#sorry the resolution is a bit rushed

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 15: "I'm fine"

This one's for the anon who suggested some post-totk Wild hurt/comfort for day 15. I hope you enjoy!!

Read it on Ao3

- Wild & Time

- Summary: When Wild just barely manages to save Twilight, the wounds from his second adventure resurface

CW for blood and injury and a panic attack

Disclaimer: this fic has very minor spoilers for Tears of the Kingdom. Basically, if you've watched the trailers, you already know about the stuff I talk about here. But just be aware if you want to go in completely spoiler-free!

-----------------------------------

He’s fine.

That’s what Wild tells them. And himself. He repeats it like a mantra in the days following his return to the group of heroes he calls his brothers. It’s his reply to the endless queries about his welfare. His internal chant that keeps the demons at bay.

(Perhaps, if he says it enough times it will feel true. Perhaps, it will make the fear disappear, dissipate the nightmares.

(Somewhere, deep within though, he knows it won’t. It never did before. Why would it now?)

But he tries anyway. What else can he do? 

His brothers are worried about him. He can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. And it’s not fair. He didn’t return to have them shoulder this burden.

They already carry enough. 

So, he maintains the lie and convinces himself it’s the truth. Even when the dreams come, forcing him to relive the memories he runs from during the day. Even when his arm aches with the phantom pain of the ravenous evil that once ran through his veins.

And he keeps it together well enough. At least, he thinks he does. He shows off his new abilities, lets everyone inspect his arm, laughs and jokes and tells the most exciting tales from his adventure. 

Sometimes, it’s easy. After all, not every part of his adventure was bad. Most of it, he realizes as he shares more and more with his brothers, was not.

But those bits that were…it is all too easy to allow them to override all the rest. 

Especially when memories decide to repeat themselves. 

Especially today. Because Twilight is falling.

They had been fighting a group of monsters. Hefty beings, though nothing they couldn’t handle. And with all the heroes there it should have been easy.

But nothing is ever easy. Wild should know that by now.

He sees it happen at a slothful pace, as though time itself has slowed. But he doesn’t remember using stasis. He doesn’t even have the ability anymore. 

Though he desperately wishes that he did. Because, then, maybe, he could bring it all to a halt the moment Twilight stumbles. Maybe then he would have time to reach him.

It all falls down in a matter of seconds, racing into each other at breakneck speed despite their immeasurable slowness. One moment the rancher is beside him, trading quips and fighting back a moblin (just like before and somehow that had made breathing a bit easier). And the next the very ground crumbles beneath their feet. 

Wild doesn’t know what causes it — spell, wayward bomb, it doesn’t matter. All he can see now are Twilight’s eyes going wide as he loses his balance and plummets. All he can hear now is his own scream as he lunges forward to grab him.

“Twilight!”

He lands flat on his stomach, ignoring the way the fall rattles his ribcage. Desperately, he reaches out. The turquoise of his new arm glows. 

He can see it — crimson wrapping around it in wispy strings of clawing, greedy evil. He can see her terrified face as she reaches for his grasping hand.

Twilight stretches out his arm. His fingertips brush Wild’s. The feeling in his arm is not as good as it would be in a natural one….one that belonged to him, that his body didn’t sometimes decide to violently reject. But he can feel it anyway — the familiar touch of his brother’s hand, calloused and strong. 

He grabs for him. And misses.

Twilight falls.

“No.” Tears prick at his eyes, burning as they spill down his cheeks. “No!” 

Not again. Please, not again.

His world narrows, his breath grows short. But he fights to push past the panic, he fights not to fail again.

“Wild!” Wind appears beside him, eyes wide with worry. “What happened? Where’s Twilight?”

Wild doesn’t have time to respond (what would he say anyway to explain this?). Again, he reaches out, choking on his sorrow as he does so. Magic is at his fingertips, its golden glow warm and welcome. He directs it at the spot where the rancher once was.

His surroundings go grayish and dull. A ticking sound fills the air, like a clock rewinding. Wild draws in a breath and steels himself. This has to work, it has to. If it doesn’t…

He won’t entertain that thought. He won’t imagine the rancher lying broken and bleeding on a bed of jagged rock. 

Suddenly, there is the sound of wind rushing past his ears and a cry of a monster. Something falls with a thump beside him. The smell of blood drifts to Wild’s nose.

“Nice catch, sailor!” Hyrule cries.

Wild grits his teeth, struggling to keep himself from turning to look. He can’t afford to break his concentration, even for a second. Any moment now, Twilight will appear. Any moment now, he will have to grab him before the spell can break, plunging him back down. 

He makes a mental note to thank Wind when this is all over.

Twilight’s head appears just over the edge of the pit, then his shoulders. Wild doesn’t allow himself to take in the blood running down his forehead and splotched on his tunic, or the unnatural bend of his arm, or the pallor of his skin, the way he hangs limply like a puppet on a string. He digs the toes of his boots into the ground and leans forward. 

The ticking stops. The spell breaks. Twilight slumps into his hands.

The weight of him nearly drags them both back down. Eyes blown wide with panic, Wild struggles against the inescapable pull of gravity. But then someone grasps his legs and begins to pull him back toward the safety of firm earth. 

“Don’t worry, champion,” comes Time’s voice, sharp with worry and firm with resolve. “We’ve got you.”

Still, Wild doesn’t allow himself to breathe until they are firmly on land. And even when they are, he scrambles up, pulling Twilight further from the edge. 

The others rush forward to help him. They’re talking, he thinks, reassuring him that Twilight is alright. But he can’t hear them over the rushing in his ears. 

His shaking hands loosen their grip on Twilight, falling limp beside him into the damp grass. His breath comes in raspy, trembling gasps. The air he manages to drag in burns his constricted throat. 

He can see him even through the blurriness clouding his vision. The rancher is still unconscious, still deathly pale. Blood dribbles in a slow stream from his mouth and nose, bruising has begun to purple his face and neck.

Wild clenches his hands into fists.

I was too late. I missed…again.

“…fine. He’s fine, champion.”

Wild raises his eyes to Sky’s face, blinking away tears he hadn’t registered coming. The knight offers him a small smile.

“He’s just a little banged up. That’s all. And our captain’s going to take good care of him.”

“That’s right,” Hyrule pipes up, as he hands Warriors a potion. “He’s got some broken bones, but he’s endured far worse. Some potion and a bit of rest and he’ll be alright.”

He should respond in some way. A thank you or a nod, at the very least. But the atmosphere itself seems to be pressing down on him. And it’s all Wild can do to stand.

He manages anyway, rising on trembling legs. 

“Wild?” Wind looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

Wild shakes his head. Tears continue to fall unbidden down his cheeks. He can’t breathe. 

Casting one, last look at the fallen rancher, he turns and runs. ------------------

He ends up in the depths of the nearby woods, back against a tree, curled in on himself with his head resting upon his knees. Wild isn’t certain how long he sits there, trying to banish the horrific images that flash before his eyes, trying to breathe. But somewhere along the way, he hears footsteps.  

He doesn’t bother to raise his head. The steps are familiar, after all. No monster could walk so lightly, treading in rhythm with the crunch of fallen leaves and the sound of the wind rustling the branches. No one else sounds as though they are a part of the forest. Almost like the blupees do and the Lord of the Mountain. Sometimes, he gets the strangest feeling that if he looks away for too long, their leader will vanish amongst the shadows of the furs.

Time lowers himself down beside him, now, just close enough that their shoulders brush. Wild fights not to lean into him. He hadn’t realized how cold he had become.

“Twilight is awake.”

Wild lifts his head slightly, blinking. The tears have stopped now but his eyes feel like someone rubbed dirt in them.

“Is…is he okay?”

“He will need to rest for a few days. But yes, he is alright.” A large hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “You rescued him just in time, champion. Who knows how far down he would have fallen without your quick thinking.”

Quick thinking.

Wild can’t hold back a bitter chuckle. It hardly feels as though it was quick thinking. Panicked, more like it, a desperateness born of the need to not lose another loved one. Even temporarily.

Time is quiet for a long moment. Wild slumps further into his protective, little ball, battling between wanting to run again and wanting to sob into Time’s arms. In the end, he can bring himself to do neither.

“A second adventure is never easy,” the older hero says, at last, when Wild is certain he is going to either explode or dissolve into the dirt beneath their feet. “Honestly, I cannot imagine going on as many as our veteran has. Two was more than enough for me.”

With a jolt of surprise, Wild raises his head. He turns to frown at Time, who merely smiles.

“I didn’t want to talk about it either, you know. I kept what had happened on my journey a secret for many years. Telling anyone seemed more difficult than anything else I had endured. Sometimes, even impossible.”

Wild swallows, hard. He is almost certain the tears are returning. 

“I couldn’t let it happen again,” he admits, quietly, voice hoarse. “I couldn’t lose him like I lost her. Like…like I lost everyone.”

Time nods. “But you didn’t. Twilight is safe, cub. Allow yourself to believe that to be true.”

Wild drags in a shaky breath. The words he hardly dares to speak rise in his throat, screaming for release.

“And what…what happens if one day that’s no longer true? What happens if I fail him next time?”

What happens if I fail all of you? What if I fail her again? 

Time sighs. “I wish I had the answer to that. Believe me, it would do much to put my own mind at rest. All I can tell you, is to live for today. Allow yourself this victory. Allow it to strengthen you to face further challenges. That is all that you can do.”

Wild ducks his head, biting his lip to keep the tears at bay. But they come out anyway, spilling down his cheeks in cascading rivulets. He chokes on a mouthful of salt water.

Time shifts. The warmth of his hand leaves, only to be replaced by the warmth of his arms, enveloping Wild as he holds him close. Wild collapses into him, heedless of the tears and snot he is undoubtedly sullying Time’s tunic with. Sobbing into the Hero of Time’s chest is not something he ever imagined that he would do. Now that the great ball of agony has begun to unwind, however, he cannot drag it back into submission. 

He has kept it for this long, held it inside until it almost became a part of him. He has fought it down through months of chasing fleeting clues across Hyrule, fighting beasts that haunt his nightmares. Smothered it at night when sleep refused to come. It refuses to be held down any longer. 

It rushes out like a wave of water upon the collapse of a dam. And Time holds him while it does.

When, at last, the sobs do subside, the tightness in his chest and stomach is still there, as it always has been. But it has lessened somewhat and for that, at least he is grateful. Slowly, he pushes himself up, swiping at his eyes and nose, self-consciously.

“S-sorry about your tu-tunic,” he hiccups, eyeing Time sheepishly.

The hero gives him a small, kind smile. In that moment, it is hard to believe that this is the same hero who can make grown men tremble and take down the largest of monsters without breaking a sweat.

“Don’t concern yourself with it. It can be washed out.” He rises, dusting himself off, then holds out a hand. “Now, are you ready to go? I believe Twilight wants to see you.”

Wild takes a deep breath. His gaze flits to his arm, softly glowing where it rests on his lap.

All I can tell you, is to live for today. Allow yourself this victory. Allow it to strengthen you to face further challenges. 

Slowly, he folds his fingers into a fist. The glow strengthens in answer to his own resolve.

“Yeah.” He takes Time’s hand and stands. “I’m ready.”

[inkykeiji]

what now?

character: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeee happy birthday dabi!!! sorry i’m a day late, and sorry i keep writing angst for your birthday. this piece is set directly after dabi’s touya reveal, in that dingy little safe house he seems to love so much! please heed the warnings below and stay safe!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, use of master/owner/sir, fem!reader, minimal prep, biting, branding, blood, the piece switches between both dabi and touya as names, size kink + size difference, spanking, objectification, degradation + dumbification, a lil bit of praise, dabi’s pretty mean when he’s fucking, dabi carries reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, choking

words: 8.8k

It’s dark by the time he returns, reeking of charred flesh and ash. He had stashed you away in a decaying little safe house—a place no one else knew about, a place that was his and his alone—and had told you to wait for him. He had promised he’d return to you, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened, he’d be back, pinky swear.

Touya never breaks his pinky swears. Dabi might, though.

You had seen his video. You had been watching the news just like he told you to, anxious, waiting for any sign or indication of trouble, of terror, but the heat and the dust had been too much for the news cameras to penetrate, and there had been no reports of casualties on either side. 

Yet. 

It’s astonishing to think that the whole world knows his name now—his true name, the one buried in his blood and his bones, the one staining his soul, the one he can’t snuff out, no matter how hard he tries. You remember the first time he told it to you. 

“Touya.” 

He had said suddenly, randomly, while laying in bed with you one night back at the League’s hideout—back before all of this was set in motion, back when there was just the gentle clink of glass sounding beneath the floorboards, followed by a muddled curse and the rapid mashing of plastic buttons. 

It was muttered out in the dead of the night, when the wind was stagnant and the moonlight shimmered through grimy windows, brilliance of the beams diffused by the dirt, turning everything a hazy silver, glinting off his stitches.

“Hmm?”

“That’s my real name. Touya.”

“Touya,” you had murmured to yourself, rolling the letters around on your tongue, allowing them to seep into your flesh. “It’s beautiful.”

“Todoroki Touya.”

Oh.  

“It’s still beautiful,” you said softly, after several moments of silence, feeling Dabi melt beneath your words, tender yet resolute. “Even if the man who gave it to you isn’t.”

“Yeah,” he had responded, though his voice had sounded weird to his ears; odd, off, broken. “Fuck that guy.”

And that had been it. You hadn’t made a big deal about it, or pushed him to tell you more, or badgered him with questions and curiosities about his past. You had just accepted it and continued on. 

He had offered up shards of information over the next few months, always murmured out in the dead of night, always a piece and never a whole, always something too jagged to fit with any of the other pieces of his jigsaw he had gifted you. 

But it didn’t matter. Who he was, his past, the name he carries around and DNA twined inside his body—none of it mattered. He was, and will always be, the man you love, irregardless of the name he was born into, and the curse it bears.

The harsh unlatching of that decrepit painting startles you from your stewing thoughts, your gaze snapping toward the noise just in time to catch Dabi crawling through the trick window, entrance hidden behind the heavy gilded frame. 

Your legs toss themselves off the fraying couch the instant his gaze meets yours, heart kickstarting thick bouts of adrenaline to rush through your veins, footsteps keeping time with the tattered exhales each bang of your heart sends barrelling up your throat, body colliding into his only a moment later.

He catches you with ease, laughing loudly as he sweeps you from the floor, strong arms locked at the wrists around your lower back. Instinctively, your ankles hook together at the base of his spine, fingers immediately wandering into the dirty hair at the nape of his neck, whole body wound around his own.

He’s still laughing, bright and breathless and so, so beautiful, even as he crushes his lips to yours, even as your tongue pries past his teeth and slams against his own. It spills down your throat in warm vibrations and you swallow it readily, greedily, hands sinking further into tufts of ink-tinged ivory and twining the strands around your knuckles, desperate to tug him closer. 

The tang of death stings your tongue, earth and copper and smoke, so poignant you swear you can taste their screams, those who lost their lives to his flames and Machia’s feet and the rubble left in their wake, but you don’t care.

You don’t care, because he’s here, he’s home, he’s safe and back in your arms, with his teeth clacking against yours and his spit flooding your mouth and his unruly little giggles consistently breaking the flow of your lips. 

“Did you see it? Huh? Did you see it?” he hurls the words into your mouth, lips still mashed against your own but spread in a smile, sapphire eyes twinkling.

“I did,” you confirm with a nod, tips of your noses nudging. “I did, it was brilliant; you were brilliant, baby.”

“I know,” he snickers, foreheads knocking together, breath wafting in small, ragged pants across your face as his feet begin to move, unable to stand still. “It couldn’t have gone more perfect, I swear to fuckin’ Christ. It was—It was better than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t even believe it.”

Words continue to tumble from his lips in excited gasps as he twirls in wide lopsided circles slow and careless around the decaying little safe house, his boots conjuring small puffs of dust beneath their soles.

“I wish you could’ve been there, baby, honest. I wish you could’ve seen that fucker’s face, it was fuckin’ priceless, and—Oh! Fuck, how could I forget the best part!” 

Halting his whirling, he pulls back to look at you more resolutely, as if he has to see the whole picture, sapphire darting around your face all wild and erratic, his smile spreading impossibly wider; uncanny, inhuman, eyes glowing with the thrill of the secret he’s about to spill.

“Shouto was there, too! How much happier could a coincidence get!” 

“Shouto?”

“I wasn’t expecting him to be there, but seriously, it was the cherry on top.” 

His feet begin to move again, resuming his impromptu dance number, adrenaline thrumming in his veins, overflowing from his orifices—smile stretching, chest swelling. 

“His presence is what really made it spectacular, you know? Sure, dad was broken, but Shouto…” Dabi shakes his head. “Little baby Shouto was knocked off his fucking feet.”

“Oh, I can only imagine…” 

…How horrifying of a realization it must’ve been; how terrifying it must’ve felt to encounter your father’s worst mistake in the breathing, bloodied flesh.

“I doubt he even remembers me—” Dabi continues, “he was only five or so when I died; he barely knew me at all.” He laughs, but it sounds tangled, caught on something buried in his throat. “Imagine that! Your big brother, only ever a ghost haunting your life, back from the grave!” 

“I’m sure he was very shocked,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his again, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his skull. 

“Shocked? Baby, he was beyond shocked. He was—He was—I don’t even have a word for it!”

Another laugh spills from his lips, jagged and squeaky and full of razors. 

And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful genuine happiness looks on him, even if it’s tinted with derangement—the edges of his smile a little too sharp, the glint in his eye a little too vicious.  

“The whole thing sounds magnificent,” you admit, soft and genuine, lips brushing his own. “I’m so happy it went so well.”

“It was perfect,” he gushes in a sigh. “The only way it could’ve been any more perfect is if mom, Yumi, and Natsu were there—but I’m sure they all caught the broadcast.”

You’re sure they did, too. That news programme had been playing on every major screen across the entirety of Japan; you’d have to be buried beneath a rock to have missed it.

He’s still babbling, feet still hopping and skipping around with you cradled tightly to his chest as the anticipation of his return finally wears off, clears from your system, and you take a real, good look at him. 

And your heart sinks.

New burns have bubbled up on his cheeks, leaving only a sliver of skin between them and the scars below his eyes. Staples have snapped in half, hanging precariously from chunks of dead flayed flesh, their broken edges tinged an ugly black, burnt by Todoroki flames. Speckles of crimson are splattered artfully across his hair—though whether they belong to him or someone else, it’s hard to tell—the small remaining patches of healthy skin marred by dried black dye. 

“Baby,” you breathe, struggling to keep your smile from trembling, struggling to keep concern from seeping into your voice. “You’re filthy.” 

“Yeah, you should’a saw the other guy!” he giggles at his own joke, strident and sticky in his throat, but his smile is still so bright.

“And you’re hurt.”

He blows a dismissive breath from between his lips. “Can barely feel a thing, though—and I’m not even rolling right now!” 

“Still,” you say, a frown beginning to weight the corners of your grin. “You should let me clean you up.”

“But it isn’t even painful.”

“Still,” you repeat, tender fingers brushing strands of white back from his forehead. “I want to clean you up.” 

Begrudgingly, he allows it, sat on the closed toilet lid and continuing to chatter on as you tend to his wounds, words bubbling up on breathless excitement, massive smile still slapped, almost uncomfortably so, across his face.

Oxygen keeps escaping him before he finishes his sentences, everything bouncy and enthusiastic, and it’s such a stark contrast to the Dabi you’re used to, with his languid apathetic drawl and unhurried, uninterested speech. 

And despite the subject matter, it’s nice, it’s cute. 

He tells you about his father’s paralyzation and the tears in Shouto’s eyes and the horrified panic coating their faces as careful fingers dab and wipe and smear, meticulous in their task, devoted to their cause, your head nodding along with his endless recounter, emitting the perfectly placed ooh’s and mhmm’s, asking questions when the opportunities present themselves.

And even though you love seeing him this way, full of pure joy and exhilaration, you can’t quite kill the question sprouting in the depths of your mind, chewing on the back of your brain.

What now?

It’s on the tip of your tongue, searing your tastebuds, begging to be spoken. You try to swallow it down, but it claws at the back of your tongue, clinging, curling up in your throat and refusing to be forgotten. 

What now? What’s going to happen now that Enji knows of his existence? What’s going to happen the next time he encounters his eldest child, swathed in the flames he once cherished so dearly, praised so hopefully, eating away at his boy as his hatred burns higher, blazes brighter, consumes his blood and flesh and bones and hopefully swallows down the monster that bred him in the process? 

Will there even be anything left at all? Of either of them?

Does Dabi even care? Does Touya? 

You know he’s still in there, despite the fact that his heart’s been corroded by the bitterness that’s been festering inside of him for eleven years—you’ve seen him. 

You’ve seen him, trailing along with Toga, causticity eating at his teeth as he spits that she’s fucking stupid, this is so fucking stupid, but allowing himself to be led anyway, zero resistance as her tiny hands tug him along behind her bouncing form, feet following willingly. 

You’ve seen him, meticulously picking through the glass bowls at the League’s small Halloween get together, checking and then double checking that everyone’s favourite candy is there, growling that he really doesn’t give a fuck, actually, he’s just looking for his own all the while, despite the fact that his fingers have skipped over that particular chocolate bar several times. 

You’ve seen him, on those nights where Tomura just can’t get to sleep, sprawled out on the couch in the early hours of the morning, dirty boots an inch from Tomura’s crossed legs, staring blankly at his phone and waving Kurogiri off with a go to bed already, old man. 

 So what now?

“He tried to cool me down.”

The sudden switch to a quiet, monotonous voice snaps you from your tangle of thoughts, eyes refocusing on Dabi’s face, realizing you’ve rubbed a streak of his cheek near raw. 

“What?”

“Shouto. He tried to cool me down. With his ice.” A pause, a drop of blood, balancing precariously on his lash line. “Like…Like how mom used to.” 

His Adams apple bobs with the heft of a thick swallow, his eyes blank and unblinking, staring at your shoulder. 

The blood in your veins runs frigid, hand held rigid and hovering over his wounds.

“During the fight?” 

His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he nods, slowly, just once. 

“I was overheating, and he…” 

Another beat of silence passes, the sound of your own breathing echoing in your ears, harsh and fast with the rapid beating of your heart. The blood collecting along his lashes finally overflows, escaping their confines to pool in the crinkles of dead skin and coat gold in crimson.

“Hey,” you murmur, so gentle, so soft it inspires a second wave of blood, dainty hands cupping his jaw and tilting his face to yours. 

Thumbs swipe through the thick streams of scarlet trickling down his cheeks, smearing bright strokes across healthy skin. His eyes, red and glazed but tearless, hold yours for a moment, his nostrils twitching twice. 

Beneath your palms, the hinges of his jaw flex with another dense swallow, warped smile wobbling a little.

“Whatever,” he says, voice less than an octave off from normal. “Doesn’t matter, not important.”

It does, you want to say. It is, you want to insist—

“All I want to do now is celebrate the best day of my life with the love of my life.”

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, the threat of tears thick in your throat.

“Touya…” your eyes search his face, worry woven into the wrinkles between your furrowed brow. “It—”

“Please,” he whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a wisp of air, his eyes closing briefly for a moment as he gathers himself, lids lifting a second later. “Let me have this.” 

You want to, you so desperately want to—want to allow him this space to be happy, unfiltered and unadulterated, even in all of it’s unhinged, brainsick fervour. You don’t want to ruin this for him, the self-proclaimed Best Day of His Life, but…

What now?

It’s nipping at your lips, leaving them tingling and twitching, but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and suck, melting the question in the smothering heat. 

Now is not the time to ask. You will save this question, will fold it into a neat little shape and stash it away in your stomach, where it will rage and roar and demand to be spoken, where you will shove it down and stomp it into submission until it is time to be released.

You refuse to steal this moment from him.

“Okay,” you finally murmur, stroking his blood-slicked cheeks. “Okay.”

It’s hard to ignore the concern scraping at the walls of your skull, to disregard the talons tearing at your heart, to snuff out the flames licking at your lungs, but you’ll do it for him.

Always for him.

And for the first time tonight, his smile softens, sharp edges gone melty with love.

Large hands, hardened by blue fire and the ends of Marlboros, skim up your bare thighs, the callouses adorning his palms scraping roughly against sensitive skin, inspiring trails of chills in their wake. The hem of your dress pools around his wrists as his touch climbs higher, filthy fingers, with dirt caked beneath their nails and grime lining their cuticles, wiggling their way beneath a frilly pink waistband, curling almost protectively around your hips, tips digging into supple flesh just shy of too hard.

“A perfect day deserves a perfect end, don’t you think?” 

The question drips from his lips in a sultry murmur, stare heavily lidded as he tugs you down into his lap, a leering smirk smeared across his face. 

“Oh, yeah?” your arms wind around his neck, nose bumping against his own. “And what’s that?” 

“Stuffing my favourite girl full of my cum.” 

Lips trace along the edge of your jaw as he speaks, words leaving sloppy strokes of saliva as his mouth moves against you skin. 

“Over,” kiss, “And over,” kiss, “And over again, until it’s leaking out of her pretty little pussy, all over her pretty thighs, all over my pretty cock.”

“I think that—ah—I think that’s a great way to end the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, painting a flat, wide stroke of saliva up the column of your neck, the tip of his tongue tracing your cupids bow, nose bumping against your own. “It’s my favourite way to end the day.” 

