#this isn’t her first offense either

[eat-rock]

moodboard for my dog who ate the ethernet cord yesterday

[eccentricwritingbaby]

arm candy

lando norris x reader

summary - enemies to lovers as the two embark on a pr relationship. reader is heavily based on cristina yang and olivia pope - intelligent and knows her worth. lando treats her as just a piece of ass on his arm. the two need to keep up appearances, yet always have time to find a fight. 

masterlist

-

“i’m sorry,” you can’t help but laugh into the conference room, “you want me to what?” your father just sighs across from you in his seat, already knowing his head strong daughter would make a fuss over this. 

“y/n…” he starts, but you shoot him a look to stop, quickly. 

“i’m sorry, are you my pimp or my father?” you ask with a mocking behavior. 

“stop, y/n,” he grits out, “stop it,”

“fine,” you shrug, rolling your eyes. 

the room was filled with five people. your father, you, adam norris, lando norris, and some mean little woman who came in meaning business and barking orders. you respected her. 

your dad and lando’s dad had been business associates for a long time, never close friends, but acquaintances nonetheless. you had never met lando before, but had definitely heard about his escapades. 

“listen,” the woman starts again, “lando needs someone normal and successful on his arm, not anymore models or influencers that last only a day and alter his image, his image needs to be clean, squeaky clean,”

“oh my god,” you laugh out in disbelief, “i can’t believe i went to an ivy university just to be someone’s high end hooker-”

“Y/N!” you dad stands from his chair, “that’s enough out of you,”

“dad, this is ridiculous-”

“no its not, it’s business,” he stands firmly on his ground, “it’s four months of fake fucking dating just suck it up and do it,”

“fine,” you mumble out, “but only for you,”

your dad takes his seat again, grumbling out a few apologies to lando and his father along with the woman. they all just nod their head as she moves along with certain details. you finally look up from where you were fiddling with your fingers, making eye contact with your new ‘boyfriend’. he sends you a quiet look of reassurance, most likely that he didn’t want to be there either. you both give each other a smile, and your mind hopes that this might be okay. 

-

“so,” lando starts, attempting to break the tension on your first fake date.

“so,” you laugh, “how are you?”

“i think we can skip the pleasantries, y/n,” he chuckles, “we’ve technically been dating for four months?”

“oh right,” you continue to play along, “met you one week ago, but we’re madly in love,”

lando chuckles into his drink before the waiter comes over to get you started. once ordered, lando glances up at you, and you can’t help but find the small twinkle in his eye adorable. and then he speaks.

“you look like someone who i would go out with, without your personality, though”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you question in offense.

“i mean usually my type is-”

“girls with half a brain?” you attempt to finish for him, but he just sharpens his gaze in your direction, eyebrows furrowing at your accusation.

“no,” he denies, “just girls who are a bit quieter,”

“so, pushovers?”

“not exactly,”

“you just want a little hot minion to control?”

“no,” he tries again, attempting to find the right words, “someone who isn’t rude,”

“oh you think i’m rude?”

“did you hear yourself in the meeting? talking to your dad like that? acting like the smartest person in the room-”

“i was the smartest person in that room,” you bite back to him, “and i’m sorry i didn’t enjoy the action of being pimped out, it’s offensive to my degrees and accomplishments-”

“you aren’t being pimped out, it’s a favor-”

“oh,” you scoff, “a favor?”

“yes, a favor, you probably aren’t used to hearing that word because you’re so self-centered,” he pushes.

“and here’s two words you do probably hear often, fuck off,”

“the rest of this dinner will be in silence,” lando directs to you, the waiter now coming over with your food. 

“finally, something we can agree on,”

-

you and lando had now been fake dating for two months. you came and went from his races, he was here and there at events in your honor, you both were successfully fulfilling your duties. the public was eating it up, excited that lando was in his ‘boyfriend era’. you both in reality were still finding each other difficult. lando found you to be pretentious and rude, you found lando to be a spoiled dick. but that was all pushed aside when it came to being in public. 

you heard the knuckles wrap on your door, and you attempt to brush the tears from your eyes swiftly. shit. you had lost track of time while on the phone with your mom, well, arguing with your mom. you forgot that lando was meeting you at your apartment soon to take a pre scheduled outing. getting up after hearing the knock once more, you make your way to open the door. 

“hey,” he grunts out, before he looks at your reddened eyes, “what’s wrong?” his tone softens with the question. 

“nothing,” you brush off, “let me just redo my makeup and i’ll be ready to go,”

“wait, y/n,” lando stops you from leaving the room, “talk to me, what’s going on?”

“you don’t want to hear about this, lan,” he catches himself smiling at the nickname that slipped off your tongue. 

“i have a heart, y’know,” he jokes quietly to you, bringing his hand up to give you a slight poke in the ribs. 

“no, really?” you ask sarcastically.

“yes, now talk to me,” he laughs to you, still trying to break you out of your shell. 

“it’s just the divorce,” you shake your head, “my parents have made me their middle man since they’ve been separated, and now i have to be my sibling's therapist too,” you choke up, trying to swallow back your tears. 

“i’m sorry, y/n,” lando moves forward, beginning to wrap his arms around you. 

“i’ve just gotta be there for everyone,” you sigh, “it’s been like that since i was a kid, i’ll be fine,”

“well,” lando starts, “i can be there for you,”

“like hell,” you laugh off, starting your trek to the bathroom.

“i’m serious,” lando pushes, “i know we’re at each other's throats, but if you need anything, you can talk to me,”

“thanks,” you squeak out, “you’re not so bad, norris,”

“why thank you, y/l/n. you’re not so bad yourself,”

-

it was race day, and you were actually excited. you and lando had a breakthrough the night he caught you crying. you both finally broke down the wall that divided and protected your hearts. you were feeling better about spending the next few months with him, it was going to be a relief to actually enjoy it. 

“are you ready, y/n?” lando calls out from the other room. 

“yeah!” you shout back, sliding your left foot into your final shoe. lando steps out of the room, dripped head to toe in papaya, bag slung lightly over his shoulder. 

“you look great,” he lets go of the compliment and you find yourself blushing, choosing to stare down at your feet instead of making eye contact. lando holds his hand you and you grasp it eagerly, readying yourselves for the show about to be put on. or was it a show?

once at the track, your hands finally separate as he heads to the garage and you move towards where his father was standing. 

“hey, mr. norris,” you greet with a smile at the older gentleman.

“please, y/n. how many times do i have to tell you to call me adam?” he chuckles with you. 

“i’m sorry, it’s just too unnatural for me,”

“well please, try,” you continue with your laughs, “mr. norris is my father,”

“alright,” you giggle, cringing a bit before squeaking out, “adam,”

“there we go!” you both joke around a bit more before a certain curly-haired mclaren driver is jogging over to you both.

“hey, dad,” he greets adam with a quick pat to his shoulder, “can i steal her for a second?” adam nods, giving you both some space as lando starts dragging you over to a quieter area.

“what’s up, lan?” you ask him, a bit of concern in your voice since you were unsure of what was going on. 

“i need to talk to you,” he sighs out, eyes holding an emotion you couldn’t put a finger on.

“what’s going on? are you okay?”

“yeah, yeah,” he shakes off, now grabbing your hands in his, “i just- i just-”

“LANDO!” his engineer calls from the garage behind him, “WE NEED YOU IN THE CAR!”

“TWO SECONDS!” he yells back over his shoulder, now turning back to face you, “listen, i really like you,”

“oh,” your eyes widen in surprise but lando just keeps rambling. 

“and not in this fake, bullshit way. i want to really take you out even if you drive me crazy sometimes,”

“lando-” you try to cut him off, but he just keeps going. 

“i can’t handle your rejection before i race so, if you’re by the gate after i finish, i’ll take it as you feel the same way,” taking a deep breath after his confession, lando leans in, kissing you roughly before pulling away and running back to the garage. you stand there for a moment, trying to process what had happened before a smile breaks out across your face. 

lando came in fourth. you cheered and cried, jumped up and down with his family and friends, and then you took off. you started your sprint to the gate, ready to meet him and finally bask in your own happiness. ready to choose yourself for once. 

you rush towards the wall just as lando is climbing out of his car. his head whips around to the barrier, searching for your face. once spotted, he breaks out in a similar sprint as you did, rushing towards you for a hug. you breathe in the moment, you and lando holding each other, for real this time, finally. 

-

you both were a giggly mess as you made your way back to the hotel room. 

“you’re coming out tonight, right?” he asks, arms not leaving your waist since you had left the paddock. 

“yeah, i’m coming,” you reply, brushing your hands up and down his arms that were wrapped around your middle. 

“okay, good,” his forehead meets yours, relishing in the feeling of you being in his arms, in private, “so my room or yours tonight?” he asks in a joking tone, referring to the two bedroom suite you were in. 

“mine,” you laugh quietly, “it smells better,” you poke him in the stomach a bit and he just chuckles with you. 

“you don’t like the smell of my race gear, love?” 

“no thank you, sir,”

“alright, well go get ready, and we’ll head out in about an hour?” lando shoo’s you to your room, patting your bum as you turn around, causing you to blush as you exit. 

later, at the club, you’re seated in the vip area with some of the drivers and a few friends. lando’s arm has been wrapped around your shoulder or waist all night, the tension between you two turning slowly from annoyance to lust. kisses stolen when they can be, waist being squeezed, and overall eye contact has made you a puddle in lando’s hands. you were falling for him, deeply. and you could tell he was too. until. he spoke. 

“that’s a nice lady you’ve got on your arm there, lando,” one of the guys in the section shouts to your boyfriend. 

“thanks, mate,” he shouts back, pulling you closer into his side. the man approaches the both of you, beginning to chat to lando about his race earlier. your mind quietly drifts out of the conversation, before you’re pulled back in as the man, now learning his name to be jack, introduces you to his girlfriend. the both of them were very fitting for each other, eyes wide open with nothing going on behind them. 

you strike up a conversation with the woman in front you about her shoes, before glance over and finding your boyfriend eyeing her up and down with ease. he catches your eyes and looks away, his arm pulling you in even closer than before. you just scoff in his direction and begin to get up from your seating. lando lets out a quick apology to the couple in front of you before chasing after you out of the vip section.

“y/n! wait! where are you going?” he shouts over the music and into your ear.

“i’m leaving,” you grunt out, continuing pushing past people in your pursuit for the exit. 

“why?”

“oh please,” you let out a laugh, finally reaching your destination and swiftly leaving the building. now in a quieter atmosphere, lando drops his voice and grabs you, forcing you to look at him, “i saw you looking, lando,”

“what? at the girl with jack?”

“yeah, i saw you checking her out,” your face hardens, morphing into the one you sported the first two months of getting to know lando. the one you had on when you didn’t like him, scaring the man in front of you as he watches, “i thought you were different, but i guess then again, people never change-”

“stop, y/n,” lando sternly speaks, “i am different, i like you. not her,”

“funny way of showing it,” you laugh, “i mean the both of them couldn’t even handle an intelligent conversation if they tried,”

“it always comes back to this with you doesn’t it?” he asks, now pushing you towards his car and retrieving his keys. 

“what does that mean?”

“you always have to be the smartest, huh?”

“that’s not what that is,” you shake him off, the both of you now entering his car before you continue, “it’s just embarrassing that you would prefer beauty over brains,”

“i don’t do that,” he whips his head around to face you, “i just appreciate attractive women, are you saying smart women can’t also be attractive?”

“don’t twist my words,” you shoot back, “just drive the damn car,”

-

“i cannot stand you when you’re like this,” lando grunts out as you arrive back into your hotel room. 

“like what?” you push back, moving to place your hands on your hips in defiance, ready for the fight about to unfold. 

“a-an arrogant, selfish, cocky-” he starts to stutter out his list, but you promptly cut him off. 

“it sounds like you’re describing yourself there,”

“no, that’s all you,”

“oh really?” you taunt, your eyes boring into his with fire, “says the guy who has only one race win under his belt but acts like he’s big shit-”

“SHUT UP!” he screams out at you, but you only push him further. 

“you want to call me arrogant, baby, we both are. it’s the only fucking thing we have in common,” you mockingly laugh in his direction, his head now fuming.

“you’re so-”

“right? correct? because i am. we both are arrogant and confident however the hell you want to spin it, who the fuck says that’s a bad thing?” you ask him as his eyes start to soften, “and i am not arrogant. i’m good at what i do, that is a simple fact,” you huff, catching your breath after your anger begins to cool. 

“you are right,” he sighs, “i guess we’re so alike that we didn’t even notice,”

“i am not like you,” you shake your head.

