#so much like with the Overseer he’d probably get to the point where he realizes that his partner wants him Fucking Dead and abandon ship

[sparky-is-spiders]

So by the time they even meet Amaldyne will 1) have preconceived judgements (despises him) and 2) be in so deep with Eityr that neither of them have room for close relationships of any sort in their lives, but I think there’s an alternate universe where Leoshgon and Amaldyne date. It would HAVE to happen after her family dies and while Leo has the sword (aka when Amaldyne is enough of a control freak and Leo is at his most useful). But like. It definitely COULD.

I imagine it would be much like the Overseer’s relationship with Leo in terms of the dynamic, but the internal forces driving it would be different. The Overseer enjoys control and possession for its own sake. He likes that one of the most powerful forces currently at play belongs to him. Leoshgon is a tool and a possession, and a trophy, but the love goes beyond that. He’s a person who isn’t magically bound but chose to stay anyway, and the Overseer loves THAT most of all (I imagine some of that love fades after Leo loses the sword, which I think Leo would interpret as the Overseer seeing him as a tool, but is more the Overseer wanting a partner who chooses him). I think Amaldyne would lean less “posession” and mor “objectification.” Leoshgon would be, to her, an extension of herself and her values. Leo is in her corner. Leo is fighting her battles. For her cause. For HER. She loves that Leo never disagrees with her (or at least that he always sides with her in the end), that he’ll do anything for affection and validation. And even if parts of Leo want to be his own person (want to be a person) he loves having somewhere to belong and someone to love him, even if it means being a doormat for someone who’s love is very much conditional.

And I think that’s why, if Leo was in a relationship with Amaldyne instead of the Overseer when he gave up the godslayer sword, she would kill him for the betrayal when the Overseer would keep him for coming back at all.

[no1frogfan]

Impending, part 2

Matsukawa Issei x afab reader

Word count: ~2.6k

Tags & warnings: SMUT-MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT, drugs (smokin a joint), semi-public sex (barely), fingering, p in v

Note: Vegeta fuckers rise up. (But for real everyone knows Android 18 is where it’s at.) I think this piece makes clear how big the Mattsun-shaped hole in my heart is. Thank you @prettyiwa for your keen editing eye :* And idk if you wanted to keep getting tagged in this series mica but in case you do @princesskazuya

part 1 | part 3

The first time he met you, Makki had invited him over to play games after school. It was only the second week of 4th grade, but they’d hit it off immediately. He was aware Makki had two siblings, and even though he was younger than Makki, Issei was still the oldest in his own family and the oldest among his cousins, so he was pretty sure his mature energy would garner your respect.

What he hadn’t anticipated was that…it didn’t.

Actually, you were the one who impressed him. You seemed to know all the things that middle schoolers knew and elementary schoolers didn’t, and right away he found himself on the back foot, wanting you to recognize him as an equal.

The second time he went to Makki’s house, he went prepared. This time, he was going to get more than a quick glance from you, so he picked out the coolest shirt he owned — dark gray, oversized, with Vegeta going Super Saiyan plastered across the front. When you opened the door and feigned a cough to hide your laugh, he realized he’d misfired again.

When he thinks back on his childhood memories of you, they were invariably like this — you out of reach and him just behind, you ahead and him in pursuit.

You were always polite to him, never mean, but never overly friendly either. And why would you be? He was the annoying friend of your annoying little brother. The two of them were constantly following you around trying to get you to take them to high school parties where they were sure they’d get their first sip of beer and their first kiss.

It’s just that somewhere along the way, he started hoping you would be his first kiss.

But the four-year age gap meant he didn’t get much of a chance. By the time he got to high school, you were away at college, and by the time he graduated college, well, you’d already started making headway with your career in Sendai, or so Makki said.

In that time, he’d graduated high school, college too, and now he’s pretty established in the family business. He still hangs out with Makki all the time, and he’s a fixture in the Hanamaki household, always making sure to visit your parents along with his own. It’s just that whenever he came over, you’d either just left, or were yet to arrive. The timing was never right.

The desire to impress you faded to near-nonexistence over the years. Near non-existence, because a tiny little part of him still keeps track of how long it’s been since he last saw you (until today: 11 years). So when Makki invited him over for a family barbecue and mentioned offhandedly that you were home visiting, well, that tiny little part of him may have decided to trade the usual basketball shorts and faded t-shirt for the shorts that hug his thighs and the shirt that shows off the physique he’s kept up even after volleyball.

He knew he’d have to endure some teasing, but he’s used to it at this point.

(Makki took one look at him in the doorway and doubled over laughing, “It’s never gonna happen, bro.”

Mattsun just shrugged. “Can’t blame me for wanting to shoot my shot.”

Makki did not like that turn of phrase.)

Anyway, he’s probably over you at this point. He’d almost convinced himself of that until the moment you appeared at the top of the basement steps.

Maybe there’s something about the basement. Back then, he was always playing games down here with Makki. The tv screen was much smaller at the time, and the basement wasn’t fully finished. The walls hadn’t been painted, the floor was just concrete, and the only furniture was a paint-stained coffee table, a lumpy old sofa, and a dirty bean bag chair. Your parents gave them their privacy though, and kept the old fridge downstairs stocked with soda, so to him, it was basically heaven.

You usually left him and Makki alone, but sometimes if you were really bored, or if it was too hot upstairs, or you were supposed to watch them while your parents were out, you’d hang out down here and play a round or two. Sometimes you’d complain about your friends or whoever you were dating at the time, and Makki would always take their side and he would always take yours, and afterward you’d jokingly berate your brother, Why can’t you be nice to me like Issei?

The way you called his name today with that pleased little lilt made his insides twist into familiar knots. When he chanced a peek…you looked stunning, even better than he remembered. Especially with a radiant glow from the afternoon sun, beads of sweat disappearing into your cleavage, and thighs spilling out of tiny denim shorts.

He felt nervous, hyperaware of you sitting behind them on the couch. So when Makki reached over to bat at his controller, he channeled that anxious energy into shoving back.

In retrospect, it was more than a little childish to think he could impress you by wrestling your brother. Wrestling? Really? What are they, ten years old? He regretted it as soon as Makki left and the adrenaline wore off. He’s a grown man now, with plenty of experience under his belt, so how come you’re still able to make him feel like this?

Mattsun tried to play it off while he figured out another tactic, but then… When you leaned in to take the controller out of his hands, he thought you hesitated, just for a second, like you were caught off guard.

And when he sat back against the couch, he thought you seemed fidgety, like maybe the couch was uncomfortable.

And then when he — let’s be honest — completely fucking panicked and just laid himself across your lap because he couldn’t keep his hands off you, and your voice got all throaty, like…he’s even not sure what.

When you shoved him off and retreated into the couch, when he saw the agitated rise and fall of your chest and the way your nipples poked through the thin fabric of your crop top, when you looked everywhere but at him—

That’s when it clicked. Maybe, just maybe, he finally had a chance.

He barely remembers the race, so dizzying was this revelation.

He ignored Makki’s curious look when he didn’t lie back down on the floor. He hoped you didn’t mind how sweaty his palm was when he pushed himself up next to you instead. You’d stiffened, keeping your gaze resolutely focused on your phone, even though you’d stopped scrolling.

Now that you’re within reach, he doesn’t want to let go of this chance. To ghost his lips on the skin of your neck. To make his desire plain to you. To know if you want him too.

When you look up, a reply on your lips…

Makki yawns. Your face drops.

Of course.

He’s an idiot.

He was so high on the barest glimmer of a chance with you that he forgot all about Makki. Of course you’d be worried about how your brother might feel. You have no idea that Makki is well aware of his crush on you.

So when you run off, leaving him behind yet again, he fights the urge to chase. That little inkling of interest had made him impatient. Can you blame him, though? He’s been chasing after you for as long as he can remember. He’s sure of what he wants. But, he reminds himself, this is all new for you.

So for the first time, he doesn’t pursue you.

Don’t rush.

Slow down.

He plays a few more rounds with Makki and waits.

He goes upstairs and helps with the cooking and waits.

He grabs another beer and talks to your parents and waits.

But his patience has limits. Eventually, he can’t quell the antsiness crawling up his body and sneaks off while Makki is waylaid by one of your uncles.

When he doesn’t see you inside, he slips out to the backyard. It’s cool outside now that the sun is just a sliver on the horizon, and quiet since everyone has retreated indoors. He walks around to the side of the house.

A lighter clicks in his periphery, and for a blink, it illuminates you, hidden in a corner between the plum tree and the stone fence.

Your head snaps up at the crunch of gravel under his shoes.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

He ducks under the branches, stopping a few feet away.

“Yup, just me.”

You bring a skinny joint up to your lips and take a deep drag, turning to blow the smoke away from him.

“Needed some air?” He keeps his tone light.

“Something like that.”

He’s slept around, he’s dated, might have even fallen in love once, but there’s something unshakeable about a first crush. Maybe it’s just you that’s unshakeable. He’d dismissed it as a teenage obsession, but the ember he believed had turned to ash has roared to life.

The uncertainty is clear in your posture, yet your gaze flits over him when you think he’s not looking — eyes, lips, shoulders, chest, eyes again — or maybe you just think the haze of dusk gives you some cover.

You hold the joint out with one hand. “Want some?”

He steps into the narrow gap between you and the fence and, bending down, lifts your (surprisingly pliant) hand to his mouth. He tries not to tower over you, but in this confined space it’s hard not to.

He purses his lips gingerly around the tips of your fingers and inhales.

Breathing out slowly, his eyes stay locked on yours.

Your face remains neutral, but he feels the quickening of your pulse under his fingers when he lets go.

You step back to lean against the trunk. Before you can take another puff, he plucks the joint from you.

“Hey, give it back!”

He holds it up out of your reach. “Didn’t think you of all people would smoke.”

You roll your eyes. “I could say the same for you.”

“I guess some things change. And some things don’t.”

“Suppose so,” you admit.

You stare at the joint slowly burning down in his hand.

“Makki knows, you know,” he assures, gauging your reaction.

You frown in confusion. “That I smoke?”

He laughs. “No. He knows that I’m interested.”

Your frown deepens, and he adds, “I didn’t ask for his blessing or anything, but he’s never had a problem, so I’m pretty sure he’s ok with it.”

At that, you meet his eyes — yeah, he might finally have a chance.

He takes a deep drag, and before you can react, he presses his lips to yours, blowing the smoke softly into your mouth. He follows it with his tongue, delicate and testing. You open for him, soft like velvet and just a bit bitter from the beer.

When you don’t reciprocate, he reluctantly pulls away.

You evaluate him thoughtfully before snatching the nub from him. Taking one last puff, you snuff it against the fence, pull him down by the front of his shirt, and smash your lips against his. He eagerly welcomes your tongue, groaning when your sharp incisors pinch his bottom lip.

Your hands run up the back of his neck, roam over his broad shoulders, slide down his toned arms. You lift his hands and settle them on your hips, and before he realizes, he’s picking you up off the ground, wrapping your legs around him, and pinning you against the fence.

You pant as he nestles his face in the curve of your neck, licking and nipping restlessly, careful not to leave any marks for Makki or the rest of your family to find.

His fingers glide up your stomach, sneak under your top, to trace the curve of your breast.

“Do you know how hard you made me earlier when I saw you weren’t wearing a bra?” He growls into your shoulder.

You shiver at his admission, nipples hardening in his palms.

“And then Makki came back and I had to sit there and pretend like I wasn’t just fantasizing about fucking you into the couch?”

He grinds his hips, making you squirm, chuckling when he pulls back and you chase after the friction. “Mmm— yeah? You want me to?”

“Yeah, I want you to,” you gasp, “want you to fuck me, Issei.”

As soon as he sets you down, you start tugging at your shorts and underwear, but before you can even get them to your knees, he’s twisted you around and bent you over against the stone.

He curses as he slips one finger into your soaking cunt, followed quickly by a second. You writhe against his hand, biting back moans as he works them against your slick walls.

“Fuck you’re so wet already. Want this cock that bad, huh?”

“Fuck off Issei,” you whine, “you’re the one who popped a boner w— fuuuck…”

He plunges a third finger inside.

“What was that?”

“Just fucking…shut up and fuck me.”

He tsks, “Was gonna prep you more, but…” But honestly, he’s this close to cumming in his pants. He frees his cock and lines himself up, swooning when it prods against your entrance.

He sinks in. Not in one thrust, because he doesn’t want to hurt you, and because he wants to savor this. But not slowly either, because his patience is worn down to nothing.

“Oh sh— Issei…you’re huge,” you grit out, all the while shoving your ass back to take him in faster.

As soon as you’ve sucked all of him in and his hips rest flush against your pussy, the last thread of his self-control snaps and he’s mindlessly rutting into you. He can’t bear to pull out more than a inch or two before slamming back in, hips snapping with loud claps that almost muffle the sloppy squelch of your cunt.

He pulls you up, needing to feel as much of you against him as possible. One arm circles your waist and the other hand wraps around to clutch at your chest.

Your lewd moans and the way your pussy clenches around his cock makes him lightheaded. He’s lost in your slick walls, soft heat, unable to slow down.

It’s too late to wonder if his fingers are digging into you a little too hard because he’s already about to—

He shoves a hand between your legs to fumble at your clit, it’s clumsy, but you’re just so— he’s praying you cum before he loses it.

The last thing he sees is you clapping a hand over your mouth.

He feels you start to spasm right as he pulls out, blindly reaching down to pump himself once, twice before his vision goes dark.

His chest is still heaving when he regains his senses. You’re panting beside him, clinging to the cold stone, gobs of cum splattering your back and the curve of your ass.

He reaches over to brush away the hair stuck to your forehead.

“I’ll go get some tissues,” he murmurs, tucking himself back into his shorts.

He jogs toward the house, straightening his clothes before slipping inside. Luckily, everyone seems to have migrated into the living room because he doesn’t pass a soul as he grabs some toilet paper from the nearest bathroom before returning.

He’s tender when he tidies you up, gently wiping off your back, swallowing your whimpers with a kiss as he cleans up your oversensitive cunt.

Dimly, something primal wells up in him. Is that weird? To feel elated to be wiping his cum off you?

To feel like, after all this time, he’s finally caught up.

[bkglove]

In Bloom (chp 1)

Summary: You, a girl with a plant quirk and a suspicious story transfer into UA mid second year and Bakugou wants to figure out what you’re hiding - his reasoning has absolutely nothing to do with the stupid warmth and annoying fluttering in his chest he gets from hanging around you. None. At. All.

Fluff, angst, friends to lovers, mutual pining, secrets, SLOW BURN, strangers to friends to lovers(?) (I may add more tags but you get the gist)

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･*･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

“Watch where you’re going, moron.”

You looked up, just catching the scowling face of the boy you’d bumped into as he stalked away. You watched him go, a frown on your face. 

Some hero school. You thought before scrambling to collect the papers you’d dropped. “Suppose not everyone here’s gotta be nice,” you grumbled to yourself. 

Though you couldn’t be too mad about it, it had been entirely your fault after all. You’d been too busy staring out the windows, ogling the oversized classroom doors, and basically looking anywhere except for right in front of you when you’d bumped into the blonde. That didn’t mean he had to be so rude about it though. 

You didn’t need some random picking up your papers and looking through your stuff but a polite “excuse me” or even saying nothing would have been better than what he’d said. You let out a frustrated breath, so much for new beginnings. 

“Where is it?” You rifled through the hastily cleaned up papers, this day was just getting worse and worse. 

You couldn’t find the sheet that let you know where your new classroom was located. You knew you should have just waited outside the principles office for the homeroom teacher like you were supposed to but you were bored and had, had all the necessary information needed to find your own way when you’d opted to walk around.

“Aha!” There it was, the paper had drifted a few feet farther than others resting right at a turn of the hallway, probably why you hadn’t spotted it sooner. 

You went to reach for it right as a voice called from around the corner “Bakubro wait up!”

You watched with a defeated sigh as the newcomer’s foot landed right on the paper.

Absolutely fantastic first day. You rolled your eyes.

This boy at least had the decency to stop once he realized he’d stepped on something and spotted you staring at the paper under his foot. He grabbed the paper. “Hey! Sorry about that,” his grin was big and welcoming despite housing razor-sharp teeth, he held out the paper. “Wasn’t really looking where I was going.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Okay, so this school was not made up entirely of self-righteous assholes . Hopefully, that last guy was the outlier and not this friendly boy in front of you. You did your best to smile back at him “That’s okay, there really was no helping it.” You took the paper back from him.

“I’m Kirishima,” his grin never faltered, “I haven’t seen you around before, are you a general studies student or?” He let the question trail off.

“I, uh, I just transferred here. From a different school. I’m a hero student.” You tried not to outwardly cringe, the half-truth falling stiltedly from your lips, all things considered, you were surprisingly awful at lying. 

“That’s awesome! I’m a hero student too! Do you need help finding your class or anything?”

He’s like a golden retriever puppy , the thought brought a more genuine smile to your lips, okay so maybe not the worst first day ever .

“That would be amazing. Though, I don’t want to hold you up from meeting your friend.” You recalled he’d been running after someone before spotting you.

“That’s alright, I’ll see him in class anyway.” The redhead, Kirishima, you would do your best to remember his name, waved his hand as if physically trying to dispel your worries.

“Thank you so much,” you handed him back the sheet of paper he’d stepped on, pointing to where it read your classroom.

“Hey cool, we’re in the same class!” He looked between you and the paper excitedly.

“Well, that’s convenient.” You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you, his enthusiasm was infectious. Maybe making friends here wouldn’t be as hard as you’d feared.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone.” He grinned and the two of you started walking. “Oh wait, I don’t think I got your name,” he looked at you sheepishly.

“Y/N.” You replied easily, having decided long ago it was inevitably going to be easier and safest to just use your real name, even if it made your palms a little sweaty.

“Well nice to officially meet you Y/N,” Kirishima replied assuaging your nerves as the two of you continued on your way to the classroom. 

You had to hold back a frown when he opened the door and you spotted a familiar swash of ash blonde hair and a scowling face, all the good feelings and hopes for the day, and the class as a whole coming crashing down around you. 

One asshole and one super nice guy , you thought glancing around at the rest of the students, hopefully, most of them will be nice too . though your hopes for that were not high, you’d experienced firsthand how cruel even kids in a hero course could be.

You looked around for the teacher, part of the reason you’d left the hallway was to find him, assuming he’d be held up in the classroom but it didn’t seem like he was around. Before you could ask Kirishima about it a voice rang out.

“Whose the cutey Kirisihima? Your girlfriend?” 

You looked up to see a boy with electric blonde hair a black zig-zag running through the top glancing between the two of you, eyebrows wiggling.

“No man.” Kirishima spoke first, cheeks pink, “this is our new classmate. I met her in the hall.”

“Well in that case,” the blonde stood up and walked toward you in what you could only imagine was his best attempt at a swagger “Hi hottie, I’m Kaminari. What’s your name?”

“Not interested.” Were the first words out of your mouth before you could think better of it. These were new people, you were supposed to be trying to make friends .

He looked a little sad at the immediate shutdown but others in the class who had been drawn to the conversation chuckled, helping to loosen the knot of tension you’d felt growing in your gut.

“Ah, I mean,” you spoke again, waving your hand around a little, “I’m y/n.”

“Well,” Kaminari perked up, “it’s nice to meet you y/n, I’ll have to do my best to woo you.” He winked and then winced when a girl with short black hair jabbed him with what looked to be aux plugs from her ears.

“Stop being an idiot and leave the poor girl alone.” She scolded him before turning her attention to you. “I’m Jirou, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” you could only imagine how awkward you must have looked, face flushed, shoulders squared, palms sweaty, heart beating fast, you’d been out of the making friends game too long. 

Fortunately, you were saved from any possible further embarrassment as a tall boy with thick glasses and short dark hair stood in the center of the classroom and called for everyone to be seated as class was about to start.

Unfortunately, you still hadn’t found the teacher and were now left standing alone at the front of the classroom no idea where you were supposed to sit. "You have no one to blame but yourself for this" was going to be a mantra of yours at this rate. 

You weren’t left waiting long, almost as soon as the students each found their seat and quieted down did Aizawa enter the room. You’d met the teacher a few times before, in fact, he was a big part of the reason you were able to be transferred to U.A. and given this chance at all.

“Everyone should be seated, class is about to start,” He announced, glancing at you as he took up his spot at the front of the classroom behind a podium. “Right, we have a new student everyone, I expect you all to be welcoming.” You couldn’t be sure but it seemed like the professor had left his eyes a little longer on the angry blonde as he looked around the room. “Okay, go ahead and introduce yourself.” He said looking at you, voice tired and uninterested not giving you the vote of confidence you kinda needed.

“Oh, uh-,” your eyes darted around the classroom. You spotted Kirishima giving you a big grin and a thumbs-up before you let your eyes settle on a blank wall at the back of the room so you didn’t have to think so much about where to look. “I’m y/n. I moved and had to transfer schools. I’m very excited to learn with you all.” The practiced words fell from your lips smoothly and you could only hope it would be enough to not raise too many questions about your past, you couldn’t go through being the immediate outcast again when you swore you’d try your best to fit in with this group of hero wannabe’s.

The class immediately erupted. 

“Hi y/n! We should-”

“What’s your quir-”

“What school did yo-”

“Where’d you mov-”

The students spoke over one another so you couldn’t hear the end of any single question.

“Quiet,” Aizawa spoke, hair-defying gravity as he used his quirk to get everyone’s attention. The room was silent immediately. 

“y/n go take a seat. Everyone can ask their questions after class.” He gestured to the back of the classroom where you spotted an empty desk, quickly making your way over, ignoring the angry red eyes that followed you as you walked past. 

You knew this was the top hero school in the country but damn did they have to take their secular study classes extremely seriously too? You already felt behind and this was the part you were expecting to be good at. Lunch could not come fast enough.

The second the class was dismissed you were surrounded. It seemed, besides the one blonde outlier, this was an extremely friendly class. Or they were all really good fakes but that seemed unlikely. And, against your better judgment, you felt yourself actually getting excited about your future here. Amongst all the offers to sit with you at lunch, you opted to go with Kirishima as you’d already spoken to him and he felt like the safest bet to have the least awkward lunch experience. Besides, there would be more time to get to know the others later. 

It did not take long for you to regret that decision.

“What’s the fucking newbie doing here,” A gruff voice asked after you’d settled into the lunch table. You looked up to see the same asshole from before.

“Same as you, I expect,” you responded automatically, not that you really felt bad being snarky with him, he of all people definitely seemed to deserve it. Based on the snickers from your new classmates around the table it had been the right move. It was almost imperceptible but even his own deep frown seemed to quirk up into a small smirk for a moment as he sat down.

“C’mon man.” You heard Kirishima reprimand the blonde, as the pink girl, Mina you’d learned her name was, put a comforting hand on your arm.

“Don’t worry about Bakugou he’s just a grumpy old man,” She said seriously.

“I’m not a fucking old man.” The object of her teasing scowled at her.

“Didn’t argue the grumpy part,” Kaminari replied with a grin.

The blonde, Bakuguo, (you were doing your best to remember all the names but it was beginning to be a struggle) just grunted in response.

“He’s becoming self-aware!” Kaminari declared falling back with an over-exaggerated swoon onto Sero. The table erupted into laughter.

You risked a glance at the grumpy blonde, you were a bit surprised, at your old school he would have definitely been the type to do the making fun of not the one taking it. You knew that because it had been you. Standoffish and aggressive as a way to cope with the idiots and assholes you were forced to go to school with or face worse punishment. 

Before you could get to in your head about it, Mina patted your arm once more to get your attention. “So where’d you transfer from? What made you come here?”

“I was at the American School of Heroics, so it made the most sense to transfer here once I was moving.” you gave an easy practiced smile. Sure there were way more complicated details than that. But at the end of the day, it wasn’t really a lie so you knew it would pass with no one the wiser.

“A.S.H.! That’s like the top hero school in America right?” Sero, who you’d also been introduced to when you sat down, said excitedly. 

You nodded.

“Woah, so you must be really talented. What’s your quirk?” Kirishima asked.

That seemed to draw even Bakuguo’s attention as you noticed his eyes flick from his food to you back to his food. Not that you were paying him any special attention, or that you cared if he listened, you just happened to see it happen, that was all.

“I can control plants. Well, it’s a little bit more complex than that but that’s the easiest way to explain it.”

“That’s so cool!” Mina exclaimed.

“Can we se-” Kirishima started but was cut off by Bakuguo.

“Sounds lame as shit.”

“Excuse me?” You were taken aback. You see the rest of the table sigh, ready to call him out but he continues before they can say anything to wrangle him in.

“You heard me.” He shrugged again glancing at you for just a second before looking back at his food as if you weren’t even worth looking at as he spoke to you.

“I bet me and my lame quirk could still take you down ass-hat.” And shit, there goes your attempts at being nice. Well, whatever, it wasn’t your fault he was being a big bag of dicks.

“You wouldn’t even be able to land a scratch on me,” he retorted. That seemed to have gotten his attention as he now glared solely at you.

“A scratch?” You scoffed, ”I’d cut that whole scowl off your face.” You leaned forward.

“You sure you wanna make that bet Flower Girl.” He leaned forward too, eyes narrowed the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, but you were in too deep now.

“Any time, any place.” You crossed your arms.

“Training. After lunch. You’re dead.” He stated in such a matter-of-fact way you kinda just wanted to deck him right then and there. 

The others at the table were quick to apologize for their friend but you could tell they were kind of excited to see what would happen.

You risked a glance around the lunchroom, expecting to see more angry eyes looking toward your obnoxiously loud table but were surprised to find no one had even looked your way. You supposed if he was always like this the people in this school must be used to it and no one really cared to notice anymore. The thought comforted you in a weird way. 

You should have been mad at him, but honestly, the arguing was kinda nice, took your mind off the anxiety that built up any time you thought too much about your future at this new school. Besides, you didn’t really know any of these people, for all you knew the kindness, and friendliness could have been fake. But anger, especially at a random person, that was real. And, in a weird way it made you find him to be a sort of calming presence, you cast a slightly less heated look his way before going back to nodding along to whatever Mina was explaining.

Chp 2

[cynettic]

Hey! Can I request the "You wear their shirt that's too big for you the morning after a steamy night "but with childe, kaeya ,albedo and zhongli! Thank you

Reader x Genshin NSFW

Summary - You wear their oversized shirt after a steamy night.

Pairings - Fem!Reader x Childe / Zhongli / Kaeya

Warnings - NSFW so no minors plsss

A/N - Someone else asked for Albedo, so I’ll do that one soon! Hope you liked these ones though :) They’re a bit more descriptive than the last ones I did tho- so be careful if you’re not into that.

Childe

Often busy, the one instance where he has a bit of time before work passes by, and you walk out in his large shirt after a steamy night.

At this time in the morning, he’s sipping his morning coffee, eyeing the newspaper or whatever’s on the table.

That all changes when you walk in.

Of course he notices, and resting his elbow on the couch arm, he simply stares. Doesn’t attempt to hide his flirtatious smile and just waits till you notice his very persisting gaze.

When you turn to him, his eyes give you the sensation you might as well be bare naked.

“When did I ever say you could wear my shirt?”

He says this teasingly ofc, you wearing his shirt is the hottest thing he could’ve seen all day. Makes him very happy.

But you deciding to tease him right back, you pout, tugging at the hem of it. “You dont want me to wear it?” He tries to protest and say it was a joke and not to take it personal, but before he can even start, you pull the shirt off.

You have nothing under the shirt.

Nothing.

Flinging the shirt back into his lap, you turn back to the bedroom. “There you go, I’ll find something else to wear.” You make sure to strut, hips swaying from side to side as you touch the doorframe.

You don’t make it to the bedroom.

Childe’s hand glides down your pelvis, wrapping around your waist as the other pulls your hair back so he can give you a kiss on the neck. You’ve captured his full attention, and even though he has work soon, your antics stirred him up.

God… now all he wants to see is you ‘begging’ for him.

Childe has the awful tendency to turn almost everything into a competition, and you struck a nerve. He will waste no time in letting you know who is in control of who.

He pins your arms above your head, holding your wrists in one hand with ease. But holding you so tightly up, your back is arched, posture straight and breasts perked outwards with the awkward position.

“That was awfully bold of you Y/n~”

His other hand cups your breast, molding it in his hand. Index finger pressing down on your nipple while the rest of his hand rubs your tits in a down and up motion. You sink into the feeling, a content sigh leaving your lips as you lean into his touch.

Still sore from yesterday, Childe certainly wasnt gentle or merciful, and this contact is softly blissful compared to yesterday.

Till he pinches your little nipple in his hand, twisting it slowly and hearing you whine in annoyance.

Instead of moving onto the next breast, his hand moves down, gloves brushing against your stomach and your hips. Until its rested on your inner thighs, and he’s just caressing and stroking the skin of your thigh.

His black gloves are everything.

You unconsciously press your legs together, mewling at the sensation so close to your heat. You try to lean further into his hand so he can rub against your throbbing core, but his hand capturing your wrists keeps you firm, not letting you move an inch.

Childe moves teasingly slow.

His gloved finger rubs against your clit ever so softly, pressing deeper against it and then pulling away completely.

“C-Childe…”

“Hmm? Speak up Y/n.”

He adds a second finger, but continues only to rub your pussy. A torturous sensation that makes you buck your hips in desperation to feel his fingers sliding in.

“Childe… please.”

You speak louder this time, and he rubs harder.

“Please what? You’ve got to be more specific Y/n.”

He loves the way he has complete and utter control over you, your reactions, the noises and expressions you make. That even if you’d had the audacity to expose yourself and strut away, he still had control. That in this battle, he’d won.

“Stick your fingers into me,” you groaned out, louder than the previous sentence. “Please- please…”

His gloved finger poked at the tip of your needy hole, rubbing around the edge just until your eyes watered with frustration, and you tried to grind against the sensation. Again unable to with his hold on your wrists.

“P-please!”

It was only when you were begging that he shoved his finger in ruthlessly, pushing in and out. Your legs rubbed together, thighs pressing tightly around his hand as he added a second finger, and you were left gasping and moaning out his name.

When he added a third finger, your knees were trembling and it was only his grip on your wrists and the hand buried in your pussy that kept you standing. He leaned into your neck, his breath fanning your ear when he asked you who you belonged to.

“Y-you…” you breathlessly answered, coming close to your climax with every thrust of his gloved fingers. Pumping up into that G spot so hard that it left you crying out.

And then he pulled out his fingers, loosening the grip on your wrists.