His lips press to yours, tongues finding each other instantly, dragging across one another in crude, sloppy caresses, heavy and slow and firm as they grind, massaging together in little circles. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soak up his taste, to permanently imbue your tastebuds with it, to keep a little reminder of him—a single piece—with you forever. 

It’s messy, thick drool oozing from the seams of your conjoined mouths, but you don’t care, licking excess saliva from the corners of his mouth, sucking the dribble steadily collecting on his bottom lip, lapping up the foamy spit coating his chin staples, leaving them gleaming with you. 

Lips clash again, teeth gnawing their way into the warm, wet heat of mouths, desperate to devour any part of each another you possibly can, sucking gasps and mewls and laughs from one throat into another, inhaling shards of your souls and swallowing them down, burying them in pits of stomachs and depths of guts—keepsakes, kept safe.

You can taste his blood in your mouth, salty with the tears that can’t fall, trickling from the edges of his eyes. Unfurling from your mouth, the tip of your tongue licks a thin strip up his ragged cheeks, over dead skin and warm bumpy metal, sopping up crimson sadness and consuming it. 

You hold it for him, extract it from him, bear it with him, letting it soak into your heart where it can stay, for as long as he needs it to.

But that isn’t enough for him, because he wants something in return; he wants your blood, too.

Sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, sucked taut and pressed tight to his tongue, a muted chuckle vibrating in his chest at your responding yelp. The strong hinges of his jaw flex, burrowing ivory deep, deep, deeper into your flesh, until the barrier snaps and copper explodes on his tongue, sticky and potent and so, so much. 

He refuses to release you, ribs rattling with a growl when you try in vain to tug your lip free from its captors, a sob hitching in your throat, followed by a wheezy whine. 

“Stay put, goddamn it,” he mumbles the words through his occupied teeth, tongue stroking your lip in the process. “M’not finished.” 

Your squirming stops almost instantly, body deflating into his own, and he huffs out a snort, hot against your face. 

The grip of his teeth loosens marginally, the tip of his tongue laving over the steadily weeping wound in firm, thorough strokes, tracing every indent his teeth left behind, dips rapidly swelling and filling with watered down blood, a mold of six teeth carved into your flesh. 

The strength of his suction increases, siphoning fresh blood from the tiny gashes, and he moans a little, eyes rolling back in his skull as fluttery lashes frame the whites, his hips twitching up. 

Sicko. 

His cock is already hard, rutting into your core in irregular little movements, the lace of your panties so delicate you swear you can feel it throbbing, his motions molding the dainty fabric to your soaking folds with every slight jerk upward.

Slim fingers flex, grip on your hips tightening and further burying his nails in your flesh as he forces you to begin rocking in his lap, grinding down to meet each roll up.

His lips have left your own again, his mouth streaked with your blood, a pretty pink shimmer glazing the bottom half of his face. Blood is still trickling from the six tiny slashes his teeth left, overflowing from the seam of your mouth and flowing down your chin in unbroken streams. 

Swiping a thumb through the thin floods, he smears sticky crimson across your skin, collecting a healthy swap of the substance on the pad of his finger—so much so it begins dripping down the curve to settle in the lines of his knuckle and his palm.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, repeating the action, painting you in messy shades of yourself. “Just beautiful.” 

A whimper slips through your lips, eager tongue catching his thumb and curling around the appendage—protective, possessive—drawing it into the heat of your mouth. 

He lets you guide him willingly, watches with lust-blown pupils as your lips pucker around the second knuckle, slick tongue cradling his thumb as it sucks it to the roof of your mouth, pools of saliva washing your blood from his skin. 

His breath is coming out in hot, hard huffs, exhaled through parted lips as your mouth tightens, swallows his thumb down further. His pupils pulse, gnawing away at his irises as they try to devour you whole, blue so thin it’s scarcely an outline tracing gaping orbs of black.

Your hips are still gyrating against his in erratic little circles, a single palm still clasped around your waist guiding you, encouraging you as he bucks in response, straining cock rubbing along your cunt. 

It’s just barely catching your clit, nothing more than teasing little grazes, dense heat simmering in the pit of your tummy.

You need more.

“Dabi,” you whine a little, wriggling in his grasp, a desperate attempt to garner more friction. 

“Uh-huh?”

“Touya.”

“Yeah, baby,” he answers, the nonchalance in his tone contradicting the mischief glinting in his eye. “What is it?” 

Chrome chips your nails as you claw at the heavy buckle of his belt, leather squeaking against metal. His free hand captures your wrists easily, holding them together in one palm, hard enough that the bones grind together.

“You want something? Huh?” 

Brows knitting, you glare at him, bottom lip quivering a little, fighting the urge to jut into a full-blown pout, fighting the urge to spit out what do you think? 

“You know.”

He does, of course he does. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to give it to you.

“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he purrs as your chin puckers, your whole face scrunched up in a scowl. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good little girl and ask for it.” 

Sapphire scathes your skin, almost as bright and burning as his flames, his unadulterated attention nearly too much to bear, confidence and brattiness withering beneath his scorching stare.

Lashes fluttering, your eyes flee his, tears forming to shield you from his heat, shoulders caving inward in an attempt to protect you from his unyielding scrutiny. 

“W-Want your cock.”

His tongue clicks in disapproval, a mocking frown slapped across his face barely suppressing his amusement, eyes shining, power flaring. 

“That’s not asking, sweetheart.” 

Swallowing thickly, you force your gaze to his, lids squinting a little beneath his brilliance.

“Can I please have your cock? Please?” 

“Please what?”

And although he’s acting unaffected, he can’t quite quell the spasming of his hips, jerking up in minuscule movements and grinding his cock into your sopping hole, panties clinging uncomfortably to your folds.

An eyebrow raises, a question of Well? I’m waiting… imbued in the subtle action. 

He isn’t going to give it to you unless you ask properly, like a good little girl is supposed to.

As expected.

“Please, Master,” you mewl, fingers curling over the edges of his belt and tugging, sharp leather biting into soft hands. “Please, please, let me ride your cock, Sir.”

Cavernous eyes observe you for a moment, scanning for dishonesty, grin growing when a whine vibrates in your throat, low and needy.

“Please?” you whimper, the leather of his belt creasing beneath your grip, squealing as it rubs together, a plead hitching in your chest. “Pl—Please, Sir.”

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying, acting as if he’s doing you some sort of favour, as if his cock isn’t jumping eagerly with each drool of pre-cum leaking from its slit. “Go on, then. Get it out.”

Words of thanks are pouring from your lips as your hands hastily undo his pants, yanking at the buckle, tugging at the zipper, shoving at the waistband, messy and urgent until his cock is finally released.

The stretch is nothing short of incredible, as it always is with him, little hole trembling as it swallows around his girth, drawing him in further and further, deeper and deeper, slow and steady until the head nudges your cervix, his hips twitching up twice, ensuring he’s hit the end, buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go, completely stuffing your cunt full. 

And despite the trademark ache, delicate flesh stinging as it splits into little fissures to accommodate him, your hips begin moving immediately, starved and raring, whimpering a little into his shoulder as you cling to him, every rotation of your hips radiating pricks of pain through your gut.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he snorts, but the insult is soft, edges dulled by love. “So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” 

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek along the curve of his neck, then his jaw, streaking your face with his sweat. “Missed you so much.” 

“I know, baby,” the tip of his tongue swipes through the blood still staining your chin. “Bet you missed my cock just as much, if not more.”

“Yes, yes, Sir,” you’re nodding in messy little motions, hips still rocking languidly against his own, clit gliding against his slick pubic bone in rhythmic strokes. “I did, I missed it s’much—”

A gasp slices through your slurred words, sharp air shoved from your chest as his hips begin snapping upward, rough and ruthless and without warning, the hands grasping your hips tightening around your flesh as he forces you to stay in place.

“Of course you did,” he grunts out, as if it’s preposterous to think otherwise. “I’m not at all surprised; my sweet lil slut can’t live without my cock, can she?” 

“Never, never, ne-never,” you babble out in confirmation, words stuttered harshly with the piston of his hips. 

Another laugh spills from his lips, airy and malicious in melody.

“No, never,” he rasps, ever-so-slightly breathless with the effort, dewdrops of sweat beginning to adorn his hairline. “Fuck, how would you ever get off without me, huh?” 

The question sends a pang searing through your heart, echoing a question you’ve been asking yourself often as of late—how would you ever survive without him? 

The thought stings your eyes, thick tears rushing to cloud your vision and rendering him nothing more than a watery blur of ivory and violet.

“I—I wouldn’t, Sir, I wouldn’t!” you cry out, rapid fluttering of your lids dislodging teardrops, streaming down your cheeks in glistening pairs. “I n-need you, I need you, always, always, al-always!” 

Your fingers curl against his shoulders, nails catching on staples, a hiss spit from the gaps of his teeth. They sink into grafted skin, dead and weathered and dusted in ash, and cling, knuckles locked and stiff as you try to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.

Gnarled flesh collects beneath the edges of your nails as your grip strengthens, chewing on his body and gathering it in your grasp, consuming whatever tiny slivers you can, a silent plead to stay.

“It’s okay, precious,” he hushes you, lips pushed into a mocking pout, contradicted by the smothering affection exuding from his eyes. “M’here, m’not going anywhere.”

God, you hope not. 

“Please, please—” 

And you drown yourself in it, drown yourself in him; his taste, spicy hickory and warm smoke, exhaled onto your hungry tongue, soaked up and swallowed down; his gaze, overflowing with adoration and intense attention, tying itself in a thick braided noose around your neck and tightening; his touch, stamping his prints into your flesh in blotchy bursts of blue, singeing his name with licks of sapphire that welt and wound, that crust and crater and scar. 

Your ribs squeeze, sucked inward by the voracious black hole your heart has morphed into—never sated, never filled, always vying for more—whole body curling beneath the strain.

But he’s right there to hold you, to steady you, to keep you intact, his hands the stitches you need to keep from unraveling.

“I know, I know,” he’s cooing as you choke on sobs, still scraping weakly at his back, “your Master’s gonna give you what you need.”

Slim fingers flex, soot-stuffed nails latching onto your flesh like tiny leeches, dug in nice and deep, using his grasp as leverage to control the speed and angle of your hips. 

Your feet skid against the chipped bathroom tile, the muscles in your legs tensing as you attempt to find stable purchase on the floor trying to aid in his movements, to fuck yourself on him.

It’s no use, though—it’s not like it matters, anyway, not when Dabi’s got complete domination over your body, over all of its movements and positions, manhandling you into whatever arrangement he pleases, reduced to nothing more than his favourite little plaything. 

“It’s real cute,” he’s telling you in that sugared condescension you’ve come to love so much, “that you’re trying so hard to help me.”

A whine escapes your lips, caught somewhere between apologetic and petulant, hips stammering as they begin to slow, and he laughs. 

“Aw, no, don’t stop,” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “Keep trying, it’s so precious.” 

And although his tone is taunting, full of characteristic derisive glee, his eyes are encouraging, begging you to keep going, for him. 

And so, you do, desperate to please him, the muscles in your thighs beginning to burn as you work in vain to pathetically hump away at him, hips knocking together irregularly as your footing continues to slip.

It doesn’t do much to assist him, but he’s happy anyway, a certain type of pride saturating his features, dulling the points of his wide smile, dimming the harsh brilliance in his eyes, turning his face into something a little softer, something a little sweeter.

Dabi keeps an iron grip on the pace—not that you’d ever expect anything different—forcing you to ride him hard and fast, bouncing you on his cock as his hips buck up in expert rhythm, completing your movements every time. The head drags over that engorged spot with each pound into you, sending a judder of scorching sparks to rush through your blood, each bout more intense than the last.

“God, look at you, you’re such a little slut for me, huh?” he pants out, rapacious eyes sweeping across your face, keen to soak up your expression. “Taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

He’s really fucking into you now, jerking you on his cock like a toy, because you are—something that’s his to use whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit, something that’s his to own, to care for and splinter to bits and painstakingly piece back together, over and over and over again.

Tears of ecstasy are pouring from your eyes, cascading down your face in twin streams, excess dewdrops embedded in spiked lashes glittering with every rough pump of his hips.

It all hurts—always does, with Dabi, incapable of treating anything with any degree of gentleness; not a flaw, just a fact, oblivious to his own strength—but the pain only works to elevate the pleasure, pushing it higher and higher and higher until it’s choking you, smothering your lungs and stuffing your throat and spilling out your mouth in the form of messy, stringy sobs.

“S’been so long, Sir, so long,” you weep, nails burrowing further into his body, almost as if they’re desperate to reach his core—to pry past his ribs and claw into his heart and curl up in his soul. 

Because it has been so long, too long, most of Dabi’s attention soaked up by Paranormal Liberation duties and his own extensive planning as Shigaraki’s due date drew closer and closer, any scraps of time thrown your way whenever he had a spare moment to sneak off to this dilapidated safe house where he’d stashed you away, his visits sporadic and unpredictable. 

“You’re right,” he says, and there’s a tinge of melancholy to his breath. “It’s been way too long since your sweet cunt has been filled with your Owner’s cock, hasn’t it?”  

“It has, it has,” you’re nodding sloppily, tongue tangled in threads of spit.

“My poor lil pussy,” he pouts, and it’s so derisive. “Must be starving, it hasn’t been stuffed nice and full with my cum in forever.” 

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in agreement, “feels so empty without you, Sir, feels s-so wrong.”

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crudely laps at the steady stream of tears, vicious bouncing causing his teeth to nick your cheek. “I’m gonna change that.”

Chapped lips find your ear, slicked with saliva, his voice dropping an octave as he continues. 

“Because tonight,” he breathes, sweltering against your ear, his tongue darting from between wet lips to trace along the curve. “I am going to stuff you so full of my cum that—ah, fu-fuck—that it’s going to flood your cute lil tummy, that it’s gonna seep into your organs, into your fucking blood, that it’s gonna be leaking out all over the fucking place.” 

“Oh, oh, please, Sir, please!” 

The pleads come out as a single string, melded together with drool and garbled on your tongue. Little jolts of fire shoot through your body with the constant ramming of his hips, flames licking at your veins as they sear through them, the sharp slap of your ass against his thighs complementing his harsh pants and your broken moans.

“Yeah, I know, my little cumslut wants that so badly, doesn’t she?”

Your brain struggles to stitch together a sentence longer than his name, your mind gone delirious for his seed—and it’s an aching, it’s an addiction, sick and depraved and downright uncontrollable—little uh-huh!’s mercilessly fucked from your throat, head bobbling along with the affirmations.

You can feel it, a taut pleasure building within your body, a fluttering that furls into a tight ball of sapphire flame in the pit of your belly, pulsing a little faster, a little harder, a little more with every drive of his cock. 

“Oh, Touya, Tou—Touya!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, say my name.” 

A growl rattles against his ribs, whole chest vibrating with the force of it, and his head dips down, slick tongue painting strokes of thick, shimmering saliva across your skin, an artist priming his favourite canvas.

“C’mon, tell me who’s making you feel this good—” and although it’s supposed to be a command, it comes out as a plead, voice tapering off into a low whine, muffled against your shoulder. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You, Touya,” you choke out, the name mangling itself in your throat. “You, you, you!” 

“You’re goddamn right, it’s me.” 

Sharp teeth bury themselves in your flesh, mouth clamped over the junction of your neck, harder and harder and harder until the barrier of your skin finally splits, syrupy copper erupting on his tongue. 

His name shatters on your lips, a dark chuckle soaking into the wound when you arch your neck, stretched and strained and offering him more room to work despite the squeal of pain sticking in your throat

It’s all so much, too much, his teeth in your flesh and his cock filling your cunt and—and—!

“Gonna—gonna—!” 

A large palm collides with your ass, sick slap echoing off the cracked walls. 

“Is that any way to ask your Master for permission?” Dabi spits, voice dripping with disappointment. “God,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, but the mirth shining in his eyes is so bright, so blazing it almost hurts to look at. “My cock must’ve really made you go fucking stupid, huh? Don’t you know this body belongs to me?” 

Another spank lands against your bottom, a yelp hitching in your chest with the ruthless jackhammer of his hips, his fingers sinking into the burning flesh in a bruising grip, amplifying the sting of the slap, digging it deep into your tissues. 

“This body is not allowed to cum unless I say so—so ask nicely, you little bitch.” 

“M’sorry!” you cry out, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, Master—”

“Yeah? Yeah?” 

His other hand snakes between your heaving, sweat-drenched bodies, thumb and forefinger clamping down on your clit and tweaking, hard enough to force a scream from your tongue, sending spikes of pain rushing through your veins. His fingers flatten against the engorged little nub a moment later, rubbing hard, quick circles into it, a malicious little giggle squeaking in his throat because it’s so swollen, baby and Christ, you must wanna cream all over his cock so badly! 

Sounds of affirmation spill uncontrollably from your lips, head nodding in frenetic little motions, whole face shimmering and sticky with salt, snot, sweat. 

“Uh-huh? Uh-huh?” 

He’s mocking you, chin tilted up in superiority, staring down the bridge of his nose to regard you in patronizing pity, eyebrows raised and imploring you to continue. 

“Apologies are not asking, baby,” his grip catches your slippery clit again, twisting it harder this time, your eyes scrunching shut as a cry shatters on your tongue, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders, tearing out staples. 

He’s right, you know he is, but he’s making it difficult to speak, difficult to ask, difficult to stitch together a single word at all, let alone a full thought, when he’s playing with your clit like that, alternating between pulsing pinches and gentle caresses, the calloused pads of his fingertips providing just the right amount of friction. 

Your whole body quivers with the effort of holding your orgasm back, muscles pulled tight and taut with the strain, and he laughs—beautiful, breathless, bona-fide—cock twitching inside of you. 

“Pl—Please, Sir,” you manage to gasp out, entreatment forced from your tongue in a single thin breath. “Please, let me cum, please, please, please!” 

The pleads melt into one gooey stream as they flow from your lips, slathered in drool and dripping from the corners of your mouth in thick cords. 

“Yeah? You want it? You wanna cum all over your Owner’s cock?” 

“Yes, yes!” you practically wail, pawing urgently at him. “Please, sir, let me cum, make me cum, I wanna—I wanna—”

“Alright, alright,” Dabi’s pacifying, but his actions don’t slow, hips merciless with their assault on your body. “Go ahead, sweetheart, make a pretty mess on me.” 

Never one to disobey a direct order from your Master, you do, almost instantly, entire body convulsing as your cunt pulses around his shaft, gushing so much slick that it floods his thighs and soaks the waistband of his pants.

The constant circles ground into your sensitive clit as you spasm around him only work to heighten the pleasure, brain gone numb with the shocks of ecstasy coursing through your body, another flurry of jolts sent through your veins with every run through the routine, skin rippling with the impact. 

He doesn’t stop his assault even after you cum, vehemently refusing to let up even as the clenching of your cunt fades into something faint and erratic, even as violent tremors loop through your veins, entire body quivering in his tight grasp, even as your fingers claw weakly at his wrist, crooking staples and scraping scarred flesh, blood rushing to fill the gouges left by your nails. 

No, he doesn’t stop until you’re teetering on the brink of passing out, wandering in and out of consciousness, his name leaving your lips in a near incomprehensible jumble, slurred and heavy with spit. 

Only then does he scoop you up in his arms, your legs dangling limply from his elbows as his palms firmly clutch your ass, hard cock still aching and buried deep inside of you, and carry your pliant body to that worn, fraying couch, with the puffs of white cotton leaking through the polyester and the exposed springs groaning beneath your weight.

You barely notice the change in scenery, though, still blissfully fucked out, nerves gnawed raw  by his overstimulation, a soft hiss slipping from between your teeth as the scratchy cushion rubs against your bare bottom, a raised imprint of Dabi’s palm and all five fingers still rapidly swelling. 

“It’s my turn now, angel,” Dabi’s words drift over your body in an indistinct haze, vision fuzzing at the edges, your head nodding instinctively. 

“Gonna—Gonna make good on your promise, Master?” 

“I always do, don’t I?” 

And then his hips are thrusting, cockhead repeatedly ramming your cervix with every harsh plunge forward, leaning down to catch fresh tears with his lips. The tip of his tongue traces their salty trajectory all the way to your bottom lashes, matted into wet little spikes, before sucking a hickey into your cheek, tiny capillaries bursting beneath his tongue, staining the thin skin with swiftly developing violet.

Tufts of ivory cling to his temples in damp clumps, dried black dye liquifying beneath his heat and running down his cheeks, leaving streaks along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. Sweat collects in the dips of his collarbones, shimmering gently in the flickering light spilling from the television set, a wavering news reporter recounting the tragic events of today, stuttered by static.

“God,” he nearly whines, voracious eyes sweeping across your face, desperate to soak up your twisted expression of pleasure-tinged pain—the way your lids keep drooping as you struggle to keep them pried open, eyes speckled with stars, lashes encrusted with tears; the way your tongue keeps lolling out to draw your slick lip back between your teeth, muffling your whimpers and mewls, and oh, no, he can’t have that, a gentle tut of his tongue clicking against his teeth as his thumb tugs it free from your mouth, drawing out a stringy whine in the process.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you go dumb from my cock.”

The words leave his lips in an airy gasp, as if he can hardly believe you’re real beneath him, as if he can hardly believe it’s his cock making you look this way, a hand leaving your waist to slide along your torso, taking the hem of your dress with it, rough palm tracing every curve and dip and bulge as it crawls to your collarbone. 

He takes his time to admire you—to appreciate the sensation of your skin beneath his touch, fingers gripping, kneading, scraping, gathering palmfuls of you in his grasp before letting go again in a stunned sort of marvel—hips slowing to an uneven rutting, unable to fully halt his fucking. 

Keeping a firm, steady grasp on your body and pinning you in place, his free hand continues to roam, hardened fingertips sinking into the pretty blue lace of your bra hard with enough force to elicit a yelp from your lips, amusement tugging at his lips. 

“So, so beautiful,” he pants, eyes skimming your now exposed body, his fiery gaze outlining every edge, dedicated in committing every contour to memory. “Fucking look at you.” 

In all the time you’ve been with him, your body has become a scrapbook of Dabi. It tells stories of him—what he’s done, how he’s felt, where he’s been, why he did it—stamped permanently into your flesh using his teeth and his tongue and his flames, in raised flesh and puckered craters and glittering scabs.

You can’t tear your stare from his face, though, too busy worshipping him, sapphire eyes gaping and glazed as they travel along your body, soft huffs of breath escaping his lips, pushed from his throat with the tender heaving of his chest, saliva glistening on his lips, smeared so prettily across the staples climbing his chin. 

Dainty fingers grope at the air, pathetic and yearning, clawing at nothing, and he laughs a little, nothing more than a smooth, deep vibration at the back of his tongue.

His touch finds the apex of your thighs again, nails dimpling flesh as he spreads your legs wide—so wide your muscles begin to burn, taut beneath the strain—a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he stares at your stretched cunt. 

Two fingers press into your clit, still slick and swollen, grazing over it in slow caresses—back and forth, back and forth, gliding easily over the puffy nub and snorting a little at the way your hole flutters, eager and aching, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, begging for more. 

So cute. 

Eyes wide and unblinking, he plays with you in a trance, slowly but surely building up pleasure in you, pressure in you, fascinated by the way your body so readily reacts to his simple motions, grinding circles and rubbing strokes and pulsing fingertips. 

It enraptures him, puffs of hot air exhaled through slightly parted lips as he watches just his touch bring you to orgasm for the second time tonight, obsessed with the way your cunt trembles around his cock, a surge of your essence streaming from your hole, embracing him in a thick, wet heat.

Your cunt gorges on him—so fuckin’ greedy, even after cumming twice—fluttering a little around the base of his shaft, still oozing so much slick that it’s glazing your ass and his balls, steadily seeping past the tight seam of your hole. 

It’s so pretty, it’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, he’s breathing, eyes hazy with awe, hips drawing back just a little to watch the way your body clings to his girth, sheathing his cock in a shimmering layer of arousal. 

A palm wraps around the base of his shaft, the head of his cock still buried an inch or two in your straining cunt, and he jerks himself hard and quick, sick wet slaps echoing out among the room as his hand slams between your cunt and his pelvis. 

“Fuck, f-fuck—” 

His hips start moving on their own accord, too impatient, his hand nothing compared to the sweltering ecstasy of your cunt, and he releases his cock, sticky hand collaring your throat, pinioning you to the couch, his thrusts so vicious they’re jostling your body up the cushions, the palm crushing your airway keeping you in place.

Lithe fingers flex as their grip on your neck tightens, coarse pads of his fingertips beginning to heat up, blood in your veins bubbling beneath his touch. 

Your flesh melts beneath his hold, melds itself to his grasp, desperate to stay in his hands forever. 

The sting is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, his palm and all five of his fingers singed into your skin in the prettiest, most precious permanent necklace. You can barely breathe, exhales coming as weak little wheezes, and you swear his flames must be licking into your throat, down to your lungs and straight through your veins, incinerating your blood as your body goes numb, cunt clenching around his cock for the third time, wailing out shards of his name. 

But you don’t allow his hold to let up, to loosen at all, both of your hands placed firmly over his, holding it there harder, a loud moan escaping his lips, his hips stammering out of rhythm. 

