‘There’s something we never got to try.’

Her pulse quickens, blood humming loud and hot.

‘Lucifer, we can’t.’ She tries to sound firm around her suddenly heavy breaths and dry throat, but he doesn’t seem discouraged in the least.

He leans in, closer, his smirking lips brush against her ear. ‘Can’t we, now?’

And as if he hadn’t done enough already, he takes her earlobe between his teeth and bites it.

Chloe smothers a gasp.

‘We shouldn’t.’ She puts her hand on his chest and pushes her head against his, nudging him away from her neck so she can thinkfor a second. He reluctantly obeys and settles for placing his hands on her sides, dangerously high, thumbs almost stroking the underside of her breasts. She pushes his hands down to her waist. ‘We shouldn’t have sex in Evidence—shouldn’t have broken into the precinct in the first place. I mean, do you want us to get arrested?’

He only laughs at that, of course. ‘I’m God, darling. I won’t get arrested.’

Chloe rolls her eyes. He would probably charm his way out of it if they were caught, God or not—but that doesn’t make any of this okay. She’s about to tell him as much when he adds-

‘But if you wanted to cuff me and tell me what to do, resisting would be the last thing on my mind. In fact, I’m sure we can find some cuffs lying about-’

‘Lucifer, no.’

Her tone is sharper than she’d intended. He pulls back a little, studying her face. His eyes flicker to her parted lips, her flushed, heaving chest, and then back to her determined gaze. His brows furrow.

‘Do you really not want to do this?’ His voice is soft, serious.

They stare at each other, hot breaths mingling. He’s still pressed up against her, a six-foot-three wall of muscle and love, and his scent—spicy cologne and smoke—floods her head like ambrosia, a dizzying fog of him. Her skin burns beneath his palms, his touch sending embers through the expensive fabric and down, flames licking at her inner thighs. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears.

‘We don’t even work here anymore,’ she rasps, deflecting his question. It’s a weak excuse, but she is fraying at the edges.

A salacious smile forms on Lucifer’s face. ‘We’ll just pretend we do.’

He takes a step back, putting a more ‘professional’ distance between them, adjusts his lapels and attempts at a neutral expression. ‘You wanted to show me something in Evidence, Detective?’

And there’s that word again, want—because she still hasn’t answered his question and her consent means more to him than anything. She loves him for that, she really does, but right now, it’s not that simple. She wants, every cell in her body wants, wants him to shove her into that closet and take her apart. Has wanted it for so long, thought about it for years—at her desk, in the shower, while sitting next to him during interrogations. Thought about it in the self-same evidence closet, as she was pressed up against the wall by someone else. Imagined tugging at his hair, feeling him between her legs—even had to swallow his name. She still thinks about it, thought about it the other night, briefly, wistfully, while making a cup of tea. Thought about how much fun they could have had, sneaking off to secret corners of the precinct like two horny teenagers—if it hadn’t been for, well, mostly Michael, and all the chaos he’d released upon their lives.

In fact, it’s only fair they have at least one reckless, semi-public rendezvous. Just one. To make up for the honeymoon phase they never really had. With all the hurt and heartbreak they’ve had to go through, alone and together, they deserve to have one night of stupid fun.

On the other hand, and this is why it’s not that simple, it’s a bad idea. It’s a really bad idea. And also, pretty illegal. If she asked him to, if she said no now, he would take her home and push her up against the nearest surface, bury himself in her faster than any of them could get their clothes off, bring her to ecstasy-

But it’s not the same. It just isn’t.

With as much innocence she can muster, she looks up at his anticipatory face and puts her hand on the doorknob. The cold steel is a soothing balm against her burning skin.

‘I do want to show you something in Evidence.’

He lights up like it’s a declaration of love, all unrestrained enthusiasm.

‘After you, darling.’

Their lips crash against each other before the door is even closed. He pushes her backwards in the semi-darkness, between shelves and boxes, hands low on her hips. His fingers dig softly into her ass as they stumble towards a sliver of wall together, panting and laughing against each other’s mouths. He doesn’t break contact with her lips as he quickly sheds his jacket on the way and throws it over his shoulder, for the moment uncaring of dirt and creases. Then her back hits the wall with a thunk and she’s instantly struck by déjà vu, until Lucifer grabs her thigh inside the slit of her dress, and the unwelcome memory quickly evaporates in the heat of their clashing bodies as he wraps her bare leg around his waist and pins her to the wall with the hard press of his hips. Their unison groans fill the cramped space.

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she murmurs breathlessly against his lips before opening her mouth to let his tongue back in. He tastes like wine and crème brûlée.

He hums in disagreement. ‘We should always be here, Detective.’ With the hand still on her ass, he pushes their bodies impossibly closer together and rocks against her. She moans, despite herself.

‘We- I-‘ Chloe stammers, leaning her head back as he kisses his way down her neck, her mind and body pulling in different directions. ‘This is- why am I letting you get away with this?’

She feels him smirk against her throat. His hand slowly glides up her inner thigh—her pulse quickening with every inch—until his thumb brushes past damp fabric.

‘Because you like me.’ His beard rasps against her hot skin in the crook of her neck, a contrast to his soft lips placing slow, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw to her collar. ‘Because you love me.’

Chloe scoffs.

‘Do I love you?’ she questions, her breathing erratic, her eyes turned to the ceiling as he sucks a mark onto her neck. With the hand that is still between her legs, he pushes her underwear to the side and rubs against her, nice and slow. ‘Yes.’ Her gasped answer has a proud, almost victorious chuckle rumbling from his chest.

‘But do I like you?’—she bites her lip and stifles another moan as his fingers press just right—‘That’s still up for debate.’

He breaks off the assault on her neck and looks up at her, eyes black with desire.

‘Allow me to try and tip the scales, then.’

She’s bereaved of his fingers as his hand moves to the edge of her underwear, pulling it down as he sinks to his knees. She almost stumbles when he slips it over her feet, but he grabs her leg, steadying her, and helps her out of her stilettos. Once she’s barefoot, his warm palms slide up the side of her legs, pushes the hem of her dress up a few inches, and then his mouth is on her.

He licks her, slowly, tenderly. She reaches down to pull at his hair, commanding him to give her more, to take more, and he does. He starts feasting on her, all tongue and lips and-

‘God, yes.’

He chuckles smugly into her core. ‘I do love it when you moan my name, darling.’ Eyes fixed on hers, he gives her a nice, long lick before he dives back in. He kisses her clit, sucks it, circles it, laps at her like he can’t get enough, and she’s reduced to a quivering, whimpering mess. She bucks against his face, needing more, and he does that thing that she likes, tongue flicking her clit, warm and wet, as he pushes a finger inside her.

Her eyes clench shut, her head falls back against the wall. She doesn’t bother holding back her groan this time.

Lucifer hums against her, low and greedy, taking as much as he can, before he pulls away with ragged breaths. ‘Ma déesse, que tu as bon gout.’

The meaning is forever lost on her, but his hungry tone, the way his tongue wraps smoothly around the French syllables, the words dripping like sin from his glistening lips, sends warm shivers down her spine.

He slows down his pace inside her, places kisses on her lower belly, seeks her ticklish spots and the ones that make her breath hitch, and then trails down to her hips, studying her sharp bone with his lips and his teeth, before moving down to her thigh, stubble prickling her tender skin. As if he’s got all the time in the world, he lets his mouth travel to the insides of her legs, already spread for him, and kisses a path up her inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where she aches with need,but never quite there. His finger, still moving slowly—too slowly—curls a bit, reaches that spot deep inside her that usually makes her see stars, but he pulls back before she’s even done gasping.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, a threat and a plea.

He places one last kiss to her sensitive thigh, nuzzles his nose against her heat, before his tongue finally finds her clit again and his finger starts pumping inside her, fast and hard. Then faster, harder, and, fuck, deeper.

‘Baby,’ she begs him to continue, fire spreading through her body, from her curling toes to her already heated cheeks.

He slows down for a second, and she reaches down to scratch at his scalp in frustration but quickly forgives him when he adds another finger and resumes his perfect pace, thrusting up in her to the beat of her racing heart.

‘Je veux te faire jouir.’ His thumb replaces his tongue as he looks up at her, eyes sparkling with lust and determination, but also patience. Like he could do this for hours, the whole night, as long as she falls apart around his tongue and fingers in the end.

He doesn’t need all night, though. She’s close, so close, can feel the beginning of that blissful high burning in her lower belly, between her thighs, where his mouth licks and nibbles and sucks. A building warmth pumping through her veins. She grabs at his hair, wraps her leg around his shoulder and pushes his face closer into her heat, needing that last-

‘Fuck, right there,’ she gasps. Right there right there right there.

He smirks against her, always eager to please, and does as she says. As she’s teetering on the edge, he curls both fingers inside her, goes impossibly deeper, and reaches the same spot as before, except this time, he doesn’t stop, and she comes with a shudder and a gasped ‘fuck!’ as he licks her through it.

‘Tu es tellement belle, ma chérie,’ he tells her, voice soft with awe as she comes down from her high and opens her eyes. She understands enough of the words to smile down at him, at his dishevelled hair, his swollen lips, and warm, chocolatey eyes.

‘You too, baby.’

She still hasn’t caught her breath when he, after wiping his mouth on her thigh, slowly rises from his feet and starts making his way up her body. His fingers skate lightly up her dress, his knuckles brushing against her rising and falling ribs as his hands sneak higher and higher, closer and closer. With a feather-light touch, he starts tracing the curves of her breasts, deliberately avoiding her aching nipples. He teases her with his fingers, kisses her neck, lips trailing, hot and slow, up to her jaw and the sensitive spot behind her earlobe.

‘J’ai envie de toi,’ he says into her ear, his voice rough with want and determination.

Chloe can’t take it anymore. She fists his waistcoast in one hand and grabs him by the hair with the other to pull him up into a hard kiss. He tries to stay in control, to hold back his obvious desire for just a little longer, but he quickly loses the battle and lets a bit of hunger take over. They pour equal heat into the kiss, tongues pressing and teeth clashing as their mouths slide against each other. She threads her fingers through his curls, he bites her lip, and they both groan and gasp into the kiss.

Chloe’s the one to pull away, needing air sooner than him. They’re looking into each other’s eyes, both panting, when he says it again, ‘J’ai envie de toi.’ This time, breathy desperation shines through his voice. ‘Je veux être en toi.’

And then they’re kissing again and both of them are working at his belt and pants in a flurry of hands until he’s finally inside her with one quick thrust. He fills her to the hilt, deliciously stretching her inner muscles, warm and hard. For a moment, they’re both so overcome they can only pause and breathe, Lucifer’s forehead cradled in the crook of her shoulder as her hand gently strokes the short hairs on the back of his neck.

He pulls back to look deeply into her eyes, and starts off slow. Not teasing, just tender. He kisses her cheeks and neck, every inch of skin he can reach with his lips, and whispers sweet nothings against her skin. She can’t know for sure, of course, because it’s still in French, and she doesn’t catch all of it, the sounds alien and muffled—‘t’es incroyable’, she hears, ‘j’suis fou amoureux de toi’—but something about his tone tells her it’s not as dirty as whatever he was saying before. Still, it makes her just as wet, the words tingling across her skin.

He picks up the pace, wraps her legs tighter around him, and pushes her harder against the wall. His hand grasps her breast roughly, seeking purchase, then rhythmically strokes over her nipple in apology, and she moans her relief. The shelves on either side of them hit the wall with a consistent thump, thump, thump as he thrusts up into her, fucks her, their harsh pants mingling in the small space between their parted lips. Chloe claws at Lucifer’s shoulders and back, hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Even through the two layers of fabric, she can feel his warmth and muscles, and a sudden urge bubbles up within her. With desperate fingers, she starts undoing the buttons on his shirt, but it takes too long—she needs him—so she rips open both shirt and waistcoat and frantically pushes them off his shoulders. He pins her against the wall with a hard thrust, letting go of her thigh and breast to shake the material onto the floor, and Chloe scratches at his finally bare back and shoulders, nails digging into slick, freckled flesh. She arches back into the wall and bares her neck for him to nip and kiss.

‘Fuck, Lucifer!’ she whines. ‘Oh, God, baby, fuckyes!’

He growls at the sound of her noises and bites her ear.

‘J’adore baiser avec toi.’ One hand slides down to her ass, holding her and pushing her dress higher up as the other bites into the now bare skin at her waist. The sharp touch sends a jolt down to her throbbing clit, making her clench tighter around him. ‘J’adore ton corps. T’es vraiment une déesse.’ The last word is a groan against her lips as he kisses her.

It’s wet, messy, and so delicious they both grasp tightly onto each other’s mouths with lips, tongues and teeth, neither of them wanting to ever let go.

‘Je veux t’embrasser,’ Lucifer pants when they break apart for a second, his gaze fixed on her mouth as their lungs fight for air. His dark eyes soften when they look into hers. ‘Chaque jour de ma vie,’ he adds reverently as he leans in. ‘Pour toujours.’ And then he kisses her again, like he wants it to last for all eternity.

His thrusts turn slower and deeper as they kiss, harder, until kissing becomes panting into each other’s mouths and Chloe’s head falls back in sheer pleasure. He tightens his grip on her ass and runs the hand on her waist up her side, brushing his thumb over her nipple as he passes her breast, up her neck, and cups the side of her face. She lets their eyes meet, and the way he’s looking at her, with absolute awe and gratitude, makes her heart flutter and her hips buck against his bare stomach. Her hands slide from where they’ve been clutching his mess of a hair to his back, trailing down to where he’s most sensitive. She places her palms on either side of his spine and presses lightly, carefully.

‘Tu me-’ he cuts off with a gasp when her nails skim over his hidden wings, ‘Tu me rends- fucking hell, Chloe.’

She keens at the guttural sound of her name. He leans his forehead against hers with a grunt, the slight change in angle making his rhythm falter, one hand slamming against the wall next to her. She watches the rest of his control slip through glazed eyes. She did this to him. She rendered God himself lost to his own bliss. That knowledge itself is nearly enough to push her over the edge.

‘Close,’ she breathes.

He grabs both her thighs with strong hands and presses her flush up against the wall, going impossibly deeper inside her. She hisses through her teeth and sputters all kinds of incoherent, unholy prayers into the sweltering air between them. Every hard thrust pushes her closer to ecstasy.

‘You make me so happy,’ Lucifer whispers, sounding so wrecked and raw her eyes clench shut. ‘I want- I hope- fuck- I hope I make you, nnf, just as happy.’

‘You do, baby. You make me so- so-’

Heat floods her veins as she comes, the sweet tension snapping all at once. She cries out, arches her back, and moans long and low as he continues to fuck her through it. His thrusts are quick and inelegant, his arms and thighs trembling, and she knows he’s close. She intentionally clenches around him, whispers his name, and then he too is tumbling over the edge, the only type of falling she ever wants him to feel again.

They smile at each other as they try to catch their breaths, sweaty foreheads still pressed together.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘So much.’

She hums with happiness, her heart pleasantly aching at the sound of the words he couldn’t say the last time they were here.

‘I love you too, babe.’ She reaches up to lazily nuzzle the hairs at the nape of his neck, still smiling.

‘Maybe you even like me?’

She lets out a breathy chuckle and slides down the wall to land on her bare feet. Her legs are… wobbly, to say the least. Lucifer smirks at her.

‘We’ll see about that.’ She smoothes out her dress as he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens his belt. ‘If anyone ever finds out about this, your chances are pretty bad, buddy.’

She collects his clothes from the floor and helps him into his shirt. Two buttons are missing, lost to the force of her hasty ripping. It gives her an odd sense of satisfaction, the fact that the shirt he wore when they first kissed—the shirt she dreamt of tearing off his body—now is marked by their little escapade. (At least until he gets his tailor to fix it.)

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep trying to convince you then, won’t I?’ He licks his lips and lifts his eyebrows as he offers her a hand to help her up from the floor once she’s put her shoes back on. Chloe bites her cheek so as to not smile at his suggestion and intertwines their fingers.

‘You can start by helping me assemble that new shelf system tomorrow,’ she tells him, waiting for him to groan in response, or mumble something about hiring some people to do it for them. But he doesn’t. He just opens the door for her and lets her go first with a soft smile on his still flushed face.

‘Anything for you, my love.’

The door shuts with a gentle click behind them.

[tsukikento]

What’s Their Name Again? (Miya Atsumu x GenderNeutral!Reader)

Summary: In which Miya Atsumu quickly becomes infatuated with you and hits someone in the face with a volleyball because of it.

Word Count: 4,877

Warnings/Genre: fluff, the slightest bit of angst, cute stuff :) no warnings except maybe swearing and osamu and atsumu being argumentative twins lol

Notes: I posted this on ao3 yesterday and now it's here! I could not get this idea out of my head and just had to write it! Please let me know if you like it! I love to hear your feedback! <3

(masterlist)

The first time Miya Atsumu saw you was in his first year of high school. He had been walking onto the court to play a game at the Spring Interhigh Nationals when his wandering eyes fell on your own. He couldn’t even remember the other team’s name he was about to face. However, he could remember the deep blue and gold tracksuit you were wearing a couple of courts over. He practically stopped in his tracks as he watched you talk to a manager from another team.

Your eyes shined brightly and the smile that graced your lips had him reeling. Needless to say, he was rather speechless with your angelic appearance. The stadium was too loud to hear the laughter that came out of your mouth, but he was sure it was perfect. His eyes scoured over your body, looking you up and down.

Wow, he thought, tempted to watch you for as long as he could, before something bumped into him.

His eyes were dragged away mercilessly from your figure and to his brother’s.

Miya Atsumu groaned loudly as he looked at his gray-haired twin. His frustration boiled over easily as if in too small of a pot and it resulted in him chasing after Osamu until Kita gave him a look that told him to behave. Oh, yeah, we are at nationals…

“Tch,” He mumbled before looking back at you. Or at least, where you had been standing.

You were gone.

And he was too entranced by your looks to see what school you went to. Atsumu looked back to his team and held in a groan as he forced himself to focus on the game that was soon to start.

~~

The next time Miya Atsumu was graced with your appearance was during the Winter Interhigh for his second year of high school. His team had once again made it to nationals, and it seemed yours had too.

In fact, you were currently standing opposite him on court B, while he stretched out his limbs.

You seemed much more confident in yourself than last year. The small, nervous blush that was permanent on your cheeks last year was gone. Your hair was shorter than before, no longer hiding over half your face, and it made you look way too good.

He stared at you as your team ran around the small court.

Tanuki High, he read off the jerseys.

Although he wasn’t happy to be facing off against your team on the first round of nationals, he tried to look at the bright side. He could impress you.

He found himself frequently looking at you as he warmed up, hoping you were looking at him. However, his now blond hair didn’t even help him stand out in a crowd. Rather than looking at the gorgeous setter that he was, you were looking at a player from your own team.

The boy had short black hair and green eyes. He had a smirk practically plastered onto his face and it made Atsumu want to hit him. Not a punch that could make his precious hands and knuckles bleed, but maybe a swift kick or elbow of the stomach.

He could not figure out why you were looking at that other guy so much. From what he could tell, the green-eyed bastard was also a setter and much worse compared to his own skill.

Atsumu groaned as he watched you look at that idiot with such a kind smile. He hated how beautiful he thought you looked and how much he craved for you to look at him that way.

And I don’t even know your name, he thought.

Once again, Atsumu was torn away from you by his brother.

“You like ‘em?” He asked, nudging Atsumu and looking at you.

Atsumu didn’t reply and simply walked away.

“Ah, so you do?” Osamu pestered, becoming that much more incessant.

“Shut it,” The blond twin spat back, “I need to practice my sets, toss them to me.”

Osamu didn’t bother to say anything else and simply followed along.

~~

It was about halfway through the game when Atsumu’s blood began to boil.

Tanuki High was not a bad school. They had a great defense and an ace who practically shut them out. However, Atsumu was able to keep calm and levelheaded until he saw you looking at that black-haired setter.

For most of the game, you had been dutifully noting down every point, block, and whatnot. It helped that you weren’t staring and giggling at the setter like before. Except, as everyone shifted positions and Atsumu moved to serve, he watched the opposite setter move to be standing closest to you.

Back left, Atsumu thought.

He watched attentively as the green-eyed boy looked at your sweetly and waved.

You waved back shyly.

Atsumu saw the other setter mouth something he couldn’t hear and your face went red immediately before you giggled.

The blond groaned as he took his steps back. When he looked up, you were still smiling like an idiot at the other setter. The referee whistled, signaling that it was okay for Atsumu to serve. He didn’t even bother silencing the cheer team, subconsciously knowing it would draw attention to him. He ran forward, jumping just in time, and smacked the volleyball as hard as he could.

It took less than a second for the ball to connect directly with the black-haired bastard’s face.

The referee once again blew his whistle and multiple people rushed over to check if he was okay.

Smirking, Atsumu walked up to his brother who was standing at the front as said, “Serves him right for not paying attention.” He knew he was an ass, he knew it was a little much to purposefully do a jump serve right into someone’s face, but it was a split-second decision.

Osamu chuckled and Atsumu felt a sense of pride rush through his veins until he saw your eyes snap up at him.

Like any manager would, you had rushed over to check on the player. His nose was bleeding and tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

When you heard that comment from the blond you had just served, you looked up in disgust at him. Your eyes held a fury that was rarely seen and Atsumu stepped back tentatively.

“You monster. How dare you,” You spat at Atsumu with venom dripping from your voice.

Atsumu could barely pay attention as he watched you usher the setter out of the gym and most likely to the infirmary.

Well, that backfired, he thought, now missing your kind presence that previously filled the gym.

The game ended quickly after that, Tanuki High being low in spirits. Although Atsumu wasn’t that much better either.

His heart felt like it ripped apart as you came back just in time to see your team lose. You were not accompanied by the setter and sadly shook your head as he watched the coach ask you a question.

Was my serve really that strong? He questioned as you sat down.

Atsumu simply followed the motions as he perfectly set the ball to Aran and watched closely for any possible blocks. It didn’t matter though.

He heard the smack of Aran’s powerful serve hitting the floor before he registered much and the ref's whistle blow.

End game.

He watched you calmly put your clipboard down before looking up to meet his eyes.

There was still so much anger in your eyes, but you hardly looked at him, barely spared him a glance, before going up to the players and hugging each and every one of them.

Atsumu stared at you with a foreign feeling. It felt different than the jealousy that ran through his veins when he saw you talking with that black-haired idiot from before. This feeling made him feel empty, but at the same time made him crave to fill that hole with your smile.

Oh, that gorgeous smile. You had lips that he would beg for a chance to kiss. The perfect shade of pink that matched perfectly against your skin tone to the slight laughter lines. Your smile was not joyful currently, it was more so filled with a pity directed at the volleyball players, a sorry attempt to cheer up the players.

He knew he should, but the second-year was way too nervous to actually go up and apologize to you. However, after a small cheer he shared with his team, Kita and Aran did force him to go and bow and apologize to the entire team.

“I’m very sorry for hitting your teammate. Please give him my sincere apology and know it was never my intention to hit anyone,” He partially lied, while bowing down to a 90-degree angle. He flashed a remorseful smile directed at you in hopes for pity.

You had none.

~~

Atsumu did not see you during the Spring Interhigh National games. He didn’t know if it was because your team did not make nationals or if you just didn’t cross paths. Regardless, he didn’t want you to see him lose in only the second round and was grateful for the absence.

~~

Atsumu finally saw you again at the Winter Interhigh National games.

Your tracksuit somehow fit even better than in years passed and Atsumu almost immediately walked up to you because of how profoundly gorgeous you looked.

However, what stopped him was the black-haired idiot. Or more so the lack of him.

He must have been a third-year, Atsumu thought as he watched you talk to the players. He was quite sure you were giving them an endearing and powerful speech. The passion and fire in your eyes outshined everything else. He absolutely adored how passionately you looked. If he looked closely, he would have noticed that you were also teary-eyed.

Atsumu continued to watch over you as he debated what to do. He was more confident than he was before, confident enough to walk up to you and ask for your number.

But what if you aren’t single? He thought, knowing full well that the alumni setter had flirted so freely with you and most likely asked you out.

“Stop being such a wuss.”

Atsumu looked away from you and to his brother.

“You have been looking at ‘em since our first year,” Osamu reasoned.