“and why would that be such a bad thing? you met me at the gate, remember?”

“because i am not some womanizer who just uses girls, not taking one glance at anything but their tits,” you snap at him. 

“i didn’t use you, and you know i think you’re beautiful, y/n,” lando attempts to calm the situation, but it only riles you up further.

“oh fuck that,” you spit out, lando taking a step back from you in surprise at your reaction, “fuck beautiful, if you want to compliment me,” you sneer in his direction, bringing up a finger to point in his face, “compliment my brain,” with your final say, you turn quickly on your heel in order to walk out the door. 

“y/n!” lando shouts, “stop,” he jogs over to you, grabbing your arm and moving your body to face him, “listen, i’m sorry,” he sighs, his free hand not wrapped around your arm running down his face, “i know you’re pretty good at what you do,”

“pretty good?” you scoff, “i’m great,”

“i’m trying to apologize here,”

“then apologize, correctly,” you emphasize, sharpening your gaze at him, “and don’t be sorry, be better,”

“that’s what i’m trying to say,” lando pleads, “i’m trying to tell you that i will be better,” 

“don’t tell me, show me,” you push, “i’m not your little play thing, lando. i’m not one of your little side hoes with no brain and just eyes for your money,” he scoffs at your vulgar words, but let’s you continue, “i have my own money and my own brain. i am not a body and face to just show up on your arm, you want me like you say you want me?” you rhetorically ask him, inching your face closer to his, “you have to earn me,”

“i will earn you, y/n. i want to earn you,”

“acting like this won’t get you there. i deserve better,”

“i will be better,” now with your faces inches apart, trading breath from each other’s mouths, you and lando finally quiet your everlasting argument, “let me show you, please,”

“i don’t know you, i don’t know if you’ll just say this and then go back to being a dick when you get bored,” you release your insecurities to him, his eyes softening at your vulnerability - something you rarely let out. 

“do you know who anyone really is?” he asks you, voice now quiet and gentle as his hand that was gripping your arm now begins to softly stroke it, “that’s the beauty of life, y/n,”

“getting hurt?”

“no,” he shakes his head with a laugh, “the unknown,”

“i don’t like not knowing,” you sigh, your soft side now coming out fully.

“i know,” he breathes out, “you’ve always had your entire life planned for you, y/n. it’s time you just relax, and have the ability to be surprised,”

“but what if i do get hurt?”

“with me around?” he chuckles, moving a centimeter away from your face, “that won’t happen,” he gives your forehead a light peck, “and if it does,” now a peck on your nose, “i’ll be around to help you,” and finally your lips. you give a hum of appreciation to his lips, basking in the warmth they gave you. finally separating in order to catch your breath, your foreheads rest together, eyes never leaving the others, “you don’t have to be alone anymore, y/n. you don’t have to do it all by yourself,”

“thank you,” you sigh, tears beginning to form in your waterline, “for everything,”

“no, thank you,” he replies back quickly, “for bringing me back down to earth,”

“i’ll always be around to humble you,” you giggle in his arms as he laughs with you.

“and i, you,”

-

a/n - this is not proofread so i'm so sorry if its a rambling mess, i just had the idea and wanted to write it up before i lost it

[slavonicrhapsody]

OK so a million years ago I made a post analyzing all the placements of the abductor virgin enemies throughout the game, and I came to the conclusion that they’re very deliberately placed as a gesture of protection from Rykard to his family members: there are two at Raya Lucaria, where his mother resides, one on the ramparts of Caria Manor, where his sister lays low, and one at Redmane Castle, where his brother commanded his army. But there isn’t just one abductor virgin in Caelid, there is also an entire cave filled with broken pieces of them — the Abandoned Cave.

The cave lies on the north cliff edge of the Swamp of Aeonia, where Malenia fought Radahn and unleashed the Scarlet Rot upon Caelid. There’s a lone abductor virgin patrolling the cliff opposite the cave entrance that looks to have killed several of the giant dogs:

The cave has some poisony mushroom guy enemies, those annoying flowers, and the boss of the cave is the Cleanrot Knight duo... all enemies that thrive in the rot. The cave itself is a bubbling swamp of scarlet rot, and there are broken abductor virgins absolutely everywhere.

The conclusion I came to about this cave in my post was that this army of abductor virgins was being stored inside, when the Scarlet Aeonia bloomed and flooded the cave with rot so violently that it destroyed all of the abductors. Why were they there in the first place? Since the abductors are specifically found at the residences of Rykard’s mother, sister, and brother (and not at the residences of any of his half/step-siblings), and since there is already one abductor at Redmane Castle, and since Rykard seems to have been fond of Radahn, hanging a portrait of him above his fireplace, the most sensible conclusion is that these abductor virgins were also meant for Radahn.

BUT, what was always mysterious to me was why Rykard would feel the need to give Radahn an entire army of abductor virgins. Rennala only gets two, and Ranni only gets one. What about Radahn’s situation would necessitate a whole army? My answer to this question had been kind of a handwavey “well, he’s fighting an offensive war so he’d need more weapons,” and that still could be true but I always felt like there might be a better explanation. WELL, with the revelations about Radahn from the DLC, I think I have one!

From the DLC, we learn that Radahn made a vow with Miquella, and his half of the vow was that he’d agree to be Miquella’s consort. But during the Shattering, it seems to me that things went awry: Malenia traveled across the entire continent just to kill Radahn at Miquella’s behest, so that he might be revived as Miquella’s consort... but Radahn didn’t die, and his great rune “burns, to resist the encroachment of the scarlet rot” to this day. The armies of both demigods can be found endlessly fighting each other as spirits in the War-Dead catacombs. This leads me to believe that Radahn was not prepared to die for Miquella’s sake here, he and his Redmanes fought Malenia and her Cleanrots to win. I think this conflict might’ve happened because during the Shattering, Radahn decided to pursue his own ends — perhaps influenced by his great rune’s “mad taint” — and became either unfaithful or simply a disappointment to Miquella. So Miquella sends Malenia to kill Radahn, and he later revives his soul, but specifically as the youthful version of Radahn whom he admired, not the mature Radahn of the Shattering.

Miquella’s version of Radahn (Radahn in his youth) vs. Rykard’s version of Radahn (a mature Radahn: face is more deeply lined, no braids, he’s wearing the armor style we see Starscourge Radahn wearing in-game and not the “Young Lion” armor)

While on her way to Caelid, Malenia would have had to march through Altus, past Mt. Gelmir. What if Rykard somehow discovered Malenia’s intentions before she reached Caelid? And he panicked, sending his brother a whole army of his war machines in order to keep him safe when he himself could not abandon his Manor? But Radahn refused to use them to protect himself, because above all he values honor on the battlefield and depends on his own strength to see himself through, and hiding behind machines in battle would be dishonorable and cowardly? So the army of abductor virgins sits unused in an abandoned Caelid cave, until Radahn and Malenia fight to a standstill, and the scarlet rot blooms, flooding the cave and destroying the army within? I think the DLC revelations slot into my previous speculations pretty nicely… and if Rykard had not yet fed himself to the serpent by the time Malenia fought Radahn, well, this would certainly give him another good reason to want to destroy the very system of the gods, wouldn’t it?

[matchavellichor]

If you’re still taking requests then I have one 😊

Could you please write a scenario where Sebastian goes home for the Christmas holiday to make amends with Anne and Solomon (before shit happens) and he leaves Ominis and Female MC alone. They finally get to spend time alone together for once and find they have a lot more in common than rheu previously thought (they go on walks, study in the library, hang out in the undercroft) and Ominis who already had a secret little crush on her but always thought that Sebastian kinda had a claim on her, starts falling very hard and he finally decides to do something about it. Maybe they’re hanging out in the undercroft one night and he spontaneously kisses her. I would adore if you could take this into NSFW territory, I’d love the awkward yet sensual first-time sex between them if you could (and as much as I love him, please no Dominis, I want the sweet boy we meet in the game) ♥️

A.N: Thank you for this request! I absolutely adored writing this, so precious 🥹 I hope you enjoy! Also thank you to everyone else who sent a request, I'm trying to get through all of them now that I'm on break and have more time 🫶

You Drew Stars

f!MC x Ominis Gaunt - NSFW/Fluff - 5.6k words

Summary: After Sebastian leaves the castle to spend winter break in Feldcroft, Ominis' sentiments for his friend slowly begin to stretch past the bounds of what's platonically appropriate...

Tags: "Un"requited Love, Pining, Miscommunication, Loss of Virginity, First-Times, Friends to Lovers, Supportive Friend Sebastian Sallow

The library was empty as Ominis meandered his way through towards the back shelves, most of the other students having gone home for winter break. To his satisfaction, the few who had stayed didn’t share any habits of curling up with a book an hour before curfew. 

He made his way to the old, royal purple chaise that he usually sat in towards the back corner of the establishment, tucked just behind a shelf on holistic gardening that no one ever frequented. He stilled when he noticed someone already there, the quiet sound of pages turning alerting him of their presence.

“Hey, Ominis,” She glanced up when she heard him approach and eyed the book in his hand curiously. “Some light reading before bed?” 

“Oh, it’s you,” He scratched the back of his neck. “I was, but I think I’ll just head back to—”

“Don’t be silly,” She tucked herself towards one side of the lounge and patted the seat directly beside her. “Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

“It’s fine, really, you were here first—”

She sighed. “Will you just sit down?”

He shifted nervously in his place for a moment before finally coming to some decision and making his way towards her to take a seat. The chaise sat two people comfortably, albeit a bit cramped, their arms brushing every time either of them turned a page. 

She didn’t seem to mind. Unfortunately, he didn’t possess the same level of indifference, a faint flush of pink creeping up his neck from beneath his white Oxford when she crossed her legs and her thighs brushed against his.

After finishing up her chapter, she reached over to tilt the front cover of his book towards her, her curiosity getting the best of her. She was awfully forward, if not borderline rude. He tried to disguise the fact he liked it.

“Brontë?” Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Developed a rebellious streak, have you, Ominis?”

“Something like that,” He mused. “Though, I suppose there are better ways to defy my parents.”

“Oh, certainly. If you spent more time with me you’d have a plethora of creative ideas by now,” She grinned. “Not that sneaking around reading Muggle literature isn’t an admirable offense, of course.”

He breathed out a laugh. “You make an enticing offer, I have to admit.”

“What can I say, I’m enticing.”

Overwhelmingly, he thought.

He accompanied her to her dorm room afterwards and tried to wipe the stupid, dreadful smile on his face the entire walk back to his own.

They fell into a simple sort of routine. 

Even though they had already fit into some category of the word friends, it had never been in the same way that she was with Sebastian. The more he got to know her, the more he wondered why he hadn’t done so sooner. She was absolutely brilliant.

He quickly learned she was just as much of a night owl as he was, often walking into the common room to find her already curled up on one of the wingback chairs in front of the fireplace, waiting for him.

She’d lay out a rotating selection of Muggle literature and make him pick one for her to read to him, even if he insisted he could just cast a simple dictation spell or transfigure a copy in braille.

He quickly found his particular favorite was Jane Austen, to which she teased him relentlessly for being a bleeding heart romantic. Gods, she had no idea. 

She introduced him to Mary Shelley, which he enjoyed just as much, although he posited he’d grow to appreciate just about anything as long as it was her reading it to him.

It was over steaming cups of earl gray in the common room and midday walks through the snow-crested forest that his inkling of a crush morphed into something else. Something more.

Feelings, he recognized rather ruefully, one late evening after she’d fallen asleep with her head pillowed on his lap in the common room. 

Twisty, hot, almost nausea-inducing feelings. Overwhelming and nerve-wracking, but at the same time so unbelievably good, and warm, and sweet, because how could he feel anything else with her except pleasantries? 

They were the kind where he found he wanted to do nothing more but stay in the private, simple routine they’d created for themselves, just the two of them. Wanted to keep living in the daydream he’d invented about their relationship, where sometimes she’d hug him goodnight a little too tightly, or sit a little too close, and it’d almost feel like she cared for him the same way he cared for her. Almost.

He ignored the guilty, nagging sensation in his gut about her relationship with Sebastian, and decided he’d let his delusions take him through the remainder of their holiday together. 

//

Stretched out on the plush rug in front of the common room fireplace, he wrapped a hand around her ankle when she went to nudge him with a stockinged foot for the thirtieth time in the last five minutes.

“Quit it,” He didn’t glance up from where his fingers were combing over the braille in his open textbook. “You’re distracting me.”