“Brand me, Master, brand me, brand me,” you’re gasping out, voice wrecked and raw. “Make me yours, mark me as yours, forever!”

“Jesus Christ,” he nearly sobs, his thrusts turned brutal, primal, losing any semblance of finesse as he relentlessly fucks you, motions stuttering as he finally cums, a violent shudder coursing through his body before he collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat as his cock throbs, filling you to the brim with hot, thick cum. 

“More, Touya, more, more!” you’re crying out, scrabbling at his shoulders as you try to pull him closer, shivering legs latching around his waist as tight as you can manage as your hips roll up to meet his own, crudely humping him. “Gimme more!” 

A groan, dense and heavy, spills from his lips, his entire body rippling with hiccups as he ruts into you—automatic, instinctual, desperate to give his sweet girl what she wants, even if it hurts.

“Yeah, yeah, ye-yeah, Touya, Touya, fill me with y’r cum!” 

And so, he does, using your cunt to milk himself even as his form quivers with every rock of his hips, chills skidding across his flesh with every bump of his cockhead against your abused cervix. 

He keeps going, just like you begged him to, just like he promised he would, until your tummy is stuffed full and your cunt is leaking with his seed, until neither of you can take it anymore, bodies shuddering with every hump and drag and grind, deliquescing into one another, a puddle of limbs. 

You stay like that for a while, his body blanketing yours, breathing as one, being as one. Gentle fingertips trail up and down the column of his spine as his bones begin to fuse and harden again, tiptoeing over the trails of staples stitching dead skin to healthy flesh and evoking a mild shudder, pads of your fingers pressing into each golden suture, counting them lovingly, kissing every one. 

Eventually, after your fingers have traversed across all thirty-one, he shifts, manhandling you onto his chest as he shuffles himself beneath you, cradled between his thighs. 

“What now?”

You don’t mean to say it, don’t mean to shatter that delicate, post-orgasmic, precarious peace with two simple words, but they claw up your throat and pry past your teeth and gnaw on your lips, desperate to be vocalized, immortalized, heard.

What now? 

They’re uttered out softly enough, lips moving against his heart, warm breath seeping into his chest, the question worming its way beneath his skin. 

His muscles go rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs.

What happens now that his goal has been reached, Part One in his plan succeeded? What’s the next step, now that the world knows Todoroki Touya is alive and simmering in his hatred, fuelled by spite and ravenous with revenge?

What happens when he goes to face his father for the final time? And what happens if he never returns?

“Oh, I dunno,” he sighs out, but his voice trembles. “We could fix this place up, all nice and swanky, have a couple’a kids, get a golden retriever—y’know, real nuclear family type shit.” 

You laugh, but it comes out strangled, sounding strange to your ears, a distorted sob. 

“The dream, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, nostalgia for a time that has never happened, that will never come, aching in his words. “The dream.” 

A silence settles over the two of you, as tender as the edges of a festering wound.

“I have to do it,” he says after several moments have passed, and his voice is soft—softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you ever thought him capable of—infused with apology.

He does.

You know he does. You understand why. That’s how the story ends, the final chapter he’s been drafting—you were never meant to be a part of this tale, written in between lines and margins, stuffed between words, twined throughout the pages nonetheless. But ultimately, this is his story—to write, to tell, to edit, to revise, to create, to conclude. 

You know.

But the acceptance sticks in your throat, furled into a tight, hard lump, so you nod instead, punctuating your affirmative with a kiss pressed to his chest, planted right over his heart. It soaks into his skin, burrows itself into pulsating muscle and finds salvation there, finds home there, a puzzle piece that snaps into perfect place—something that’s always been missing, now complete. Something he’ll take with him, when his pen leaves the page, when his book snaps shut.

You don’t dare look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the stutter of his chest, hear the hitch of his breath tangling on hard truths to swallow, smell the copper streaming down his cheeks again.

And you hug him tighter. 

You know. And no matter how badly you wish to, you won’t stop him. 

[goldsainz]

HIS LUCKY CHARM — one shot.

pairing: lando norris x reader

MASTERLIST.

summary: lando is disappointed you can’t make it to his home race, only to be surprised at the end.

request: “Hi! Could you write something about Lando and reader when she surprise him on race day. Lando is sad when she told can't do this on his home race bc something important with her work but after all she appears on Sunday on track. He is more than happy with that and archive good resolut be she is his lucky charm”

warnings: teeny tiny bit of angst, a probably not accurate depiction of the garage

NOTE: WHAT A RACE!! loved the lando+lewis podium, also oscar was great 🫶 anyway, to celebrate have this little thing, thank you sm for requesting bc this inspired me a lot (you kinda manifested the good result???) i added a shameless cameo in there, i just couldnt help myself! (the ending is rushed, ignore it😁)

[ word count: 2,2k ]

“I’m so sorry, Lando.” Is what you say to your boyfriend when you have to break the bad news to him.

“It’s okay.” His face breaks into a broken smile, with glossy eyes he holds your hands and brushes his thumbs up and down your palms.

“I’ll still tune in.” 

“I know.”

“I’ll be rooting for you.” 

“I know.”

You take your hands from his hold, and place them around his neck. You watch as his right posture lightly relaxes at your touch. 

“I don’t wanna miss it. You know I don’t.” 

You wish your job wasn’t as demanding as it was, that it didn’t make you fly to another country in the middle of your boyfriend’s home Grand Prix. But it does. And you’re not sure how to handle the emotional stress it inflicts on you both, and you sure hope it doesn’t affect him in a way that will mess up his race.

“And if I could make it, I would.” 

“It’s alright. It’s your job, I know it’s not your fault.” Even though Lando’s words seem reassuring, and he means them with his whole heart; you still feel guilty. 

With that, he stands up and makes his way to the kitchen of your shared apartment. You watch him leave, and with a heavy heart start to pack whatever stuff you need for your trip. It destroys you to see him sad so close to his home race, a time where he should be joyous, only worried about the car and nothing more. 

You’re not sure how you’re going to make it up to him, but you will.

Somehow.

You were being a little secretive, and you were sure Lando definitely noticed. 

Your boss and you had managed to come to an arrangement which allowed you to be present for the race. It would all be very tight in timing, but nothing that couldn’t be accomplished. It involved a lot of overworking the days before, but it was very much worth it.

You could already imagine the face Lando would make when he finally saw you. Whether he got a good result or not, there was no doubt you wanted to be there with him. 

It took a lot of care for you to arrive at the paddock almost incognito, with fans already speculating why you weren't at his home race. Thankfully no break-up rumours had surfaced, but there were a couple hurtful ones that made you want to be present even more. 

But you knew that no matter how much Lando acted like he was oblivious to what happened around him, his silly act was simply that; an act. You didn't like keeping secrets from him, it felt wrong to have to blatantly lie to him whilst everyone around him knew something he didn't. Still, it would all work out in the end.

Lando’s family had been so happy to see you in the paddock. His grandma (who adored you) hugged you as tightly as she could, quickly bidding you goodbye when you told her you had to go to the garage quickly to get prepared for the race. 

There was no doubt that the tingly feeling of nerves creeped up on you the moment you spotted all the engineers and people moving around, getting everything that needed to be set up wrapped up so the race could go smoothly. Zak was already at the pit wall, and Lando was sitting in his car ready for the formation lap to begin. 

At the garage you spotted Florence Pugh, who had a McLaren headset on. You had seen her on the paddock, but wasn't aware of the fact that she had come to the race invited by McLaren. You tried not to freak out, you saw celebrities almost everywhere when you came to races or went out with Lando. Still, the actress had a special place in your heart.

It took a little of hyping yourself up, and confidence to walk up to her, but you did. You would be sharing the garage for an hour and a half, the least you could do is socialise a little. 

“Hi! I’m Y/N.” You said to Florence watching her turn around with a smile on her face.

“Hello!” She says, greeting you like you were an old friend. “I’m Florence”

“You’re a McLaren fan?” 

“Honestly, I’m more of a Lewis fan.” She said with a laugh, keeping ehr voice just loud enough so you could hear her.

“I get that. I mean, who isn’t?” 

The conversation flowed for a little more until the race was about to start. You excused yourself and moved to an area closer to the screen, where you could watch Lando close-up. You loved being in the garage because of the different screens and the attention to their drivers, that allowed you to experience the race in different ways.

Your headset was adjusted and you were awaiting the moment where David Croft would say it’s lights out. Your knee was slightly bouncing, but you tried your best to contain the nerves. 

“It lights out and away we go!” Exclaims David Croft, his voice echoing through the garage.

You watch as Lando has a great start, and it takes about a second for him to take the lead. You hear the roar of the crowd before you can even react.

“Yes! Go Lando!” You scream, your voice doesn't make anyone flinch because everyone around you has the same reaction. It is a sight to behold, a moment you are more than grateful to see live. 

“I can’t believe it.” Someone next to you says, and you can't help but smile. 

It is no secret how badly the season started for McLaaren. You watched Lando’s smile waver more than once, his faith in the team never wavering, but still. He was rightfully let down by the performance of the adr,a dn you had to reassure him multiple times that it wasn't his fault. Because he was doing the best that he could with what he had. 

So now, seeing him get to this moment, is absolutely deserved.

A couple of laps go by and Max takes the lead for your boyfriend. There is disappointment in the atmosphere, but everyone knows that P2 is a miracle and that Lando is doing absolutely great work out there. They all know how great it would be to have him finish in that position, especially since Oscar is P3. 

Getting a podium in Silverstone would mean the world to Lando, Which is why you're worried about what will happen when they pit. Whatever strategy they choose will determine if Lando gets podium or not, and you will not pretend to really know what happens or how they come up with strategies, but you hope that they dont mess up his race because of wrong timing or choose the wrong tyres. 

As you watch his car race, you suddenly see on the screen that one of the Haas cars has come to a halt. A safety car is deployed, which means a couple of cars will choose to change tyres. The whole garage groans when Lewis’s car comes out in front of Oscar’s after he pits, now challenging Lando’s position.

It’s like you can’t breathe between those laps that Lando and Lewis battle for P2. Everyone is at the edge of their seats watching them race against the other, and you hope that this doesn't end up running both their races. The last thing anyone wants is for them to crash, because going from that position to a DNF would result in disappointment for everyone involved.

“Come on, Lando! Come on!” You scream, your palms intertwined in front of you as you watch him fight for his position. 

Thankfully, Lando manages to maintain his standing and leaves Lewis behind him for good. The hard compound tyres he was pitted for are giving him a tough time, you know that it is not ideal. Not when he could've lost his position, but with just 10 laps to go your faith in him is over the roof. 

You’re on twitter, refreshing your timeline to see if there is anything you missed. The fans are so enthusiastic, their comments make you smile. Even if there are people out there who don't like Lando, there are even more who love him and want nothing but the best for him. 

You watch as Florence is escorted out of the garage since she will be waving the flag. You watch her face light up in excitement, and in all her excitement she still waves at you. You don't waste a second in waving right back at her, turning your head right after to the screens.

The moment Lando crosses the finish line the McLaren garage erupts in cheers. You hug whoever is next to you, a teary smile pulling at your lips. You cannot help the tears that fall down your face, you usually don't get that emotional during a race, but this is his home race and he is on the podium. If there is any time to cry, this is it. 

You are almost running to the barriers, waiting for the moment that Lando steps out of his car and goes to celebrate with the team. You are wearing his merch, something that will surely stand out to him, enough that in his podium haze he will spot you. 

He goes up to the team, his helmet now long gone, and that is when he sees you.

You who told him you couldn't make it, are suddenly there. 

In a flash he moves in front of you. You cannot tell him anything because in an instant he is grabbing you, squeezing you so tight he lifts you up from the ground in excitement, you giggle right in his ear and he is sure that that is the most beautiful sound he will ever hear. He is careful not to take the barrier with him, not wanting a warning from the stewards.

After a couple seconds you pull back slightly enough to see his face. Your hands waste no time in grabbing his face and placing his lips right over  yours. Lando reacts almost immediately, melting right into the kiss, the adrenaline from the race still pumping through his veins. You can hear some cameras click, and the cheer from some people, but you ignore it.

You have to pull back eventually, not because you want to, but because there is so much to say and not enough time, not to forget the fact that he has yet to go to the podium.

“I cannot believe you’re here.” He whispers right over your lips, his sticky forehead pressed against yours.

“I couldn’t miss this.” You say, watching as his lips pull into a grin.

“I was pretty cool out there, wasn't I?” You snort at his words, separating from him but his hands never leave your waist.

“Oscar was really cool.” His grip on your waist tightens, “I haven’t properly congratulated him yet, actually.”

Someone from the team says something to him, you're sure they're telling him to wrap your conversation up because he has to go up to the podium. 

“You were great out there.” You tell him, your eyes holding all the sincerity in the world. You watch his gaze soften at your words, and he places a quick peck as he finally lets you out of his hold.

“Of course I was,” You shake your head at his smugness, “My lucky charm was here.”

You cannot help the tears that well up in your eyes at the softness of his words. You know that the celebrations and compliments are not over, but for now they are. You step back a little from the barrier, seeing as he is rushed to the podium and joins his fellow drivers on the steps. 

You smile up at him, watching as he grabs the champagne. He moves it around a little and then hits it against the ground, effectively bringing back the iconic champagne spike he does whenever he is on the podium. 

Lando sprays it everywhere, and you're almost sure a little hits you. Your theory is confirmed when he is smiling widely at you, like a kid caught doing something he should but isn't the least bit sorry. You laugh at his antics, which in turn makes him smile even wider (which you're not sure how it's even possible). 

When the champagne runs out, his gaze catches yours once more. You mouth an “I love you” to him, watching from afar as he blushes. A second after he returns the sentiment, mouthing it back and blowing you a kiss.

You thank your boss in your head for letting you be here with him, because if you hadn't been here with him you would've sure felt horrible for it. 

After all, Lando needs his lucky charm with him and you're more than happy to oblige to his wishes.

[hgfictionwriter]

Getaway - Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: It's the morning after. Will Jessie finally get her wish or is she just fooling herself?

A/N: Shy, awkward Jessie meets angsty, sulking Jessie. Fluff with a bit of angst. No other warnings. Final part of this series.

Despite her intentions, sleep evaded Jessie as her mind raced with reflections of the night. In time she admitted defeat and upon hearing rustling in the adjacent rooms, a sign that Niamh was getting up, Jessie head downstairs to start making breakfast. It was going to be a long day.

The girls were gathered around the kitchen table mid-breakfast and chatting idly when you eventually appeared. Even with how preoccupied Jessie had been with analysis of last night and attempts to figure out how to navigate things, she didn't feel prepared. Her pulse immediately quickened, and she averted her gaze the moment you two locked eyes. She relaxed her shoulders in an attempt to collect herself.

“Morning, sunshine," Niamh called. "How'd you sleep?"

"Morning, starshine," you returned with a teasing wink at your friend. "I slept great, thanks. How about all of you?" You responded as you sat down and began to load food onto your plate.

While conversation had ensued, Jessie had snuck over to the kitchen and returned to set down a cup of coffee in front of you with zero fanfare, still avoiding eye contact. Your gaze followed her as she scurried walked back over to her spot at the other end of the table.

"Oh my gosh, thank you, Jessie. I need coffee so bad right now," you said. She merely offered a tight smile as she returned her attention to her phone and the last sips of her coffee. She sunk into her chair a bit as she tried hard to ignore your eyes upon her.

"Where's my refill?" Niamh ribbed, drawing a glare from Jessie.

"Oh yeah. That'd be a slippery slope, soon I'd be doing everything," she said with a short laugh and hoped the topic would get dropped. "Besides, Y/N's our guest."

In a stark contrast to sleeping up against you a mere hours ago, Jessie now felt awkward and unsure. She resolutely avoided eye contact with you throughout all of breakfast, only now and then catching your watchful eye before immediately glancing away and busying herself otherwise.

When everyone cleaned up and headed upstairs to get ready, Jessie remained solely focused on not interacting and retreated to her room. She closed the door behind her and exhaled wearily. She had to figure out what to do because this just wasn't going to fly. She was about to start gathering items for the day when a knock came at the door. She swallowed nervously, feeling her pulse pick-up as she eyed the door.

"Come in," she said. She swallowed once more as you stepped inside, closing the door again behind you.

"Hey, I just-"

"Hey, I'm so sorry about last night." Jessie found herself talking over you, a rush of words spewing from her mouth as her nerves overwhelmed her. "I didn't mean to overstay my welcome – I didn't even realize I fell asleep. And I hope you know I really didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable." She nearly needed to take a breath at the end. To her surprise, you offered a hint of a wry smile.

"I was actually going to thank you for keeping me company last night. And no, I wasn't uncomfortable at all. Seriously." You looked away with a slight shrug. "If anything, I was a little surprised to find my bed empty first thing this morning. I didn't expect that kind of thing from you."

"Oh, I-" Jessie began to stammer, cut off by you laughing and waving a hand in dismissal.

"I'm kidding. I'm just giving you a hard time." The heavy blush on Jessie's cheeks was blatant and you smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"I wouldn’t do that," Jessie clarified, her voice higher than usual as she looked distractedly to the corner of the room with a shrug of her own. "I just," she forced herself to look back at you, "I didn't know you wanted me to stay."

At this, you smiled and took a step forward, nearly causing Jessie's breath to catch.

"You are always welcome to stay. But anyway, I wanted to thank you for last night in general. I really enjoyed all of it." Jessie nodded and smiled back.

"Yeah, me too."

"I hear we're taking Vespas to this spot this morning. Can I ride with you?" You asked with a slight tilt of your head. Another blush flared out across Jessie's cheeks as she stumbled through her reply.

"Yeah, I'd love that. I mean, of course you can – I don't mind." She hid her hands behind her back as if that would make her appear more casual.

"Okay, great," you said with a nod and a lingering smile. If Jessie wasn't mistaken, you gave her a brief once over. "You'll take care of me, right?" A bright grin crossed your face; it was teasing, but it was warm and affectionate.

"Y-yeah, of course. I will," Jessie replied, doing her best to stay composed, shoulders back.

"I know," you said. "I trust you. Okay, well I'll see you downstairs." You closed out your sentence with a gentle squeeze of Jessie's arm before you turned and left.

Jessie finished getting ready, but she felt shaky and dizzy – in a great way – from the interaction you just had. She grabbed her sunglasses and hat and tossed them into her bag as a fleeting insecurity crossed her mind – what if 'company' was really all she was? That you were just lonely now that you were single. Her thoughts continued to spiral until she paused and closed her eyes, doing her best to push down those feelings; they wouldn't do her any good.

When Jessie trotted downstairs, it was just her and Niamh.

"So, late night, huh?" Niamh said with a smirk tugging at her lips. "Y/N told me you were both up super late talking in her room. Which you neglected to mention..."

"It's not a big deal," Jessie dismissed with an unconvincing frown as she crossed her arms.

"Mhm," Niamh voiced as she gave the brunette a light nudge. She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. "Just tell her you like her! She's single now!"

"I-I don't like her," Jessie protested, trying to look aghast in her denial.

"Oh my God." Niamh rolled her eyes. "I've been letting you get away with hiding it for so long because, well yeah, Y/N was off the market. But she's not anymore. So make a move!"

Jessie stared at her friend for several moments as her mind processed what to do. She eventually relented.

"Yeah, but, she just got out of a long-term relationship. She's probably not ready for anything and – you know, we're friends. I don’t want to ruin that," Jessie responded, glancing back over her shoulder now and then to ensure no one was approaching. Despite being caught off guard by this conversation, a huge weight suddenly felt lifted from her shoulders at finally being able to admit to someone that she liked you.

"Just tell her. Please. It's killing me seeing you dance around her the way you do," the defender complained.

"I don't," Jessie pouted.

"Oh, you do," Niamh retorted, leaning in pointedly. "Like a love-sick puppy."

"Shut up," Jessie complained, whined even. She jumped as footsteps came from the stairs.

"Alright, we're ready," Zee said as you both jogged down the steps. Jessie nearly rolled her eyes at herself with how she went up on her tiptoes momentarily, smiled brightly and even offered a lame wave at you as you came up. Jessie blushed at the laugh that came from Niamh.

"Ready to go?" Jessie interjected, as she hastily ushered everyone outside.

Soon you all reached the rental spot, squared everything away and were ready to hit the road.

Nervous, excited energy started creeping up in Jessie again as the agent left you all to your bikes. She idly played with the helmet in her hands and worked up the courage to turn to you.

“You still good to ride with me?” She asked as nonchalantly as she could. You nodded.

“I am. If you’re still good with it too.”

I’ve been thinking about nothing but that.

“Yeah, all good,” she played off.

She set her helmet over the handle bars and reached for the one in your hand.

“Safety first,” she said as she gently placed the helmet on your head. She bit back a pleased smile as you began to blush. It gave Jessie a confidence boost. “I told you I’d take care of you, after all.” She closed the clasp and tightened the straps a touch. She finished by brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “You’re all set. Feel okay?”

“Yeah, thank you,” you answered, a blush still lingering on your cheeks with a coy smile. It felt nice to Jessie that for once you were the one being shy.

Soon Jessie mounted the bike and got settled before shuffling forward a bit on the seat.

“Okay, hop on," she instructed.

The charm and bravado she had a few minutes prior was quickly quashed by nerves in anticipation of you straddling the seat behind her.

An immediate warmth went through Jessie as you placed a hand gingerly on her shoulder to steady yourself as you got on. She swallowed inaudibly as you settled in. Although you sat closely behind her, contact was minimal.

“You might need to hold on,” Jessie suggested. It wasn’t even a lie.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as you looked around, seemingly contemplating your options.

“I think that means I need to put my arms around you. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine.”

Jessie had to stifle the way she nearly cleared her throat as your hands came around her torso, clasping your hands together to enclose your arms around her and shuffling in slightly, now brushing against her back.

“Is this okay?” You asked.

Jessie was grateful that she had the helmet on and could face forward because her face had to be beet red.

“Yeah, it’s perfect.” Perfect? Jessie nearly groaned. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

You tightened your grip slightly. “I’m good.”

Jessie bit her bottom lip, hard, as she suffocated the noise that bubbled up her throat as a small, adorable squeak escaped you and you tightened your gripped significantly on her as you started to drive.

“I’m sorry,” you said over the sound of the bike as you relaxed your grip a touch.

“Don’t worry,” Jessie called back. “Hold on as tight as you like. I don’t mind.” A smile tugged at her lips as your arms enclosed a bit tighter again.

Jessie navigated you through traffic. You chatted and joked at red lights and even though your journey just started, she already didn’t want it to end. Her jaw clenched as she struggled to remain composed as you rest your chin on her shoulder at one particular stop. It took every once of control for her to not place her hand on yours and lean back into you.

Soon you were jetting down a scenic highway and Jessie couldn’t have been much happier. She was surrounded by incredible sights, she was outdoors, and there was the small fact that the girl she loved had her arms wrapped around her as you enjoyed all of this together.

After you reached your destination and parked your bikes, you all took your belongings and began to walk around the area. Niamh and Zee naturally paired up and wandered ahead while Jessie and you hung back on your own. Jessie wasn't about to complain.

At one point, you both stopped along the shoreline and were just looking out at the ocean waves. Jessie adjusted the hat she'd brought with her and tucked her hands into her pockets as she watched the rhythmic push and pull of the water. Though you were wearing sunglasses, it was still bright enough out that you held a hand above your eyes to further shield the sun.

"Do you have a hat?" Jessie asked as she nodded to the bag hanging over your shoulders.

You turned your head to Jessie, forehead creased in a squint. "No. Not yet."

Suddenly, your hand flew up and Jessie felt her hat being plucked off her head. She didn't even have time to process, she just instinctively ran after you who was a few paces ahead, laughing and placing the hat onto your head as you ran. It only took Jessie a few quick strides to catch up to you though and found herself wrapping her arms around you to hold you in place. You squealed with a laugh, and turned in Jessie's arms, your bodies close enough that your hands came up to rest on top of Jessie's shoulders.

"I'm not sure what reality I thought I was in where I'd be able to outrun you," you joked, your cheeks flushed pink. Jessie smiled, belatedly realizing that she still had her arms around you.

"You know what? The hat looks better on you anyway," she replied as she finally let go and took a step back.

"I'm just kidding," you said as you started to take it off. Jessie reached out, hand resting on top of yours and keeping you from removing the hat.

"Seriously. Go ahead - you should wear it," Jessie continued. Your blush deepened as a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

"Okay. If you insist," you accepted.

You two continued to idly talk and wander around, eventually catching up to Niamh and Zee. You stopped by shops, checked out landmarks, and all the while Jessie was on cloud nine. Her heart fluttered in her chest as you would stop now and then to request a selfie together - something Jessie would normally adamantly avoid, but things were different with you. And, of course, if Zee ever caught you taking a selfie, she'd stop and take a picture of you together instead. While it worked Jessie up, feeling under the microscope, those thoughts were quickly pushed from her mind whenever she felt your arm around her waist.

The day went by with moments of a lingering stare, a blush, a fleeting touch, and the odd teasing look from Niamh who watched on. When you all drove back to town it wasn’t even a question if you would ride with Jessie again and you settled into one another easily this time. If someone asked Jessie, it wasn’t just you holding on, it felt like an embrace this time. The only thing that could’ve made it better was if you two were actually together. Even if nothing came to be though, Jessie was resolute that this memory would be one she’d cherish no matter what.