“Good.”

Trembling and writhing just for him, he’d leave you bare and needy. Not letting you climax with him until he came back home from work.

Punishment for trying to tempt him earlier.

He licked your juices from his gloves, sucking on them and lapping them with his tongue. Just for you of course, laying on the ground whining and wet, so close to your climax yet stopped at the heat of the moment.

With a big wide grin, he waves his hand in a goodbye, grabbing his bag from the corner of the room before heading to the door. Fulfilled, watching you beg for him and shamelessly admit that you were his was the perfect start to his morning, and of course your revenge for teasing him earlier.

“See you after work Y/n~!” And with a wink he’s off.

Zhongli

For some reason, after a steamy night with Zhongli, the morning left you sensitive.

Not only physically, but especially mentally. To a point where getting up with the aching throb of your thighs was just enough to send you over the edge and sobbing.

You head to the kitchen, Zhongli’s shirt draped over your figure. He’s of course sitting in his rocking chair, reading glasses on as he scans something that he’s reading. Probably one of Liyue’s historical books.

You heat up some pancakes, planning on making the two of you a nice breakfast to start the day off. But grabbing the maple syrup, after opening the lid and stepping forward to spread it on the pancakes, your foot slid on something slippery on the floor, and you’re sent tumbling back.

Zhongli is leaning over you in seconds.

But the fall isnt the issue, and with the maple syrup in your hand, the bottle had tipped into the inside of Zhongli’s shirt, the one you were wearing, dripping into his shirt and onto your body. You’d managed to set it straight, but not after maple syrup was sent streaming down your chest and down your stomach.

“Im sorry…”

Tears gather at your eyes, and you try to wipe them away before Zhongli can see. Nothing was going right today, and you just wanted a distraction, something to keep your mind off of your emotional state.

“Itrs alright dear… would you like me to prepare a bath for you?” Zhongli is so soft and kind as he offers his help, thumb stroking your cheek as he stares into your eyes.

You dont want a bath.

Even with maple syrup everywhere on your body, sticky, you don’t want to leave the floor. A sob breaks past your lips, and you shake your head. “No… I just want it to go away…” your hands are shaking, and you slowly remove Zhongli’s shirt from your body, the maple syrup clinging to your form.

His eyes trail over the gooey mess you seem to be in, and he takes his shirt back, unsure of what to do. As the geo archon, theres not much he can do about the maple syrup, and his insides twist when hearing you sob.

He presses a kiss to your forehead and slowly trails it to your lips, satisfied when it seems to calm you down. You push him closer, until his head is on the same level of your chest, and the maple syrup dripping down your breasts.

Without thinking, he goes to lick it, the sweet taste of maple syrup in his mouth.

He backs away instantly, afraid that the action only saddened you further. But it was the opposite, and you stared at him wide eyed, tears threatening to spill. With a sniff, you wiped the tears away again, “That… didnt feel bad.” Was all you said.

Zhongli wasnt sure what to make of it, and leaning closer, he only licked the sticky liquid off your cleavage again, listening to the intake of breathing. When he glanced up, you were staring straight at him.

“It felt… nice.”

You were no longer crying, which meant that to Zhongli, he’d done something right. He didnt stop licking there, and dedicating his tongue to wiping every spot of maple syrup on your body, the two of you stayed draped there for a while.

His mouth completely engulfed your breast, tongue swirling around the lengh of it as he sucked in the sticky liquid. Your breathing grew erratic, but every time he’d look up to ask you if you were alright, you’d simply say that it was fine.

Zhongli began to realize that you were really turned on by the time he reached your core, and the maple syrup wasnt the only liquid drenched there. He didnt waste any time in pressing his head into your thighs, knowing from experience that you liked it. And that instead of pain, his tongue gave you pleasure.

So thats what he did, sucking, nipping, and licking every part of your cunt until you were shaking, and your inner thighs were tight against his head.

He would’ve pulled back, but no matter how much he licked your pussy, the sweet taste still coated his tongue everytime, meaning that there was still some maple syrup. It was until his tongue dug into your needy hole that he realized where the sweet taste was coming from.

It only motivated him to get rid of it.

He’d seen your tears, seen how shamed and embarrassed you were to have the sticky liquid all over you. He knew he couldnt get rid of it with his tongue, but if it made you feel better enough to take a bath after, it was worth it.

His hands grabbed the balls of your ass, slowly massaging them against his fingers before using them to thrust his tongue deeper into your wet cunt. Pushing your ass and hips with his large hands and thrusting them towards his head in rhythm with the lapping of his tongue sent you on overdrive.

Your legs were shaking, and instead of gasps, little mewls of pleasure sputtered out of your mouth. Hands tangled in his hair, you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head.

It felt like orgasm after orgasm, Zhongli still pressing his face against your pussy and licking every sweet spot. But there was always more, and you were going numb by the time he pulled away, your body sore and writhing after the intense feeling of pleasure.

“Theres too much,” Zhongli said softly, wiping the sides of his mouth as he stared at your fatigued face. “I could keep going if you’d like-? “

Your mood instantly boosted up, and with a chuckle at the poor archons innocent stare, you shrugged. “A-alright, a little bit more I guess…” Even as your core felt numb and your thighs still shook at how tightly you’d been clenching them around Zhongli’s head, the sensation was too good.

With a small smirk, Zhongli dug back down, hands groping your ass again as he sunk into the sensation of your pussy.

Kaeya

You woke up horny.

By the time you walked out of the bedroom with Kaeya’s shirt on, your intentions were very clear. Your boyfriend was sitting on the couch, reading over something that looked like a report for work. You didnt give him the time to think as you plopped down on his lap.

Directly facing him, he seemed surprised as you wore his shirt, sliding in closer to him inch by inch until you could feel the firmness of his dick against you. It was then that he chuckled, realizing what you were getting at.

“Oh? My my Y/n, so daring~”

He only leaned back, setting the report down and putting his hands against the couch to sit back and watch you.

“Now now, dont feel deterred, I want to see you take charge for a change.”

And so you tried.

Grinding your core against his throbbing member, he winced, the ever so calm smirk never leaving his face. So he simply watched, watched as you slowly took his shirt off your body, revealing the form he loved so much. It took all his control not to take you by the arm and carry you to the bed, a second round after last night.

But watching you struggle was oh so much better.

You fumbled with his jean buttons, hands trembling as you slowly slid them down his legs to reveal his giant member. You always had trouble fitting him in, but he always took control and made sure you were ready for him before he thrust into you.

Sliding down his boxers, you gulped, thighs trembling as you positioned his dick above your pussy.

Kaeya only chuckled as you slowly sank down into him, only taking in the tip of him before you whimpered. Your hands came to clench around the buttons of his vest, breaths coming ragged as you tried your best to lower deeper into him.

“Having trouble?”

You wanted to wipe that arrogant look off his face, fill him with pleasure and send him into the same ecstasy youd felt last night. So that he couldnt tease you about it, so that he could look at you evenly and admit that you were just as good as it as he was.

But god he was too big…

You could barely lower yourself any deeper, only reaching quarter way before the your legs shook and your inner thighs squeezed with need. But he was too much, and every little movement sent you into a fit of squeaks and whimpers.

Kaeya’s hands groped your ass, and with a sigh he slowly began to tug you further down. Slow, achingly painfully slow. You grabbed at his wrists, begging him to stop.

“Kaeya… it hurts…” you nearly sobbed, tears threatening to spilled onto your cheeks.

“Alright, I’ll leave it up to you then.”

He removed his hands, but you were now halfway through and pulling out would be just as excruciating as fully embracing him. You were stuck, thighs shaking so badly you had no option but to sink lower, legs threatening to give out on you from the sheer effort.

You mewed and whined when you couldnt stop the slow motion of your cunt taking in Kaeya’s dick. And no matter how you tried to resist and keep your thighs from taking any more of him, they always collapsed and you were back to slowly leaning deeper into him.

Finally, when you’d sank to the bottom and had fully engulfed his dick, your face was tear stained, sniffles escaping your lips. But Kaeya didnt move, staying still and refusing to help you. It took everything you had to slide up his length and collapse back on him.

Up and down, up and down, the process was torturous but you could feel the pleasure building up in your chest everytime you took him in. Even Kaeya started to enjoy it as your pace quickened, your breasts bouncing up everytime you fell down back into him.

“Kaeya…” you whimpered through lidded lashes as your hands gripped his chest. “K-Kaeya…”

He came at the same time you did, and you were left sitting on his cock more tired than before. Inner thighs trembling, your walls clenched around him. Holding back a moan, you tried to lift yourself off of him, finding yourself unable to do so.

“K-Kaeya…”

With a chuckle, he finally leaned forward. His hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips, and rubbing the swollen bruises of your inner thighs, he lifted you up, only to send you back down into him.

“My turn Y/n~”

[kythed]

“almost funny”

synopsis: suna rintarou thinks you’re out of his league, and you think he’s out of yours.

tagged: general dumbassery, fwb-to-lovers, some profanity, sexual references but nothing explicit.

commitment level: 5.6k words.

It’s almost funny, really. It’s funny how what started out as a purely physical transaction has now transformed into a one way ticket to Simpville with the name Suna Rintarou stamped on it in big red letters. Suna runs a hand through his hair in frustration as he stares down at your sleeping form, curled up in his SF Giants tee that fits you like an oversized nightgown. He loves how you look there, wearing his clothes, bed head resting on his pillows. It’s almost embarrassing how much he loves it. How much he might love you. 

He doesn’t really remember when he started seeing you as more than a good fuck. Maybe it was that time you told him he looked pretty with your lipgloss smeared across his mouth. 

“That’s a nice shade on you,” you’d laughed as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “You should wear it more often.” 

Then, before he could respond, you’d yanked him back in by the collar, licking into his mouth, deep and dirty. He shivers now even just thinking about it, recalling the taste of that lipgloss. Strawberry lemonade, the sort that comes in little bottles at the dollar store. However “pretty” he might’ve looked in that moment, he’s sure you looked a hundred times better. You always do, and you don’t even have to try. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even in your worst moments. 

Or maybe it was the time you remembered his birthday when no one else did. January 25th; all his friends had taken off on their ski trips or tropical vacations, but you showed up to his apartment toting a cupcake and a single candle, belting a loud, out of tune rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ until he shut you up with an impulsive kiss on the lips. You’d been surprised, but not so surprised you couldn’t kiss him back. Suna’s pretty sure most friends-with-benefits don’t do that sort of thing. They don’t sit across from each other at the kitchen table, splitting a vanilla cupcake and laughing over matching frosting mustaches. They don’t hug each other goodbye after two hours of scrolling through YouTube and nothing else, content to linger in that air of tentative familiarity and pseudo-friendship. 

Whatever the reason, whenever it happened, all Suna knows now is you’re more than just a fuck buddy. He doesn’t even want to associate the term with you — it feels disrespectful. He wishes he could just stop pretending. Stop pretending he doesn’t want you to be his. 

“Hey.” 

Suna grins at your low, throaty morning voice. It’s cute. 

“Hey,” he responds, reaching forward to flick your shoulder. “You slept in.” 

“Did I?” You blink the sleep from your eyes and squint at Suna’s bedside clock. 9:06. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.” 

You fly out of bed, wiggling into your jeans and tossing your hair into a careless ponytail before frantically scanning the room. “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

Suna exhales through his nose before getting up and walking over to his closet. “I hung it up last night so it wouldn’t be wrinkled.”

You freeze in your tracks, slowly turning with a teasing grin plastered on your face. “Oh? How considerate of you.”

Suna shrugs, avoiding your gaze. He feels a flush rise to cheeks and desperately hopes it doesn’t show. “Just being polite.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a little crush on me,” you crow before taking the sweater from the hanger and slipping it over your head. 

“You wish,” he snorts, but all he can think is you’re absolutely right. 

You ignore him and begin shoveling all your things into your purse: a compact mirror, lipstick, house keys. You glance at the clock again. “I’m gonna be so late to this lecture. Damn. Maybe I can text Aiko and ask her to record the first part for me.”

Suna raises an eyebrow. He remembers your friend Aiko from a party last year, before you and he began your… arrangement. She’s outgoing, friendly, and probably the flakiest person he’s ever met. “She’s not gonna do that. Just let me drive.”

“No, it’s fine,” you automatically brush him off, heading into the bathroom to splash your face with lukewarm water. “You probably have your own shit to take care of.”

Yeah, you, he thinks, but instead he says, “Not really. Plus, you’ll probably miss the whole thing if you try to bike to campus. Let me take you in the car. I’ll strap the bike onto the back.” 

You give him a look. “Are you sure, Rin?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he says, throwing on a shirt. “Outside in five, and I’ll have you there by 9:30, easy.” 

After a few more weak protestations, you finally agree, and as he drives you to your university, he lets himself pretend you’re his girlfriend sitting there in the passenger seat. He turns on your favorite artist’s Spotify mix on the aux and smiles to himself when you hum along, watching the city fly past out the window. What he wouldn’t give for that reality, one where he can love you without all these restrictions, these tricky boundaries between friends and lovers. When you jump out of the car, calling a cheeky “I’ll text you!” over your shoulder, he pretends it’s an affectionate “I’ll see you for dinner tonight!” instead. He pretends that instead of rushing to get away from him and into the lecture hall, you kiss him on the forehead and squeeze his shoulder, reluctant to leave.

“Fuck me,” Suna says angrily before slamming his palm into the horn, scaring a few freshman walking to class. “And fuck you too!” 

He’s not sure who “you” is. Maybe the universe. 

No, Suna Rintarou doesn’t know why or how it happened, but he’s in too deep now. And he’s pretty damn sure you’ll never feel the same way. 

+

You slide into your seat beside Aiko just as the guest lecturer pulls up his power point, breathing out a sigh of relief. Aiko shoots you a grin, waggling her eyebrows. Suna? she mouths, and you roll your eyes, nodding nonetheless. Aiko can hardly wait until after the lecture to start pestering you about it. 

“So,” she says as you leave the auditorium together. “Did you tell him yet?” 

“Tell him what?” You dig in your bag for your water bottle, groaning when you remember leaving it on the edge of Suna’s sink last night. 

“Tell him that you’re in loooooove,” Aiko sings, nudging your shoulder. 

You scoff. “Okay, first of all, I don’t love him.”

“But you like him,” Aiko persists, and you hold up a finger. 

“And second of all, even if I did, I would never tell him.” You yawn, rubbing your eyes before realizing you hadn’t taken your makeup off and thus probably have awful raccoon eye bags. “He’s so out of my league it’s not even funny. It’s kind of pathetic for me to think he’d ever like me back.” 

Aiko scoffs. “If anything, you’re out of his league. You could pull any guy you wanted to. And when I say any, I mean any. Like, I bet you could even get Jake Gyllenhaal.” 

You laugh. “Why specifically Jake Gyllenhaal?”

Aiko shrugs. “Dunno. Just the first hot guy that came to mind. But forget him. My point is, Suna Rintarou is definitely yours for the taking. All you have to do is —”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt. “All I have to do is confess.” 

“Exactly,” says Aiko. Before she can open her mouth again, you cut in. 

“Okay, but listen, Aiko,” you say. “Suna’s the kind of guy who doesn’t let himself get attached. He fully admitted to me when we first hooked up that he’d never had a girlfriend. And that’s obviously not from lack of female interest. It’s because he doesn’t want one.”

“Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t found the right person yet.” Aiko starts heading towards the campus coffee shop, and you follow her. 

“Sure,” you say, getting in line. The cafe is crowded with students getting in their daily caffeination, inhaling sugary lattes and bitter espressos just to stay awake through their next class. Ah… college. “Or maybe he just. Doesn’t. Want. One.” 

Aiko keeps arguing all the way up until you reach the cash register, where you realize you haven’t even decided on what to order yet. 

“Hey there,” says the cashier, smiling sunnily. “What can I get for ya?” 

You blink. He’s attractive. Very attractive, actually. Bleach blonde, a crooked grin that screams trouble in the best sort of way. Miya, says the little name plate pinned to his shirt. “I, uhh…”

“Take your time,” he says leaning forward like he’s about to tell you a secret. “Between you and me, we have an excellent mocha latte. Not too sweet, y’know?”

You find your manners. “Oh, um, yeah. That sounds great, actually.” 

“One mocha latte, then?” he asks, picking up a cup, and you nod. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of serving today?” 

When you tell him your name, he smiles to himself and scrawls it on the cup. “Pretty.”

You flush and pay, hands shaking a little when you slide your card down the side of the machine. The cashier notices and shoots you a knowing look. Five minutes later, when you pick up your drink from the other side of the counter, you see not only your name written on the lid, but a phone number, too, along with a tiny winking face. 

“What’d I tell you?” exclaims Aiko shrily when you leave the shop. “Any. Guy. Period.” 

You shake your head in exasperation, but you can’t help but throw a final glance over your shoulder, meeting the eyes of the cute cashier one more time. Maybe Aiko does have a point. 

+

That weekend, Suna’s stretched out on his couch, dangling his feet over the armrest and staring up at the ceiling. It’s one of those lazy Saturday afternoons, and usually he’d be enjoying his alone time. Not today, though. Today there’s something — someone — on his mind, and that someone is spelled y-o-u. His phone pings, and he snatches it up with embarrassing speed, groaning when he sees it’s just Atsumu. 

“Bastard,” he mutters, not even bothering to open the message. Probably just asking for the O-chem lab answers. 

Suna rolls over onto his stomach, pulling up your contact name. What he really wants to do is see you, but how is he supposed to do that without sounding weirdly desperate? Hey, he types out. Wanna come over and watch a movie? He pauses for a moment before adding, Pizza’s on me. 

He buries his face in his hands and deletes the text. That makes it sound like he’s asking you out. Well, that’s what he does want to do, but you can’t know that. He’s fairly certain if you knew how he felt about you, you’d freak out. Girls don’t like to be tied down, he reminds himself. Suna groans again, grabbing two fistfuls of hair in irritation. 

“Why are women so complicated?” he says aloud, letting the words echo in his empty apartment. He takes a couple seconds to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and unlock his phone again, this time settling on a simple Come over. Short, sweet, and to the point. Well, not exactly. That makes it sound like all he wants to do is sleep together, when he’d really rather just… talk. Spend time with you. 

“Oh, God,” he mutters. “I’m so done for.” 

It takes what seems like forever for you to arrive, breathless from biking, hair slightly mussed. Suna grins, biting his lip. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. Even if all he can get is the sex, then he’s sure as hell going to appreciate it. You smell like lavender laundry detergent, he notices when you press yourself into him, fumbling to close the door behind you without breaking the kiss. 

“Well, hello there,” you laugh when he finally breaks away and draws in a shaking breath. “Somebody’s eager.”

Suna rolls his eyes. “As if. You just took so long to get here.” 

You cock an eyebrow. “You texted me like half an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and you’re half an hour too late.”

You snort and hurl a pillow from the sofa at him. He catches it and smiles, taking your wrist and drawing you in for another messy, open-mouthed kiss.

“Sorry that I don’t have the power of teleportation,” you quip, laughing when he pulls you into the bedroom. Suna resolves to take his time with you today, undressing you carefully, trailing his lips down your sternum and collarbones, grinning to himself whenever you gasp. He almost catches himself saying “I love you” at one point as you cling to him, mumbling his name, but he placates himself with kissing you extra hard at the end instead, pulling you into his chest and falling back into the pillows. 

Usually, you’d take a few minutes to lay in silence, tracing shapes in his skin, and he’d lean back with closed eyes, imagining what it would be like to be loved by you. Slow early morning kisses, skin on skin, whispering and giggling and everything cheesy he used to hate but now wishes he could experience with you. Today, though, you peel yourself off of him and grab your phone as soon as it buzzes, fingers flying in response to whoever had texted you.

“New boy toy?” he jokes, almost choking when you don’t immediately say no. Oh, shit. “You’re kidding.”

“Just a guy I met the other day,” you say casually. Suna stares, slack jawed. “Works at the coffee shop near the quad.” 

“Coffee shop?” He furrows his brow. Doesn’t he know someone who works there? He internally scowls, digging into the back of his brain. Aran? Osamu? 

“Mm,” you say, suppressing a smile as the nameless suitor sends another text. “His name’s Atsumu Miya.”

Suna’s heart nearly falls right out of his chest and cracks at his feet. “No.”

You look up, raising an eyebrow. “No?”

“Not him,” Suna says, forgetting himself, forgetting the nature of your relationship. 

“I didn’t realize you were in charge of who I can and cannot be interested in,” you say bitingly. 

Suna sits up. “I’m not. It’s just, Atsumu… he’s not your type.” 

“You know him?”

“Yeah,” Suna says, thinking back on his days observing the Miya twins’ antics. “He’s not your kind of guy, trust me.”

“Pray tell then,” you say. Oh, fuck. You’re irritated. “Who exactly is my kind of guy?” 

Me, he thinks. I’m your kind of guy. “I don’t know. Just trust me though, okay? Atsumu… he’s difficult.” 

“Thanks, Suna,” you say, tone tinged with sarcasm. Suna cringes. You only ever call him by his surname when you’re upset with him. “But I think I can go out with whoever I want to go out with.” 

“Fine.” The word tumbles out more harshly than he’d meant it to. 

You stare at him in disbelief. “What, are you mad at me or something?” 

Suna exhales heavily. “No, I’m not mad. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. I just wanted to give you a little guidance. As your friend.” 

“As my friend?” you repeat. “My friend?”

Now it’s Suna's turn to be confused. “Are we not friends?”

“I don’t know, Suna,” you say, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, pulling your clothes on. “You tell me.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say here,” he says, watching as you struggle to pull your shorts back on. He knows what he wants to say. No, we’re not friends. We should be together. Isn’t it obvious? 

You huff, grabbing your bag and the water bottle you’d left behind the other day. “You know, I don’t really know either. Forget I ever said anything. I guess I just thought…” 

You trail off and shake your head, heading towards the door. Suna scrambles out of bed to follow you, pulling on his pants as he hops down the hall on one leg. “What’s that?” 

“I said forget it,” you call over your shoulder, trying to slam the door, but Suna catches your wrist. As you stare up at him, he thinks he sees your lip quivering, eyes shining with half-formed tears. “Let me go.” 

“I’m serious,” Suna says. “What did you think?” 

You draw in a deep breath, and for a second, Suna thinks you’re about to say the words he’s always wanted you to say. Then you look away. “Let. Me. Go.” 

Slowly, Suna releases you from his grasp, and you stumble backwards, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. 

“Don’t call me.”

“Wait, no —”

“Don’t call me, Suna!” you say loudly, before turning on your heel and speed walking down the stairs. 

Oh. Oh. Suna stares in shock at the place you were just standing on his doorstep. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

When he heads back inside, head empty but for the single thought, I’ve just lost the best thing that ever happened to me, he glances at his phone on the counter. In an instant, he’s opening up his messages, pulling up Atsumu’s. 

Met a cute girl LOL. Gonna bring her to that party on Friday. 

Then, in a separate bubble — Btw: chem answers? 

+

“And then he called me his friend,” you say angrily, handing Aiko the box of Oreos. The two of you are sprawled on the floor of her dorm room. “Just like we were two bros who got together to play XBox every once in a while, instead of two people who had literally just banged.” 

Aiko takes a cookie before handing them back to you. “Asshole.”

“I mean, I know technically we were ‘friends with benefits,’” you say, stuffing an Oreo in your mouth. “But I guess I thought we could be something more. I thought there was no way he could kiss me like that, look at me like that without feeling something. Guess I was wrong.” 

“Screw him,” Aiko says. “You’ve got boys lined up around the block, and he thinks he can treat you like rubbish? Absolute bullshit.”

“I don’t have boys ‘lined up around the block,’” you remind her, smiling regardless. “Just one.”

“And that one is hella cute!” Aiko says. “You’re way too cool to pine over some guy who thinks you’ll just answer his every beck and call without even committing to a relationship.” 

You sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… ack. I don’t know. Am I jumping to conclusions? He seemed like he wanted to talk to me more, but I kind of stormed off without saying anything.” 

“Seems like he was pretty clear,” Aiko says with a shrug. “Your call, though. If I were you, I’d forget about him. Plus, you have Atsumu now. That’s a promising route.” 

You smile down at the Oreos, thinking about the cheery bottle blonde. “Yeah… he invited me to a party this coming Friday.” 

Aiko gives you a look and nudges your knee with her own. “You’d better wear that black dress.”

“You think?” you laugh, momentarily forgetting about Suna. 

“Oh, definitely. Gotta look your best on the first date.” 

“Right, and then after that I can just dress like a bum,” you joke. You purse your lips. “Rin might be there. Apparently he and Atsumu are pretty close.” 

“Even better,” insists Aiko. “Make him suffer a little bit. He won’t like seeing you all dolled up on Atsumu Miya’s arm.” 

“I’m not gonna try to make him jealous, Aiko,” you say, and Aiko shakes her head.

“No, I just think he needs to understand what he lost,” she says. “You don’t even have to pay attention to him at all, though. You should try and get to know Atsumu a little better.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, before reaching down for another cookie. “Oh. We’re out.”

“Gas station run?”

“Gas station run.” 

+

When Friday rolls around, you’ve successfully managed to avoid thinking about Suna the entire day. You have a calculus exam in the morning, and then a club meeting in the afternoon, and by the time you get done with everything it’s already time to get ready to leave for the party. It’s across town at someone’s loft apartment, so Atsumu offers to give you a ride, rolling up in a shiny Lexus, a sharp contrast from Suna’s old Chevy. 

“Hey,” he says, getting out to open the door for you. “You look great.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you say. “Although, I might prefer the work uniform.”

“Oh, please,” Atsumu says with a grin. “That apron does nothing to flatter my figure.” 

“Mhm.” The ride there is a slightly awkward one, but that’s normal, you tell yourself. You’ve gotten so used to the easy, teasing camaraderie you and Suna have that you’re rusty in regards to flirting. Atsumu has a different sense of humor, too, nothing like the dry sarcasm Suna’s such an expert in. You shake your head. Stop thinking about him. 

Even sitting next to a new guy, you can’t help but run last weekend’s drama over in your head. The past few months have been a jumble of mixed signals, and last Saturday was no different. How he tenderly brushed your hair from your face as he hovered over you, how he pulled you into his arms afterwards … how he seemed almost jealous when you mentioned Atsumu. Was it really jealousy? Exactly how much does Suna Rintarou care for you? You roll the numbers inside your head, trying to quantify the soft touches and lingering stares. He’s not easy to read; trying to understand Suna is like trying to decipher Greek without ever taking a single class. 

Even trying to get a measure on how much you care for him is difficult. You definitely like him as more than a friend. The only reason you agreed to the whole friends-with-benefits thing in the first place was because of a little crush that grew, that fed on that intimacy… but you’re not so sure now. 

“Here we are,” says Atsumu, jolting you from your contemplation as he pulls up alongside the curb. When you climb out of the car, he takes you by the hand, flashing you a quick smile. Your heart trips over itself, and you smile back. “Let’s do this.” 

+

Suna doesn’t show up to the party. He spends most of Friday busying himself at home, paying off a couple electricity bills, cleaning out the fridge. He even does a load of laundry. That’s how bored he is. By the time the clock strikes eight, he feels as though he’s Swiffered every single kitchen tile, folded every shirt, and wiped down every counter in the entire apartment, all to avoid stewing over you and him and all the ways he keeps messing up. But after doing everything on his to-do list and watching a movie and cooking his own dinner (unheard of!) he finds himself pacing around the living room, biting at his nails and thinking about you. More specifically, you and Atsumu. He hopes you’re not wearing that little dress you wore to the club with him a couple months ago. Not that you don’t look great in it — you do, and that’s the issue. The better you look, the more likely Suna will never get a chance to be with you again. 

To be fair, he’s not entirely sure how much of a chance he’s ever had with you. You’re incredible, plain and simple. Gorgeous, intelligent, the best player two on every video game he’s ever played with you. You’re not especially adept at the games themselves; no, there’s just something about you. There’s always just been something about you he can’t seem to find anywhere else. 

“Damn it,” Suna grunts aloud, flopping down on the couch. It’s nearing half past eleven now. He wonders what you’re doing. Dancing to some shitty music in some crowded living room. Sipping a can of cheap liquor. Letting Atsumu touch your waist, his hand dipping lower and lower until — 

Suna buries his face in the couch cushion. He’s usually not one to let his imagination run away with him, but tonight seems to be one of many recent exceptions. If only there was a way to know where he stands with you, or at least where you stand with Atsumu…

Well, there is a way, actually. Almost of its own accord, his hand inches towards his phone, sliding it open and somehow finding its way into his Snapchat. Fingers shaking, Suna clicks on Osamu’s story. It’s dimly lit, a mass of bodies, loud, drunk guys and scantily clad girls. The music is too loud, even through the phone. Suna squints at the screen — there’s Aran, even Kita’s there, quietly sitting in the corner, but no sight of — Suna’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Because there you are, and you’re not alone. You’re sitting on Atsumu’s lap, but he can’t see your expression because Atsumu is kissing you sloppily, and — oh, God — it looks like you’re kissing him back. 

And you’re wearing the fucking dress. 

“Damn,” Osamu says in the background. “Looks like he’s getting some tonight.”

Suna throws his phone across the room like it’s a grenade, staring down at his empty hands in disbelief. This can’t be happening. Not to him. Not to you. 

For the first time, Suna Rintarou thinks he understands what it really means to want someone. Not in a sexual way, but in the deepest sense of the word. Want. He wants you, and he’s pretty sure he’s never wanted anyone or anything quite so much in his life. 

All of a sudden, before his brain even has a chance to catch up, Suna finds himself shrugging on a jacket and snatching his keys from the table, dashing out the door like he’s being chased. If he leaves now, he thinks, starting the car and nearly slamming the door on his foot, he can get to the party before you leave. And then, well, then he’s not quite sure what he’ll do, but he’ll do something. 

Again, though, it seems as if the universe might be against him, because there’s an accident on the highway and it takes twice as long to get across town as it should. Suna cusses loudly over the incessant honking and chews on the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. When the traffic lets up and he finally pulls up to the apartment complex, parallel parking in a spot that’s probably illegal, he races up the stairs and into the loft, grabbing the first partygoer he sees. The poor kid’s plastered beyond belief and stares at Suna like he’s an extraterrestrial, eyes glassy.

“You see a girl leave here? ‘Bout this tall, probably left with some douchey looking blonde dude?” 