“You’re not even studying anymore,” She wriggled her foot out of his hold and poked his thigh again in defiance. “You’re a terrible fake-reader, you know. You don’t even make your eyes move across the lines.”

“Hilarious,” He rolled his eyes, finally closing the book on his lap. “And maybe I’ve stopped studying because someone has been prodding me incessantly for the past half-hour.”

“My mental capacity has reached its limit for the night. And I’m starved,” She picked herself up from the floor, rolling her shoulders back in a stretch, before holding a hand out for him to take. “Come on, up. Let’s get something to eat.”

He waved his wand over his wristwatch. “It’s nearly one in the morning, where on earth are we going to get something to eat?” 

Her lips curled into a smirk as she helped him to his feet. “I have my ways.”

He sighed a defeated breath as he let her tug him along. “Yes, I’m aware. I’m afraid that’s precisely my concern.”

//

“Gods, we’re going to be given twin concussions by a kitchen elf any second now. I hear Tilly’s got a particularly strong arm.” The glowing tip of Ominis’ wand cast the dark surroundings of the Hogwarts kitchens in a red hue. “Keep an eye out for any hurtling rolling pins, will you?”

“Will you stop worrying? It’s fine.” She huffed, sticking her head into one of the pantries of the kitchens before popping out a few moments later. “Apple or blueberry?”

“Both?”

She grinned, slipping back inside. “This is why we’re friends.”

“We’re friends? This is news to me.” 

She narrowed her eyes at where he was poised at the doorway. “Keep talking like that and we’ll be enemies soon enough.”

“My biggest nightmare,” He teased. “I certainly would not want to get on your bad side.”

He followed her as she slipped past him out of the pantry with two magically-steaming pies in hand, making her way towards the exit of the kitchens. 

“You’re certainly a lot smarter than Sebastian, then,” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You know what’s good for you.” 

You’re good for me, he thought.

“Call it self-preservation.”

//

“How about dinner with a view?” She stopped at the bottom stairwell of the Astronomy tower, only pale moonlight and the dim, orange glow of the scattered wall sconces to illuminate the barren hallways they’d been treading through.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t really make a difference to me, all of my dinners are without a view.”

“Oh, look who’s all clever all of a sudden.” She rolled her eyes.

He grinned. “I’ve always been clever. Do keep up.”

She balanced the pie in her hands in one arm and took his hand with the other, beginning the long, meandering ascent to the upper tower platform.

Her fingers laced so nicely with his, as if they’d been carved to mold perfectly with his own. Smaller than his, but warm, and familiar. He reveled in the privilege of getting to touch her so freely, conscious of the fact this comfortableness would most likely end as soon as Sebastian was back from Feldcroft.

They sat cross-legged with their arms draped over the metal railing, tucking into their pies and trading spoonfuls of rich, syrupy goodness. It wasn’t as cold as a normal December night, but he cast periodic warming charms over them anyways and transfigured his jumper into a blanket that turned out only marginally big enough for the both of them.

They ate in comfortable, companionable silence and all that he could think about is how he wished he could do this always. In the summer, in the spring, in the fall. That this wasn’t something temporary, something that would be robbed from him in a few short weeks.

“Didn’t realize you were such a messy eater, Ominis.” She glanced up at him, an amused smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Where’s all that pureblood dining etiquette gone to?” 

He rolled his eyes and went to feel around for a napkin, but she leaned forward instead. He sucked in a sharp breath as she braced a hand on his thigh and swiped her thumb over the side of his mouth, collecting remnants of blueberry jam, brushing over his bottom lip in a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity, though in reality was brief and fleeting. 

She sat back down in her seat, unphased, and popped the digit in her mouth, bottom teeth scraping over the pad of her thumb, sugar melting on her tongue. 

His mouth felt terribly dry.

He swallowed down the sensation of longing with a spoonful of apple filling and flaky, golden crust.

Bellies full with ungodly amounts of pie, they laid beside each other on the too-small blanket, and Ominis tried to ignore the too-loud sound of his blood rushing in his ears, paired with the too-fast beating of his heart in his chest, and attempted to simply relax. 

He closed his eyes and focused on something other than the consuming feeling of want prickling over his skin, setting his nerve-endings alight with the desire to touch and hold and caress. She wasn’t his to do any of those things with. 

He focused on her soft, steady breathing. The rise and fall of her chest beside his. 

“Merlin, it’s beautiful.” She murmured, a dazed quality to her voice.

“I’m sure it is.” He replied just as listless, though undoubtedly for other reasons.

She turned her head to face him. “Want me to describe it to you?” 

He turned to face her as well and he was suddenly acutely aware of the feeling of her breath ghosting his cheek. She was so close. His voice was quiet. “Would you?”

She nodded. “Alright, close your eyes.” 

He bit back a smile. “You’re such an idiot.” 

She grinned. “Shut up and do it.” 

He obliged with a disgruntled huff. Pleased, she turned back towards the scenery. 

“It’s a full moon tonight, so everything has this almost…silver glow. Like the whole world’s been dipped in platinum.” She began. 

He tried to picture it in his head, sheens of pale white cast over rolling hills and thick forest.

“You can see the entire lake from up here, never-ending and inky black, and juuust there, past the border of the forest—” She outstretched a hand. “—is Hogsmeade, with its little orange lights.”

She glanced sideways at him to see his eyes still closed, the softest smile brushing his lips. 

She continued, “What’s really pretty though, is the stars. Too many to ever count. Enough to make your head dizzy, really.” She let out a laugh and he decided it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. 

“Some are brighter than others, and you can make out little pictures in the night sky. Tonight, there’s Orion looking down on us,” She tilted her head, brows knitting together as she took a moment to study him. “Actually…”

He let out a startled breath when he felt her fingertips make contact with his cheek, dragging over his skin in feather-light touches, tracing the small smattering of beauty marks there.

“You bear a remarking similarity,” She ran her index softly between the points, connecting little invisible lines. “Right here.” 

He swallowed hard. “Do I?”

“Mhm,” She hummed. “It’s awfully pretty.”

She hadn’t pulled her hand back. His skin buzzed with the sensation, because her fingertips were still there, on his cheek, touching him with a softness that he had never known before in his life, with a kindness that he was so unaccustomed to.

Gentle, repetitive drags, skin-on-skin, that same prickling sensation of want having grown into something almost painful inside of him. Bubbling and overwhelming, just underneath his flesh, his fingers twitching with the desire to reach out and feel.

He was conscious of how stupid it was, mind-numbingly so, but he couldn’t bear the aching tension in his chest any longer, and he knew of only one way to acquiesce his restless heart.

He cupped her own cheek in his hand, dipped his chin forward, and captured her lips in his.

Her fingers froze against his cheek, and he could feel the slight surprise in her body language, before it quickly morphed into something else, something accepting, something satisfied. As if she’d been longing just as desperately, had been waiting for this the same way he’d been.

Her hand dragged down to thread through the fine, blonde hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer to her, eliciting a sharp intake of air through his nose, settling all kinds of feelings deep behind his navel.

She parted her lips for him and he chased the syrupy taste of sugar on her tongue like he needed it to live, swallowed her quiet, breathy pants like mouthfuls of honey, sticky and saccharine and so overwhelmingly her he could drown in it. 

She was so sweet, so soft, and far, far too perfect for his fantasies to have ever possibly done her justice.

When she finally broke away, he could feel her drowsy, sapless smile against his lips. He smiled back, just as giddy, an absolute fool, surely, but in the moment he couldn’t care less. He resisted the urge to dive back in. To run his tongue over her teeth and plead for more, because he knew he would most likely never get enough. 

He was content then, just holding her. She tucked herself into his side, pillowed her head on his chest, and let him run his hands up and down her back. Let him bury his nose in the crown of her hair and revel in the feeling of having her there, feeling too much like his.

//

After that, their routine shifted into something else. Something unspoken, that didn’t really need any labels or clarifications, because it all fell into place like pieces of a puzzle. Normal and simple and easy and natural.

Because, of course he got to kiss her goodnight when he left her at her dorm room every evening. And it was only obvious that they’d lace their fingers together on their Sunday trips to Hogsmeade for a butterbeer, and sit on the same side of the booth instead of opposite each other like before. And why would she not drape her legs over his lap on that purple chaise in the library, or tuck herself into his side on that dusty, old loveseat in the Undercroft?

He wasn’t sure what he’d done to ever get so lucky, but he thanked Fortune herself every night he got to collect her in his arms and press lingering kisses to her forehead. It was an intoxicating feeling to have everything he wanted right there in his hands, soft and pliable and willing, so perfectly receptive to his touch, so eager to reciprocate with the same amount of fevered passion and affection.

Of course, there were levels of uncertainties to their relationship still. Questions he couldn’t bring himself to ask, out of fear of ruining everything. What are we and and for the love of Circe, tell me this means something to you, too poised on the tip of his tongue everytime she wrapped herself around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

There were boundaries, admittedly maybe only fictitious ones his own anxious brain fabricated, but ones nonetheless. He’d always ask her first before he kissed her, and she’d always respond with eager nods, blissful smiles, and her fingers curling into the front of his shirt to tug his mouth down to hers.

He adored kissing her.  Maybe a bit too much. Alright, maybe alarmingly too much.

He’d spend eternity with his mouth on hers if he could, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He constantly craved the numb, bruised feeling of his lips after a particularly long makeout session. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, of being so intimate with her, of the soft and sweet and spit-sticky brushes of her tongue against his, of that aching, heated swirl he got just behind his navel. 

She was bliss personified. 

Crossing a leg over the other on that worn, tawny loveseat in the Undercroft, he skimmed through the pages of the paperback in his hand with his wand. A few feet away from him, she was reducing a couple training dummies into splinters of charred wood, spell after spell rolling off her tongue with ease. 

His headstrong little witch. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips at how powerful she was, admiration swelling in his chest.

After getting her fix of dueling for the day and craving attention, she made her way over to him, sitting beside him, although more accurately, practically sitting on top of him. Not that he minded.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she looked up at him expectantly, and because he’d give her absolutely anything her little heart desired, he tucked his book away immediately and turned his focus towards her, pecking a kiss to her cheek. She smiled in satisfaction. 

He had the tiniest inkling of a feeling that maybe he was spoiling her rotten. Not that he minded that, either. 

“Tired?” 

She shook her head. “Just missed you.”

He brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek and couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his mouth. “Did you now?”

She nodded, staring down at his lips as she leaned in to press her mouth against his. Simple and natural and easy. It was a wonder how normal it seemed, as if it was something they’d always done. 

Her tongue brushed against his bottom lip, pleading for entrance, and of course he obliged, because who was he to deny her anything?

He could feel the little exhale of breath against his cheek as his tongue met hers, feel the way she instinctively pressed more against him as if she wanted to mold herself to his very bones.

He loved having her like this. 

Eager and passion-filled, her magic thrumming in her veins with a little added intensity, reflected in the way she kissed him, in the way she touched him. 

She broke away for air, but he couldn’t help the desire to have more. He trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses over her jaw, down the length of her neck. He’d never kissed her there and he found himself particularly interested in exploring. She positively melted under his ministrations.

“Ominis,” She sighed his name on a breathy pant and the sound coursed straight to his groin, tugging at that aching desire in his gut, that heated, twisty, starved feeling that was always there when he touched her, lingering someone hidden, nursing it into something insatiable. 

She reconnected her mouth to his and stoked that flickering flame inside him until it was red-hot and all-consuming. 

He tangled his fingers through her hair and explored her mouth with a deliberate slowness. Languid, syrupy drags of his tongue against hers. Hot, needy breaths shared in a space between them that was far too little and far too much at the same time. 

A gasp died on his tongue when she shifted in her seat to press herself even more against him, effectively straddling his lap, impatience dripping down her spine. He went rigid.

“Hold on, don’t—” His fingers dug into her waist to still her, but she had already dragged her hips flush against his, right against that aching stiffness in his trousers. His face blanched, mortified. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

She held her bottom lip between her teeth, processing the feeling of him, a very specific part of him, pressed right to the gusset of her knickers, right under her skirt. It was like someone had stricken a match, lit her nerves on fire.

She shook her head, her cheeks hot. “Don’t apologize,” She smoothed her thumb over his cheek, reassuring. “I want you, too. I want this.” She shifted minutely, tentative, right against that throbbing part of him.

His brows knit together, looking almost pained. “Gods, you can’t say things like that.” 

“It’s true,” She whispered, shifting against him again, deliciously slow. The slightest roll of her hips. It was enough to ruin him completely. “Please, Ominis.”