When you got back into town, you walked over to a local pub to grab a late dinner. Your group took up a table towards the back of the establishment, Jessie and you taking the bench seat and sitting close enough that your legs brushed up against one another's. Jessie's faced heated up once again as she spied the smirk on Niamh's face.

"Uh, what are you going to get?" Jessie asked as she absently ran her fingers through her hair and sat up a bit to peer over at your menu as if she didn't have her own right in front of her.

"I don't know - this sandwich looks pretty good, but I'm not that hungry either," you replied, turning your head towards her.

"Oh yeah, I was looking at that too. Want to share? I'm not super hungry either," Jessie offered. She shot a dark look at Niamh who snickered from across the table.

"Something funny, Niamhie?" You asked seemingly innocently as you smiled at her.

"Nothing, love," Niamh responded with a gentle smile and returned her attention to her menu.

The night carried on and at some point Niamh and Zee found themselves at the bar chatting with a couple other tourists, leaving you and Jessie on your own.

At one point, your phones buzzed at the same time - you frowned at one another and you retrieved your phone to see what it was. After a moment you laughed and turned to look at Zee across the bar who immediately started laughing as well, obviously waiting for the two of you to react.

"Zee's been busy," you explained as you held up your phone for Jessie to see the post of the two of you looking rather cozy together and posing earlier in the day; you in Jessie's hat and all.

"Oh," Jessie commented, at a bit of a loss for words, more distracted by the butterflies in her stomach instead.

You tucked your phone away and you two continued to talk until your phone began to buzz again. Jessie didn't think much of it and you ignored it, but it soon buzzed again and you rolled your eyes, retrieving it once more.

Jessie wasn't intentionally trying to spy, but her eyes were drawn to your screen and she couldn't help but notice the name attached to the messages - your ex.

Jessie now watched intently out of the corner of her eye as you quickly flipped through the messages before exhaling heavily and sitting back against the bench.

A few awkward moments passed, neither of you speaking until Jessie's curiosity got the better of her.

"Everything good?" She tried to ask nonchalantly.

"Yeah. It's fine," you responded in a flat tone. Jessie watched as you studied the table with arms folded against your chest, deep in thought. You then suddenly seemed to become aware of Jessie's eyes on you and sat up, plastering a tight smile on your face. "Can I grab you a drink?"

"No, I'm alright, thanks," Jessie replied, her own tone now taking a dip at the turn in your interaction.

She watched silently as you stood and walked over to the bar, pulling Niamh aside. Jessie tried desperately to somehow discern what you were saying, but you two were leaned in speaking to one another so Jessie couldn't even try to lip read. Regardless, the light and playful mannerisms you had before were long gone. And so were Jessie's.

She should have known. This was all too good to be true. Jessie slumped in her seat and distractedly swirled what remained of her water. She didn't know what was going on, but it upset her either way. She felt stupid for letting herself get her hopes up and for thinking that this could be anything more. She should've just stuck to the original plan - friends and nothing more. She tried to ignore the way the corner of her eyes started to burn, but the sensation didn't go away. When she found her gaze drawn back to you, still with Niamh and on your phone again, the feeling got worse. She stood up abruptly, jostling the table as she did so, and quickly walked outside. She needed some air and she'd be damned if she started crying in the middle of the pub for all to see.

She paced back and forth on the sidewalk, fists buried in her pockets as she ground her teeth together and tried to regain control of her emotions. The logical side of her brain tried to reason with her and tell herself that she didn't even know what was going on - there was nothing to jump to conclusions about. However, that side of her was getting drowned out by the pent up feelings that had been brewing for months on end and that she'd foolishly begun to uncap the past couple of days. Serves her right, she thought ruefully.

Jessie wasn't sure how much time had passed until she felt her phone buzz in her back pocket. She wanted to ignore it, but couldn't resist pulling it out to check. It was you.

Where did you go? Are you okay?

Jessie let out a shaky sigh and stilled her movements. She took a deep breath and committed herself to going back in. She was hopeful that she appeared calm and normal again.

When she stepped inside she saw you'd returned to the table. It only took a moment for you to spot Jessie and you sat up and greeted her with smiled at her.

Jessie took a breath and approached, sitting down again on the bench, but this time leaving a bit of space.

"Are you alright?" You asked, watching Jessie intently.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just wanted to get some air. Everything good with you?" Jessie returned, offering you a fleeting glance before fixating on her glass.

"Yeah, I'm good," you responded lightly. And truthfully, you did seem better than before. Jessie waited for you to elaborate, but instead you nodded towards Zee and Niamh. "Those two seem to be having a good time," you redirected with an amused laugh.

"Yeah," Jessie agreed as she slumped further in her seat.

The conversation between you, for the first time in a very long time, was jilted and awkward, perhaps increasingly more so by the time you were all walking back to the villa. In fact, Jessie's mood was so foul by the time you were heading back that she was straggling at the back on her own in silence. She determinedly ignored the odd glance you shot over your shoulder at her.

When you arrived back at the villa, Niamh and Zee wanted to sit around the firepit and hang out, but Jessie wasn't interested. She noted how you watched her as the girls asked her to stay downstairs for a drink, but it wasn't enough to compel her. Instead, she retreated to her room. She knew she was being a downer, but she couldn't be bothered to care right now. She knew she'd probably be embarrassed by her behaviour later and find herself making a round of apologies, but she just needed to be alone.

She was laying on the bed, still in her street clothes, when the door swung open sometime later. She sat up quickly, an irritated frown on her face before she rolled her eyes realizing it was just Niamh. She laid back down.

"What's going on?" Niamh asked as she closed the door and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You tell me," Jessie retorted before taking it down a notch. She sighed, sitting up and offering her friend a fleeting look of apology.  "Y/N's ex was texting her. Do you know what that was about?"

Now it was Niamh's turn to roll her eyes. "Yes. [Y/Ex] saw the post Zee put up of you two. And let's just say she wasn't pleased."

"Huh?" Jessie asked with a deep frown.

"You're being moody and angsty over nothing. I suggest you talk to Y/N. If she's not too pissed at you for sulking when you should've been consistent and supportive," Niamh said lightly, but still with an unmistakable pointedness.

"She's pissed?" Jessie asked, guilt now sweeping over her.

"No. But she's worried you're mad at her. Personally, I think she's being too soft on you," Niamh teased.

Jessie scratched her head as she contemplated the situation she created for herself. She sighed and Niamh went on.

"Zee's gone to bed and I’m going too. Y/N's still downstairs if you want to talk to her. As in, get your stubborn ass down there. And don't talk in circles. Just be direct."

Jessie grumbled lightly, but got up. This is why she didn't do relationships. They always just complicated things and people got hurt even if that wasn't anyone's intention. She was jolted from her thoughts as Niamh slapped her hard on the back, sending her stumbling a couple of steps.

"You can thank me later," Niamh said with a wink.

Jessie wandered over to the window and peered down. Sure enough, you were sitting outside at the firepit sipping some tea. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Jessie padded lightly down the steps and out to the back patio. Her chest tightened nervously as your gaze was pulled from the fire up to her.

"Hi," Jessie greeted timidly giving a feeble wave. "Mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead," you said as you gestured to the seat across from you, same as you two were situated last night. "Feeling better?" Jessie detected no malice in your voice.

"Yeah, thanks," Jessie replied, a hand nervously coming up to scratch the back of her head. "Um, I'm sorry about earlier. I was…in my head, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you accepted. "Happens to all of us." A few beats passed and you spoke again. "And I can't help but think that I caused it anyway."

A blush formed on Jessie's cheeks as she felt under scrutiny. She looked into the flames and gave a shrug. "Oh, no. It's not your fault."

You quirked a crooked smile at Jessie. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure I got a little out of sorts first and that set things off."

Jessie contemplated how to proceed. Now was as good a time as any - she dove right in.

"When [Y/Ex] texted you, right?" She watched for your reaction, noting the slight raise in your eyebrows. "I didn't mean to see - I saw her messages come up before I could look away. I'm sorry."

A heavy sigh escaped you and you sunk into your seat a bit.

"That's fine," you finally said. "And yeah - you're right."

Jessie did her best to not read into the lack of explanation. She normally would interpret this as you being cagey, which would then cause her to bottle up, but Niamh was right - she needed to be more direct. And if she wanted something with you, she needed to be more open.

"You know you can talk to me about it," Jessie offered gently. "I know I've never really talked with you much about your relationship with her. And that isn't great of me - makes me not such a good friend. But I hope you know I'm here for you above anything else. I'm sorry I acted the way I did earlier. I got upset when I shouldn't have instead of being supportive." She went on quickly. "So, even though you have Niamh - please know you can talk to me, too. Even if it seems like you can't."

You rubbed your eyes tiredly, pulling a frown out of Jessie.

"Well, frankly, that's difficult when you're part of the problem," you eventually replied with a weary sigh. Jessie's pulse quickened immediately and her stomach dropped.

"I'm sorry?"

You sat forward, leaning your arms on the top of your legs. You rest your head in your hands for a moment before looking over at Jessie.

"Can I ask why those texts upset you?"

Jessie swallowed and she tried to ignore how she could practically hear her blood coursing through her veins.

"Um. Yeah," she responded, hoping her voice wasn't as shaky as it seemed in her head. She pushed the palms of her hands out along her pants, trying to get some of the sweat off of them. "I, um, well we were having a really great day. And I guess when I saw her messages come through. I…," she trailed off before steeling herself with a quick breath, now raising her gaze to meet yours. "I got jealous."

She kept her eyes trained on you, watching for any indication of how you felt about this confession. Eventually, you let out a small laugh and sat back. Jessie studied you with a frown and worked hard to not feel offended by the gesture.

"Well, I guess that's the theme of the day," you eventually said with a smirk. You stood and Jessie felt her palms continuing to sweat as you made your way around the firepit to sit in the chair next to hers. You turned so your knees were pointed towards Jessie and was mostly facing her. "[Y/Ex] saw Zee's post of us, and, well, it didn't go over well."

Jessie sat silently. Her mind raced as she tried to anticipate what would happen next. You went on.

"She and I haven't really talked since the breakup. Which is totally fine - the breakup was civil and I don't really believe in being friends after, but yeah, the post fired her up a bit." You took a quick breath. "She saw the post of us, and she made a few accusations. And I couldn't even be angry about it, because, she had a point."

Jessie shifted in her chair, a mixture of curiosity and anxiety hanging over her.

"I told you yesterday that [Y/Ex] and I broke up because I didn't feel for her what I should have. And that was true." You took another breath, averting your gaze briefly before meeting Jessie's again. "The part I didn't tell you is that I realized my feelings for her weren't what they should be because I was feeling that way for you instead." You dropped her gaze. "I was ignoring it for a while, but it got to the point where I couldn't play it off as some passing thing. I would've been stringing her along if I didn't end things."

Jessie's words were caught in her throat as she struggled to process the things you just said. She swallowed, blinking several times as you turned back to her.

"When we broke up, she flat out asked me if it had something to do with you." You laughed wryly. "That's how bad things were getting. Anyway, I told her it didn’t. I didn’t see the point in bringing it up or hurting her in that way - plus you and I have clearly never spoken about any of this. Anyway, when she saw that picture of us…she had some choice words for me. And not all of them untrue.”

Jessie sat their shell-shocked. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. You liked her? In fact, to the point where it actually interfered with her past relationship? She was so puzzled and unsure of how all of that could be.

“I need you to know that none of this is on you," you went on adamantly. "You didn’t do anything to cause my breakup. You were always very respectful and no lines were ever crossed. But I think that’s just it - you didn’t even have to try and I started falling for you.”

“Y/N-”

“I’m almost done. I swear. So, yes, I was upset earlier when I got her messages. Because she wasn’t wrong - I made her believe things ended because I just wasn’t in love with her. But I was protecting myself from feeling guilty more than preserving her feelings. And the worst part is that while she’s seeing this post of you and me and making all kinds of assumptions, including that I was seeing you behind her back months ago, I was feeling excited at just the notion of you and I together. So, yeah, I felt horrible and conflicted and I couldn’t talk to you about it, because well, you were involved.” You scratched your arm nervously. “Still are. Anyway, I didn’t mean to upset you. Or drag you into any of this. But um, I guess my omissions or white lies are hurting people regardless. So, now you know. I’m sorry.”

Jessie shook her head in a bit of a daze.

“What are you sorry for?” She asked, her voice a bit thin as she continued to process things.

“I just dumped a lot on you. And you didn’t ask for any of it. So I'm sorry. And I really hope we can still be friends.”

“What if I don’t want to be friends?” Jessie asked, resisting a smile that tugged at her mouth. She saw the worry flash across your face and she mercifully went on. “Y/N, I’ve had feelings for you more or less since I met you. And they've never gone away.” The lop-sided smile revealed itself at the way you now looked at her. Jessie blushed a bit and tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. “And, yeah, I got jealous tonight. Which I know isn’t good. But, I finally felt for a moment like maybe we could be something more and then your ex came up. I felt like I lost my chance before it even began.”

You smiled softly at her. “Not at all. I’m still very much interested. If you are. I know you said yesterday your schedule makes it too hard to date, so, if that’s a dealbreaker for you, I can understand.”

Jessie shook her head quickly, eyebrows raised high. “No! Not at all. I was just trying to deflect,” she admitted bashfully. She scratched the back of her neck. “I was just making up an excuse for why I wasn’t dating. I couldn’t very well admit that it was because I was pining for you,” she finished with a dry laugh.

You nudged forward in your chair, knees coming closer to Jessie’s, but not able to quite touch.

“I really had no idea,” you said, a bit of a smile of wonderment on her face. “I mean…there were moments during our friendship where I was hopeful, but I couldn’t let myself think too much about it either. And I meant it when I said you’re one of the sweetest people I know, which I adore about you, but it also makes it hard to know if you’re treating me differently than anyone else.” You finished with a laugh.

“And I was trying really hard to not act differently with you at all before you and [Y/ex] broke up. I guess it’s really only been the last little bit, especially this weekend, where I’ve felt like I could even begin to entertain the thought of anything more,” Jessie explained and you nodded.

“So,” you said slowly and inched closer, “you’re saying your schedule isn’t a dealbreaker, then?”

“Not unless it is for you,” Jessie answered, shifting in her chair to meet you, your legs now touching.

“Even if your schedule's crazy, if she’s the right one for you…,” you trailed off, prompting Jessie to finish.

“She'll understand and it’ll make the times you’re together that much sweeter.”

“Exactly,” you confirmed as you reached out and grasped Jessie’s hand. She readily took it, a lump forming immediately in her throat as her heart began to race. She sat on the very edge of her seat and swallowed her nervousness.

“So, how do you feel about dinner and drinks when we get back to town?” Jessie asked, eyes hopeful.

“Are you asking me on a date, Jessie?” You teased warmly.

Jessie smiled wide and nodded. “I am. Finally.”

The next thing she knew, you leaned in and the moment Jessie had dreamt of for so long was upon her. She closed her eyes and the space between you. She nearly lost her breath the moment your soft lips were upon hers.

You stayed like that for a few moments before you deepened the kiss, which she readily returned. Jessie wasn’t sure how much time passed until you broke apart.

“And that’s a ‘yes’, for the record,” you added. Jessie chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss you once more, a rush of butterflies going through her.

“I was hoping so."

[matan4il]

Buddie 618 meta

Since this could have been the show finale, not just this season’s, I hope you allow me to do a small overview of the ep as a whole with this in mind.

I’m gonna be honest, I want to send ABC a bouquet of flowers, because if this would have been the show’s last ep, it would have been an incredibly disappointing one. Not that it didn’t have merit. 911 has always been about the importance of the good that we do - for ourselves, for our loved ones and for strangers. That’s why the significance of this ep’s emergency was actually great. We got to see the 118 saving themselves, each other and be saved by a complete stranger, who wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for the 118 saving him four seasons earlier. My issue with it is that it would have been better IMO to spread out this emergency over two eps, really give it room to resonate emotionally, in much the same way that Buck’s lightning strike did. That would have also left more airtime for the team’s personal lives to get closure.

When looking at the personal resolution to the 118’s stories, I did like the return to Henren’s adoption via foster care storyline, it needed closure and I’m so happy this is the one it got. I have talked in more than one fandom about the importance of showing how same sex couples ACTUALLY go about becoming parents, so I think this is extra significant. I can’t wait to see this not just being a wink at the end of a show finale, but an actually developed storyline in s7. I also think “Here’s to more chaos and more love” is my fave line in this ep and a perfect summary of the best of 911. I also loved Bathena getting to go on their honeymoon, getting to live carefree for a moment. They absolutely deserve this, and it felt even better thanks to being a callback moment. I also enjoyed seeing Madney seal the details of their wedding. I have loved and enjoyed them since Maddie called Chim cute in 206, they deserve all the happiness and joy, and to me, having to see her twice this season bracing herself for the possibility of losing Buck and / or Chim (in 611 and now) made it even more meaningful to see Madney happy by the end of the ep. Again, I can’t wait to see the actual wedding in s7. It’s gonna melt all of our hearts. Still, all of these resolutions felt a bit rushed and I believe they could have had more of an impact if they were more than blink and you miss it moments during the final montage.

But if those felt underdeveloped, that’s nothing in comparison with Buck and Eddie’s personal lives’ resolutions. Was 911 really going to leave them with the “endgame” of women who literally only showed up as Love Interests in the last couple of eps of the show? If I weren’t a part of fandom, as a casual viewer, I would sincerely not have even remembered Marisol from her emergency, so I would have been confused by her and Eddie’s conversation. In fact, I found it funny that when Eddie wants to text her, it’s presented as a disruption to Bobby’s talk, just like Buck’s call with Kameron. I also thought it was wild that we discover Marisol and Eddie exchanged numbers, because that most certainly wasn’t even hinted at during 617. We clearly saw him walking away, they exchanged a last look, and that was it. Eddie and Marisol are so underdeveloped, we don’t even know how they happened! Did Marisol rush after Eddie? Did he come back to ask her for her number? Did they both decide to take the leap? How did the conversation go? Why was their phone call in 618 so awkward if they had already made their intentions clear when they exchanged numbers? We have zero answers to these questions. This was so forced, so unearned, so underdeveloped, it makes it painfully obvious that it was done just to not leave Eddie heterosexually single. Because I’m sorry, homosubtextually, he’s been married for years.

Which brings me to Buck and Natalia. I gotta roll my eyes at my own 615 meta, where I talked about the meaning of her name connecting her to birth, now we literally had her at the birth of Buck’s bio kid. What a piece of ironic foreshadowing. And yet, despite Natalia being a bit more developed than Marisol, despite the fact that Buck had what was maybe the most invested in personal resolution in the finale, it was still a let down for me. We have mostly seen why Natalia doesn’t suit him in eps 615 and 617. She did come back in the finale, but then so did Taylor in 414. That doesn’t mean either woman fits Buck as a partner. I’m left with the uneasy feeling that we have here a rerun of that s4 finale in terms of the ep shoving both men into relationships with underdeveloped LIs. TBH, the juxtaposition makes 618 worse IMO. Because the comparison with Marisol and Natalia actually makes Ana and Taylor look slightly more invested in! That says a lot about how little 911 cares about the 618 LIs. But it also gives me this bad sense of stepping in place with Buck and Eddie in terms of their romantic development. For example, the fact that Buck ends up tying yet another one of his couches to yet another gf at a way too early stage of their r/s (too much time couldn’t have passed between Kameron giving birth, ruining Buck’s couch, and his conversation about getting a couch together with Natalia since he was just getting around to having the old one looked at to see if it could be saved. He’s once again rushing into commitment with a girl he doesn’t yet know well enough, and who we saw in 615 he was idolizing as truly seeing him, when the truth was very different or she wouldn’t have run out on him in 617. I also can’t tell you why Natalia came back based on the few interactions we’ve seen between them, we haven’t had a single meaningful moment between them so far to explain it, making it clear he’s going in circles. I do suspect Buck doesn’t realize this is him repeating past mistakes, he thinks this is progress given his ability to let go of the baby, which could be an interesting angle to explore in s7. But probably what makes giving Buddie rushed heterosexual “endgame” LIs worse is that every bit of development either man made that isn’t about their love life got sidelined in this ep...

I think in a sense, the underdevelopment of all of Buck and Eddie’s LIs, even the “endgame” ones in what could have been the show’s finale, might actually be a testament to the power of Buddie. If a showrunner knows they could never hope to develop any LI to have with either Buck or Eddie even a tenth of what they have with each other, that can explain not even trying. In fact, we got a reminder of the strong bond between these two men during the call. Buck saved Eddie, just as Eddie saved Buck during the lightning strike. The way they looked at each other, the zoom in on their hands grasping one another, was very emotionally poignant exactly because we have seen these two losing their whole damn minds trying to save the other man on more than one occasion. And Buck used the words “I got you,” a reminder that they will ALWAYS have each other’s back, on and off the field. 

The good news is that ABC has a chance to correct the course of where this finale left off. I do believe the move is being done knowing they would have to rejuvenate 911 if they want it to fare better than on Fox, and I think that giving Buddie the room to become canon would be exactly that. But I have said in more than one of my ask replies that to me, no matter what, this show has been telling the epic love story of Buck and Eddie, with the little family they built. Whether TPTB go through with that canonically or not, this is what they gave us. And nothing will take that away from me. If 911 ends with Buddie being single, I’ll just assume their feelings realization and confessions happen after the end of the show. If 911 ends with “endgame” heterosexual LIs, I’ll just know that those couples eventually break up at some point during the 118’s post-show future, and then Buddie finally get together. Because that’s the story we got over the course of the last 5 seasons, one that only has a single possible resolution, whether the show itself gives it to us or whether it forces us to have to imagine and write it down in fix-it fics ourselves. We ALL know what we saw. We ALL get what Buddie have. We ALL see how that inevitably would lead to them getting together sooner or later, and if it doesn’t happen during the show, then later it is, but it WILL happen. That’s how I look at the show, and that’s why even if this were the last ep of it, it still wouldn’t have destroyed Buddie for me. I hope this POV can help others, too.

~~ I’m gonna be here during the hiatus, if anyone wants to be here with me. Thank you so much to all of you who made s6 a lovelier ride by taking it with me! I’m endlessly grateful for every single one of you. xoxox

~~ (my weekly meta posts) (my Buddie gifs) (all of my content)

~~ My tag list will follow in the reblog, please let me know if you wanna be added/removed here.

~~ Thank you to the amazing @whosoldherout​​ for making this season so much better with your gifs, for these meta posts and in general!

[kyleoreillylover]

Can you please go back to writing for Carmelo🥺🥺 we need it!

Stand on Business

Carmelo Hayes x Fem!Black!Reader

Summary: You think you have no stand in your friends life now that he betrayed Trick and has turned heel, but Carmelo makes it very clear what you mean to him, and stand on business when it comes to you.

tagged: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius @whatdoeseverybodywant @raya-hunter01 @empressdede @judgementdaysunshine @beeposts

a/n: I got you boo <3 not my best work but I hope ya'll like this!!

warnings: cursing, wrestling related violence, a bit of angst, a lil spicy towards the end. Carmelo is 😩

"Fuck!"

Carmelo heard your screams of anger as you came to the back from the ring, your eyes red and tears streaming down your face. He and Trick, who were in conversation, watching the TV, hurried over to you, concern etched on both men's faces as you limped down the hallway.

"Yo, chill out, chill out." Trick went to you first, much to Carmelo's dismay, and went to steady you, but you shrugged him off, your frustration boiling over.

"I can't chill out, Trick! Did you see what happened out there?" you snapped, wiping angrily at your tears. "I had that match won, I had it, and then Tatum interfered and screwed me over!"

You kicked a nearby trash can, sending it clattering across the floor with your good leg, but forgot that your other leg was injured from the match. You winced in pain as the movement aggravated your already sore muscles.

Carmelo rushed to your side, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "Easy, easy now," he said, his voice calm but firm. You let him guide you back to a nearby bench, where you reluctantly sat down, still seething with anger and frustration.

The night had gone to a complete shit show in your eyes. You lost your title to Lyra, Trick and Carmelo lost the dusty cup finals to Bron and Corbin, and now your leg was fucking throbbing with pain.

Trick slightly pushed past Carmelo to get a closer look at your injured leg. "Damn, that looks bad," he remarked, a sympathetic expression on his face, not seeing Carmelo side eye him as he touched your injured leg. You winced again as Trick's touch sent a jolt of pain through your body.

"Yeah, no shit," you muttered, gritting your teeth against the pain. "I'm sorry you guys lost your matches too. Tonight just… sucked."

Carmelo sighed, crouching down in front of you. "Ay, we good. You gon' get that title back, and Trick…" He turned to Trick with a nod, acknowledging their shared disappointment in the night's events.

"We mighta lost, but you gon' whoop Ilja and win the NXT title tonight, aight?" Carmelo's reassurance brought a small glimmer of hope to your eyes, despite the pain and frustration still coursing through your veins.

"Yeah, you're right," you said, taking a deep breath and trying to push past the negativity. "I'll get my rematch and take back what's mine. And Trick, you better believe I'll be cheering you on tonight. Ilja won't know what hit him."