The kid blinks, hard and slow, before nodding. “Yeah, man, you just missed her. That your chick or somethin’? Because she was sucking face with —” 

Suna spins on his heel before the kid gets a chance to finish his sentence. He’s lucky Suna doesn’t deck him the head, he’s so irritated. 

“Sucking face,” he mumbles, climbing back into the car. He has the route to your house memorized (although he’s not sure how), and he’s pretty sure he breaks about twenty traffic laws trying to get there, so it takes significantly less time to arrive, but to Suna, it feels like an eternity. How did he ever sleep soundly at night knowing other guys had a shot at you before this? He doesn’t know, and he hopes he never has to worry about it again. Not after tonight. 

He gets there just as Atsumu’s pulling out of the driveway. Suna flashes him a mental middle finger and resolves to kick his ass later. No time for that right now. You’re still standing on the front porch, and when Suna stumbles out of the car, you turn towards him, mouth agape. 

“Rin? What are you—”

“Give me a chance.” He’s breathless, eyes wide and hair whipping around his face in the cool breeze. His heartbeat pounds in his ears like it’s about to burst blood vessels.

“Huh?”

“Give me a chance,” he repeats, reaching forward to take your hand. Your palm is cold against his. “I can do so much better, I promise.” 

You furrow your brows. “What in the world are you talking about, Rin?”

The dam breaks. The dam breaks, and everything — the longing, the frustration, everything — comes pouring out in a waterfall of rushing words he doesn’t even have time to think over before they splash at your feet.

“I can do so much better than Atsumu. He doesn’t know you. I know you, and I, well, I’ve liked you since forever, okay? I know your favorite color and your birthday and which Chinese place you like to get takeout from on Saturday nights.” Suna clears his throat. “I know that you like to be hugged from behind and that you hate it when people see you cry. I know so many things about you, and I want to know more.” 

“Rin—”

He holds up a hand. “Just listen. I know we’re just fuck buddies, or friends with benefits, or whatever the hell you want to call it, but I want to change that. You mean so much more to me than the sex. God, even if we never slept together again, I would still love you.” 

You stare at him. “Love?”

Suna swallows hard. “Yeah, fuck it. Love. I love you. Whatever that means to you, it means to me. I love your stupid jokes and your stupid laugh. To be honest, I’m so in love it feels like I’ll never love anyone else.”

He stops to take a deep breath and a shaky laugh. “Pathetic, right? I know it is. I can’t help it. I’m well aware that Atsumu is way more charming and outgoing, and I was probably wrong when I said he wasn’t your type… but I just need to know if I have even the smallest chance of winning you over.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Then another one. You’re gazing at him, head cocked, and the seconds tick by. He still has your hand in his, growing warmer via body heat. Suna feels himself grow increasingly nervous at your expression, curious and almost apathetic — until a wide smile breaks across your face. You laugh, and he thinks it must be the best sound he’s ever heard. 

“You weren’t wrong.”

“What?”

“He’s not my type,” you say. “We didn’t click.” 

“But — I saw, uh — Osamu’s story,” Suna stammers. “Sucking face.”

“Sucking face?” You squint in confusion before chuckling again. “Ah. Yeah, I kissed him. It was part of some stupid game. He’s kind of bad at it.” 

“Atsumu’s a bad kisser?” 

“Well,” you say, drawing the word out. “I wouldn’t say bad. It’s just… you’re better.” 

Suna’s silent for a second, letting the words ricochet around his brain. He’s better. He’s a better kisser. It was just a game. You’re not into Atsumu. “So… does that mean…?” 

“I love you, too.” You smile, and it’s not like your usual cocky grin. It’s sweet and almost… shy. 

“You love me, too?” Suna repeats in utter shock. He hadn’t expected to get this far.

“That’s what I just said,” you say. “What are you, a parrot? Speaking of which, though, I think that whole speech was the most I’ve ever heard you talk.” 

Suna doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a step closer and pulls you in for a hug. A real hug, not like the hesitant embrace you’d given him on his birthday, or the side hug he gave you after running into you at the grocery market a few weeks ago. No, this is a true, bona fide hug, and he translates everything he’s ever wanted to tell you but couldn’t into his arms wrapping around your waist. 

“So… wanna come in and watch a movie?” 

+

A little while later, Suna’s stretched out on your mattress with you between his legs, chin resting on the top of your head. You’ve changed out of your dress and wiped the makeup from your face, and Suna catches you yawning in the corner of his eye. There’s a trashy romcom droning on your laptop at the foot of the bed. To any outside onlooker, the scene is mundane, just a typical couple enjoying each other’s company. To Suna, though, this is paradise. 

It’s almost funny. It’s funny how, a week ago, Suna was a boy pining for a girl he thought he had no chance with. He looked at you and saw something unattainable, someone who would only ever want him temporarily. (And, unbeknownst to him, you felt the same way.) He experienced an overwhelming amount of want, heart knotting in on itself and twisting and turning until it pushed him over the edge, forcing him to confront his own desires. His own inadequacies. 

It’s funny how love is what everyone longs for, but it’s also the hardest reward to earn. It’s the most uncomfortable, heart-wrenching, nerve-wracking, anxiety-inducing pathway to happiness Suna’s ever seen. But still… he’d do it all over again if he had to. The months of headaches, the overthinking. It’s worth it. You’re worth it. 

Oh, well. What can he say? Suna leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your temples, and you tilt your head up to smile at him. Love’s a funny thing. 

Fortunately, Suna’s always down for a good joke.

[phoenixyfriend]

Sugar, Spice, and a Heart to Entice

AKA: Jango Fett speedruns a romance with someone who should be his enemy. (It's okay. We know he makes bad choices.)

Note: Ahsoka uses the pseudonym "Ashla" in this fic. Warnings: slavery, references to drug use, crude sex jokes, undressing of an unconscious person (for medical reasons)

----

The girl that they shove into the chains next to him is... worrying.

(Well, probably a girl--he'll adjust later if it turns out he's wrong.)

She's not that much younger than him, he thinks. It's hard to tell, with the way her skin is taut over muscle and bone, too little water and too little sleep, and probably not enough food for whatever labor she's been doing. He's also, admittedly, not great at gauging ages in the first place, and certainly not for Togruta. Still, he thinks it's safe to say that they're close in age, and that she's probably younger than him.

She's lucky, by some measure. The spice ship is terrible, but it's probably better than the fate tog girls are usually subject to in this industry. They're hazardous conditions, and violent ones, but Jango's yet to see a slave here stripped of their clothing for anything other than a whipping.

He thinks it's probably a matter of money. That kind of violation lowers the profit margins, he imagines. Spice is more lucrative than anything, and pain is a better motivator than... well.

So she's lucky, by that measure, and that measure alone.

They clap her in bindings before he even sees her, even though she's unconscious, and bring her sometime in the night cycle. Jango doesn't have a lot of pity left in him, but some goes out to her. He won't say she's too young for this, because nobody is ever old enough for slavery, nor do slavers have any compunctions about selling babes in arms, but Jango would wager she's already led a hard life.

She's fairly covered, but what little is visible shows enough old battle wounds that he can't imagine she's stayed off of battlefields. He knows how to read a Togruta's markings for stress history, too, and hers tell a story. Her facial marks are thin and delicate, and he'd say they're certainly more complex than the average; the striation on her lekku and montrals is thin and jagged, like marble. It's pretty enough, but it's also a sign of the fact that her life has likely been anything but easy. Some of it might be genetics, and he hopes it is, but with the scars he can see... he doubts it's much.

"Keep that one alive," the overseer orders, eyes on Jango and hand gesturing at the tog girl.

He leaves.

Jango isn't sure what they're hoping to get out of putting her with him. The room is built for four, yes, but they usually don't try to have anyone share with Jango. Maybe they ran out of room, or just assumed Jango was the most likely to know field medicine, or just figured there wouldn't be any trouble until she woke.

As he gets closer, his confusion grows. The tog's got burns all over, ugly ones that aren't going to heal cleanly without bacta. They're going to get infected, as likely as not. He hasn't got much besides water in here, but the overseer's left behind a box of what looks like bandages. If he's lucky, there's burn cream in there.

(He's not lucky.)

He works slowly, careful of every movement. He builds up a story in his head as he does, based on the wounds he finds and what he starts to notice of the clothing. He can't see all the details, not in what little light he has, but there's plenty to notice.

He hadn't realized, with how dim it is, but most of what she's got on as an outer layer is hardened leather, real leather, not synth. There are attachment points for armor at the shoulders and hips, and he thinks he sees signs of wear for vambraces and greaves. She's no Mando'verde, not with how he can see that the fabric at her torso and upper legs is intended to stay light and flexible and uncovered, but the crafting of the leather layers is familiar. He thinks she might have contacts among Mando armorers.

She might even wear beskar, if she's impressed the right person.

The wounds are recent, and unfamiliar, and he thinks she was probably fought into chains, rather than bought in them. She's a captive, not a purchase, or maybe... maybe they just found an unconscious woman, and decided that she was worth keeping.

He thinks she lost a fight, or won but with great injuries, and just... stumbled off and collapsed. He gets the feeling no one on board the ship could have fought this woman, except for himself. It's not based on much, not until he can see her move, but he's got good instincts for that sort of thing.

Jango keeps his assessment of her torso quick and clinical, not even bothering to mentally apologize for stripping her bare. This is medical, and he's not a doctor, not even a field medic, but he's professional nonetheless. Even though there's nothing in the box but bandages, not even the burn cream he'd hoped for, he'd still rather know if there's a broken rib to worry about. He doesn't want to wait for her to wake up and then find out she's got a punctured lung, even if he can't do anything about it. He finds bruising, but... he thinks that if anything is broken, it's hairline at most.

Lucky, he thinks again, in the unluckiest situations.

She doesn't wake that cycle. It's all he can do to get some water in her, dripped into her mouth in a trickle, but it's something.

----

When the Togruta girl wakes up, it's sudden. Jango is wiping down her lekku with a wet cloth in hopes of staving off a fever, kneeling next to the bunk. She opens her eyes, stiffens with a sharp breath, and then twists off the bed. Before he's fully processed this, her legs are up and around his neck, and then he's being wrenched to the side and onto the filthy ground, cheek grinding down into the grit. He feels a bony knee press into his spine, and the growl of a predator.

"Where am I?" the tog girl demands.

"Spice ship," he says, and oh but this place has ruined him for fights; he's having trouble breathing from whatever she's done to him, and she doesn't even have the use of her hands. "Deep space. You're in the slave cells. Don't mess with the collar, it'll explode if you try to remove it."

"Spice refinery?" she repeats, sounding completely baffled. He gives her a second to process, but she blindsides him. "Someone got me in their hands and they went for spice slavery?"

"As opposed to..." he really hopes she gets off soon.

She doesn't answer him immediately, and he can't get a look at her face. He gets his arms out to the sides, plants them to the floor, and shoves back. She doesn't fall off, but she does slide to the side to sit on the floor.

The expression she's got is best described as 'shell-shocked,' he thinks.

"You don't know me," she says, faint and confused. He shakes his head; he's pretty sure he'd have recognized her if he'd known her at all, given the time he's spent cleaning her wounds and trying to keep her alive. She laughs, breathless and a tad hysterical. "You don't--fuck. You don't know me. That's... great. Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Don't know how they missed it, but okay."

"Bounty on your head?" he guesses.

She smiles, thin and unpleasant. "Something like that."

"Thought as much. You're built like a fighter." He intends it as a compliment, but he doesn't think she takes it as one.

"I've never had a choice otherwise," she says, and when she next looks around, it's to find a place to sit. She pushes herself up to the thin mattress of the cot behind her, and Jango mirrors her on the cot across the room. It's not his bed, technically, but it's not like there's anyone to complain. She frowns at him; it's not a rude look, he thinks, but an attempt to put something unfamiliar in place. "What legion were you with?"

He blinks at her. He's been part of an army, but never one that big. "Legion?"

"Were you with special forces?" she tries again. "Or--wait, did you even get off Kamino before--"

"I'm not whoever you think I am," he tells her. "None of that means anything to me. I know what a legion is, but I've never had reason to be part of one."

"But you're..." she trails off, brow furrowed. "I guess just a similar face, then."

"To who?"

"The clones?" she hazards, as if that clears anything at all up. "I have no idea where we are; maybe the war holos never made it out far enough for you to know what they looked like..."

"Which war?" he asks, because he feels like he'd probably have heard of a war that used clones, especially one that had enough holos spread around for this woman to expect him to know what the clones in question look like.

"The... the clone war," she says hesitantly. "With the Separatists?"

None of that means anything to him.

It must show in his face, because her brow furrows, and her eyes go wide in a way he doesn't like. He can't tell if her skin's losing color or anything, but he's pretty sure the curl at the tip of one lek is a sign of anxiety. He's not sure how to help, but part of him already decided he liked this woman, just on the suspicion that she was friendly to Mandalorians.

(It's been a solid year and a half since Jango has had anything approaching a friend. He may be, subconsciously, a little desperate.)

"What's your name?" she asks, voice pitching in discomfort, and tight as a garotte.

"Jango Fett."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and... he can't see, can't know if she's trembling, but he thinks she is. She lets her head fall back against the wall, and breathes in sharply. It's a shaky breath, and he doesn't like that much, either.

"Fuck," she repeats. "No wonder--fuck."

He gives her a few seconds, but she doesn't elaborate. He asks another question instead. "Do I get to know your name?"

Her eyes crack open, and then she sits up straight and looks him over. Her lips purse, and she comes to some decision, though he's at a loss for what. "Call me Ashla. She/her, if you'd rather stick to Basic."

Fake name. Alright. She mentioned a bounty, so it's probably about that.

"Well met, Ashla."

She laughs, empty and painful. She swears in a mix of Huttese and Mando'a, and a few languages he doesn't even recognize. The Core accent on her Mando'a is strong, but he thinks whoever taught her might have been from Concord Dawn.

"How old are you, if you don't--"

"I'm twenty-one," she says. He was right; she's only two years younger than him. "At least... fuck, okay. What's the date?"

He tells her, and she screws up her brow and mouths something to herself. He's not entirely sure what.

"How long ago was..." she trails off.

"Was what?"

She presses a hand over her eyes. "I don't know what year it is."

Ah. Well, he can help with that much. He tells her that, too.

Ashla drops her hand. She visibly mulls it over, eyes on the underside of the bunk above her. He has no idea what she's thinking.

"Why aren't there other people in this room?"

"Weak ones couldn't sleep because I'm 'too intimidating,' and the rest kept trying to throw their weight around." He shrugs at the look she points his way. "I'm not dumb enough to start a fight with a bomb around my neck, but I'm not letting someone knock me around so they can earn a reputation."

She purses her lips, but lets it lie. "You let me take you down, then?"

"You had the advantage of surprise," he says, and doesn't bother to list every other advantage. She's better fed than he is, has spent less time in spice-suffused air, was unconscious and resting while he was awake to keep an eye on her fever. He's got the feeling she already knows.

When she speaks again, it's low and in fluent Mando'a, heavily accented though it may be.

"You'd get out of here eventually," she tells him, eyes half shut. "But you'll get out faster with my help, Mand'alor."

His stomach twists.

----

"They are either very stupid, or very cheap," Ashla mutters a day later, when he's supposedly helping her change some bandages. It gives him the excuse of leaning in close.

"Probably the former," he says.

She grins, and then stiffens and hisses out a low breath as he pours some of the stolen whiskey over one of the burns. It's not a real disinfectant, but it's the best they've got at the moment. Jango still isn't sure how she managed to get it from the overseers without them noticing, but he's quickly gotten the gist that she's a fair shot sneakier than he is.

"What did they do?" he asks, and she huffs out a laugh.

"I need you to promise you won't try to kill me," she says, and he stills.

She seems to be waiting on his response. Great. "That's not an auspicious start, Ashla."

"Eh, I've survived more than my fair share of people trying to kill me. No offense, bro, but I could take you," she says.

She's probably right in their current circumstances. "Let's hear it."

"I left the Jedi Order when I was seventeen."

The whiskey bottle slips from his fingers.

An invisible hand catches it, and it settles quietly on the floor of their cell. No guards will come running. It's a damning sight, for him.

A Jedi.

A Jedi who--who left.

Jedi committed Galidraan, but she left three years before that, but she was--was--

She has her back to him, trusting.

Or just arrogant.

She phrased it that way on purpose, phrased it so he'd know she left before he--before--

"I was framed by my friend for a terrorist attack," she says, and he can't find his voice to tell her to stop talking. "And sentenced to death by a non-Jedi military tribunal for it. By the time they figured out I wasn't guilty, I'd already been kicked out."

He forces his hands to his knees, grips at the bones that are too close to the skin, and orders himself to breathe.

Ashla turns on the spot, blinks at him. "I'm telling you this because it's how we're going to get out."

"Your people killed mine."

"I wasn't a Jedi when Galidraan happened," she says. There's more she wants to say, he's sure, but she keeps the words locked behind her teeth. That might be a good thing.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

"Only for long enough to get out of here," she tells him. She shrugs, easy as anything. She's done this before, maybe. "Trust me, I have plenty of reasons to hate you, too, but I'm a little more concerned about getting this ship taken into custody, and having all the slaves freed."

"And you can just... make that happen."

"I told you, they're either stupid or skint," she says, with that same disarming grin. "I had lightsabers on me, and they kept them on the ship. They haven't drugged me since I woke up. They put me in normal cuffs, Jango."

He hates the way his name sounds on her tongue.

He hates the fact that he sees her plan already.

"You don't even need me," he points out, resisting the urge to try to kill her here and now. He doesn't have his armor. He doesn't have weapons. He's good, but she's got the Force and thighs that can crush a bantha skull.

"I'm not exactly... legit," she admits with a grimace. "Once you're back in Mandalorian space, you at least have an identity. People that will give you a place to stay. A chain code."

"And you don't."

She smiles, brittle. "Give me a week to scope out what I need and get us out of here, and maybe I'll explain."

A week. Fine.

And once they're out of here, and he has a blaster and a meal and a good night's sleep, he'll handle her.

----

He hates the fact that he likes her, still. People had already noticed, even just one day in. The first time someone notices he's giving Ashla the cold shoulder in the workroom, they joke at him about her not putting out. He's known her one day, and they think--

He stops the thought in its tracks.

Jango doesn't start fights here, but he is tempted.

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," Ashla simpers, sweet as spun sugar. "I bite."

She smiles, every pearly white tooth on display. The fangs near glint in the light. She eyes the speaker, squeezes the tool in her hand. Her tendons strain, but the metal bends with a creak.

The overseer shouts for them to get back to work.

Jango steps closer to her, lets his elbows brush against hers, and glares off anyone that tries to get too close.

"I don't need protection," she mutters to him from the corner of her mouth.

"I keep my word," he replies, hating himself for it.

He said he'd have her back. He may hate what she is, but... she left the Order. She's not a Jedi anymore. If he thinks it enough, he can believe it.

----

There's always a camaraderie in shared suffering. Jango is aware of this, and he feels his fondness for Ashla grow against his better judgment. They're both slaves on a spice ship, and he can't change that. It makes him tolerate her more than he sensibly should.

She acts like a Mando soldier, sometimes. She's not at all like Haat Mando'ade, but she knows some of the jokes that Mandalorians grow up with. She walks like a woman used to beskar'gam. She knows a drinking song or two.

(They don't waste the whiskey. It's for injuries, not intoxication.)

"I had brothers, once," she tells him, late at night. "A lot of them. They had a Mandalorian parent, sort of, but he'd never seen fit to really... let them have the culture. I lost them all, mostly to slave chips, and a few to just normal deaths, but... I learned what I could about Mandalore, after, for their sake. In their memory."

It's not a terrible reason, he thinks.

"Irony for you to end up in chains, then," he mumbles, and she barks out a sharp laugh.

"Tradition, more like," she says, and explains before he can ask for her to keep talking. "My... teacher was born a slave, and I... have a suspicion he ended up back in chains after we lost contact. His teacher was enslaved at least twice that I know of."

"Shitty tradition," he says, because there's nothing else he can think of.

"Could be worse," she tells him. This time, she doesn't elaborate.

----

He likes her more than he should.

----

He likes her so, so, so much more than he should.

----

She steals datachips when nobody's looking, using the Force instead of her fingers. She wraps dismissal around her like a cloak to access computer terminals without anyone but Jango noticing. She slips spice into the drinks held by guards and overseers.

She moves through the ship like smoke, in the dim lights of the false night.

Someone notices. Someone always notices, in Jango's experience, but they have no idea who's doing it. They lock down the cells for the sleep cycle, turn down the temperature, leave all the slaves shivering in their beds.

He pulls Ashla into his cot without hesitation, fits their bodies together to conserve heat, and ignores the rest. They're both soldiers; there's no shame in survival for those like them. The lekku at her back drapes over his neck like a scarf, and he almost wants to laugh.

He's pathetic. His men would be so damn disappointed in him, sharing bunk with a Jedi.

"You're thinking too loud," she mumbles, shifting somehow closer. The chill clings, creeping in through the thin clothes and thinner blanket, but he feels like it's bearable with Ashla here.

----

When they enact the plan, it's so much quieter than Jango would have run it. Ashla holds his hands in the early morning, before anyone is awake, and smiles. When she closes her eyes, sinking into a light meditation, the collar around her neck just... comes apart. Nuts and bolts and curves of metal float about her like a wretched parody of the mobile hanging above an infant's crib, and then land quietly on the nearest cot. When she opens her eyes, hazy and distant, she looks at his throat, and frees him with a thought.

It's a heady thing, freedom.

"Come along, Fett," she goads, almost crooning the words, backing out of the cell with his hands in hers. Nobody is awake yet, or at least they shouldn't be. Her words curl in the air like something cloyingly too-sweet, and he's sure it's her way of trying to piss him off. It's only working a little. "We've work to do."

Said work involves slipping past guards with a Jedi's timing, commanding them to sleep with a whisper and a poke to the forehead, and drugging the ones that she claims are resistant to Jedi tricks. The work is, as such, mostly hers to do. They hide the bodies, but the alarm goes off by the time they get to the weapons locker.

That's fine, because the weapons locker is where they were headed.

"Oh, hell yes," she hisses through a grit-tooth grin, and a matched pair of lightsabers float to her. Jango turns off the energy field by the time they reach her, and she hooks them onto her belt. Beskar plating follows, exactly the pieces that Jango had guessed from wear and tear. It's real beskar, too, not even an alloy, and Jango doesn't ask the questions on the tip of his tongue. She straps it on in practiced movements, without hesitation and almost without thought.

"See anything better than what you got off the guards?" she asks him. "Or did they all take the best blasters for themselves?"

"The latter," he says.

(His eyes trace over the armor she wears, and while she does wear it well... he's jealous.)

(He misses his armor.)

(Envy is unbecoming of anyone, but he thinks he can be afforded a little leeway.)

There are people in the hall by the time they exit, a dozen blasters at the ready.

The people in the hall are... not a problem.

Ashla had called it the Sword and Shield maneuver, when walking him through her experiences working in a Mando/Jetii team. He'd laughed, because the saber was the shield. She'd smiled at him, and he'd cursed himself for it.

If he'd had his armor, they'd have been able to move forward as a pair of unstoppable monsters. As it stands, they're... still doing that, really, just a tad slower.

"You're a Jedi!" one of them shouts. "You're supposed to be diplomats! You're not supposed to kill!"

Jango could laugh at that horrible, horrible lie.

"I am no Jedi," Ashla says, and the words cut through the air like something she's said a million times, and will say a million more.

Jango could do a lot with that line, tucked away in his memories for later.

There's a moment, though, where they're stuck at one end of a hallway, and the door to the bridge is just on the other side, and Ashla grins at him, a challenge in every inch of her body, and asks, "You wanna see something cool?"

He can't help it.

"You planning to show off, Jedi?" He can say the word without flinching, and it's... absurd. It's absurd. What in all the hells is she doing to him?

(He's been told that war makes for strange bedfellows, but he's long known that trauma does the same.)

He takes cover when she moves, and oh, does she move.

Ashla's a whirlwind, dangerous as anything and beautiful in her careful, precise violence. She knocks people out, more often than not, but there's more then one dead body left in her wake. It appeals to something in him. She flips and twists and throws people with the Force. She slices and kicks, and smacks people across the face with the blasters she lifts of their comrades. She headbutts at least two people, and then jumps to bounce off the ceiling and back down so she can land feet first on an enemy.

He hopes he'll get his common sense back when he's had time to put himself together, because the sight of those sabers doesn't make him flinch. After all he's been through, after all his nightmares, it really should. The sound alone should have him shivery and shooting.

Maybe there's just too much spice in the air.

A head drops to the floor in a different direction from the body it had previously been attached to. Jango's throat goes dry in response.

When Ashla stands at the end of the hall, a saber in each hand and the floor behind her littered in both bodies breathing and bodies bereft of life, she looks back at him over her shoulder. She deactivates her swords, and smirks. She's smug, and she makes smug look very, very good.

"So," she says. "Verdict?"

Fuck.

----

The bridge is easy enough to handle. They land the ship on a Republic planet, one with relevant authorities and at least some reputation for actually handling things with a degree of kindness and transparency. Ashla does the talking, letting Jango lurk behind her. She lies.

"Half-truths," she later tells him, in a low voice. The smile she wears is amused and self-assured, just a twist at the corner, and the slightest of pouts. He can't see it, when she leans in to murmur in his ear. "I certainly used to be a Jedi. They don't need to know this wasn't an officially-sanctioned infiltration."

Her breath hits lightly against his ear, and he wants--he wants--

"Have a comm code for any old friends?" Ashla asks, stepping away. Her face twists unpleasantly. Frustration, he's sure. "I've got credits, but no contacts."

He eyes the little pack she's got around her waist. "Stole that from the slavers?"

"We'll consider it payment for services rendered," she tells him, with an impish grin Jango wants to kiss off of her face, because apparently he's kriffing suicidal and wants to bed a Jedi. "I'll give you most of it, if you want. Call it the two years of backpay they owed you."

He snorts before he can stop himself. "Just one year, sorry."

"Oh, it's hazard pay," she insists, blinking innocently. "Dangerous conditions having been what they were, of course."

She presses a comm--probably also stolen--and a few credits into his hand, then loops her arm through his. She sets off at a lazy walk, ignoring the people who stare at them with distaste and disgust. "We'll find a hotel. We'll shower, with real water, and fancy soaps, and a little sonic just for the clothes. I'll run out and get you a basic outfit, and then we can go shopping, and once that's done, and you've had a chance to comm a companion, we can reunite you with your buddies, and you can go hunting for your armor, and I'll split and--"

"Stay."

She tilts her head at him, though she doesn't stop walking, and he feels his face burn. He hopes it's not visible. She hums lowly. He can't learn anything from it. "You hate Jedi, though, and I might not really be one anymore, but I'm still more Jedi than not."

"You wear beskar and speak Mando'a," he says. "You helped the Mand'alor. You're halfway to being one of mine already."

"One of yours, huh?" she mutters, eyes somewhere distant. He doesn't know what it is that she's seeing, but he's gotten used to it. "Alright, let's have this conversation again after you've had some sleep and clothes and a good meal, yeah?"

He can take that compromise.

----

"What do you mean, you're from the future?!"

[egcdeath]

finders keepers

summary: did captain america just steal your cat?

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, strangers to lovers

author’s note: it’s been way too long since i wrote some pure, self indulgent fluff. this has been quite the refreshing experience for me but i think it’s back to our regularly scheduled program after this ;)

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

Miso had an air of arrogance that you admired. She took the world by its kitty balls, doing whatever she pleased whenever she pleased. Your cat left the apartment for sometimes days at a time, and frequently led male cats to your door. To you, your cat was more like a roommate than a pet, hogging up most of your bed, standing on the counter while you attempted to make food for yourself, and leaving most areas dirtier than she originally found it. 

Okay, maybe you were personifying your cat a little too much. But after moving out to D.C., you were unspeakably lonely. Most days, it felt like Miso was all you had, and that you were all Miso had (save for her army of cat boyfriends). 

This made things all the more concerning for you when you’d realized that you hadn’t seen your cat companion in five days. Five whole days without the comforting vibration of her purr, her ungodly hours of wakeup calls demanding to be played with, or pet. The cherry on top was that the cat food outside your door appeared to be completely untouched.

In your frenzied realization of your missing cat, your mind raced with a thousand different terrible situations your dear Miso could’ve found herself in. You frantically clicked through pictures of her on an online album and attempted to find a photo that would capture her white fur with large blobs of auburn, and her vibrant blue eyes to put on your ‘MISSING’ sign. The longer you clicked, the more that you began to worry that she had been caught and kidnapped by some terrible person with bad intentions. 

You finally threw together the poster, sending it to your phone so that you could print it off at the OfficeMax down the street. Luckily for you, you didn’t make it that far, as the moment you began to lock the closed door of your apartment, you saw the unmistakable figure of your cat. 

In the arms of your neighbor.

Now, you’d never met Steve. He was an Avenger, Captain America to be exact, and you were just… you. You’d convinced yourself that attempting to introduce yourself to him would ultimately end in failure, and an embarrassing one at that. Maybe he’d scoff and walk away, or call Tony Stark in front of you and tell him about the crazy woman he just encountered. 

But none of that mattered. Captain America was stealing your fucking cat. 

“Excuse me, sir?” You asked, stepping away from your door and approaching the Greek God of a man to the right of you. 

“Oh, hey! We must be n-“

“You have my cat,” you said bluntly.

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve seemed to do a double take

“My cat, y’know, the feline in your arms.”

“Well, maybe we just have similar looking cats. This is Arabella.”

You nearly scoffed at this, shaking your head. First, Captain America kidnapped your cat, and now he’s trying to convince you that it’s not your cat? Yeah, you’d know Miso from a mile away. And what kind of name is Arabella?

“Arabella is a great name for her,” Steve retorted, pulling the cat closer to his chest. Shit, did you say that out loud?

“Well I think it’s time for Miso to come back home,” the cat’s ears perked at this, and she glanced over at you. The sight of you made her wiggle and hop out of Steve’s tight embrace, landing on her feet and trotting over to you. The damn cat rubbed her face against your calf and purred as if she hadn’t been cheating on you for long enough to have gained a new name.

You squatted down and rubbed the back of your hand against her cheek, and shook your head at your pet, “you’re getting put on probation, young lady.” 

She didn’t seem to mind, pacing back and forth around you. You glanced up and saw Steve with a rather neutral expression on his face, as if he was masking whatever it was that he was feeling.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am. Uh, maybe I’ll see you both around sometime,” disappointment coated his every word before he opened up his apartment door and promptly closed it behind him. 