He nodded then, forehead pressed against hers, fists white-knuckled in the starched linen of her shirt. He let his hands fall to his sides, onto the tattered pillows of the loveseat and sighed. 

“Not here.” He planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “You deserve something nicer.”

//

Ominis’ dorm was certainly nicer.

Clean and tidy to the point of almost being manic, just as she imagined it would be. She glanced over at the surrounding beds and noticed his side strikingly bare in comparison, devoid of the clutter of Quidditch posters, junk and other memorabilia that you would normally expect to find in a teenage boy’s room. 

His sheets were crisp and neatly-pressed, and laid back against his pillows, she could pick up the faint smell of vanilla and bergamot and, most strikingly, him.

He hovered over her there, his hands on either side of her head on the pillowcase, a pink flush dusting his cheekbones, uncertain. She found it awfully endearing. 

“Have you ever…?”

He shook his head, sheepish. “No.” 

She nodded. 

A gnawing feeling clawed itself inside his chest, something marred and ugly and possessive, a jealousy he knew he probably had no right to feel. “Have…you?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

His brows furrowed, confusion and surprise and a faint sense of relief etched into his features. “Really? You and Sebastian never…?”

She sputtered. “Me and Sebastian?”

“Er…yes? I assumed you two had already been—”

“Dear gods, no,” She laughed, as if the mere notion were hysterical. She looked at him bewildered. “Where on earth did you ever get that impression?” 

“I don’t know, you’re both always spending so much time together.” 

“As friends.” She choked. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve always harbored a bit of a crush on you.” 

It was his turn to sputter. “On me?”

She smiled. “Yes, it’s a bit embarrassing, actually. I’m surprised Sebastian’s never told you. He’s tormented me about it since the moment he found out.” 

Ominis winced and let his head fall forward, voice muffled in the collar of her shirt. “Gods, I’ve been such an idiot.” 

“Well, that’s only natural,” She teased, raking her nails softly through the hair on his nape. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.” 

He picked his head up. “So, I…we could’ve been doing this, so much sooner?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Been wanting to get into my pants for very long, have you, Ominis?”

He groaned. “That’s not what I meant,” She watched as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. “I’ve liked you for quite a while.”

“Have you?” She grinned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He murmured. “A bit of pining was good for me. Humbling.” 

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Yes, I’m sure you’re not very used to not getting what you want, hm?”

“Mmh,” He hummed, non-committal, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Terribly spoiled, I’m afraid.”

“I won’t hold that against you, either.”

She laced her fingers behind his neck, tugging him forward to bring his lips down to hers again. Ominis could barely contain the euphoric feeling of relief in his chest, of completion, of blissful satisfaction in knowing the witch underneath him was his and only his. 

He let his hands wander, explore, caress, tugging her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt and running his hands over the creamy smooth expanse of her stomach. He let his lips roam with just as much fervor, trailing down the length of her neck, scraping biting kisses over her collarbone, over the soft curves of her jaw.

“Take this off me,” She pleaded in between kisses, breathless, and he would be a fool if he didn’t immediately oblige. Slender, deft fingers turned clumsy and unpracticed in the heat of the moment, fumbling over buttons and the zipper of her skirt with a lot more lack of finesse than he was used to doing most things in life. His heart was pounding too loud in his ears for him to care. 

If she was anything she was impatient, and he quickly learned this impatience would be the very bane of his existence, as she proceeded to grind her hips up to meet his every time he tried to pause and regain some level of composure. 

She seemed to take a form of sick gratification in the way he’d curse under his breath at the feeling of the soaked fabric of her knickers, rubbing back and forth against that stiff, aching part of him, nearly bringing him to completion.

He crawled down her body before she could torture him any longer, hooking his fingers into the hem of her knickers and tugging it down to pool at her ankles. He left a trail of wet, open-mouth kisses in his descent, dragging his tongue down the line of her sternum, slow and deliberate. 

She tensed. “You don’t have to—”

“Please,” He nosed at the soft curve of her stomach, his breath warm against her skin, eyes half-lidded behind blonde eyelashes. “I want to. Please let me.”

Her voice was quiet, anticipated. “Okay.”

It was all he needed to kiss her there, lips pressed to her dripping core, sucking just slightly, tentatively, just enough to make her gasp. His tongue was velvety smooth, purposefully slow, as if savoring it, savoring her.

“Tastes good,” He murmured against her cunt in a hum, lips sticky and glistening, voice hoarse and gravely with want. “Tastes s’good. Mmh.”

She couldn’t stifle her moans as he lapped at her firmer then, more focused, dragged the tip of his tongue and swirled it around that sensitive little bundle of nerves he had already deduced made her hips writhe and her hands tangle in his hair, pulling, pleading.

He didn’t know exactly what he was doing, but Ominis prided himself on being a very intuitive learner — and there was no better lesson than her nails raking over his scalp and her mewls muffled against the back of her hand every time he evidently did something  right with his tongue. In this more than anything, he was determined to get all O’s. 

“Oh, gods, Ominis,” She breathed out, and that was all it took for him to break, for him to push two fingers inside her cunt, wrap his lips around her clit, and suck. Hard, until her toes curled at either side of his hips on the bedding, and her head was thrown back onto the pillows, and she was repeating please, please, please like a prayer — as if she’d ever have to beg him for anything.

He pulled her over the edge with a groan against her cunt, fingers pressing into that little spot on her walls that made her vision white over with stars, melting her muscles into a puddle of ecstasy. Coaxed her through it, lapping at the wetness until she was reduced to shudders and breathy, shaky pants.

“You’re so beautiful,” He climbed over her, chest heaving, pressing kisses to her cheeks. He rambled praises, utterly sapless, euphoric, and if she didn’t know any better she’d think he was coming down from the high of his own orgasm with how giddy he sounded. “Oh my gods, you’re so unbelievably perfect. Sounded so good — tasted so good, fuck. You’re just—”

She kissed him then, not minding that she could taste herself on his tongue. Slow and sweet, her head dizzy with endorphins. He liked her like this.

Reaching down between them, she ran her hand down the placket of his briefs, palmed the evidence of his arousal, reveled in the way his lips faltered against hers. She dipped her fingers past the elastic of his waistband, and the whimper he let out when she finally wrapped her hand around him was nothing short of depraved.

“Want to be inside of you,” He pleaded, his hips rutting of their own accord against her palm, warm and slick with desire, a sticky bead of pre-cum pooling at the tip. He felt so thick in her hand. “Please, want— want it so bad.”

He couldn’t bear the restriction any longer, tugging his shorts down his thighs, exposing alabaster skin and flushed pink and so much of him she couldn’t pull her eyes away.

He notched himself at her entrance, lips hovering over hers, asking for permission without words, and all she could do was fervently nod to keep herself from begging.

He laced his fingers with hers as he slowly pushed in, gasps shared between their lips, foreheads pressed together. She wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him closer, urging him for more.

His voice was wrecked when he spoke. “Is this — am I hurting you? Is this alright?”

She shook her head. “You’re perfect —you feel so perfect.”

He groaned, surging forward to capture her lips in his, pouring every ounce of devotion and adoration into the way his tongue brushed against hers, as he slowly rocked his hips, in and out, cautious, shallow thrusts. 

“Please, more,” She whispered, quiet, needy, and he couldn’t help but oblige. He bottomed out inside of her, his head falling to her shoulder, and eased his hips back to meet hers with a sharp thrust. 

She was overwhelmed by the novel and absolutely foreign feeling of being so full. That dull sting where he was stretching her out around him, that pleasurable ache where he was pressing up into her walls — it was all revoltingly delicious. She never wanted it to stop. 

“Christ, you’re — fuck,”  Her fingers wrapped around his bicep for support, nails digging little crescent-shaped marks into his skin. “You’re so deep—oh my gods, please move, please, please move,”

He was half-convinced he’d cut out his own beating heart in that moment and present it to her if she asked. He braced himself with his fingers splayed warm and broad on her hip, holding maybe a bit too tightly, and fucked into her with steady, deep thrusts, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Yes, yes, yes,” She gasped, his cock pressing deep into that sensitive spot inside of her. She could feel that winding knot behind her navel being pulled taut,  being stretched tighter and tighter until she felt like she might break. “Like that, just like that — fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t stop,” 

Ominis had by no means a dirty mouth, was never, ever crass by an definition of the word, but hearing her pleading in his ear, feeling her squeeze so tightly around him, slick and warm and utterly divine — he couldn’t stop the endless litany spilling from his mouth, delirious from how good she felt as he thrust into her thoroughly, his self-restraint slipping out of him like grains of sand through open fingers.

“You’re so perfect. My angel, oh my gods, all mine. Mine, mine, mine. Gorgeous, so gorgeous, you’re so tight, so tight around me. Fuck, I can’t stop, I can’t — I need —I need you, I love this, I love this so much, fuck, fuck, fuck, I love this, I love—”

His words died on a strangled moan as he finished inside of her, pumping into her until he pulled her over the edge along with him, electrifying her nerve-endings into bliss. He pressed his lips to hers like he needed her to breathe, like the only oxygen he desired was the ones she would give him from her very own lungs.

She spoke first, dazed. “That was—”

He let out a laugh, soft and pleasure-rough, the slightest bit drowsy. “Amazing. Brilliant. You’re absolutely brilliant.” 

She returned his gleaming smile with her own, teasing.

“You’ve only just noticed?”

//

It took one look. The raucous bustle of other students still disembarking around him, yet his attention was trained on his two friends smiling and waiting up for him. 

His eyes darted between the two, briefly combing over the faint bites of purple on her neck that was peeking out just slightly from beneath the green and silver of her scarf, then finally dipped to where their hands were surreptitiously clasped behind layers of cloaks, and he immediately knew.

Sebastian dropped his suitcase on the weathered boards of the dock with a thunk and ran up to clap his hands on his friends’ shoulders with a sly smile and a satisfied glint in his eyes.

“Fucking took you two long enough.”

[drenched-in-sunlight]

I contemplated a lot whether to reblog that post because i think most of it was wrong, but the addition is so great and refute pretty much everything while raising some amazing points so if i could reblog only the addition without the original posts i would.

It’s just funny to me how every time i see ppl “here are Marika’s crimes” they list like 50% is what she actually did, and the other 50% are things that either was during Radagon time (when Marika couldn’t even have a proper statue that depict her as being the one in control), done by some other guys, or after she got strung up inside the Erdtree. Y’know, literally impaled and knocked out cold ?

The ritual sword and shield talisman (which depict sword and shield of Crucible Knights too btw) pointed at Radagon’s face to say by his time, all ritual combats in honour of the Erdtree had died out, but in LoS it was maintained and Messmer even had a talisman of Godfrey in his castle. A talisman depicting Godfrey accepting the duty to be his Mother’s Lord. Without wavering.

The ritual combat is just another thing that will remind people of the first Elden Lord’s devotion to his Goddess, which would do Radagon no good. so that, along with the Crucible Knights, gotta go.

All this just show how by Radagon’s time, the Golden Order’s ideal no longer reflects the Erdtree’s - another testament at how far from each other his and Marika’s will have diverged.

Also, i really like the fact that the Zamor and Ice Dragons allied with Marika to fight the Fire Giants who had chased them from their home, because to me that means at the start of her age, Marika was extending her help to people who needed it (with ulterior motives, yes).

Her age wasn’t built in a vacuum. She was a healer Godling with no offensive spells, Messmer’s health just got a bit better, Godfrey with all the implications in SoTe, was probably just a simple bear hunter? What on earth those 3 could even do in a land where the Hornsent royalty reigned supreme?

Go somewhere else, recruit as many people and make as many alliances as they could. I have no doubt the world under the Hornsent was a violent one (hell, it still is now, every time i went into a Gaol i want to go back and smack the Hornsent inquisitors a few more times). And for a new God to appear, and instead of stuffing people into jars, delivering Death, entrapping their followers into watching over some flame for eternity, running away and leaving their Lord to get backstabbed by a tyrant, this new God… healed people? Big shock!

So of course people would flock to Godfrey’s banner, believing in a Goddess that could barely fight, but soothed away all of their pain and sorrow. Sounds fucking familiar isn’t it.

Btw, why do people like to invent a bunch of authority and power for Marika then at the same breath will say whatever her kids do is to… spite her and show kindness to the oppressed?