Trick grinned, a glint of determination in his eyes. "You know how it is. I just wish you were there to cheer me on in person, but I understand you need to take care of that leg." He patted your shoulder before bringing you into a quick hug. "But don't worry, I'll make you proud."

Carmelo's eye twitched as he watched Trick's display of affection towards you, but he quickly composed himself, offering a supportive nod. Trick was acting like a lovesick puppy with you, and it was embarrassing. "That's right, Trick. We got your back no matter what," he said, his tone firm and resolute.

You felt a surge of gratitude towards your friends, despite the disappointment of the night's events. They were always there for you, through the wins and the losses, the highs and the lows. And tonight was no different.

"Thanks, guys," you said, managing a small smile despite the pain throbbing through your leg.

You went to speak again, but the speaker crackled to life, interrupting your conversation. It was the sound of the ring announcer's voice, calling Trick's name as his match was about to begin in 15 minutes.

Trick shot you a determined look before standing up and clapping Carmelo on the back. "You gon' be out there to cheer me on though, right? I need my brother to support me."

Carmelo nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, his tone filled with confidence. He turned to you, his eyes filled with concern and something else you couldn't quite decipher. "Want me to take you to medical and then walk you back to the bus? I ain't want you getting hurt any worse than you already are."

You gave Carmelo a appreciative smile, butterflies forming in your stomach as he grabbed your arm to help you stand up. "Yeah, that would be great, thanks," you replied, leaning on him for support as you gingerly put weight on your injured leg.

As Carmelo helped you to your feet, you leaned on him for support, grateful for his steadying presence. Trick gave you a thumbs-up before heading off to prepare for his match, leaving you and Carmelo alone in the hallway.

A couple minutes later, your leg was wrapped in a cast, and you were leaning on Melo as he walked you back to the bus.

Carmelo was acting… different, to say the least after his match with Trick. He seemed more protective than usual, and there was a tension in the air that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

As you limped down the hallway with his arm around you, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from the match, or maybe it was something else entirely.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt too tonight?" You blurted out before you could finish your question, Carmelo cut you off with a small chuckle. "Nah, I'm good, just a little sore from the match. But you, on the other hand…" He glanced down at your injured leg, his expression softening with concern.

"I'm fine, Melo. Seriously." Despite your words, you leaned on Carmelo more heavily, your injured leg protesting with each step. He tightened his grip around you, softly tracing his thumb along your arm, making your skin tingle with awareness. You couldn't help but notice the warmth of his touch, the way his presence seemed to envelop you in a sense of safety and comfort.

As you reached the bus, Carmelo helped you settle into a seat, making sure you were comfortable before taking a seat beside you. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the bustling arena fading into the background.

"Thanks for walking me back," you said, breaking the silence. "I appreciate it. Don't think I could have walked here without your help."

Carmelo shrugged nonchalantly, a small smile playing on his lips. "No problem. Just looking out for my friend, you know?"

Friend. The word echoed in your mind, sending a pang of disappointment through you. You had always harbored deeper feelings for Carmelo, feelings you had never dared to voice out loud. But now, as you sat beside him, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was a chance for something more.

Before you could dwell on the thought any further, Carmelo leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a hushed tone. "Listen, I know tonight didn't go the way we wanted it to, but I want you promise me something." He paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a mixture of determination and something else flickering in their depths.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you met Carmelo's gaze, the intensity of his stare sending a shiver down your spine. "What is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the air between you suddenly charged with an unspoken tension.

Carmelo's expression softened, a hint of vulnerability and darkness flickering on his features. "Promise me you'll never leave me, no matter what I do, no matter what happens."

His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion and unspoken longing. You searched his eyes, seeing a rawness that mirrored your own hidden desires. Without hesitation, you reached out and took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his.

"I promise," You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I'll never leave you, Carmelo. No matter what."

A sense of relief washed over Carmelo's face, his features relaxing as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He squeezed your hand tightly, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin.

"Thank you," he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. He leaned in closer to you, and you held your breath as he brushed the hair out of your face, his touch gentle and tender. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the intensity of his gaze.

But before anything more could happen, the loudspeaker crackled to life once again, announcing Trick's match was about to start. Carmelo reluctantly pulled away, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he stood up.

"I gotta go support Trick," he said, his voice slightly strained. "But just promise me that you'll always remember what I said, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through your chest at Carmelo's words. "I won't forget," you promised, watching as he made his way towards the exit of the bus. As he disappeared from view, you couldn't help but feel a surge of hope mingled with uncertainty swirling inside you.

And then that hope turned into anger as you watched him pummel Trick's knee with a chair, beating his best friend to the ground before storming off, leaving Trick writhing in pain.

Shock and betrayal coursed through you as you struggled to comprehend what you had just witnessed. Your mind reeled with conflicting emotions, torn between loyalty to your friend and the undeniable bond you shared with Carmelo.

You watched on the TV as Carmelo sat on the chair he used to pummel Trick, a look of smug satisfaction on his face as Trick writhed in pain.

"I'm the guy, Trick! I'm him! I'm the one for her, not you!" " He shouted, his voice filled with anger and bitterness. He licked his lips at the mention of you, standing up, a fierce determination burning in his eyes.

You felt a shiver run through you as he winked at the camera, no doubt in your mind that it was directed at you. An angel face with a devilish grin, Carmelo smirked at the camera, his gaze piercing through the screen and sending a chill down your spine.

You honestly didn't know what to do. Should you confront Carmelo about what you saw? Should you stand by Trick's side despite the betrayal? The weight of your decisions hung heavy on your shoulders as you watched the chaos unfold on the screen.

Realization suddenly dawned on you as you realized that Carmelo's actions weren't just about Trick or his vendetta against him. They were about you. You were caught in the middle of a rivalry you never asked to be a part of, torn between two friends who both claimed to care about you.

But as you watched Carmelo's cold, calculating demeanor on the screen, you couldn't help but wonder if you truly knew him at all. Was he the loyal friend you thought he was, or was there a darker side to him that you had never seen before?

You snapped out of your stupid as you saw Melo leave the ring, and went to get up, but realized the cast on your leg made it difficult to move. And you didn't have crutches, Carmelo told the docs that he would help you with whatever you needed. Anger flared within you as you realized Carmelo had purposefully withheld the means for you to leave the bus, trapping you there to witness his betrayal unfold on the screen.

You tried to get up anyways, wincing when you put weight on your injured leg. The pain shot through you like a lightning bolt, and you plopped back down onto the seat with a frustrated sigh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to make sense of everything that had happened.

"Why, Melo?" you whispered to yourself, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Why would you do this?"

But deep down, you already knew the answer. Carmelo's actions spoke volumes, revealing a side of him that you had never seen before.

And as much as it hurt to admit it, you couldn't deny the truth staring you in the face: that you understood where Carmelo was coming from; you could sense the underlying currents of jealousy and possessiveness that had driven him to betray Trick and hurt you in the process. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.

Exactly 10 minutes later, your door handle was being jerked open, but you found yourself unable to look Carmelo in the eye as he entered the bus.

His footsteps were heavy, weighted with guilt and regret — not for hurting Trick, but for possibly hurting you — as he made his way over to you. You could feel his presence looming over you, but you refused to meet his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor.

"Don't be shy now, baby." Carmelo's voice was soft despite the arrogance laced within it.

He sighed as you refused to acknowledge him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, I know what you saw out there… and I know it probably doesn't make any sense right now. But can you at least look at me?"

"No, get the fuck out of my face, Carmelo," You spat out, finally mustering the strength to meet his gaze. The anger in your eyes burned brightly, mirroring the fire within your chest. "You betrayed Trick, you betrayed me. I don't want to hear your excuses."

"I didn't betray you, I betrayed him!" Carmelo interrupted, his tone defensive. "So you're just gonna turn your back on me too?" he continued, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness.

You shook your head, your frustration bubbling over. "You think this is about Trick? It's about you, Carmelo! You hurt him, and you hurt me by doing it. I don't even know if you're gonna attack me next either. You've changed, and I don't know who you are anymore."

Carmelo's eyes burned a whole through you at your words. "You really think I would hurt you? That I would betray you?" he questioned, a mixture of anger and hurt flashing across his face.

"Uh, yeah, considering you just attacked Trick and left him writhing in pain," you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Here, let me make its easier for you."

You propped your leg on the nearby seat, displaying the cast and the pain etched on your face. "I'm injured, vulnerable, and you use that to trap me here and force me to witness your little display in the ring. Real classy, Carmelo."

"You think I planned for you to get hurt so you could witness that? You think I'm that cruel?" Carmelo's voice softened, genuine concern replacing the defensive tone. He took a step closer, but you held up your hand, signaling for him to stay back.

"Don't act like you care about me now. Whatever we had, it's gone," you declared, your voice firm. "You need to leave, Carmelo. I can't be around someone who would do what you did."

Carmelo scoffed at your words, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you gon' act like I never cared about you? After everything we've been through?" he retorted, his frustration boiling over. "You think I did this just for kicks? You mean more to me than you know."

Your heart sped up as he moved closer to you, his eyes boring into yours so intently the it almost felt suffocating. "Stop looking at me like that, Carmelo."

"Like what?" Carmelo's voice was barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in closer. You could feel the tension crackling between you, a magnetic pull drawing you closer despite your better judgment.

"Like you don't hate my guts," you replied, your voice shaky but defiant. "You can't just switch gears and expect everything to go back to normal after what you did out there. You attacked Trick, and now you're standing here acting like it's no big deal."

"Because it's not a big deal, not when it comes to him. He was never the one for you, and I needed to make you see that," Carmelo confessed, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I care about you, more than I should, and seeing you with him… it drove me insane. And I had to do something about it. The only thing I regret is hurting you in the process."

You let out a bitter laugh, disbelief coloring your expression. "You… like me?"

Carmelo smirked at your incredulous reaction. "Yeah, I do. More than I should, and more than I ever intended to admit."

His gaze softened, and he took a step towards you, the tension between you two reaching a breaking point. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions swirling inside you, a mix of anger, betrayal, and a spark of something else that you didn't want to acknowledge. "And I know you like me too, deep down." His face was mere inches away from yours, his eyes searching for any sign of reciprocation.

Your mind raced as you grappled with the revelation. Despite the anger and betrayal, there was an undeniable attraction between you and Carmelo. The air crackled with tension, and you could feel the pull, drawing you closer to him. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you felt a magnetic force urging you to bridge the gap.

But the images of Trick writhing in pain on the TV screen flashed in your mind, grounding you in the harsh reality of the situation. You couldn't ignore the hurt he had caused, the trust shattered in a single, calculated act.

"No, Carmelo," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can't… I can't just forget what you did. It's not that simple."

Carmelo's expression shifted from desperation to resignation. He sighed, stepping back and running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know you need some time, and I get that. But don't think I'm giving up on you, on us. I'll give you all the time you need, but don't think for a second that I don't care about you."

You remained silent, processing the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded in such a short span. Carmelo turned to leave, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the situation. As he reached the door, he paused, casting a final glance in your direction.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words hanging in the air between you. "I never wanted to hurt you. But I'm too selfish to let you go. Just remember that, baby."

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone in the bus with a mix of conflicting emotions. The images of Trick's pain and Carmelo's betrayal played on a loop in your mind. The pain in your leg seemed to pale in comparison to the ache in your heart.

But the fact you still wanted Carmelo made you question your own feelings and judgments. Why do you still find yourself drawn to him despite the hurt he caused? Was there a part of you that couldn't fully let go of the connection you shared?

Only time would be able to tell.

--------------------------------------------

Over the next few days, you ignored Carmelo's calls and messages, determined to give yourself the space and time needed to process the whirlwind of emotions. The tour continued, each day bringing new challenges and distractions, yet the weight of the recent events lingered in the back of your mind.

Trick, too, had been distant since the incident. The camaraderie that once defined your group seemed to have shattered, leaving an awkward tension hanging in the air. It pained you to see the friendships unravel, all because of a tangled web of emotions and betrayal.

You told all of this to Lash and Jakara, your fellow wrestlers and best friends, the next week at NXT, and you knew they would be honest with you.

"I just… Carmelo's been calling and texting me, and I don't know what to do," you admitted, looking at Lash and Jakarta with a mix of confusion and vulnerability. "I can't shake off what he did, but at the same time, there's this part of me that wants to understand."

Lash and Jakara exchanged glances before Jakara spoke up. "Look, I'ma be real. You ignoring him cause you understand where hes coming from and you mad at yourself for not being able to fully push him away, right?"

You sighed, nodding in acknowledgment. "Yeah, it's like I know he messed up, but there's this weird pull. I can't explain it."

Lash leaned forward, her eyes filled with concern. "Y/N, sometimes we're drawn to people who are bad for us. It's like a magnetic force that's hard to resist. You just gotta either fuck his brains out and see how you feel after or cut him out completely. There's no in-between when it comes to guys like that."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Lash's straightforward advice. "I don't think that'll work, but thanks for the advice, Lash."

"Oh come on, we see the way ya'll eye fuck each other." Lash teased, earning a playful shove from Jakara. "But seriously, Y/N, you gotta figure out what you want. If Carmelo's worth the risk, then go for it. But if he's just gonna bring you more pain, then it might be best to cut ties and move on."

You nodded, grateful for your friends' honesty and support. "Thanks, guys. I'll think about it. But for now, I just need some time to clear my head."

Lash and Jakara nodded in understanding, offering you comforting smiles before you left, bumping into a rock solid figure as you exited the locker room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry-" You went to apologize before realizing it was Carmelo standing in front of you. His eyes searched yours, a mix of hope and apprehension in his gaze.

"You look good." He commented, and your own eyes looked him up and down, taking in the way his leather jacket made him look so fucking hot, and his dark eyes held a certain intensity that you found both captivating and unsettling. Guess this is what Lash meant when she said you both eye fuck each other.

You took a step back, creating a physical distance between you and Carmelo. "We need to talk," he said, his voice low and earnest.

"I don't think there's much left to say, Carmelo," you replied, crossing your arms defensively. The memories of his betrayal and Trick's pain were still fresh in your mind, making it difficult to fully trust him.

"You said you needed some time. I gave you that time." Carmelo spoke, his words carrying a mixture of frustration and vulnerability.

"Yeah, a few days don't magically erase what happened," you retorted, feeling a surge of anger bubbling up. "You can't just expect everything to go back to normal after what you did."

"You think I'ma hurt you?" Carmelo studied your expression, the intensity in his eyes never wavering before realization kicked in. "You think that cause I betrayed Trick, I'ma betray you too?"

You didn't respond immediately, unsure of how to put your conflicting emotions into words. Carmelo's expression softened, and he took a step closer, a desperate plea in his eyes.

"I would never hurt you. Anybody but you." He knew you had trust issues, that you had been hurt before, and that's why you were hesitant to fully let him back in. But he was willing to fight for you, to prove that he was worth the risk.

You sighed, feeling torn between the lingering hurt and the undeniable attraction you still felt towards Carmelo. "I want to believe you, but I can't."

Carmelos' gaze darkened even more at your words, determination burning in his eyes. "Then I'ma show you that you wrong. That you tryna pretend like you don't still care about me, but I know you do." He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know you feel it too, that spark between us that never truly went away."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of apprehension and longing swirling inside you. "Melo…"

But Carmelo's hand interjected, gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, internally smiling. You called him Melo again.

"After tonight, if you still ain't sure about us, I'll respect that. But I promise you, that you won't be able to ignore what we have." His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed himself against you, his lips tantalizingly close to yours.

For a moment, you were frozen, caught between the pull of desire and the fear of getting hurt again. But then, you felt it—the undeniable chemistry between you and Carmelo, the magnetic force that seemed to draw you closer together.

Then Carmelo pulled away, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a step back, leaving you breathless and wanting more. "Think about it, baby," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'll be waiting."

With that, Carmelo turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind racing with a million thoughts and emotions. You watched him go, feeling torn between the familiar comfort of what you had with Trick and the electrifying attraction you felt towards Carmelo.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for you and Carmelo. Would you be able to move past the hurt and betrayal, or would you continue to be drawn to him like a moth to a flame?

You tried to find your answer in Carmelo as you watched him make his way to the ring, a chorus of boos following him as he stepping into the ring, sitting down into the same chair he used to attack Trick. The crowd expressed their disapproval with loud jeers and boos.

As Carmelo sat in the ring, a smirk playing on his lips, he glanced up at the screen, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment. You could feel the intensity of his gaze even from across the arena, a silent promise lingering between you.

"The villain is the villain in the story if the hero is telling the story." Carmelo smirked into the camera, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "But what if the hero ain't telling the whole story? What if there's more to it than meets the eye?"

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of boos. But as you watched him sit there, a smirk playing on his lips, you couldn't help but wonder if there was truth to his words.

Maybe Carmelo wasn't the villain you had made him out to be. Maybe there was more to his story, more to his actions than you could ever understand. You thought you could never understand someone that would betray his best friend, but as you watched Carmelo in the ring, a flicker of doubt crept into your mind.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a side to Carmelo that you had never seen before. And maybe, just maybe, you were willing to give him a chance to prove himself.

He continued to gloat and smirk, eyes a flame with confidence and defiance as he addressed the crowd, his words carrying a weight of truth that sent a chill down your spine. He looked so sexy like that, leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes smoldering with intensity as he addressed the crowd. Despite the overwhelming boos and jeers from the audience, Carmelo remained unfazed, his confidence unwavering as he spoke his truth. It was like he was talking to you directly, his words piercing through the noise of the crowd and reaching straight into your heart.

"Trick, you were always my hype man. But Y/N, you were my heart. Trick, you were not on my level. But Y/N, you were always my equal." Carmelo's words echoed in your mind, resonating with a truth that you couldn't deny. Despite everything that had happened, despite the hurt and the betrayal, there was still a connection between you and Carmelo that ran deeper than words could express.

The audience started to boo even louder, making Carmelo laugh sexily, a deep chuckle escaping his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he addressed the crowd with a smug grin.

"You think Trick is gonna come out and whoop me! I whooped him once, I'll do it again. but Y/N, you know better than anyone that he was never the one for you. He was just holding you back from what you truly deserve." Carmelo's eyes locked onto the camera, his words a direct challenge to both Trick and, seemingly, to you.

The crowd's reaction intensified, the boos and jeers reaching a deafening level. Carmelo seemed to revel in the chaos, his confidence unwavering as he continued to speak his truth.

"Y/N, you deserve someone who's on your level, someone who can match your intensity, someone who can give you everything you need. And deep down, you know I'm the one who can do that for you." Carmelo's voice dropped to a seductive tone, his eyes burning with a fiery passion that sent a shiver down your spine.

You licked your lips nervously, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through you. Carmelo's words struck a chord deep within you, stirring up feelings and desires that you had tried so hard to suppress. Despite the hurt and betrayal, there was a part of you that couldn't deny the truth in Carmelo's words.

You saw your phone buzzing, and Trick's contact popped on the screen, but you declined the call. You knew what you needed to do.

And when Carmelo came back from his promo, all confidence and swagger, you made your decision.

You approached him, grabbed him by his jacket, and kissed him passionately, the electricity between you igniting into a fiery passion that neither of you could deny. Carmelo responded eagerly, his hands finding their way to your waist as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours.

The world seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in the intensity of the moment, the heat of Carmelo's touch searing through you like a wildfire.

Despite the chaos and uncertainty surrounding you, there was a sense of clarity in this moment, a knowing that you were exactly where you were meant to be. He might be the villain of the story, but he was your villain, and you were ready to embrace whatever the future held for you and Carmelo.

You moaned into Melo's mouth as he bit your lip, the kiss growing more passionate by the second. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. It was like a wildfire had been ignited between you, consuming everything in its path.

"I.. told… you." Carmelo mumbled against your lips, trying to get a sentence out, but it was hard with you kissing him so passionately. You pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you smirked at him.

"Told me what?" you teased, enjoying the way his breath hitched as you trailed kisses along his jawline.

Carmelo's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed at you, his hands gripping your waist possessively. "That I'm the one for you, baby. Always have been." With that, he crashed his lips back against yours, the kiss igniting a firestorm of passion between you.

You giggled against his lips, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through you as you lost yourself in the intensity of the moment.

"Then prove it to me," you challenged between kisses, your voice breathless with desire.

Carmelo's lips curled into a wicked smirk as he pulled away slightly, his dark eyes burning with a fierce determination. "Oh, I intend to," he replied, his voice husky with desire.

With that, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you towards the nearest private room, his lips trailing hot kisses along your neck as he whispered promises of passion and pleasure.

Let's just say... he definitely proved himself to you that night, leaving no doubts in your mind about his feelings or intentions.

[starrylothcat]

Hey Starry! Wasn't sure if those prompts you shared were an invitation for requests, but I thought I'd shoot my shot.

❛ i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do. ❜

With either Fives, Jesse, or Kix? Or someone else if you're not feeling them. And a f!reader if that's okay. I'm a sucker for first-time sex.

Feel free to ignore!

First Time

Pairing: Jesse x Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Jesse having been dating for awhile and you decide to go all the way with him.

Warnings: Smut, NSFW. 18+. PiV sex, virgin reader’s first time, some cuteness and fluffy ending. A hint of possessive Jesse.

WC: ~2300

A/N: Sorry this took so long, anon! The holiday season has been a whirlwind for me and I’m finally at a place where I have time to write! I’m also a sucker for first-time sex, I hope this is what you had in mind. Enjoy some Juicy Jesse! This is also my first time writing him so I hope I did him some justice 😊

When Jesse escorted you back to your apartment after your dinner date, you knew you wouldn’t be watching a Holomovie like you suggested.

You and the ARC trooper have been dating for a bit now, taking it slow and getting to know one another.

You’ve had short-term relationships in the past, but they never seemed to work out. You were getting ready to give up and knew trying to find a partner during a war no less was a silly dream.

When Jesse waltzed into your life, though, his boyish charm and resolute dedication to his brothers won you over quickly. You never expected to date a soldier, but when Jesse asked you out for a caf, the rest was history.

Everything was so easy with Jesse, and you didn’t want to rush it or mess it up. And he didn’t either.

As your relationship progressed and became more serious and physical, you told him you were technically a virgin, not yet going all the way with a partner.

Jesse just smiled and kissed you, saying you could go as slow as you needed. He would never pressure you into something you weren’t ready for.

You had barely started the Holomovie when Jesse’s lips were on yours, fervent and passionate, taking the breath out of one another’s lungs with each pass of your lips and caress of one another’s bodies.

You were soon on your bed, stripped of both your clothes, kissing and exploring, mumbling praise and pleasured sighs, basking in one another’s arousal.

Jesse had just finished satisfying you with his mouth and fingers, something he took great pride in and would happily do all night if you let him.

Jesse smiled into your neck pressing his rigid length into your thigh, waiting for you to catch your breath after your orgasm.

This is when you’d return the favor, taking him in your mouth or hand, fulfilling him just as much as he pleasured you.

You had other plans, though. You wanted him inside you. You were ready for the next step.

“Jesse…I want you. I want all of you.” You whispered, lightly tracing his facial tattoo as he locked eyes with yours.

“Are you sure?” He asked, studying your face, making sure he was understanding what you were asking.

“I am sure, Jesse.” You smiled, still gently tracing his face. “We’ve been together for a while now and…I want my first time to be with you. I’m ready if you are.”

“Yes, Maker, yes I am.”

Jesse closed his eyes, kissing you deeply, his heart fluttering at the thought, both from his nerves and the trust you were bestowing upon him.

When he pulled away for a breath, he also pulled himself away from you.

“Let me know if you want to stop at any time.”

You nodded. “I will. Don’t worry Jesse.”

“I can sit against the headboard, so you can be in control.” Jesse nipped at your neck, the realization of him burying himself inside your soft, beautiful pussy exciting him beyond measure.

You agreed, adjusting yourself so you sat on his lap, his back against the headboard on your bed.

You slowly rubbed your slick pussy on his thick cock, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. You both moaned, and Jesse took hold of your plush hips.

You could feel how hot and ready Jesse’s cock was for you, precum dribbling from his swollen tip.

You needed him inside you.

You grasped his bulky shoulders as you lined yourself up, pressing his tip to your entrance.

You sunk on him, slowly. Your breath hitched as he entered you, immediately feeling the intrusion. Jesse let out a low moan as your velvety walls enveloped him.

“That’s right, baby. Take your time.” Jesse rubbed your back as you sank lower, adjusting to his size. You were used to his fingers, but they were still nowhere near the length or girth of his cock.

“Jesse,” you quietly gasped, stopping momentarily, almost bottoming out.

“If it’s too much, we can stop-“ Jesse looked worried, bringing his hands to cup your face.

“N-no.” You smiled, kissing him gently on the lips. “I want to keep going.”

He nodded, letting out a low moan as you fully took him, a sound that sent a jolt of desire straight to your core.

“Kriff, baby, you feel amazing.” His pupils were blown, his hands now tenderly cupping your breasts, squeezing and kneading as he let you take the lead.

You gripped his shoulders, moving your hips a little, still adjusting to him inside you. You weren’t entirely sure what to expect, but it was better than any fantasy. You felt so full, so close to him. Connected not just physically, but emotionally as well.

“You feel amazing, too.”

Pleasure was beginning to override the discomfort of his girth inside you, allowing your body to relax and focusing your mind on how amazing you felt.

You honed in on how good his fingers were as they played with your breasts and his shallow breathing through his nose as you tightened around him.