You were surprised at how quickly he conceded, but you weren’t particularly mad about it either. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you never got your Miso back.

——

A whole day later, you’d been in your apartment typing up an email when a soft rapping at your door got your attention.

“Just a second!” you called, hopping up and hurrying to the door. When you opened it, Steve was standing in front of you, waiting with an oversized box in his hands.

“These are some of Ar- Miso?” he trailed off, waiting for you to confirm the name, and you gave him a tiny nod. “These are some of Miso’s toys. I just figured if she’s not staying at my place anymore…”

As if on cue, Miso strolled up to the door, and stretched her arms up on Steve’s leg, begging to be picked up. The man glanced at you for approval, and you gave a dismissive shrug before he set down the box, and held up the cat.

Steve frowned as he held her, and frankly, it pulled on your heart strings. You had to remind yourself that this man had been holding your cat captive for at least a week, and at most… who knows. 

She clearly had a connection with him, and that was what intrigued you most. Miso was a very picky cat, and it was only occasionally that she found someone that she genuinely liked, let alone wanted to be picked up by. If you continued to watch the display of affection in front of you, you might just cave.

“Uh, I left something in the oven for a little too long, so I should probably go get that. Thanks for stopping by.”

Steve nodded, understanding that it was time for him to exit.

——

You should’ve seen this coming the minute Miso was back in your home. You stepped out of the shower one morning to find your front door slightly ajar, and your animal nowhere to be found. 

You huffed, frustrated that just three days after you told yourself that your cat was completely indoor from that point on, she had escaped. She could literally be anywhere at this point.

In a whirlwind, you threw on a sweatshirt and pants, ready to go print out the missing posters that you had designed just a few days ago. As you slipped on sneakers, you realized something very crucial. She might just be at Steve’s place.

You groaned aloud, rubbing your temple as you thought of how difficult your cat was being. You were becoming a bit nervous to approach Steve, you hadn’t gotten off to the greatest start, and if your cat wasn’t there, things might just be awkward.

Regardless, you knew you needed to try, so you exited your own home, and knocked on the door of Steve’s.

A few moments later, he appeared with your cat in tow. 

“Hey!” he paused and trailed off, “I never got your name before.”

“That’s what you care about right now?” you glanced down at your animal. “It’s Y/N, by the way.”

“Hi, Y/N. Miso and I were just enjoying breakfast, if you’d like to join us?”

Was Steve shooting his shot? 

“I appreciate your offer, but I think I’m alright. I have to get back to work, and my cat is still in your custody,” your eyes flickered down to the animal who stood proudly by his side. 

“Maybe some other time,” he shrugged. “You work from home?”

You nodded, then squatted down to get eye level with your cat. 

“I’m jealous,” he chuckled. “Alright, I’ll stop bothering you now. Bye Miso, see you around, Y/N.”

You picked up your cat, who briefly dug her nails into the ground in resistance before submitting to her capture. As you brought her back home, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the right choice.

——

Ever since you’d discovered Miso, or Arabella’s secret life, it’s like you couldn’t stop noticing her connection to Steve. 

Some days, she’d be gone until the dead of night, when she’d meow and paw at your front door until you woke up. Other times she’d be laying in bed with you, and she smelled distinctly of your neighbor. Your cat had single handedly turned a stranger into a thoroughly integrated part of your life.

It was as if Miso was now your child, and Steve your ex-husband in a Cold War style custody battle, where Miso seemed to prefer her father. It was slightly disheartening. At the very least, you knew she was in good hands. 

You held a throw pillow to your chest while you watched a rerun of a sitcom on your television, procrastinating in your work for as long as you possibly could. The sound of a knock on your door pulled you from your trance, and as you peeked through the peephole of your door, you saw a slightly distorted Steve.

Opening up the door, you gave him just the faintest hint of a smile, “what’s up, neighbor? Need me to grab you some treats for Arabella, or something?”

“Kinda the opposite,” he gestured with his head down to the cat squirming in his hands. “I’m gonna be gone on a mission for the next week or so. I just wanted to let you know that if Miso gets out, she’s not with me.” 

Steve set her down on your carpet, and she happily collapsed at your feet, “keep her safe for me, alright?” 

——

You took a deep breath as you approached his door, hoping he hadn’t left just yet. You fiddled with the sticky note containing your number, and polaroid photo of your cat in your hand, considering turning around and scrapping the idea all together. 

It was silly to think that an Avenger would ever bother reaching out to you. You were probably overstepping anyway. Steve would think you were a freak and take full custody of your beloved Miso once and for all. 

Going against your better judgment, you set down the polaroid-note combo and quickly slid it under Steve’s door. Whatever happened happened.

The next morning, you were pleased to receive a notification from an unknown number. 

Send Miso pics?

You were more than happy to oblige. 

——

Over the course of Steve’s week-long mission, you’d sent several pictures and videos of your cat doing random things. Trying to get on the table, sleeping on top of your dryer, and even playing with one of the toys Steve provided.

Surprisingly, Steve wasn’t as dry of a texter as you thought he’d be. He was eating up all of the Miso content, and would occasionally even ask for you to send more photos. 

The final night of his mission, you were surprised when you received a FaceTime request, at first writing it off as a technical error (he was from a different time period, after all), but the follow up call demonstrated his intentions.

You cautiously picked up, the knot in your stomach growing as you did so, “hello?”

“Hi!” Steve greeted optimistically, the phone just a bit too close to his face. “Any Miso sightings?”

“Yeah, she’s actually sleeping on my foot right now,” you chuckled, flipping the camera so you could show her off in your dim, lamp-lit bedroom. 

“So cute,” he hummed, “how have you been?”

“Me?” you laughed quietly, “I’m not the one on a top secret mission in god-knows-where. But I’ve been fine. How are you?”

“Honestly? I’m pretty tired. Kinda can’t wait to get home and see you and Miso,” he said in a quieter voice. 

Your brain stalled out for a second. Steve was excited to see you? You hoped that you were reading this the right way, as you were more than willing to go with whatever it was that Steve was putting down.

“We’ll be expecting an immediate visit from you, then. I’ll let Miso know that she needs to start kneading a bread loaf for you as soon as possible. Any idea of what time you’re getting into D.C.?” 

“Probably late morning, but it really depends on when Natasha gets up.”

You had a moment where you realized that you were talking to a real life superhero, and he had just referenced his friend… who was also a superhero. You paused for a second. 

“Y/N? Hey, you still here?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I just zoned out for a sec. Well, you better get here safe or else someone is going to be very annoyed with you.”

Steve laughed softly across the line, and you adjusted yourself in bed, yawning softly.

“I’m sorry, I forgot how late it is over there,” Steve apologized.

“Don’t worry, I was up anyway. One of Miso’s boyfriends is pretty upset that he can’t come in here and spend the night with her.”

“Which one?”

“I think that grey one. I don’t really know what his voice sounds like, but she’s been leading him on lately,” you responded, eliciting a laugh from both you and Steve. 

“Try to get some sleep, okay? I don’t need you snoozing while I come to visit our girl.”

“You are something else, Steve Rogers,” you said fondly, adjusting your phone one last time as you hugged a pillow. “I’ll get to sleep. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

You hung up, and cuddled into your pillow with a sigh. Calling your dreams that night sweet was an understatement. 

——

You seemed to be Steve’s first stop after his mission, stopping at your door with his duffel bag still attached to his arm, and wearing a slightly dirty and much too small white t-shirt.

Expecting his presence, you quickly got the door and gave him a toothy grin. 

“It’s so good to see your face without a screen,” Steve commented. Internally, you swooned. 

“I could say the same for you, Steve.”

Miso had been summoned by the sound of Steve’s voice, practically sprinting to the door and meowing at him on the top of her lungs. 

“Miso really appreciates you coming here to see her first,” you added as he lifted her up and quietly cooed into her wrinkly head. “Feel free to take her for the next few days. I’m sure she’s getting tired of me.”

Steve shook his head at you, and grinned, “that’s so sweet of you,” he briefly looked down at his wristwatch, and his brows raised.

“Shit. I have to go, but I promise to see you soon. I’m glad to see that everything is well. Take care, Y/N,” Steve began making his way back to his own apartment, and you watched him with the semblance of a frown. 

You really needed to stop longing for the unobtainable. 

——

You hadn’t heard from Steve in a few days following his return, and your brief interaction with him. Part of you wondered if he was avoiding you for some  reason. 

Your phone lit up the room as it went off, and you grabbed it to look at the notification you received.

A picture of Steve grinning with Miso sitting on his chest looked back at you with a simple message connected to it.

Wanna come over? :D

[magicalmanhattanproject]

the way you worded talking about grian implied that he used to be doing something that was not feeding off people online. what was he doing before that? what changed? why doesn't he go out where people can see him? (and, if it isn't already answered by the first question, what's his first choice method?) i might be reading into things that aren't there, but I'm curious.

So. If you're gonna be the one manipulating people, it helps if they can't trace it back to you. You can have some personal flair of course, but you don't wanna look so incredibly obvious that your every single move is gonna be under constant scrutiny.

In Grian's defense, no one he asked gave him a straight answer. But like, he only asked other Web people and Web people are terrible at giving straight answers. Even before he went, he knew he was looking for an excuse to poke his head in where it didn't belong and cause trouble. A lot of his Web friends will roll their eyes at him and tell him he's more cut out for the Ceaseless Watcher but he'll just laugh at them and ask "When have I ever just watched?" They usually concede the point.

So yeah. He'd heard the warnings over and over again. Don't go near the Goatmother's Peak. Do not go near the Goatmother's Peak. Don't even think about the Goatmother's Peak if you know what's good for you. But no one ever bothered to tell him why.

Anyway, he chartered a private plane from Impulse to drop him in by glider. The fall took far longer than it should have, of course. Long enough that Grian wasn't sure he would ever land. Long enough for the open sky to become a terror. But the Goatmother's Peak rose up to meet him some three days later and the transparent glider rendered him almost invisible as he landed on top of the Peak. Maybe he should have come in from underneath, but the rumors said that the good Doctor hardly ever left his lab.

Since then, he's often wondered if it would have been better or worse if those rumors had been wrong. Given what Doc is capable of, it probably would have been objectively much worse. But there is something that Grian particularly loathes in the fact that he can’t be sure that Doc even has any idea this ever happened. He likes to be in control of what’s going on. 

He felt that sense of control slipping away when he realized that he didn’t exactly have an exit plan. It was hardly the first time he’d thrown himself into a dangerous situation with no plan beyond talking himself back out of it, but “hey come pick me up from the Goatmother’s Peak” is– He doesn’t have anyone he could pull that kind of favor from who could actually carry it out. A Web friend would have tried to convince him that this meant it was subconsciously a suicide mission, but honestly he just hadn’t been thinking much beyond his own curiosity. 

All he gets is more questions. The first of which is “Why does it hurt so much?”followed by “Was I screaming?” and “Did anyone hear me scream?” and “Is that my blood on the ground?” and quite a few more related questions all in very quick succession. Okay, he doesn’t get no answers. For example, yes, the blood pooling in the divot between the Goatmother’s horns where he’s been hiding is very much his own and it’s spilling from two massive lacerations on his back from which weird lumpy mounds of flesh are writhing and flailing and he slowly realizes that he can feel them writhe and flail and it hurts. 

He doesn’t bleed out. He’s not sure how. The blood is enough to stain his white sweater through completely. But by the end of it, he has two huge wings hanging limply between his shoulder blades. He tries to stumble to his feet, but the wings weigh him down and he slips in the blood. Bangs his knee hard against the stone. Bangs his head a second later. Passes out.

Wakes up in a hotel a few miles away with a pounding headache and, yes, still a pair of oversized wings that are barely supported by the muscles of his mid back that are absolutely not designed for it. There’s a note waiting for him on the bedside table.

“Don’t come back ^-^ -E”

He doesn’t. 

The wings do though, every time he tries to rip them off. He learns to live with them eventually, though never to fly. But he doesn’t really like the way people stare. He’s not quite as curious about Doc anymore either. If this is what happens when you just get close to him, what could he do on purpose?

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

dreaming in reality, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The wrong guy shows up in your car – Jeon Jungkook. Again. He’s less drunk this time, but no less weird. Then the right guy shows up. Min Yoongi. You know, the guy you fucked in Jungkook’s bed that one time. Guess he can convince you to do anything. Like, say, take Jungkook’s virginity. Don’t worry, he’ll help.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, tiny bit of crack; alcohol consumption; violence? someone gets slapped lol; technically Jungkook’s first time; smut (fem reader, threesome, slightly degrading dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, f-receiving oral, penetrative sex, partial handjob); non-idol!AU - friends with benefits / lovers? with Yoongi; Yoongi is a very bad boy and he knows it; JK is blond and wearing his ‘ON’ and ‘Dynamite’ GDA 2021 outfits (except w/o the white blazer)

a–dick–ted au yes that’s what I’ve decided to call this this was supposed to be just more Yoongi smut but then Jungkook decided he’d like this to be about him, what can you do?

--

"Can you pick me up tonight?"

"Mhm. What are you wearing?"

A deep chuckle. "Eager to undress me?"

"I'm doing you a favor. There's no guarantee you'll get more than that."

"Hmmm." That low raspy voice did not believe you. "White dress shirt, black jeans. Can't miss me."

He hung up. 

White shirt, black jeans. You remembered to lock your car doors this time, so you turned around to press the button so he could get in. The door opened and the young man slid inside, reeking of alcohol. Wait. Some kind of belt harness around a thin waist. Ashy blond hair. Hand tattoos. Thick thighs. Chiseled jaw.

Fuck!

Again?

"I need to talk to you, noona."

"Get out."

Jeon Jungkook was not as drunk as before. He was definitely drunk, but not piss drunk like last time. His eyes were unfocused and he was nervously biting his pink lower lip. The mole underneath bounced up and down as he chewed it mercilessly. He swallowed and undid the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing his tan, muscular pecs. Oh, thank the Lord, Jungkook remembered to wear a shirt underneath, although it was a very low-cut white t-shirt. He kept running his hand through his currently blond hair tensely, revealing the shadow root. Well, it was well done at least. He had a good hairstylist. You hadn't realized Jungkook changed it, so he must have done it recently.

Probably to get attention and remind every human being that he was hot.

Blergh.

You still weren't convinced he wasn't a dirty little fuckboy.

"Why are you sitting in my car showing off your nervous ticks?" you said irritably.

"I gotta ask you something."

His black boots were a little dirty from the party. Outside, the drunks were as loud as ever, with the same seven girls on the porch craning their heads to gawk at Jungkook in your car. Different house, same scene, and drunk Jeon Jungkook sitting in your passenger's seat, once again being the wrong guy sauntering into your car. 

Where the fuck was the correct guy?

"Look, psycho, fucking spit it out or yeet. I'm not repeating what happened last time."

Jungkook's dark brown eyes flickered to you, turning his body to face yours. Running his tattooed right hand through his bleached hair over and over, spreading the golden strands, the ashy tone catching the low light of the lampposts. Jaw flexed, tiny pink tongue darting out and licking his lips. He was a little sweaty, cheeks hollowed in a little with how hard he was breathing. 

You raised an eyebrow. 

"You have ten seconds before I kick you out and believe me when I say I have leg strength."

"Are you and Yoongi-hyung dating?" Jungkook asked suddenly. 

What?

"What?"

You made a face at him.

He sucked in a breath, brows furrowing at your response. “Because I could have sworn…”

Your mind flickered back to that faithful night. Shit. You shouldn’t have let Min Yoongi convince you to sleep right there in Jungkook’s apartment. You remembered his wicked smirk, his deep, raspy voice in your ear, Jungkook’s not going to know and don’t you want to do bad things with me? Don’t you want to be bad with me? He could make you do anything at this point. You two fell asleep on Jungkook’s bed. Next to hungover Jungkook.

Naked.

You mentally slapped yourself.

“What made you come to that conclusion?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes.

Jungkook tilted his head, sucking in his cheek. It made a sharp sound and his tongue flashed against his white teeth for a split second. You almost flinched. He pursed his lips and kept his gaze on you. You were wearing a tight white high-necked crop top, oversized black hoodie, and high-waisted black shorts. Dark pink and violent violet chunky sneakers. Almost no makeup. Hair tied back into low pigtails with one pink and one purple scrunchie to match your sneakers.

Oh shit. The hoodie wasn’t yours.

Hopefully Jungkook wasn’t perceptive enough to figure that out.

“Noona.”

He said it strangely, breathlessly. Almost sexually. You recoiled a little. Jungkook was leaning forward, giving you a clear view down his shirt, blond hair falling into his face, covering one eye. His alcoholic breath floating towards you, far too close for your liking.

“I…” Jungkook swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I want… to…”

The door to your passenger’s seat was roughly yanked open.

Jungkook jumped, throwing his back into the seat, brown eyes wide and staring at the newcomer. White dress shirt, two sizes too big, with ties at the wrists to cinch in the bishop-style sleeves. Black jeans, distressed with several mismatched patches. Silver chains on his black leather belt and around his pale neck. Black hair, pointed dark eyes like a cat.

A single, cocked eyebrow.

“Let me guess,” drawled Min Yoongi, the correct guy you were supposed to be picking up, looking from you to Jeon Jungkook, who was impossibly flat against the car seat. Yoongi sounded amused. “He just waltzed in.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, I locked my doors this time.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to Jungkook, who still seemed mildly terrified, and then back to you. The glint in his dark brown eyes was far from innocent. His fair cheeks were a little pink.

“Ah, so you wanted Jungkook in your car?” There was an edge to his voice, almost dangerous, but to you it was Yoongi’s usual teasing. Jungkook looked like he was preparing for his own death. Both of you ignored him for the moment.

“You said white dress shirt and black jeans,” you scowled. You gestured Jungkook up and down. “Hello?”

Jungkook’s thighs tensed and bulged against his tight jeans. Eyes still as wide as saucers. He hadn’t blinked in a good thirty seconds.

“We have the same excellent taste and style. How fortunate for you,” Yoongi purred. Then he finally patted Jungkook’s thigh, making him start and let out a panicked squeak. “You want noona to drop you off, Jungkookie? She’d be happy to.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” you gritted out.

“Yes, she would,” Yoongi said cheerfully. He slammed the front car door and opened the backseat. You rolled your eyes and stared straight ahead. Even from here you could smell the whiskey. Yoongi hummed and you snuck a glance at him through the rearview mirror.

He looked positively beside himself with glee.

Hmph. Fine.

His loss.

“You bleached your hair, Jungkook?” Yoongi said absentmindedly as you started up the car.

Jungkook ran a hand through it once again. “Uh, yeah. What do you think, hyung?”

“Hm, looks good. Too much upkeep for me, personally. Seatbelt.”

Jungkook hastily went to grab his seatbelt and put it on. Too bad. You were ready to brake hard and send him flying out the windshield. Just kidding. Maybe. Well, you would have to be going real fucking fast for that to happen. Maybe over ninety or some shit. You pulled out of the neighborhood of houses, already knowing what direction to go in to the correct apartment complex. Yoongi and Jungkook lived in the same building.

So convenient.

You thinned your lips into a line, ignoring their conversation, until Yoongi snapped his fingers and called your name to get your attention. You glared at him through the rearview mirror. Yoongi’s legs were wide open, flopped in your backseat. He grinned at you and placed his hands on the inside of his jean-covered thighs.

Fucking tease.

“What?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to dye your hair at some point?”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

Jungkook sat up, looking at you. You didn’t look at him. “Oh? You’re going blond too?”

You snorted. “I said I wanted to dye my hair, which means a color.”

“What color?” Yoongi asked lazily.

Your eyes flickered to him in the rearview mirror again. He flexed his long fingers and pressed them against his jeans. You tucked your tongue in your cheek. Yoongi was aware Jungkook couldn’t see him and he was also aware you were watching him. Your eyes went back to the road.

Yoongi was also aware that because of Jungkook’s presence, neither of you were getting any tonight, so he resorted to teasing you like the bad boy he was.

“I dunno. Pick one for me,” you said impassively.

Yoongi chuckled, a deep, husky sound, revealing his pink gums and straight white teeth.

“Red.”

-

“N-noona?”

You curled your lip, looking around you. Ugh. You hated parties like this. So loud, so annoying, so many idiots. You didn’t understand why Yoongi came to these things. It was probably because of his lively friends. Being social like this was probably a great thing, but this was not your scene.

“No time to chat, Jungkook. Have you seen Yoongi?”

Jungkook was flapping his gums at you. He was still blond. He must be keeping up with his hair care because it still looked soft and ashy. It was swept to one side this night. Powder blue dress shirt, tight against his muscular pecs and white slacks that seemed to be choking his thighs. Brave man, wearing white around this much alcohol and lunacy.

You had to admit, Jeon Jungkook had guts looking like a prince to a peasant’s party.

“Where is he?” you muttered. “Kim Seokjin called and told me to get him because he was asleep.”

“U-uh…” Jungkook looked around as you stepped into the party house, your heavy black boots thudding against the hardwood floor. Short black skirt with silver chains and a black hoodie that said ‘WHATCHU MEAN?’ in neon lime green across your chest. Phone and keys in your hoodie pocket. Other than that, you weren’t wearing anything as of note. Oh.

Except.

Your usual ‘fuck off’ mentality.

“I haven’t s-seen him in the past hour,” Jungkook stammered.

“Fat lot of help you are.” You clicked your tongue and moved past him.

“You dyed your hair,” Jungkook blurted suddenly.

You turned your head and looked back at him. “Yeah, so?”

Your hair was now a gradient from a long black shadow root, to dark purple berry, to bright neon red. It was half-tied up with a black scrunchie, a few strands hanging around your face. Jungkook kept staring at it. You raised an eyebrow and turned away from him. Eh, you had no time for this. You needed to grab Yoongi and get the fuck out of here.

“I-I’ll look you help.”

You raised your eyebrows as Jungkook squeezed past you, his hard back pressing against your arm.

“You can’t even speak, you drunkard,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“I mean, I’ll help y-you look, noona,” Jungkook corrected himself, licking his lips nervously, running his right hand through his hair.

He’s hopeless.

Well, better than going alone.

Wordlessly, you followed him throughout the party, opening doors and craning your head over the bodies. So many topless people. Ugh, it was pretty late. By the time you two reached the back of the house, you never wanted to see another nipple ever again. You saw Kim Seokjin at the karaoke machine, blasting eardrums with what you assumed were supposed to be high notes, but, in reality, was simply screaming.

You didn’t even want to walk up to him to ask.

“He might be upstairs,” Jungkook said, swallowing hard.

“Lead the way,” you sighed, annoyed this was taking longer than it needed to.

You made your way up the stairs, pressing yourself against the railing to avoid touching people. Kept your hands in your kangaroo pocket and a scowl on your face. Jungkook suddenly stopped and you collided into him. Fuck. Why did he feel like he was made out of rocks? Stupid muscles.

“Hold on.”

Some guy was sprawled all over the middle of the hallway, unconscious.

“I’ll just step over him.”

Jungkook growled. “No. What if he wakes up and looks up your skirt?” He bent over and picked him up, propping him against the wall. You raised an eyebrow. Like anyone cared what was up your skirt besides Min Yoongi. Whatever. If he wanted to play the part of noble prince, you weren’t going stop him. You waited as Jungkook pushed the guy’s chin down to his chest and motioned you to the hall, towards the many doors. Probably mostly bedrooms. You winced. Probably going to see more nipples. And dicks. And pussy.

Sigh.

And, yep, you were right.

Jungkook tried to shield your eyes, but to be honest, he looked way more scarred than you. You merely shook your head and moved on, door to door. Opened one and saw a girl in a tight black dress crawling on a bed, over a guy in a black biker jacket and acid wash jeans. The hole in the knee was so big you could see half of his pale leg. Hmph. Why bother even wearing pants?

You were about to close the door when you paused. Wait. You’ve seen that black mop of hair before. The girl was kissing down his neck, yanking down the white t-shirt and ripping it. You recognized the grunt of sleepy annoyance.

“Get off him.”

The girl shot up; red lipstick smeared from making out with his neck. You stepped inside and jerked your head towards the door. Voice cold and unrelenting.

“Out.”

She furrowed her brows at you. “Who the fuck are you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Doesn’t matter. Dude’s asleep. You shouldn’t take advantage of someone who’s asleep.”

“He’s my boyfriend,” she shot back defiantly.

You snorted inelegantly. “No, he’s not. Don’t be stupid.”

The girl shoved herself off the bed, advancing on you, nasty snarl on her lips. “How would you know? Who do you think you are?”

“Not an idiot,” you barked sharply, completely forgetting Jungkook was behind you, gawking at this entire exchange. You looked her up and down and took a step towards her, the aggravation of the past hour reaching breaking point. All that time spent getting here, not being able to find Yoongi, and then discovering some bitch crawling all over him was pissing you off. Like everyone else, alcohol clung to her like the plague. She was furious, ready to catfight you, although you were pretty sure you were going to win this one because you were sober and your boots were a lot more stable than her tall heels.

“Look here, bitch, leave me and my boyfriend alo–”

You slapped her.

Hard.

Not holding back, not making a sound, just straight up slapped her across the face. The sound was so loud it could be heard over the bass of the music. She nearly crumpled at the force, gasping and choking at air as she stumbled, eyes wide in disbelief, slim hand cradling her face.

“He’s not your boyfriend,” you growled. Your voice was absolute zero with how cold it was. “He will never be your boyfriend. Now get the fuck out of my face before I rearrange yours into the next century.”

She squeaked at you.

Your eyes narrowed and you raised your hand again. She bolted, stumbling on her heels, seeing Jungkook staring, opening her mouth to say something, but you made an inhuman, grating noise deep in your throat. Her shaking eyes connected with yours and you cocked your head in the direction of the door, popping your neck loudly.

She scrambled out of there like her life depended on it.

It did, because you had enough at this point.

“Dumb bitch,” you spat, before releasing the tension from your shoulders. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jungkook’s mouth wide open, deer-in-headlights look on his face. “What?”

“W… Why do you look so hot when you’re angry?”

You scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

“Fuck, you are damn hot when you’re angry.”

Deep, raspy voice that made your spine tingle. You turned your head to see Min Yoongi on his elbows, licking his pink lips. He was definitely drunker this time, cheeks flushed. His fair skin on his neck and cheeks were covered in red lipstick marks. You clicked your tongue at him.

“When did you wake up?”

Yoongi smirked.

You frowned.

“Maybe when you slapped her.” His dark eyes glittered in the low light of the bedroom, lips curving higher and revealing his teeth. “Maybe when you got her attention.” Full-on, open-mouthed smirk now, devilish and wicked. “Maybe when you opened the door.”

A muscle in your forehead twitched. You strode over, looking down. Yoongi slowly lifted his head, pink tongue sliding out and tracing his teeth, cocking an eyebrow. You clenched your jaw.

“I like your hair,” Yoongi purred softly. “You took my advice.”

“I didn’t care what color it was,” you responded evenly. “I left the hairstylist do what she wanted.”

Yoongi arched an eyebrow. “She made your hair match your body. Hot and sexy.”

You matched his raised brow. “You saying my hair wasn’t attractive before?”

Crafty dark brown eyes on yours, intoxicating you like whiskey.

“It always needed me to mess it up before it was truly as sexy as you.”

“Are you guys sure you’re not dating?”

Oh right.

Jungkook was still here.

You turned your head to face him. You hadn’t even noticed that he had walked all the way up to the bed, standing next to you. The door was closed. Who closed it? It was also locked. Your brows furrowed and your eyes flickered back to Jungkook. He was watching you, blond hair covering one chocolate orb, pink lips wet and slightly parted. Tan skin radiant in the low light.

“What are you still doing here?”

His visible eye shifted down your body, pausing at your legs and then shifting to Yoongi. Yoongi gave him a neutral expression. The eyes shifted back to you.

“I was going to help you carry him if hyung was still asleep.” His voice had dropped several octaves.

“Well, he’s obviously awake,” you said dismissively.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, more blond hair sliding down, shadowing his face.

“You want me to leave so you can fuck him? Or so he can fuck you?” Jungkook accused.

You raised your eyebrows.

“I told you he liked you.”

You exhaled, shifting your gaze to Yoongi. He was wiping the lipstick off his neck with the collar of his ruined shirt. He looked displeased, nose scrunching as he did so.

“Wanting me to desire him is not the same as liking someone.” You swung your head back to Jungkook, ticking your chin at him. “Isn’t that so, Jungkook?”

There was a moment of silence.

If silence could be bass-boosted music, screaming downstairs, and a bottle smashing somewhere nearby. But in this random bedroom, it was as if time stopped, you staring at Jungkook, Yoongi looking up to witness what was about to unfold, and your slow realization that Jungkook was not answering fast enough.

The younger man shook his blond bushel of hair very, very slowly.

“No, noona.”

His other eye was revealed, both of them trained on you.

“I want you to take my virginity.”

Silence.

He must be joking.

“And there it is, out in the open,” Yoongi mused.

Jungkook continued, hands in his pockets, chest sticking out from under the tight blue dress shirt.

“Hyung knows this. I told him.”

You let out a soft breath. “You know, Jungkook, you could get any bitch in this house.”

“Don’t want a bitch,” Jungkook retorted, dangerous edge to his voice, slipping into his Busan satoori. “Want you, noona.”

He was way too serious to not mean it. You tucked your hands into your hoodie pocket and flicked your head to remove red strands from your face. 

"Kinda out of left field, kid," you muttered.

You heard Yoongi sit up on the bed and looked at him out of the corner of your eye. He shook his shoulders out and hooked his legs over the edge of the bed, sandwiching one of your thighs between his own. His shirt hung down, ruined and covered with red lipstick from where he tried to wipe it off his neck and cheeks. His neck was pink with irritation.

"Not really," Yoongi chuckled. "He's been eyeing you for a while now. You never noticed because you're too busy being crabby."

He wasn't touching you with his hands and insulting your character instead.

"Speak for yourself, grump."

Yoongi squeezed your thigh with his and you involuntarily shuddered at the slight skin on skin contact due to the giant hole in his pants. Shit. Yoongi snickered. 

"Are you guys dating?" Jungkook snapped irritably.

"No."

Both Yoongi and you said it at the same time, glaring at each other. Jungkook might as well have been a lamp. You stared deep into those mischievous brown orbs, black hair messy and covering his brows, teasing smile on his lips. Dating wasn’t the word for it. You weren’t sure there was a word for what Yoongi and you were doing. You could tell he didn’t know either.