“No, I have not!” Atsumu countered, ready to hit his brother in the head.

Osamu barely ducked away in time from the attack before laughing, “Yeah, and you totally didn’t hit that guy in the face with a volleyball last year because he was flirting.”

Atsumu groaned, knowing that he was right. “Shut up, ‘Samu.”

“Whatever,” Osamu replied. “Just don’t come crying to me when you finally work up the courage and can no longer find ‘em.” His brother shrugged and walked away to go and talk to Suna.

Atsumu immediately turned his head around, worried you would be gone like before. He would theoretically only have one more chance to see you, that was if your team even made it to nationals. Atsumu groaned, knowing Osamu was right.

You were currently kneeling on the ground by the back wall and packing up some things in a bag, getting ready for your team’s game to begin. With most of your team busy warming up on the court, it gave Atsumu his best chance to talk to you privately. Most of his team was also leaving the court so none of those idiots would interrupt him either.

Before he could even think about what to say, his legs began approaching you. He inched close and closer but stopped when he was about five feet away and simply watched you.

Shit, what the fuck am I supposed to say?

“Can I help you?” You asked, looking up at him, worrying that he was going to be one of the many volleyball players from a different school that simply asked you out because they didn’t have their own team manager. You had a suspicious look on your face that heavily juxtaposed the sweet smile you gave all the players in Tanuki High.

“Oh, uh,” Atsumu stumbled over his words, not realizing you would notice him. He tentatively stepped closer, suddenly much more anxious than he was a few moments ago. However, he also found your confidence and bratty attitude so goddamn attractive. “I’m uh—"

“Oh!” You stood up from the kneeling position you had been in and pointed at the blond. “You’re Miya Atsumu, right?” Your eyes scanned his features and he wondered if you knew him from his noticeable, sunken eyes and bleached hair.

Atsumu immediately felt his face heat up, something he had yet to experience in his academic career. Despite being sought after by many people from his own high school, those people only liked him for his talent.

He never cared much for people who couldn’t befriend him for his personality but were happy to ogle him while he played. Nevertheless, he also still found himself enjoying their praises while he played.

Any of the people he tried to date in the past, a whopping three people, ended up breaking up with him because of his personality. The explanations ranged from him being too loud to being too obsessed with volleyball.

Either way, he was much more cautious than before, and yet you still grabbed his attention and made him want to learn more about you.

Atsumu would have looked away from you and toward the ground, except your eyes were sparkling too brightly for him to possibly miss a second. Fuck, he thought as he tried to figure out what to say.

“Y-you know me?” He finally asked. He pointed to himself in shock, eyes wide and unsure of himself.

“How could I forget the number #1 setter who hit Tadashi Kou in the face with a volleyball?” You ecstatically spoke, leaning back casually onto the wall and smiling with a confidence that made Atsumu’s heart rate increase.

Atsumu figured you were talking about the setter from last year, especially because he did not make it a habit to hit people with volleyballs. However, your voice, although not dripping with honey, did not have any anger in it as it did previously. He thought that if you remembered him for that, then you would be more upset with him. Your blatant compliment told him differently.

Regardless, Atsumu found himself sheepishly rubbing the back of his head and apologizing. “Yeah, sorry again about that,” He mumbled, looking down to the floor.

“Don’t apologize,” You waved him off, sheepishly scratching at the side of your face for making him feel bad.

“Oh! Um, but why?” He asked, silently thankful. The conversation wasn’t flowing perfectly, it was filled with awkward pauses and exclamations, but that was better than nothing. In fact, Atsumu wondered if your awkwardness was because you liked him, the same way his awkwardness was because he found your more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. He reminded himself not to jump to conclusions, a normal person would not fall that fast and he was only beginning to understand his own feelings.

“Tadashi Kou is an asshole,” You swore. “That bastard totally deserved it.” Your voice echoed itself from that day last year. Except, almost angrier. It dripped with a fury Atsumu was unfamiliar with and he was glad he didn’t hear you speak this exact way to him last year.

“Oh,” Atsumu awkwardly replied, not quite sure what to say. What did he do to you? He wanted to ask but feared stepping over a boundary.

“I suppose you are wondering why,” You mumbled more so to yourself.

They know me so well, Atsumu thought, well aware that anyone would think that. However, he decided to let himself dream a little bit more, relish the good feelings he got from talking to you.

Even just your voice was gorgeous. From the way it dripped with honey as you talked to your teammates to the excitedness behind it when you guessed who he was. Even the sassiness and anger that your voice held at certain times made him shiver in new ways.

He realized how much he liked a confident person. No person who had shown interest in him before was the confident or teasing type. They were all confident enough to confess to him, but not confident enough to stop him if he was doing something dumb. Which was rather frequent, unfortunately. But your confidence made him hopeful that you would be willing to joke around with him and stop him when he was going too far. He found himself grinning wildly at just how quickly he was falling for you.

When you looked up at him, he realized his mistake. His eyes were glued to you, but he was thinking of something completely different and you definitely noticed.

Shit, I must look like an idiot. How long have I been not saying anything?

The smile on his face was wiped away because of his nerves and he was sure his face was red. “Uhh, yeah, but I don’t want to make you,” He mumbled back, wanting to forget about this awkward instance. However, your sparkling eyes looking directly at him with such curiosity made it almost worth it.

“Well, the whole world should know he’s an ass,” You replied, shrugging your shoulders, and moving so gracefully that no one would realize the swear that came out of your mouth. “He cheated on me if you must know.” Your voice was flat and blatant.

“Oh, shit,” Atsumu replied without thinking.

“Yeah,” You shot back.

Atsumu wanted to say something, anything, to cover up the silence that quickly took over your conversation. He moved closer to you, now only being a couple of feet away. “Well, I knew he was an ass from the beginning, so…” He trailed off, not sure what his point was.

You, however, still sputtered out a laugh that made his heart skip a beat. Once your chuckles died down, you looked up at the blond with a glint in your eyes that anyone would realize was flirtatious. “Oh really? And what made you hit him in the first place? I assumed it was an accident.”

Atsumu scoffed, replying quickly with, “What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

You scoffed back, equally as quick-witted, “Because I’ve seen you play. Coach made me watch hours’ worth of videos when we were going to play you last year, so I know you pride yourself on your serves. You wouldn’t try to hit someone unless provoked, especially because it would make it seem like you didn’t have almost perfect control over your serves. So, I just assumed it was a freak accident.”

Atsumu smirked, “You watch me that much, huh?” On this inside, he was screaming. He was going absolutely feral. You were way too much, and he was about ready to ask for your hand in marriage.

You simply shrugged once more. However, Atsumu, who was watching you intently saw you smirk at him. “So, was it an accident?”

Atsumu smiled and shook his head.

Your smile somehow widened. “And are you gonna tell me what provoked you to hit him?” You wanted to know so bad. What could possibly make Miya Atsumu forgo professionality?

Atsumu, who was busy staring at you, slightly shook his head to bring him back to focus. “You really want to know?” He asked, moving even closer to you, and forcing you to look up at him to meet his eyes. The angle was rather perfect, it gave him an ideal view of your face and he was so tempted to lean in and kiss you.

Either he was an idiot, or you were flirting with him. And he was really hoping you were flirting with him.

Atsumu smirked boldly and you visibly swallowed and tried your best not to breathe completely in his face.

“I do,” You breathed out, barely trusting your voice.

Atsumu hummed low in his throat, an action he knew worked well in getting a rise out of people. “Well,” He leaned back slightly, giving him some more room to talk. “You’re right that I pride myself on my serves. However, I’m not so prideful that I wouldn’t intentionally hit an idiot in the face. In fact, I have a lot of practice aiming my serves directly at my brother's head.”

He paused and smiled joyfully as you shot your hand up to your mouth and laughed. However, your laughter died abruptly stopped as the blond setter once again leaned forward. This time, he put his left arm against the wall behind you, effectively trapping you in closer than ever to him. Atsumu felt lucky that there were a lot of people in the stadium, making it easy for him to hide. Just imagining his team mocking him for this moment almost made him regret it.

He looked into your eyes, so innocent and simply looking directly at him. What he would give to hear your thoughts right now…

“You never told me what made you hit him,” You finally spoke, your throat dry, but still determined to know why.

“If you must know,” Atsumu spoke, looking directly at you and tentatively licking his lips. Your eyes shined with intrigue and your lips were slightly parted. As a last-second decision, Atsumu leaned forward again, brushing his lips against your right ear. He gently breathed out, noting how you shivered easily against his actions. “I couldn’t help myself when I saw how he was flirting with you.”

He was lightheaded.

It was very unlike him to act like this.

Sure, he thought about how to flirt with people, but actually doing it was different. In fact, the last person he dated laughed in his face when he tried to flirt.

He was sure you were about to do the same.

Except, you didn’t shake with laughter. You gasped and turned your head just slightly to meet Atsumu’s eyes as he moved away from your ear. He could feel the heat radiating off your face and see the light blush on your cheeks.

Atsumu smirked, hiding his own nerves. He was so ecstatic with your reaction, but at the same time anxious to see how you would reply.

“Fuck,” He heard you swear. It was so quiet as if coming out as a meek breath. He wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t so close to you still.

Being so close to you felt suffocating at this point. The air was hot and the temptation to lean down and kiss you was way too high. He wanted to take this slow, at least for now. Atsumu slowly pulled back, just enough so the air he was breathing was no longer yours as well.

Quickly, you looked down at your feet and fumbled with your hands.

“Don’t look away,” Atsumu sadly whined. He wanted to see your face and your reaction.

“But you made me nervous,” You whined back, causing Atsumu to smile wildly.

“So cute,” He simply spoke before moving his hand to gently cup your chin. He tilted your head up and smiled kindly at you. He could tell you were just as nervous as him and hoped his actions didn’t intimidate you.

You looked into his eyes expectantly. You weren’t sure what he would want from you. Unlike people from his school, you didn’t know much about him. You knew he was popular though. At least, a popular athlete. You clearly remembered the multiple women who cheered for him and held up signs for him during games.

You wondered if he was only flirting with you for fun. Or maybe he was hoping you would entertain him for the night. However, the idea of him literally hitting someone in the head with a volleyball simply because they were flirting with you made you think it might be something more.

However, the long, pregnant pause that had you both reeling in nerves and teenage feelings was stopped when your name was called.

You looked over, Atsumu’s head also turning when yours did.

Your face met the face of one of the first years. A sweet boy with pale, blond hair. He still had a little baby fat on his face, but he was quickly becoming an excellent player despite his innocence and cheerfulness.

Those factors made this moment all the more awkward.

Atsumu’s left arm tucking you into the wall and his right hand holding your chin. He towered over you in a way that made this look even worse.

You gulped down the lump in your throat. “Yes, Watanabe-kun?”

“The game is starting soon, and Coach wanted to talk to you,” He mumbled, his eyes only looking into yours, too nervous to look anywhere else.

“I’ll be there soon, okay?” You replied. Atsumu hadn’t moved in the slightest. He simply only watched Watanabe like he was a potential threat.

The first year nodded and jogged away.

You turned back to look at Atsumu how met your eyes. “So,” You mumbled.

“So,” Atsumu repeated as your voice died down into nothing.

“I have to go,” You finally added.

“You have to go.”

It was clear that you were both reluctant to separate. Atsumu didn’t want to move because he worried that you would leave and he would not see you again.

“Can I have your number?” You finally asked, surprising Atsumu.

“Um,” He finally pulled back and looked down. He tapped at his shorts, realizing he was still in his jersey. No pockets, no phone. “Do you have your phone on you?”

“Yeah,” You replied, and moved down to the bag you had been previously packing up. You unzipped the small, front pocket which helps your phone, and a small first-aid kit.

You quickly unlocked it and opened up to add a contact. You handed your phone to Atsumu and watched as he put in his number. You expected him to simply hand your phone back to you, but he suddenly moved to phone up high. He looked into the lens, smiled, and held up a peace sign before taking a photo of himself.

When he handed you back the phone, you saw he not only added a photo but also entered in his name. TsumTsum <3

“TsumTsum?” You questioned, looking up into the blond with an inquiring look.

Atsumu sighed and flopped around rather humorously. He acted like he couldn’t control his arms and whined out, “I thought it was cute!”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t!” You shot back, laughing at his actions.

Atsumu whined again, “Then why did you look at me like that?”

You simply shrugged, a beautiful smile on your face as you looked down at your phone and typed something out. Once done, you showed him your fine.

‘Hi TsumTsum <3’

Atsumu smiled proudly at the text.

“There, now you should have my number too,” You explained before tucking your phone away into your back. “Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smiled at Atsumu and gave him a quick wink before turning away and walking over to your team.

Atsumu smiled happily, so glad he was finally able to talk to you. In a haze, he finally left the gym and walked down the hall to where his team was supposed to meet up. Most of them were sitting around the small area, either on their phones or trying to sleep.

Atsumu had already given them a short speech about how they played today so they had most of the day free until after dinner when they would watch the recording of them playing and go over it with their coach.

Atsumu plopped himself down onto the ground next to his bad and Osamu. He immediately chugged his water and grabbed his phone out of his bag.

He giddily unlocked his phone to look at the text you sent him. His noise made his brother look over his shoulder and to his brother’s phone.

“Oh, did you get their number?” Osamu asked, turning around to see Atsumu’s phone more clearly.

Atsumu immediately moved to hide his phone. “Yes,” He abruptly replied before looking back to his phone and moving to add you to his contacts. However, as Atsumu’s fingers hovered over his keyboard, he realized something. “I didn’t get their name,” He spoke, looking up to Osamu as if he would have a solution.

The gray-haired twin immediately began laughing at his brother.

“Shut up, ‘Samu!” Atsumu exclaimed, moving to kick his brother.

Osamu hardly dodged his brother’s attack, unable to move swiftly from laughing so hard. “You’re such an idiot, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu said in between his laughs as he moved over to get to Suna.

Atsumu groaned loudly and turned to be by himself. He looked down at his phone, debating what to put as your contact.

Would it be too weird to put a pet name, he wondered.

Finally, after debating for some time, he decided to simply put your contact names as ‘Baby’.

Maybe I’ll change it once I know their name, he reasoned before turning back to his team and interjecting himself into Suna and Osamu’s conversation.

He never did change it though.

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART EIGHT

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: snuggling, tiny amount of bodily injury  Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: I’ve been on a tiny bit on a hiatus, but here you go! Thanks for all of your support! I love you 

taglist: @valleyd0ll @satingrass-maidensfair @guitarfingers @thebohemianpenguin @peaceisouranthem @oblvions @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96 @lara-gvf @anditsmywholeheart @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies @bigblack-catattack​ @myownparadise96​

MASTERPOST 

Kate was missing from class on Friday, to your deep dismay. You had been hoping to tell her about how shitty Trevor had been, but instead, you received a text that she had overslept her alarm and decided to just stay home.

That left you and Josh alone at lunch, just like you had been at the beginning of the year. He was excitedly explaining that there were a few kids in his production that you would “absolutely love”, and you had to agree.

“They’re catching on so fast. Rachel gave them some not-so-easy routines to the choreography, and they’ve almost got it down. I feel like that’s tough for kids so young, you know?”

You couldn’t help but grin as he spoke with such candor.

“I was doubtful that they would be able to get it, but she insisted that they could,” he finished, grabbing his bottle of water and lifting it to his mouth.

You had your lips open to reply until you caught sight of his hand; the knuckles were bruised just lightly enough that you couldn’t tell if it was just the lighting or not. As soon as he caught you eyeing it, he went to set the bottle back down.

“What happened?” You laid your hand down on the table, palm up as a gesture for him to take it. Reluctantly, he did, and you took a moment to inspect.

“It’s nothing, I’m just clumsy,” he said, pairing his assurance with a sweet smile.

You frowned at him in disbelief. “No, you’re not; I saw you make that shot across the room with your sucker stick the other night. You’re very well coordinated.”

He stared into your eyes for a moment as he gauged your reaction, and then hummed amusedly. “It’s really not that bad, it just looks gross. Just a musical mishap.” You shot him a look, to which he quickly replied, “Don’t worry about me, ‘kay?”

Not sure what else to say, you pushed forward the ziplock baggie of apple slices you had been munching on. He reached in and plucked one out for himself.

“Do you want to have a movie night with me tonight? You could invite Kate if you want.”

The offer made you genuinely smile, though you hadn’t quelled the long list of questions you still had.

“That sounds lovely. I think we have string cheese, so we could make homemade mozzarella sticks or something.”

He was looking at you in an oddly serious fashion, and you weren’t sure what he was going to say until he opened his mouth. “Hell yeah.”

+++

You hadn’t considered that you’d have to see Trevor again so soon, or rather - you did, but you had been pushing it to the farthest corner of your brain, not at all ready to think about it. So that’s why when you were sitting in class and he walked in, your stomach lurched.

You tried to keep looking straight ahead, but it only lasted so long before you couldn’t help yourself. He was sitting as far away from you as he could get, but it still wasn’t terribly far.

He had his eyes firmly on his desk, head tipped down. His posture was crumpled in on itself, and you could only imagine how embarrassed he was - or at least you hoped he was. At the very least, you knew he should be.

Until the end of class, you kept yourself busy - even tried to actually pay attention, but when you were dismissed, you let out a relieved breath.

You stood and collected your things, then promptly headed for the door.

On the way out, he looked up and met your gaze, and the sight of his face made the air catch in your lungs.

The skin around his left eye was stained a purplish-grey, his brows tipped down into a scowl.

You hadn’t hit him that hard, had you? A whole cocktail of emotions flooded your brain, and you bit your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from him as you exited the room.

Your pace was a bit faster than usual, which is why you beat Josh to the B doors by a couple of minutes.

Could slapping someone give them a black eye? You thought yes, but there would have to be some real force behind it. You were pretty sure that you’d have to wind up to get him that good.

“What’s wrong?”

You hadn’t even heard Josh approaching you, so it made you startle just enough for him to notice. He put his hand on your back in a comforting gesture.

“Ah, sorry. I was just thinking,” you replied, giving him a weak smile.

“About what?” he chanced softly.

“Nothing - not a big deal.” You started off walking, him right by your side, matching your pace.

  “How are things going with the play? You haven’t even told me what it’s about yet.”

His face lit up. “You haven’t asked. We’re doing Alice In Wonderland. Some of the songs are original.”

“What, like you wrote them?” you asked, looking over at him with a shocked expression.

He nodded, laughing under his breath. “Rachel is working on the wardrobe; costume design and all of that. I have the sculpture class working on the props and set, but they can only come like once a week.”

“Do you need any help?”

He looked over at you, surprised. “Do you want to? Can you paint?”

You shrugged. “Kinda. I mean, I can make it work. I’m not perfect, but it’s manpower, at least,” you admitted.

“No, no - any help would be amazing but don’t overexert yourself. You need to still work on your stuff.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “I’m happy to help.”

+++

You had texted Kate at lunch asking if she wanted to come for a movie night, as Josh had suggested, and she had eagerly agreed. You were still surprised, however, when she showed up with a handbag full to the brim.

You watched her pull out a bag of kettle corn, a few little glass bottles of nail polish, some packets of face masks, a stack of DVDs, and a bottle of white wine - all while chatting you up about her morning.

“This looks like just a girl thing, so I’ll leave you guys to it,” Josh said, not a shred of animosity in his tone, but you frowned up at him from the couch as he stood.

You went to open your mouth to protest, but Kate beat you to it. “Oh, no, you should stay. I brought three masks.” She fanned them out like a deck of cards in her hand.

He raised his eyebrows at her, looking rather impressed. “Oh.”

“You do want nice skin, right?” she prompted.

“He has very nice skin,” you replied in his defense, making her shoot you a look.

“Everyone has room for improvement,” she quipped back, as Josh just shrugged at you.

“I’m down,” he agreed, taking his seat again on the couch. “Are we watching a chick flick?”

“Well, I brought some choices. Otherwise, I’m open to suggestions if you guys have any good ones.”

“Maybe we should let Josh pick,” you suggested. “Since he’s going to be the one really watching it while we do nails.”

She smiled at you and then him. “You heard her - gentleman’s choice.”

“So, if I pick Human Centipede,” he started through a shit-eating grin.

You lovingly rolled your eyes at him. “If you own Human Centipede, I’m going to be moving out.”

He tipped his head back and laughed unabashedly.

In the end, he picked a rom-com, which you knew he would, and took a seat next to you on the couch. About a quarter of the way through, you realized that Kate didn’t have a lot of intention of actually watching a movie, per se. It seemed that she was more interested in using it for background noise.

The night was therapeutic. Everything felt easy. You found yourself laughing genuinely, leaned in to watch as Kate dabbed a wet washcloth over Josh’s nose, causing him to scrunch it up in distaste. She immediately scolded him, explaining that it had to be wet for the mask to work right, and he needed to sit still.

Once it was on, you couldn’t help but snap a picture of him as he play-pouted at you, his bottom lip jutted out.

It wasn’t until your nails were finished that you started to feel a chill. “Does it feel cold in here to you?” you asked.

Both of them looked at you questioningly.

“Maybe just a little bit,” Kate agreed.

Wordlessly, Josh stood and grabbed a thick blanket from the basket by his side of the couch and then spread it out of your laps. You had thanked him, and that had fixed the problem for then, but by the time Kate was packing her stuff up and ready to leave, you had a chill you just couldn’t shake.

As soon as she was gone, you turned to him and frowned. “You really aren’t cold? Like at all?”

“It’s a little cold, yeah,” he agreed, but you sensed it was mostly to make you feel better. “Do you want a sweatshirt?”

You nodded, giving him a grateful look.

“I hope I’m not getting sick,” you mumbled.

He frowned at you, rubbing at your shoulder. “Hang on, I’ll check the thermostat.”

His feet made a patting sound as he crossed the hardwood; a sound that had become a comfort to you.

“Hmm, it is colder than usual in here. I’ll turn the heat up,” he replied, and then a moment later, he finished. “The heat isn’t kicking on for some reason.”

You shot him a concerned look, suddenly terrified you were going to freeze.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, where are you going?” you asked as you watched him make his way to the front door.

“Just into the hall, sit tight.” With that, he disappeared.

You pulled his sweatshirt on and sat back onto the couch, your knees tucked up to your chest and the blanket up to your neck.

When he got back in, he gave you a sympathetic look. “Apartment 4 said that theirs is working just fine, so I think I’m going to call the landlord.”

“It’s 9:30 at night,” you reminded him, brows tipped up in concern.

“Yeah, but heat is kind of an emergency here in the winter.” The phone was already up to his ear as he spoke. You could hear the line ring and then someone pick up on the other end. He explained the situation to her with ease at first, but he seemed to quickly lose his patience with her.

“That’s absolutely ridiculous,” he snapped, filling a tea kettle with water. “It’s going to get freezing in here tonight.”

Then a pause, and you could hear her responding pointedly.

He let out a huff. “We don’t have the money for that. What are we supposed to do?”

You could hear him relent, just by the tone of his voice. He thanked her and then promptly hung up. You waited for him to come over, two cups of tea in hand, before you threw any questions at him.

“Well?” you asked, knowing full well that nothing had been accomplished.

He exhaled a long breath. “She said she’ll get someone on it later tomorrow, and if we wanted it fixed tonight, we’d have to pay for it upfront and she’d pay us back minus the emergency fee.”

You frowned but still reached your hand out of the blanket to set comfortingly on his knee. “It’s okay. Thank you for trying.”

“We’ll pile the blankets on you tonight,” he promised.

But even with - what you were sure was - twenty pounds of blankets, you were cold in your bed. You laid, staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour, trying to will yourself warm. You even tried moving around a bunch under the blankets, hoping to produce enough heat from friction, but it was no use.

You had known what you were going to have to do just moments after settling under the covers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it until you started to shiver involuntarily.

You let out an annoyed huff and pushed the covers off. It wasn’t until you were out in the open air that you realized how much warmer it actually was under the covers.

You crossed the hall, poking your head into Josh’s doorway.

“Josh,” you whispered into the dim room, and he stirred instantly.

“Yeah,” he responded, a rasp in his throat.

It took you a second to work up the courage to ask, “Can I sleep in here tonight? I cannot get warm for the life of me.”

“Yeah, of course.” His reply came after a moment of him shifting over for you.