You gave him a coy smile, moving slightly.

“Ah, Jesse, you’re so good inside me.”

Jesse groaned in approval, latching his lips to your nipple, sucking and nibbling as you began to slowly ride him.

“So wet…so warm…” He moaned into the flesh of your breasts as he reveled in everything that were you. “Wanna stay like this forever…” Jesse locked eyes with you. “You feel incredible around me.

Every delicious sound that left your lips as you rolled your hips on him stoked the fire that was burning in his body. You felt like heaven.

“So perfect.” Jesse let out a ragged breath. “You're taking me so well, mesh’la.”

Jesse buried his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around you, inhaling your scent and gently bucking his hips up into you.

You moaned, riding him faster, focusing on how his thick cock felt sliding in and out of you.

Pleasure was now mounting, electric zaps of bliss up your spine every time you sunk on his cock, taking him deeper each time.

Jesse was now moving too, matching your pace and carefully thrusting up into you.

“Tell me if it becomes too much, okay?” Jesse increased his thrusts, sinful sounds leaving his lips as you involuntarily clenched around him.

“It’s good, you’re good, so good Jesse…” Your thighs were beginning to burn, his cock now nudging something deep inside you that made your eyelids flutter.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to keep up this position for long, though, the strain in your thighs from straddling his thick ones beginning to distract you from pleasure.

“Jesse…can we change positions?” You slowed down, easing the tension in your legs.

“Anything for you, mesh’la.” Jesse nodded as you climbed off him, laying on your back. “As long as I get to be back inside you.”

He hovered over you, resting his weight on his forearms around your head.

“Ready?” He kissed your jaw, waiting for your okay to enter you, sliding his cock through your folds.

You nodded, whispering a hoarse “Yes,” desire flooding your senses wholly.

Jesse carefully pressed back into you, both of you sighing at the sensation.

He didn’t move at first, still looking down at you.

“What?” You asked, bashful under his worshipful gaze.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Jesse murmured, kissing your neck, sucking gently at the spot he knew drove you wild. “So, so beautiful. Your sounds, your body, your everything…”

You mewled at his praise, feeling him twitch inside you as you clenched around him, earning a deep rumble from him, as well as a breathless chuckle.

“Kriff, baby if you keep that up I’m not gonna last…barely holding on as it is.”

Jesse pressed hot kisses from your throat to your jawline, then finally to your lips which he captured in a heated kiss. Your tongues danced as his hips began to move, slowly and with purpose.

You arched yourself up into him, your soft whimpers becoming louder and more desperate moans of his name.

Jesse couldn’t get enough of how your body was reacting to him, how your nails were digging into his shoulder blades, your ankles locked around his waist as you both ascended higher in your shared ecstasy.

Your bodies were perfectly entwined, and Jesse felt something bubble inside him, a possessiveness he hadn’t felt before. As he witnessed your pleasured expressions, feeling the most intimate parts of you that no one had ever felt before, he could barely hold on to his control any longer.

Jesse gripped your hips, pressing his mouth to yours in a passionate, frenzied kiss.

He moaned your name, resting his muscular forearms around your head, his cock hitting deeper than his fingers and tongue have ever been able to go.

“I love that no one else has seen you like this…” Jesse panted against your lips, beginning to move faster, sliding almost out of you, before thrusting in until his hips met yours. “…that no one else has felt you before, been inside you.”

“Ah - Jesse, I’m yours, I’m all yours…!” Your mind was fuzzy with pleasure, his sexy words bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

His voice was deep, desperate, cut with moans as he quickened the snap of his hips into you.

“They don't get to have you, but I do.”

Jesse’s words shot white-hot liquid desire through your veins, his pelvis providing just enough friction to bring you close to your release, but you needed more.

“I need you, please, Jesse I want to come!”

Jesse knew what you were asking for, and didn’t hesitate to place a practiced finger on your swollen and sensitive clit. He rubbed tight circles just the way you liked it, stars appearing in your vision.

“Come for me, baby. Need you.” His voice was husky and deep, laced with desperation as he brought you mind-numbing pleasure.

Your body shuddered beneath him, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter, the lewd sounds of where you were connected filling the room pairing with the even more lewd sounds leaving your lips.

“Jesse, I’m gonna, I’m so close…I want to come for you…I…” You gasped out as Jesse laced his free hand with yours above your head. You couldn’t believe how good he felt, how good he made you feel.

You know he had a few short flings in the past like you did, but this was different. It was different for both of you. Jesse had never felt so close, so in tune with a partner before, and you hadn’t either. The realization was almost overwhelming for both of you.

“Come for me, baby, that’s it, just like that.” Jesse’s voice brought you back to reality for a short second, and with a final circle of his finger, your orgasm crashed over your body.

Waves of intense pleasure spread from your spine to the tips of your toes and fingers, accentuated by his cock driving into you again and again.

You weren’t sure how many times you cried out his name as you rode your high, never feeling so connected and cared for as Jesse pressed his lips to yours again, swallowing your broken cries.

“Wh-where?” Jesse could barely speak, his peak nearing dangerously close as your eyelids fluttered open to meet his, bringing his hand from your clit to entwine with your other.

You looked like an angel, flushed and blissed out, your eyes holding nothing but adoration for him.

“Inside, Jesse, please come inside me.”

With a final snap of his hips, he stilled and gave you everything he had, not able to hold back upon hearing those words breathlessly whispered from your swollen lips.

You felt Jesse pulse and fill you with his warm release, his muscles shaking against your body as he hoarsely moaned your name into the side of your neck.

You whispered his name, tracing his back as he relaxed on top of you, his hips slowing as his cock softened, but not quite yet ready to leave you.

You lay there, holding one another. Jesse lifted his head to look at you, smiling. He carefully pulled out, loving your quiet whimper at the loss of him.

Jesse flopped to your side, pulling you into his chest.

“Was that okay?” He sounded nervous, unsure. “I didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“Jesse, it was amazing.” You pecked his lips, nestling your head on his chest. He let out a breath, nuzzling closer to you.

“It really was.”

Jesse kissed the top of your head.

Jesse sat up, lifting himself off the bed. You watched as his tanned, thick body disappeared into your refresher. He emerged a few moments later with a warm, damp towel and you could hear the sound of your bath running.

Jesse carefully cleaned you up before cuddling back with you on the bed.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He mumbled, absentmindedly drawing circles on your arm with his hand.

“I know.” You smiled, his laugh at your response reverberating in his chest.

“You mean the world to me, mesh’la. I’m glad we could share this together. Thank you for trusting me.”

“It’s more than trust, Jess. You mean the world to me, too, and that’s why I wanted to take the next step in our relationship with you. At least that’s how I see it.” You blushed, hoping you weren’t moving too quickly for him.

Jesse wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “That’s how I see it, too.” His voice was quiet, but absolutely sincere. “I’ve never felt this way toward anyone before.”

You touched your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

“That makes two of us.”

Jesse grinned, his forehead touching yours.

You sat there for a moment as the bath warmed up, basking in new feelings that you knew would only grow from here.

The TL: @crosshairlovebot @sev-on-kamino @kimiheartblade @wizardofrozz @clonemedickix @sunshinesdaydream @kashasenpai @freesia-writes @multi-fan-dom-madness @aconstructofamind @dreamie411 @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @starqueensthings @idontgetanysleep @secretthegriffin @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @secondaryrealm @littlemissmanga @maybethatfanfictionwriter @pb-jellybeans @wanderer-six @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @523rdrebel @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @sleepingsun501 @coraex @cw80831 @dangraccoon @mythical-illustrator @eternal-transcience @the-cantina @nahoney22 @moonlightwarriorqueen @skellymom @reader6898

Dividers by the ever amazing and lovely @dystopicjumpsuit

[yanderenightmare]

Since I just realized you also write for JJK, may I please ask how is Megumi in bed?👉🏼👈🏼 Thank you beforehand!

Fushiguro Megumi

TW: yandere, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, mental instability, mentions of injury, abuse, possessiveness, he's a bad one

POSSESSIVE DOM

He looks at you with the most deceptively pretty expression.

Long black lashes rest heavily, casting jagged shadows over the dark look in his deep blue eyes. That look of… you’re not entirely sure what, but you’d say you’ve seen it before on people who’ve found something they’ve been long in search of. A certain mix of relief and a building resolution to keep it close so as never to lose it. 

Coveting.

He would make you shy if he didn’t make you so scared. If behind that look of softness and adoration, there wasn’t something so very sick.

But Megumi makes you feel like a plant more than a person. 

He makes you feel so fragile. Not in how he can break you upon contact if he wanted to, but in how he handles you as though you’re but a dainty little flower, nothing but sheet-thin petals upon a brittle stem in the pot he’s placed you for your own good and protection. 

But you know better than to think he won’t hurt you if he feels the need to. The scars from when the hellhounds sank sharp unforgiving canines into your legs after hunting you down the first time you managed to run away from him never seem to heal - as well as the other million claw marks and nicks you have decorating your skin from the several additional failed attempts at keeping yourself from him.

It’s best you not give him the need to and stay put while he disillusions himself into believing that you’re truly his.

He barely speaks to you, barely regards you as something to talk to, eyeing you almost medicinally while stroking his hands up and down your smooth skin. Undressing you slowly - like it would be a shame to rush - like he’s worried he’d miss something if he went any faster. 

His soft fingertips glide ever-so-gently over your collarbones, feathering as though in mockery of what brutality he’s committed before, drawing the thin spaghetti straps of your dress down your arms until it slips off your hips into a little pool circling your feet.

He’s so silent you fear making a sound, scared it would annoy him while he concentrates on mapping every last bit of you under keen eyes, dragging his long digits upon your curves and over flecks of random beauty marks and scars he’s made that make up your fine body.

And it feels exactly like how one would handle a plant, holding it gently and eyeing it for disease or distress.

He’ll push his lips to your temple and give you a kiss, nose in your hairline while he breathes in and sighs heavily, his hands rubbing your shoulders while you struggle to keep your shaking to yourself and the tremble on your lip between your teeth.

He’ll stay close while undressing, eyes on yours while revealing his lean toned perfectly cut limbs, as though chiseled by a flawless hand and painted a fair unblemished alabaster like a statue carved in the image of a deity.

You feel spoiled next him, not ugly but... ruined.

You expect him to say something - he always looks like he might - but instead, he’ll just stare while laying you out flat with your back to the mattress. Kissing you tenderly and touching you just so. 

He might give himself away and squeeze your thigh a bit rough once sheathing himself, but it’ll quickly fall away to a gentle caress again while promptly coming to kiss the place as though to say sorry. Again, as though in mockery of all those times he’d done so much worse without even batting an eye.

He’ll be nothing but silent and slow, lipping at your skin without teeth. Touching you in the same fashion a shadow touches the ground - without a lasting print - just cold.

That’s how he is, most times. 

But there are days he’s different… 

Days you question if he’s at all the same person. As though someone or something else had been patiently lurking within the shadows inside of him, something that, on some days, grows tired of the dark and wants out to play.

On those days, you really do feel like nothing but a flower beneath a boot. Plucked - no, ripped from the ground - roots snapping beneath you while your stem’s strangled tight in a chokehold, soft juicy flesh so easily marred and marked when his teeth come out of hiding, making their presence known as he bites out distorted laughs that make you go so dizzy -reeling in shock- trying to wrap your mind about how in hell it can be the same man.

When he’s like that, he doesn’t treat you like you’re something to be neatly watered and nurtured but as though you’re something finally ready to be eaten.

He’s usually so calculated with everything, but it becomes as though his usual need for perfection loses all meaning, resulting in split-second impulses based purely on eager desires of wanton lust. And you can see it in his eyes -the pang of manic hunger- as though you’re something to be devoured.

It gives you such shivers, but it’s not really that he’s so rough that gets you…

What gets you is how loud he suddenly becomes. His arms snaked about your waist, holding you up with his hand on your throat, clutching it in a bruising deadlock as he rams into you from behind, his teeth on your shoulder and neck and cheek and ear -anything he can bite into and mark- growling all types of possessive words stating his claim on you. 

That if anyone ever dares try and take you from him, he won’t think twice before setting his hell hounds loose and making you watch as they tear the waste limb from limb, splitting flesh and breaking bones until only a lumpy puddle of pulp and blood is left.

And you, in his shadow, where you belong.

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 8

part 7 | mistletoe magic - - - - -

🎆 | new years

Kara was late.

She was more than late.

Maybe that’s why she took the long way back to National City; first cutting down the Appalachian before soaring over the long expanse of Texas then diverting toward the Grand Canyon and finally getting lost over the Rockies.

Hours had passed. Too many, by Kara’s calculations. Even before her detour, midnight had come and gone. Fireworks rang in a new chapter and exploded in bright, bursting colors overhead as a taunting reminder. Because Supergirl didn’t have time for things like new beginnings no matter how much Kara Danvers wanted it. 

Because Kara was late.

She was more than late.

Now instead of fireworks, the expanse of darkness was broken by glistening stars in a cloudless sky. The silence was broken by the moaning of snowy mountains and the raging of rushing waters and the howling of winds, but that orchestra of sounds did nothing to distract from the thoughts rattling in her own mind.

Thoughts that hadn’t quieted for nearly two weeks.

It was in this state of unchanged unsettledness that she resigned herself toward the skyline she called home; a home where parties had ended and resolutions were made and the chance of a midnight kiss had passed.

Because Kara was late.

She was more than late.

Maybe that was why she lingered high above the city’s tallest penthouse littered with forgotten balloons, confetti, empty champagne bottles, and champagne problems. Because how could Kara hold it against the innocent lives caught in a burning building for the heartbreak her life was on the cusp of?

She watched a lone silhouette weave around the couch and chairs, stacking plates and collecting flutes. And oh how that silhouette looked stunning, dressed down into a familiar sweatshirt with cuffs bunched at the wrists and a stark contrast to the gown Kara knew Lena was wearing at the strike of midnight.

Because Kara was late.

She was more than late.

“Here, let me get these.”

Maybe it was the guilt and regret and ache to undo the last three hours of absence that made Kara miss the second silhouette and the second heartbeat and the way the first silhouette gave in to the offered help.

Plates were stacked in companionable silence until surfaces were cleared and the memory of an evening Kara had no memory of vanished, leaving only Lena and Andrea.

Maybe it was the denial and blind hope and arrogance that she still had a chance that made Kara miss the soft music playing through the penthouse and the way Andrea’s hips swayed to the tempo and the way she stepped into Lena’s personal space and the way she led her into the open area still littered with forgotten bits of glitter and color and spun her round and round and made Lena’s somber expression break into a gentle smile and sent a pair of hands that were not Kara’s securely around her waist.

But there Andrea was, standing in for a role Kara wanted to play.

“Any New Year’s resolutions?” Andrea asked mid-spin, and it made Kara’s chest ache.

“You know I don’t.”

Andrea hummed thoughtfully. “I guess hoping and resolutions are different.”

“That isn’t…” Lena began, halting mid-step and posture stiffening. “It’s different, Andy.”

And for a moment Kara found her own hope again in the way Lena stepped backward. It was shattered when Andrea followed.

“I know, I know,” Andrea replied, and the softness felt real - just as real as the way her hands tugged Lena back into her space. “That was tactless.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t,” Andrea said, a hand rising to cup Lena’s downturned face, “and I’m sorry. I just worry.”

“There’s no need.”

“Isn’t there?”

“Andy-”

“You can’t hold your breath forever,” Andrea whispered in a way that would feel intimate to Lena but was a megaphone in Kara’s ears. 

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

And Lena didn’t deny it this time with words. She confessed it with a broken sob. An exhale.

Kara was late.

She was more than late.

- - - - - - part 9 | dumplings

[demigodickrider]

indefinitely, forever ☆ okkotsu yuuta! [1/3]

okkotsu yuuta (post shibuya) x fem!reader click here for: part one | part two | part three - no spoilers from the manga, dwdw ;) - alternative universe where yuuta is an SCP? - [18+] three-part series, 10k+ words in total

(note: not proofread, expect grammar mistakes) warning: contains descriptions of blood, yuuta is a bit OOC/has that gojo satoru influence, romance, happy ending but contains slight angst and comfort, 2nd person pov, reader swears like a sailor

"Slacking off already?"

You scramble into standing at the authoritative tone. You could feel the heavy rush of blood creeping up on your face, and the hammering of your heart in your ears. It pounds almost painfully against your chest, lungs contracting and expanding fast; both out of fear and embarrassment, with the latter being more prominent across your lethargic features as you stared up at your supervisor.

Nanami leers down at you. Disappointment is etched all across his face, followed by a knowing sigh. "I expected better."

"S-Sorry, sir." You apologize profusely, bowing down. The bright red nametag dangles from your neck and you can't help but notice how your leather shoes had worn out a long time ago. "I must've dozed off somehow. It will not happen again."

"Might a coffee help?"

You raise your head to see a paper coffee cup offered to you, light steam still rising from within. While Nanami had been nothing but ridiculously strict from the start, he was considerate enough to check in on you every once in a while. You accepted the coffee in his stead with a smile.

"Thanks, boss. I'll keep watch."

The blonde man simply hums in response. He leaves as quickly as he came, leaving you alone to watch the hallways.  You see him walk down, turn a curve- and then he's out of your sight.

You lean back, the chair creaking as you did. Working as a security officer was more lackluster than you thought it would be; movies portrayed tales of saving and glory, but this was nothing like it. The hours were long and boring, lasting 12 in total. Every four hours you were required to fuck off your post and switch to another one down the hall. Sometimes you regretted signing the NDA that never once stated just how large the underground facility was, and just how much area coverage you'd have to keep watch single handedly.

Not to mention, the anomalies that lie within.

See, the Foundation had just three main jobs for you: Observe, Check-up and Report. The comically huge button was right next to you, shining in all of its glory and always just a stretch away in any case of a problem.

You flicked between CCTV channels. Some displayed the outer areas, hallways going beyond your line of sight and others within the confined cells of those you’re keeping watch about. Most of the anomalies here are kept in solitary confinement. You’ve had your fair share of jumpscares when an entity approached too close to the camera, slobbering all up against the lense; before your screen flickers and the anomaly returns to its restful state. Oftentimes it leaves a foggy residue and a prisoner would be assigned to clean it up.

And more than often, they die doing it.

But with a clean camera and one less burden on the face of Earth— who really gives a shit? Certainly not you. Certainly not when the pay was so damn good you spent it on a trip to Bali the first month you made bank. And certainly not for…

Is that a walking person?

You thrust forward in your seat, eyes glued onto the screen as if you could make his face out in any better resolution than the crappy screen could ever do you service. The choices linger in your head: should you approach or report? One choice would lead to the individual’s death and the other might just lead you to yours.

So you took the third option: to talk to them.

There’s a static in the speaker. You tap the mic briefly, earning the attention of the stranger. They stop mid-track, head turning up and staring almost right into your very eyes, as if they could see through you.

“Identify yourself, or you will be detained.”

Person puts both hands up. “My name’s Yuta.” The voice of a man, no doubt, but you kept your suspicions still. “I woke up in a room and the door was unlocked, so I left. Where am I?”

“What room?” Your tone sharpened in inquiry.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how I ended up here.”

“Identify yourself.” You repeat, customary of the protocol you learned before you started the job. Half of you thought of contacting Nanami; but it would risk him encountering the mysterious man. On the other hand, you couldn’t just let an unknown person roam around the facility. Much less: what if this person was an entity?

A shapeshifter of sorts, perhaps? You wouldn’t really know considering the fact that half the anomalies here are capable of human speech.

He stays silent for a while.

You repeat, “I said, identify yourself. I will give you 10 seconds to prove your humanity before I hand you over to the authorities.”

“Fuck.” Yuta mumbles, running a hand through his hair. Prove my humanity? A million thoughts ran through his head at once. Clearly, this place he had wandered into is nothing human-like. Rather, it's designed like a prison. He rummages through his pockets— nothing. All items that he brought with him prior to being caught had been confiscated. 

The countdown had started.

10

9

8

7

… “Wait,” He thought of an idea. “I can prove to you that I’m human. You can touch me. That’ll be enough, no?”

You sneer at his idea, “No physical contact.”

Yuta sighs, looking down at his uniform. At least he had his outfit intact, which means that they never intended to strip him bare at all. The man pursed his lips in a line, hands holding onto the clasp of his jacket.

6

5

4

3

2

1

… “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?!” You yell at him, dashing to the door. You were outside just in time before Yuta could fully undress himself. His hands stop fumbling with the belt of his pants. At a loss for words, you could only watch as he drops his shirt back over his body, leaving little to imagination. 

He cranes his head up at you with a knowing smile, “Have I now proven my humanity, ma’am?”

“Nudity is strictly prohibited in this facility!”

His eyes fold into crescents at the revelation, “I’m sorry. That was the only solution I could think of. Can you show me the way out?”

You folded your arms, “No.”

“I thought so. May I at least use the restroom?”

“No.”

Yuta’s eyes drift upwards, deep in thought. “If so, will I ever make it out of here?”

“That depends,” You answer, crossing your arms together. The taser strapped onto your belt felt heavy and dangerous— more than usual. Something about Yuta just didn’t feel right, and your gut instincts claw at you to run. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The man says nothing, merely watching every step you take as you head back into the control panel.

Your hand rests on the red button, eyes never wavering from the man that stood below you at a safe distance away. “Your choice, Yuta.”

“How must I prove myself then?”

“By showing me the anomaly that you are.”

His eyes visibly harden at your words, no longer having the glimmer that they once did. It was in the present that you felt it— the darkness that radiated off his very body, and the reason that this particular man had been wandering the halls of the facility unbothered. 

“An anomaly?”

“You’re not human.” You simply accuse.

“You might be right about that. But I choose to be human regardless of what I am.” 

You don’t care enough about his reasons. The way his dark eyes reflect absolutely nothing terrified you to the very core, more than any jumpscare you’ve encountered. The bright red button underneath you burns with such ferocity that it was only right to hit it— and send the foreign man back into the cell he once broke out of. You watch as soldiers dressed in hazmat suits flood into the hall at your call, almost always a millisecond away, their specialized guns pointed at the man.

But he did not flinch, not even once spared a gaze to look around him. He stayed his ground, only to be dragged away.

His eyes were trained on you, and only you.

“Did he hurt you?”

You’re now on break in the staffroom with Nanami and another supervisor named Maki, right after he heard of what happened. You shook your head, taking a sip of the fourth cup of coffee you had that day. The caffeine had long worn out its effects on your body that you just had to keep drinking, regardless of how detrimental it might just be to your health.

“Thankfully, no. What the fuck is a Keter class doing out there? How is he uncontained?”

“He broke out.” You turn your focus onto the coffee that had run cold, wedged between your fingers. You’ve always hated how fragile these paper cups were. It reminded you of how easy it was for these entities to crush humans to brine and bone with little to no mercy. Yet at the hands of Yuta, you were miraculously spared.

He was friendly, even.

“What kind of SCP is he?”

“He’s not an SCP. He’s a human host with an SCP living in him. Sometimes it appears, sometimes it doesn’t.” Maki shrugs.

“Damn, that’s cool.”

“He tells us that it was bound to him through love.”

You choked on your drink, splattering brown  everywhere on the table. Nanami sighs and pats your back. Maki looks at you in disgust, wiping the stains off her uniform with a handkerchief. You wanted to laugh. Out of all things, an SCP of love. You chuckle a little, smiling at your supervisor only to be met with a flat stare.

Oh.

“No way.”

“It’s true. The entity demands that no one lays a finger on him. Most times he can control the SCP. But when he’s hurt, it’s a different story entirely.”

“Wait, wait. So how did you guys manage to catch him?”

Maki recounts the details, “Apparently, he was a secret weapon in the military designed to decimate hundreds in one sweep. That SCP came to him naturally as a child, but it wasn’t his actions that got him caught.”

“So what did?”

“His superiors betrayed him and sent him over to us as they feared that he was getting too powerful for them to control.”

Oh. You started to feel a little bad for him now. But a memory crosses your mind and suddenly that sympathy is gone. 

“He almost stripped naked in front of me.”

“Huh?” Nanami was caught off-guard for once, both eyebrows raised instead of one.

“I asked him to prove his humanity.”

“And then he started stripping?” Maki had an equally confused look on her face. She pushes up the frame on her face before leaning forward, “Don’t tell me that you liked it.”

“I mean…”

“Seriously?”

You laugh sheepishly at her words, tossing the empty cup into the bin behind them in perfect accuracy. “I’m just kidding. At least I won’t have to meet him anymore. Can’t have him strip naked around me every time we cross paths.”

Nanami frowns at your words, “Be careful.”

“Sure, sure.” You wave goodbye to them and take your leave, heading towards your last shift of the day.

You found yourself in front of his cell.

Realization only hits you once you read the tag off the door, painted red and in bold: KETER CLASS. DO NOT ENGAGE. Unlike other cells, Keter cells had no windows to peek through. You could only rely on the CCTV back in the control panel room, but you found it unreliable considering how easy it was for Keters to destroy such puny little things. You take a step back.

"I really should stop drinking coffee." You mumble to yourself and turn away.

"Did you come to visit me?"

An all-too familiar voice echoed behind you, and you jump away instantaneously from the door. It's still intact. How he managed to hear you, you don't know. What you do know now is that you're standing in front of his cell.

"No."