So she is an all-powerful tyrant that could kill whoever she dislikes, and by some ppl’s standards she dislikes literally everyone in Lands Between (💀), but Godwyn could just befriend a dragon and spread a cult about them within the Capital, Messmer could have an albinauric as his Commander (to command an army that she paid wads of cash to and bless them with her hammer’s power???), Miquella and Malenia could go their merry way and build a whole ass tree castle (where is the fund. Where is the fund) and she couldn’t do anything to stop them? Even though those actions directly affect the strength of her army? What?

I swear i can’t even see other people’s Marika as Marika. Because their Marika sounds dumb as hell and a doormat too. Like what is this???? 💀 do you think i sacrificed my back and wrist to draw Elden Ring characters as beautiful as possible, so they could go be devote to someone like the Marika some of y’all envision? The bar was on the floor for you but not for me.

[noemilivv]

What the

HAZBIN HOTEL CAST

are like as …

PARTNERS !! (And before that!) (Pt. 2)

Also before I get into this, I would just like to say THANK YOU SO MUCH for the immense amount of love I got on the first part of this!! I would’ve never thought I would’ve gotten so much love so quickly, so thanks a bunch for every like or reblog, they mean the world :)

Including: Vox, Velvette, Rosie, Cherri

Warnings: Sexual references (no smut), swear words, possible spoilers to S1

Vox

Crush!Vox had a crush on you before he even met you lmfao

You were a performer, a performer he really wanted to market, and he spent so much time gawking over you and that opportunity before he even met you

But once Crush!Vox got the opportunity to work for you and officially meet you, he was stoked, but don’t let that fool you, he kept his cool…on the outside

And, still, he spent more time gawking over you…

But now, that time Crush!Vox spent fangirling was now spent in his office. He would have to put so much concentration into not short-circuiting, he would not be able to catch what your saying.

After a few months of working with you, he invites you to a ‘business dinner.’

Yeah… ‘business dinner’ turns into fucking…

It took a few weeks after for Crush/Situationship!Vox to turn into BF!Vox, and to be honest, he isn’t sure where to start…

Sure, BF!Vox has fucked around quite a bit, but honestly… he’s never been in an actual relationship with a label, it’s a bit of a heavy weight and he’s scared to do it, but that doesn’t mean he won’t.

His love language is definitely physical touch and acts of service, he’s not great with his words, he actually sounds like a dick in most sentences that fly out of his mouth, so actions are the only way he knows how.

BF!Vox fucks up his words a lot when he isn’t using his business persona, because he’s not used to talking like that, he genuinely has to keep a mental checklist to make sure he doesn’t fuck up his words — especially if you’re upset.

BF!Vox tries to show it through actions (in more ways than one) instead, whether it be a hug while your upset, doing an extra bit of your work if you’re having a rough week so you don’t have to worry about it, physical intimacy, the list goes on.

Overall, he may not be all he’s built up to be, but he genuinely has so much love for you, he just wishes he could tell you.

Velvette

Crush!Velvette is the kinda girl to absolutely stalk your ass when she likes you (not actually), whether it be checking your location every five minutes, digging into your social media pages (especially with the help of Vox), and so much more.

Crush!Velvette decides to DM you about a potential ‘business offer’ (gotta keep the name clean, yk?) to start out, and you guys meet for lunch to discuss it, yeah uh.. turns out you guys hit it the fuck off immediately!

Once you and Crush!Velvette really get close, you grow close to the other Vee’s too, sorta making you and honorary Vee member.

Your off with Vox and Val, and Val’s bitching about god knows what, until he slips about Velvette’s feelings for you.

“Oh yeah, fuckin’ Velvette is just SO into you now, like excuse me bitch?! What the fuck am I to you if you think so HIGHLY of THAT? No offense… But anywa-” Val rants off as you three cruise the street, without Velvette’s presence.

“VAL.” Vox glitched, cutting off Val mid-rant, gesturing to you beside him, before Valentino mutters a “Shit.” under his breath.

Yeah… Velvette found out, and she was livid, but only for a short period because she got sidetracked when she found out you felt the same.

Now GF!Velvette LOVES spoiling you, she’s also constantly getting you business opportunities with either her or one of the boys, tailoring you custom outfits no one else has, spending a shit ton of cash on you, she’s basically a sugar mommy…

GF!Velvette’s love language is gift giving. She could for sure spend several hours at the mall picking out gifts for you, from all different ends of the extreme, one day she’ll come home with a small, cheap trinket from HellMart that was stupid but nonetheless reminded her of you, and the next day she’ll come home with some expensive ass designer clothes and bag.

GF!Velvette thrives off of princess treatment, especially because of how she was treated with the Vee’s before your relationship, so she kinda expects it cause then she feels kinda empty inside without it, and she can get a bit bratty about it, but baby girl means well💕

Rosie

Crush!Rosie notices right away, and she’s pretty smart about it. She spends time with you, but not too much. She’s nice to you, but she pulls back to tease slightly. She gives you a taste of what life would be like with her, but not a big enough taste so your left wanting to know whats next.

Crush!Rosie catches onto the fact that you just might feel the same way, so she decides to just suck it up and ask.

After realizing you two feel the same about each other, you share a lovely conversation over tea about what you two want out of this, communication is very important to Rosie so she thinks if she gives it to you, you’ll give it right back, right?

You two decide, yeah, a relationship would be cool, and GF!Rosie is through the roof!

GF!Rosie is a very open and honest gf, communication is very important to her, it’s one of her top things she expects out of a partner, she tries her best to have an open mind when it comes to her partner, even if you two have a problem, and she expects the same from you — She’s very vocal in a civil way about her feelings and expectations — but don’t let that scare you, she’s a sweetie!

GF!Rosie’s love language is quality time and words of affirmation! Rosie doesn’t expect anything extravagant, (although it is nice, and she surely doesn’t mind it), but being with you is simply enough— and as stated before, she’s not afraid to speak her mind around her partner, so she thinks you look good? She’s gonna say it. She thinks you’re amazing? She’s gonna say it. That’s just how she is, and she hopes you can get used to it because she’s sure as hell comfortable with you.

Cherri

Crush!Cherri will be completely oblivious to the fact that you like her, it could be right in front of her face, and she’d have absolutely no idea. Unless you flat out suck her face off, she’ll have no clue. Which kinda stops her from confessing for awhile.

But after having a talk with Angel, she decides to go for it.

“Cherri, you’re telling me your a badass hoe, who can chuck bombs like it’s nothin’, but you can’t tell someone you wanna bang?” Angel goes off to Cherri as they watch the romcom on the TV infront of them.

She thinks for a moment. “Huh. Yeah. You’re right. I’m gonna tell them!” Cherri announces, marching off,

“Wait now?! Yous leaving me ‘n Fat Nuggets alone!?”

And then, you get a knock on your door at 1am, and it’s Crush!Cherri, with bed head and peejays, going on and on, you didn’t understand a lot of it, you were fucking tired! But bottom line is, you got out ‘We should date’ and you did not pass that opportunity.

GF!Cherri tries to push you out of your comfort zone, and sometimes that leads to accidentally pressuring you, she won’t know unless you tell her (again, not the most aware person), but if you do she ends up feeling really bad, but she’s glad she knows now!

GF!Cherri’s love language is so quality time, it doesn’t matter if you guys are shooting bitches or cuddling on the couch or fucking, as long as she’s with YOU, she could care less

She may not be the best girlfriend ever, but as long as you stick by her side, she’s content.

[tabbedtabby]

good luck, babe! | chapter 2

regina george x reader

summary: After the Queen Bee of North Shore makes up rumors about you taking pictures of girls in the changing room, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You didn’t think that would mean coming to a reluctant agreement with Regina George.

a/n: i wasn’t gonna add cady but now i am because it’s convenient for me so just pretend she’s in the last chapter lol. also they get high way faster than what’s accurate but i wrote this in like 4 sittings it felt longer to me pls spare me. if the picture collage thing is ugly i’m sorry i’m not a tumblr native 😭 but anyways big thanks to everyone who interacted with the first chapter mwah!!!!! (photo creds from left to right: @/mediorcesav on insta, @/marvelsgirl616, casual mv by chappell roan)

——————————————————————

When the bell rings after 7th period, you’re already halfway out the door.

You’re already sober enough from earlier so you’re desperate to get outside, even if Regina will be there. You bite the inside of your mouth in annoyance. You like your after school alone time; you didn’t want the person who literally ruined your social life to be there. At least maybe she’ll leave right after you smoke. You realize she most likely won’t after you remember she drives. How could you forget that bedazzled orange Jeep?

You feel the dappled sunlight sink heat into your skin once you enter the woods behind the baseball field. It really was a nice day. You make your way to your usual spot and lift up the pile of sticks and leaves that hide your forest stash. The guy who sells to you charges a ridiculous amount for carts compared to just the plant so you try to use them sparingly. Even if this shit stinks up the whole forest.

You’re not sure if Regina will care or not if you start without her, so you pull out your phone to pass the time. Besides, you want to be sober anyway when she finally shows.

After about 20 minutes of standing there, you start to get impatient. You almost pull the bag out to start without her before you finally see a flash of blonde hair from behind the trees.

“Took you long enough.” you mutter, already opening the bag without paying Regina much attention. Your patience was windeled, and you don’t especially want to talk to her anyway.

“Sorry I have a social life. I guess you wouldn’t know,” she snaps back, her voice strained.

You feel the annoyance crawl down your back like a centipede, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from saying something back to her. She holds basically your life in her hands since you’d be both fucked and poor if she decided to snitch on you. Probably not a good idea to start a fight on the first day of your little deal, but she made it difficult.

You grab one of the cans from under the pile of leaves as you see Regina cross her arms a couple feet away from you. Her eyes watching your every move makes you a bit wary on instinct. You feel like a mouse being stalked by a snake. You grab a decently sized piece out of the bag and put it on the crushed can. You couldn’t be bothered to roll your own blunts, so this was the next best thing.

“How much have you smoked before?” you ask, just wanting a general idea on how much she should have so that you wouldn’t have to drag her to the parking lot. Apparently, she takes great offense.

“What are you, my mom? Just hurry up so I can get out of here,” she says begrudgingly, like being out here was the biggest possible drag on her life. She was really grating on your last nerve right now.

“Trying my best.” you respond dryly, giving her a snide smile as you fiddle with the lighter.

“Well, obviously it’s not good enough. What are you even doing, anyway? This is the shadiest shit I’ve ever seen—”

You blow the first hit out of your mouth harshly. “Can you please just shut the fuck up? I don’t want to be out here with you either!”

“That’s shocking. I’m surprised this isn’t your ultimate wet dream, being alone in the forest with me,” Regina sneers, nothing but disgust on her face. Like you were some kind of animal instead of human.

“What’s that going off of? The photo collection that you made up?” you snap, putting the can down for a minute. “Believe me, I want nothing to do with you either. But since we’re gonna be out here every day, you could at least make it a little easier.”

You can tell she wants to rip your throat out just by the way she looks at you. Pursed lips, downturned eyebrows, piercing blue eyes surrounded by eyeliner almost as sharp as the look she’s giving you right now. She’s way too tense for someone about to get high.

“Whatever.” she finally says, although the edge to her voice makes you want to scoff. Better not to sour her mood more than necessary, though.

Pleased with the newfound silence, you light the piece on top of the can once more and take another hit. It’s strong enough to make you cough, and you sit down against the foot of a tree. Regina raises an eyebrow at you.

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of professional,” she says, but her voice isn’t quite as taunting as before. It almost sounded like a joke. Maybe she was considering not making this hell for you after all.

“It’s not good if it doesn’t make you cough.” you respond with a shrug. She looks at you expectantly, but you pretend you don’t see. You don’t want to have to stand back up just to pass her the can.

Eventually, she sits next to you (albeit, begrudgingly) and you pass the can to her, lighting it again when she puts her lips up to it. She explodes into a coughing fit the minute the smoke hits her lungs.

You can’t help but snicker at the sight of Regina George coughing her lungs out with just one hit from the can. It was almost strange to see her not perfectly arranged the way she was at school. You were up close enough to see the strings that sew her together.

She glares at you from the corner of her eye, but it only makes you laugh harder. You’re acting stupid right now and you’re aware of it, but you can’t stop. It’s a nice sort of high. Not like when you smoke too much and everything starts to blur together, which happens more than you’d like to admit. But this is nice. You lean back until your back touches the grass.

Regina has a couple more hits until she’s smoked about everything that’ll come out of it, and you both just lay there on the forest floor. You’re surprised she isn’t whining about dirt getting on her outfit. Maybe she’s too stoned to care. She never did answer your question about her tolerance.

Your thoughts go elsewhere as you stare up at the sky. The tops of the trees cover most of it. The sun from behind the leaves make them look almost as if they are glowing. It’s so beautiful. You wish you could reach up and feel it between your own fingertips, the fabric of the sky.