You rushed back to your bedroom, snatching the blankets off of the bed. They were too thick to really bunch them up in your arms to carry, so you ended up half-dragging them over. When you returned, he held the comforter open for you.

“I hope I’m not intruding.” You climbed in, quickly pulling all of the blankets over you as he helped you situate them comfortably.

He shushed you assuringly.

“Why is your bed so warm?” you complained, shuffling down until the blankets were up to your chin.

The smile on his lips could be heard through the hum he let out. “I’m used to the cold. I’m sorry to tell you that this isn’t even close to the coldest it’ll get here. You probably haven’t had to make your own body heat much back home.”

“This is literally like body heat donation for the needy,” you teased, turning in bed until you were facing him. “Can I lay where you were laying?”  

“What, no,” he said through an incredulous laugh.

“I bet it’s so warm though,” you whined. “Feel how cold my feet are.”

You shifted until you could press your toes against his bare ankle, making him jolt.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “If you want the heat you’re just going to have to come over by me.”

You took a second to gauge that response, trying to find any evidence of teasing in his tone. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“How do you wanna do this?” His tone sounded like it was inching toward disbelief.

Through a frown, you asked, “What do you mean?”

The sound of him quietly clearing the sleep from his throat filled the otherwise quiet room. “Just. I don’t know, do you wanna put a blanket between us?”

You giggled breathily at him. “No, I’m too cold to be worried about modesty, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay, I’m just going to lay here and you just situate yourself however feels comfortable for you.”

Without any hesitation, you scooted toward him until your chest was flush to his side, your chin rested against his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” you inquired, snuggling deeper under the sheets.

The warmth was heavenly.

“Your skin is fucking freezing,” he mumbled, clearly close to sleep again already.

“Good, so you see that the situation is dire,” you quipped, wriggling your fingers until he let you slip them between his chest and his bicep. His muscles jumped, and you could tell just how cold your skin was just from the way he felt hot to the touch.

He breathed a laugh, and in a teasing tone, agreed, “Life-threatening, I’d go so far as to say. Wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

You agreed, pressing your nose against the sleeve of his shirt, and drifted off.

+++

When you woke, it was to the sound of his alarm. You felt him reach a hand out of the covers and flick his phone off, putting a stop to the shrill ringing instantly.

It took you a second to realize you were borderline hot. You couldn’t figure out why it was so dark until you realized that one of the sheets was almost completely over your head, blocking out the sun that shone through the slats in his blinds. You wiggled until your head was out from under the blanket, but quickly pulled it back up to your chin when you felt how the cold room made your skin prickle.

Once you got your wits about you, you wiped the sleep from your eyes, popping them open in shock when you realized the position you were in. You weren’t sure if it was him, or you, but somehow he had shifted in the night so that your chests were pressed flush together.

In his sleepy state, he placed his hand on the back of your head, pressing your face back into his neck where it was positioned - unbeknownst to you.

With your nose touching his skin, you could feel his pulse on the tip of it, slow and steady - like he wasn’t really awake. The smell of his cologne was familiar to you now.

“Josh,” you whispered, tipping your head up until you realized the limited mobility you actually had.

He hummed, and you knew the second he was conscious because his muscles tensed all at once before loosening enough to release you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as you untangled your legs from his. “I must have really been out.”

“It’s okay, I was too.” You looked up at him with a smile. “We survived the night.”

He hummed through tilted up lips. “That’s good; I would have been really upset if you died in my bed.”

After a moment, you groaned a complaint. “I do not want to get out of bed. I know it’s going to be fucking freezing. If we move out of here, can we go somewhere warm?”

He tilted his head over to meet your eyes with a subtle smirk.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he replied. You were contemplating pressing further, but he spoke again. “I’m staying home today from school so I can be here when the repairmen come.”

You frowned. “Do you want me to stay instead? Or with you to keep you company?”

“No, I’ll be good. You need to go to school and stay warm.”

You grimaced at him, secretly wishing he had asked you to stay so you didn’t have to get out of bed.

“Okay, you’re sure?”

He laughed at you. “Yes, you should get moving. Feel free to wear any of my warmer clothing.”

You shot him a grateful look before closing your eyes and throwing the blankets off of yourself.

[falling-pages]

Fight for me: Hikaru x Renge

Renge tends to Hikaru's wounds after he gets in a fight to defend her.

-

Renge Houshakuji x Hikaru Hitachiin

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, first kiss

Warnings: None

-

Hikaru knew how to throw a punch, but holding his own against three men was above even his own skill level.

It was amazing he had lasted so long in the fight until Mori spotted him and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, tossing him from the circle and finishing the fight himself. Those three upperclassmen didn’t stand a chance--yet he felt his blood run hot at the thought that he had to be saved when he was trying to save someone else.

Toui Kendarishi and his dumb fucking mouth just had to get under his skin, again.

A sharp scrub against his cheekbone jerked him back to reality. He hissed, going to swat at it, before the girl grabbed his wrist and pushed it back down.

“Don’t get mad at me, I’m just trying to help you,” Renge grumbled.

Yeah, some help she was. With every dab of the cotton ball and slab of ointment he relived every moment of the fight, every right hook and gut punch and kick he had endured for her, and she had no idea. The only soothing thing about this therapy appointment was her nails scratching his scalp, but only to distract him from a bad bout of pain.

He only rolled his eyes, jerking away as she moved on to his mouth. “I know you didn’t just roll your eyes at me,” she said, tugging at his bottom lip. His top lip had taken the brunt of Kendarishi’s fists, and all he tasted was his own blood in the back of his throat. He was sure he was a monster to look at, blood staining his teeth and tongue. As it dried against his skin, Renge thumbed it away, smearing it against her hand before she took a washcloth to it.

“So observant,” he hissed, resisting the urge to spit at the taste clouding his senses. Sarcasm was his trusted defense mechanism, and he relied on it heavily now to distract himself from the feeling of her fingers playing with his lips.

A harsh scrub against the wound was her own way of backtalk. “Sass me again, and I’ll stop, and you can explain to Kaoru why you look like a fucking Picasso,” she said.

“Tch.”

But he listened. The blood and spit and pain rendered him essentially mute, much to her amusement, as she worked. His eyes wandered around her bathroom, impossibly pink and frilly for a college apartment. Like the rest of her place, it was like Paris had vomited itself inside, the chunk of the concoction muddled in the bathroom. A pink fuzzy rug was below him as he was perched on her gilded toilet, a gaudy shower curtain boasting images of the Eiffel Tower, and even her mirror was embossed with rhinestones. Everything, from the toilet paper pile to the cosmetics cases, were perfectly stacked and organized, with not a speck of dust or dirt to be found.

Geez. And he thought her shrill demands of perfection in high school were bad. Their host room was spotless thanks to her dictatorship, but this was on another level.

“Admiring the bathroom, I see,” she said, sucking in her cheek as she fiddled with opening a band-aid. Her nails, long and purple, couldn’t quite find the purchase to pinch the covering from the adhesive side.

His life and health were quite literally in her hands, but Hikaru couldn’t hold back the snicker from his bleeding lips. “It’s mental,” he said, reaching up to help her with the band-aid.

Renge ripped it away from him, glowering down her nose at him in the most egregious French expression she could muster. He hadn’t known her in France, but he imagined that was the look she gave every servant, every waiter, every busboy who didn’t fit her exact demands. “I’ve got it,” she spat, turning her back to him. Her shoulders shook, but because of the effort of unpeeling the band-aid or some unknown emotion, he didn’t know.

“Here,” she resumed, turning to face him, and Hikaru’s heart cracked at the tears welling up in her pretty brown eyes, the heaviness in her voice. It sounded so heavy, despite its usual nasal tone, and exhausted, defeated. What had she gone through when her back was turned?

He made her cry. He knew he could take the teasing too far sometimes, but bringing a girl to tears was childish, a middle school prank he had sworn to leave far behind him. But he had done it again, not even to a nobody, but to the girl who was fixing him up, his friend, whom he had grown up with and bruised two ribs defending.

As she leaned down to apply the bandage to his cheek, he tried to meet eyes, to apologize without aggravating his poor lips, but she evaded his glance, pursing her lips and focusing on her work. Her hands shook, lightly grazing his temple.

“Renge, hey, I’m--” he grabbed her wrist, and she jerked away, stepping back until she hit the wall. His voice forced more tears from her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands as she sobbed, massive pink bow bobbing with every movement.

“Just stop, Hikaru, stop!” she yelled, muffled by her closing throat. “I can’t take it anymore. I can’t keep stitching you back up when you snap, I can’t take how mean you are. We aren’t in school anymore, we’re adults, we’re in college, and you’re just puffing your chest like you’re invincible, picking fights and losing them.” She finally showed her face, anger and fear and… something he couldn’t place etched into the lines beneath her eyes. “You want to know what’s mental?” She gestured to him, waving her hand up and down his whole form. “This is mental. You getting into fight after fight and not learning a damn thing from them, that’s what. It’s amazing you didn’t break your nose.”

Blood and anger coiled in the back of his throat. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm again, firmer this time, and yelled out, “I did this for you! I got in this fight for you!”

Renge pressed further against the wall, but she stopped fighting. Her hands shook in his tight grasp. Eyes as big as a silver dollar gazed up at him, heart thrumming wildly in her chest. “What?”

“I got in a fight with Kendarishi, right?”

“Yes.”

“And who is he to you?”

Renge blushed, letting her eyes drift to his chest. She spotted a new bruise mottling on his collarbone. “My ex-boyfriend.”

“Exactly.”

Hikaru released her wrists and watched as they fell to her side, like all the resistance had been sucked out of her. “Every time I fight with him, it’s because he said something bad about you. And then he started saying stuff about me fighting for you, so I just can’t win. I just have a lot of motivation and a lot of anger.”

“Why do you care so much what he says about me?” she asked, still not meeting his eyes.

“Because it was some bad stuff, Ren,” he said. “And I know we haven’t always gotten along, but you’re my friend, and I’m not gonna stand there and while he calls you a ‘fucking French whore who screws every guy she meets.’”

She swung at him, but he blocked, whining, “Hey, he said it, not me!”

When he put his hands down, she was shaking, with rage and sadness and something that looked an awful lot like determination in her eyes. “Bold of him to call me a whore when he’s the one who cheated.” Her hands ball into fists, and her eyes scanned him again--with a less medical glare, this time, and more of a vengeance. “And he did this to you?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be back.”

“Wait!”

Hikaru grabbed her by the back of her shirt and suddenly realized exactly how Mori must have felt watching him fight it out on the academic lawn. Renge’s feet scrambled on the tile, but he held her in place, dragged her back in front of him to block her path. “What, so you’re going to go fight him now since he fought me?”

“That’s not a good enough reason?” she pouted.

“No, but…” Hikaru rubbed the back of his neck. “You were just lecturing me about fighting him. Seems a little hypocritical to me, Ren.”

“Don’t use words you don’t understand,” she huffed, leaning back against the wall. She didn’t fight him when he leaned in closer, securely caging in her body. “You were just defending my honor. Let me do the same.”

“Mori dragged me out of the fight, so I’d say he fucked them up good enough,” Hikaru said, and his heart thumped especially hard when she laughed. Oh God, it was like the tinkling of a bell, cool and clear and exactly what he imagined confectioner’s sugar to sound like. He felt himself dragged with a current, down the slope of a well, but he didn’t mind; he looked into her eyes and allowed the feeling to bouy him along. If he weren’t bleeding, he might have just kissed her, but he didn’t need her slap adding to his injuries.

Renge’s breath hitched when he leaned closer, resting his forearm parallel above her head. She was so busy in high school that she never noticed how soft his eyes were, almost golden, like the rising sun over a field of wheat. It reminded her of mornings on her family’s country estate, when she would meditate and do yoga and drink tea while the world quietly joined her in consciousness, when everything was soft and drowsy. Such beautiful eyes, bruised and marred and bloodied for her.

“Renge, I--”

“Don’t,” she whispered, lacking her usual venom. “Let’s enjoy what we have right now.”

Hikaru bit his lip, immediately regretting it as the pain surged back through him. When Renge laughed again, he couldn’t help it; he leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, drinking in that sweet, drawled perfume that he so often used to make fun of her for wearing. She smelled like a doll, but she was anything but--smart, outspoken, a firecracker all wrapped up in that pretty pink bow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lowering his hand to her hair without thinking. He caressed the silky locks, trailing his fingers down to touch her temple, tucking the stray hairs behind her ear. “And so soft.”

“You know I’m anything but soft,” she grumbled, but his touch was warm, and like a moth to a flame, she went to him, brushed her knuckles against the bruises on his collarbone. If it hurt him, he gave no indication; from the way he was looking at her, an asteroid could have hit earth and he probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Sound pretty soft right now.”

Renge rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“Gonna make me?”

Never one to turn down a challenge, Renge pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed him, as gently as she could manage. In an attempt to avoid his wound, her mouth only landed on half of his, but he could still taste the cinnamon on her breath, the stickiness of her lip gloss on his skin. Some hell of a first kiss, but at least it was a kiss, so he didn’t mind.

He ran his hands up her sides, tickling her ribs above her shirt. She broke the kiss with a giggle, bumping his nose with his as she threw her head back in laughter. What a beautiful sight he had there, all at the expense of a busted lip and a bruised eye.

“Remind me to get in a fight more often, if this is the payoff I get,” he whispered, grinning at her pointed glare.

“Don’t you dare,” she ordered. “You need to let this lip heal so I can give you a proper kiss.”

Hikaru raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a proper kiss?”

“No.” Renge lowered her eyes back to his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back in. “Once you’re healed, I’ll show you how the French really kiss.”

-

Kofi & Commission

[troublesomeshika]

Come back (pt 2)

shikamaru nara x gn!reader word count: 1.5k warnings: swearing, some blood, angst part 1, part 2

It had been days since you’d left your house. Unable to even look at the door without breaking down, you’d mainly stayed in your bedroom, only coming out to cook meals. You knew you had to leave at some point, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Not when you could run into him at any moment. It wasn’t like you’d had a reason to either, you were enjoying some well earned time off. If Shikamaru had to gall to assign you to another mission now.... well you were just glad he hadn’t.

As soon as the thought finished forming in your head you heard something at the window. Glancing over, a small bird was perched on the window. You let out a groan. Of course. You went to run your hands through your hair, but felt the dirt and grease that was the result of only showering once in the past week. It wouldn’t do to show up to the Hokage’s office like this, especially if he was going to be there. Sighing, you walked to your bathroom to begin the process of making yourself presentable. Once you were ready, you stared at yourself in the mirror. “Okay, deep breathes. Just don’t look at him, it’ll be fine.” You exhaled, slipped on your shoes, and left your house. The walk to the Hokage’s building was terrible. Every step made your head and heart jostle around. Aside from the headache you were quickly developing, every step confused your feelings. You had no clue how you would react when you saw Shikamaru. You knew every part of you would want to return right to his arms and apologize. You should apologize, but you couldn’t. Because he was at fault too. He’d hurt you, and he was going to know that. Just because you couldn’t imagine your life without him back then, didn’t mean you weren’t going to do your best to prove you were doing just fine on your own now.

You hurried to the Hokage’s office, knowing the extra time spent cleaning up would be for nothing if you made Lord Kakashi wait. You knocked lightly on the door before hearing a “Come in.” from inside. Deep breathe in, deep breathe out. Rolling your shoulders back, you opened the door and stepped inside. You bowed, “Lord Kakashi, you summoned me?” You flashed a smile as you focused your eyes on his, resisting the urge to glance at the figure standing beside him.

“Yes, I understand you just came back from a month long mission about a week ago, but we are short on ninja currently.” You nodded. “I’m going to have to send you out again, I’m very sorry.”

“Of course, I understand my lord. I’m happy to do my duty.”

“Yes, thank you. The mission details are on this scroll,” he slid a small scroll across the desk, “and due to how short handed we are currently, there will only be two of you on this S-rank mission.” You reached forward, “You’ll be transporting highly classified information alongside Shikamaru.” You’d just picked up the scroll and you almost dropped it. Trying to maintain your composure you stood straight up, gripping it tightly. 

“My lord, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t think that’s best, Shikamaru and I-”

“If I understand correctly,” the Hokage cut you off, “you and Shikamaru are no longer.... seeing eye to eye. Yes, he mentioned something like that,” you couldn’t stop yourself from glaring at the man who refused to look your way, instead, opting to inspect the wall opposite him. “However, I am not sending you on this mission as friends, or anything else. You are being sent on this mission as leaf ninja. Therefore, I expect you to... do your duty,” He repeated your words, training his eyes on you, “and complete the mission as quickly and safely as you can. Do you understand?” 

You nodded, the scroll digging into your palm as you tried to hold back your feelings. You weren’t sure if you were seconds away from crying, yelling, or just collapsing. But whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty. Every part of you wanted something different, every cell was fighting with the ones around it, tearing you apart on a molecular level. You swallowed the lump of emotion in your throat and managed a, “Yes, Lord Hokage.” You quickly bowed and excused yourself. Walking swiftly to the training grounds, you stripped off your jacket, throwing the scroll down on top of it. God, you couldn’t catch a break. Squaring up with the wooden target, you began throwing punch after punch. Your knuckles began to bleed lightly, but you continued, the target barely visible through your watery vision. You weren’t sure when the tears had started, or whether they were from sadness or anger, but they flowed steadily and silently. The only sounds were your grunts, the thwack of bare skin against wood, and the occasional crunch from something in the bushes. You paused, wiping your nose and cheeks with the palm of your hand. Breathing heavily, you let out a guttural sound. Deep breathe in, deep breathe out. You raised your hands again, ready to continue your assault on the wooden dummy, but after you pulled your arm back to throw the punch, your arm refused to budge from its position. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, there was still too much emotion within you that needed to be released, no, something else held you back. “What the fuck?” you exclaimed out loud. There was a soft crunch of grass behind you, and it dawned on you. “Motherfucker....” you breathed out. “Shikamaru Nara if you don’t let me go right now, I will rip you apart and feed you to Lord Hokage’s ninken.” 

There was a soft chuckle from behind you, “I don’t think they’d find me very appetizing.” 

“Bastard. I can’t believe you’re fucking laughing.” You spit, unable to turn to face him. You felt your arms move to your sides, and your body slowly turned around. You felt glad you’d stopped to wipe your tears, the only emotions left on your face were anger and annoyance. “You set this up. You walked out on me, and then you put us on a fucking mission together. What the hell?” you groaned, “And give me back my body already.”

“I think I’m gonna keep the jutsu in place a little longer,” he eyed your knuckles, “and despite what you may think, no, I didn’t set this up. I don’t want to be on this mission any more than you do, it’s a drag.” 

“Oh yeah? Because you’re in charge of mission assignments. Besides, you’ve lied to me before,” you sneered, “so forgive me if I no longer take you at your word.”

“God Y/N, it’s not my fault you believed everything I said! Besides, you practically shoved me out the door.” 

Your finger twitched, his jutsu was weakening as his focus drifted. “Yeah well, you were the one who walked out, not me.” 

He rolled his eyes. “What did you want me to do?” 

“Stay! Like you fucking promised you asshole!” You couldn’t even remember what it was you had been fighting about that night before it had devolved into shouting. Silence hung in the air between you, and a small drop of blood trickled down your fingertip.

“If it means anything, I love you.” 

"Could’ve fooled me. We’re gonna complete this mission, and when we get back, you’re going to put me on the first undercover mission that comes across your desk.” You were staring daggers into his eyes, trying desperately to ignore the pain so clearly evident on his face. 

“God you’re a hassle. Is that really what you want? First you want me to stay and now you can’t wait to get away from me? How am I supposed to understand you?”

You laughed, but it was devoid of any humour. “I don’t know, Shikamaru. You’re the genius. Why don’t you figure it out?” There was a bitter taste in your mouth as you stood in front of him. All you wanted was for him to wrap his arms around you so you could finally break down. But he didn’t. Instead he stood there staring at you.

His face twisted in a way you’d never seen. “Fine, you want your body back? You wanna run away from this? I may have been the one who walked out the door but it was only because you refused to face our issues. So go ahead,” his shadow retreated and you regained control over your muscles, “run away.” he paused, “You know I never thought I’d see the bravest ninja I know, who swore they’d never back down, running away from something. Guess even I can’t predict everything.” His eyes narrowed as you stalked over to your jacket, snatching up the scroll and throwing the jacket around your shoulders. Without a word, you turned your back on him, clenching your teeth and hiding the tears burning in your eyes. You tried to blink them away as they threatened to spill over. “The village gate. 2 hours.” you choked out trying not to let him see how your body was shaking like a leaf in a rainstorm. 

As he watched you walk off, Shikamaru sighed and dragged a hand over his face.

“God Y/N. What happened to all our promises?”

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.   ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.   ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.   ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

hi! i wasn’t planning on continuing Come Back, but I was persuaded! i’m playing the plot by ear, so i’m sorry if it’s not super great! feel free to message or send asks/requests!

- ☆  

[averykedavra]

Push My Luck

What’s this? Me posting a prompt pic on the same day as the prompt? Inconceivable! But analogince is The Best Ever, so I managed to do it! It’s enemies to lovers Ultimate, guys. You’re missing out.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! Title from Don’t You Go by All Time Low. You can find this fic on Ao3 here!)

Prompt: Pick your favorite Soulmate AU and write about it! I picked an AU where you receive a black mark where your soulmate first touches you, that turns colorful when they do.

Pairing: Platonic Analogince

Words: 6561

Warnings: death mention, swearing, arguing, insecurity, a very brief fight scene with one (1) punch, crying, a bit of anxiety

Virgil, as a rule, doesn’t take risks.

The world is a big scary place. Lots of ways to get kidnapped or mugged or threatened just by leaving the house. So he tends to do the bare minimum. He doesn’t speak up in class. He doesn’t talk to other kids. He doesn’t mention his soulmates or the fact that he hasn’t met them yet. When the guidance counselor asks him for the seventh time what his career goals are, he just shrugs.

Life is easier if he keeps stuff close to his chest. If he stays out of everyone’s way. If he gives people less of a reason to hurt him. Life is smoother if he hides and life is calmer if he’s quiet.

Life is safer if he lives and lets live.

And today he broke that rule, so is it any surprise that everything went to shit?

He didn’t even mean to. He’d heard the yelling and looked closer, just out of curiosity, and to know if he should start running. It wasn’t anything big. Logan and Roman were arguing in one corner of the hallway. They’d been giving each other dirty looks all through class, so it was no surprise. Virgil didn’t know what their problem was, but whatever. Not a big deal.

Then it actually sank in.

Roman and Logan were fighting.

Roman and Logan.

Roman? Yeah, sure. He wasn’t a great student, and sometimes he got a little passionate about stuff. Or a lot too passionate. He looked angrier than Virgil had really seen him, his hands flying around and his eyes narrowed, but still, it seemed pretty normal.

Logan, on the other hand--Logan was an honor roll student. Top of the class, probably gonna be valedictorian and go to Harvard and take over the world someday. He wasn’t the worst ever, but he was definitely stuck up, and he followed the rules like his life depended on it. Virgil had barely seen him raise his voice before.

And he was yelling.

Virgil couldn’t even make out the words, but he recognized several swears. Logan was ranting and his hands were balled by his sides and he was ignoring all the people staring at them. He looked like a bowstring, drawn taut and ready to fire.

What the hell had Roman said?

Virgil had inched closer, keeping several people between him and the argument. But he’s fucking short, a fact that perpetually annoys him, so he was forced to find an open spot pretty close to Logan and Roman.

They were inches from each other, face red. Virgil’s heart pounded in his ears as Roman’s voice pitched up. Fuck. He shouldn’t have come here--arguing was no fun to watch, and his breathing was already growing strained. Ugh, couldn’t they just stop? Logan was supposed to be responsible, right? And there should be teachers around.

Virgil tried to muscle his way back through the crowd, but nobody let him pass. Everyone was too focused on watching Logan and Roman tear each other apart.

He really hates this school sometimes.

So Virgil was stuck there, tapping on his leg and trying not to panic, hoping against hope that they’d shut up--Logan had called Roman a nasty name and Roman had fired back with something Virgil didn’t fully catch, but it sounded like a threat--Logan had tensed--

And Virgil knew.

In that moment, seconds before it all went to shit, he knew. He saw Logan draw tight, a bowstring, and he knew in an instant that this was gonna blow in Roman’s face.