It wasn’t dating, that’s for sure.

"Did you guys fuck on my bed or not?"

Before you could respond, Yoongi broke your gaze and looked straight at Jungkook. Jungkook's jaw was clenched tight, dark eyes flashing. Yoongi's voice was slipping into his Daegu satoori as well, deepening and slightly slurred from whiskey. 

"We did."

You clicked your tongue.

Great. Just great. 

"Ate her out and fucked her hard, all over your sheets. Right next to you. She even touched you."

"An accident," you hissed. 

Yoongi ignored you. "Her hand slid up your abs and chest." He chuckled. "It was sexy. You have a nice body, Jungkookie."

"Stop telling him this shit." You raised your hand to smack Yoongi in the arm but he whipped his head back to you, grabbing your wrist out of the air. You stiffened at the touch. He turned your palm to face Jungkook and directed his attention back to him. 

"This hand, in fact."

Were you surprised? No. That was the game. Push the limits, up the ante. You just didn’t think Yoongi would tell Jungkook something like that. Maybe he wouldn’t if he was fully sober. But Yoongi wouldn’t regret it either. He would roll with the wave, as usual.

You were a little irked that you weren’t the one who took the plunge first.

You finally snuck a glance at Jungkook. His jaw was no longer tense and his cheeks were flushed pink. He raised his head to look at you, blond locks swinging, and you looked away. Fucking Yoongi. Always trying to cause trouble. But that's why you kept fucking him. Because he was always finding ways to make your life interesting. 

Maybe you were addicted to the adrenaline he gave you.

Maybe you were just addicted to Yoongi. 

You sensed movement. You tried to pull your wrist out of Yoongi's grasp but he held it tightly. You finally looked back to glare at him, only to be greeted by the sight of Jungkook's blue shirt mostly unbuttoned, his sculpted abs and chest fully on display. Your eyes widened, taking a step back, realizing how close he was. Yoongi yanked you back, grin on his lips. 

A beat passed. 

Your gaze locked with his. 

Don't you dare, Min Yoongi. 

He planted your hand on Jungkook's torso. 

You tried to twist away, but Yoongi held you there, pressing your palm into Jungkook's hard muscles. The younger man sucked in a breath, surveying you through his lashes. A strange shiver traveled from your hand to your spine, pooling down to your core, setting it aflame. Yoongi slid your hand up to Jungkook's pecs. You could feel how hot and heavy Jungkook's breathing was on the back of your hand. His heartbeat raced under your fingers. 

You gulped. 

"Yoongi." Your eyes were on Jungkook and his blown-out pupils, blond bangs all over his forehead. Your pulse roared in your ears. "You said he was sappy. That it had to be the love of his life."

Yoongi chuckled. 

"Noona," Jungkook replied for him in his husky voice. "I’ve been planning for it to be you."

Your eyes flickered back to Yoongi. His other arm slid around your legs, pulling you to him. He made you breathless, looking down into those devilish eyes, pink lips parting a little. You could feel his hand on your thigh, stroking your skin, making you tremble with his touch.

"He asked you to take it," Yoongi purred softly. 

You inhaled deeply. Whiskey. Leather. Yoongi. Your hand was still on Jungkook's chest. You dug your nails into his skin a little. Jungkook moaned, breathy and deep. 

"I'm not taking anything," you whispered. 

Yoongi's hand released your wrist and slid up the back of your hand, each of his long fingers sliding between yours, pressing your joined touch into Jungkook’s chest. Fingers spread over his skin, his breathing vibrating though your palm. All Jungkook had to do was take a step back. 

Why wasn't he taking a step back?

Yoongi squeezed your fingers with his. You could feel the heat building inside you. Desire. His voice became smokey. Lustful. Purring your name softly. 

He could make you do anything when his voice became like that. 

"I'm telling you to take it."

Your mouth went dry.

"Why?"

Yoongi leaned forward, resting his chin right between your covered breasts. So close. Your heartbeat fluttered. Fuck, you wanted to kiss him so very much. You wanted to kiss that naughty mouth, the mouth suggesting sinful and treacherous ideas. Whenever you were with Yoongi, danger always seemed like a good thing.

"Because you feel good when you do bad things."

God, Min Yoongi was a bad boy. 

"And I love watching you do bad things."

Dark orbs glittering with trouble. 

"I’m here with you."

I’m here with you.

His arm around your legs tightened. Your panties were absolutely soaked. Yoongi had you right where he wanted you. He knew it too, even as you pursed your lips. Yoongi finally looked away from you.

"You don't mind that, right, Jungkookie?"

Jungkook shook his head quickly. "No, hyung. Whatever..." He paused, knowing what he was about to say was wrong. His eyes flickered to you. You didn’t look at him. You just stared at the black pile of hair that was Min Yoongi.

Wondering what was going on in that head of his.

"Whatever it takes."

Yoongi removed his hand from Jungkook’s chest. You pulled yours back quickly, still not looking at Jungkook. Yoongi placed his large hands on your hips. Raised his head. Fuck. Trapping you in his devious eyes. He mouthed words at you. So sexy. So fuckable. You mouthed words back. You’re bad. Yoongi grinned, licking his teeth.

“Stand in front of us, Jungkook.”

And Yoongi spun you around to face him, pushing you into his arms. Jungkook’s hands gripped your upper arms, holding you in place. And, for once, Jungkook wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t stumbling into your car by mistake, he wasn’t reeking of alcohol and nervous ticks. If anything.

Jungkook smelled good.

You were staring into his tan chest. Slowly, you looked up. Up his pecs, up his prominent collarbones, up his shapely neck. You could smell the cologne, fresh like clean laundry mixed with the sharpness of the sea. Your eyes continued up, up his sharp jaw, up to the tiny mole under his lower lip, up to his high cheekbones, up into those chocolate orbs. His blond hair hovered over his eyes, shrouding them with gold. Jungkook sucked in a breath as you made eye contact. You cocked an eyebrow.

“I still don’t see why it has to be me.”

Jungkook licked his lips, leaning in.

“Has to be you, noona,” he whispered, breath hot against your lips.

For some reason your heart was beating fast now. Was it Yoongi’s hands sliding down to your thighs, squeezing them? Or was it Jeon Jungkook, pupils dilated and grip tight on your arms, nearly shirtless in front of you?

“I dream about you,” Jungkook breathed. “All the time. The only woman I’ve ever dreamed about touching me, teasing me, feeling all of me.” He frowned a little, tilting his head. “I had sex dreams before, but none of them felt real. None of them were like the ones I had with you. The ones with you were always extremely detailed. It was like all the things you did were really happening. I could finish with them.”

You didn’t have to guess what that meant.

“I could feel everything.”

Jungkook pressed his forehead against yours, ash blond strands mixing with dark red.

“Your nails digging into my skin, you moaning above me.”

His eyes burned with determination. Yoongi’s hands slid up your legs, fingertips sliding under your soaking panties. You were so distracted by Jungkook’s words that you barely felt it. But your body remembered. Your body remembered that orgasm right above Jungkook, Yoongi’s tongue inside you, your hand on his abs, nails curling into them as you came. Jungkook’s voice was so low that it felt as if your heartbeat was resonating with it.

“Make my dreams real.”

Yoongi circled your clit with his index finger, not touching it, making you gasp.

“Taint me, noona,” Jungkook murmured.

You pressed your lips against his and Yoongi pressed his finger against your clit. You whimpered into Jungkook’s mouth, hand slipping inside his shirt to hold his waist, kissing him deeper. Jungkook’s hand came up to cup your face, holding you close as you moaned, feeling Yoongi stroke your sensitive bundle of nerves slowly, working you up. His other hand was holding your ass, squeezing it hard. In comparison, Jungkook’s lips were soft, tongue hesitantly sliding into your lips. You latched around it, sucking on it roughly. Jungkook squeaked, trying to pull away, but you held on, tugging as you bobbed your head back and forth, eyes cracking open as you moaned deep in your throat.

Jungkook was staring at you, fascinated.

You released his tongue and snaked yours into his mouth. Pushing it in, sliding it back out, steadily and deliberately. Jungkook’s eyelashes fluttered, pressing his body into yours, needy cries in his chest, trying to get more. Pleasure spread throughout your hips, spurred upward by Yoongi’s touch. You felt heady and tense, increasing the force you were using to fuck Jungkook’s mouth, breathing in shallow gasps, closing your eyes again, so close, so close. So wrong, making out with Jungkook as Yoongi stimulated your clit to orgasm.

So wrong, but so, so fucking good.

You sucked your tongue back and moaned directly into Jungkook’s mouth as you came, legs shaking, clit throbbing against Yoongi’s fingers as your panties soaked even more, the scent of sex suddenly prominent in this random bedroom. Jungkook gasped, body shuddering and shaking at your exhale, roughly shoving you into his hard chest. Your crotch hit his and you could feel his erection through his tight pants.

The party kept thriving, bass booming the walls, blind to the events about to unfold.

Jungkook drew back, panting. You felt Yoongi withdraw his hand, heard him lick it off. But you were staring at Jungkook, at his swollen lips, at his blue shirt half-pulled off from your touch, revealing his right shoulder covered in black tattoos, blond hair covering half his face.

Beautiful and dangerous, like an angelic incubus.

You felt Yoongi’s hands on your hips again, unzipping your skirt. Slipping it down. Your body reacted, kicking it away. Jungkook’s eyes were fixated on your black panties, pushed to one side from Yoongi’s touch, soaked with your juices.

“Take off your shirt, Jungkook,” Yoongi said as he reached down to unzip your boots.  

Jungkook yanked his shirt out of his pants and tossed it aside, watching Yoongi slowly strip you. Taking your boots and setting them next to the bed, gripping your hoodie and yanking it over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, but he dumped it next to him, showing you the phone and keys were still in the center pocket. You frowned at him, but Yoongi shrugged, unhooking your black bra. You held onto it, covering yourself. Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“Let him see the tits.”

You clicked your tongue. Then you turned back to face Jungkook, challenging him.

“Jungkook can come and see for himself.”

Jungkook swallowed, taking a step towards you. Chewing on his lip, eyes fixated on your hands holding up your bra. You felt Yoongi’s fingers hook around the sides of your panties. Jungkook stopped right in front of you. Reached forward and gripped one of the bra cups. You held tight, not letting go. Jungkook’s jaw tensed and he yanked at it, pulling it out of your grasp.

You lowered your hands.

“Fuck…” Jungkook breathed. “They’re prettier than I thought.” His hand raised, but then he stopped, looking at you hesitantly. “Can I… touch them?”

You arched a brow. “Never touched tits before?”

“I want to ask you,” Jungkook replied softly. “I want to know you want it too.”

Chocolate eyes framed in gold, enchanting you.

You reached up and took his wrist, guiding his hand to your chest. You were breathing hard, making them bounce a little. Pressed his palm into your hard nipple, shivering at the different hand, the different feeling. You felt Yoongi slide your panties down, down. You slid Jungkook’s hand down, wrapping his fingers around your nipple. He gasped, rolling the nub between his fingers, watching your face as you moaned, Yoongi’s fingers crawling between your legs once again.

You pointed to your other nipple.

“Mouth, here.” Stared into Jungkook’s ravenous eyes. “Please.”

Jungkook bent down and licked your nipple, coating it with saliva. Your hand slid up the back of his head, tangling in the soft blond locks, pulling him closer.

“More, Jungkook…”

He whimpered your name, pinching your nipple as you said his. You gasped softly as his lips closed around your nipple, sucking lightly, tongue pressed against the tip and moving it around, rubbing the other at the same time. You sank your teeth into your lower lip as you felt Yoongi slide two fingers into you, so easy because he had made you cum beforehand, fucking you as Jungkook made out with your tits. You stared down Jungkook’s muscular back, admiring the way his muscles rippled as he moved. Your hips bucked in Yoongi’s hand, leaning forward so he could finger you deeper, shoving your nipple into Jungkook’s mouth. He sucked hard, nipping lightly, and you threw your head back, pleasure flowing all over. Jungkook switched sides and hands, rubbing your wet nipple with his thumb as he teased the other, flicking the hardened nub with his tongue. Rougher, matching Yoongi’s pace in your pussy, shoving his fingers so far into your pussy that you felt his knuckles.

Yoongi against your back, purring your name.

“Cum for me,” he murmured, low and raspy. “Cum all over my hand as Jungkook abuses your nipples.”

Fuck, his satoori, his words.

Yoongi had you wrapped around his fingers in all senses.

“Mm, fuck, fuck…”

You moaned loudly as you came, legs shuddering, rutting your breasts into Jungkook’s face as your hand pressed him into your tits, grinding your hips into Yoongi’s hand as your pussy clenched around his fingers, drenching them with your orgasm once again. Jungkook moaned into your chest, burying his nose into your tits, tongue pressed against your skin.

“Ah, fuck, you taste so good, noona…”

Yoongi chuckled, slowly pulling his fingers out of you.

“You haven’t tasted anything, Jungkook.”

And then Yoongi fell back against the bed, taking you with him. You had to release Jungkook’s head, whining at the loss of his warmth. Yoongi dipped his knees down and shoved them between your thighs, spreading them wide. He slid you down his body, forcing you to expose your wet pussy to Jungkook’s wide, voracious eyes.

“Have a taste.”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered to you. At this point, it was doomed. You wanted Jungkook’s tongue and your needed it now. Your voice was grating, tainted with lust.

“Get on your knees and taste me, Jungkook,” you growled.

Jungkook obeyed immediately, kneeling before you and crawling up to your thighs, extending his pink tongue, nearly drooling. Chocolate eyes watching your face.

Yoongi shoved his wet fingers into your lips.

You grunted in protest, but then Jungkook’s tongue touched your wet slit, lapping greedily as he watched Yoongi’s fingers slide in and out of your mouth. You moaned around them, licking off your taste as Jungkook moaned into your pussy, coating his tongue with your sweet, thick juices.

“O-oh, fuck, hyung, noona…” he panted hotly into your core. “Tastes so fucking good.”

“Told you,” Yoongi chuckled triumphantly, slowly fucking your mouth.

“Wanna be in here so bad, hyung…”

You make a gargled noise around his fingers and he pulled them out, humming in his chest so your head vibrated with the sound.

“I’m not taking him raw,” you gasped out as Jungkook’s tongue swiped over your clit. Your breathing hitched as he lapped at it experimentally and he continued after witnessing your reaction. Your hand slid down and gripped Yoongi’s wrist, moan torn out of you as Jungkook’s licking intensified. Almost too much, forcing you to tighten your core, juices leaking out of your slit and onto his chin.

“Don’t worry. I came prepared.”

Your jaw tightened as you neared orgasm. Of course, Yoongi came prepared.

“You planned this.”

“Did I?”

Far too amused and teasing to be innocent. Your back arched as Jungkook increased the suction, your head tipped back against Yoongi’s chest, barely being able to see him upside down, mouth open as you panted. Yoongi smirked at you.

“Or did I simply assist little Jungkookie in convincing noona to take his virginity?”

His words and your orgasm hit you like a truck, hands flying up to grip Yoongi’s shoulders as you nearly screamed Jungkook’s name, thighs threatening to clamp his head if it wasn’t for Yoongi’s strong legs spreading them out. Your body fell limp onto Yoongi’s chest, flooding Jungkook’s mouth with your orgasm. Jungkook groaned, drinking it up, hands coming up to hold your hips down as he sucked it out of you.

“Not all of it, Jungkook,” Yoongi warned. “Keep her wet for you.”

Jungkook whined, drawing back, lips shiny and glossy with your cum. His pink tongue snaked out, swiped over his lips, scooping it all into his mouth, the action obscene and arousing all at once.

“Fuck, noona’s pussy tastes so good…”

Yoongi lifted your limp body and dragged you up the bed, placing his head on the pillows and positioning you on top of him. You scoffed, back and ass pressed against Yoongi’s still fully clothed body.

“You want him to fuck me on top of you?”

“Of course,” Yoongi answered smugly. “I can help him get into position and he can get back at me for fucking you on top of him.”

“You didn–”

Yoongi pinched your nipples, cutting you off as he flicked the sensitive nubs, turning you into a moaning mess in seconds. Your legs tried to close, but once again Yoongi hooked his around yours and spread them out for Jungkook, who was stripping off his pants. Your eyes widened seeing Jungkook’s cock straining against his boxer briefs. Yoongi had a great dick. The best dick. But Jungkook had never been in a woman before and he was impossibly hard because of it, gasping as he pushed his underwear down, leaking pre-cum everywhere. Either that or he really was very, very turned on by you.

For the first time throughout this entire night, it really hit you that Jungkook actually liked you. That he was not a fuckboy and he genuinely wanted you to take his virginity, so much so that, somehow, he convinced Yoongi, your partner-in-crime, your other half in this long-winded sexual escapade of pushing each other closer and closer to the edge, until one of you fell.

Yoongi clasped his hands around your upper arms, sucking in an excited breath.

Your breathing caught in your throat.

Or maybe.

Maybe both of you had already fallen.

And both of you were twisted enough to be ridiculously turned on by Jungkook crawling onto the bed, eyes glazed with desire, desperate to fuck you. Yoongi tapped your arm and pressed a condom into your palm.

“Put it on him.”

You motioned Jungkook forward and he scooted up, sucking in his lower lip. The tiny mole underneath quivered as you ripped open the condom, reaching awkwardly to roll it down his thick cock. You inhaled sharply, feeling his warmth against your fingers. Your eyes flickered up to him and he swallowed, chest rattling nervously.

“H… How do I…?”

“Hands on the bed,” Yoongi said behind you. Jungkook placed his hands on the bed, on either side of Yoongi’s arms, next to your head. He stared into your eyes. You placed your hands on his hips and scooted him down so he was positioned above you.

“Give me one of my legs, Yoongi,” you said softly, still keeping eye contact. Yoongi let go of your right leg and you raised it, Jungkook moving his hand so you could place your calf on his shoulder.

“Do I just…?”

“Down.”

He missed.

“Try again,” Yoongi whispered gently. “Hyung will help you.”

Jungkook chewed on his lip and lowered his hips again, gasping as Yoongi’s fingers wrapped around his cock and led him to your pussy. You lifted your hips so Yoongi could see better. The head pressed against your entrance.

“A-ah…” you breathed. “There.”

“Push,” Yoongi instructed.

Jungkook slowly slid in. He winced. “She’s too tight.”

“Relax,” Yoongi chided you. “He’s not me. He can’t handle all that yet.”

“I am,” you shot back. “He’s not pushing hard enough.”

Yoongi huffed. “Fine. Shove it all in there, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “Won’t that hurt you?”

Instead of waiting for Yoongi to answer, your hands came up and grabbed Jungkook’s hips, forcing his cock deep into you. He yelped at the sudden rush of pleasure, eyes rolling back into his head. You held him down, not letting him move, trying very hard not to tighten around his dick because, holy fuck, Jeon Jungkook had a nice cock, filling you up and stretching you out with his hardness, unforgiving and wonderful, reminding you of Yoongi’s.

Except, well, Yoongi usually didn’t look like he was going to pass out.

You had to bite your tongue so you wouldn’t laugh. Yoongi pinched your arm, already knowing your reaction. You hissed, pulsing around Jungkook’s cock. The younger man moaned, lowering his head, blond hair falling like a curtain. His eyes found yours. Jungkook’s gaze so intense it made your shiver, nails digging into his hips.

Outside the locked bedroom door, someone was yelling at someone else about cheating or something frivolous like that.

“You can move whenever you’re ready, Jungkook,” Yoongi finally said.

“Excuse me, I’m right here,” you interjected.

“Shh, don’t complain.” Yoongi’s hand stroked your red hair, flaring it out on his chest. “Let Jungkookie use you.”

Your chest tightened.

You felt yourself get wetter around Jungkook’s cock.

“What did you say to me?” you breathed. One of your hands lowered from Jungkook’s hip and gripped Yoongi’s wrist tightly. The tone of your voice changed, not quite so harsh anymore, turning needy and thin, breathless. Jungkook was watching you curiously. You felt your ears heat.

Yoongi’s free hand slid around your waist. You couldn’t see his face, but you saw Jungkook’s eyes slide upwards, observing his hyung. A mischievous spark suddenly appeared in those dark brown eyes. Yoongi cupped your breast, stroking your nipple lightly. Shallow, tight breaths, waiting for Yoongi’s response.

“I said,” Yoongi drawled. “Let Jungkookie use you.”

Oh no.

Oh shit.

Why were you suddenly so horny? It suddenly got so hot, suddenly so aware you were sandwiched between Jeon Jungkook’s hard dick and Min Yoongi’s fully clothed body, and Jungkook was going to fuck you into this random bed and into Yoongi himself. So very wrong. So very bad.

And you wanted it.

Jungkook raised his hips and pushed back into you, clenching his jaw. You were so wet that it was easy, not enough for your sudden hunger.

“Not too far,” Yoongi instructed. “You’re going to fall out if you pull out too far.” Yoongi nudged your hip. “Up.” You raised your hips and pressed your thigh against your chest. “Jungkook, angle yourself higher.”

Jungkook shifted and got more on his knees. “Like this?”

“Mhm. Go harder.”

Jungkook slapped his hips into you and you gasped, pressing your head into Yoongi’s chest. He stopped, looking worried.

“She’s fine.”

“Are you su–?”

“Jungkook,” you snarled. “Listen to him and just fuck my damn hole so I can get off.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened at your dirty words. Yoongi chuckled.

“She’ll be fine, Jungkook. Focus on yourself for now. Don’t go faster or you’ll cum too fast,” Yoongi cautioned. “At least for the first time. Go harder so you can feel it all.”

Jungkook bit his lip and began to slowly, but roughly, fuck you. Smacking your hips together with force, gasping at every descent, your pussy squeezing the full length when it was inside you. His gasps turned into moans, your breathy name, eyes closing as he thrust into you.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook groaned. “Fuck, she’s so wet, so tight…”

“Like your dreams?” Yoongi teased.

Jungkook seemed not to notice. “Better. Fuck, so much better, hyung, oh my God…”

“Harder,” Yoongi commanded. “I know you can go harder, Jungkookie.”

You moaned deeply as Jungkook rammed his hips into you, the wet squelch loud and lewd, so obvious if someone was listening outside, even through the music. But none of you cared, none of you noticed the bed squeaking as Yoongi spurred Jungkook on gently, having him increase the pace, making your body shudder with pleasure, mouth opening and tongue hanging out as you gasped for breath.

“You wanna cum, Jungkook?” Yoongi asked breathlessly, becoming hard under you as you cried out in pleasure, the base of Jungkook’s cock splattered with your juices.

“Not yet,” Jungkook whined.

“Alright, stop for a second.”

Yoongi placed a hand on Jungkook’s waist and pushed him all the way into you. You whimpered, so close to orgasm but cut off by Jungkook stopping, clenching around his cock as the head hit you deep inside.

Yoongi dropped his voice, speaking to you.

“Give him a hug.”

You gripped Jungkook’s cock and pulsated around it. Jungkook groaned, throwing his head back as his cock throbbed against your walls, roughly massaged by your pussy.

“Oh, fuck me…”

Jungkook began to move again, harder and faster now, lost in his lust, chasing his pleasure.

“Doesn’t it feel nice?” Yoongi purred to you. Your heartbeat skipped as Jungkook pounded you into Yoongi, biting your lip hard and whimpering as he fucked you mercilessly, lack of practice making it an erratic rhythm, watching his thick cock pump in and out of you, so good, so rough, using you.

Your name drifted from Yoongi’s lips, smokey and devious, driving you insane. Your head tipped back, staring at the ceiling, gasping as Yoongi’s words worked into you.

“You love it, don’t you?” Yoongi drawled. “You love Jungkook using you, fucking you like his own personal gloryhole, hm?”

Oh, fuck.

You whined pathetically, liquid gushing down Jungkook’s cock as you came, core tightening, Jungkook fucking you harder, grunting as he clenched his jaw, feeling you massage his length harshly. Yoongi pinched your nipples, lengthening your orgasm, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pleasure overwhelming your senses, consuming you, feeling nothing but Jungkook’s cock, Yoongi’s hands, and Yoongi’s words corrupting you.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy letting Jungkook use you like this,” Yoongi growled. “So generous, letting Jungkook fuck your tight little hole with his big cock, hm?” He rolled your nipples in his fingers and rubbed them hard.

“A-ah, Yoongi!”

“No, no,” Yoongi scolded, pinching them firmly and making your squeal. “Tell Jungkook how good he’s doing. Tell him how good he feels inside you, naughty girl.”

You opened your eyes to see Jungkook’s sweaty face, brows furrowed, jaw tight as he smacked your hips together over and over, veins popping in his neck and forehead. His cock was jerking inside you, close. So close.

“F-fuck, Jungkook,” you gritted out, feeling Yoongi release your nipples and bounce your tits in time with Jungkook’s thrusts. “Fuck, you’ve doing so good, can’t believe this is your first time, you’re so fucking strong and so fucking big, fuck…”

Jungkook’s dark eyes fixated on you, your bouncing tits, your open mouth, your glazed eyes, hips fucking him back as he fucked you.

“It’s because you have the perfect pussy, noona,” he growled, leaning down, pressing you into Yoongi, getting a deeper angle, nearly hitting your cervix. His breath was hot and erotic against your face, eyes flickering up to Yoongi before boring into yours, capturing you, dragging into his pace and his cock slamming into your hips.

“The perfectly tight little gloryhole for me to use.”

You cried out, something inside you snapping, cumming again all over Jungkook’s cock, your juices sliding down your thighs and his thighs, smearing into Yoongi’s jeans, dripping everywhere, so much, oh, God, so fucking intense that your pussy clamped around Jungkook’s cock. He moaned your name right into your face, thrusting one last time, pumping the condom full, stretching it out against your walls, so much you could feel it and his cock throbbing against your walls, trying to get it all out.

Yoongi didn’t even bother to ask. He simply reached down and pushed Jungkook back a little, feeling for the bottom of the condom and pushing him out of you. Jungkook whined, but Yoongi pulled you away from him.

“It’s too much,” Yoongi mumbled. “How long have you been holding out? Fuck…”

He pulled the condom off him and it was still dribbling out. Yoongi grabbed your hand and wrapped it around Jungkook’s cock, holding you in place with his. You were too tired to focus, too exhausted to realize what was going on.

Yoongi began to pump Jungkook with your hand, slowly. He was still so hard, veins imprinting into your palm, cum dripping all over your and Yoongi’s fingers. Jungkook whined, wincing at the sensitivity, but Yoongi was careful, sliding your palm up to the head and squeezing it firmly but not too tightly. Slowly, slowly, bringing Jungkook back down.

“Party’s dying,” Yoongi breathed. “We gotta get out of here.”

You were naked. Jungkook was naked. Your lower back was killing you. Yoongi’s blood alcohol level was far too high to drive even if he sounded sober. You sucked in a breath and shoved your face into the unknown sheets, groaning.

“Give me a minute, fuck.”

Shit, you just wanted to sleep.

-

third act. was it a dream a–dick–ted au

--

masterpost

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Mind of a Child

Prompt: Ok so to make for all the Roman Angst I've requested heres some minor angst/fluff. Again I apologise for all the Roman Angst I've been requesting. Prompt: Roman was a mess. You see there's something that happens to sides if they reach a breaking point that they can't handle. Logan was lucky he finally realized it was time to talk about his feelings and look after himself after the wedding but Roman didn't. So after he sinks out from that awful conversation he finds himself beginning to feel really dizzy and as if he's getting younger and smaller. The next morning when Patton and Janus go to find Roman and comfort him they don't expect to see a five year old curled up in an oversized prince costume terrified to death. So there's only one solution to show how much all the sides value and care for their little Prince, help him destress and look after himself. - meltheromanstan

Fluff and angst time, m'dudes

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, but it all gets cuddled better

Pairings: found family ain't going anywhere

Word Count: 6047

He wants to go back to the way it was.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

He wants to go back to the way it was.

Roman sinks out and lands hard in his room, bashing his knee against the wall as he crumples to the floor. His hair protests as he tangles his hands in the strands and yanks, trying to think. He lies on the ground, frantically breathing but his lungs won’t inflate properly and his nose starts to burn. He feels nauseous. Is he sick? He turns on his back and it goes away. Humming. You’re supposed to hum when you feel like this. He starts humming something, some parody song that’s stuck in his head. The twitching in his gullet starts to recede only to be replaced by dizziness. Why is he dizzy? He’s on the floor.

His hands flop limply out to the side as he turns back and forth, trying to make sure that he can breathe, that it won’t hurt, what’s happening to him?

A small voice that sounds like a demented version of Remus—a more demented version of Remus—whispers that he deserves this.

But Roman doesn’t know anything anymore and he’s so tired and he just wants things to go back to the way they were.

When there wasn’t so much to worry about aside from making sure Thomas was happy and that he could dream.

When all he had to think about was not hurting Thomas with his dreams and making them good dreams.

When heroes were good and villains were bad and that was it.

He just wants to go back.

He just wants to be loved again.

The lights in his room are too bright. It hurts to keep looking up. So he won’t. He closes his eyes and the dizziness abates, just slightly. He lies on the floor, the cool wood pressing into his back. He lets his head flop from one side to the other. It’s impossible to get comfortable. It’s so loud. It’s so much. He wants someone here with him. He just wants to be told it’s okay. But it isn’t okay. It hasn’t been okay for a very long time.

He wants it to be okay again.

————————

The Mindscape is quiet. Hardly anyone makes a noise as they move about the rooms, some still too on edge to start making peace, some too nervous about sparking another disaster, some too confused to try and navigate the minefield they’ve all found themselves in.

But everything has to start somewhere.

Patton and Janus are the only two on…pretty much alright terms when the morning comes. Virgil is locked in his room. Remus’s brand of chaos is nothing helpful right now. So the two of them take a deep breath and go try to find Roman.

Patton took far too long to put the words to it and Janus would never admit it, but when Roman isn’t around, or when he’s not talking, it’s much harder to cut through the monotony of silence. For better or worse, the prince is impossible to look away from, impossible to ignore. And yes, maybe that has to do in part with how Creativity and the Mindscape work together, not to mention the manifestation of the Sides, but Roman is Roman. And if they’re going to start making any progress on getting back on their feet and getting back to normal, they need to get Roman back.

Patton probably thought that Roman would be easy to apologize to. Not just because it’s worked in the past—although Janus would hiss if he said that wasn’t part of it—but because he knows he’s the one who messed up. Roman likes sincerity, Patton knows what things went wrong, he knows he’s at fault here, a lot, and it won’t be as easy as one apology and everything will be fixed, but it would be a good start.