“You don’t care about what I think about you.” You hear Regina say, her voice only a couple of feet away from you. It sounds more like a statement than a question.

You don’t why it’s funny to you, but it is. You feel the laugh escape your lips before you can stop it.

“I guess not.” you respond, even though you’re not certain if she wanted a response. It sounded like she was just thinking out loud. You feel that.

“Everyone else does. They grovel to me like lap dogs.” she says amusingly, although her voice drags and you can tell she’s starting to get tired.

“You don’t like it?” you ask with surprise.

“It’s the way it should be,” she declares, as if you’re stupid for even asking. “But everyone else is a less hot version of me. It gets annoying talking to the same clones that hang onto my every word. Like, just be normal for once in your life,” Regina complains, an annoyed edge in her tone near the end. Somehow you could tell she was talking about Gretchen. That poor girl really did hang onto every little thing Regina said or did. It was almost worshipful. But in an unfortunate, sad kind of way.

Her problems didn’t seem all that hard compared to others, but you don’t say anything. It’s intesting to you to hear her talk about this stuff, to see what goes on in her head. You’d never really considered what her life was like. You wonder if there’s a reason she’s the way that she is. There must be. Everyone’s a product of their environment in some shape or form. Of course, it doesn’t excuse everything she’s done, but that thought makes you want to get inside her head somehow.

You shake your head at the silly train of thought. Regina George was just plain mean. Nothing more to it. You turn your head to look at her as you realize you never responded.

Her eyes are closed, hair splayed out on the forest ground. She looks stoned as fuck, her chest rising and falling dangerously slow. You snort and roll your eyes. How low was her tolerance? You already felt mostly normal again.

Somehow she still manages to look perfect, even if you could mistake her as a corpse. You lay your head back down. Your parents wouldn’t mind if you were home a little late, right?

-

After that, you and Regina would meet to smoke behind the school almost every day, except when Regina had plans with her friends and you would just go alone. You still wish she wasn’t there, but sometimes she’s okay to talk to when she isn’t being a priss. She complains about her friends and boys and how sometimes in the morning her eyelash curler refuses to work. It’s entertaining to hear about how shallow her problems are. You still want to punch her most of the time, though.

This time around, however, she’s complaining about math. Something about her teacher failing her on purpose or something to make her have sex with him to get her grade up. You seriously doubt that’s true, but you listen anyway.

“Like, he’s totally obsessed with me. I know how to do the work, but he always marks it as wrong anyway. That Cady girl helps me with it, and she’s some kind of math freak.” Regina exclaims, taking a huge hit from the smoking can. She immediately sputters and you take the can back from her with a slight roll of your eyes. That’s probably enough for her.

“Is she, though?” you ask, taking a hit from the can yourself. “She’s in my Calc class and lately she’s been doing really shitty. I guess you guys are rubbing off on her,” you say with amusement.

Regina takes a deep breath, an agitated sigh coming out of her. “What’s the point of her tutoring me, then? They’re gonna take me off the soccer team if I don’t start passing like all of my classes. It’s like she wants me to fail.” she seethes, and she sounds genuinely upset. She could afford to pay attention in class instead of doing her makeup if better grades is what she wants, but alas.

You kind of want to offer to help her, but it’s her own fault so you bite your tongue. You put the can down with a sharp sigh. You’d rather not smoke too much around her in fear that you’ll start acting stupid and she’ll post it all over the internet. Just the slightly more giggly high is fine for now.

Regina stares bullets through you as your stash back under the pile of leaves. You pick up your backpack and get ready to leave. You feel fine enough to walk home.

“You’re not gonna offer to help me?” she asks indignantly, as if you owed it to her. You have to bite your lip to keep from groaning in annoyance. Could she be any more of a spoiled brat?

“Why would I do that?” you respond, feeling that your distaste seeps through your voice as well as your expression. You’re tired, both from school and from hanging out with Regina for too long. You just want to go home.

“Because I’m keeping your secret?” she says with that tone that reminds you of a viper. The one she uses to get whatever she wants from people by threatening to ruin them. Your chest bubbles with that same anger as that day in the cafeteria.

“Dude, I’m literally your plug. I’ve done enough for you to keep your mouth shut.” you snap, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. She was really starting to piss you off. That’s how it was with Regina; just when you think she’s all right, she starts doing this bullshit again.

“So what? I don’t need weed. I can break our deal whenever I want. Besides, you’ll only tutor me until the end of the month. It’s not that deep.” It’s only the beginning of October, so you’d be wasting more of your time with her for the next month, but of course she doesn’t include that. God, you’re so pissed off, but what can you do? Not be able to smoke anymore? Get suspended again? You hate that she can just hang this over your head until you comply. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as you stare at her, one of her hands on her hip and her eyebrows raised as if you’re a dog she just told to heel that won’t listen. Your hands bunch into tight fists until your knuckles turn white. You really wish you had seen her with that bruise right about now.

“Fine.” you spit, pushing your way out of the clearing and back towards the school. Great. Now it would take even longer to shake Regina off. You shoulder branches of leaves out of your way, your feet kicking at the dirt. You wished she could just be fucking normal and that she never started any of this in the first place.

“I better see you tomorrow, loser!” You hear Regina scream from somewhere behind you. God, you were gonna kill her. Or yourself. Whichever came first.

[mojogojocasahouse]

Just in Time Part II

Satoru Gojo x f!reader (Principal Gakuganji's daughter)

On the eve of a wedding of your father's arrangement, you call upon your reliable yet agitating old flame Satoru Gojo in an act of desperation and defiance

words: 6.5k series content: infidelity (in an arranged marriage so does that even count?), angst, smut, unprotected p in v, oral m & f-receiving, face fucking, rough sex, minor choking, spit kink, creampie, jealous!Gojo, protective!Gojo (moreso in part ii), minor degradation 18+ only

Part I

You follow the sound out into the cool summer morning, Satoru leaning back against the railing with his head hung. He’s in shorts and an unzipped hoodie, his snowy locks still mussed from his pillow. He raises his eyes when he hears the door opening, blinking the agony from his eyes away before he smiles. Had you not been paying attention you’d have missed the switch. 

“Go sit in the bedroom and stay there,” Satoru instructs, turning you by the shoulder and gently shoving you toward his room, “Actually, lock yourself in the bathroom or something…Okay, or just stand there…”

Fear has frozen you in place, but when he pushes down on your head you drop to the floor in a heap, leaning back against the counter in the middle of the kitchen as a call of your name on the other side of the door signifies the worst has come to pass. You hear Satoru mutter ‘Good enough, I guess,’ before he snaps his jovial, mischievous persona back into place, his sing-song greeting to your father outside barely audible just as the hinges close behind him. It takes you too long to drag yourself across the sleek wooden floor and hover your ear against the same place you’d been pressed to in very different circumstances earlier that night. 

“I know she’s in there you insolent brat!” That’s your father’s voice, sounding as furious as you’ve ever heard him.

“Are you going senile in your old age?” Satoru’s wit never fails him, “We’re gonna have to strip you of that fancy position if you can’t keep your thoughts straight. I think I could be a principal, don’t you? Not that I really want to go to Kyoto but…”

The sound of blood spattering against a wall proves there’s a third out there with them, Satoru’s taunting laugh confirming he’d been the target of a blood manipulation technique. 

“Woah, woah, woah, hang on, Gramps. Call off your little attack dog, you know it’s pointless. Unless you forgot that too…”

“She’s getting married tomorrow and this nonsense that’s gone on for too long already is finished! Stop harboring her like there’s anything you can do, what’s done is done.”

“But it isn’t done, is it?” The change in his tone is almost jarring. It’s menacing now, low and rumbling even through the barrier you're still pressed against.

“You have nothing to offer–”

“Ha! Don’t I? Does that shriveled raisin rattling around inside your skull not remember? I AM the Gojo clan. It’s all me! And no offense to Kamo’s cute little squirt gun technique, but we all know who’s winning this fight, right?”

It’s all murmurs that follow, the wood too thick to allow any legible words no matter how hard you press your ear against it. You fight the urge to wrench open the door…

“You know, Gakuganji,” you can hear Satoru respond after 30 seconds of eternity, his tone once again light and carefree, “A smart man would have tried to bleed me dry as a 15-year-old kid when you caught me sneaking out of her room at that first Exchange Event.”

“It didn’t matter. What could you give me, Gojo?”

“Now? Not a damn thing! And let’s be honest, probably not back then either. You’ve always been a slimeball. Go home, old man. You lost. No seat for you at the round table.”

“There’s nothing you can do-“

“You have ten seconds to leave, I don’t think I need to warn you about what happens if you don’t.”

The door knocks you flat onto the floor when he reenters the house, his hands quickly coming to right you as he drops to his knees. You’re just trying to keep yourself from crying, the pale stretch of his bare chest at your eye level and it takes every ounce of your waning self-control not to break down into him. His hands are warm and the arm’s length distance feels like miles, and he’s the only thing you want. But he’s something you can’t have.

When he’s certain you’re steady he jumps back to his feet, grabs his phone, and walks to peek out the window to ensure your unexpected visitors are gone. A flash of headlights flickers against the wall and you sigh in relief, your body still frozen in place.

“Nanami!” Gojo greets, phone pressed to his ear, “Yeah…yeah…No, I don’t need a ride … That happened one time six years ago! … Shut uuuup…No…Wai-wai-wait! I need something! … It’s important! … Is that apartment in your building still available? … It’s not for me…It’s not for me! … I got baby Gakuganji out, she needs a place… Okay, what about that other place… Uh-huuuh… Yes… No, I’ll just cover the year… Yeah, upfront… Here tonight… No, my place in the city… I’m staying up… Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“You’re not paying for-” you begin to argue when you’re certain he’s hung up.

“I didn’t ask,” he quickly cuts you off, “Take the bedroom, I’ll stay out here. One of good ol’ Kento Nanami’s suit buddies is a building manager, says he might have a place. No promises the Kamo clan will let me into their little fortress to get your stuff, but I’m gonna call Yaga to see if he can swindle a deal.”

The typically childish, flippant Satoru was gone, and in his place was the intelligent, efficient man that so very few saw, including yourself. He was a strategizer, calculating and quick-witted not only with his sarcastic words, but solutions, too. In ten minutes he’d already freed you of your shackles and found you an alternative path; could you have just asked him for help years ago and gotten this same response?

“Get some sleep,” he urges again, lifting his phone back to his ear for his next call, “Nothing will happen tonight… Yaga, need a favor!”

His bed feels like quicksand as you settle beneath the silky sheets and plush blankets. Everything smells like him from the pillows and the shirt you wear to your skin that he scrubbed clean with a touch so gentle it had sent ripples down your spine. You can hear him still murmuring in the living room, the conversation growing heated and you want to run to tell him you’re not worth this trouble. Nine years as an intermittent visitor to his bed doesn’t qualify you for this, he should have just surrendered you to the men at the door. 

“They tracked her phone!” He’d said that loud enough you were able to hear it clearly. 

Has there been any one moment of your life where you had control? All this time you’d thought your moments with Satoru had been yours and yours alone, a secret kept between the two of you, but it wasn’t. Your father had known all along and let it continue, and you knew that it wasn’t for your benefit. The trip down memory lane leaves you sobbing into your hands, all the emotions of the night cresting over your weakening composure. You do all you can to keep quiet, choking and sputtering on the wails that want to break free, you can’t show weakness. Not now, not ever. 

Even in your best attempts at discretion, you’re still too loud to hear the door slowly open, so when a long, slender body curls behind you it comes as a complete surprise. Satoru’s arm wraps tightly around your middle, his face notching into the curve of your shoulder.

Tears of despair turn into those of relief, your fingers threading with his on your stomach before you clutch his hand to your aching chest like a child’s teddy bear. It’s big enough to be one. Your muscles ache from tension, your resolve beginning to crack, and when he nuzzles his thin, pointed nose against your skin you finally lose the battle. 

He holds you as you sob, the embarrassment, shame, and fear you felt running down your face. You can’t make out whatever he’s whispering in your ear but you swear it sounds like a pleading ‘stop’, and you can feel the way his arm pulls you even closer, your knuckles going white as you tighten your own grip. The burning in your throat is made worse with every gasping breath, and you can’t tell if it’s your body quivering or his until his palm swallows your jaw whole and pulls your chin up to face him.