Admittedly, though, he didn’t expect what actually happened.

He didn’t expect Logan to step forward and punch Roman.

In the shoulder. His fist hit Roman square in the fucking shoulder, and Roman stumbled back. It looked like it hurt. It sounded like it hurt, a dull thump that echoed through Virgil’s bones.

Suddenly, the entire hallway was silent.

Roman bent over and rubbed at his shoulder, grimacing. Logan just stood there, hand pulled to his chest, eyes wide.

Logan hadn’t meant to. Virgil could tell. He opened his mouth, probably to apologize, maybe to ask if Roman was okay--

“The hell?” Roman yelled, straightening. “Why the fuck did you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

Great. Goddammit, Roman, couldn’t you have shut your big mouth for two seconds?

To Logan’s credit, he didn’t immediately fire back. But the apologetic look on his face did harden. “I didn’t--”

“Fuck, that hurts, ow.” Roman gave his shoulder a final wounded glance, like he was mad at it for betraying him. “Christ. Specs, you’re an asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to--”

“You fucking hit me!” Roman yelled. And there it was. There was what Virgil was afraid of--the moment Roman snapped, stepping forward and raising a hand.

Virgil doesn’t remember his thought process. It was probably something like fuck fuck fuck.

But one part of him must have been like fuck no. Fuck no, they were not gonna have a fistfight with Virgil trapped watching them.

Without thinking, Virgil dove between them. He grabbed Roman’s wrist. He pressed a hand to Logan’s chest. And he yelled “Fucking stop, jeez, will you quit it?”

Silence so terrible it almost ripped Virgil open.

Both Logan and Roman were staring at him. Strangers. Strangers he’d barely talked to in his life. Who he’d just ran in the middle of, and what if they yelled at him, what if he got hurt or got in trouble, and the whole fucking hallway was watching, what was Virgil thinking--

Roman didn’t pull his hand away. Logan didn’t move. It was like Virgil had frozen everyone in place.

“Stop,” Virgil repeated, his voice shaky, “or I swear I’ll pull the fucking fire alarm to get you guys to shut up.”

His skin was tingling. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t unglue his feet from the ground. Eyes bore into him and Roman and Logan were still silent.

Roman whipped his hand away first. He cradled his wrist to his chest as if he’d been burnt. Logan just stepped away and left Virgil with one hand extended in open air.

The silence stretched on again.

Virgil felt, suddenly, that he’d fucked up. Deeply and fully. He felt--wrong. No, not wrong. But different, like he’d been skewed off his axis, like something was fundamentally off.

Logan was dead silent. Roman was staring at his wrist. He looked from it back to Virgil, and Virgil caught a flash of purple.

Oh, shit, had he hurt Roman? Good fucking job, Virgil, deescalation by further violence.

“Sorry,” Virgil stammered out. “Um, is your wrist okay?”

Roman just stared at him like he’d sprouted two heads.

Virgil glanced at Logan. Logan was also looking at Virgil, but more like Virgil had been diagnosed with a terrible contagious disease.

Okay, he’d expected backlash. He hadn’t expected whatever this was.

“What?” Virgil demanded.

Roman held up his wrist. A purple smudge where Virgil’s hand had been--a bruise, fuck--

Except, no.

It was a deep, shimmering purple, ridged like Virgil’s hand had been covered in paint when it touched Roman.

Virgil looked down just to make sure his hands hadn’t been covered in paint.

What.

The.

Fuck?

One palm was covered in red ink, the other in blue. And before today, they’d been black, because that was his soulmark. He’d sworn they hadn’t changed. But here they were, practically glowing, deep colors pooling in his palms--

Where he’d touched Roman and Logan.

Fuck.

Virgil slowly looked up. Roman had pulled up his sleeve and was staring at a blue splodge on his shoulder. Logan was still cradling his hand, and now, Virgil could see red on the knuckles.

“No,” Virgil blurted out. “Fuck no.”

He didn’t even feel guilty about it. Because no. No, these couldn’t be his soulmates, he must have touched someone else--

“You’re--” Roman shook his head. “Come on. You?”

Logan just stood there, clutching his hand, looking like someone had pulled the world out from under him.

Virgil’s words had dried up in his throat.

And that was when the teachers arrived.

And to make a long lecture short, Virgil is now in detention, seated at a desk between Logan and Roman like they wanted him to keep them apart. He’d tried to say he was just trying to break up the fight, but all the spectators had mysteriously vanished when the teachers showed up, so now he’s here. Drawing circles on his desk and sneaking glances at his soulmates.

His soulmates.

It wouldn’t even be so bad if it was Logan. Logan’s a little bit uptight but he’s smart, whip-smart, the kind of smart that leaves Virgil in the dust. He’s got a firm voice and knows all sorts of words and doesn’t hesitate to raise his hand. He’s in the debate club, and Virgil went to one of their meetings for Jan’s sake--and damn. He remembers seeing Logan on fire, eyes gleaming, making up arguments on the spot and making them sound concise as if he’d practiced them for days. Logan’s a tutor--he helps other students. He works okay in groups. He’s a little socially awkward, and Virgil doesn’t think he has many friends. But neither does Virgil, so it’s fine.

It wouldn’t even be so bad if it was Roman. Roman’s a little bit dramatic but he’s passionate, fiery, so certain that everything he says is worth listening to. He loves to do voices. He talks with his hands and lets them fly around like butterflies, wiggling his shoulders and beaming like just being here is the best thing to happen in the whole entire world. He’s a theater kid. Virgil got dragged to one of those plays once. Roman’s a good actor--Virgil hates to admit it, but he didn’t realize the main character was Roman until halfway through. They didn’t even give him a new haircut or anything. Roman just...stepped into someone else’s skin.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was one of them.

But it’s both. Red and blue, smeared on Virgil’s hands, invisible when he touches them like they’re stuck beneath his skin.

Both of them.

Logan and Roman.

Who just tried to fight each other.

Shit, why does the universe hate Virgil?

He groans and lets his hands fall to his sides. He glances at Roman, who is twirling a pen in his hands and pointedly staring at the ceiling. He glances at Logan, who is pointedly doing his homework, jaw clenched.

Virgil sits in the middle of them and has no fucking clue what to do.

The best option? Stay put. Shut up. Do what he’s always done. He’s lucky he only got detention, and he’ll still probably be grounded for this--he shouldn’t push his luck.

He runs a hand along the colors, remembering all the weeks and months and years they were pure black. He always wondered how he’d meet his soulmate. Who they’d be. How he’d manage to touch them with both palms first.

Now he’s found them.

And they fucking hate each other, and probably Virgil too.

And they’re sitting with him in silence, and the detention room is empty because the teacher left to file a report on them, and the door is locked but the windows are open and wind blows across Virgil, smelling like old leaves and asphalt and exhaust.

He should be going home. But he’s stuck here for another hour with two people who hate each other. And he’s been jammed between them, a peacemaker, a bridge.

Virgil isn’t good with peace.

But he’s not good with very much, so--why not try?

What does he have to lose, except for his afternoon and his life and his grades and his shaky reputation and the tolerance of the two people meant for him?

“So,” Virgil says slowly, and lets the word ring through the room. “We’re...soulmates?”

Roman glances at him, appears to decide it’s not worth it, and looks away. Logan just keeps scribbling on his homework assignment, but Virgil notices his pencil skids on the paper for a microscopic second.

And they fall into silence again.

Well, good job, nice try, time to give up--except fuck no. They don’t get to ignore him. Not after they got him in detention.

“Yo,” Virgil almost yells, clapping his hands. “Fucking talk to me.”

“And they say I’m the dramatic one,” Roman mutters, but he looks at Virgil, so that’s a start.

Logan, however, just groans and opens up his backpack. He pulls out some earbuds and plugs them into his phone.

“Hey, hey, no.” Virgil waves a hand at him. “Get those away from you. We’ve gotta talk about this.”

Logan mutters something that might be “Don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” But he doesn’t put in his earbuds, so that’s a start.

And Virgil takes a deep breath and he isn’t fully panicking yet. So that’s a start.

“We’re soulmates,” he says again, because maybe they haven’t fully grasped that.

“Unfortunately,” Logan agrees.

“Don’t remind me,” Roman groans, lolling back in his chair and letting his hair flop over his eyes.

“Fine, I get it, you hate me, I hate you, cry me a fucking river.” Virgil sighs. “But...like, shouldn’t we at least try? To talk about this? Soulmates are, like--a big deal?”

“The biggest of deals!” Roman declares automatically, like he’s made this speech a million times before. “Hearts and souls intertwined, chosen by fate to be each other’s companion, in love before knowing of love itself.”

Logan rolls his eyes.

“But,” Roman admits, his hand falling, “I must say that I didn’t expect--um, this.”

“Join the club,” Virgil mutters. “Well, sorry to ruin it for you.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Logan says, giving Roman a look.

Roman gasps and straightens in his chair. “How dare you! You were the one who--”

“Guys! Guys!” Virgil holds up his hands. “Please don’t kill each other, that’d be traumatizing.”

Roman gives Logan a sneer before turning away. “I suppose it would be unchivalrous to wound the bitch, not that that stopped him.”

“Chivalry is an outdated concept,” Logan snaps back, but he’s not actively trying to rip Roman a new asshole, so that’s a start.

Virgil takes another deep breath.

“So,” he says slowly. “We’re soulmates. What do we do now?”

“Preferably nothing,” Logan says. “I have homework to finish.”

“You’re doing homework in detention?” Roman shakes his head. “You’re such a nerd, it’s almost too much sometimes.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Logan asks. “Lounge about for an hour?”

“Beats me, I don’t want to be here.” Roman checks the clock and winces. “I’m missing theater practice.”

“You’re a theater kid,” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Well, at least I have passion for something, instead of being dry as dirt--”

“Guys!” Virgil yells.

Roman huffs and Logan turns back to his homework.

Ugh.

“Guys,” Virgil repeats, “can’t you have one civil conversation?”

“He hit me!” Roman whines.

“He’s an imbecile!” Logan says at the same time.

They turn to glare at each other over Virgil’s head. Virgil’s now beginning to understand why they hate each other so much--they get on his fucking nerves.

“Then apologize,” Virgil grinds out. “Say sorry and move on so we can actually figure out what to do.”

“Apologize?” Roman repeats like Virgil’s asked him to dance the tarantella.

“Yes.” Virgil leans back and folds his arms. “Fucking do it. Now.”

Logan gives Roman a long look. “Er...how is your shoulder?”

“It hurts,” Roman says.

Logan lets out a quick breath. “Ah. Well...I am...I should not have hit you.”

“Duh, Bill Nye the Science Tie, of course you shouldn’t have.” Roman rolls his eyes. “Kinda-apology kinda-accepted, I guess.”

“Your turn,” Virgil says.

“Ugh, do I have to? I wasn’t the one who caused injury!”

Virgil gives him his best do it or I will cut you glare.

“Fine.” Roman sighs loudly. “I...Logan. Today, I made you angry. I do that quite a bit. And you retaliated with violence, like a stupid caveman.”

Logan looks about to throw his pencil at Roman’s face.

“But,” Roman says hastily, “I should not have provoked you. It was very unprincely of me to be so cruel. So...I apologize. I guess.”

“Then I forgive you,” Logan says shortly. “I guess.”

“So we’re all good,” Virgil says. “I guess?”

From the looks on Logan and Roman’s faces, things are certainly not all good.

But what the hell. It’s a start.

“Great.” Virgil spreads his hands. “Now--what the fuck do we do?”

“We’re in detention,” Logan points out. “We cannot reasonably do anything.”

“We’re in detention,” Roman agrees, sounding like this is the greatest injustice he’s ever faced. “My moms are going to be really mad.”

“Tell me about it,” Virgil groans, because he’s realizing that yeah, his parents are gonna be pissed. “I’ll be grounded for like a month, thanks a lot.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Roman declares. “You were the one who decided to run into the fray!”

“Yeah, to stop you two from killing each other.”

“And why did you care?” Logan asks. It’s a sharp question, sharper than Virgil knows what to do with, and Roman’s own annoyed gaze falters.

“Because--” Virgil catches himself. He doesn’t actually have an answer. Not a real one. He just...did it. “Fighting would get you guys in trouble.”

Logan looks away, and Virgil feels like he’s said something wrong.

“Well, so much for that, Hot Topic,” Roman complains. “We’re all languishing together in this penitentiary.”

Virgil smirks. “Aw, you think I’m hot?”

Roman wrinkles his nose.

“Keep it down,” Logan mutters, bent over his homework again. “I’m studying for my trig test and if I fail, it’s your fault.”

“As if,” Roman says, and Virgil catches a hint of bitterness in the words. “You’ll get an A triple-plus no matter if you study or not.”

Logan sighs wearily. “They don’t give A triple-pluses, Roman.”

“A double-plus, then!” Roman waves his hand. “I wouldn’t know, I don’t get them like you do!”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Logan blinks. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“I don’t know, are you being accused of cheating?”

“That doesn’t even make any sense--”

“Guys!” Virgil yells. “I am so tired of being the taskmaster here--can we focus?”

“On what?” Roman snaps. “The fact that we’re soulmates? I’d rather not!”

“Soulmates don’t mean anything,” Logan says, slamming his binder closed with a snap. “They’re useless platitudes. Virgil, we don’t have anything else to talk about, so please be quiet and let me work.”

“Useless platitudes?” Roman somehow manages to look even more offended. “Do you have any sense of romance? Whimsy? Fate?”

“Fate is a human construct,” Logan says. “And soulmates have no bearing on reality.”

“Uh, my wrist is purple right now?” Roman waves it up and down. “I didn’t dip it in grape juice, did I?”

“I’m not saying they’re not real,” Logan says, spreading his own hand with red smeared on the knuckles like blood. “I’m saying they don’t matter.”

“Of course they matter!” Roman folds his arms. “Soulmates are the epitome of human connection, they’re someone you’re fated to be with--”

“If that’s the case,” Logan interrupts, “then why am I soulmates with you?”

Roman opens his mouth and closes it again.

“And me,” Virgil adds. “I exist.”

“And Virgil,” Logan says.

Roman gives Virgil a disappointed look. “Cute, but doesn’t make up for my other soulmate punching me.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“No, you didn’t!” Roman rolls his eyes and slouches further in his seat. “I shouldn’t have expected anything, you’re like allergic to emotions--”

“I’m not--”

“Guys!” Virgil groans. “You know what? Fine! I’ll fucking give up! Go sit in silence, I guess!”

“Wonderful,” Logan says.

“Fantastic,” Roman says.

So they sit in silence.

And Virgil could-should-wants to leave it there.

But he’s come so far already. And he’s not gonna give up. Not now.

These are his fucking soulmates, and they already hate him, so why not push his luck?

“We’re soulmates,” Virgil says slowly. “That’s not--that’s not gonna go away.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” Roman asks.

“I don’t know, accept it?” Virgil holds up his palms. “Soulmates may be bullshit. But they’re not bullshit to literally all of society. We’re gonna get questions. Lots of them.”

Logan nods, and for the first time, Virgil thinks he’s actually listening.

“I could make something up,” Roman says, but his voice is thin.

“No, Virgil has a point.” Logan rubs at his own knuckles. “Besides, half the school saw our little debacle earlier, so doubtless rumors are already spreading.”

“Great,” Virgil mutters. “Exactly what I needed. Attention.”

“It’ll be alright,” Logan says hesitantly. It’s so out-of-character for him and so different than everything else he’s said that Virgil almost chokes on thin air. “Doubtless they will forget in a few days, even if at first things are overwhelming.”

“Besides, nobody cares about you, anyway.” Roman winces under Logan’s incredulous look. “What? Nobody does! He’s, like, a freaking shadow demon--I didn’t know his name until two weeks ago!”

“Wow, thanks,” Virgil says. “Way to make a guy feel special.”

“And I hate to say it,” Roman adds, rubbing at his neck, “but those first few days? People will be on us. So many questions. They’ll want to know what happened.”

“Well...” Virgil summons his courage. “What did happen? I didn’t even hear what you guys were arguing about.”

Logan shifts in his chair and Roman looks uncomfortable.

“It was one of those snowball things,” Roman says, waving a hand. “Y’know?”

Virgil stares at him and waits for him to explain.

“Small stuff turns to big stuff.” Roman bites his lip. “I dunno, I made a comment during class, Specs got on my case about it, and it all just kind of escalated into a big huge mess.”

“What comment?” Virgil asks.

“Don’t even remember.” Roman shrugs. “I think Logan misused infinitesimal. He thought it meant really big but it actually means really small--”

“It has the word infinite in it!” Logan complains. “It is a misleading word!”

“Wait.” Virgil holds up his hands. “You got into a fistfight over one fucking word?”

“I wasn’t the one who tailed me after class to complain about it!” Roman defends. “And I wasn’t the one who made it a fistfight!”

“Jeez, L,” Virgil says, wincing, “that sounds pretty rough. Why’d you get so mad?”

Logan tightens his grip on his pencil. “Roman said, and I quote, ‘Seriously? Infinitesimal means really small! I thought you were the smart guy, why'd you make such a stupid mistake?’”

Logan’s voice dips in the middle and almost cracks at the end. It’s left there, fraying and tight, and fuck, Logan’s hurt. He’s pressing everything into himself, Virgil can tell, and he’s upset.

Virgil repeats the words in his head. They’re not too bad, really--but they also seem to have hit a giant nerve.

“Okay,” he says lightly, trying not to sound as lost as he is, “yeah, nevermind, Lo. I do kinda get why you were mad now.”

Roman shifts. “I--okay. Thinking back, it was not the most...constructive choice of words. But in my defense, he took it way too seriously!”

“Well, you were the one who lashed out like a little bratty baby!”

“You were the one who freaking punched me!”

“Guys! Fucking come on!” Virgil sighs. “Could either of you contribute, like, an ounce of constructive criticism?”

“I will if he does,” Roman says, and he’s half-pouting now. It’s fucking irritating in a way that bubbles up in Virgil’s chest and sets fire to his bloodstream. But Logan’s not any better, staring Roman down like he’s completely ready to go for round two.

“Constructively,” says Logan, “your comment was out of line.”

“Constructively,” Roman fires back, “shut your fucking mouth.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum. I do not engage with tantrum-throwers--”

“Oh, like you didn’t blow up at me?” Roman sneers. “Or would you say your temper is...infinitesimal?”

“You make one mistake!” Logan yells. “And this is what happens!”

Roman rolls his eyes.

“Why did you feel the need to point it out?” Logan throws up his hands. “What possessed you to announce, in front of the entire class, that I failed? I understand that you want to make a mockery of my mistake, but you could have had the decency to keep it to yourself!”

“Wh--” Roman splutters. “Mockery of your--I just made a joke! It was a joke, C-3P0!”

“Yeah.” Virgil looks at Logan and bites his lip. “I dunno, that kind of...sounds like a you problem?”

“It’s a me problem that he--”

“You made one mistake!” Roman stares at him. “You made one singular mistake, I teased you about it, and it’s not a big deal!”

Logan slams his hand on the desk. “It’s a big deal to me!”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t afford to make mistakes!”

Roman reels back like he's been slapped. “Well, if you get that pissy about one little screwup, why aren’t you upset that you fucking punched me?”

“I didn’t--” Logan presses his hand to his chest. “Roman, I--”

“Forget it.” Roman turns away. “Just forget it, I guess.”

Logan stares at him.

“I didn’t--” Roman swallows, staring at the floor. “I didn’t realize what I said. I say stuff without thinking sometimes, blurt stuff out--and I guess I was just--” He curls into himself a bit. “You’re smart, and you always know stuff, and I’m--I’m not. So I guess I--got excited that I could finally correct you. That you were...human.” He takes a deep breath. “And now my reputation is cemented as problem child, I might get kicked out of the play, and my parents are going to yell at me for eternity, so yay! Fabulous. Everything is bitterly jittery and not very glittery, and I, for one, would like to stop talking to you.”

Logan looks like he’s been slapped in the face. Roman huffs out a small, sharp laugh and starts playing with his pencil, looking like he’s holding back tears.

“Breathe,” Virgil murmurs. Roman glances at him quickly and takes a breath. Virgil gives him a little smile, and he thinks, for a second, he gets one in return.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says quietly. “For punching you.”

“Well, that just fixes everything, doesn’t it?” Roman glares at Logan with red-rimmed eyes. “I thought I told you to leave me alone.”

“Right.” Logan turns away. “Right.”

Roman sniffs once and is silent.

Logan slowly puts his binder away and lays his head on his desk, covering it with his hands. Virgil sees a flash of red on his knuckles. Somewhere on his chest is Virgil’s handprint, thick and purple.

They’re soulmates.

Virgil wonders if that’s why they can hurt each other so easily--they were made for each other’s hearts and know exactly how to break them.

He wonders if he’s fucked up by even trying to get those two to talk. Roman is crying. Roman is pressing a hand to his mouth and crying, and Logan has a hand fisted in his hair like he wants to tug it loose.

Virgil bites his lip, reaches out, and slowly pulls Logan’s hand away from his hair. Logan lets it drop limp to his side. Virgil scoots away and sits on his chair, drawing tornadoes on his desk, noticing idly that the teacher never came back. She just left them here, alone, and the air smells like exhaust and wet because it’s started raining. Virgil hadn’t noticed. It’s raining and the sky is iron-grey and he just really wants to go home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the desk. “If I just made things worse, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Roman says, his voice brittle. Virgil glances at him. He’s wiping tears away and attempting to smile. “You were the only one working at it, so it’s no wonder it fell apart.”

Logan is silent. Virgil expected nothing else.

These are his soulmates, and they hate each other and hate him, and he feels like he’s going to cry.

Logan shifts on the desk. He’s still covering his head with one hand like he can disappear through sheer force of will. Virgil stares at the red on his knuckles. Soulmates. Soulmates and here they are, a bunch of juniors in detention, broken beyond fixing.

He doesn’t even know why he tried.

He should have known better.

“Why did you try and stop us?”

Virgil jerks his head around. Logan’s still curled up on his desk. His voice is whisper-quiet.

“What?” Virgil asks.

“Why did you try to stop us from fighting?” Logan's hand curls on the desk. “I’d just hurt Roman, I deserved whatever he decided to do, why did you try to stop us?”

Virgil gapes at Logan. Roman’s quiet too, and when Virgil looks at him, he nods. He wants to know the answer.

So does Virgil, if Virgil’s being honest.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“You were freaking me out,” he says simply. “I wanted you to stop yelling, because I was afraid I’d get hurt.”

Roman looks away.

“And...and after that--” Virgil clutches the sleeve of his hoodie. “I dunno. You’re--you’re my soulmates, and--everyone says soulmates are supposed to get you. Be your friends, or whatever. I--” He curls tighter into himself, running a hand along the cold chair beneath him. “Let’s not make this any more emo than it has to be, but--friends. Those sounded...pretty cool to me, I guess.”

He chances a look up. Roman is watching him carefully. Logan is still a pile of hair and hands and shirt on the desk.

“I don’t...” Roman’s voice wavers, and he swallows. “I...I can understand that.”

Virgil stares at his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Logan says weakly.

“I know,” Virgil says. “So does Roman.”

“No, I’m really--” Logan pushes himself off the desk and turns to them. “I know, I know you don’t want to hear it, and I get that, but--Roman, I didn’t mean any of what I said. I promise. I was just--”

“A jerk?” Roman asks, but the jab falls flat, and Logan doesn’t even seem fazed.

“Yes,” he agrees. “I was.”

“You said it, not me,” Roman says.

“You also said it,” Virgil points out.

Roman gives him a glare.

“I was a jerk.” Logan cups one hand around his arm and begins to hug himself, looking at the blackboard instead of Virgil or Roman. Someone left a half-finished equation on there, and the chalk dust spells out all the faded problems before. Virgil catches snippets of dozens of different handwritings, none of them fully erased.

“You gonna continue?” Roman asks, his mouth lifting in a smile. “We don’t have all day.”

“I...” Logan chews on his lip. “I suppose I was...angry. I don’t like being wrong.”

“Nobody does,” Virgil says. “That’s normal.