Janus knows Roman. For better or worse, he knows Roman. Knows what buttons to push, knows when not to push them—or so he thought—and knows that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to do what Patton can’t. Cite the good of the others, the good of Thomas, possibly even the good of Roman if he’s that stubborn. Or he’s a convenient punching bag if Roman needs to lash out before he can start putting the pieces back together if it needs to come to that.

But that’s not what happens.

What happens is Patton knocks lightly on the door and asks if Roman would let them come in. There’s no response. Janus speaks up, says he knows Roman is in there, please, they do just want to talk. Patton sets his hand on the door, just to rest there, maybe coax Roman to come to open it, when it swings open.

Their mouths run dry as it opens fully to reveal Roman’s costume on the floor in a heap.

And no Roman.

Janus muffles a curse and turns in a swirl of black fabric as Patton rushes inside, dropping to his knees by the abandoned costume and searching frantically for any sign of Roman.

What he finds makes him gasp.

Janus whirls around as quickly as he’d turned away to see Patton there, kneeling on the ground next to a tiny child clutching Roman’s sash like a red blanket.

“H-hey, kiddo,” Patton says carefully, trying to regain his composure, “what are you doing here?”

The child shuffles. “It’s my room.”

“This is Roman’s room,” Patton says as Janus carefully closes the door.

The child nods, rubbing the sash across his chin. Patton’s brows furrow as he watches the child’s gaze dart to Janus and back, then to Patton’s hands on his knees. He looks back up at Patton and clutches the sash tighter.

“Do you know where Roman is, kiddo?” The child nods but doesn’t make eye contact. “Can you tell me where?”

The child nods again but doesn’t say anything. The tip of Janus’s tongue starts to tingle. His eyes widen and he starts to walk over, raising his hands when the child’s gaze snaps to him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, crouching down to make himself a little smaller, “I’m just coming over to you.”

The child stays very still as Janus crouches down beside Patton. Janus tilts his head back and forth as he considers the way the child clings to the sash, the way he seems to be somewhat engulfed in the remains of the costume, and the way he keeps looking fearfully between Janus and Patton.

“…Roman?”

Roman’s gaze turns to him and Janus could cry.

“Wait—Roman?” Patton gasps and his hands fly to cover his mouth. “Oh, kiddo, what happened? Are you okay?”

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Janus warns under his breath as they watch poor Roman flinch a little. Patton takes a deep breath and softens his voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you. We won’t hurt you, we promise.”

Roman’s grip on the sash doesn’t waver but his eyes lose a little bit of their frightful sheen. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Janus takes off his glove, ignoring Patton’s look and—perhaps—the fact that Roman might not remember what this means. “I promise too.”

Roman looks back and forth between them. “…okay.”

Patton smiles and lets out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness. He does have to restrain himself from reaching and pulling the cute little prince into his lap but Roman’s normally defined face is now all chubby cheeks and puppy dog eyes and—no. No.

“Are you okay, kiddo,” he asks instead, still careful to keep his voice soft, “are you hurt at all?”

Roman shakes his head, still clutching the sash.

“What about in here,” Janus asks, laying his hand on his head, then his chest, “or here?”

Before Roman can answer, however, his stomach growls loudly. Janus chuckles.

“That’s enough of an answer for me. Shall we get you something to eat, little prince?”

Roman shakes his head so hard he almost knocks himself over. “Not a prince!”

They both freeze.

Not…not a prince?

Roman is The Prince. He’s Princey. The Prince of Thomas’s Dreams.

“What do you mean, ‘not a prince,’ kiddo?”

“Not a prince,” Roman insists, staring at the ground, “couldn’t—I couldn’t be a prince so…I had to start over.”

Something tugs at a dark place in their chests. Patton glances at Janus. Janus shakes his head slowly.

“Okay, then, Roman,” he says instead, “but can we get you something to eat?”

Roman glances around at the mess of the costume around him. “Clothes?”

“I’m sure someone as creative as you can make as many clothes as you like,” Janus smiles, watching carefully to see Roman’s reaction.

Roman looks at Patton. “What do I make?”

Patton’s smile slips a bit. “Whatever you want, kiddo.”

Roman frowns. “But what do I make?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to tell me.”

Oh. Oh, dear. Patton’s smile fades, replaced with a slowly growing awareness of what’s going on. “You don’t need my permission, kiddo,” he says firmly, leaning down a little so Roman’s eye level is the same as his, “you are allowed to make what you want to make. What makes you happy.”

“What is that?”

Patton is going to cry.

“Why don’t you make what you think would be the most comfortable,” Janus tries, shooting a glance at Patton and laying a hand on his arm, “maybe to go downstairs and get something to eat in?”

Roman thinks for a moment, then he rubs the sash against his cheek and a t-shirt and shorts appear. But they aren’t red. They’re just grey. Janus smiles and stands.

“There you go,” he says, “well done.”

And oh, if the way Roman’s head jerks up in a quick moment of shameless eagerness doesn’t make that smile a little more sincere. He holds out a hand to the little one and Roman takes it, standing slowly as they begin to lead him out of his room.

“What would you like to eat,” Patton asks as they get Roman sat down, “how hungry are you?”

“What can I have?”

“Well,” Patton says as he starts to open and close cabinets, “we’ve got pasta if you want a full dinner, we’ve got crackers, cereal, pretzels, fruit, quite a lot of options.”

“…can I have pretzels, please?”

“One bowl of pretzels coming right up!”

Janus sits next to him as Roman begins to eat the pretzels. Patton comes to join them, sitting a little further away as to not crowd the poor kiddo. He exchanges a look with Janus as Roman continues to eat.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Janus looks up just as Virgil and Logan come down into the living room, talking between themselves. They trail off as they notice Janus staring at them.

“Can we help you?” Then Virgil’s eyes land on Roman. “Holy—“

He slaps a hand over his mouth and glares at Janus. Janus raises an eyebrow and slowly lets him go.

“Rude.”

“But necessary,” Janus says, folding his hands and drawing himself up. Virgil gives him a strange look but refocuses on Roman.

“So…who’s the kid?”

“I believe,” Logan says softly, the way Roman hasn’t looked up at them once and instead continues to eat pretzels almost mechanically not escaping him, “this is Roman.”

At the mention of his name, Roman looks up slowly, meeting Logan’s gaze with more than enough trepidation to set Virgil’s fingers buzzing. Logan tilts his head and waves a little. Roman just stares at him.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan says, still in that very soft voice, “it’s good to see you.”

Roman waves back. Then he glances down at the bowl of pretzels and twists his hands together.

“Are you full, kiddo?” Patton takes the bowl when Roman nods. “Good. I’m glad you enjoyed them.”

Roman glances around, shifting a little in his grey t-shirt. “Can I go back to my room now?”

“Of course you can,” Janus says, “would you like one of us to come with you?”

Roman shakes his head quickly. A little too quickly. But he’s been given permission to leave so he scoots off the chair and all but scrambles up the stairs. Logan watches him go, concern written over his features. Virgil waits to hear the soft click of his door shutting before rounding on the others.

“Why the hell is Princey a child?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Patton sighs, stretching a little and rubbing his face, “Janus and I just went up to try and talk to him and found him like that.”

“So it didn’t happen after the wedding?”

They wince and Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I may not have been there, but I know what happened. And no,” he says, raising his voice a little when both Patton and Janus try to say something, “I’m not interested in your excuses. But if you’re gonna try and tell me you don’t think it’s related I will throw a chair at your head.”

Patton bows his head, twisting his hands together in his lap as shame and guilt color his face. “He…he said something.”

“What did he say?”

“That he couldn’t be a prince,” Janus finishes, looking at the table, “and that he had to start over.”

Fuck.

“A-and he felt like he needed my permission for…everything,” Patton continues, “and Virgil, he looked so scared.”

“Of course he did.”

They turn to look at Logan, still staring up the stairs with gentle concern on his features. Virgil pokes his arm when he doesn’t continue right away.

“Roman’s sudden de-aging is likely due to stress,” he explains, looking back at them, “and thus the initial mindset he had when he regained consciousness as a child was fear. Fear of not knowing what to do or of doing something wrong.”

Patton gulps. Virgil shoots him a soft look and he nods slowly. “I…we were going to talk to him. We…I have been putting pressure on Roman since…it’s been a long time.”

“I think we all have.” Virgil’s gaze darts to Janus who is still all drawn up and inspecting his glove. “And you can turn that off, please.”

Janus sighs and Logan has to blink at how much his character shifts. Janus tugs nervously on his glove and straightens his hat.

“Roman is incredibly fragile right now and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Keeping that off around him is probably a good start.”

“We will need to ask Roman how much he remembers.” Logan adjusts his tie. “What he does remember will dictate how we need to help him.”

“Praise and reassurance.”

Logan raises an eyebrow at Janus who shuffles under his gaze.

“Praise and reassurance,” he repeats, tugging on his glove again, “he…he likes having a sense of structure. To know he’s doing something right.”

The regretful undertone to the words tells them all exactly how he knows that.

“We cannot let him believe that we are only behaving this way toward him because we believe he needs to be fixed,” Logan says firmly, “because that isn’t true. If this is a result of Roman feeling…unloved, then we must show him that he is.”

The word ‘unloved’ gets stuck in his throat and he clears it. Around him, the others are showing similar signs of discomfort.

Roman…their Roman. The idea that he wouldn’t feel loved—that he doesn’t feel loved sits strangely. Like a puzzle piece that just doesn’t fit, even though it has to go there.

While this lovely conversation is happening, of course, they’ve forgotten that there’s someone else who’s noticed the absence of a singing prince.

Remus doesn’t bother entering his brother’s room the normal way, instead sinking straight through the ceiling, fully intending to drive his elbow into Roman’s stomach.

What happens instead is he lands on Roman’s mattress with a dissatisfying thump as a tiny thing squeaks and scurries under the desk.

Remus sits up, frowning at the trembling figure underneath Roman’s desk and peers closer. Did Roman make a new pet for them to join on adventures? Is this one of the villagers that got too hurt and needed to be brought back here to recover?

Only when he sees the eyes peering shakily out at him do his own widen in realization.

“Roro?”

“R-Remus? Re?” And fuck, yeah, that’s Roman’s little head poking out from under there as he scrambles out. “Re? Are—are you back?”

Remus blinks. “Sure, Ro-Bro, I’m back, what—oof!”

A pint-sized pugilist rams itself into Remus’s stomach and knocks him backward onto the bed as his arms instinctively fly around the mass. He looks down, panting, only to see little Roro shaking with the effort of holding onto Remus as tightly as he can. His ribs are starting to protest when Roman turns his head and a cold nose tucks itself right into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, hey, Roro,” Remus croaks, clumsily petting Roman’s head, “you’re okay. I’m right here, you got me good, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You—they said you were never coming back—everyone hated you, I—they made me say I didn’t like you—they said I was you but they don’t like you and I—I’m sorry—“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow your rolls and buns there, Roro, take in some oxygen before you pass out on me.” Remus wraps his arms gently but firmly around his now-panicking little bother—brother, pulling him securely into his lap. He has to pry Roman’s grip off of him a little but quickly reattaches the little limpet. “There you go, see? You got me! I’m trapped! I can’t go anywhere!”

His jokes don’t seem to work. If anything, Roman clutches him tighter, trembling in his hold.

“You gotta breathe for me, Ro-Bro, come on…in and out, you can do it.” Remus starts to take big slow breaths, feeling Roman start to copy him. “There you go, Roro. Just like that.”

Little Roman dissolves into a shaking and trembling puddle, cold nose buried in the crook of Remus’s neck as hot tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey, what’re those for? You’re safe, Roro, I gotcha, you got me, we got each other. We’re not playing right now, I’m not trapping you, what’s up?”

“Y-you’re—you’re back,” Roman wails, “you’re back, you’re back, don’t go—“

“I’m not going anywhere, Roro, I promise.” He gives Roman a light squeeze. “I’ve gotcha.”

Remus is very glad he actually washed his hands this morning as he begins to wipe away Roman’s tears. His hands are damp within moments but he keeps going, letting the little limpet wipe his nose on his costume and not giving a single flying fuck. Roman’s red nose keeps sniffling so Remus lays back against some of the pillows, heaving the little beast on top of him to have him settle down. Roman does, eventually, slumping into a sprawl all over Remus’s chest. Remus rubs his little brother’s back and nuzzles the top of his head.

“D’you want to tell me what this is all about, Roro?”

Roman mumbles.

“I can’t hear you, Ro-Bro, you gotta speak up.”

He can feel Roman’s throat work against him. “I couldn’t be the prince so I had to start over. Couldn’t—couldn’t do it right.”

“Do what right, Roman,” Remus asks, slowly tightening his grip on his brother again, “what couldn’t you do?”

“Kept messing up. Messed everything up.” Roman’s voice starts to choke off again. “Had—hadda make it right. Wanted to go back to—to—to—when it was okay.”

‘Okay.’

Yeah, nothing about this is ‘okay’ right now.

“Well,” Remus says, resolutely ignoring that for the time being, “why don’t we do something fun?”

Roman nods eagerly, pushing himself up so fast his hands slip and he falls face-first down on Remus’s chest again. Remus chuckles and helps him sit up.

“Wanna go into the Imagination?”

Roman’s smile falters. “We need permission.”

“No we don’t, we’re Creativity. That’s our domain. We run it, we decide when we get to go in!”

But Roman shakes his head stubbornly. “N-no, we—we have to ask first. And I don’t want you to get in trouble f-for me.”

“They can try and make me be in trouble,” Remus sniffs, “but it won’t go well for them.”

Roman looks up at him, expression changing as he slowly reaches up to cup his hands around Remus’s face. “I wanna be like you.”

Remus’s chest clenches. “You want my mustache?”

Roman makes a face. “No. I want—I want to be as sure as you are that nothing bad can happen. I want that.”

Ah, fuck. They had a joke going when they were—well, when both of them were smaller that Roman got the Ego, Remus got the Pride. He never—well, kids hold ideas and let them go. He tossed that one over his shoulder a long time ago. Roman, it seems, never did.

“Hey,” Remus says instead, reaching to cup Roman’s face in his hands, “you’ve got it, Roro. It’s yours too. You just gotta look for it.”

“But that’s hard.”

“Nothing worth doing is ever easy,” he says, fighting back a joke that he knows Roman won’t understand.

“…you’re really smart, Re.”

“Well—“ he chucks him lightly under the chin— “you’re the one that taught me that.”

Roman’s little face smiles and oh, Remus could rip his fucking thumbs off.

“If you don’t want to go into the Imagination we could always do something here.” Remus jumps off the bed and starts rifling through his ideas. Well, most of them aren’t…something he would do when Roman is this small. “…paint?”

There it is. Roman’s face lights up and he scrambles off the bed to join Remus. “Painting? Can we paint together?”

“Sure. One big canvas, let’s see, you wanna help make it?” They put their hands together and slowly draw a big rectangle in the middle of Roman’s room. “Good job, Ro-Bro, it’s just the right size.”

His brother almost glows at the praise. “Now all we need is—“

“Paint!”

They both turn to each other with their hands full of it. Roman has several bottles clutched in his little hands and Remus is juggling an armful of tubes. They drop them all over the floor and Remus rubs his hands together.

“What’re we gonna paint?”

“The canvas!”

“Yeah, I mean—“ Remus’s jaw drops open when Roman just pours paint onto his hand and smears it across the canvas— “whoa.”

Wrong reaction to have. But the second he sees Roman’s brilliant grin start to fade, he jumps straight on the fuck-that train and grabs another bottle. Soon they’re smearing paint all over the canvas. They end up creating a pretty good gradient of pinks and blues and reds and oranges and yellows. Then Remus grabs a green tube and just squirts it right onto the canvas.

“Hey!” Roman rubs his cheek. “You got paint on me!”

“I think you got paint on you.” Because when your brushes are your hands and you rub your face, paint goes onto your face.

“It was green! You put the green on me!”

Remus grins, bending closer and pretending to examine Roman’s cheek. “I dunno, Roro, I can’t see any green on there.”

Roman grabs a tube of red paint—

“Whoa, hey, there—“

—and squirts it onto the canvas. But mostly Remus.

“Oh, that’s it.”

The two of them spend the rest of the time splashing paint around, not caring about whether it gets on the actual canvas or the canvases they’ve made out of each other. Remus ends up with red splattered across his sash—not a bad look—and a bright blue handprint on his chest. Roman ends up with some green in his hair and streaks of purple down his arms. They’re laughing too hard to be spiteful about it as they chase each other around the canvas, each trying to get their hands on the other first.

If Roman never sees the others opening his door a crack, only to smile and leave them be when they see Remus and the paint with him, it’s perfectly fine.

Remus ends up using his size to his advantage and scooping the little monster up into his arms. He spins him around, laughing maniacally as Roman shrieks and squeals. He holds onto his brother’s arms, head thrown back as they whirl there.

“I win,” Remus pronounces as he sets Roman—carefully!—back down, “you lose.”

Roman giggles, reaching up to poke Remus’s nose with a bright red finger. “No, I win!”

“We both win.” Remus shakes his head only for some of his hair to stand straight on end—the only straight thing in this room—from the paint. “Uh…we should wash this off.”

Roman examines his paint-colored self, his gray shirt and shorts now absolutely awash with rainbow. “Yeah, probably.”

Remus looks at him and gently touches the fabric with his fingers. Roman’s eyes widen as the fabric changes from having paint on it to the colors being part of the fabric itself.

“Whoa! That’s so cool!”

Remus chuckles. “You’re welcome, Roro. Now let’s get cleaned up. I’m sure you’re gonna get hungry in a little bit.”

They make their way to the shower where Remus gets them out of their paint-covered clothes and squeaky clean. Roman’s eyes start to droop as Remus massages the shampoo into his hair.

“You can close your eyes, Ro-Bro, I gotcha.”

And if little Roman is so tired he can barely keep his eyes open long enough to put on pajamas after they get out of the shower, then Remus will happily carry him to bed. Of course the little limpet decides to latch onto him but there are worse fates. He resigns himself to being a personal pillow and stretches out, rubbing Roman’s back to help soothe him to sleep.

There’s a soft knock on the door and Logan eases it open. Remus has a quip on the tip of his tongue at the way the nerd’s expression melts at the sight of little Roro.

“Asleep, then?”

“Mhm.”

Logan glances at their painting. “I must say…it’s spectacular.”

Remus looks at the painting. An abstract swirl of colors and splatters that looks like the perfect chaotic nonsense. He’s more proud of it than expected too.

“He seems happy,” comes Logan’s soft voice, calling his attention back as he sits on the edge of the bed, “or…happier.”

Remus runs a protective hand down Roman’s back. “He said he missed me.”

“Well, yes, I suppose that…being suddenly reverted to an age where you two were together would—“

“No,” he says firmly, “he missed me. When he was big too, Lolo.”

Logan winces. “Oh, dear.”

“Has he told you why this…happened?”

“Not me explicitly, no.” Logan looks up and waits. “Did…did he tell you?”

“He said he wanted to go back to when everything was okay.”

Logan’s eyes widen. Oh. Oh, dear. “He…the last time he was okay…”

Remus’s sharp nod only confirms it. Logan lets out a breath as Roman’s hands twitch in his sleep. Unbidden, the impulse to reach out and squeeze comfortingly rises up sudden and sharp and he reaches out, covering the little one’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“He wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” Remus whispers, “when—when they took us away, they—they were allowed to do whatever they wanted to me, but—but not my brother.”

“Never again,” Logan promises low in his throat, touched by Remus’s sudden display of vulnerability, “you won’t be separated.”

Quite frankly, as he watches Remus tighten his grip on Roman, he’d like to see the others try.

As it turns out, that isn’t anywhere near their realm of possibility. When Roman wakes a little while later to them talking quietly with a rumble in his stomach, Remus carries him downstairs as Patton starts making dinner. Logan has to hide a smile at the way Virgil mouths ‘oh my god’ and Janus stuffs his fist up to his mouth to hide the coo. Patton clumsily answers Remus’s question about whose night it is to help—his—and gently asks Roman if he can set him down.

“You won’t go far?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen the whole time.”

“Here,” Virgil calls, holding out his arms, “I’m the softest thing in this room. Give him to me.”

He’s gonna regret that later but not right now. Not when little Princey is deposited into his lap and promptly snuggles right up to his chest and sighs. Virgil wraps his arms around little Roman and sits back against the couch, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone as his breath warms the top of Roman’s head.

“V-Virgil?”

“Yeah, Princey?” Virgil winces when Roman tenses. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot. What is it, Roman?”

Roman’s hands clench and unclench in his hoodie. “Do…do you miss the other me?”

Well. Don’t start off easy or anything, kid.

Does he?

He’s gonna be honest, he does miss Roman. Misses the banter, misses the confidence, misses the warmth of walking into a room and seeing Roman there. He misses the feeling that Roman would always come up with something, even when things seemed hopeless he would be there to try.

But even though he’s had this Roman for two minutes, he already knows he’d miss him like a lost limb. This Roman, who is all clumsy affection and easy smiles and soft cuddles.

“I miss him,” he decides on eventually, “but you’re my Roman too.”

Roman’s little face is too cute. It’s illegal. Who allowed this?

“Your Roman?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says, giving the boy’s hair a gentle tug, “you’re our Roman.”

Roman’s hands tug gently again. “E-even if I’m not a prince?”

Ah. Virgil sits up a little and pulls Roman into his lap properly. “You were our prince because we thought that was what you wanted to be.”

“Even if I wasn’t good at it?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Virgil swallows the curses and pulls Roman into a tight hug, muttering into his shoulder.

“You were good at it, Roman,” he mumbles, “you were the best prince. You were the best prince because you were our prince. And you were our prince because you were Roman first.”

He can feel Roman’s jumpy little breaths before he’s hugged with a ferocity that takes him by surprise. But he’s not complaining.

“So I can be a prince?”

“If you want to be.”

There’s a pause during which Virgil pointedly does not make eye contact with Janus, before Roman speaks again.

“…I, uh, I think I’d be okay with the nickname, then.”

“Princey?” Roman nods and Virgil grins. “Okay, Princey.”

When he pulls back, there’s a little smile on Roman’s face that stays throughout dinner.

“Well,” Patton says as they start to clear the dishes away, “I’d say it’s a good night for a cuddle pile, wouldn’t you?”

“A splendid idea.” Logan closes the dishwasher. “Down here?”

“Might as well.” They start to organize, Logan directing the creation of the mattress and pillows, Patton and Virgil moving the blankets. Roman looks around for a moment, waiting, before Janus beckons him over to the last of the fading sunlight by the window.

“We,” he says gently as he coaxes Roman to lie down, “have the most important job.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re the ones that get tired first.” To prove a point, Janus lets himself yawn, big and wide. Sure enough, little Roman yawns too. “When Logan tells us all where to go, it’s our job to start being tired so the others have an easier way of settling.”

“That sounds like we have an excuse to fall asleep.”

“That too.”

Roman giggles and it makes Janus’s chest feel light.

“Come here, little prince,” he murmurs, opening his many arms to gather the little one to his chest, “there you are. You look tired, go ahead and close your eyes, it’s alright.”

Roman shifts a little in his grip. “…Janus?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Are…are you gonna take care of me?”

Janus pulls back a little, enough to cup Roman’s face in his hand. “Of course, sweetie, I will always take care of you.”

“N-no matter what?”

“No matter what.” He leans down to gently knock his forehead against Roman’s and press a chaste kiss there. “I’ve got you, little prince.”

The weight of the acts gone without acquittance sit heavily in his stomach, but with Roman cradled tenderly in his embrace, they start to get a little more bearable.

“Come on, cuddle bugs,” Patton calls, hands stroking gently through their hair, “let’s get you onto the mattress.”

Janus uncurls first, only for Roman to blink sleepily up at him.

“Do you need to be carried, sweetie? Is that it, little prince?”

Roman nods and blearily holds up his arms, letting out another squeaky yawn. He makes a few grabbing motions at Logan as he adjusts the last pillow.

“Ah, come here, little one,” Logan murmurs, picking him up, “let’s lie you down, shall we?”

The others join them in their pajamas, Roman’s head in Logan’s lap as he sits against the foot of the couch. Logan’s hand tangles in his hair, nails dancing over his scalp to encourage him to sleep.

“You’re safe, little one,” he promises, “just close your eyes. We’ll be right here for you when you wake up.”

Roman blinks up at him lazily, eyes wet with sleep as he nuzzles into Logan’s stomach. Logan keeps up the soothing rhythm of fingers in his hair, nails across his scalp, until the little one yawns away and closes his eyes. Only when sleep begins to call to him too do they shift, one of Roman’s hands on his chest, the other in Remus’s shirt as his head tucks into the crook of Logan’s shoulder.

The little prince falls asleep, surrounded by the warmth of his family.

————————

Roman blinks awake.

His ceiling doesn’t look like his ceiling and there’s a weight on his stomach that definitely isn’t a pillow. He cranes his head up to look around and his mouth drops open when he sees a slumbering Virgil lying with one arm around him. He turns his head a little more and comes face to face with Logan’s sleeping visage. Remus’s whistling snores are in his ear.

He risks sitting up a little farther, only to see Patton and Janus at the edge of the frankly giant mattress they’ve seem to set up on the floor of the living room. The two of them are almost protectively positioned, guarding the rest of them from whatever would plague them in the night.

His head is a little fuzzy and he can’t remember much of how they got here. Flashes come to him. Pretzels, paint, something about the word ‘prince.’

But, right now, with Logan’s chest rising and falling as Janus mumbles something in his sleep, he can’t be too bothered to worry about it.

Roman settles back down onto the mattress and closes his eyes. As he drifts off to sleep, a small smile touches the corners of his mouth.

For the first time in a long time, he feels okay.

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[todoscript]

coming home and finding out you fell asleep with lingerie on

character: midoriya izuku

genre: smut.

word count: 1.0k+

warnings: 18+. suggestive content.

author’s note: had this sitting in the back of my docs and decided to finish it in between studying for exams. enjoy midoriya stans

MIDORIYA IZUKU

being the number one pro hero, his schedule is packed to the brim with work due to the crucial duties he has to the citizens, so he regularly comes home late and is used to greeting your sleeping form when he enters your bedroom

coming closer to your side, he sees you lulling beneath the covers with your collarbones and shoulders considerably exposed

even so, he doesn’t seem to bat an eye at it, thinking you’re just wearing one of your comfortable tank tops for tonight

his fingers lightly caress your cheek, tracing toward the strand of hair that lingers on your face before brushing it behind your ear and placing a delicate kiss in its place

after thoroughly admiring you, he cleans himself of all the dirt and grime accumulated on his body from the day and finally climbs into bed, choosing to wear shorts and no shirt for as much comfort as possible

you slowly flutter awake at the weight dipping into the mattress, realizing your boyfriend has arrived home

when he settles under the sheets, you turn over to spoon him, arms wrapping around him from behind, and he lets you adjust, humming at the warm, bare skin of your arms adjoining his

but then his breath hitches

his eyes formerly drowsy with fatigue, now shoot wide open feeling your chest pressing firmly against his back

- - - - -

Midoriya goes rigid in his bed the more you cuddle up to him in your half-asleep state, now fully aware of the sheer fabric covering parts of your body that sends a tingle down his spine. He knows you normally opt to go to bed in more comfortable wear, like your duo of tank-top and shorts or one of his t-shirts that fits endearingly on your smaller frame, oversized to the point the hem meets your lower thighs. With that in mind, he hadn’t anticipated you wearing something risqué under the sheets tonight, just as you were about to head to sleep.

He’s conflicted about whether or not to address this, considering the drowsiness laced in your tone and your droopy actions against him. Because just what were you thinking sleeping in lingerie?

“Welcome back… How was work today?” you ask despite your sleepiness, your desire to greet your hard-working boyfriend superseding your free-fall into slumber. It’s because of that that you don’t take notice of the pause Midoriya passes between his reply.

“It was fine… Just the usual villains for today’s patrol,” he answers calmly, doing his best to remain impassive over his findings at your choice of “sleepwear” for the night. This becomes more of a struggle when you toss your leg over him, and he feels more of that enticing material against his skin.

“Hmm, well I’m glad you’re finally home, hero,” you muse lovingly, scooting closer to which the swell of your breasts squeezes against Midoriya’s bareback.

Once again, his breath catches in his throat as he adds to the fact that you decided to pair your sexy ensemble with a set of lace thigh-highs—a killer combo that pushes his self-control to the edge. He’s thankful that he’s facing away from you. Otherwise, you’d get a full look at his constrained expression, attempting to brush away the indecent thoughts crossing his mind that have no place in a contrarily innocent situation where you’re nearly on the verge of sleep.

But in all honesty, he has to question himself about all this precariously. Like what were you doing in lingerie in the first place? You must have worn this for him, right? Ah, why did he even have to ask that? Well, he means who else would you be flaunting that body of yours to, in those indecent intimates that are probably shaping every curve and highlighting your skin in the most salacious ways right now.

Midoriya mentally curses. As much as he’d like to be a gentleman and respect your boundaries—considering you’re clearly ready to snuggle the night away while unaware of the subtle effect you have on him—he’s sure not even a saint can sleep soundly and avoid this kind of devilish temptation.

At this, the raging battle transpiring in both his head—and his pants—makes him absolutely restless. It isn’t long until his feeble attempts at arguing against his growing desires are quickly thrown aside when you rub your soft hands up and down his arm, unconsciously stroking his scarred, rugged muscles which tense upon your touch.

“Y/n… Are you asleep yet?” Midoriya dips his feet in the water before fully submerging in its depths, a lump of suspense forming in the back of his throat.

“Huh..? Oh, not yet, I–” The rest of your words never reach air as Midoriya suddenly pounces, rolling himself so he hovers over you and the sheets rustle off both your bodies. In this instance, your mind rushes awake, and you gander at his vigilant yet desirous stare that sears your skin.

That is when you realize that the lacey white lingerie you donned, hoping to surprise Midoriya from under the covers tonight, but had unfortunately fallen asleep after some time of waiting, still clings to your body. And Midoriya consumes the very sight into his head with such sensuality that renders you shy beneath him, noting every detail of the lacework and the network of floral patterns that decorates your body.

In a way, the situation is ironic, knowing you wore the lingerie to set the mood and be intimate with him. Yet, you can’t help but move your arms in an “X” across your torso, unable to meet Midoriya’s emerald eyes due to your bashfulness. However, the man unravels your defenses with his hands intertwining yours, drawing your arms away, and placing them beside your head.