The salt of your tears is bitter in a desperate kiss, his tongue coated with what had soaked your lips. There’s nothing gentle about his movements, they’re frantic and hard, the shock of his desperation enough to snap you back to reality. It’s him who’s trembling, his brow knit tightly for reasons you don’t and will likely never know. 

“Stay…” you choke, throat thick with sorrow and strife, the thought of him leaving you in his bed alone dropping heavily into your stomach like a stone, “Please.”

“Sure,” he agrees, pecking at your lips again at a drastically softer pace.

Despite your turmoil, you doze off quickly. His embrace is an oasis, the feathering kisses he leaves along your neck, shoulder, and in the hollow behind your ear blooming like flowers and spreading their vivid warmth until you slip beneath the weight of sleep. He greets you here as he often does, the life you’d built in your dreams welcoming you. 

It’s still dark when your eyes snap open, an arm pulling you tighter into a searing cocoon when your body jolts. Your long-held fantasy has burned to ash and crumbled into a nightmare, the image of white hair billowing in the breeze as tears ran from crystal blue eyes still painted behind your eyes. 

“Toru?” you whisper as your fingers graze along the soft, smooth skin locking you in place.

“Hmm?” he hums, his tired voice like a balm. 

“Are you here?” It’s delirium fogging your train of thoughts, words your mind has fabricated still echoing. 

“Where else would I be?”

“Please stay…” You’re not even responding to him at this point, exhaustion has taken hold once again and thrown you right back into the fire. “Toru…”

The sun is blinding when you wake again, the bed cold and empty. A toothbrush is sitting on the bathroom counter when you wander in, a fresh set of shorts and a shirt that will be far too large for you perched on a shelf. Who knew Satoru could be such a gracious host?

There’s no sign of the man in the question even when you make your way to the living area save a mug of half-drank coffee sitting on an end table near the sliding glass doors leading out to a balcony. When you turn towards the kitchen, you spot another mug set out by the coffee maker, one for you, and that sinking feeling in your chest that had woken you up in the early hours of the morning returns.

“Then do something!” a distant voice shouts, “Do something!”

You follow the sound out into the cool summer morning, Satoru leaning back against the railing with his head hung. He’s in shorts and an unzipped hoodie, his snowy locks still mussed from his pillow. He raises his eyes when he hears the door opening, blinking the agony from his eyes away before he smiles. Had you not been paying attention you’d have missed the switch. 

“Morning,” he greets in a jovial tone you know is a lie, “I left you a mug—“

“I know,” you cut him off, and here in the light of a new day, you realize something you’d known all along. 

You’re in love with him.

The pain of that admittance is freeing. He’s cast in a warm orange glow looking every bit as ethereal as he was, and you press your cheek to the patch of sun shining on his chest, wrapping your arms around his slim waist and stealing this moment with him knowing it very well may be the last. His arms lock around you faster than your hands can knot at the small of his back, there is no hesitation, not even enough time to consider a different course of action, and when he notches your head beneath his chin and sighs, your mind goes quiet. 

You’ll stay here as long as he allows it. Five minutes, an hour, it doesn’t matter. This feels good, it feels safe…

I love you, I love you, I love you… It’s like a mantra, and while you don’t dare speak it you hope the message gets to him somehow. Maybe in the tightness of your hold, the tension from your efforts, or the shallowness of your breath. The world is still quiet, giving you enough peace to soak this in. There’s no blaring of car horns or busy conversations floating into the sky to disrupt you, it’s just the steady thrum of his heart beating. You’re positive this is the first time anyone has just…held you like this.

When he pulls away you try to hide your disdain for the distance he creates, your eyes are still closed when he tips your face up towards him with the side of his pointer finger. 

He catches you mid-breath in a kiss harder than you expect after just waking up. You can feel his failed restraint, it’s been years since you’ve welcomed a new day together, lonely nights after long taxi rides home have been the norm. Two hands grip behind your knees and hoist you upwards, your arms slipping around his neck as his tongue drags along your lower lip, urging your mouth open and a whine to slip free. 

There are a thousand reasons to stop him, but none of them matter right now. He’s so warm and solid, his jaw slightly rough with stubble too pale to see. A smile spreads across his face when he finally catches himself in his frenzy, slowing his frantic pace to something much more gentle and languid. 

“What do you want for breakfast?” he purrs into your mouth, sliding his tongue over your own before you can respond, “I want crepes.”

The sun disappears from behind your eyelids, and you feel the cool surface of his kitchen counter as he sets you on top of it. With free hands, he explores the soft stretch of your legs, slipping between them as you continue to tug at his lips greedily. The clock hasn’t even hit 9 AM yet, but the ache settling into your core is beginning to burn. There was something so pathetically irresistible about seeing him so comfortable, so unguarded, it felt like you weren’t just a visitor to his bed. And that was a dangerous precipice to be standing on. 

“Are you always so needy in the morning?” he laughs against your throat, a whine slipping free from his tease, “This what I’ve been missing out on?”

When his tongue swipes over your searing skin, your fingers lock into his hair as he explores the throat you bare to him. It’s those open-mouthed, lingering tastes that he tortures you with that have your hips flicking in search of friction, so he gives you his thigh, pulling you down to perch on it and dragging you over the slim, firm muscle. You know you look desperate and unkempt, but he keeps you moving enough to have you spasming as you find release and go lax in his hold. 

“So…” he practically sings, a lilt of conceit in his tone, “Crepes?”

“It’s too early for crepes,” you pant, confused by his choice of a morning meal.

“Pfft, for you maybe! You want any or no?”

After dressing in a hoodie and sweatpants, Satoru leaves with a quick peck to your forehead, promising to be quick before the door clicks and locks behind him. Seconds later, a fluffy head of white hair pokes back in, his keys still rattling in the lock.

“Don’t use your phone,” he instructs, “Or open the door.”

You passed the time tidying the space up. There isn’t much that needs to be done, but you get into a steady rhythm that you’re all too familiar with, wiping down counters, picking up laundry, and you almost make the mistake of leaving the apartment to take out the trash before remembering his warning to not open the door. 

As you begin to wipe down the bathroom, the sharp scent of the cleaner burning at your nose, you realize the ease he’d infused into you this morning has all but dried up. You watch as your hand trembles around the rag, a terrified reflection coming into view as you circle the white foam off the glass, revealing the truth of what lies beneath the crumbling facade. 

“What are you doing?” a smooth voice asks from behind you, causing you to yelp and your heart to skip a beat, “Are you cleaning my bathroom?”

“Uh…” you stammer, still reeling from the shock, “Yeah.”

“Don’t… You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry–”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

With that he walks off, yelling over his shoulder that food was here and to hurry up before it got cold. You’d become so accustomed to being scolded for not being busy tidying something up that having him go and do the opposite had thrown you for a loop. When your own house had been too clean to keep you working, you’d been sent somewhere else to help, your existence nothing more than a housemaid for the Kamo clan. You’re own fault, you’d been told, with such a useless cursed technique what else would there be for you to do? 

“C’mon!” he calls, “I’m being nice and waiting!”

Where a pile of cream-filled crepes sat in front of Satoru, a much more normal option was beside his on the table, a paper bag sitting on the couch in front of it. He paid you no mind as you cautiously pulled the bag towards you, peering inside to find a dress and jacket that cost far too much money.

“Satoru–” you scolded, squashing the leap your heart did into your throat, “I can’t pay–”

“Didn’t ask you to,” he cut off again, “You can’t go out in that.”

Right. You’re going to see an apartment today. Suddenly, what little appetite you’d mustered was gone, but you slink down onto the couch anyway, trying to eat as much as you can with a boulder in your stomach. 

“What’s a’matter?” he asks with a full mouth, “I thought you liked that place.”

Adding a heaping pile of guilt to what you were already carrying threatened to shatter you, but you set a smile on your face and force the food down. His knee rests against yours, his long legs spread wide, his focus honed on his phone as he types away with one thumb. The furrow of his brow has you wondering if it’s just more trouble you’re causing him, technically now with clothes proper enough to be seen in public wearing, you could leave him free of whatever burden you’d inadvertently placed on his shoulders.

When his phone begins to vibrate with a call, he throws his overly sweetened crepe back onto its wrapping and wipes his hands on his shorts, greeting whoever it is with a cheekful of whipped cream and dough.

“If you’re calling me with more shit news…oh really!? So kind of him…I’d love to hear how that conversation went…Tell me…It is important…It is…Because I said it is…God damnit, Yaga!...”

The next bit of the conversation even you could hear thanks to tempers flaring and voices rising: “He said she’s your problem now.”

You can’t leave the apartment fast enough, even in nothing but Satoru’s baggy clothes. He yells at you to wait as you run to the door, circling down the stairs as fast as you can with tears dripping down your face. When you make it out onto the sidewalk, a solid chest and two long arms pull you in immediately, and you don’t need to see the person’s face to know exactly who it is. It’s easy to forget what he’s truly capable of. He probably leapt right off the balcony.

“I’m too tired for this,” he sighs, the agitation he was masking slipping through, “Go inside. Please.”

“No,” you argue, trying to shove him away, his hands easily catching yours and trapping them in cuffs of long, dexterous fingers.

“I just want to sleep for two fucking hours! Please, go inside!”

“You’re free to go–”

“Oh my God! Shut up already!”

It’s embarrassing how easily he hoists you over his shoulder like a tantruming child and carries you inside, sitting you on the couch and flopping down beside you, his head falling into your lap like it was a pillow. 

“You piss me off,” he mumbles, curling an arm around you as his eyes drift closed, “I never do anything I don’t wanna do. Thought you knew that by now.”

A lingering drop falls from your cheek into his still tangled hair, your fingers instinctively moving to swipe it away but instead digging deeper, scraping against his scalp soothingly. He rumbles in appreciation, already drifting off, and so you continue. The steady, slow breaths exhaled through parted lips assure you he’s getting the sleep he desperately needs. You know he’d stayed awake all night anticipating another uninvited guest to his door, and who knows if he’d even managed the night before. He claimed he never slept on missions, unable to relax enough to find even a semblance of peace away from home.

Three hours later, he hasn’t moved. A small braid sits across his temple, keeping some of the strands that had been falling into his eyes neatly twisted away. You’ve barely been able to keep your eyes off of him, your wandering touch having moved from his hair to trace the sharp features of his face ever-so-gently to not wake him. 

“I love you,” you whisper to ears that can’t hear you, hoping it alleviates the weight bearing down on your chest. It doesn’t. 

You can’t see him again. At this point, being with him only has the potential to throw you deeper into this void you’re hurtling down. After seeing this apartment, you’ll find a hotel and take the weight of your problems off his shoulders. You know he has more than enough of his own to handle, sometimes you can’t help but think it’s a miracle he’s still standing. 

The thought makes your chest tighten, and it’s simply more evidence this cord needs to be cut. He’s got his little black book and you’re simply just another number. You’re not even fun anymore, the baggage you carry is too much to bear to still be considered a good time. Whatever responsibility he feels for you is displaced, just because it all blew up right outside his front door doesn’t make this—you—his problem. 

“Hmmm,” he hums twenty minutes later, his face nuzzling down into your legs as his arms around you tighten, “What time is it?”

“Two-ish…” you reply, trying to keep your voice level, but when his fingers pull up the hem of his shirt you’re wearing and his lips press softly against your stomach there’s no helping the sharp gasp that betrays you. 

Within seconds he’s twisted you onto your back against the armrest, greedy hands tugging your borrowed shorts still loosely hanging off your hips down and off. White hair fills your fists as your spine arches off the couch, Satoru’s lips locking around your clit and suckling hard. All thoughts of never seeing him again are quickly thrown out the window. His palms hold your thighs spread wide as his silver tongue finally tastes what you’d denied him last night. He’s the only man who ever has, and he’s the only one you ever want to.

His thin, sharp nose drags over your clit as he laps at your entrance, your legs begging to clamp down around his ears as searing heat boils in your belly. It’s pathetic how you’re already trembling, but it only spurs him on, your eager response to his affections is always his greatest motivation. Despite his tongue being buried deep, it isn’t enough. You still feel so empty and your body instinctively asks–begs–for more by rolling your hips over his face, searching for anything to satiate the hunger. There is no surrender in his appetite, however. In a battle of wills, he always comes out on top, and today is no exception.

“You taste so good,” he hums against your soaked core, half-drunk on nothing but you.

“Please,” you whine, keening when he teases your back entrance with a taunting flick. 

“M’gonna take care of you.”

Something foreign and tranquil washes over you in a steady wave, and Satoru immediately pauses when you go slack beneath him and sink into the plush material of the couch. As he presses his lips in a reverent trail from your hip to your throat, pushing the baggy shirt you’re wearing up to clear his path, you relax even further.