“I just--” Logan takes a deep breath. “People always assume I’m just gifted. That I haven’t fought to have the grades I do. It’s completely illogical, since intelligence isn’t something you’re born with. I’ve tried my hardest to be where I am. And if I slip up, I’ll fail, and I’ll be right back at the bottom again!” He takes another deep breath, reaches down, and pulls out his binder. “I’m...I’m going to study now, if that’s alright. Feel free to talk.”

Roman and Virgil give each other a look. Then Virgil realizes he’s communicating wordlessly with a guy he hates.

Well, he doesn’t hate them. They hate each other.

Except right now, neither of them are glaring at each other.

It doesn’t erase much. The words are still there, etched in chalk and unable to be removed. But it’s a start.

And Virgil decides to push his luck just a little bit more.

“How do you feel,” he says slowly, “about us being soulmates?”

“How do you think?” Roman asks, his voice immediately souring. “I think we all made it pretty clear.”

“No, I mean--” Virgil waves a hand. “Yeah. We...we don’t like each other much. And we’ve clearly all got a lot of shit to work through. But--how do you feel about the idea? The, I dunno, possibility? That maybe one day...we wouldn’t have to hate each other anymore?”

“Sure,” Roman says. “That’ll happen. We’ll all just become best buds.”

“Roman,” Logan snaps. “You can say you don’t like me, you know.”

 “That’s not--” Roman pauses. “I wasn’t--I was thinking you wouldn’t like me. Actually.”

“What?” Logan blurts out. “Why on earth not?”

“Um, ‘cause we fought? I called you names?” Roman waves a hand at himself. “That wasn’t exactly soulmate behavior.”

“I hit you!”

“Only once!” Roman folds his arms. “And you’re...you’re smart, and stuff. You deserve--yeah.”

Logan stares at Roman for a very long time. “What can I do?”

“What?” Roman asks.

“What can I do?” Logan repeats. “How can I...begin to make things up to you?”

“You don’t have to--” Roman laughs a bit, but it fades away. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.” Logan nods. “I wronged you, and I want to make it right.”

“Oh.” Roman gives Logan a bit of a smile. “Um, thanks?”

“No problem. Now, how can I assist you...to make up for mistakes one might have made prior?”

“That aren’t a big deal,” Virgil reminds him, “and that you’re going to be better than, okay?”

“Right,” Logan says, and he looks so relieved--it’s like he’s an entirely different person than the one in the hallway.

Then again, Virgil met his soulmates and immediately yelled at them. They probably all have hidden depths.

“Well,” Roman says slowly, a smirk spreading across his face, “if it’s anything, I wouldn’t mind infinite access to all of your notes--”

“No,” Logan says.

“Worth a shot.” Roman groans and collapses dramatically onto his desk. “Now I’ll fail my test. Thanks a lot, Specs, you’re a real pal.”

“I could--” Logan pauses, but Roman doesn’t interrupt. “I could...tutor you? If you wished?”

“What?” Roman snorts. “Better men than you have tried and failed."

“I’m serious.” Logan points to hs chest. “Always am. I wear a necktie.”

“You wear a necktie,” Roman agrees, “and it’s fucking incredible.”

“I’m trying to help and you’re making fun of me!”

“No, it’s--” Roman shifts. “I think--you pull off the necktie. So it’s fine.”

“Oh.” Logan blinks for a few times. “Regardless. I would like to offer my tutoring services.”

“And like I said, don’t bother.” Roman sinks a bit. “I’m no good at school stuff.”

“I highly doubt that,” Logan says. “Most likely, your education experience has been lacking. But you’ve shown creativity before--mainly in the inventive insults you’ve thrown at me--and I think in a one-on-one environment, you could flourish much more.” Logan pauses. “If--if you’d like, of course.”

Roman watches Logan for a few seconds. “You know what? I might just take you up on that. Er...thanks.”

“No problem.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “I know it can’t begin to make up for everything, but I think it would be...a good starting place?”

“Yeah.” Roman shrugs. “And that’s kind of all we need.”

“Thank you,” Logan says. “And, of course, Virgil.”

Virgil jumps. He’s been just sitting here, kind of smiling, glad they’re finally getting along but feeling kind of like a third wheel. He should have figured his soulmates would like each other better--

“Virgil!” Roman declares. “Our dashing prince who rescued us from the jaws of hate and malice! A thousand thanks to thee!”

“Um--” Virgil blinks. “You’re...welcome?”

“You did wonderfully,” Logan says, smiling a little smile at Virgil that makes Virgil ‘s face burn. “You went above and beyond what was expected.”

“How can our relationship fail with such a tireless helper at the wheel?” Roman asks.

“Relationship?” Virgil repeats. “Uh, dude, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Virgil’s right,” Logan says. “Again. A, we are not in any sort of relationship. And B, any such partnership would come to naught if we only relied on Virgil’s expert advice and did no work of our own.”

“Yeah, good point.” Virgil nods. “I am not doing this again, sorry. Get a real fucking therapist, please.”

Roman nods and has the grace to look sheepish. Logan smiles at Virgil again. Fuck, a smile that cute should be illegal, Virgil’s going to perish. He’s going to die right here in this classroom and never make it out of detention.

“So...work.” Roman shifts. “Tutoring?”

“Tutoring.” Logan pauses. “And...perhaps exchanging numbers?”

“Forward,” Virgil says. “Buy me dinner first.”

“I can if you’d wish--”

“It’s an expression,” Roman says almost fondly. “But of course, I will gladly share my phone number.”

“Great, we can make a group chat.” Virgil grabs his phone. “And I get to make it, too, so I can name it whatever I want.”

“Oh no,” Logan says.

“Oh, yes.” Virgil smirks. “You’re my soulmates, you know. You’re stuck with me.”

“Falsehood.” Logan shakes his head. “I’m glad you’re my soulmate. You too, Roman.”

“What?” Roman looks about to cry again. “Really? I--well, you two are...prickly. But...I like you. You challenge me on my bullshit--not that I’m often bullshit-y, of course. It’s...it’s nice. To have you guys.”

Virgil looks between them. “You’re both assholes and I’m still mad that you got me detention. But--if you’re willing to give this a shot...so am I.”

“Take a leap of faith,” Roman agrees.

“Take a risk,” Logan says.

“Push my luck.” Virgil smiles. “If you’d like.”

Roman smiles back. “I would like nothing more.”

“Phone numbers?” Logan offers. “Then...perhaps we could arrange an outside-of-school meeting? We can think of it as a second chance to get to know each other?”

“Nah.” Virgil shakes his head and holds up his palms. “We already did. Don’t think we can change our first meeting, L.”

“Fair,” Roman says, rubbing at the purple on his wrist.

“But maybe that’s okay?” Virgil ventures. “It’s not perfect, but--it did get us here, in the end. Hating each other slightly less.”

“Speak for yourself,” Roman says, but he’s grinning. And even Logan is relaxing in his chair.

The rain thrums outside the window, the air smells like chalk and wet trees, and Virgil is starting to wonder if taking risks might be worth it after all.

If they lead to this--two smiling faces, close to him, and a world of possibility before them.

The future has always scared Virgil. Today, though, he’s looking forward to it. A future with them. A future where they could be friends. They’re not close yet, they’re not all good just yet, but they’re willing to try. All of them.

And that’s a start.

“No fighting, though?” Virgil asks. “Promise me that, at least. I’m done playing mediator.”

“I promise,” Roman says.

Logan nods.

There’s half an hour left of detention. But they spend it together, and Virgil’s shocked at how quickly time flies when he’s got people to talk to.

Possible-friends. Future-friends. And maybe Virgil will mess it up, and maybe he won’t, and right now things are...good. Things are good. Things are looking up. Things won’t be perfect, and things can’t be erased, but they can try.

Virgil rubs his colorful palms and smiles.

Life is safer when he lives and lets live. Life was safer when his palms were black.

But life is more beautiful, more colorful, when he lets himself live it.

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

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Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

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[everlarkficexchange]

Captain Strong VS The Mockingjay

Written by: @nightlock-1989

Prompt 170: Superhero/Catburglar AU: The jewel-thief Mockingjay has evaded The Capitol’s superhero, Captain Strong, for long enough, and the Merchants of the city have started putting pressure on the hero to bring the thief in for justice. The only problem? The Captain is the alter-ego of teenager Peeta Mellark, and his elusive nemesis is his high school crush, Katniss Everdeen. [submitted by @thelettersfromnoone]

@thelettersfromnoone I loved your prompt and I hope you enjoy what I did with it. This will have multiple parts. I’m not sure how many but we have to find out what happens next!

Rated T for language

Captain Strong VS. The Mockingjay

“PEETA, WAKE UP!” a shrill voice shouts from the other side of my bedroom door. Ugh, the opposite of what I wanted to wake up to.

“I’m up,” I holler. The pounding finally stops.

I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom I share with my brother Rye. He’s styling his hair and his eyes widen at the sight of me.

“You look like shit, Peet,” he says.

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter dripped with sarcasm while I reach for my toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Who did you sneak out to see last night?”

“I didn’t sneak out.”

“Yes, you did. You need to learn to be quieter.”

I lean my hip against the counter and point out, “Does it matter? Dad sleeps like the dead and mom takes enough sleeping pills that I’m surprised she isn’t dead. How she’s even awake right now amazes me.” I press my hand into the marble and hear a crack. Crap.

“What was that?” he asks.

I gently use my other hand to crack my knuckle.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “So which girl was it?”

“What girl?”

“The one you have been sneaking out to see?”

“I told you there’s nobody.” That’s a lie, there is. It’s the reason for all my sleepless nights.

“Fine, but one day I am going to wheedle it out of you,” he says with a gentle slap to my cheek.

“Driving yourself?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Good, because now that I’m a senior, I can be having a junior cramping my style.”

“You don’t have any style.”

Rye brushes past me and I lift my hand from the counter noticing the crack. Great… I’ll find something acrylic to break and blame it on that or something. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror before jumping in the shower. I do look exhausted. The bags under my eyes are making me look older than my sixteen-year self.

I decide I have enough time for a quick shower. The warm water is running against my back. I let the thoughts of last night roll.

In the last year, I have successfully defeated 9 supervillains. Not too bad considering I’m only 16 and have only possessed my powers for about as long. How a swarm of tracker-jacker stings caused me to develop super-strength and a host of other small powers I’ll never know.

The last 6 months, the Merchant sector of Panem has been hit with a host of robberies by a cat burglar called The Mockingjay. My mentor Haymitch says that from what he understands, she doesn’t possess any actual powers.

She’s been stealing things. I don’t condone it or anything but there are more severe problems that need to be dealt with than a bauble of Venia Stone’s. Since I’ve taken out The Crane, I find myself on a bit of a break which is why I’m sitting here, in Venia’s apartment, waiting for The Mockingjay. We have The Cornucopia Diamond in plain sight. I think it’s stupid, there’s no way she would be dumb enough to go for this. The most expensive item she has stolen has been valued at $150,000 and that was for a diamond and jewel encrusted white rose brooch from Mayor Snow’s penthouse.

This diamond is valued at $3.2 million. I sigh, sick of sitting in my corner blending in. I’m thinking about the first day of school I will be having tomorrow. I wonder if I’ll have any classes with—wait a minute, something is off. One of my other powers was slight intuition or something along those lines. I call it my mutt sense, pretty much since that time I realized I was being stalked by these weird hybrid mutts The Gamemaker sicked on me.

I slowly stand up. I may be good at blending in but I still stomp like an elephant. I slowly begin moving towards the other room when I spot her. I activate my forcefield. This is it; I’ve got her. I continue creeping towards her as she puts a ring in the pouch on her hip. She has on a dark gray, almost black skin-tight suit that fits her like a glove. It’s long-sleeved and has cloth draped from the arms that gives the appearance of wings. Her ass looks fantastic.

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a loud gait?” the voice says smoothly.

Shit…. She continues perusing the small jewelry box, pulling out a diamond tennis bracelet.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re not as stealthy as you think?”

“Never,” she says still rifling through the box.

“You’ve been caught, you can stop you know.”

“And miss out on a chance of battling Captain Strong? Absolutely not.”

Her hair is in a braided bun, black mask of feathers covering her eyes.

“Let’s just make this easier on ourselves.”

She turns to look at me and I get that feeling of intuition again. There’s something familiar about her eyes, even if I can’t get a good look at them.

“Now why would I do that?”

I approach her but she dodges out of my way. Damn, she’s quick. I stalk towards her and we dance around each other.

We somehow make our way onto the balcony, it’s fine though the forcefield is around the perimeter of the building. If she jumps, she’ll just bounce right back. Suddenly, she opens her mouth and the voice of an angel comes ripping out.

No superpowers, Haymitch? I beg to differ because that powerful singing voice of hers could bust through even my strongest forcefield. Oh, shit it actually has. The damn mockingjays are carrying her off the 22nd story penthouse before I know what’s happening. The fucking birds have actually stopped to listen to her.

“Let’s do this again sometime, Captain Strong,” she teases.

I’m in the science hallway heading to my first class of my junior year. Chemistry. The bell already rung about sixty seconds ago so I hustle. As I enter the classroom, Mr. Latier says, “Mr. Mellark, how wonderful of you to join us.”

“Sorry, Mr. Latier.”

“Take the empty seat,” he instructs pointing to the middle of the classroom.

I glance towards the table and freeze with terror. Me…. Peeta Mellark…. Captain Strong…. a Victor of Panem…. is about to face his biggest fear…. being close in proximity to his lifelong crush Katniss Everdeen.

[masonscig]

bittersweet

part one

pairing | felix x flor

word count | 1.6k

warnings | smut. minors dni.

author’s note | i had the idea to write a couple short things for felix and flor as they get navigate getting intimate with each other, so here’s part one! it’s inspired by the song bittersweet by greer (the lyrics are very felix pining after a detective that’s keeping them at arm’s length). this is for day one of hot in wayhaven, foreplay!

•─────────────────•

This is the farthest they’ve ever taken things.

Her hands are fisting the collar of his jacket and she’s got her tongue down his throat like her life depends on the intensity of this kiss.

He’s never been kissed like this.

She’s let him peck her on the cheek once or twice. One time she even initiated the kiss, a lingering one, when he drove her home after a night of drinking, but she blinked and pulled away as quickly as she’d started it, shaking herself out of it like she was in a haze.

That kiss was never brought up again.

It’d been a slow process to get her to open up to him – her hard exterior was still very much in tact, but he’d been wearing it down slowly and surely.

A delicate brush of the knuckle with his fingertips here, a gentle squeeze of her hand in support there. Nothing that’d lead him to believe he deserved a kiss like this.

Flor’s got him shoved against the sliver of brick wall next to the door of her apartment, kissing him with a fervor he didn’t know her capable of.

A few minutes before, Felix walked her from the parking lot to the front door of her apartment, her hands dug deeply in her jean pockets, her back rigid.

“Thanks,” she’d muttered as soon as they made it to her front door. She retrieved her keys from her back pocket, fumbling and dropping them almost immediately.

She growled in frustration, snatching them off the welcome mat (which was quite the opposite – huge bold letters reading “Fuck Off” wasn’t the warmest welcome) before Felix could bend down.

“Are you, uh, alright?” He asked timidly, bracing himself for impact.

It wasn’t that she took her feelings out on him – it wasn’t that in the slightest.

He just never knew what she was going to say. Sometimes she’d drop devastating emotional bombs on him in twenty words or less and just go back to normal like she hadn’t said a thing.

Other times she’d snap about how frustrated she was that she was even in this mess and that she never signed up for this life.

So when she finally opened up to him, years into Unit Bravo being stationed in Wayhaven, he had no idea how to react.

“No. I’m not. I don’t –” She grunted in frustration, running a hand through her short red hair before tying it in a bun.

The Wayhaven heat was unbearable that day; even the sun sinking below the trees wasn’t enough to cool the town off.

She crossed her arms above her head, resting her forearms against her hair.

“Something’s wrong and I don’t know what the fuck it is.”

He raised both brows in surprise. “Like, you sense something supernatural?”

“No, no, nothing like that I just – there’s something wrong with me and I can’t figure it out,” she struggled, clearly frustrated with her inability to articulate what she was feeling.

“If you’re feeling sick, I can take you to Elidor –”

She groans again, and kicks the brick with her boot. “It’s not that either.”

He shrugged. “Well, maybe you could sleep it off, ya know? If you’re not feeling better by the morning, I can go get you some snacks, uh, like those spicy chips you’re always munching on that Mason hates. Oh! And a movie and some candy and maybe some new pajamas, or like, a stuffed animal, maybe –”

She closed the gap between them, crushing her lips against him in a kiss he never anticipated, but enjoyed nonetheless. His back hit the wall, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

He’s still frozen, moving his lips against hers, but his shoulders are up to his ears. 

She’s never wanted me like this before. Why now?

Flor pulls back, her eyes half lidded, deep dark brown eyes trained on his lips.

“You’re what’s wrong with me,” she says, pressing her thumb into the base of his neck, running a rough line up his throat.

“Uh, me?” He stammers, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Yeah, you,” she pulls him in for another kiss, softer than the last, and he melts into this one without a second thought.

“You’ve never kissed me like this before,” he whispers against her mouth, humming when she sucks his bottom lip between her teeth.

She pulls back again, loosening her grip on his collar. “Do you not like it?”

“No, I do,” he starts. “I just don’t want you doing anything you’ll regret.”

“The only person I regret being with is Bobby Marks, and you’re not her. Not by a longshot,” she laughs once, the raspy sound harsh and grating.

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you or anything, I do, I just, uh, I kinda wanna take things slow. For now,” he reassures her, lifting his hand (daringly so) to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“So you wanna do over the pants stuff or makeout or what?” She quirks a brow, dropping her hands from his neck to his chest, the heat of her palms burning through the thin fabric of his button up.

His jaw pops open and snaps shut almost immediately – he can’t think of a response. His mind’s completely blank.

“Well, come in at least. We can figure out that later, I guess.”

She wiggles the key in the lock and shoves her shoulder against the door, grunting as it pops open. “Gotta get that fixed.”

Kicking it open, she gestures for him to come inside.

It’s dark and messy. The chair in the corner has practically disappeared under clean clothes, and the dishes are piled a mile high in the sink.

“Sorry for the mess. I’m never home.”

That explains the mess for sure, but there’s something about her apartment that he can’t put his finger on.

It’s like her home isn’t lived in, and in turn there’s not much evidence that this place is even hers in the first place.

When the lock clicks behind him, she’s pressed against him again, and his back is against the scratchy wood of the door.

He doesn’t know why he’s stepped inside if he has no intention of fucking her.

He likes those kisses and would gladly accept them if they kept coming, but… it’s too much too soon.

Felix wants to say these things to Flor, but the second her lips were on his, her hand sliding down his torso, tugging his shirt out of his pants, teasing the waistband of his shorts –

He’s forgotten everything he wanted to say.

Any morsel of resolve evaporates the second her fingers graze the skin above his shaft.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” she whispers against his neck, suckling and nipping between words.

“Why… didn’t you –” he asks, breathing labored, barely able to stifle the groan of anticipation when she expertly pops open the button to his shorts with one hand.

“I don’t think you want the answer to that,” she chuckles, her breath against his neck raising goosebumps across his skin.

Flor shoves his shorts and boxers below his ass, sinking her teeth into her lip at the first sight of his cock.

“You’ve been hiding that monster from me this entire time?” She muses, cupping her hand around his chin, tugging it upwards to kiss her.

He can’t help but laugh into her mouth, but any quip dissolves into soft moans when she starts to pump her hand.

While he’s writhing with each stroke, she uses her free hand to pop each button till his whole torso is exposed.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmurs, bending to pepper kisses across his chest, down his lean stomach, grinning when his stomach stutters at the contact.

She’s nearly on her knees now (still rubbing him off agonizingly slow) but she’s in full control. He wouldn’t dare try to take the reins when she’s making him feel like this.

“Flor…” he breathes, daring to reach out and touch her.

He tries to gently stroke her cheekbone but she traps his thumb between her lips, running her tongue across the skin of it.

“Do you… really wanna do this?” He asks, almost afraid of the answer.

She stops for a second, holding his gaze for a long while.

“I can’t think of any reasons why I wouldn’t wanna fuck your brains out, Felix. I like you.”

A grin tugs at her lips, and soon, he’s mirroring it with one of his own.

She takes that as an incentive to keep going.

When she drags her tongue up his shaft from the bottom to the tip, the pressure of her tongue ring makes his eyes roll back, his lids fluttering shut. “Oh shit –”

He’s anticipating the feeling of having her mouth around him, and he’s practically aching with anticipation –

“Fuck,” she says, standing while checking her phone, the tiny screen illuminating her face, casting shadows on her furrowed brows. “Tina’s sick. Douglas can’t run the place by himself.”

Flor’s already ripping her shirt off and grabbing a new one from the clean pile on the chair in the corner before he can say a thing.

“Oh, uh, maybe we can, um, finish this up another time?” He asks, tugging his boxers and shorts back into place.

“Sure,” she shrugs, not even looking at him.

It’s like she’s already forgotten she was jerking him off at the entrance to her home.

She’s back to being the same old Flor in a matter of seconds, and he’s left to figure out what he did wrong.

He watches her peel out of the parking lot, hands in his pockets.

As he walks towards the woods to head back towards the warehouse, Felix wonders if he should’ve come here in the first place.

[silvercrystalwhump]

Weddings and Wrecking Balls

TW: Owen Grant and everything that he entails, implied noncon, fear response to previous abuser,

Vincent Shield and Owen Grant belong to @ashintheairlikesnow

Tag List: @whumptywhumpdump

_

Vincent’s fingers run idly over the velvet seating of his limousine. Celebrity weddings are almost a yearly obligation of his to attend. Like clockwork, as spring rears its head a pair of camera-cooing stars drink until they forget about the temporary marriage they just created. To his disapproval, Vincent is expected to attend these events. His Publicist tries to get him in every photo, dance, and tabloid on the event as he could.

Today, however, is different.

Vincent looks up at Dmitri who sits across from him. Adorned in a pink suit and black tie that was a result of compromise.

“I’m still wondering how you managed to convince me to let you do that,” Vincent sighs as he takes a sip of water.

Dmitri, looking at Vincent, chuckles, “What? Getting the flamingo pattern for the inner lining of this suit. The only people that are going to see it are me and maybe you. Plus, MawMaw found it charming.”

“You are my plus one to the wedding of a world renowned fashion designer and an actress known for modeling,” Vincent says as he messes with the cuff of his suit jacket, “Please don’t tell anyone that you did that.”

“Oh please Vee, I look good in everything.”

Vincent rolls his eyes. The only reason he was comfortable with bringing him along is that Luis refused to have any paparazzi at the event. Only one of his photographers would be taking photos of the event and she would be glued to the married couple.

“I’m surprised you managed to get on good terms with Mary Anne,” Vincent says as he glances out the window, “In only a few minutes of conversation and she speaks the world of you.”

Dmitri gives Vincent a smile only he can give, “What can I say, people just love me.”

Vincent returns with a shrug and fusses a bit with his vest, “So do I.”

Dmitri smiles, “Calm Down Vee, your suit looks fine. We’re almost there and I doubt anything will go wrong since the love birds shooed off the cameras.”

He adjusts his tie for the fifth time since they left his house, running a finger over the purple and gold fabric. “I know, I wouldn’t have bought you if I wasn't certain.”

Dmitri reaches forward and takes one of Vincent’s hands. Pulling it away from him, Dmitri gives him a small kiss on the knuckles, “It’s gonna be okay Vee.” He squeezes the hand before letting it go.

Vincent nods just as the venue pulls into view. There are not the swarms of cameras that usually sit outside of these places. He puts the invitation in his hand and feels the car roll to a stop.

Dmitri gives Vincent a final smile before stepping out of the limousine. Vincent, throwing on his acting face, follows after.

The venue is relatively small compared to previous weddings he had attended in the past. It had a bit of charm about it that gave the place a welcome feel. Vincent flashes the invite to the doormen and they enter. Purple sashes and soft fairy lights draped from white columns and soft music plays in the background. People are already talking near the doors to the Procession.

“Vincent!” one of his costars and ex (sort of) walks towards them. Estelle, an actress with as much prestige as Vincent, if not more, steps up to them. “It's good to see you, who’s this?”

“Estelle this is Dmitri, Dmitri this is Estelle,” Vincent introduces the two.