“Don’t,” he quietly pleads, and you find it hard to deny him. “You wore this for me, right?” His question barely crosses your mind in time for you to answer as Midoriya’s half-lidded expression mesmerizes you with lust. But you manage to reply with a simple nod. In turn, he leans down to plant a delicate kiss between the middle of your breasts before looking up at you from that position, an amorous glimmer in his eyes that further heats your cheeks, surely leading to what will be a very sleepless night.

“Then it’s only right that I repay you by making you feel so damn good tonight as I admire your beautiful body in this pretty lingerie.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Civilian

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jason Todd is used to saving the innocent. But he’s not used to them saving him. 

Word Count: 3,100 – One Shot

“Fuck me,” Jason groaned as he stumbled across the rooftops.

How he was able to even walk right now was beyond him.

He had Slade on the ropes. Just one more punch to put him off balance and Jason would’ve shoved a knife into his jugular and be done with him. But Slade had a few more tricks up his sleeve and decided to flee instead of finish a losing battle, so he ran like a coward. 

It left Jason utterly irritated and with a huge gash in his side, amongst other various injuries. 

He could’ve called one his “friends” or someone in his “family.” But he was stubborn. He wanted to be stronger than that. He wanted to prove that he didn’t need any of them. He was better than that. He was the best. And he’d risk bleeding out to prove it to them – or really…himself.

But his body wasn’t on the same page.

And it finally had enough.

Jason stumbled to his knees on a rooftop. He groaned as his vision became hazy.

His helmet had a protective system in place so no one could take it off if he was unconscious. They’d get a nice little shock if they tried. His identity would be safe even if someone stumbled upon his injured body… or corpse.

Jason managed to roll onto his back and was met with the smoggy Gotham sky.

“Get the fuck up,” he told himself aloud.

He blinked, trying to straighten and clear his vision.

But it was useless.

The last thing Jason remember seeing was the Bat signal reflecting off of the cloudy sky. Somewhere in the city, there was more crime to fight and he’d just be another asshole who thought he could put a stop to it.

Dying didn’t scare Jason anymore. He’d done it once before, and he could do it again. What did it matter now anyway?

But Jason didn’t die.

He woke up on a couch. Well, if one could even call it that. His 6’4 frame could barely fit on the thing. His legs were hanging off the end, not able to comfortably fit on the thing.

His head felt like it was having the worse hangover of his life. When he opened his eyes, he blinked at the incoming sunlight. Then he realized he wasn’t looking through the programming of his Red Hood helmet.

Then he touched his face to realize that his backup domino mask had also been removed, leaving his identity exposed. 

His eyes widened in slight panic as he looked around.

He appeared to be a in a small apartment – normal, no threats detected.

Then Jason looked down to realize he wasn’t in his uniform. In fact, his chest was bare and he was only in his black briefs. His autopsy scars on full display.

But just half a foot away from him, his clothes were neatly folded into a pile on the edge of the coffee table. His two guns were sitting right next to them.

Whoever had brought him here clearly didn’t see him as a threat. Stupid on their part. There were about two dozen other weapons hiding in the crevices of his clothes too.

But the more concerning thing was that Jason didn’t have a single wound on his body. The giant gash to his side that had made him faint and nearly die from blood loss was nowhere to be found. After all these years, Jason was still figuring out the side effects from being dumped into the Lazarus pit. But this couldn’t be related, could it?

Suddenly there was the sound of the apartment door opening.

On instinct alone, Jason shot up, grabbed one of his guns, and found his target.

What he wasn’t expecting to find was a beautiful woman, probably only just a little bit younger than him, standing with a coffees in a carrier tray and a bag in the other hand. She had earbuds in, further disorienting her from such a welcome. Her eyes went wide and the rest of her body was completely frozen.

After a few seconds, she slowly tugged her headphones out.

“Is the gun really necessary?” She asked.

But Jason could tell from her body language that she was scared.

“Who the hell are you?”

She had enough courage to glare at his tone. “I’m the person who saved your life, asshole.”

“Yeah? And how exactly did you do that?”

She seemed to be getting less scared and more angry with every sentence Jason said.

“If you put the fucking gun down, I’ll tell you.”

Jason hesitated before finally putting it down. Then his behavior caught up to him. Here was this stranger, who was clearly innocent and had helped him…and his first thought was to point a gun at the poor thing.

“Sorry,” he finally gasped. “It’s…a habit.”

She just eyed him, neither rejecting or accepting his apology.

She sat on the love seat opposite of the couch that he’d taken over.

With an innocent look, she slowly put a coffee cup on the table and the bag.

“I’m not much of a cook… so I picked up breakfast. It’s just a black coffee. I figured you didn’t like anything fancy.” 

“T-Thank you,” he stuttered out, trying his best not to sound harsh.

Those words were strange coming out of his mouth. And Jason couldn’t figure out if it was because he’d completely lost his manners or there wasn’t anything someone had done for him lately that warranted any sort of thanks.

“I’m sorry about taking off your clothes,” she suddenly said. “I would’ve given you something. But…well…I don’t have anything even close to your size. Even my oversized clothing wouldn’t have fit.”

Jason was about to tell her it was OK, but she continued.

“Not that I would’ve even been able to put it on you. I hardly got your clothes off.”

Jason smirked at that. “Speaking of which, how the hell did you get my helmet off.”

“Yeah…I managed to get you to come to for a minute or so.” Then she shifted in her seat, clutching her coffee tighter as if it was a security blanket. “I honestly just asked you very nicely. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone what you looked like. You were kind of just…a zombie or something and…took it off.”

Then he took her stature in. Jason knew he was a big guy. He was bigger than the majority of men. He’d only met a few women in his life that were taller than him, and they were all either Amazons or aliens.

This young woman was neither of those things.

“How did you get me off that roof?”

She laughed, seeing that he was trying to add it up in his head. “I’m definitely no Superman. My neighbor doesn’t have any other hobbies besides going to the gym. He owed me a favor.” Then her eyes widened. “Don’t worry, he didn’t see you without your helmet. He’s also sworn to secrecy.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s fine if he did. I can just kill him later.”

He saw her whole body tense up at that.

“Relax. I’m kidding.”

Her tension was released, but she didn’t find his joke very funny.

Then her eyes locked to the floor.

Jason took this chance to study her. 

Her hair was a bit of a mess. But there was still a halo around it as the sun shined from behind her. Her jeans were a bit baggy, but purposely so. She was wearing a band t-shirt that was so worn that there were a few holes in it.

Jason had to acknowledge that she was beautiful. But he had made note of that as soon as he’d pointed a gun at her.

“I ended last night with a life-threatening injury…amongst other things,” Jason said as he looked down at his body. “I woke up with not even a scratch on me. So why don’t you tell me how the hell that’s possible?”

She finally raised her gaze from the floor to him. Then she swallowed and clenched her jaw. It was clear she had been hoping for a scenario where Jason didn’t ask any questions, where he would just give his thanks and move on.

But she wasn’t that lucky. 

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’ve seen my face. You know who I am now. Whatever it is you’re scared to tell me, we’ll be even.”

She stared at him a bit longer before taking in a shaky breath. “I…umm…can do this thing.”

“Uh huh,” he encouraged.

“I can heal people by…umm…touching them?”

Jason sat back, letting the information settle. “Huh,” he said with small nod.

“I saved your life,” she told him. “All I ask in return is that you keep my secret.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he told her.

She nodded nervously, but didn’t seem fully convinced.

“What’s your name?” He asked her softly.

She looked unsure if she should tell him.

“I’m Jason. Jason Todd.” He offered to even the playing field.

She tilted her head, probably because she heard that name before. Everyone in Gotham had at some point. The tragic death of Bruce Wayne’s second adopted son. And then the dead son who had somehow come back, his death misidentified. There were hundreds of rumors about what really happened. But they all sounded ridiculous to her.

“Y/N,” she finally told him.

“Thank you for saving my life, Y/N.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I have to ask why you did.”

After all, the neighborhood she lived in was weary of Gotham’s vigilantes. Some believed they were keeping them safe, while others thought they were just making things worse. It led to a general distrust of the masked heroes.

“They say the Red Hood used to be Robin,” she told him quietly.

“I don’t pay attention to what people say…”

Y/N leaned forward. “But is it true? Were you Robin back then?”

Jason ground his teeth together. “That was a lifetime ago.”

She watched him for a minute, working out whether she wanted to share something or not. 

“When I was a little girl, I was at the bank with my mom when a robbery went down. Things went bad and quick. They panicked, decided a little girl was the best hostage to grab. We barely got a few blocks away before Batman intervened. I was terrified, even of him. But Robin was with him…and he could tell I was scared. He wasn’t that much older than me, but he was so much braver. He held my hand until the police came. But even then I wouldn’t let go of him. So, he stayed with me until my mom got there.” She took in a deep and shaky breath. “It meant a lot to me.”

Jason controlled his expression, but he knew what she was talking about. He remembered that night. How he did was beyond him. But it didn’t feel long ago. He remembered thinking the little girl was pretty. 

Jason didn’t have a lot of friends back then. He came from the streets but lived in a mansion. He couldn’t figure out who he was back then. And it was hard to relate to other children. 

Back then, it was the most intimate interaction he had with someone his age. 

“Would you still have saved me last night even if I hadn’t been Robin?” 

This was all Y/N would get in terms of Jason admitting that he had been Robin that night.

Y/N shrugged and nodded. Then she cleared her throat. “The only thing saving this shit hole of a city is people doing the right thing.”

Jason stood.

The motion startled Y/N and she followed his action without even meaning to.

Now that he was standing on his own two feet, she truly understood just how absolutely massive he was. She was by no means short and she still felt like she was looking at a giant.

However, Jason misread her gawking for something else. “You don’t have to be scared of me, kid. I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her quietly.

“I’m not scared of you,” she said as her face suddenly felt hot.

Y/N didn’t know what she had expected to see under that red helmet last night. But she definitely wasn’t expecting a man handsome enough to be a model.

But then her brow scrunched, “And I’m not a kid.” Jason smiled – like, genuinely smiled. The muscles on his face forgot what that felt like.

He eyed the band t-shirt she was wearing: Fleetwood Mac – the Rumors album, to be precise.

“You’ve got good taste in music,” Jason complimented.

“Thank you,” Y/N mumbled.

A new tension filled the air.

Something neither of them have felt in awhile – if at all.

Y/N cleared her throat again, starting to feel too close to this large and beautiful man who was only standing in his briefs.

“You can use the shower if you want.”

Jason smirked. “Thanks, but I should get out of your hair. You’ve already done enough for me.”

He took a step toward her, realizing that he seemed to like seeing her reaction to his presence.

She stayed in place, but shifted her weight.

Jason lowered his head a bit. “Your secret is safe with me, Y/N. Thank you again…you saved my life.”

——————

Y/N and Jason couldn’t stop thinking about one another since that morning.

Jason had trust issues. And because of those trust issues, he learned not to rely on others. He refused to be anything besides independent. But those flaws were also the reason it was so hard for him to get close to anyone. He kept people at a distance so he could never be rejected or get his heart broken. It was problematic, but that was how he survived.

But Y/N had shown him kindness and then expected absolutely nothing in return. She just hoped he wouldn’t shoot her brains out when he finally came to.

Meanwhile, Y/N couldn’t remember the last time a man looked at her the way Jason had. Just thinking about the looks he gave her caused goosebumps to shiver across her skin. She’d seen the scars across his skin and knew he’d lived a rough life. And that wasn’t even including the scars his mind and heart held. She wondered who was the last person to help him or to just show him that they cared whether he lived or died.

It had been a few weeks and Y/N still couldn’t get Jason Todd out of her mind. Even now, as she sat on the rooftop of her building once again, eating a pizza she’d just picked up and washing it down with cheap red wine.

She almost spilled said wine all over herself when she jumped from the sound of someone dropping onto the roof from behind her.

Y/N whipped around to see Red Hood walking steadily toward her.

“Sorry. I tried to be loud so I wouldn’t scare you.” His voice sounded different from the helmet distorting it.

“Well, most people use doors and stairs…so I think the effort is pretty useless.”

Jason ignored her joke and pulled out a thick envelope that had been tucked on the inside of his leather jacket. 

He handed it to her.

Y/N was confused, but took it from his grasp anyway.

She opened it to find two tickets to see Fleetwood Mac on their reunion tour at Gotham City Stadium.

Her gaze shot up to Jason’s and then she did a double take at the tickets, making sure she wasn’t seeing things.

“How - What - Why?” She finally sputtered out the right question.

Jason just shrugged. “I owed you.”

“T-This is too much. I can’t accept this. These tickets must’ve cost a fortune,” she told him as she tried to hand the envelop back to him.

But he wasn’t having it and simply shook his head.

Y/N knew they cost a fortune because she had looked up tickets. Her heart had broken when she saw how far out of her budget the lowest prices were.

“Take them, Y/N. Please.”

She knew there was no point in arguing.

But she slowly looked up at him. “Would…ummm… Would you like to go with me?”

Jason blinked at the offer. “Seriously?”

Y/N laughed at his surprise. “Yeah, I mean, clearly you’re a fan, too.” Then she shrugged, now self conscious that she’d been too forward. “I don’t know. When was the last time you did something fun?”

Jason was shocked at how right she was.

“Oh, my God!” Y/N suddenly yelped.

Jason immediately jumped into action, grabbing both of his guns and stepping to Y/N in a protective stance.

“Jason, you’re bleeding!” She cried out, not realizing that he had just used his body as a human shield for her to defend an attack that wasn’t even happening.

He relaxed and followed her gaze to his forearm – the small patch of skin between his gloves and the rolled up sleeve of his leather jacket. He had been sliced by a knife. He probably needed to clean it before it got infected and stitch it up. 

“Y/N, it’s just a scratch.”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “Come here.”

Then he let her dragged him to the two fold-out chairs she kept on the roof.

Jason realized suddenly that he didn’t mind being bossed around by this woman. In fact, he kind of enjoyed it.

Without asking for permission, Y/N put her palm over his cut.

Jason watched as he felt a comforting warmth wash over the area of skin that she was touching. Within seconds, his cut was completely gone.

Y/N gave it a satisfied smile. No matter how many injuries she healed, the pride and relief never went away.

“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” Jason was relieved his helmet hid the dumbstruck look that was surely on his face. 

Y/N didn’t seem to take the compliment very well and slightly folded into herself.

“So, will you?” She changed the subject quickly.

“Will I what?” But as Jason asked for clarification, he knew that he’d probably do anything Y/N would ask of him.

“Will you go to the concert with me?”

He nodded.

The nonverbal answer was enough for Y/N because she gave him a beaming smile.

In that moment, Jason wondered how he could ever push Y/N away like he had done with everyone else in his life. 

And for once, he allowed himself to feel happy.

Maybe he could keep letting himself be happy, as long as it included Y/N. 

---------------------------

Really, really loving writing for Jason Todd. I was a little exhausted with Marvel fandom.  Let me know what you think!

[annabethy]

57. “I come here whenever I need a quiet place to think…to sort my head out.”

and/or

36. "How do you even know that this is here?"

in which Percy and Annabeth aren't the best of friends, but meet on the rooftop and discover that maybe, they're exactly what the other needs,, percabeth

It’s two in the morning, and Annabeth finds that she can’t bring herself to sleep.

She tries to hold her eyes shut in hopes of the sleepiness she’s felt all week slipping over her, but another hour passes and she’s still wide awake.

When Annabeth sits up in her bed, she has no intentions of slipping out of the apartment, past her dad’s room, but then she looks out the window where the city lights are awake as can be, and she finds herself already unlocking her window and stepping onto the fire escape.

It’s a long journey up the metal stairs, so she takes her time to appreciate the blow of the winter wind and the noise of New York City that she’s come to love. It’s a biting chill, one that has her wishing she’d put on a jacket prior to her midnight voyage to the top of her apartment building, but it comforting and welcome.

When she does reach the end of the fire escape, she hops onto the ledge of the building and stares off into the skyline. It should be dark so late at night, but instead, it’s glowing. It’s beautiful, she thinks, the industrial feel of the city. It’s so unnatural, but it’s where she’s grown up. She’s used to the honking of horns and the noises that fill the silence.

Annabeth walks along the edge carefully, focusing on the views further in the distance. She wonders if she’d be able to see where the Earth begins to curve and thinks about how big the planet really is (and how small she is in comparison). She can spot the point where the lights seem to have a gap, and she thinks she’s looking at what would be a river in the daylight.

She feels as though she can finally breathe in this moment, though she hadn’t realized how suffocated she had felt before, stuffed into the small space that was her room. Her hair blows in the wind, and she refrains from thinking about how difficult it’ll be to brush it out later. It’s freeing, relieving, and—

“Don’t fall,” a voice warns.

Annabeth rolls her eyes at the voice that is all too familiar, turning her head to she can look over her shoulder. It’s darker atop the building, but even she can spot the mischievous glimmer in her eyes that’s always irked her much more rigid personality.

“Jackson,” she says, a tone of sarcasm in her voice, “What a pleasure.”

“I always am,” he says, grinning. He’s leaning against a metal unit, staring at her, and had they been anywhere else, at any other moment in time, she might’ve made some snarky remark to wipe the grin off his face. She tells herself she doesn’t have the energy to deal with it right now, and that it’s the reason for her silence. “You plan on getting down from there anytime soon?”

“Aw. It’s so sweet you’re worried.” She knows it’s true, despite the small laugh she hears pushed from his lungs. That’s something that she’s discovered about him. Even with the person he hates most in the world, he cares.

“If you fell, people would probably think I pushed you.”

Annabeth snorts.

He’s not particularly wrong. The rivalry they have going on in school is strong, and people probably wouldn’t put murder beyond them.

“Seriously,” he says. “Get down.”

She jumps down from the short ledge towards him. Her eyes adjust slightly to the light, and she can see him better now. He’s in a windbreaker, and his own hair is ruffled in the wind. She finds herself wanting to run her fingers through it before catching herself. It surprises even her – Percy’s made her life nothing but literal hell, and she’d rather die than get caught playing friendly with him.

Annabeth stands next to him but doesn’t sit yet.

“What are you even doing here?” she asks.

“I’m stalking you,” is his answer.

Annabeth kicks him lightly and suppresses a laugh at his dramatic hiss of pain. “What are you actually doing here? You don’t live in this area.”

“I come here whenever I need a quiet place to think…to sort my head out.”

“Percy Jackson can think?”

“Haha, you dick.”

“I’m messing with you,” she says. She chooses then to sit down beside him. She thinks it may be the first time she’s sat near him voluntarily. Annabeth supposes there’s no harm if there’s no one there to see. “How do you even know that this is here?”

Percy shoots her a look, though not an unkind one. It has her neck flushing red despite the temperature outside. “How do I know that this building has a roof?”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

Percy shrugs and extends his legs. His feet nudge hers playfully. “I’ve lived in this corner my entire life. I know just about everything there is.”

“That’s fair.”

“How about you, Chase? Why is my princess out past curfew?”

Annabeth chooses to ignore the nickname she’s hated for so long (and the way he calls her his).

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admits.

“Something bothering you?”

She hums. “Nothing in particular. I just figured if I was going to be awake, I might as well spend it outside.”

“And spend it with me,” Percy teases, elbowing her lightly.

“Because I love spending time with you,” Annabeth says. There’s a particularly harsh blow of wind that has her crossing her arms over her chest.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want my jacket?”

Annabeth’s never been one to swallow her pride, but it seems to have gotten significantly colder in minutes, and she’d rather not sit outside for who knows how long without any barrier from the wind. Still, she’s hesitant. “Are you sure?”

Percy chuckles lightly and slips his jacket off his shoulders. “Here.”

When she puts it on, it’s immediate relief. It’s still warm from his body heat, and it smells like him. It’s nicer than she cares to admit, and somehow, she feels comfort in the oversized fabric that she’s practically drowning in.

As she tightens it around her, breathing in the scent of him, she mumbles, “Thank you.”

Percy’s response is a brush against her arm with his fingers.

“So, what were you thinking about?” she asks. “When you came to my secret place?”

“Your secret place?”

“I called dibs. If you wanted it to be yours, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

Percy gives her his lopsided smile at her remark. “I’m not really sure. Life, I guess.”

“About how you plan to torture me at school next week?”

“Oh, of course.”

“That spider was not funny, you know.”

“It’s because I have a crush on you.”

“And here I thought you hated me.”

“Do you think I would give my jacket to someone I hate?”

“I guess not,” she says, laughing. “You can have it back if you want.”

Percy shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“Are you sure, though? It’s cold outside, and we’re not exactly best friends.”

He grabs her hand from her lap and squeezes it. “I’m alright, Annabeth. I want you to have it.”

Annabeth bites her lower lip, but gives in, sinking further into the jacket. It’s kind of heaven, she hates to admit. She feels as though she should hate this, spending time with Percy Jackson so late into the night, but somehow, she feels more at home than she has in a long time.

“Also,” Percy begins again, “not best friends?”

“Do you really consider us best friends?”

“I mean…you’d definitely have to define best friends. Two people that playfully bully each other? Sure.”

“Playful?” Annabeth chokes out. “Nothing about our relationship is playful. You hit me in the eye with a pencil a few days ago.”

“In my defense, that was actually an accident. I felt really bad about it.”

“Mh-hm.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re not friends, right? I mean, I’d totally kiss you if you wanted me to. I think that qualifies as friends?”

Annabeth is no stranger to his lighthearted flirting, so she just rolls her eyes fondly. “That qualifies as something entirely different.”

“Probably.” Percy squeezes her hand again, and she realizes that he’d never actually let go. “But I’m actually going to miss bullying you every day once we graduate.”

“You’ll find a way, I’m sure. You’re going to NYU?”

“And you’re going to Columbia,” he responds back.

“I’ll be close enough to be bullied, then.”

“I guess so. Maybe I don’t want to bully you, though.”

“Aw, bummer. What would our relationship be without your flirtatious bullying?”

“Maybe something more?”

Annabeth looks at him then. He seems to be genuine, and so she finds she can’t look away.

“I do actually consider us friends, Annabeth. I mean it.”

Somehow, she knows he does.

“I guess friends isn’t so bad,” Annabeth says quietly, “if sitting up here is any indication.”

“We could have our weekly ventures to our secret spot.”

“My secret spot,” she corrects.

Percy grins brightly.

“But I wouldn’t be so opposed to that, as long as you never try to hit me with a pencil.”

“I didn’t mean to the first time,” he says lightly.

“Then friends,” she says.

“We’re living our own enemies to lover story.”

“Ew. Never mind. I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Aw.”

Annabeth just muffles a laugh into the sleeve of his jacket, choking out a quick kidding, and he pinches her in indignation. They fall into a silence, and the sounds of New York drown out in her ears. All she can hear is the rhythm of his breathing, and she can only focus on the warmth of his body.

“Do you actually have a crush on me?” she asks, suddenly curious.

“Maybe I do. I guess you’ll just have to stick around long enough to find out.”

Annabeth’s heart flutters. “I guess I will.”

Really, she’s starting to think maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. Perhaps he’s never been as awful as she’s been telling herself. Maybe it was always just her pride.

Maybe Percy Jackson is exactly what she’s always needed.

Annabeth really has no control over it when her eyes begin to flutter shut. She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until Percy opens his arms towards her – an invitation – and she slides right in. His arms wrap around her, his face pressing into the top of her head, and she lets herself drift into the sleep she’s been wishing for.

She doesn’t wake up until the sun begins to peek over the horizon. She’s nestled deep against him, able to feel every breath he takes and hear his heartbeat. He’s sleeping when she lifts her head, so she allows herself to fall back against him, a subtle smile on her face.

It’s unexpected, but she feels safe in his embrace. It’s warm and happy in their secret spot, and she never wants to leave.

Annabeth stays here with him, in their secret spot, for just a bit longer.

[icequeenbae]

Stay with Me (m) | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Long-distance relationship, established relationship, grumpy Baek, smut

Warnings: explicit content, unprotected sex, upset sex (is there such a thing), oral (f receiving), consent is not explicitly stated but implied

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: Baekhyun was upset because you had to leave again. His frustration made things escalate to an unexpected extent. He might’ve just wanted to make you late for the plane though.

© Please do not copy/ post on other platforms without permission.

Let’s celebrate my first ‘writing comeback’ anniversary together ❤❤❤  [February 17, 2020 – forever]

Author’s Note: Soooo… This was actually the first fic I wrote after many years of my writer’s coma. Wasn’t going to post it, but it’s important to save the date. A year ago during a business trip I was listening to Baekhyun’s ‘Stay Up’ in the backseat of a cab, and it suddenly got to me in a very new and profound way. As soon as I got to the hotel, the doc was created. Countless sleepless nights later, I can admit that I haven’t really stopped writing ever since.

Baekhyun isn’t just my bias or my favourite character to write, he’s so much more special to me than that. I’m not sure how long this journey is going to last or where it leads me, but so far he’s gifted me with one full year of this magic. He’ll always have a precious spot in my heart 🤍

Okay, done with the sappy times now (no). As usual – big thanks to @baekshoney​​​ for having a look, and I hope you guys enjoy this little oneshot!

This was one of those days. One of the days you hated, and Baekhyun didn’t do much to make it better for you. On the contrary, he was sulking since early morning. First, because you’d left him alone in bed and he woke up being cold. Then he just kept getting annoyed with everything. Why were you having coffee for breakfast again, when you should sleep on the plane? Why weren’t you packing snacks, when the airport food always made your stomach upset? You should’ve definitely worn one of his hoodies, since none of yours were warm and comfy enough, did he have to remind you?

Yes, this was the day you had to fly back home, leaving him behind once again. Which was exactly what brought his tsundere ways to the surface. He was just… upset.

‘Baby, it’s not the first time I’m going home, I’ll be fine,’ you grinned at his grumpy expression and poured him a cup of coffee as soon as he sat his butt down on the kitchen stool.

Baekhyun wasn’t exactly subtle in how he felt about you going away. The two of you had been doing this ‘long-distance thing’ since the very beginning of your relationship. You’d met during your first ever trip to Korea around two years ago and instantly clicked – just like that – not spending a single day without at least a quick message exchange with one another.

It was tough at times. There was no way for you to see each other more frequently, and you were often apart for months. Granted, you were keeping in touch religiously – texting every single day, having video calls every other night (whenever you could manage the schedules and time zones), posting ambiguous pictures on social media only for each other to understand. Still, you missed each other so terribly…

‘I don’t understand why you have to go anyway, you can just stay here with me,’ Baekhyun grumbled, eyeing the kitchen floor with a frown. You pursed your lips to contain the coo about to fly out of your mouth at how cute he was, pouting and complaining. Like an angry little bird. Before you could stop yourself, you reached out your hand and ruffled his already messy bedroom hair.

The way his nose scrunched up meant he wasn't in the mood to be playful. You sighed and leaned on the corner of the kitchen table.

‘You know I have work to get back to, Bae, I can’t be on vacation all year long.’

He was being rather childish about your departure, especially when you were already fully dressed and ready to go. The only thing stalling you was that Chanyeol, who insisted on being your ride to the airport today, hadn’t come to pick you up just yet, giving you some time to smooth over your boyfriend’s feathers.

Truth be told, you were only holding up the appearances for him. It was very possible that you were even more upset about having to go than he was. In fact, every time your week or two together were nearing an end, you felt nauseous at the thought that you wouldn’t be able to see his face, or hold his hand, or feel his warm breath on your skin, or kiss the tiny mole on his cheek.

In all honesty, you were... a mess. You only displayed yourself as calm and collected during your goodbyes because you knew his moodiness was merely a tactic to conceal his pain. So, you tucked your own feelings away to make it a bit more manageable for him. In reality, you broke down as soon as you arrived home and walked into your lifeless apartment. Each time, you had to find excuses and avoid talking to him via video messengers during those initial weeks, pretending to suddenly be swamped at work. You realized that seeing your eyes all red and puffy from crying every night would most definitely break his heart and worsen his longing. That you knew, because seeing him unhappy was excruciating. You wanted more than anything to deliver him from any further suffering.

It took all of your self-restraint not to reach out for his warm embrace or let the tears flow freely. He’d probably not let you go then, always telling you to just stay with him anyways. But you were both adults and had commitments, although hundreds and thousands of miles apart.

As your eyes were beginning to prick from observing his state and getting overwhelmed with your own feelings, you decided it was safer to move out ten minutes early, despite the call from Yeol not coming through yet. Anything to not let Baekhyun see you cry or cling to him desperately the way you wished to in that moment.

‘Well, you can pout all you want, I’m going to get my stuff,’ you said in an airy tone trying to elevate his mood slightly.

‘No.’

He stopped you in your tracks, grabbing your wrist. You gazed at him, confused as to what he meant. He was still looking down, eyebrows knitted together and chest heaving with almost anxious breaths.

‘Bae?’

‘No,’ he repeated, softer this time, but still not making eye contact with you. Instead, he tugged at your wrist and pulled you closer to him. You felt his grasp weaken until your wrist was free, however, your waist was not. His arms snaked around it, and he pulled you into himself, basically nuzzling his face into your chest.

‘Baekhyun?’ You squeaked, doing your best to fight off the goosebumps that littered your skin immediately after the contact. Your body never once asked for permission to react to him, and this time was no exception. His right hand traveled down your spine to the curve of your ass as his nose nudged one of your breasts. You shivered, grabbing at his shoulders, and he suddenly growled, knowing, sensing that your nipples had already perked up underneath the fabric of your bra.

Although he was trying to put you into one of his many oversized hoodies all the time, it was summer, so you were wearing a sundress (like any sane person would). Lucky for Baekhyun, this type of clothing made it even easier for him.

He rose from his seat and hoisted you up so abruptly that you only managed to yelp and grab at his neck for balance. You were then placed on the empty side of the dining table away from the leftover breakfast. Looking down at where your boyfriend’s hands were, you watched him frantically pull your dress up, before coming to your senses and trying to stop him.

‘Bae… What are you doing? Yeol is gonna be here any minute, we can’t just f…ugh!’ You cried out in surprise as he yanked your hips forcefully up to his face, completely ignoring your words. There’s no way he was going to...