"Is no the only word you know?"

Witty. You cough, "I heard about you."

"What about me?"  

You hesitate a little, "That you're not the anomaly."

"So now you know." There's curiosity in his tone, erasing any lethargy you had left in your body. Guilt paws at your heartstrings for doubting his reasons during the encounter earlier, but the man is still Keter class. It doesn't make him any less of a monster compared to others. The only difference between him and others is that he's placed in a jail befitting of lower ranked anomalies. "What else did you hear?"

"That you still pose as a threat to humanity."

"Am I a threat to you?"

"Yes." was your answer. You were here for money, not morality. While the notion that he would rot in his cell for the rest of his years was indeed a question of one, you weren't paid to stay idle and chitchat with an anomaly. You were expected even less: to simply cast morality aside and do as you were told by the Foundation. So you dusted yourself off and turned on your heels to move towards the next post you were supposedly assigned to. 

"I see. Well it was nice to know you..."

At the sound of your name, you freeze yet again.

"How do you know my name?"

"It's on your tag."

"How can you see me?"

Goosebumps prickle your skin all over. Your legs pick up the sudden skip in your heartbeat and in a flash, you start sprinting for your life. You were just in time, out of range as the metal door breaks open with a crash, sending debris everywhere. You were far enough to get hit, but the sound had been loud enough to garner attention from creatures all over the place. Hisses and banging scratched at your ears as you continued down the hall, the opposite direction of where safety should be. But it didn't really matter; people outside would have heard of it and safety would come for you any minute now.

You force a look over your shoulder to see an enormous white creature behind him, large grey claws extended and chillingly long arms draped around his frame resembling a protective stance. Behind the cages of muscle on her head lies a single eye, glaring right into your very soul. It's mouth move in ragged breaths, teeth sharper than its claws ready to bite. If you squint hard enough- the man with his pet monster was smiling at you. 

"You do know its rude to leave without saying goodbye, right?"

And like a predator, he started to chase you.

The entity lets out a bloodcurdling scream, getting on its arms and wriggling towards you. Now you're fully awake and drunk on adrenaline, sweat dripping down your body with how fast you were running. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Curses slew out of your lips as you ran even harder knowing how quickly he was catching up. You focused ahead instead; to the left is a dead end, you know that. And to the right is an even longer hall of agitated anomalies that most likely are on his level too. With a giant monster chasing after you however, were you really on the spot to give a shit about what would happen?

No. Anyone in your spot would've done the same.

It helped that your paycheck had been deposited earlier last week. You could really give less of a fuck about damage control.

Your feet started to hurt. "Fucking leather shoes." You grumble to yourself and skid a turn towards the elongated row of Keter-class anomalies. You pass multiple warning signs, the alarms going off. Eventually you see red all around you, shadows dancing on the walls as they approached even closer, slowing down just to taunt you. 

"Stop running."

"Then stop chasing me, you freak!"

"Well, the 'freak' has a name. It's Yuta." He closes the gap between the two of you, voice steady despite how fast he was chasing up. 

You paid him no mind as you duck underneath a warning sign and roll on your back to avoid a reaching arm from the screeching creature. Stubborn as you are, you notice an emergency exit and made mental note to stay close to it. You unclasp the taser off your belt just in time when a hand grabs your shoulder. You fire up the taser and jab right, but miss and eventually find yourself falling to the ground.

You made romantic contact with the floor, lips on the cold hard tile. "Shit!" You hiss from the pain and roll away just in time as Yuta was about to grasp a hold on you yet again.

Blood gushes from your split lip, and it tastes disgusting knowing that you just made love with the floor. Right before you could get up, though, you found yourself encaged within the palms of the alien-like SCP. Pain bursts through your nerves everywhere, feeling like knives stabbing deep into your gut. You could've swore you heard your ribs break from the amounting pressure.

"Caught you."

"Yuuuuuuta," The creature closes its janky fingers around your body, salivating as it eyed you from head to toe. The pressure around your body tightens and you felt like you could break just from how tight it was gripping you. Hair stuck to your face like a wet rag, leaving you with limited eyesight. "What should I do with herrrrrr?"

"Let.... Go... of me!" You rasp between breaths.

"Don't kill her. She'll be our lifeline, Rika."

Rika lets out a displeased grunt and sets you down on the ground, but has its hands still wrapped around you. Not as tight, but much like a warning that it could break you anytime it needed to. You catch your breath with a chain of fitful coughs, your legs and lungs burning from the marathon. Your chest heaves heavily, sore and most probably bruised. There's splitting pain from your lips, blood dripping onto the very same tile you shared your first kiss with.

You now see him eye-to-eye, close enough to notice his parted hair and sneakers. He couldn't be any younger than 20, but the eyebags that hung below his eyes tell a different story.

"I'm sorry. I need you as a hostage."

"Fuck you." You spat at him coldly.

Yuta kneels and presses a hand to your shoulder, forcing you to stop writhing under his touch. You try shoving his hand away, but the grip stays firm. Some fuck ass glowing magic flowed through his hand and loosened the soreness in your muscles, easing your tension. From your point of view, the man radiated like a glowstick. 

"Don't touch me!"

He locks his eyes with you, "I'm healing you."

"Would've been nice to not get hurt in the first place."

Yuta sucks a sharp breath in, "Look, I'm really sorry for hurting you. I just need to get out of here. You'll have to be my hostage."

You click your tongue in annoyance at his genuine apology, "You won't even make it out the front gate. They'll be all over you soon. You think the Foundation gives a shit about some security guard like me? They'll kill us both, dumbass."

"You're right." Yuta is clearly amused by your personality now that you're being treated as a partner-in-crime rather than a stranger. You stood stunned when his hand moves up and his thumb ghosts over your lips, "Don't worry, I'll get us out of here."

His thumb was cold against your lips. The action felt more intimate than you'd like, and it had you holding your breath.  It needed major balls not to flutter from the contact.

The bleeding stopped, prompting him to move his hand away.

The cold lingered a little longer than you'd like for it to be.

"Us? I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You will. Now that you're with me, they'll think you're complying with me. And if you won't, they'll imprison you." The bleeding stopped, and he wipes the remaining blood off on the side of his pants. 

You fall silent. What he said was roughly the truth. In reality, it would be even worse if you did get caught- not only will Nanami be under fire for the inability to protect you- but you might also be on trial under suspicion of letting Yuta escape. And such trials might just end in your death. All in all, its a lose-lose case; but you'd much rather be on the winning team.

"Damn you."

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

You raise your head to glare at the man who had just obnoxiously turned your own words against you. His eyes light up a little, seeing your reaction. "Your choice."

"Fine."

"What was that?"

"I said yes!" You retort, flipping the bird at him.

He flashes you a grin, "That might've been the first time you've said yes to me!"

Oh, how you wished for supernatural powers like his to decimate the teasing man on the spot. Your fists crumple to a close, keeping that rage preserved in the back of your head. One day you'd get your revenge on him.

"Rika. My katana please." Yuta caresses its face gently.

You could feel her giddiness from the shake of Rika's enclosed palm around you. She reaches up to her neck and pulls out a long blade from within, handing it over to him. "For youuuu, Yutaaa."

He takes it from her, swishing it in the air and stretching his limbs free. "Thanks. Lead the way, I'll keep you safe." There's shouting and stomping from a distance, the roaring of soldiers fending off escaped anomalies. Nanami and Maki are out there too, calling for you. Your heart sinks a little at the prospect of betraying them.

You huff, blowing hair out of your face.

"It's on the other side. Opposite of the way we ran in. But I need you to do me a favor and not kill everyone you see."

Yuta brightens up. The likelihood of him fighting against a large horde of people had him excited. "That's not something I can promise."

"Fine. Then at least spare Nanami and Maki."

"Who's that?" 

"Uh, guy with blonde hair and a woman with green hair."

He shrugs, “I’ll try.”

Deep down inside, you felt a part of you die.

----------------------------------------------------------------------> part 2

[itsnothingofinterest]

So chapter 390 thoughts: it was a cool action scene and all, an impressive feat from Shoto to use his quirk like that with his family, and I’m sure it’ll look very cool in the anime. Oh, and I loved Toga’s scene and her words for Dabi too, that was genuinely just great. But as a resolution to the Todoroki plotline, if it really is their final resolution...well be warned that I’m about to get a bit negative about a chapter people seem to really like. Sorry.

I guess on Shoto’s end, it was an okay conclusion to his arc. Because his arc was about becoming a hero who puts people at ease, and shutting down a bomb right as he arrives...meets that criteria I guess. But it also feels kind of a rushed conclusion to his arc this way; as ironic as that may sound when he’s been flying here for 4 chapters. I mean I knew he’d stop the bomb easy; but did anyone else think there’d be more after to do or was it just me?

Endeavor’s conclusion kind of just sucks. He spent his whole arc talking about how he’d make things up to his family; not through empty words, just watch his actions! And then in the end all he does is apologize before passing out. That and “I don’t want to watch you die” being the only nice things he says or does for Touya and that’s it, that was his whole contribution to saving Dabi. Why did we spend all that time with him?

And on Dabi’s end...full disclosure: after this post, I’m likely to go into denial that he’s really down for the count like after 352 because this was possibly everything I ever actually feared for his conclusion. Now that he’s been saved from the intimidate threat of explosion that Shoto was well equipped to easily handle; Touya’s just over it. Never mind his words from the last chapter; he loves his family now*. And seemingly now they’re gonna do the hard part, talking through their emotions and coming to an actual resolution, off-screen as we move on to the next fight. ‘Cause that’s what being a hero is all about: saving that day from physical threat in as big & flashy a way as possible by overwhelming it with numbers & power, then skipping over the hard part violence can’t easily fix.

Man, I almost envy the people who were worried Dabi could die that can just be satisfied that he didn’t. (Unless they’re caught up in the debate about how he will die actually. Even after Shoto saved him. This might be the pot calling the kettle back but man there’s no convincing some people, huh?)

*Early scans tell that he said hated his family; but as I understand, he did that thing in the written japanese language where he said one thing but meant another. Dabi does this a lot.

Although I can’t find the post the claims this anymore and don’t know enough japanese to confirm it myself so maybe I’m wrong? I’d be happy if I was, all the more reason to hope this isn’t the end of the Todoroki plot that way.

[phoxphenex]

i meant non text jealous jisung oops🫢love ur work

AAAAA ALR I GOTCHUUUUU <3

more jealous jisung

you and chenle don’t really get along, which is surprising considering the fact that not only are you dating his best friend but before that, the three of you were practically inseparable.

“bro, they’re so… ugh!” chenle leaned back harshly against his chair, throwing his arms over his chest as he glared at you from across the table. you sat with your eyes narrowed, imagining daggers shooting from your gaze.

jisung had his hands up between the two of you, lips parted as he tried to come up with some form of resolution. “o-okay! how about, um, y/n and chenle day together?”

“what?!” both you and chenle sat up in unison, huffing at each other in disgust for speaking at the same time.

“ye-yeah! you two need to get along again, and i’m tired of being the middleman. think of it like… uh… therapy!”

jisung’s tone wasn’t pitiful, but you still felt guilty.

with a long, drawn-out sigh, you begrudgingly twisted your head until your eyes fell on jisung’s best friend. “fine. for you, ji? i’ll hang out with you. i guess.”

chenle let out a breath as well but straightened in his chair and looked at you. “for ji.”

—

“a-and when you—“ you cut yourself off with a loud, over-the-top laugh, clutching your stomach as you held onto chenle to keep yourself upright. he was in the same position as you were, hanging off your shoulder as he laughed and laughed.

to say chenle-y/n day went well would be an understatement. after arguing over what to get for lunch, ranting about your newly discovered shared love for reality tv, and saving a cat from a tree, you’d say the day was a success.

jisung was leaning against a wall, playing on his phone, until hearing your boisterous laughter and turning to face the two of you. he raised a hand to wave, but faltered when he saw yours and chenle’s arms around each other.

you noticed his wavering smile and flashed a bright smile. “jisung! why did you never tell me how awesome this freak is?!”

“uh, i-i don—“

“yeah! sorry, y/n’s my best friend now. what’s a jisung? jisung who?”

“w-well, that’s—“

“oh my god, you should have seen that kitten, ji! we were literally superheroes.”

“right?!”

jisung ran a nervous hand through his hair and swallowed the urge to pull you away from each other. i mean, he was the one who wanted the two of you to get along, right? why was seeing his partner and his best friend together so... icky?

“that’s, um... i’ve gotta—oh look! mark is calling.” you didn’t hear his phone ring at all, but jisung still pressed his phone to his ear and rushed out of the room. 

huffing a sigh, you detached yourself from chenle and ran after your boyfriend. by the time you caught up to him, he was mumbling something about ghosts into his phone.

“ji,” you called, reaching out to grab the sleeve of his hoodie. “what’s wrong? you don’t seem like yourself.”

he smiled at your words, but it didn’t look very genuine. you gave his arm a gentle squeeze, and jisung’s shoulders sagged, his smile melting. “okay, i didn’t like that. like, at all.”

“like what?”

“you. and chenle, i don’t know… being all close and friendly like that just… rubbed me wrong.”

you raised a brow. “i mean, aren’t you the one who wanted us to get along?”

“i did! in my head… watching it was icky.” he cringed and you bit your lips together to stop from laughing. “icky?”

“yeah! my partner and my best friend? together? no thank you, go back to plotting each other’s demise, please.”

you bursted, loud laughter spilling from your lips at the look of absolute disgust on your boyfriend’s face. “wow, okay. next time just say you’re jealous~”

“wh-i’m not jealous!”

“alright. whatever you say,”

“y/n, i’m not!”

[kawaiichan67]

Happy Holidays @clearwillow

I’m your IYSS! I hope you enjoy!

pairing: InuKag

Modern AU Fluff

For a second, she thought it was an intruder. Slowly, though, a pair of sheepish white dog ears emerged from her hallway. Even against the beige tones of her walls, the ears stood out.  It wasn’t just because she loved them, no. It wasn’t because they were absolutely adorable. And it most definitely wasn’t because she had dreamed of petting them, (stroking them..oh boy) or spent days with her fingers twitching slightly whenever she saw them move.

Her voice trembled a bit since he wasn’t coming completely into view. “In- Inu Yasha-san?” She was surprised that he was still not emerging from her hallway. “Is everything ok?” She gulped for a moment, wondering if this was some weird dream that she was having. Especially after how terribly her hints and flirting had gone over at Miroku’s holiday party.

“Yeah. Ev-everything is ok.” Kagome wondered why he was still hiding most of his body. His voice soothed her even as it didn’t answer her question. “I’m sorry for surprising you, but I wanted to give you something special for Christmas.” 

Kagome placed her bag down in her kitchen and moved cautiously towards her bedroom. Inu Yasha was standing in her hallway, looking, well, odd. His expression was nearly unreadable but, like his ears, he seemed a bit sheepish? 

His voice, so velvety and rich, trembled slightly as he motioned towards her bedroom. “Sorry, I didn’t want to leave it in your living room. Just in case.” He stood to the side as Kagome walked in and then—Did he just sniff me? 

Gasping, Kagome surveyed her bedroom, bedecked with mistletoe. There was mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, draped along the walls and tied to the headboard of her bed. A piece of mistletoe was lying on the bed and Kagome barely controlled a shiver as a breath seemed to rush over her shoulder and her heart started beating faster.

She turned, every nerve in her body tingling and her heart racing and then—then!  Inu Yasha took her into his arms just as she had wanted him to at Miroku’s party; only this time, it was real.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t understand,” Inu Yasha said, his golden eyes sparkling as he took in her joy. 

From one breath to the next, Kagome was back at the party. How silly she had been, basically bugging Miroku to have it in the first place. He’d been as supportive as he could be, even while the former charmer had refocused on his ‘true love,’ Tsubasa Sango. 

“Kagome-chan,” he’d said one day at lunch, “I realize that you are interested in Taisho Inu Yasha-san, but it really seems like he isn’t interested in anyone. Are you sure that you want to try for him? He can be so terribly grumpy.”

Kagome had a difficult time taking her eyes off of said grumpy and standoffish inu hanyou. She turned to look at Tsujitana Miroku and blinked, trying to shake off the mesmerizing effect that Inu Yasha had on her. It was dangerous to her sanity!

“Yes,” she answered resolutely.  A new gleam appeared in her eyes and she reaffirmed her devotion for the grumpiest employee to Miroku. “I have already made some headway,” she reported happily. “He took the ramen that I made for him!”  

Miroku stared. That seemed out of character for the department grump. “He did? Really? What did he say? Did he like it?”

Kagome sighed and nodded her head sadly. “Not really.” At Miroku’s shocked look, she rushed on, “OH! He said thank you, but later when I asked him if it was good he only said that it was ok.”

For a moment, silence settled in between the two of them; even the noisy background didn’t dispel the slight feeling of disquietude. The air swirled around them as people moved, laughed, and chatted. Miroku shifted uneasily and wracked his brain for something funny to say, but gave up. It wouldn’t really help to provoke Kagome. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at the grumpy object of Kagome’s affections. 

“I’ll help,” he said slowly, wondering how insane of a plan this would be. At Kagome’s tiny twinkle, he shook his head. He was practically in love with this girl and yet, it wasn’t romantic in the slightest. A foreign and protective feeling overtook him. “Yes, Kagome-chan, you can thank me later,” he added with a laugh. Maybe the good karma from helping her would give him his own karma boost. 

The lovely Sango would be an interesting, but difficult challenge. 

And so began the wooing. 

Friend wooing, that is. 

Most days, Miroku knew where to find Inu Yasha. All he had to do was track down Kagome who seemed to have memorized his schedule and had multiple people spying on him and reporting his activities.

Soon enough, however, he managed to befriend Mr. Grumpy Pants (seriously, she wrote that as his nickname?!) on his own. It didn’t take much. Ramen and bonding over pool worked their magic and soon Miroku forgot that he’d had ulterior motives for befriending Inu Yasha. 

And then, one day while they were having lunch and chitchatting about the latest Tigers game, Miroku met the pining gaze of Kagome. He grinned and then double checked his calendar. Perfect timing. He could easily have a get-together. 

“Hey, Inu Yasha, I was planning on asking Tsubasa-san and a few others to hang out at Kaze Anna on Friday night.” His violet eyes gazed at Sango’s lovely…loveliness, —Behave, Miroku-kun, he could practically hear Kagome-chan chastising him!—but he turned back when Inu Yasha snorted. Raising his eyebrow expectantly, he waited in silence until Inu Yasha spoke his mind.

“Keh. Are you sure you wanna try that?” Inu Yasha replied, his golden eyes focused on Miroku. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood today for some reason, although Miroku had no idea why.

Ignoring his negativity, Miroku continued. “I think Hojo-kun might come, and there’s also Kino-chan, and Higurashi-chan.”  He paused a moment. Had Inu Yasha made a small noise? Miroku hid his smirk. Maybe this wasn’t hopeless! “Anyone else I should invite? I wasn’t sure about adding Yamamoto-san or Takayama-san.” Miroku looked at Inu Yasha who was staring at Kagome! 

Was he growling? Let’s test this theory. “Oh! There’s Kagome-chan! Maybe I should ask her now?” The conniving hentai stood up and stepped towards the table with a smiling, but watchful Kagome, Sango, and —oooo!— Hojo. Maybe that’s why?

“Keh! You shouldn’t bug people during lunch, ya know,” Inu Yasha stated, suddenly in between Miroku and the other table of their co-workers. “We-I mean, you, could always ask them later.”

Miroku smiled. Kagome was in luck! “Sure. I’ll see Hojo-kun later anyway and I can always stop and chat with Kagome-chan later.” 

It was no surprise at all when Inu Yasha bristled a fraction. “Keh, I’ll tell Hobo when I see him after lunch. We sit near each other.” The inu hanyou’s ears were twitching like mad but Miroku didn’t acknowledge his heightened state. Clearly he was zooming in on Kagome’s conversation. But why offer to invite Hojo-kun? The affable young man was clearly in love with Kagome, so it seemed counterintuitive to invite him. 

Miroku had his answer that Friday night. The izakaya was mostly full, but he managed to get a private table with Kagome’s assistance. The atmosphere was lively and buzzing with the sounds of office workers looking to blow off some steam. There were even a few foreigners, practicing their Japanese. He nodded at the server who came by and dropped off their drinks. It wasn’t long, however, until Sango approached and sat next to Kagome, giving Miroku every chance to chat her up. 

Miroku was a little surprised when Inu Yasha pulled back the hanging to admit Kino-chan. The excited look on Kagome’s face was replaced by a firm, happy smile, slightly different from the overjoyed look that had flashed across her face when he’d first appeared . As he turned to greet both Inu Yasha and Kino-chan, Miroku caught a knowing look in Sango’s eye and he gave her a raised eyebrow. 

Happy greetings were exchanged as Inu Yasha slid next to Miroku and Kino-chan joined Kagome and Sango on the other side. 

“So, Kino-chan, how is work?” Kagome asked gently. 

"Oh, its been really nice!” Kino’s lavender eyes sparkled and her white bob shook with her enthusiasm. “Inu Yasha-san has been so kind, showing me how to handle so many of the projects.”

Sango glanced at Miroku briefly as a small, sad sound escaped Kagome. Miroku raised both of his eyebrows and turned to Inu Yasha, his violet ones meeting Inu Yasha’s gold ones. Inu Yasha raised his own eyebrows and then turned away, a slight blush on his face. 

“Oh! Shiori-chan, Inu Yasha-san is very good at explaining things,” Kagome said quickly. Miroku didn’t know where to look first: at Kagome’s embarrassed blush, Inu Yasha’s twitching ears, or Kino-chan’s twinkling and sneaky smile.

“Really, Kagome-chan? I didn’t realize he was so kind until recently. Inu Yasha-san acts more like a big brother than a senior employee.” Her entire statement was directed at Kagome who nodded in agreement.

Inu Yasha gave his typical response. “Keh. It was nothin’.” He glared at Miroku. “What are you grinning about, hentai?”

Miroku nearly choked on his beer as the women all giggled. He put Kagome and Inu Yasha out of his mind, however, and focused on the lovely Sango. “Tell me, lovely Sango-san, how much longer before we have our first child?”

The table burst into laughter as Sango blushed and said firmly, “Never, hentai-san!”

Miroku shrugged and then smiled mysteriously. Kagome gave a little giggle and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Did you hear that Hojo-kun accidentally spilled coffee on Sesshomaru-sama?”

Inu Yasha guffawed joyfully as the others all gasped and the entire tone of the night shifted. Kagome sparkled for most of the night and Miroku and Sango traded knowing glances. 

After a few hours, the group stood outside, gathering themselves. Miroku stood close to Sango, but forced himself to pay attention to the others. Kagome seemed a little tipsy and her cheeks glowed softly. Inu Yasha seemed torn, standing in between Shiori and Kagome when a sudden call for Shiori made them all turn.

“Shiori-chan!” a handsome young man called as he walked up. “I’m so glad you texted me!”

As one, the other four turned to a blushing and grinning Shiori. “This is one of my college friends, Nakayama Ken-san. He works nearby and we haven’t seen each other for a few months.”

Nakayama greeted each of the group and then turned expectantly to Miroku. “I hope you don’t mind, Miroku-san, but I owe Shiori-chan a dessert. If its ok, I think we’ll go to a cafe nearby?” 

The group turned to Miroku expectantly, although Kagome wobbled a bit until Inu Yasha righted her with a soft pull on her arm. 

With a chuckle, Miroku agreed heartily.  "Of course, Nakayama-san. I’m not her father, y’know!” The group chuckled and turned back to each other, but Miroku caught an ear wiggle from Inu Yasha and another blush with a quick glance at Kagome. 

“Um, which-which way are you going, Higurashi-san?" Inu Yasha asked quietly, looking at the ground. 

Kagome giggled and then responded, “I’m heading for the JR line. How about you?” 

Before anyone else could respond, Inu Yasha rushed, “Me, too. I’ll walk you, if that’s good?”

And with barely any goodbyes, Inu Yasha ushered Kagome off to the JR line. 

“Quick question, hentai-san,” Sango said. “Which way on the JR line are they going?”

Miroku paused, then looked at Sango and started chuckling. “I didn’t even think of that. He seemed in a bit of a rush, didn’t he?” The two shared a knowing look then parted for their own homes. 

It was only a few weeks later that Kagome cornered Miroku at lunch, a desperate look on her face. 

“I’m so sorry, Miroku-kun, but I definitely need some help! I have no idea why but I invited Inu Yasha to a party at your house for the holidays! I was trying to explain the Western idea of mistletoe and suddenly it just popped out of my mouth. Please! Please can you help me?”

Miroku sat, overwhelmed at first, then caught a glimpse of Sango, staring intently. Hmmm, so the lovely Sango is invested in this. Two birds, one stone? He paused, smiling and nodding at Kagome as he finished his bite of spaghetti. Yes. This will be good for both Inu Yasha who blushes every time Kagome looks in his direction and Kagome who loves this grumpy guy with a soft side. 

“Yes, that sounds wonderful, Kagome-chan. I hope that you will help me plan and organize the party? Let’s say for next weekend?” Miroku almost laughed at how Kagome seemed to be vibrating with happiness. Apparently she had picked up one of Inu Yasha’s traits. 