“It's good to meet you,” Estelle smiles back.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Dmitri says, “If I may ask, aren’t you two-”

“Publicist reasons,” Estelle and Vincent say in unison, “Nothing personal.”

“Ah,” Dmitri nods, “I assumed as such.”

Estelle shakes her head, “Unless they disguise each other just assume that those breakups were for appessing paparazzi means.”

“That makes sense,” Dmitri says as his eyes scan the crowd.

Vincent looks up at the clock, 4:51. The Procession starts in about 10 minutes thankfully.

“Hey Vincent,” Estelle says, ripping Vincent out of LaLa land, “Were you here for Coriane and Anthony’s wedding last October?”

A laugh bubbles out of Vincent’s throat, “Of course, I had to send him four suits before I got approved for the obnoxious dress code.”

Dmitri chuckles, “Anthony McKay? Didn’t he divorce her within two months of that marriage?”

Estelle nods, “Here’s an interesting trend for you, the stricter the dress code at a celebrity wedding the shorter the marriage will last.”

Vincent shrugs, eyes dashing between the conversation and the door, “That was an explosive divorce.”

Dmitri and Estelle begin to talk and their voices slowly fade as Vincent zones out. His eyes unfocus and the lights seem to sparkle and twirl around in his vision. For a moment, he slinks into the background, enjoying the mindless chatter of those around him.

It’s nice.

“Question Vince,” Estelle stays drawing him back to reality, “How is that new show going? You haven’t committed to a show since you moved to your company now?”

“Oh you know…” Vincent starts as his eyes focus around a terrifyingly familiar tan sport coat, “I- sorry. Just liked the director, worked with him before.”

Estelle says something, but Vincent doesn’t hear it. Blond hair, almost matted in tiny places, combed but barely groomed… bile rises in his throat. He can’t move. Every fiber in his body coils in on itself and dies. The room gets too quiet yet far too loud. Please don’t turn around.

With the same nonchalant throw of his shoulder that he did in every laid-back situation he was ever in, he turns a heel, double-taking when he sees Vincent. A smile so harmlessly venomous that Vincent almost pukes right there and then. Owen Grant raises a hand and sends him a tiny wave.

“Vince the procession doors are open,” Estelle chirps, “You two can sit with us.”

“Thank you,” Dmitri says as his gaze wanders back to Vincent, “...Vince?”

Vincent, forcing himself to rip his eyes away from the omen of pain and death across the room, walks behind Estelle, “Coming.”

Dmitri steps up next to him, concern slowly materializing in the crease of his brow and behind his eyes, “You alright?”

“Just a long day.”

Dmitri pierces his lips but, to Vincent’s relief, doesn’t press the matter. They walk through the doors and Estelle sits next to another actress whose name is on the tip of Vincent’s tongue. He and Dmitri sit down next to them.

Vincent is too aware of the hairs rising on the back of his neck. It almost feels like he is existing under his skin, squirming but still simultaneously. His breathing is too loud, it’s almost deafening.

His eyes scan the room, barely glancing at the door. His eyes, for a spiral-inducing second, meet with glazed green. I’m going to puke.

Vincent can feel his presence choke him just as well as he did with his hands. Owen starts to talk and Vincent realizes with increasing horror-

He is sitting less than three feet right behind.

Everyone falls silent as the Procession begins. Vincent stares at the altarpiece and becomes far too apparent of his breathing. The lights are not bright enough anymore and the organ music drowns the sound of him hyperventilating as inconspicuous as possible. Of course, this event was too good to be true. No paparazzi allowed, No wedding crashers. Why wouldn’t he be here?

Time is chained to deadweights in the Procession.

Vincent feels a weight on his shoulder and the smell of a cologne he knew wasn’t Owen’s. His eyes flicker to Dmitri’s face. It’s saturated in concern and he mouths, Are you okay?

Vincent gives him the tiniest of nods and with it the biggest lie he could ever tell.

Dmitri raises an eyebrow. Vincent watches his eyes flick behind him and his face harden by a hair.

Just then, saving a guilty Vincent from Dmitri’s gaze, the doors to the possession room open. Mary Anne, the bride dressed in her gown, begins her walk down the aisle. Vincent spins his head around to watch like the rest of the guests.

Yet, a plague of stale air dries in his lungs when he sees Owen out of the corner of his eye. Not watching the bride. Watching him.

As she makes her way up to the altar, Vincent feels a foot poke at the back of his ankle. I’m not going to look down. The minister begins to speak. The words do not sound like words. Nothing is solid except for the tapping at his ankle.

Vincent’s eyes look down for what feels like years. A single shoe, a shoe he saw so many times thrown to the side when he was tied to the man’s headboard, now rubs at the side of his leg.

Please, Dmitri, don’t notice this. I do not want to explain this.

Vincent falls into the back of his mind, something he hasn’t done in years. The Procession passes like white noise. Nothing feels real to him.

The Procession ends.

Vincent stands.

So does Owen.

“Vince! How have you been? It’s been too long,” Owens asks with a smile that hides a sadistic, vial longing. Vincent freezes, instincts screaming for him to run but his body not knowing where to, “Fine.”

Just as Owen opens his disgusting mouth, Dmitri steps in between them and looks at Vincent, “We need to talk. Now.”

Vincent watches Dmitri’s entire body dwarf Owen in size. Dmitri, a whole ten inches taller and far broader than Owen could ever hope to be, stands like a wall between Vincent and his waking nightmare. Now, with a mountain standing in front of him, Vincent realizes where he is.

“Yeah, sure.”

It is almost to him that his only thought at that moment was Thank you for being mad at me.

Vincent lets Dmitri pull/drag him out of the Procession hall and into a quiet hallway and only then does he let him go.

“Vee, what happened.”

“Nothing happened, it's just nerves.”

Dmitri leans back on a foot and sighs, “There are very few certain things in this life and one of them is that you are a terrible liar.”

“I’m just a little frazzled Dmitri!”

“You were nearly crying!” Dmitri says as he drops his voice to a whisper, “The last time you did that was when you came over to my apartment and we tried to have---”

Vincent slams his hand over Dmitri’s mouth and growls silently, “Shutthefuckup.”

Dmitri pulls the hand off of his face, “If you’re so worked up then we can leave.”

“I can’t leave!” Vincent sputters, despite very much wanting to leave, “You can’t just leave someone’s wedding!”

“Yes you can, the door is less than 100 feet away, we can go if something is freaking you out so much!”

“I don’t---”

“Hey you two,” Estelle says as she whips around the corner, “Dinner’s out in the dining hall.”

Vincent instantly pulls up his acting face and smiles at her, “Just about to go!”

He grabs Dmitri and it’s VIncent’s turn to drag someone. He can’t leave this wedding. He would get ripped apart for it and he’s already done enough tearing at his reputation recently. Just stay near Dmitri and away from Owen.

He immediately regrets that decision

Dinner goes well or as well as it can go with Owen’s back to Vincent and every couple of minutes he looks over his shoulder and smiles at him.

He realizes he should’ve just left.

Toasts go around, the Best Man, the Maid of Honor, a few others. Just as Vincent thinks it’s about to all end, a quiet ringing from someone tapping a crystal glass with a metal knife. The sound vibrates into his head and makes his teeth implants hurt.

Implants that Owen caused him to get.

Owen stands with a smile that curdles Vincent’s blood, “I would like to make a toast to our lovely couple.”

I want to die. Right here. Right now.

“We have all seen our fair share of weddings, some more disastrous than others, but I believe I can confidently say this has been the best that I have attended in a long time.”

It’s because I’m here, isn’t it?

“And from just looking at you two I can tell that your marriage will be a long and prosperous one,” Owen moves his gaze to Vincent’s eyes and he beams a sickeningly hopeful simile, “And I hope that mine is just as prosperous as yours.”

No, never, fuck off.

Owen raises his glass and locks his eyes to Vincent’s, “To our prosperous friends.”

Vincent looks down at the table as he raises his glass, trying to ignore the beating eyes eating at his flesh. The wine, as he drinks, tastes like death.

Dmitri pokes him in the leg and leans down to a whisper, “Do you want to head out, you’re still freaking out.”

He is, he can feel his fingers shake around the glass. Vincent’s vision spins under the weight of Owen’s gaze. It’s almost like he can feel the twisted fantasies building behind Owen’s eyes. A dam of thoughts that Vincent knows all too well what happens when they are released.

He, ripping him out of his stewing, feels Dmitri’s hand on his thigh, “When everyone gets up to dance we can disappear, okay?”

Vincent gives him a tiny nod as he takes the first mouthful of cake. His eyes do not leave his plate. His own thoughts begin to seem distant to him as if he was observing them through thick glass.

Nothing feels real.

Is this real?

People begin to trickle out of the room, smiling as they take people and in hand. The newlyweds beaming as they float across the dining hall to the dance floor, taking everyone’s eyes. Vincent stands and leans into Dmitri, “I’m going to head out, you wait a few minutes and then leave so no one suspects anything.”

“Alright,” Dmitri says, flashing a warm smile, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Vincent stands and skirts the crowd, heading out towards the empty hallways where he can leave. The weight across his shoulders lifts as the door approaches. He can breathe.

“Vince, Wait!”

The weight comes slamming back into his lungs, knocking the air out. His muscles turn to ice as Owen’s footsteps. Instinctually, and to his dismay, he turns around and faces his banshee.

“It’s been ages, I’m so happy i could catch you here.”

Why?

“Yeah… it has been a while.” Not long enough.

Owen strides up to Vincent with sheer confidence as a guiltless sibling. He chuckles, “Well he kinda stole you away when we were first talking so I’m glad I caught you alone!”

“Um, I-”

“Since you have been so distant since we last spoke. Time’s really flown hasn’t it with all your success,” Owen interrupts, leaning casually back on a leg.

“Yeah,” Vincent says, his vision blurring, “I need to go Owen.”

As Vincent spins around to leave, Owen steps forward and grabs his shoulder. His nails dig into the suit shoulder and pull back slightly, “Just five minutes.”

“I need to go,” Vincent breathlessly says, beginning to shake, “I don’t have five minutes.”

“Really?” Owen chuckles as he leans over Vincent’s shoulder. He can feel the pressure of Owen trying to pull him back ever so gently. The slight figure of Owen’s face curses Vincent’s periphery.

If Dmitri sees you like this you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

“No,” Vincent states with as firm of a voice as he can muster, “I don’t.”

He pulls away from Owen’s grip and walks out of the venue, feeling Owen’s gaze fade as he walks through the silent parking lot. The air in his lungs finally has the room to move as the finite particles escape into the cool night air. The limousine is silent as he slides onto the velvet seats. Vincent taps the window to the driver’s section and quietly says, “Drive up to the main doors when Dmitri steps out.”

A nod later and Vincent rolls up the divider between the driver and the guest seats. He throws off his suit jacket onto the chair next to him. He feels the vehicle lurch forward and watches as the light spills inside as Dmitri slides in.

“Are you alright?!” Dmitri says with hushed alarm.

Only then does Vincent realize he’s crying. He reaches up and wipes the droplet of salt and fear from his face and just fades. The world is there yet it’s not, Vincent can’t tell what’s changing around him and time just slips through his fingers.

Everything focuses again when he’s home.

Dmitri had wrapped a quilted blanket over his shoulders and they are now sitting on his couch. Vincent feels Dmitri’s body heat and arms wrapped around his torso. He sits forward a little and stares at the clock, 9:03.

“I’m sorry,” Vincent murmurs, his voice hoarse.

“Don’t apologise Vee,” Dmitri whispers back, “But what happened?”

Vincent stands up, wobbling on his legs for a moment. Seeing his jacket and Dmitri’s tossed onto a chair, he sighs, “It’s- complicated.”

Dmitri sits forward, eyes both tired and concerned. “Vee, you… you clocked out of a solid hour and a half. You don’t do that unless.”

“Dmitri.”

Dmitri falls silent, his loosened tie falling off his broad shoulders. He slowly stands, eyes drooping under the weight of sleepiness, “I need to head back home before it gets too late.”

An air of guilt falls between them and Dmitri walks for the door. A longing bleeds in Vincent's chest, to spit it out and get it over with. Those are not the words that leave his mouth.

“Wait- I- Can you just stay tonight. It's- I’m- just- please.”

Dmitri pauses and nods. The silence loses weight as Dmitri steps back from the front door. As Dmitri starts to pass him for the stairs, Vincent pulls him into a hug. Burying his face in Dmitri’s chest, he tries to use his warmth for even a drop of comfort. Dmitri wraps his arms back around Vincent and the two stand there in the dark living room.

Vincent only hopes that the nightmares that will come are short-winded.

[themuseic]

Only Fools (Chapter  9)

(Art Credit: @clumsycopy)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 4.2k

Read Chapter 8 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, PIV Sex, Outdoor Sex, Swearing, Temperature Play. Zippy knows a lot about cougars now. 

Author’s Note: It took a long time, but I got this chapter ready eventually! Two things. One, I finished plotting! So some new tags are getting added to AO3, but I know I do warnings on here. Be advised that there is some angst upcoming, and those chapters will be tagged as such. Second! If you enjoy this chapter, you just might like Trail Cam, by @clydesfavoritegirl​! Even if you don’t, check out Kylie’s anyway!! It seems Clyde just exudes “outdoor sex” vibes. As always, thank you for reading <3 

After you had begun your freelance work, you quickly discovered that you worked best alone. You had been asked to take a partner on your first assignment, a greenhorn at the agency you were contracted by. Sure, the guy was nice enough, but once you had to shush him for just about the millionth time in the camouflaged blind while you tried to count the species of birds hopping and flitting through the lush meadow, you knew that your time would be best spent on your own. From that moment on, you made sure to write into all contracts that you would operate on your terms, and if you didn’t want to bring a partner on assignment there was nothing they could do about it. 

And that’s how you had worked for years since then. You had been to every corner of the country and seen it all by yourself. That was more than fine with you. You were happy to get your work done alone, you actually preferred it. 

It didn’t surprise you though. It didn’t surprise you that when Clyde started coming out to help you on the trail, your desire for solitude flew out the window faster than the birds had fled from your first work partner. It didn’t surprise you that you planned your trips out around his schedule at the bar. 

It didn’t surprise you. 

Joe Bang had tried to convince you the Logan brothers were stupid. Dim. You didn’t have to try to prove him wrong though, Clyde did that by himself.

He was more than curious, he was just one hair shy of ravenous. Ravenous for information, the usually quiet man was a rapid-fire list of questions. He would ask how to set things up, why you put them out. He would hover over your shoulder, watching your every move and lightly touching your arm before he would ask about the note you had just written down. And when you were sitting at the bar reviewing footage, flicking through data, or interviewing someone who just swore they knew where the den might be, Clyde was on the other side of your laptop, ready to ask a question, celebrate a breakthrough, or slide you a drink - whatever you might need. 

He would get a special glint in his eye when you told him it was time to go out and collect your data. Without fail, he would proclaim an early last call at the Duck Tape and be at the trailer, asleep and curled around you at a decent time, so that he wouldn’t be the one holding you up in the morning. Clyde had amassed a basket of trail snacks so the two of you were always fed, and he would, more often than not, be ready and parked on the porch, his tin of coffee in his hand, before you had even brushed your teeth.

Clyde observed how you would work with your equipment when you said that you were just fine handling them on your own, and in just a few times out, he was handing you tools before you even knew you had to ask for them.

It was an improvised dance, but you seemed to be in sync. Clyde anticipated your moves and your needs, making each venture out into the backwoods of West Virginia easier every time. 

By the time you moseyed out in mid-January to collect more data, more indications of the number of eastern cougars in the woods, you would put money down that Clyde could go out by himself and do absolutely everything right. 

With backpacks strapped to your bodies, packed full of equipment and snacks, the two of you trekked out. The trail was covered in a light dusting of snow, and the air around your noses condensed into wisps of mist that were quickly carried away by the slight breeze. The trail was easy, made just a bit more difficult by the icy snow, but it was peaceful. It didn’t take too long to reach the area you had staked with cameras, and the minute you arrived, you got to work. 

“So, the cougars should be in hibernation now right?” he asked as he popped an amber piece of dried apricot into his mouth, gazing at the winter landscape sprawled around you. That boy did love his snacks. 

You shook your head as you fiddled with the memory card of the camera you held in your lap, seated in a bank of snow you had chosen as the day's office chair. “No actually,” you replied, wiping your nose as it ran in the cold. “Cougars don’t hibernate. They have an advantage in the winter, so they stay out and hunting.”

Clyde cocked his eyebrow at you. “Advantage? How so?”

You grunted as you stood up, the tension of the pearlescent fabric of your snow gear working against you as you lifted yourself from the ground. Dusting off the snow that had collected in the hem of your clothing, you began to scan the ground for what you were looking for. It wasn’t hard to find what you were looking for. 

“Oh Clyde, here! Come look.”

He sauntered over, tucking the small bag of apricots into the pocket of his jacket. He crouched down to peer at the spot you were pointing at and he wrapped his arm around your leg, hugging you close. “Alright baby. What am I lookin’ at?'' he looked up to you, one eye squeezed shut in question. 

You laughed and carded your hand through his hair, pushing the thick black waves into a puff on the crown of his head. “You didn’t even give me a chance to show you!,” you huffed, collapsing into a crouch next to him. He removed his arm from your leg just in time, and adjusted it to lay around your waist as you settled next to him. 

You reached your arm out to gesture at the print in front of you. “See this? It’s a cougar paw. Notice anything about it?”

Clyde’s head tilted into you. “Uhh,” he hummed, “it’s got pretty big claws.” He ghosted the outline of the deep punctures the claws had in fact left in the snow. 

Giggling, you turned to plant a kiss on Clyde’s jaw and pushed into it with your nose. “You’re right, they are. But look at the whole paw.” Clyde’s face screwed up. “Darlin’, it looks like just about every paw I’ve seen before.” He shrugged. “Got no clue.”

You splayed your hand over the imprint in the snow. “Look how big it is.” Clyde unwrapped his arm from your body, and eclipsed your hand with his. “Don’t look too big to me,” he teased as he closed his fingers around yours. Laughter pealed from your chest, and you smacked his shoulder with your free hand. “Okay, but look! It is pretty big,” you whined, a faux pout creeping on to your face. 

“Alright, I guess you’re not wrong. But what’s that got to do with hibernation?”

“Their paws help them in winter. They’re fast, agile. They have the advantage, really nothing can escape a cougar in the snow.” You shrugged. “They were made for it. They can get really any prey they want.” 

Clyde whistled. “Impressive. Nature really has a way of workin’ huh?” He reached forward with his metal fingers and laid them next to the print on the white powder. Your eyes softened. You could only guess at what was running through his mind. “Hey,” you whispered, hooking your finger underneath his jaw and pulling his face to look at you. “You know things happen for a reason.”