‘Baekhyunie, please stop, you know I’m going to be late, what is…’ He didn’t even let you finish your rant, leaving a trail of insistent wet kisses upon the sensitive skin along the panty line while leading up to your protruding hip bone. Breath caught up in your throat, you couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out even if you wanted to. Did you really want to? With his head right there between your thighs, his dark burning eyes looking at you – completely immobilized by him – in the most intense and intimate way possible. His lips were glistening after he ran his tongue over them habitually, and when he leaned in and licked at your still clothed center, you belatedly realized that you weren’t even breathing. The realization only came with the wheezing gasp you’d let out, when your legs wrapped around his head as if on cue. Like fuel to the fire, your responsiveness only spurred him on. You didn’t even have time to realize that your boyfriend had already moved your panties out of the way when his impatient lips were on you again.

‘B- Baekhyun…’ You muttered, reaching your hand down to give pushing his head away a feeble try. ‘We can’t do this now, please stop... the airport…’

His ears seemed deaf to your reluctant pleas as he only employed more of his tongue to make you lose the last bits of your sober mind completely, melting and thrashing underneath his touch. He eased one of your thighs off of his shoulder, pushing it up and spreading you out before diving back in, paying no attention to your increasingly disheveled state.

At this point you could only sob, speech incoherent, all attempts to push him away or close your legs futile. And that alone made him grow feverish with the need to be inside you, to feel you once again before he had to let you go.

He was really good with his mouth, as usual, so by the time one of his hands left your thigh to tease you a little further with his long deft fingers you were so ready to take more that you barely registered the burn of two digits sliding inside. You were still a little sore from the night before, which you’d spent making love for hours on end, knowing that you won’t be touching each other anytime soon. But that was meaningless now.

His tongue expertly swirled around your clit, while his wrist found a familiar angle that always made you get vocal. Your back arched instantly as you cried out his name, barely grasping that you were still tugging at his soft locks and possibly causing discomfort. It was clear that your release was mere seconds away with your legs shaking and inner muscles clenching, and that was exactly where Baekhyun wanted you. Aching for his touch, needing him as much as he needed you. Just the two of you, caught up in the act of lustful desperation.

He’d worked his tongue diligently, almost pushing you over the edge by sucking on your most sensitive spot for just a second, and... then you suddenly felt him pull away.

‘No, no- what?’ You could barely form sentences, let alone complain, but your frenzied tone made his already rock-hard flesh twitch. His pants were down in seconds, and there wasn’t even a thought of pausing to get a condom on or cool off a little bit. You were both on the verge of getting overwhelmed by this passionate longing when... your phone suddenly lit up, indicating an incoming call. Before you could snap out of the moment you were having, Baekhyun had you flat on your back, all slick and ready for him to push inside. And that he did — in one quick and rough movement, filling you up and giving you no time to even make a sound before his hips tested you out with a couple of low amplitude thrusts. The table moved slightly, soft clanking of tableware falling on deaf ears. Meanwhile, Baekhyun grabbed onto your hips, lifting your ass in the air for more control over the penetration.

‘Baek, I swear… You have like 2 minutes before Chan-’ A vicious thrust reached further than before, definitely getting your friend’s name out of your mind for good. And anything else for that matter.

Baekhyun snapped his hips as if he wanted to get as deep as humanly possible, as if he wanted to literally ruin you, and you could only scratch at his forearm while losing yourself in the feeling of his hips colliding with yours and the delectable sounds the action produced.

‘Baby,’ Baekhyun suddenly breathed out hoarsely, eyebrows knitted together as if in pain, ‘I can’t hold it off-’

Hearing his voice so strenuous and somehow vulnerable, you threw your head back and closed your eyes, spreading your legs further apart to allow him to better angle his powerful thrusts.

Your limbs were starting to grow numb and the veins on your neck popped when you moaned, and that’s when Baekhyun let out a strained ‘ah’, holding you in place by the hips to give you his erratic final thrusts.

In that moment you felt like something snapped inside you. Your core was tight around your lover’s cock, your body shaking in pre-orgasmic bliss, and you’d never experienced it this way. You felt so full and content in this moment when he was still moving his hips and groaning stiffly above you, riding out his high. There was nothing else he needed to do to take you along. The sensation of his warmth inside you made you pulsate, wailing so loudly that Baekhyun had to cover your mouth with his palm. He kept going for a bit to prolong your orgasm and let you slowly come back to your senses.

Your eyes stared vacantly at the kitchen ceiling and your throat was dry, although Baekhyun’s hand was still clasped over your mouth. When both of you managed to catch your breath, you just gazed at each other for a few long moments. You were so spent that you couldn’t even read the semi-blank expression on his face. He slowly slipped his palm off of your face, still hovering over your body.

‘Baekhyunie…’ You murmured, touching his cheek gently. He was usually lowkey annoyed whenever you went on to kiss the little mole on his face instead of his lips. This time, however, he only lowered his head further to let you do your thing. You pressed your lips to the tiny dot on his skin, leaning back onto the table to find his eyes with your own.

‘I love you,’ he suddenly whispered in a broken voice, then cleared his throat and started over. ‘I really want you to stay with me.’

It was… bittersweet.

You winced, feeling him pull out, and accepted his help sitting up. Holding your boyfriend close by the shirt, you nudged his nose with yours and looked up to his sad dejected eyes.

‘I know, Bae,’ your voice sounded as uplifting as you could manage. ‘I will find a way to come see you on tour in the next couple of months, I promise.’

Baekhyun was about to say something else if not for the sudden ring of his phone that made both of you snap out of your tiny little world.

‘Dang, I bet it’s Yeol. Pick up!’ You pushed your boyfriend towards the phone and eased down from the table, grabbing the tissues to clean up quickly.

‘Yes,’ Baekhyun responded.

‘Are you two fucking?!’ Your nose scrunched up at Chanyeol’s vulgar shout.

‘Yes?’ At this you paused and smacked Baekhyun’s pec for the shameless (yet truthful) response. ‘Whoa- feisty. Chanyeol-ah, better hang up before you hear her- Ow!’ He raised an arm to defend himself from your playful hits.

‘You realize that if you do not come down in ten you’re most likely missing the flight?’ You heard Chanyeol reply after a frustrated sigh.

‘Not a problem for m-’ Baekhyun was interrupted by your yell.

‘We’re gonna be down in ten, please check the fastest routes to the airport, Yeolie!’

You ran out of the kitchen barely catching Baekhyun’s grumbling as he repeated after you.

‘Yeolie. Why the hell does she even call you that. It’s not like you- What? Shut up, you bastard!’

You smiled to yourself. At least his friends knew how and when to mess with him. If you weren’t there… They got him. He'd be okay. And with that you were happy for now.

A/N:This piece was my reintroduction to writing, and I’d love to hear any type of comments you have^^  Thank you guys for all the interaction and amazing responses so far, I cherish each and every one of them. You're the best <3

[venustar-r]

𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | daisuke kambe (1/2)

daisuke kambe fluff, part 2 is smut so...

enjoy! word count: 2.8k

❝ 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞. ❞

- WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Daisuke Kambe found that mornings in her apartment were much more pleasant than those at the Kambe residency.

It was the way that the smell of food being made danced through the ajar door and into the bedroom, tempting his nose with the aroma of coffee and breakfast. The kitchen at his house was sealed away shut by large wooden doors and unpractically far so that he wouldn't ever have a chance of smelling food being made until it was on a plate served in front of him.

It was the way the sun swam into the room, resting comfortably on his bare back as he snuggled deeper into the pillow. In his own room, the curtains were thick and sealed closed. Unless he got up and opened them, or a maid did so, he wouldn't get to be welcomed by the morning sun as he did there.

He liked the mess of blankets on the small bed. They weren't silk or cashmere, but he enjoyed how light they felt. The soft noise they made when he shifted around, how cool they felt with the sudden change of position. With the mess of pillows, he felt he was sinking into his own fortress, the child in him enjoying how they closed around his figure. Almost like a hug. At the house, he'd have a mass of harsh pillows at his back at he slept straight up (because they insisted he sleep like that), the heavy blankets feeling oddly suffocating.

He would be awakened into a cold, dark room, his suit resting on his chair that's shadow he could make out, though it was far. He appreciated the largeness of his room, he did, but it was never ... homely. No, not at all. It was harsh and chilled. Icy, even in the middle of summer.

But his heart smiled when a soft kiss was pressed to his forehead, a cold hand (though not uncomfortable in the slightest) resting on his shoulders.

"Morning, Dai," the voice he had grown to love cooed.

His eyes fluttered open and were met by the flourish of plants that sat on her windowsill, the sun feeding them with its generous brilliance. His gaze travelled to the person above him, a blurry image of her sparkling (E/C) eyes looking down at him, "Too early,"

She let out a laugh, one that sounded like absolute heaven in his dazed state, "Breakfast's in ten minutes. Stay there for nine of those, get your beauty sleep," She teased lightly, stepping away from him. He rested for a quick second, hearing the door swing open and close slightly, though it didn't click shut. He was going out soon anyway.

It was a struggle to get up as the mattress sunk with his body weight, almost as if begging him to stay. As his eyes lazily made their way around the room, and he slowly gained consciousness, he registered the sound of cooking. The mouth-watering smell was probably the few things coaxing him out of the comfort of the bed, along with the image of a certain someone cooking said meal.

He had never wanted to stay in bed more, and at the same time, he had never had a reason to get up like the grinning face of his girlfriend and the day that lay before him.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he took the glass of water and medication and sculled it. A single drop escaped his mouth and began sliding down the side of his chin, which he wiped away with his hand, a liberty he appreciated with utmost honesty. He would've gotten yelled at if he had not done so with a handkerchief.

With a groan, he got up, his legs feeling like jelly from not having any weight on them for hours, and maybe from the night before. A slight smirk played his lips at the thought.

He looked around on the floor for his discarded t-shirt, realizing quickly that he didn't need it. He could walk around in just his black sweatpants if he wanted to and no Grandma of HEUSC or whatever could tell him off about it. Plus, he had an inkling that his item of clothing had been stolen by a certain someone.

Swinging open the door, he found that his theory was correct.

(Y/N) (L/N) stood there, back facing him, clad in his oversized plain white T-Shirt and boxers she no doubt took from the drawer in her room reserved for his clothes, cooking what smelled like eggs. Not that he minded her wearing his stuff. In complete honesty, he really liked it. A piece of him that she had, other than his heart, as cheesy as it was.

A window lay in the wall in front of her, once again having an abnormal amount of plants resting by it. Well, plants were splayed out everywhere. If a place on a shelf didn't have books or some other more practical item, it was very likely that a plant would be squeezed in there. Other than a few flowers in expensive vases, his house never had any plants. He believed they added a lively touch, the sun that lit up the room aiding them in doing so.

He tried to sneak up on her, but he knew it was a futile attempt. She'd probably heard him as soon as he stepped out of the bedroom.

Trudging over to her, he wrapped his arms around her waist, planting a small peck on the bare piece of skin where her neck met her shoulders before burrowing into said crook, closing his eyes as he felt her head turn.

"Dai...?" She mumbled, a smile present in her words.

He slowly glanced up at her, positive he looked like a lost puppy.

"I don't see how I’m supposed to cook when I have a giant teddy bear weighing me down,” She said teasingly, a single brow quirked on her gorgeous face. He was smitten. Absolutely, positively smitten.

“Well, then. Guess we can’t eat,” He said back.

She gave him a look, “We have time for all your cutesy shit later. Get off me and eat your breakfast,”

He complied. He would comply with anything she said, really. She had him wrapped around her finger.

Now at the small table in the cutesy apartment, eating (Y/N)’s heavenly food (at one point caviar and lobsters had gotten boring), he hummed happily. 

She looked at him softly, a tender smile gracing her lips. “I’m going grocery shopping today, yeah?”

He looked up from his food, eyes wide with the thought of having to lounge around all alone all day, “Like, just you?”

She frowned, “Uhm, yeah? Haru said you were, uhm, lost when you went last time.”

His mouth widened, feigned offence written all over his face, “I was not. Why are you talking to Kato anyway? All he’ll do is lie about me,”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, “I used to work with Haru. But I mean, if you want to come, come. There’s nothing stopping you,”

And like a child finding out they were going to Disney, Daisuke practically inhaled his food to get ready to go out, excitedly going into (Y/N)’s room to change. 

And (Y/N), who watched him with an incredulous expression, shook her head, eating the rest of her food at a more reasonable pace, “I swear, he’s a different person entirely in bed,”

“Uhm…” Daisuke had wandered away from (Y/N), and was most definitely lost.

He had no idea how it happened, really, but this thing had caught his eye. It was colourful and looked absolutely mouth-watering, as if they had sprinkled rainbows on this piece of cookie. They were called… Pop-Tarts. Yes, that was it. 

Pop-Tarts.

Either way, the colourful blue box with the pretty looking dessert on the front cover had caught his attention, and he had chased this curiosity, and after staring at them for a good minute, he looked around to find that (Y/N) was gone.

The panic hadn’t set in until he saw a balloon to advertise some sort of chocolate milk powder, and had brought him back to an absolutely terrifying movie (Y/N) had decided to make him watch. He was alone, in this very strange world, and there was a big chance he would be kidnapped by a killer clown. 

None of this panic had actually appeared on his features, though. It was internal, as externally, he just looked like a normal young adult who was wandering around the supermarket with a box of Pop-Tarts in hand. 

Eventually, once he had wandered what was most of the supermarket (there were certain parts that were terrifying, though, because why the hell was there this giant tower of plastic bouncy balls) (it seemed like a health and safety risk, in all honesty), he finally decided to wait outside.

If he recalled correctly, he’d have to go to the cashier’s and pay for his Pop-Tarts. He was sure that was how it worked… (Y/N) had given him money, and half of him guessed it was because she had predicted something like this would happen.

It went smoothly. The cashier had asked him if he’d care to donate to the National Foundation for Cancer Research and Daisuke just put most of his money in there, saving ten dollars in case he saw any more multicoloured food somewhere. 

The cashier had given him an odd look though, thanking him profusely...

Oh well. He had thought. Now out of the one thousand dollars (Y/N) gave me, I have ten. I’d say that’s pretty good. 

He had very little knowledge of money, because why would he need to? He had an unlimited amount. 

He was now outside the supermarket, and he hadn’t much of an idea what he was going to do. He vaguely recalled hearing about children having to wait where they were when they’re lost. Should he wait? Stand by the door awkwardly?

Can you eat raw Pop-Tarts? It said to put them in a toaster, but they looked rather delicious.

Daisuke got over his panic of being lost quickly. 

Halfway through his very first Pop-Tart (slightly disappointing, but not bad), he had spotted another colourful thing. Not food, really, but most definitely bright, a plethora of hues burning his eyes.

He went over, eyeing the flower stall. He liked colourful things, yes, but (Y/N) did always like the more simple ones. He could mix the two, maybe. It was romantic to get flowers, right? For your girlfriend? 

The old man selling them watched him peculiarly. Maybe it was because Daisuke was looking at the flowers as if picking one were a life-changing decision.

In his mind, it was. He needed to get the perfect flowers for (Y/N). For various reasons.

1) He loved her.

2) He needed her not to be mad at him for getting lost.

3) He really loved her. 

So really, this was a life or death situation.

“I can wrap them in pretty fabric if you want,” The florist guy said, pulling him out of his thoughts as he scrutinized his decision. 

Daisuke met his eyes, “Can you?”

“Yeah, two more dollars though,”

Maybe if he got a plain flower and a nice pretty material to wrap it with…

“What colours do you have?” Daisuke asked, eyes sparkling at his ingenious idea.

The old man blinked, but answered nonetheless, “Erm… Red? Green? Blue-”

“Can I see the blue?” Daisuke interrupted, looking way too eager for a fabric to wrap flowers around.

“Sure…” 

And then he pulled out the most gorgeous baby blue, which Daisuke loved, and he knew (Y/N) would love.

“So which flower will it be? Or a mixed bouquet?” He had asked after guessing his customers oggled eyes were a yes.

Right, flowers.

Once again, Daisuke returned his gaze toward the many many rows of single flowers, complete bouquets, etc. analyzing and considering every option. He went back to her apartment, the plants that flourished verdant green, the nice light colours of the white tablecloth and the yellow vase with the dying tulips she needed to replace.

He couldn’t get tulips, because he wanted something different.

Maybe, say, something equally simple and elegant. 

The lilies.

Yeah, the lilies. They were perfect. A nice white, not too plain, not too basic, the yellow went nicely with the blue.

It was perfect.

And so, “The lilies, please!” With way too much enthusiasm.

But the old man got ten dollars and Daisuke got his lilies wrapped in a pastel blue doily-like fabric so everyone was happy.

Daisuke whistled merrily as he went his way back to the exit of the supermarket, when over the speakers came a voice, saying, “There is a report of a missing child. He’s uhm, quite tall, around 170cm, with dark black hair with bluish grayis eyes. He goes by the name Daisuke Kambe-”

Oh.

He was getting a few stares, given that he matched that description, but he just ignored them, going to find the lost and found child place, wherever that was in a supermarket, to find (Y/N) and give the flowers to her.

He was quite excited to give her the flowers.

That afternoon, after (Y/N) had found him, chastised him, thanked him for the flowers, they made out in the car, and they got back to her apartment, they cuddled on the couch.

On the shelf on top of the TV, where the tulips had once occupied the vase, bloomed a bouquet of white lilies, looking like it was right at home nestled along with the other plants. 

It had been a tradition for (Y/N) to read to him, and he loved every second of it. She would have her back pressed up against his chest, and his arms would wrap around her loosely, and the sun would begin its descent, enveloping the world with its golden buttery glow, and everything was alright.

She read him what he would call ‘intellectual books’. Daisuke was a bookworm. Well, not really. But he had spent countless hours wandering the empty halls of his house, and they had a library, so naturally, he’d found himself reading quite a bit. But, either way, he much preferred listening to the voice of the girl he loved as he got to hold her. 

“Why should it be essential to love rarely in order to love much?” She read softly. Camus, today. The Myth of Sisyphus. He’d generally stay away from the philosophy section of the library, but with the way she read he would’ve brought every single one and listened to each and every word.

Sometimes she’d fall asleep, and he’d get HEUSC out of a soundproof box in his pocket and do some work, because despite being away from the Kambe residency, there was always stuff to do.

He seldom returned, these days. The place where he found solace was here, in her arms, so there wasn’t much of a reason to return. 

And then dinner would roll around, and they’d cook together. Well, (Y/N) would cook and Daisuke would distract her with teasing, flirting, and anything really. Usually, she’d call him endlessly annoying and pepper his face with kisses.

“Alexa-” (He’d refuse to put HEUSC in her apartment)

“Dai, no,” (Y/N) said sternly, stirring the broth for Pho while also chopping the toppings while also boiling the noodles.

“Put More Than a Woman on,” He grinned, mischief dancing behind his eyes.

The familiar cheesy beginning of the song started playing from the speaker as Daisuke went over to (Y/N), prying the knife and wooden spoon away from her hands, replacing the cooking equipment with his hands instead, intertwining them.

She shook her head, though couldn’t help but let the smile that she had failed to suppress grow on her lips.

“You’re impossible,” She said, with an eye roll as he wrapped his arm around her waist, beginning to sway them around the kitchen to the music.

“Impossibly handsome? Kind? Amazing?” He grinned, nose oh-so-very close to touching hers.

“Impossibly idiotic,” She said, but then pecked his lips quickly, happily complying with his wish to dance, because she, like him, was smitten. 

More than a woman, More than a woman to me~

He mumbled the words in a squeaky high voice, much like Barry Gibb but, well, treacherous for the ears.

A laugh bubbled up her throat, her smile impossibly wide as they did an impossibly domestic thing after a domestic day.

And that was enough. Them with their pet plants and their kitchen dances.

[forever-rogue]

17 on the angst section of list #2 for whiskey please 🥺

Anything for you, my love 🥺💕 Please enjoy...and ugh...angst time?

Prompt: “Are you upset with me?”

Agent Whiskey x Fem!Reader ; warnings: angst

Pedro Characters Masterlist 

»»————-　♡　————-««

It had been a while since you'd heard from him. Too long. Hours too long. It was supposed to be a simple mission - easy in and easy out. But here you were, alone, worried and waiting - waiting, waiting, waiting. 

You'd busied yourself with cleaning the apartment you shared. When that was done, you'd set about asking dinner, even going out of your way to make Jack's favorites - including dessert. But even that didn't take too long and soon enough your mind was wandering. Every dark thought that you had pushed to the recesses of your mind started to bubble to the surface.

What if something went wrong? What if Jack was hurt? What if the mission was compromised? What if -

No. No. No.

You weren't going to think about that.

Sighing heavily, you padded to the bathroom in order to take a bath. Maybe that would take your mind off of things. Probably not, but hell, it was worth a try. 

Turning on the tap, you made the water as warm as you could tolerate before filling it up with bubbles and oils. This particular one was your favorite; Jack had bought it for you on a mission in France. With that thought brought front and center you huffed at yourself. 

Stripping down and discarding your clothes on the floor, you quickly slipped into the comfort of the warm water. An audible moan slipped past your lips as you submerged your entire body, remaining under the water under you could no longer hold your breath. 

Breaking through the water, you laid against the back of the tub and stared at the ceiling. Physically, your body felt relieved, the ache of the day slowly leaving your body, but mentally, you were still buzzing like crazy.

What would you do if something happened to Jack? If something happened to him you would ever forgive yourself. If he-

"Fuck," you groaned at yourself. Running a hand over your tired face, you quickly formulated a plan. Well, it wasn't as much of a plan as a rash idea. But at this point you needed something to cling onto.

You'd texted and called Jack throughout the afternoon and everything had gone unanswered. But you wanted - needed - answers. And you'd be damned if you weren't going to get them. 

You hastily stood up and stepped out of the tub, almost slipping and falling on the water that had sloshed out on the tile floor. It didn't matter though, as long as you got what you needed nothing else mattered.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You practically stormed into the Statesman Headquarters, dressed in sweats and an oversized hoodie, hair still messy and damp from your bath. No doubt something akin to a mad woman, but right now you didn't care. 

"Ginger!" it was getting later and the building was quiet, but you practically shouted at her, causing her to almost fall from her seat. She clutched at her heart as she settled down and gave you a wide eyed look, "where's Jack? Have you heard from him? Do you know if he's okay?"

"He's fine, honey," she promised, swallowing nervously as you gave her a curious look. If he was fine...why...why hadn't you been the first to know? 

"I've been trying to call him and text him all day and...I-I-I haven't heard back from him," you pouted slightly as you wondered what on earth could have caused such a mishap, "Ginger...what's going on?"

"Jack got back a little bit ago," her voice was soft as her eyes flicked down the hall and in the direction of his office. She wasn't normally like, all nervous and quiet, and you could tell there was something she wasn't telling you, "he's probably just catching up on a few things before coming home to surprise you."

"Ginger," her name off your tongue was low and predatory as you slowly took a step back in the direction of his office. She stood up and opened her mouth to say something but nothing but silence met your ears, "what are you hiding?"

"Don't-" and with that singular word, you dashed down the hall, wanting to know once and for all what the hell was going on with everyone.

As soon as his office came into view, you could see the outline of his figure through the softly frosted glass. A smile started to tug on your features when you realized he was actually alive and well. But your fleeting happiness came to a crashing halt when you saw he wasn't alone.

No - there was another figure, this one noticeably smaller and feminine in appearance next to his. Or rather, wrapped up in his arms as he kissed her. You stood there in silent horror as your heart dropped. 

It was just a kiss right? But then...why was he lifting her on his desk, as he has done to you many times in the past? Why did he keep kissing her? Why did he allow her to strip off his jacket? Why was he reached for the zipper of her dress? Why-

"Honey…" Ginger's voice was soft as she grabbed your hand and started to pull you away. Tears were streaming down your face as you stood there frozen, a few small whimpers escaping your lips. Eventually you gave in and let her pull you away.

"You knew," it wasn't a question - rather a biting accusation. Your lip trembled with effort as you tried not to cry and completely break down. The beautiful, glittering ring on your left ring finger, only there for a few weeks at this point, suddenly seemed to weigh you down, “you knew and you didn’t say anything. You let me walk in and see that. H-how long?”

“I know it seems bad,” she seemed genuinely upset as you looked at her, your voice cracking with each word until you were almost broken, “but I-I swear I’ve never seen him with another woman or man before. H-he said she was here for business. I didn’t think...I didn’t…”

“Do you mean it?” an ugly sob racked your body as you tried to figure out if it was possible that this was some sort of business venture, that perhaps this was still some odd part of the mission. But even though you prided yourself on being an eternal optimist, you knew this wasn’t what it was. No, despite what the world may or may not have known, Jack had always - always - promised that he would never kiss, touch, or bed another in furtherance of work, a mission, anything. He hadn’t been lying then...or perhaps he had been the entire time, “Ginger, please tell me you mean it. I can’t have my heart broken again.”

“I swear it,” she promised and you could tell she meant it. Either this was the first time, and he’d been careless in not getting caught, or it had been a time thing in a slew of many, and he just happened to be careless for once. You nodded slowly before moving to push past her, “I’m so sorry…”

“Me too,” you whispered as you left without another word, not even bothering to hide the fact that you were sobbing. Your whole world was slowly crashing down around your shoulders; each step away from the building was a fateful reminder that nothing would be the same. 

All you wanted to do was go home and forget; forget that you’d seen anything, forget that Jack had betrayed you, forget that anything from your seemingly idyllic life was out of place. 

But he was everywhere, in everything. From the pictures that greeted you as soon as you walked into your apartment to the touches of decor that were pointedly him, to the clothes that hung in your closet, to the bedsheets that smelled like him. Everything. 

In a fit of rage, you grabbed a few of the pictures off the wall and smashed them into a hundred, million tiny pieces onto the floor. Soon enough, the images of the two of you were distorted by the tiny shards of glass - or perhaps it was the tears that you kept blinking back. 

Thoroughly exhausted and wanting to sleep this day away, praying you’d wake up and find it was all a dream, you tore the blankets and sheets and pillows off the bed and threw them into a pathetic heap on the floor. At least his smell didn’t linger on the mattress. But before you were satisfied, you went into the closet and followed suit with his clothes, refusing to let yours rest next to his any longer. 

Maybe it was rash - dramatic and immature - but you didn’t care. Jack had broken the one rule, the one promise, he swore he would always keep. He had been a good man, an honorable man, and you thought you could always trust him. Now you just had one lingering question left.

Where did the lies start and stop?

Before you dragged your aching bones to the bare mattress, you pulled off the engagement ring and set it on the kitchen countertop, right where he would easily see it. 

You were a believer in second chances, in giving people the benefit of the doubt but this...this was exactly what it appeared to be. You knew that deep down. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

It was dark when Jack came home, not that he had been expecting you to be up and waiting for him. It was nearing three in the morning and he knew you to work that day. The crunch underneath his boots caught him off guard and he quickly flipped on the light switch to see what the disturbance was. 

A frown crossed his features when he saw that it was several photographs of the two; his heart leapt into his throat as he worried that something had happened or someone had broken in. 

But no - nothing else looked out of place, and the door had been locked and the windows were closed. No signs of any type of break in. Huffing lightly, he stepped further inside, stripping off his boots once he was past the glass shards, a gleaming from the kitchen caught his eye. His brow furrowed as he walked over and saw that it was...your engagement ring. 

His heart raced as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was going on?

Padding quietly down the hallway, he nervously pushed open the door to your bedroom, and spied you sleeping, curled up in a ball, with no blanket or pillows. As he stepped inside, he almost tripped over the mess of sheets and clothes on the floor. 

Oh no.

The door creaked slightly, causing you to wake up from your slight slumber. You hadn’t really been sleeping, not much anyways, The little bit of reprieve you’d found were plagued with nightmares and bad dreams.  You sat up slowly, hunched over and pathetic as you wiped at your eyes. 

“Sugar...are you upset with me?”

“How long Jack?” your throat was dry and scratchy as you stared directly at him, trying to read his body language. It was dark, but the light was filtering in behind him and casting him in an odd haze. He stiffened immediately when he realized you knew. 

“You don’t-”

“How long Jack?” you repeated, this time more firmly and with more conviction, “was she the first? Or another in a long line of many?”

“Listen you have to-”

“Answer the question, sugar,” every word was filled with venom as you wished he could scream and shout or something - and tell you that you were mistaken and that there really was a truthful explanation for what you had witnessed, “was it for work? Because I will still be pissed because we agreed that it would never come to that, but at least what I would understand. Please tell me that’s what it was.”

“I…” he started and quickly cut him off. He wished he could lie to you and tell you it was for work. Gods, he had already been lying to you, but for some reason he couldn’t do it anymore. You nodded as the tears streamed down your face, “I love you. I really do, and you’re the only one I truly want. Please understand that, sugar.”

“I wish I could believe you,” your voice was a small, pathetic thing, “I really do. Because I loved you - I still do. I thought...all this time, all these years, that we were building a future - our future - together. I know things haven’t been easy for you, Jack, I know. But I thought...I thought this one thing I could trust you with. It was the only thing I asked of you.”

“I love you, that is one thing that is true,” he tried to take a step closer, but you held up your hand to stop him.

“No, you don’t,” you whispered, “if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have done this. To lie to me, to sneak around. How many others were there? How long? You know, it even would have hurt less if you’d say something like hey, I want to have sex with other people or hey, can we try this or that. But to not say anything and do this? That’s the worst. When were you going to tell me? We were supposed to get married, Jack. Married.”

“I know,” he took in a long rattling breath, “I...I wish I had a good answer for you, but you have to-”

“The fact that you have nothing to say for yourself, tells me everything I need to know,” you spat at him, “I wish I knew what it was. Was it me? W-was...was I not enough for you?”

“You are everything-”

“Yeah?” you asked bitterly as he nodded, “then why did you do this Jack? Why? Why? Please just say something. Anything.”

“Sugar…”

“Don’t,” it was a soft, broken whisper as you shook your head, “don’t ever call me that again. Just get out. Please. Just leave.”

“Listen, you have to do-”

“I have to do nothing, Jack Daniels,” you laughed bitterly, “but you need to leave. Just go. I...you can come and get your things when I’m at work. I just...I don’t want to see you right now.”

“Okay,” he agreed quietly, turning around to head, lingering in the doorway for a moment, “I am sorry, you know.”

“Sorry for what you did, or sorry I found out?” he remained silent at your question as you shook your head, “just go Jack.”

“I love you…”

“Just go,” you cried softly, “get out and never look back. I never want to see you again.”

“Sugar-”

“Get out,” it wasn’t filled with emotions or tears, no - that’s not what broke his heart further, it was that fact you sounded so empty, so hollow, “goodbye Jack Daniels.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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