For a moment, his eyes met Sango’s and he saw her give a slight nod, which gave him another thrill.  He winked and nodded at her. If my lady approves.

Kagome whirled around Miroku’s apartment, adding mistletoe at strategic spots and planning how to maneuver Inu Yasha underneath one of them. Or all of them!  Carefully, she moved the mistletoe from the middle of a doorway to closer to the side. No need to trap everyone underneath this western custom. It could cause some serious awkwardness. 

She smiled as she ran through her list of things to do. Miroku already had all the glasses and drinks out and Sango was putting out the snacks and setting them on a few different places around the main room. Kagome stepped back and grabbed some of the extra coasters she had purchased. They were a cute novelty gift that changed their message when they heated up.  Carefully, she pulled the few ‘special’ coasters which would change to “I really like you” rather than the more Holiday themed ones that she had already put out. 

A quick hug from Sango helped her calm down just as the first person knocked on the door. 

Miroku’s voice put both the women on alert. “Welcome, come in! Happy Holidays, Hojo-kun, Ookami-san.”

Sango and Kagome groaned and headed for the drinks. 

Kagome and Sango sighed and then laughed. So far, Miroku had managed to kiss both of them on the cheek, although Sango had lost count after 5 kisses. 

“How did it go?” Sango asked in a hush, her head slightly tilted towards Inu Yasha, currently drinking some Asahi with Miroku and Ken-san. 

Kagome grimaced but then stood up and nodded. “We did have a nice chat, but he completely missed out on the fact that I was standing underneath the mistletoe. 4 times!” she added in frustration. “4 times, Sango!” She paused and they walked closer to the kitchen for more privacy. 

“I have to admit, Kagome-chan, I was very impressed with how you dodged Kouga-kun. How did Hojo-kun sneak attack you, anyway?” Sango brushed her hair over her shoulder and added some more ocha to her cup. 

Kagome added more ocha as well and then leaned in. “I was busy staring at Inu Yasha’s—umm, his…” At Sango’s knowing giggle, Kagome relented. “Ok, yes. I was staring at his butt. Oh my kami! Sango! Its like a perfect peach!”  The two women shared a look, then glanced at the man they were discussing. The giggles continued until a sudden male voice surprised them

“Who has a perfect peach, my dear ladies?” the host asked and then waggled his eyebrows, provoking even more giggles and a reprimand from Kagome. His eyebrows shot all the way up, however, when he felt a little pinch on his butt. He grinned and leaned in to kiss Sango again.

Kagome sighed as Miroku kissed Sango’s cheek. Somehow, Inu Yasha had managed to maneuver her under the mistletoe every time she got close to it. But no kiss! She had thought they were getting closer. Especially last week and this week when he had stopped by to discuss something. It was clear that he was just there to see her, but he ignored her hints about grabbing dinner or drinks after work. She’d even bought him a Christmas present but it seemed foolish to give it to him now. 

With a quick look at her watch, Kagome started packing up her things. Most of the attendees had left and she was happy to have avoided Kouga-kun several more times. He had managed to kiss her hands once but she had carefully made sure to always have something to drink or snack on if she wasn’t trying to woo Inu Yasha. Maybe after the New Year Mr. Grumpy will finally notice me. 

Even her special coaster hadn’t worked! Inu Yasha had used it, the message had shown up, and while Kagome stared at it pointedly, Inu Yasha seemed oblivious. Resigned, she had given him a weak smile and left to avoid Kouga-kun again. 

She caught Miroku’s eye as she headed for the door and he met her in the genkan. He helped her put on her coat and then gave her a wink. She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. At his surprised look, she replied, “Mistletoe,”and left. 

Miroku headed back to the living room but nearly ran into Inu Yasha. “Hey, was that Kago- Higurashi-san?” Miroku caught Sango’s eye and nodded, a sneaky smile drawing up his mouth. 

“Yes, she left. It was getting late. Too bad; you could’ve walked her home again.” Inu Yasha gave a small nod and looked at the door. Miroku moved closer to Sango. “It’s a bit strange, though. I could’ve sworn you lived in a different district. You don’t take the JR, right?”

He chuckled and followed Sango into the kitchen. She’d promised to help clean up tonight and they were already making some good headway.

“Hey muttface,” Ookami Kouga said from right behind Inu Yasha. “Did Kagome leave?”

Inu Yasha didn’t bother responding, but he stopped when Kouga grabbed the cardboard coaster from his hand. 

“Oi! What‘s the deal?” Inu Yasha responded grumpily and snatched at the coaster. Normally, he wouldn’t care, but well, Kagome had given it to him. No one needed to know about his Kagome collection, anyway. But he’d get the coaster back somehow. Smelly Ookami.

“Hey! Yours is totally different from mine!” Clearly they both had Kagome collections; otherwise, why else would Kouga still have his coaster, too?! 

The two stared at the coasters. One clearly said, “Happy Holidays!” in katakana and the other said, “I really like you,” in hiragana. The two stared at the coasters, then at each other. 

Inu Yasha worked hard to control his blush, his ears, even his heart. When Miroku cleared his throat, Inu Yasha swiped the coaster from Kouga and pretended to throw it away.  “Very funny, hentai,” Inu Yasha said to Miroku. He gave Sango an inscrutable look, then palmed the coaster and gathered up some of the leftover beers for the recycling.

When things had calmed down and it was only Miroku, Sango and Inu Yasha, he pulled out the coaster and showed it to Miroku.

“Something I should know?” His voice was low but serious and Miroku could detect a hint of curiosity mixed in.

“Why would you ask me?”At Inu Yasha’s unhappy look, Miroku added, “You should probably ask the person who ordered them. She made sure that you got one of those and no one else did.”

Inu Yasha blushed and then raised his eyebrows as Sango slid into Miroku’s arms and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She smirked at Inu Yasha and pointed over head. “Mistletoe. Wonder who put that up?” 

“No…” Inu Yasha couldn’t help it this time. His ears wiggled and his heart began beating faster. He was definitely adding this to his collection! It would look great next to the cute notes she wrote him and left with his ramen. He looked back over Miroku’s place, thinking about the events of the night. He could remember each time that he spoke with Kagome. Her voice was so soothing and electrifying, and her smile made him giddy. Her eyes…he was ashamed to say that he’d had to physically move to keep his mind on whatever she was saying. But…Kagome had kept talking to him underneath the doorways.

For the first time that evening, he examined the doorways and ceiling. In nearly every place Kagome had spoken to him, there was mistletoe. He reached up and pulled it down. Hmmm, he should definitely take these and then…what should he do? 

He was such a baka! Kagome! This whole time Kagome had been interested. IN HIM! the ramen-Oh I was just trying a new recipe-the cute notes! She had even asked him out for dinner! He was so stupid! Why did he think his feelings were so one-sided! She always smelled so nice it was hard to think clearly around her.

Well, he would just gather up the mistletoe and plan a nice surprise for her tomorrow!  

So here he was, like a deranged stalker, hoping she would understand that he was only trying to keep things private. He was not…she smelled so good! His brain short-circuited.  

Kagome looked into Inu Yasha’s eyes. They were warm and shining, but only for her. 

“Thank you,” she whispered and rose to her tip toes for a quick kiss on Inu Yasha’s cheek. He smiled at her and kissed her softly on the forehead, then moved further into her room and kissed her right cheek, then her left. 

Kagome’s giggles almost overwhelmed her, but she reined them in to gaze into Inu Yasha’s eyes. “Are you certain this is all for me?”

Inu Yasha grinned and gave her a light kiss. Her lips were soft and warm. They tasted like sakura and vanilla, the same as her smell. 

“You’re so sweet. I knew you were just a big teddy bear,” Kagome whispered against his lips.

“Sure. Sweet,” he gave a short chuckle. Kagome pulled back and made a funny face at him, so he leaned in and said, “It’s kissy time. Not chatting time.”

Kagome erupted into laughter. “Kissy time!”

“Yes, first we make the kissies.” He kissed her again, but with more passion, leaving Kagome a bit breathless. 

She nodded. “Yes. The Kissies,” she repeated, now under his spell.

He smirked dangerously and pulled her even closer.  “First, we make the kissies. Then we make the babies.”

Kagome smirked back and pulled Inu Yasha into another kiss. Happy Holidays, indeed.

tag list: @liz8080 @clearwillow @iyfss @inusecretsanta

[leviathans-watching]

a starting (& ending)

day 2: argument, bonding experience

includes: mammon & belphie

wc: .7k | rated g | m.list

a/n: lesson 16-20 spoilers, tuesday's post for @ombrotherlylove2023

“Alright, alright,” MC consults the list, divvying out tasks with frightening competency. They were going on a weekend trip, so there was a ton of prep to be done, and Lucifer and MC had decided working together to prepare would make things a lot easier. 

Mammon doesn’t know how he feels about it. Going on the trip, he means. 

It had barely been any time since the incidents following Belphegor’s release from the attic, and while everyone seems content to move on and act like a big happy family again (assuming they ever were one), he’s having a bit of a hard time with that. And look, maybe his brothers hadn’t held the lifeless body of the human they love. Maybe they hadn’t had the same experience as him. But surely, surely they realized there needed to be some, he doesn’t know, figuring out what to do! They can’t just go on and act as if the incident hadn’t occurred!

“Mammon,” MC calls, and he looks up. “Are you good with shopping?” 

Mammon nods. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Better not send him alone,” Satan snorts, and he frowns. “Or else he’ll end up raiding half the store.” 

“Don’t be mean,” MC chides gently. “However, I think it is kind of a big task for one person. We’ve got a lot of groceries and supplies on the list. How about… Belphegor, you can go with him.” 

Mammon’s heart sinks. Belphie’s the last person he wants to be with right now. Especially alone! 

But he doesn’t want to argue, so he swallows his protests with a faint, “Great.” 

Everyone splits apart once tasks are fully distributed, and Mammon shoves his hands in his pockets. Belphie gives him a weak smile, obviously feeling the tension, and a part of Mammon is viciously glad for that.

“Um, should we get going?” 

“Sure, whatever,” Mammon says, starting toward the door without a look back to see if Belphie’s following. “I’ll drive, I guess.” 

The ride to the store is painfully silent, but Mammon resolutely refuses to break. He’s not the one in the wrong here. He didn’t almost, no, actually kill MC for some sick revenge that didn’t even make sense. Belphie did. 

Belphie shifts in his seat, and Mammon watches him out of the corner of his eye. His younger brother is clearly uncomfortable, fingers tapping on his thigh as he looks everywhere but at Mammon. It hurts, a little. To have his brother whom he was separated from for so long be this close. But it hurt more to think about what he did. 

Mammon looks back at the road. 

When he finally, blessedly, gets to the store, Mammon barely gets the truck in park before he’s climbing out, tearing the list MC had given him in half. “Here,” he says gruffly, pushing one half towards Belphie, “I’ll do this half, and you do that half. We’ll meet at the checkout.” 

“Wait!” Belphegor says as Mammon starts to walk away, but he doesn’t turn back. Belphegor races after him, grabbing him by the arm, and Mammon rips out of his grip, disgust rolling up his spine. 

“What do you want?” 

“Can we talk?” 

Mammon rolls his eyes. “We are talking.” 

No,” Belphegor sighs, “I mean, really talk. About what happened.” 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Mammon grits out. “I have nothing to say to you.” 

That’s a lie. He has so, so much to say. Things like, I hate you. I’m sorry. I love you. How could you do that? How could Lucifer do that?. But none of them will come out. 

Belphegor swallows. “That’s fair. But please, I have some things to say. So you don’t even have to talk, you can just listen. Just listen, that’s all I ask.” 

Mammon really doesn’t want to do that, but he’s always been too soft on his younger brothers. “Fine,” he says unwillingly, hating how Belphie’s eyes light up. “Talk.” 

Belphie begins, the words spilling over one another in his rush to say everything he needs to before Mammon cuts him off. He apologizes, he explains, and he acknowledges. Then apologizes again. 

It’s not enough. 

But, Mammon thinks, as he frees an old napkin from his jacket pocket to give to Belphie, who accepts it gratefully, pressing it to his eyes, it’s a start.

 leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[perseephoneee]

letters back and forth

ISAAC LAHEY X READER

requested by @gallifer

prompt: you’re a were-jaguar that left beacon hills after your parents got killed and you finally return to reconnect.

a/n: besties i’m back? mayhaps 

Coming back to Beacon Hills was a bad idea, and it was even worse to be waiting outside the school for everyone to rush out as the bell rang. You felt your heartbeat thumping like an approaching army, and all you could do was wring your hands in nervousness. You haven’t seen Scott and everyone else in six years– would they even recognize you? Would they forgive you for leaving? You weren’t sure. You just had to hope. 

You remember the day your family died like it was in perfect resolution. Watching the hunters shoot them down, hearing their hearts slow down until they stopped. Watching the warmth from their eyes fade until it was nothing. It’s why you left Beacon Hills in the first place, to get away from that past and that trauma. 

You thought maybe it was the perfect time to finally return. You couldn’t keep running forever, though, you knew that much. It’s what caused you to come back after all these years away. That and the news that a new supposed Alpha had risen up in Beacon Hills. One by the name of Scott McCall. 

The bell rang, signaling the end of the day, and already students were filing out, desperate to get away from the hellscape that is high school. Your breath caught in your throat, waiting, and right as you thought you might just turn around to leave, the familiar lopsided grin of Scott came into your view. He was talking to Stiles Stilinski, and all you could think was how time had been kind to them. They looked so much older and more sure of themselves than when they were kids. You hated that you didn’t get to grow up with them. 

“Y/N?” Scott asked, stopping in his tracks the second he made eye contact with you. So he did recognize me, you thought. 

“Hi,” you gave a half-hearted wave, fear clutching your heart. You were ready for him to push you away. Instead, he came over and collapsed you to his chest, giving you the most bone-crushing hug in the world. Stiles joined in, welcoming you back, and if you weren’t in public, you might’ve started crying. 

“Where have you been?” Scott inquired, pulling away from you. 

“That’s a long story; think we can go somewhere so I can catch you up?” you asked, smiling shyly. 

“Come back to my house; my Mom will want to see you anyway,” Scott grinned. You were happy to note that his smile hadn’t changed. 

You drove back to Scott’s house with Stiles, and as Scott said, Mama McCall was relieved to see you happy and safe. Apparently, intense hugs were genetic, as you felt your breath leave you as she squeezed you tight. Not too soon, all three of you were sitting in Scott’s living room with snacks and drinks, catching up on the past six years. 

“You’re bullshitting me,” Stiles said after you explained what you were. “A were-jaguar? That’s not real.”

“Considering I’m sitting right in front of you, I’d say it’s pretty real,” You bit into one of the EL Fudge cookies, catching the crumbs that fell from your lips. 

“I’m sorry about your family,” Scott sighed, cutting off whatever sarcastic comment Stiles was about to say. 

“It’s been a while; I just….” you cut yourself off, not knowing what to say. “I thought I shouldn’t be alone anymore; I should be with a pack. Supernaturals are better in packs anyway.”

“We’re barely a pack,” Stiles said. “More like an asthmatic werewolf, hunter, banshee, and whoever decides to tolerate us that day.”

“Dude, I told you I don’t have asthma anymore,” Scott groaned. 

“I can’t hear you over all your wheezing,” Stiles retorted, earning a slap from Scott that devolved rather quickly. As you were about to break it up, the front door opened, and the last person you expected walked in. 

You’ve had a crush on Isaac Lahey since you were seven. He lived close to your house, so sometimes, you would play in the backyard before dinner. You would make cardboard houses and decorate them with blankets from inside or have competitions in the cul de sac. You remember falling in love when he let you ride his bike. You never had a bike, and you were jealous of everyone who did. His bike was sleek and had a bell that he would always ring. He helped you figure out how to make it go and how to dismount. All you could think was how kind he was to you and how any other kid in the neighborhood would’ve been impatient. You loved him ever since, and you didn’t forget him when you had to leave Beacon Hills. In fact, you wrote him a letter that you intended to send, but you were too scared and never got the chance. 

Now he stood in the foyer of Scott’s house, wearing Chuck Taylors and a sky-blue henley. He got tall, real tall. His jaw was sharp, and his cheekbones were perfectly defined. His golden curls didn’t seem so dorky anymore; they matched his ruggedly handsome attire. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his eyes; they still were gentle. 

“Hi–” you waved, but Isaac just shrugged off his backpack and went upstairs, not allowing you to finish his sentence. “-- Isaac,” you sighed, dropping your hand. 

“Isaac is living with me now,” Scott coughed, obviously sensing your disappointment. “You know Isaac, he’s uh–”

“I know,” you smiled, pretending it didn’t affect you that much. “I should probably get going; help my aunt unpack–”

“You should come to the lacrosse game tonight,” Stiles exclaimed. “Good way to reconnect.”

“Okay… I can come.”

To be honest, you didn’t remember what lacrosse even was. Sports were never your favorite, and you were surprised to find it involved catching balls with sticks. You were not surprised to find Stiles on the bench the entire time. That boy had never been coordinated with anything in his life. You got an excellent chance to get to know Lydia and Allison in the stands, the latter moving to Beacon Hills later. You were surprised to find out how much you liked Lydia, as you remember her being stuck up from growing up. Still, they warmed up to you, and you were happy to share your secret-were-jaguar-ness with people who understood. As the team filtered onto the field, you clapped with the rest of them. Scott shot you a thumbs up, earning a laugh from you. Your breath caught when you saw Isaac run onto the field. You wanted to talk to him, needed to. He just needed to notice you. 

That’s why you screamed his name the loudest out of everyone during the game if Isaac had the ball or scored. By the third time of being the most obnoxious attendee in the stands, he finally made eye contact with you. You held his stare, daring him to look away, and he only did when it was required. By the time the game ended, Beacon Hills had won, and you were surprised to find you actually watched a sports game without being bored. You caught up with Scott and everyone at the end, giving big hugs and congratulations. You felt a stare burning into your head and turned around to see Isaac looking as awkward as ever. 

“Hey,” you smiled, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You pulled an eyelash out of nervousness. 

“You still do that,” Isaac said, his voice deeper than you remember. 

“Do what?”

“Pull out your lashes when you get nervous,” Isaac grinned, and you thought it was the best smile in the world. 

“Can we talk?” you asked. 

“Yeah, let me just get changed.”

You waited for Isaac outside the locker room, waving Scott off when he asked what you were doing. Eventually, Isaac came out, and you found that even after all these years, you still felt butterflies deep in your core when he looked at you. 

“So, where should we go?” Isaac inquired, scratching the back of his neck. 

“There’s a lovely forest behind the field,” you answer.

“You want to take me to a forest?”

“Is that wrong?”

“Feels like you’re going to kill me.”

“I can’t kill you now, but maybe later,” you smiled, earning a grin from the boy across you. You both walked out of the school to the forest behind the field. You remember hiking through that forest with your family before you left Beacon Hills. It had the most sparkly sky during nighttime, and while some might think the quiet was unnerving, for you, it made you feel perfectly at peace. And right now, next to a boy with whom your heart was enamored, you needed peace more than ever. 

“Good game, you played…nice,” You mumbled, not knowing how to fill the silence between the two of you. 

“I aim to play…nice,” Isaac coughed, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. 

“So uh, how–”

“Why’d you leave?” Isaac pried, stopping you in your tracks. Why is he so tall? Was he always this tall?

“Isaac–”

“You were the only thing making that house bearable, and then you left, and I felt so alone,” Isaac choked. Your heart broke hearing his words. 

“My family was being hunted because I’m a werejaguar,” you exclaimed. “That’s why I left. It was never because of you; it never could be because of you.”

“You’re a–”

“Were-jaguar, I know.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Isaac announced, looking like too many gears were turning in his head to catch up. 

“I know.”

“You know?”

“The smell,” you explained. “You’re…musky.”

“Did you just call me musky?”

“Isaac, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving. I know your Dad sucked, and I know me leaving sucked–”

“Y/N–”

“I’m so sorry,” your voice broke. 

“I missed you,” Isaac mumbled, looking at the ground. 

“I missed you too,” you pulled out another eyelash, feeling the butterflies become angry fabric-eating moths in your stomach. Before you could contemplate your bad decisions, you wrestled a crumpled letter out of your jacket pocket and thrust it toward him. “I wrote this for you when I first left and never had the nerve to give it to you.”

“What changed?” Isaac inquired, taking the letter from your trembling fingers and tearing it open. 

“I lost everything already; what else is going to happen?”

Isaac looked at you, a mixture of sadness and other unrecognizable emotions in his eyes as he pulled the letter out of the envelope and unfolded the slightly yellow paper. You held your breath as his eyes scanned the page. Isaac was almost always an open book, never being very sly. Somehow though, he managed not to reveal anything as he read the letter. He folded the paper and put it back in the envelope. You held your breath as he wrestled with something in his back pocket, pulling out a crumpled scrap of paper from his wallet and holding it out to you. 

“What is that?” you questioned, your voice caught in her throat. 

“You’re not the only one who wrote letters.”

You took the paper from his hands, your fingers shaking as you opened it. You had a small smile as you took in Isaac’s elementary school messy scrawl. 

Hey Y/N,

You’re gone, and it makes me sad. I don’t know where you went, but things suck at home, and I miss riding my bike with you. 

Girls are weird, but you never were. Talking to you was easy, and I always knew I could trust you. Call it an instinct, but everything with you felt natural. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, I don’t know if you’ll ever care, but I thought you should know that you are important to me. My mom talked about love at first sight, and I thought love was stupid. But with you, I think I understand what she means. 

– Isaac

You wiped a tear and then ran down your cheek, looking up at Isaac. The moon highlighted him in a beautiful halo, and all you could think was life was cruel to damage this angel as so. 

“One of us needs to say something before I have a heart attack,” you smile nervously, your eyes wide. 

“Is your letter still true?” Isaac whispered. “Everything you wrote, is it still true?”

“Yes,” you breathed, looking at your hands. “I still love you,” you mumble. 

“Fuck it,” Isaac mumbled before tilting your chin up and pressing his lips to yours. Your brain short circuits, your breath catches in your throat, and all you can think is, ohmygodheskissingme. The small voice in your head sends you a swift kick, though, and you kiss back, relishing the feeling of his lips on yours. It ends too soon, and Isaac pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. You can feel his nose tickling yours and his breath ghosting your lips. “I love you, Y/N,” Isaac whispered, his thumb brushing your jaw and his other squeezing your waist. “Don’t leave again.”

“Never; I’m never leaving again.”

[thetarttfuldickhead]

It’s not until after Wembley – when it all comes crashing down but he somehow finds himself still standing, strong arms wrapped around him to hold him up – that he tells his mum the truth. About all of it: Dad reappearing in the past few years, why he left City for Lust Conquers All, what he’d been like at Richmond back when he first came there and why he’s back at Richmond now, and how it’s going and how he’s struggling but how he’s properly a part of the team again, only different this time, and better.

It comes out a rush at times, jumbled, and at times it’s faltering and halted. His mum listens in silence and her hand never leaves his head, never stops stroking his hair.

“Is this why you stopped coming round?” she asks when he finally falls silent, and what the fuck can he tell her but the truth? 

“Yeah. I didn’t… I just didn’t know what to tell you.” 

He can feel her eyes on him, but he resolutely stares down at his hands idling along the hem of her shirt. Lying to her, if mostly by omission, had made him feel all sorts of sick and twisted up inside, so he’d just stayed away. Pleaded work and too far away and busy living the life, when he’d bothered to explain himself at all. 

Mad shitty, that. He can admit that now, so he adds: “I’m sorry, mummy.” 

She doesn’t tell him that he doesn’t need to be or that it doesn’t matter, because his mum has never lied to him, but her fingers finding his wrist for a gentle squeeze is absolution.  

“I’m sorry, too,” she offers, and now his eyes snap to her face, because what. “That you had to deal with that hairy ball sack of a father again. Should have realized he’d start showing his ugly mug again once you became a star.” 

He makes a face at that. “Yeah, no. Didn’t want you to know, so.”

His mum makes a face right back at him. “That’s just being silly, love. No more lies, yeah,” she adds with a light tap to his nose, as stern as she ever gets. “You don’t need to protect me, Jamie, and you don’t ever have to lie to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. It was just… fucking hard. Didn’t want you to have to deal with that shit or, or not be… proud of me or whatever.”

He can feel her smile, a little sad maybe, as she presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’ll always be proud of you, my sexy baby. And no matter where you go or what you do, I’ll always love you.” 

Jamie nods against her chest, feeling a treacherous sting in his eyes. He knows that; has always known that. The first thing he ever knew about himself was that he was loved. He’d let himself forget, for a bit. 

For a while, neither of them speak. He can hear the sound of a ball irregularly hitting a wall somewhere nearby and it’s the sound of his childhood, and from the kitchen drift the noises of Simon’s latest experiement, and he’s curled up against his mum on the couch and this is home. 

“But it’s better now, at Richmond?” his mum asks eventually. “You’re doing all right?”

He lets out a long breath, just slightly shaky, and cuddles closer to her, pressing his face into her neck and letting himself relax completely into the comfort of her embrace and her familiar scent, the utter safety of it. Thinks about Sam returning his smiles now and about going out with Colin and Isaac again, leaning off of Dani’s shoulder. How Roy’s eyes no longer automatically harden whenever he enters a room. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m doing fine. Better.”

For the first time in a long time, it’s the truth.