His soft eyes bored into your own, and you could feel your heart shatter in that instant. Curling your fingers into the skin of his jaw, you beckoned him close, planting a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, necking back into you as he gave your side a light squeeze. You reached up to tap his cheek lightly. “C’mon. Let’s get the rest of this done.” The pair of you stood and meandered back to the work you had set out to complete. 

~~~

The last camera to pull down was suspended high on a birch tree.

You gazed up at it, hands firmly planted on your hips. Head cocked, you assessed the easiest way to get it, as you could hear Clyde rustling with his pack behind you. It would be easier for him to get it, you knew that, but you had done it before, so you figured you could do it now. 

The stretch ran down the outside of your arm as you strained to reach the camera, your tongue poking out of the side of your mouth in concentration. You wrapped your arm around the thin birch tree and pushed off of the nearby boulder with your boot. 

“I can just get that camera down for ya darlin’,” Clyde offered as he processed the sounds of your struggle. 

You turned to smile at him. “No thank you, Clyde. Part of the fun is seeing if I can do it.” Your grin split into a smile as you hoisted yourself a few inches higher, just enough for your fingers to snag the mounted camera. You ripped it off of the tree, the zip ties that held it in place snapping back over your knuckles sharply. “Ah hah!” you exclaimed, your hand punching the air to mark your success. You whipped your head around to wink at Clyde and flipped your body to sit right where your foot was planted on the boulder.

You perched on the edge of the boulder and tossed the camera between your hands triumphantly. Clyde sauntered over and pushed your legs apart in one swift movement. He settled his hips between your knees, his hands lifting to settle on the line of your hips. Tilting his head, Clyde looked to the piece of equipment in your hand. “Well look at that darlin’, you got that down real easy,” he mused as he pushed his head forward to nuzzle against your forehead. You grinned as your eyelids drifted shut and you pushed yourself up to reciprocate the caress. 

“Got to where I am somehow, right?” you laughed as your free hand reached up to cup the side of Clydes face. He jerked his eyebrows skyward as he chuckled. “Now, I never said you weren’t good at what you do,” he clarified, his pout becoming more pronounced as he backpedaled his statement. “Just want to help is all.” 

You grinned and slid your hand around to the backside of his neck, tugging him forward to plant a kiss on his plump lower lip, like you had yearned to do so many times before. 

“Don’t worry about me Clyde,” you muttered low against his hot breath. “I can take care of myself.”

He scoffed against your lips and caused a small cloud of air to waft over your skin as he nuzzled his nose into your cheekbone. “I’m always gonna worry about you,” he sighed as he slipped his ice cold fingers, both metal and flesh, under the hem of your tops and pressed them into your skin. You yelped at the sensation and jumped, finding yourself pressed closer to his chest. He chuckled as he pushed small circles into your skin. 

“Chilly?” he huffed as his lips curled into a smile on your own. 

You smacked him playfully, which only made him slide his hands further up your back. A laugh bubbled up your throat, and you threw your head back as you pushed your hands against his strong biceps and your feet kicked at nothing, trying to remove his icicle limbs from your skin. Clyde took the opportunity to dive forward and place kisses along the length of your exposed neck. 

Clyde’s mouth was hot against the skin of your neck. The feeling allowed you to relax, your mind distracted from the cold rivers he traced into your back. The trail of kisses he left was instantly cooled by the crisp mountain air as he trailed his affections down to the slice of skin he had exposed as he tugged down the collar of your sweater. You sighed with content, rolling your head back to provide him access to your pulse. 

He grunted as he was met with resistance from your woolen sweater. It would not budge a single millimeter further, barring him access to your nipple that had been peaked swollen and stiff by the sting of winter. You laughed as you felt the cool metal of his prosthetic tug at the neckline of your top and your hand shot up to capture his jaw and deepen your kiss. 

Clyde leaned into you, his hips splitting your legs further along the rough boulder edge. You leaned back on a deep exhale, and he collapsed on top of you, his pelvis settling in between your spread thighs. His hard erection tented even his padded snow pants and you could feel it against your clothed heat, pulling slick from you. You keened at the feeling and pushed your hips up into his.  “Needy today, baby?” Clyde cooed, peering down his nose to gaze at you, his eyes hooded with arousal. You bit at your lip and sighed. He smirked and straightened up, pulling away from you. He smacked the outside of your thigh and you pouted at how your fleece lined pants absorbed the impact. “C’mon, up,” he ordered. “Need you bent over this rock. Pants down.” 

You pushed yourself out of your prone position and hopped off of the lip of the boulder. Without a second thought, you undid the buttons of your pants and wriggled them down, just far enough to allow Clyde access to your dripping cunt. You shuddered at the sensation of the crisp air blowing across your heat. You inhaled once, twice. Preparing yourself for Clyde, for what he did to you every time, without fail. For when he would split you open effortlessly. 

You were lost in thought, mentally preparing yourself, but you cried out when Clyde split your folds with two fingers. He ran them from your clit to your entrance, collecting your arousal on his ice cold digits. The sensation was unlike anything you had felt before. You were used to soft, warm encounters, under covers or with heaters close by. But the icy bite of his hands made your thighs vibrate, your breath catch. You pushed your hips back into his hand, groaning at the sensation of his thick fingers splitting as they stroked the sides of your clit. 

Clyde tsk’ed and splayed his fingers, grabbing your cunt in his hand to stop the ministrations of your hips. “You know I’ll give you what you need.” He started to rock his hand. “You just gotta be patient for me.” The pressure he so expertly pushed into your wet pussy dragged a low moan from you and he smiled. He loved how you would come apart for him. 

He dragged his fingers over your heat, dancing around your entrance, teasing you. Each movement coaxed a breeze of the frigid air over your exposed heat, and you clenched at the feeling. He felt your skin flutter beneath him and he eased his middle finger into you, relishing in the warmth of your body, the pulse of your walls.

“Oh my god, Clyde,” you groaned as the sensation of his freezing finger filled you up. It made you that much more sensitive. You became aware of parts of yourself like you had never felt before, and your inner walls pulsed in response. “You tryna break my finger off, sweetheart?” Clyde growled into your ear. He rocked in and out of you, and just when his first finger had nearly warmed to your body temperature, he thrust a second in with it. 

You keened at the feeling and lurched forward. Clyde’s arm wrapped around you, his body folded over and draped across your back. He pulled your hips back into him in time with the thrusts of his arm, fingering your deeper, deeper. “Gotta stretch you out,” he crooned. You moaned in response, your head lolling to the side. Clyde rolled his head with you, and suckled at your neck. 

“Fuck, your fingers are so big Clyde,” you whimpered, and he curled his fingers deep inside you. The resulting squelch of your arousal pulled a groan from Clyde, and your walls pulsed on his fingers. 

God, he knew your body. He could make you cry, make you cum, make you worship a nameless god on just two of his fingers. But still, as much as you needed him, he needed you. And taking you in a forest swathed in white was more than a fantasy, it was a goddamn dream. 

You focused on the frigid surface of the rock, trying to avoid thrusting your hips back into Clyde’s hand, when he ripped his hand from you. A high whine fell from your lips in protest, even though you could already hear Clyde grappling with his pants. You knew what would follow and you yearned for it nonetheless. 

You dragged your fingers across the rough face of the rock until your focus was suddenly shattered by the sensation of Clyde’s thick girth splitting your lips open as he eased into you at a snail’s pace. Inch by inch he pushed into you, taking his time to feel your flesh give way to him, and your mouth fell open into a silent cry. 

It was blissful torture. 

Clyde was a behemoth. No matter how many times he speared you with his thick, veiny girth, each time felt like your first. It was a delicious burn, a delightful pressure. You could have sworn you felt the head of his cock drag over the ripples and ridges of your pussy, and you tilted your hips, allowing him access to the deepest parts of you. 

Your nipples strained with arousal, the stiff buds almost painful as they brushed against your sweater. “Clyde-e,” you panted, barely able to pull in breath with the sharp pressure of Clyde filling you completely. He knocked the breath out of you with each thrust forward, and when he heard your sigh he laughed. 

“Oh darlin’, you can’t even talk?” He taunted lovingly. “Damn shame, you got such a pretty voice.” He fell forward to whisper in your ear. “Love hearin’ you whine for me baby. Wonder if I can get you to anyway.” Clyde’s hips jerked forward and the spongy hot head of his cock rammed into you. Your mouth fell open into a voiceless gasp, and he blew out a breath of disapproval. 

“Now that just won't do.”

With his metal arm braced against the boulder in front of you, Clyde shoved his free hand into your pants. He found your clit in a second and circled it tightly with the rough pad of his middle finger. Your pussy squeezed his cock on each thrust into you, and you felt a familiar warmth begin to build within your stomach. 

Clyde felt the whispers of you beginning to tighten up on him and he smirked. “Feelin’ good?” he hummed. You nodded silently in response. He squeezed your waist. “What was that?”

“It feels good… ah!” you replied breathily, exclaiming as Clyde’s finger hit the underside of your clit just right, and made your knees turn to jelly. He grinned. “That’s right.”

Almost immediately, he let up. It was almost as if he wanted to drag this out, hold you right at the precipice of orgasm without letting you tip over for as long as he can. And if you had asked him? That was precisely what he wanted. 

The warm blanket of his body left your back and the rush of cool air sent a shiver through every end of every nerve. “Fuck, you take me so good.” Clyde groaned as he leaned back and stared down at where his thick length disappeared into you. “This pretty pussy takes me so deep.” 

You whined at his words. It was the only sound you could manage to push past your lips as he rocked in and out of you. 

Clyde couldn’t rip his eyes from your cunt as he watched you swallow him so easily. His jaw was slack, and he could have drooled had he not been snapped from his reverie by your whine. On his next thrust, he leaned forward, wrapped his arm around you, and yanked you up to his chest. “Fuck!” you gasped as the new arch in your back let Clyde pummel your cervix, knocking into you on each thrust. 

He groaned, deep and gravely. “Oh shit, you’re so sexy darlin’.” Clyde’s breath caught as he felt your walls begin to flutter and spasm. He shoved his face into the crook of your shoulder and blew his hot breath across your ear. “You about to cum pretty girl? You about to cum on my cock?” 

You keened. “Yes, Clyde, yes!” 

“Rub that little clit for me baby, cum for me right now.” 

You shoved your hand in your pants in an instant, finding your swollen clit and spreading your juices around the nub. You rubbed it furiously, your mind nearly numb with the overwhelming feeling of Clyde splitting you in two. The pressure mounted steadily in your stomach, the pressure of impending orgasm, and you could feel your thighs beginning to shake. You sighed his name. 

“Yeah baby?”

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

You cried out as your orgasm crashed over you and you felt your walls pulsing, clenching on Clyde’s length. He groaned into your ear, and you felt the familiar warmth of his spend gush out of your pussy as he worked you both through your orgasms.

You pulsed together, his thrusts slowly, slowly, slowly coming to a stop, until he was still against you. Your thighs shook against him and he pulled up on your waist, easing the burden of your position off of your legs. Panting, Clyde turned his head to plant a kiss on your temple. His lips lingered on your skin, and you felt his hot breath puff against your forehead, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Fuck darlin’,” Clyde muttered into you. “You feel so good, I don’t want to move.” He ducked his head and nibbled at your earlobe. “I could just stay here. Wait ‘til I get hard again, and fuck you right here again, on your hands and knees,” he growled. 

You reached your palm up to cup his cheek. “As good as that sounds, I think we might freeze before we got the chance.” Clyde sighed and leaned into your palm.

“I guess.”

You stayed like that, connected, reveling in the feeling of the other, for a few beats longer. That was, until the chill of the air finally did settle over the parts you had exposed to the elements, and you started to feel that familiar bite of winter. Carefully, Clyde eased himself out of you, and you missed the comforting pressure deep in your stomach. 

You shimmied your pants over your ass and slotted the button into its hole, and you felt the stickiness of Clyde’s cum start to leak from you. You looked down to your pants, hoping the viscous liquid wouldn’t start to seep through. As you looked for any spots of wetness, you spied a curious item on the ground.

“Oh fuck Clyde,” you breathed, your eyes transfixed on a particular spot on the ground.

“What’s that darlin’?” he asked as he jumped slightly to yank his pants back up his body. You nodded your head towards the offending area. 

The camera you had just pulled down from the trees had found a new home on the floor, the lens pointed up to the sky. Just below where you and Clyde had just fucked.

“It’s motion activated.” You could feel your cheeks warming at the thought of it, and your eyes widened as you realized just what that meant.  

Clyde on the other hand found the humor in the situation. He chuckled and reached down to scoop up the piece of equipment and turned it over in his hands. “Hm. Well, sounds like we made a little surprise home video,” he teased with a wink. 

You threw your hands over your face and rubbed your eyes. “Oh god, I have to edit that right away,” you groaned. Your fingers split open over your eyes, and you stared Clyde down. “Promise to not let me forget, I can’t let that get to anyone.” 

“Of course darlin’,” Clyde wove his arm around your lower back and pulled you close to plant a kiss on your forehead. “As long as you keep the footage you cut.” You rolled your eyes and landed a joking smack on his chest. “Hey!” he scoffed with a wink. “Least you can do, me helping you out on these missions like this and all. It can be my payment.”

“Oh, you know you like coming out here.” You wagged your tongue at him and turned to collect your bags. Almost immediately you were stopped by a sharp pinch to your ass, and you yelped. You shot a glare back at Clyde, trying to suppress the smile about to break across your face. He laughed, scooped his pack up from the ground, and wove his arm around your waist. Clyde didn’t let go of you the entire hike back to the trailer. 

~~~

Taglist: @mind-p0llution @thedivinemissm @clydesducktape @finn-ray-nal-beads @ladygrey03 @desiraypark @1800-fight-me @aloneandsleepless​ @hopeamarsu​ (Comment or message me to be added or removed!)

[fallingappleshurt]

Snow Boys Incorporated (Part 2/2)

Check out part one! It’s kind of poggers :))

I can’t add links but yeah!!

Pure fluff oh yeah

Tommy was washing his hands when Techno walked over with his phone out.

“Hey guys, I just got a text from Skeppy, you know that huge snowball fight he tries to plan out every year?”

“Oh yeah, that thing,” Wilbur said and Tommy felt his heart jump.

“This year he actually got people to join, it’s in the weird field thing behind the school.”

“By the woods or the shopping center?”

“The woods, he’s actually got a decent amount of people-” Techno turned his phone around, showing them a blurry picture of a bunch of people from school, making forts, with Skeppy’s face in the corner of the frame.

“Do you guys wanna go?”

“Yes!” Tommy grinned, “I’m going to beat the shit out of you guys!”

“In your dreams!”

After telling Phil about it, and after he agreed to go, they grabbed their stuff and piled into the car.

“This oughta be interesting,” Phil commented.

“Wait Phil are you gonna be joining in?” Tommy asked, leaning forwards in his seat.

“Of course-” Both Techno and Wilbur groaned.

“But you’re old!”

“What!” Tommy could tell Phil was trying to restrain himself from whipping around while Techno and Wilbur laughed.

“These are a bunch of high school kids, you might-”

“Tommy how old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know- I just know you’re old,”

“Tommy- Phil has amazing aim- I’ve been at the receiving end of it, trust me, you want him on your side,” Wilbur said, adjusting his beanie.

“Sure-”

“He’s telling the truth Tommy, you don’t want Phil coming after you,” Techno backed Wilbur up.

“Uh- Phil-”

“Nope, uh uh, too late Gremlin.” Phil said, parking the car. Tommy realized they had made it, got out of the car, and looked over to the field. It was complete pandemonium.

Snow was flying everywhere, people were shrieking and laughing, Quackity wasn’t wearing a coat, for some reason. Random students were wrestling, some were trying to take pictures but failing spectacularly.

He spotted Tubbo hiding behind a pile of snow, nailing unsuspecting people as they ran by.

Phil stood next to him and cracked his knuckles.

“You want a head start or-” He was cut off, sputtering, as someone flung a fist full of snow in his face. Tommy looked over and saw Wilbur backing away.

“Wilbur-” He started, but Wilbur turned around and started sprinting. Phil, after overcoming the shock, was right on his heels.

“Thank me later!”

Tommy laughed and ran across the field towards Tubbo, diving next to him, “Who are we aiming for?” He asked immediately, starting to form a snowball.

Tubbo didn’t even flinch as he aimed for someone across the field.

“Fundy, he ate my leftovers-”

“Oohhh yeah! Come here furry boy!” He chucked a snowball at the first gingery looking thing he saw- which did happen to be Fundy. They worked as a unit, taking turns building up the little walls of their fort and chucking snow at everyone in the vicinity.

At one point Punz ran by and threw an arms load of snow on them, they retaliated just as fiercely.

The whole scene felt surreal, Techno was chasing Quackity, bombarding him with snowballs, Skeppy and Bad were shaking trees to get snow to fall on others. Karl and Sapnap laying in the snow while Dream and George kept trying to get snow down each others shirts, Phil and Wilbur were no were to be seen, Niki and Eret were building snowmen off to the side.

Tommy knew he should have kept a lookout for Phil once he was hit in the back of the head with a snowball. He turned around and saw Phil, rearing his arm back again, Wilbur just behind him, face red with snow in his hair.

“Wilbur!”

“Phil said he’d spare me if I helped him take you down-”

“You-” He was cut off as Phil nailed in the face with another snowball, shrieking he tried to run but kept getting hit.

“Phil! Big man! Big P! Let's talk about- Ah! Let’s talk about this!”

He slipped, landing in a snow drift, he rolled over and was face to face with Phil.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I called you old!” He threw his arms up in defense, Phil laughed.

“See? Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god-”

“It was so hard because you were beatin’ me with-with snowballs!”

Phil rolled his eyes as Wilbur jogged up to them, Tommy immediately started in;

“Wilbur you bitch! You betrayed me! I was just attack-”

“You think you got it bad? That whole time he was just chasing me! I had too!”

“Oh sure you did- couldn’t take a few snowballs!”

“Wait wait wait- shush,” Wilbur put a finger up to Tommy’s face, pulling out his phone, “I need to get this on video.”

“Get what?”

Wilbur nodded vaguely towards the hill Skeppy was standing at the base of it, watching as the fighting slowly stopped, people starting to tire. Coming down the hill behind him was Techno, a huge mound of snow in his hands.

“He told me he was going to do this- I wanted to get it on video,” Wilbur whispered, pressing the start button and zooming in on Skeppy.

Tommy watched Techno take a running start then leap up and smash the snowball on Skeppy’s head. Techno crashed into Skeppy, sending them both to the ground.

Skeppy shrieked as Techno rolled off of him, looking around like a mad man until spotting Techno and jumping at him, another chase ensued as Skeppy tried to catch Techno and get the snow out of his jacket at the same time.

They eventually both collapsed in the snow, too tired to continue their ‘fight’ as it were. The field was starting to disperse as the sun set, people calling or asking for rides and climbing into cars with friends.

Tommy followed his brothers to the car, shaking snow out of his hair, Techno beat him to the front seat so he had to sit in the back with Wilbur.

“What do you guys want to do for dinner?” Phil asked, starting up the car.

“There’s a frozen pizza in the freezer,” Wilbur offered, Phil nodded,

“Good because I do not want to cook,”

Wilbur unlocked the apartment door and started the oven before going to change. Phil had managed to corner him and relentlessly chuck at shit ton of snow on him, his clothes were half soaked.

After changing and putting the pizza in the oven, he flopped down on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Tommy walked over and half laid on him, despite Wilbur’s attempts to shove him off, “Get your nasty feet off of me!”

“We should watch a movie,” Tommy said, completely ignoring him.

“You should get off of me,” Wilbur responded, though he had stopped making any effort to shove him away.

“Come on, we should watch a movie, we could watch The Grinch-”

“No,”

“What about Elf?” Phil called from the kitchen.

“Why are you guys only suggesting Christmas movies-” Wilbur was interrupted by Tommy kicking him in the stomach, he wasn’t sure if it was an accident or not.

“What kind of question is that? It’s almost Christmas, why wouldn’t we watch a Christmas movie?”

“I-I don’t know, just put the movie on,” Wilbur slumped even further into the couch as Tommy grabbed the remote.

A moment later Techno nudged Wilbur’s head with his elbow, “Here,” He passed him a mug of hot chocolate.

“Hot chocolate and pizza, such a great combination,” Tommy teased, reaching out for a mug but Techno pulled the mug away.

“So you don’t want any?”

“No! No! I do! Give me some!” He grabbed the mug and chugged some, then pulled away, “Shit- I burned the roof of my mouth!”

“Tommy you know it’s called hot chocolate for a reason, right?”

“Shut up, you pink asshole,” He grumbled, queuing up the movie.

A few moments laters Phil brought in the pizza and set it on the coffee table along with plates and napkins. Wilbur grabbed a slice and accepted the fact that Tommy wasn’t going to move and settled in to watch the movie.

They were half away through it when he realized that Tommy was asleep and felt himself getting tired as well, he put his mug on the table and spread out a blanket evenly across them. It was at the scene when Buddy and Jovie were running around New York that he too fell asleep.

Wilbur blinked awake, feeling Techno and Tommy shuffle besides him, and hearing the coffee maker brewing. He glanced over and saw Phil was gone and their dishes from last night cleaned up. He sat up, yawning, lightly pushing Tommy off of his shoulder, who grumbled and pulled at the blanket.

Wilbur slowly got up, trying not to disturb his brothers but knowing it was fruitless, Techno had glanced at him with blurry eyes before rolling over. He walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water, then going into his room to grab the gifts he had gotten for his brothers then set them under the tree.

After about 30 minutes of aimlessly scrolling through the same 3 apps on his phone Wilbur saw Techno sit up and grab for his glasses.

“You have Phil’s gift right?” He asked, Techno nodded, half rolling off the couch. He walked into his and Tommy's room, coming out with an armload of gifts.

“I know where Tommy likes to hide his gifts,” He said, setting them under the tree.

Tommy woke up while Techno was in the kitchen getting coffee, he got up and went to grab Phil, pulling him back into the living room just as Techno was sitting down.

“Alright, are we doing gifts?” Wilbur asked, sitting up right in his chair.

“Yes! Here,” Tommy said, shoving a box at him, “This is from me and Techno!”

Wilbur took the box, ripped off the wrapping paper and inside was the ugliest Christmas sweater he had ever seen. It was bright red with muted green sleeves. White patterns of strange animals and misshapen snowflakes were covering it and right across the chest it said ‘Shame’.

“What the fuck is this?”

Techno snorted as Tommy cackled, “It’s the best thing we have ever bought-”

Phil laughed loudly, “You should try it on Wil!”

“No- where did you even get this?”

“Oh come on Wilbur!”

“No!”

“Pleaseeeeee,”

“Oh my god fine,” He slipped the sweater on over his head, the material scratched at his skin.

“You look fantastic Wilbur,” Techno commented, Wilbur glared at him.

Phil handed him a small bag which had guitar picks and extra strings, Wilbur took it happily.

Techno was next, Wilbur gave him a gift bag, excited to see his reaction. Techno pulled out the tissue paper then covered his eyes with his hand, pushing his glasses into his hair. After a moment of silence he finally asked;

“Wilbur did you get me a fucking build a bear again?”

“Yes.”

Techno pulled the stuffed animal out of the bag, it was a fluffy pig with a cardboard crown and a red robe.

“Their name is ‘Auriculaire’,” Wilbur said, trying not to mess up his french accent. Techno narrowed his eyes, “I’m gonna kill you-”

“Come on! It means ‘Pinkie’!”

Techno groaned but didn’t let go of the pig and Tommy handed him a small white box, Techno opened it and pulled out a plastic brown horse with sparkly purple nail polish covering it’s hooves.

“Tommy what the fuck,”

“I got it from Tubbo’s little sister, it’s one of her old toys, she said I could take it but it needs a name-”

“Carl.” Techno interrupted immediately, rolling the horse around in his hands.

Phil raised an eyebrow, “Carl?”

“Yes, Carl,”

“Alright then.”

Techno chucked a long, thin box at Tommy, who tore into it, pulling out a foam Minecraft sword.

“Wow, thanks,” He said flatly, though he was still playing with it between his hands.

“Of course,” Techno said as Wilbur passed another box to him. Tommy rolled his eyes, opening the box then stopped.

“What- This is so cool!” He pulled a Letterman jacket out, turning it around in his hands. Wilbur grinned, it was mainly red with white arms and cool designs on the sleeves, it was perfect for Tommy.

“Wilbur- Thank you- This is awesome!” Tommy immediately put it on, wiggling his shoulders.

Techno turned to Phil, and pulled out an envelope with a green bow on the end, “So, we have one gift to you, it’s from all of us, but it’s a big one,”.

Phil took the envelope and opened it, pulling out it’s contents he stopped, reading the paper over and over again.

“Did you guys actually get me this?” He asked, eyes flickering between them and the page. Techno nodded, Wilbur was smiling so hard the sides of his face were hurting.

Wilbur had worked over time at his job, Techno and Tommy had scraped and saved their money, Techno had beat Skeppy in so many bets, and together they were able to get enough money to get Phil a skydiving pass.

“You told us about how you had done it before and how you wanted to do it again, so, we got you this,” Tommy explained, Phil smiled.

“Thank you guys, thank you.”

“Of course, it’s the least we could do-”

“Tommy where is the other gift?” Techno hissed, Tommy gave him a confused look before getting up and running back into their room, coming out with another box.

“One more!” He said, leaning over the couch, passing it to Phil, who opened it and froze.

“How did you guys find this?” He asked quietly, pulling a white and green striped bucket hat out of the box, running his fingers along the brim.

“We check every single store in the area,” Tommy said.

“And when that didn’t work we went online,” Techno finished, Phil had a watery smile on his face, “Thank you guys so much.”

And that was their Christmas, Wilbur and Tommy playing smash in their new jackets and sweaters, Phil watching on the sidelines wearing his hat and Techno sitting behind them, teasing them with Auriculaire under his arm.

And Wilbur wouldn’t change a thing.

[teawithkpop]

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 6

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 6.0k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: swearing, sex with ulterior motives, dirty talk, dom!yoongi, oral sex (male and female receiving), throat fucking, spanking, clothed sex, unprotected sex, ripping clothes, degradation, throat holding (not to the degree of choking), licking, cum play, it’s nasty it’s just nASTY

I hope you don’t all hate me after this ahahahahahaha love you guys <3

☕💕 If you enjoy this work, please consider supporting me and my writing on KoFi ^^ ☕💕

-------

We must build a brighter future for PhysComs.    They are people, just like you and me, and they are severely undervalued in our society. We employ them, we rely on them, and yet, they are ignored at best, and abused at worst, with punishment and persecution waiting should they dare to speak out about the horrific injustices through which they suffer.    We cannot live in this double standard. I refuse to accept it, and I urge you to open your hearts and imagine what it would feel like to be needed but shamed. To be relied upon, but to never receive recognition for your efforts. They are people, just like us. They live among us, yet they are treated like ghosts.    As of now, Physical Companions are employed by most entertainment companies, but are given no benefits and no job security. They have only the protection of their own agencies and any underground communication they might have between each other.    These people should be respected. They should not be forced to live in the shadows.    It’s time that we acknowledge and thank these tireless workers, and provide them with some support in return for all of the support that they provide this industry.

You read over the words again and again until they become a continuous stream of overlapping thoughts, filling you with utter confusion.

What the fuck does this mean?

You look away from your ComGear and pull up the document on Namjoon’s computer again. “Jungkook!” You call out to him, your heart hammering, and the door opens enough for him to poke his head through, his eyes widened expectantly.

“Yeah?”

You hastily gesture for him to come in, your eyes glued to the screen. “Come read this. Out loud.”

He seems confused, but comes up beside you and looks over the document, murmuring as he reads. “We must build a brighter future for PhysComs…"

As he confirms by reading back to you what you’ve seen with your own eyes, your confusion heightens to a fever pitch, and you almost want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Is this… an essay? About PhysComs?

“Wow,” Jungkook says softly, his eyes scanning the words in fascination. But when he turns to look at you, you can see that it isn’t fascination at all. His eyes contain something that stirs worry in your gut. “I, uh… I didn’t realize things were so bad for you.”

Pity.

No. No, this is bad. This can’t be happening.

Your brief feeling of ease at finally getting some answers vanishes in an instant as your mind becomes a whirlwind, spiraling down, down, down… You can see, clear as day, what will happen if Namjoon shows this essay to the other boys.

You’ll become someone they pity.

Pity is bad, pity isn’t hot, pity isn’t sexy, pity isn’t fuckable, pity means they’ll feel bad when you do your job, pity means they’ll use other sluts to lessen your burden, pity means they give you more fucking vacation time, pity means they’ll never look at you the same way again, pity means-

You don’t realize you’re short of breath until you’re gasping, hyperventilating, your knuckles white against the dark armrests of the chair.

Jungkook is beside you. He’s saying something but all you can hear is a high pitched whine and the thunder of your own pulse as it crashes in your ears, reminding you with every thump of your beating heart that you’re a failure.

You’ve failed.

You stand up, probably a little too fast, as your vision grows dark in the corners. Jungkook immediately goes to help you when you stumble, but you fend him off.

"I'm fine." You put a hand to your head, trying to force it to stop throbbing. "I don't need your help."

He seems hesitant to reply.

“Where is Namjoon? I-I need to-” Your voice trails off as stars swim in your vision. “Fuck…”

The room becomes blurry, and you feel weightless as you sink to the floor, the distant echo of Jungkook’s frantic voice fading into nothingness.

-------

“Some clients may become… misguided.” Madame paces in front of the class, checking everyone’s form and breathing as they lay on their backs at their stations, legs propped and parted as fucking machines train you all for stamina.

This is a relaxing class, despite the nature of it. After a while, you barely even notice the dildo sliding in and out of you, the whir of the machines becomes background noise. It’s a good chance to focus and meditate.

“They may come to hold… pity for you.” Madame bites on the word as she lowers her ever present riding crop, gently coaxing one girl’s legs further apart.

“They’ll think, aww, the poor little sluts are forced to be used. They’re being objectified. They don’t get a say.” You can barely see Madame’s arm from your position as she drags the riding crop along the girl’s thigh, and the girl shivers in pleasure.

“Pity is useless, girls. This is your job. You don’t pity the mailman for having to be out in the weather. Safety is key, and rules are in place for a reason. That’s why people never hire just one Physical Companion.”

The class snickers at this. The idea is preposterous. PhysComs are always hired in sets, proportional to the amount of clients they’ll be serving.

“You are never forced to serve your client. You are independent contractors. Anything you do for them, you do willingly. This is why we train. To broaden our capabilities, and make ourselves-” Here, she adjusts the setting on one girl’s machine. The dildo moves faster, causing the girl to let out a breathy moan.  “-as flexible as possible for our perspective clients.”

You inhale steadily as Madame examines you, her eye keen enough to pick up every detail of your posture, every twitch of your muscles. She clicks a setting on your machine and you feel the dildo expand slightly in girth, stretching you out further.

You smile and sigh at the stretch, proud to beat your previous record for time needed to move up a size. Madame’s expression gives away no approval, but you can tell from the twitch in her lip that she finds you to be a promising pupil.

She moves on, examining the next girl in line. “Our job is to assure them. To remind our clients why we are here. When we are with our clients, we are purely sexual beings.”

The girl beside you has her hands clapped to her mouth, trying desperately to conceal her noises. You can see her legs quivering and feel a twist of pride at being one of the few people eligible for an orgasm suppressant. Until you get your Opticon implanted, it’s an excellent advantage for stamina training.

Madame returns to her post at the front of the class, her sharp gaze sweeping over each of you as she continues her lecture. “If you are pitied by your client, then you have failed to make them see you as useful. Useless toys are thrown away.”

-------

Regaining consciousness is like being pulled up from the depths.

You vaguely register the softness of a bed beneath you. You blearily open your eyes, and see someone sitting at your side, their face swimming in your vision.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung pets your cheek, his large hands warm against your clammy skin, his voice is gentle. “Are you with me?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, suppressing a groan as you shove yourself onto your elbows.

“Woah, woah,” He stops you, guiding you to lay back down. “Easy there. How are you feeling?”

You feel like shit, honestly. Your head is still pounding and there’s a ringing in your ears, though the dizziness has faded significantly.

“I’m fine,” you croak, surprised at how weak your voice sounds. You wish you had the strength to shove him off, but your hands are braced uselessly on his arms.

A quick glance at your surroundings tells you that you’re back in your bedroom. How did you get here? The memories of what you discovered begin to come back to you, and with them, your sense of urgency returns. You try to push him off again. “N-need to see Namjoon...”

Taehyung shakes his head with an air of duty. “Namjoon isn’t home yet, but he said to keep you company and make sure you don’t overexert yourself.” He rearranges your arms and tucks the blanket up around your shoulders, then reaches for something on the night table and gently coaxes a straw to your lips. “Here, have some water.”

You reluctantly take a sip. You hadn't realized your throat was so dry.

He seems satisfied, and gives a nod before setting the drink down.

"What happened?” You ask with a looming sense of dread.

“You fainted,” he replies somberly.

You squint at him. “Yeah, I meant after that.”

His face brightens in understanding. “Oh! Well, Jungkook said he tried to call Namjoon as soon as you collapsed, but he didn't answer right away so he had to leave a voicemail. Then he brought you back here to your room instead. Carried you the whole way.”

There’s amusement in his eyes, though you can’t imagine what he finds funny about the situation. “It was perfect timing, so I said I’d look after you until you woke up.” He smiles warmly. “And now you’re awake.”

“What do you mean perfect timing?”

His smile falters for a moment. “Because... I just got home from shopping. See?” He says brightly, gesturing to some shopping bags sitting by your door with big name brands on them.

You also notice that your door handle is broken clean off.

“What… happened to my door?” You gape at the sight.

“Oh, I guess it must have been locked when Jungkook brought you home.” Taehyung chuckles. “I don’t think an elephant could have stopped him. You had him really worried.”

Something inside you feels warm at the notion that Jungkook would care so much.

And that warmth is immediately doused by frigid guilt.

Fuck, what are you thinking?

You’ve let them get too close, you’ve let them see your struggles, you’ve let them see you as a human being, as someone to worry about, instead of a mindless toy. Namjoon has written an entire persuasive essay about the supposed plight through which he believes you’re suffering.

You’ve become too relaxed around them. Fuck, you’re sitting here letting Taehyung fuss over you, when you should be offering him your body, sucking him dry, and letting him fuck your brains out.

That document puts things back into perspective. Letting this… tentative emotional connection that you've started with them go any further could be career ruining. Not just for you, but for the rest of their PhysComs. The dozens of Secondaries they employ could be at risk for losing their jobs too, if your clients suddenly feel guilty for using your services.

And then what? The members’ sexual drives will get out of hand. They won’t be regulated, they might stick their dick into a lucky fan and end up with a pregnancy scandal to cover up, or they’ll become tired, sluggish, and distracted due to unregulated sexual maintenance, which could affect their performance.

You are a necessary piece of their daily routine, their health, their jobs.

Vacation be damned, you are not about to let Namjoon’s blind optimism put himself, the other boys, or your own career at risk. It's for his own good.

You should have deleted the damn document when you had the chance. But it would have been too late anyway. Once they see you in that light, once they start pitying you, then that flicker of doubt will linger in their minds no matter how much you try to extinguish it.

You need to remind them of your place.

Jungkook and Namjoon are lost causes, they’ve both been exposed to the document’s propaganda. But there's still that mysterious vote they’ll be having by the end of the week, presumably about your future. That means you still have a chance. If you can convince a majority of them to view you once more as a purely sexual being…

You try to clear your head, mustering your strength to serve, but before you can ask Taehyung how he wants to use your body, he speaks.

“You do so much for us, jagiya.” Taehyung keeps his hands braced on your arms, his thumb rubbing gently against your skin. “You’re always there for us. Always giving.”

Your whole body tenses. You don’t like where this is going. He’s starting to sound an awful lot like Namjoon.

Taehyung seems to sense your discomfort, because he leans closer and bestows a fleeting kiss to your forehead. “Now it’s time for you to receive.” His eyes are warm as he stares down at you, and he holds a glimmer of something secretive in his smile, like he just told a private joke.

Your confusion grows. “Taehyung… what are you talking about?”

“He’ll be here any minute,” he says by way of an answer, and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Just relax, jagiya. You deserve this.”

“What do you-?”

But before you can question what he means and why he’s acting so strangely, your door swings open, and Min Yoongi enters.

“Here to take over,” he says, his mouth and nose still covered by the same black mask from earlier.

Taehyung looks surprised, almost shocked. “Where’s Jimin? He was supposed to-”

“Asked me to come instead.” Yoongi lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Said something about not feeling right.”

You look between the two of them. Taehyung’s mouth flaps like a fish and Yoongi sighs, coming over to take his place. “Come on, you’ve been up here for hours.”

Hours? What time is it? You reach for your ComGear and find that it’s not in your utility belt.

“No, but Jimin is supposed to-” 

Oh, there it is. Plugged in, resting on your night table. Maybe Jungkook saw that the battery was low. That boy is way too considerate.

“Why don’t you go check on him, then?” Yoongi doesn’t give Taehyung any room for argument, staring him down. “I think he went to the practice room.” 

Why is it on the settings screen? Shouldn’t it still be in your emails from earlier…? Weird.

Taehyung reluctantly stands up and takes a few steps towards the door, shifting his weight with uncertainty. He looks to you, then back at Yoongi. “But she was about to ask me something.”

You put aside your ComGear, pushing away any prior thoughts to focus on your mission. “It’s okay, we’ll talk later,” you assure him with a nod, your mind whirring into action.

You have to remind five men of your place as their personal sex slave, if all goes well. The order in which you remind them of this is inconsequential. Plus it might be more effective to go for Taehyung later. He may be less eager to fuck you after nursing you back to health.

But Yoongi… you haven’t seen him since earlier in the day. Yoongi doesn't have feelings for you. Yoongi’s only ever known you as a slut, which makes him an easy target.

Taehyung doesn’t look happy about leaving, but he nods, retrieves his shopping bags from the floor, and gives both of you a final glance before shutting the door.

You wait just long enough to know Taehyung is out of earshot. Yoongi walks over to your vanity, takes off the jacket he’d been wearing and drapes it over the back of the chair, leaving himself in a plain black t-shirt and black sweatpants.

While he isn’t looking, you carefully sit up and shed your oversized hoodie, leaving you topless. Time to get back to business.

You take a deep breath and slip into your persona. It feels good to wear it again, you feel less dizzy, more focused. Ready to fuck.

“Did you miss me, Master Min?”

Yoongi freezes, his back to you. You suppress a laugh. You know you’ve caught him off-guard.

“I’m sorry?” He tugs down his face mask and turns around, only to see you in nothing but a pair of leggings, perched prettily on the edge of your bed. His eyes widen only marginally, but it’s a big reaction, coming from him. "What are you doing?"

You tilt your head to the side and cover your breasts with your hands, groping and squeezing them together. “What do you think I’m doing, Master?” You bite your lower lip, keeping eye contact with him while you feel yourself, rolling a nipple between your fingers. “You always tell me to show off my pretty body.”

Yoongi looks off to the side, averting his eyes to your actions, but the tent forming in his pants tells you he didn’t look away soon enough. “Stop fucking around. You're suspended.” He says, echoing your words from earlier in the day.

You hum in agreement, a pout forming on your lips. “Mm, but I don’t want to be.” You let out a desperate, breathy sigh. “I want to be filled with your cock, Master. I need it.”

You watch his adam’s apple bob. His weight shifts. His lips press together. Every movement you analyze for signs of weakness. It’s like playing chess.

“I know you want me, Master,” you purr, sprawling back onto the bed. You bring one hand down to your core, massaging your mound through the stretchy material. “I’m yours for the taking. No one has to know.”

"Is that what you really want?" He asks with a distinct note of skepticism.

You bristle, but try to hide your irritation. Here they go again with their fucking consent.

“Yes, of course, Master.” You mold your face into submissive desire. “It's my dream to be a good little slut for you. Being stuffed with your thick cock, pounded into the mattress, and pumped full of your seed,” you whine, grinding against your hand for effect. It feels good, better than usual, and you come to find that you mean what you said. 

Sex actually sounds good right now, if you’re being honest. A good fucking might be just what you need to forget your worries, so it’s really a win-win.

You sense Yoongi’s hesitance, and you try to think of a way to convince him that you’re serious. The only off-the-clock sex you’ve had so far was with Hoseok, and that had been… far too intimate. But maybe some of the same principles could apply here. Hoseok had wanted you to want it. He’d asked you to use his name.

“Yoongi,” you breathe his name, dropping your character for just a moment. His eyes snap to yours. “I want you.”

He stares at you for a second. Two. Then he’s hovering over you, hands planted on either side of your shoulders.

“You want me?” His breath is warm and heavy, and you can see the way his pupils dilate when he looks at you.

Your heart skips a beat at his unexpected intensity. You nod, your lips slightly parted as he holds his body only inches away from you.

He seems at war with himself, his jaw working as his eyes roam down to your chest, then travel slowly back up, settling on your widened eyes, your pink bitten lips.

"Fuck it," he mutters, and surges down to crush his lips to yours.

It's unexpected. He's never shown any interest in kissing you, he's always preferred shoving his fingers in your mouth.

But you're grateful for that, because if he'd ever tried to kiss you before, you don't think you would've been able to keep your composure.

Yoongi is like fire. His lips are searing with passion, his tongue flickers and licks into your mouth. It's a stark contrast to his icy fingers as they brush against your ribs.

He's full of contradictions. His kiss is greedy but controlled. He grinds his thigh between your legs, causing you to moan, but his hands are feather light as they caress your breasts. He's fire and ice.

You feel yourself getting hotter by the minute, and all too soon, he breaks away from the kiss, leaving you gasping as he trails his mouth down your neck, biting a bruise there.

"Ah! Yoongi…" Your fingers twine through his hair of their own accord, and you're appalled at how easily you've given in to your desires. But it's all for the cause. You're saving careers.

He groans, his voice low and tempting as he kisses and licks your skin. "You really want me, princess?"

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. "Yes. Fuck, yes, please…"

"You want me to fuck that greedy cunt of yours? Fill you to the brim?"

His words light a fire in you, and you writhe beneath him. "I want it so much, Master. Please fuck me…"

He grabs your jaw. "You're my slut."

He says it more like a question than a statement. You nod as much as he'll allow.

He drags his thumb across your cheek and dips it into your mouth. "You're mine. I can use you however I want…"

You didn't think he'd be so easy to convince. Well, mission accomplished, you suppose. One down, four to go.

You suck greedily on his thumb in answer, widening your eyes to draw him in. He hums, pressing down on your tongue and making you gag around the digit.

"Good girl." His eyes are half lidded as he looks at you. Then something changes, a sharp glint appearing in his gaze as he removes his thumb and squeezes your jaw, forcing your mouth open.

He licks past your lips in a kiss of complete dominance. Despite his control, he's gentle, savoring your taste, praising you for it between breaths.

While your mouth is occupied, his other hand snakes down to cup your heat, palming you through your frustratingly thin leggings. His dexterous fingers find your clit faster than you would expect, and he circles the pads of his fingers there intently, nothing but the thin material separating him from your skin.

You buck into his hand, though you hope he doesn't keep you there for too long. You know the ache between your thighs will only get worse with no release.

"So fucking wet…" he mutters, pulling back from exploring your mouth to lick a possessive stripe up your cheek. "Tell me how much you want me, slut. Beg for it."

"Please!" You whine, falling into the familiar routine. "Please, Master, all I want is your cock inside me! I need it, I want it so badly…"

Yoongi exhales through his nose, and soon he's up and off of you. "All fours."

This is what you're used to. The familiarity of being told what to do, knowing what's going to happen next, it makes you relax. You get in the position he asks, wiggling your ass towards him.

But Yoongi needs no encouragement. He spanks you hard, rubbing his hands all over the smooth material covering your ass. "Fuck, so juicy…"

He's silent for a moment, and his hands still. You're about to say something to provoke him when there's the distinct noise of ripping fabric behind you. Your hips jerk towards him as he tears the seam of the leggings right down your core, exposing you.

"Yoongi!"

But he's already digging in, dragging his tongue along your folds and sucking at your dripping cunt. His hands grip your ass, spreading you apart for him, and you quiver, his tongue igniting sparks as it plunges within you.

You try not to let it get to you, but the lack of constant sex must have made you extra sensetive. Every thrust and flicker of his tongue has you breathless, squirming, needing more. It was never like this before, you have to pull yourself together. Keep control.

But Yoongi seems to like your enthusiasm. He hums, and the vibrations buzz at your clit, sending tingles straight up your spine. You let out a shriek of surprise as he sucks on the overly sensitive bud and you feel yourself throb.

Fuck, he's too good at this. How did he get so good at this? Your arms give out, and you fall onto the bed, your face buried in the duvet as Yoongi fucks you expertly with his tongue.

"S-stop…" you plead weakly, trying to avoid the inevitable disappointment that will soon follow if he keeps this up.

"What? I didn't hear you use your safeword, slut." He growls, landing a warning spank on your rear ashe rises onto the bed behind you. A shuffle of fabric as he pulls down his sweatpants. "You like this, don't you? You like being exposed. Being treated like a pornstar? Dirty girl."

You do. Fuck, you do. Especially when Min Yoongi happens to be the actor starring with you.

You feel him tap the head of his cock against your ass, slide the thick length along your center. "Look at how fucking wet you are already. So desperate... pathetic."

You feel a flash of heat at his assessment. Yoongi's always enjoyed a little degradation, but his choice of words hits a little too close to home in this particular scenario for you to fully embrace it.

You cover your embarrassment with a thicker cloud of pretend. "Of course I'm dripping, Master. I'm your fuck doll. I live to service your cock..."

"Damn right, you do." He shoves into you without warning, and you gasp for real. Fuck, you've been denied dick for less than twenty-four hours, and you're already off your game? Come on, shake it off. Get in the rhythm of it.

But Yoongi sets such a relentless pace, it's impossible for you to keep up. It's as if he's got something to prove. He fucks into you so hard it hurts. You moan and try to relax, try to cling to the familiarity, but you feel a weird pressure building in your chest. It makes it hard to breathe, hard to focus.

He takes your moans and gasps as a sign to go harder, and he leans over you, pressing his chest to your back. His hand slips around your neck, holding you in place while he growls against you, his nose digging into your cheek. "Gonna fuck the living shit outta you… yeah? That's what you want? Gonna make you see stars and beg for my cock, over and over until I say so."

You moan in gratitude. You're grateful he's so easy to convince. You're his slut, and he knows it. This is where you belong. You feel happy. Safe. You smile, closing your eyes as Min Yoongi fucks into you like a freight train, and you finally get a moment’s peace from the past day’s turmoil.

He suddenly grunts, lifting himself off of you. "This cock belongs in your filthy mouth." He pulls out of you and takes you firmly by the shoulder. You hastily follow his implications to sit up.

He grabs his cock at the base and guides it to your face, nudging your cheek and spreading the coated wetness across your skin. You get a glimpse of his length - rock hard, nearly purple, and leaking - before he stuffs it down your throat. You relax, humming and taking all of him and gagging obediently upon request, just like always.

"Such a good whore, yeah…  just like that," he moans, bracing his hand behind your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair. "This is how it should be, yeah?"

You hum around him in confirmation, glad that you're both on the same page.

"You're our slut. Nothing will ever fucking change that… " he starts rutting into your mouth, and you obediently let him fuck your throat.

He huffs, his voice dropping lower, “No use pretending you can be anything else.”

The change in his tone of voice is so stark, it gives you pause. You almost lose your concentration. He sounds almost... sad? Why would he be sad? Are you doing something wrong?

You redouble your efforts to please him.

"Look at you. So filthy." He praises you softly as you gurgle around him, drool starting to leak from your mouth. His roughness starts to return at the sight of you, and you beam with pride as he resumes his filthy dialogue. "This is what you want, isn't it? To choke on our dicks all day, huh? This what you signed up for?"

He pulls out to let you gasp in a breath, then shoves right back down. He does this a few more times, letting the blowjob get sloppy. You nod desperately between thrusts, assuring him of your devotion. You graze your hands over his clothed thighs, caressing him while he fucks your throat.

“Nothing else matters.” Yoongi huffs, and as his face swims back in forth in your vision, he looks resolute.

You surge forward to hold his length down your throat, swallowing around him, your nose touching his abdomen.

He groans, pulling your hair taut and holding you in place. "Yeah, that's it…. You were built for this, weren't you?"

He finally lets you come back for air, but no sooner do you take a messy gasp than he pushes you backwards onto the bed and crawls on top of you.

"Say it." He grabs you by the jaw again, and his voice is low and soft, his eyes like hot coals. "Tell me what you want."

You sputter and gasp, still reclaiming your breath, but obediently say what he wants to hear. "I want you, Yoongi. I want your cock..."

He let go of your face and hoists your legs up, bending you in half. "You're gonna get it, too," he mutters, grabbing your calves, keeping them up and out of the way as he shoves his thick cock into you again.

You moan compliantly, gasping and staring up at him. This is all going according to plan, you just have to hang on and not let your throbbing pussy distract you from the goal.

"You want to be a whore, huh?" He asks, maintaining a gravitational sort of eye contact as he slowly slides in and out of you, torturing you. "Cum for me. Cum around my cock."

You shiver and within a few moments, clench around him convincingly, letting your eyes roll back as you moan in delight.

"Cumming on command, within seconds... look at that." He braces your legs with one arm and starts rubbing your clit with his other hand as he picks up the pace. You feel a jolt as his thumb circles the little bundle of nerves, and you actually flinch.

"So sensitive." He growls, reading your mind. "What a needy cunt."

You can't form any words, the way he's kneading your clit has your head thrown back, your breath coming in gasps. It’s never felt like this.

Yoongi picks up on your arousal, and quickly gains speed, fucking you relentlessly, with little grunts of his own as he keeps you spread wide open for him, watching as your pussy takes his cock over and over again.

After endless minutes of stimulation, your core is swollen and aching, but still somehow desperate for more.

Yoongi's hips buck and stutter, and without warning, he leaves you painfully empty, clenching around nothing. His cock in his fist, he pumps himself to completion, letting his seed cover your puffy, aching pussy.

"Yeah, yeah, that's it…" he grunts, using his cock head to smear his release along your folds.

You start to relax, trying to overcome the disappointment your body feels at getting frustratingly uselessly stimulated.

But before you know it, Yoongi is lining himself up with your entrance again. "You thought we were done?" He chuckles darkly, using his cock to collect cum around your entrance, then he sheathes himself to the hilt with a low groan.

It feels so fucking good, you can't think straight. You cry out, your body desperate and screaming for more but knowing it's not enough, and it'll never be enough.

"Yeah, you want it deep inside you, don't you, you little cum slut?" He mutters, shoving his fingers into your mouth, and you're grateful that he's muffling your embarrassing noises.

"Gonna fuck you like the worthless little whore you are," he barks, ruthlessly slamming into you, and you moan with every thrust.

You would have said something if you still had an ounce of coherent thought in your brain, but the sensations are quickly taking over. Your whole body is wound up, desperate for something. His fingers reach down to rub hastily at your swollen clit and your vision blurs, your pulse pounds in your ears - are you going to faint again?

No.

You peak.

A scream catches in your throat, broken and gutterel as pleasure takes over your entire body, coursing through you in waves, lifting your body off the bed, convulsing, throbbing through you, inside and out.

It feels so good it hurts. You want to stay in this moment, extend it for as long as possible, but you know there's something wrong. Your mind is so addled, you're scared, terrified, before you even remember why.

You shouldn’t be capable of climax. Something’s wrong.

Yoongi keeps fucking you, grunting as you clench around his cock, but you're clawing at him, begging him to stop, tears leaking down your cheeks. Something’s wrong.

He realizes you aren't moaning anymore, but wailing. Sobbing. Something's wrong. He pulls out of you, shouting to be heard above your panic. He looks scared. Guilty.

Just then your door bursts open, and Jimin enters the room with a shout, quickly followed by Taehyung.

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-” Jimin’s eyes fall to your compromising position, Yoongi’s dick still out, your leaking core exposed, and claps a hand over his mouth. He looks like he might cry. “Oh no...”

Taehyung’s mouth falls open, and he appears too alarmed to speak, apart from a very small, “Fuck.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? What’s your fault?” Yoongi’s shouts at Jimin and Taehyung are drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears as your shoulders shake from dry sobs. Your eyes flash between the two younger members, their guilty expressions, and you remember your private conversation with Jimin just yesterday.

"There is a way to turn it off, in case of emergency side effects. But I can't just turn it off for fun. You have to understand that.” You rest your hand on his shoulder again, hoping he now comprehends the reason for your earlier outburst. “It's a part of my job."

"I understand. Sorry,” he says, giving you a small nod. He twists his mouth to the side, chewing over the revelations. "That must really suck. Not being able to cum."

He’s the only one you’ve ever told.

“I’m sorry! It’s my fault-”

Your ComGear. The settings.

You're too shocked, too betrayed, too sore to get up on your own. You feel some of Yoongi’s release drip down your leg, and a robotic voice fills your mind, drilled into you from the hours of safety lectures you’d had to sit through during training.

… If at any point the user experiences orgasmic sensations before, during, or after sexual activities, then this may be a sign of malfunction in the Opticon Miracle Implant, rendering the user susceptible to sexually transmitted disease and/or pregnancy. Side effects of a malfunctioning Opticon Miracle Implant could become severe, or in some cases life-threatening, if left untreated. Please consult your local physician and refrain from any sexual activity until the Opticon Miracle Implant may be examined by a specialist.

They’re all shouting now, and you feel your throat constrict in horror at the implications of what just happened. The words get caught in your chest, bubbling up with your mounting fear, and finally fall from your lips in a raw cry for help.

"Someone call an ambulance!"