You trust him. You love him. 

Your fingers are still locked in his hair when you hear his quiet request beneath your ear: “Can I?”

It’s such a stupid, juvenile thing, but it’s something you’ve been denied in all the years of this… situation, so you nod, taking a deep breath in a poor attempt to calm your nerves. Your pulse is thrumming with anticipation beneath his mouth, and the moment he clamps down hard enough to sting, he thrusts into your wet heat as blood pools beneath the fragile skin his tongue soothes over. 

He does it again, decorating the dip of your collarbone as the spongy head of his dick kisses your cervix, and you’re limp, taking anything and everything he’s willing to give. Let him decorate you, claim you, fuck you until you’re incoherent, it doesn’t matter. Just as long as it’s him and he doesn’t stop.  

“So wet…” he praises, groaning when his words cause you to tighten around him.

Always for you, you think as his tongue dives between your parted lips, the taste of yourself still lingering. The gentle way he cradles your jaw is the complete opposite of the speed of his hips battering into you. He’s chasing something he can’t quite reach, whether that be a sensation or an emotion you can’t tell, but he’s looking, willing himself to find this answer even if it kills him. Every stolen kiss seems to connect his wayward thoughts, but when he starts to whimper into your mouth and his pace begins to falter, you know the friction of his cock dragging along your walls has consumed him.

“I can’t–” he stammers when you lock your ankles on his lower back, tightening around him further, “Fuck, baby, that’s n-not helping.”

“Give it to me, Toru.” One last time. “Pl-please, I want it.”

There’s barely time to take a breath before you’re on your stomach, ass being pulled straight up into the air, his shaft filling your gaping hole so deep you can feel the pressure in your chest. Long, slender fingers find your swollen clit and being moving in steady, quick circles, and at this point all you can do is scream and cry out until he’s shooting hot, thick ropes of cum into your spasming cunt, your own orgasm ripping through you, leaving you boneless and drooling.

“Shit…” he pants, his phone vibrating on the table in what has to be a third attempt at a call in the last two minutes, “Gimme a second.”

The bedroom door closes as you slump down into a heap, the mess between your thighs getting sticky and uncomfortable as you adjust to the emptiness returning. It’s tempting to sneak out now, if it wasn’t for your current debauched state. You’re still so surrounded by him, the couch smells like his stupid cologne, your thighs are quivering, and you can still feel the tips of his fingers digging into your hips. Maybe you’ll never be free.

“Okay, princess,” he coos, lifting you off the couch bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom, “Quick shower then we gotta go.”

By four o'clock, you’re heading out the door, donned in a new dress accompanied by Satoru in sleek black pants and a silky black button-down, bag in hand. It’s an overnight bag, you can tell from the size and also because you caught him packing it in a rush. He hadn’t seen you, well, at least as far as you could tell, and as much as you wanted to believe he was heading out on a mission, you couldn’t convince yourself of it. The phone call he had to talk out of earshot, the fancy clothes he wore just to go tour some shitty apartment, the bag…you’re well aware of what it all means. You don’t even let the fact he’s opening your car door for you distract you from the knowledge he’ll be doing the exact same gesture to another tonight.

“Okay,” he sings out as he slides into the driver’s seat, “Ready to go?”

All you do is nod, keeping your eyes focused out your window. 

“Why’re you so quiet?” he complains–whines–five minutes into the drive, “It’s boring.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “Where is this apartment?”

“What apartment?”

“The one we’re going to see?”

“Oh…riiiight. That apartment. You don’t really want to go look at that, do you?”

He can sense your anger bubbling in the cramped space, but he laughs when he looks over to find you staring daggers at him, nostrils flared.

Relax!” he chuckles, “So worked up over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Satoru!” you yell back, groaning when your body betrays you for a moment and relaxes when his hand falls to your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing softly up and down over your exposed skin, “My life is a wreck!”

“When hasn’t it been?”

“You arranged that apartment. And now we’re not going?” You have to change the subject before you combust.

“Well, you said I couldn’t pay for it, and you can’t pay for it. Not yet anyway–”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder. So, what now then!?”

“Dinner!”

The car comes to a screeching halt outside of a ramen place, and you burst into tears.

“Hey…” He’s frantic, leaning over the center console to take your face in his hand, “Hey…no-no-no. Don’t do that.”

“What am I supposed to do?!” you scream at him, your cheeks already soaked and eyes swollen, “Just go in there and eat ramen like nothing is wrong!?”

“I mean…yeah. Why not?”

“Fuck you!” 

It’s a battle when you try to get out of the car, his left hand continuously locking the doors as his right attempts to stop you from pulling at the handle at all. He’s grunting ‘stop’ and ‘listen’ and ‘calm down’ but his words fall on deaf ears. 

“Why won’t you just let me go?!” you finally sob, both of you panting and flustered.

“Because…” he replies quietly, threading his fingers with yours, however unresponsive they are, “Will you stay in the damn car?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t move to leave either, and he takes that as confirmation. With a heavy sigh (and an empty stomach) he takes off down the road until you’re outside the city, finally pulling into a large gated property. Flowers surround you on all sides, and the sound of a fountain in a pond pairs serendipitously with the birds singing the sun away as it begins to dip closer to the horizon. The house nestled amongst the gardens is massive, winding paths of stone leading through the rainbows of blooms, and you can’t help but be entirely awestruck for a moment before confusion settles. Satoru opens the door with his keys, pulling you inside the manor that’s every bit as impressive on the inside as it is outside.

“Where are we?” you ask harshly, pulling your hand free of his.

“The Gojo Estate,” he answers so casually you want to throw a shoe at the back of his head.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’m showing you around. It beats Kento’s buddy’s apartment, dontcha think?”

Not even the coldest winds could have frozen you in place so quickly. He’s brought the overnight bag from the back of the car in with him, tossing it onto the kitchen counter before opening the fridge and grinning when he finds a bottle of strawberry soda waiting for him on the shelf. 

“There’s more to the place than the foyer!” He’s moved out of sight now, but not far judging by how close he still sounds, “C’mere! Don’t be shy now.”

He’s waiting on a porch overlooking the pond you’d heard earlier, koi fish gently swimming in the clear water without a care in the world. If you’d thought the city suited him before, it was nothing compared to the sight of him framed by lush greenery and the unhindered glow of sunset. He looks every bit the part of clan head here, oozing authority and confidence as he leans with his back against the railing, smirking as you cautiously approach.

“What are we doing here?” you ask again, meek and quiet, all signs of anger gone.

“Giving you options,” he answers, gloating almost, but trepidation is still laced with what you recognize as false conviction.

“I can’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I mean, you wouldn’t be living alone. No one should live alone here, that’s why I don’t. What if I slip in the shower and no one finds me for days? Ha! Could you imagine…”

“Satoru!”

Does he know what he’s asking? Does he know what it means? If it means nothing to him, fine, but you? The idea of it has you tensing and pushing back tears, your bottom lip trembling as you allow the fantasy of a home and a life to slip through the cracks forming in your barriers you keep it behind. His fingers are chilled from the glass bottle he’s been holding, the sharp contrast against your burning cheeks causing you to gasp and you’re met by infinite blue eyes staring down at you. 

“Look,” he begins, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect pink pout, “I…” He sighs, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts, “Why didn’t you ask me to get you out of there sooner?”

The question hits you like a ton of bricks. You’d been asking yourself the same thing since it all blew up last night. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” you answer truthfully, “If it’s not me, you have someone else–” “There is no one else. There never has been.”

“What?”

“There is no one else.”

No one else? His lips press softly against yours as you stand in stunned silence. All these years thinking you were second to twenty, and there had never been another? 

“Say it again,” he breathes into your slackened jaw, and your brow furrows in confusion.

“What…” you blubber, meeting the galaxies living in his gaze once again.

“Tell me again.”

A tight grip on your wrist tugs your hand up to what remains of the braid still twisted in his hair from his nap earlier, you hadn’t realized it had survived both the shower and what transpired before it, but it had clearly held on tight. Too many thoughts buzz around in your head for you to comprehend what the hell he's asking for until he requests it one more time, his voice cracking like his life hinges on knowing if what he’d heard was real or a figment of his overactive imagination.

And then it clicks. Your heart comes to a skidding halt as fear runs cold through your veins, and you try to run but his arm curls around your waist, holding you in place.

“I…” your tongue is paralyzed, a phrase you’ve never uttered to another person knotting and twisting, “You were asleep.” It’s such a cop-out, and the way his face falls shatters your heart.

“Right, thought so,” he concedes, “Okay. Well, do you want to see–”

“I love you.”

The words spill out so suddenly you’re clasping your hands over your traitorous lips, the urge to flee burning in your legs, and he smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he leans in, pulling your wrist to free your shock-slackened lips from their cage, and kisses you. 

This kiss is different. It’s softer, lingering, it’s the kind of kiss that welcomes you home after a long day and melts the toils and tribulations you faced away. While your hands shoot to the kitchen counter behind you and your knuckles go white in an iron-like grip, the tips of his fingers brush down your cheek so gingerly a shudder shoots down your spine. You’ve never been touched so softly, with so much…you can’t think it. 

“Again,” he whispers, and you reply with those little three words in just as hushed a tone, “Again.”

With every repetition, the words fall with more grace and his smile grows. Your cheeks are burning, nerves fluttering to life in your belly, but when he asks for the fifth time to hear you say that phrase, you close the distance between your bodies, grab his jaw in both hands and finally with conviction you tell him the truth: “Satoru. I love you. I don’t kn—mmph!”

As quick as it is, the force of his lips crashing into yours is bruising. There’s nothing tactful about it, he just needs contact and he needs it now. 

“Love you,” he murmurs, and you understand immediately the incessant nagging to hear those words over and over. 

You know someone, at some point, had said that to you, but time has robbed you of the memory. This is the first time you can ever recall hearing it, and something breaks down inside of you faster than you can keep up with. His chest is there to collapse into as the tides roll in, tears pouring from your eyes as relief washes over your storm-stricken shores. The space carved out in his embrace fits you like a glove, your head tucked neatly below his cheek as he leans down to swaddle you in tight. You’re shaking and sobbing but this time he doesn’t ask you to stop, because he understands. It’s the same for him.

“Can we go to dinner now?” you sniffle, wiping your nose on the back of your hand, gazing up at him with glassy eyes.

“Nah,” he brushes off, “I’ll order something. There’s a shirt for you in the bag, take your pick.”

Donned in a t-shirt that hangs down to the middle of your thighs, you’re perched on the couch beside Satoru with a spread of food on the table before you once again. He puts on some movie but you aren’t paying attention, all you can concentrate on is trying to convince yourself it’s over. It’s done. You’re home. But too many years have passed, and it’ll take time.

“What, Yaga?” Satoru barks into his phone, “I’m not going…I’m not going…Find someone else.”

“What was that?” you ask as he tosses it away, looking over at you with eyes glowing in the dim light.

“Oh, a mission abroad. It usually goes to me but…”

There are more important things now. 

“They can figure it out,” he chuckles with that signature aloof, pompous lilt, slinging his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in. 

Maybe it won’t take as long to get used to this as you think.

Sorry this took so long!!!

{{Masterlist}}

[writers-potion]

when writing enemies to lovers, how to I avoid the trope of “hes mean to me but it’s okay because he likes me” and make the mmc redeemable after being mean, because so far all I have is have her be just as bad 😭 (I don’t know if I worded that right)

Redeeming The Bad Boy Character

Drop Subtle Hints of Redeemability

Okay. Rule Number 1 for romance heroes: They need to be LOVABLE. Full stop. 

Before you start coming up with possible justifications, place the actions of your bad boy on the emotional balancing scale of your girl. Do his real feelings shine through the meanness on the surface?

What readers usually DON’T want to see redeemed is:

Outright lying/manipulating the girl 

Being obsessive and controlling 

Physical/emotional bullying (i.e. stuff that real bullies would do)

“Crossing the line”: This will depend on character - like insulting a disabled sister the girl character feels super protective towards (like NO PLEASE NO)

Even if the “enemy” phase of your romance is meant to be intense, your bad boy needs to display “goodness of heart”. This is easy if you’re switching POVs or 3rd person omniscient where you can show him secretly beating himself in regret, trying to make up with her behind her back although she doesn’t know, etc. 

Even if you’re doing the girl’s 1st person POV, drop subtle hints that the guy character isn’t as mean as the girl is made to believe:

Him having the reputation with friends/teachers/neighbors for being kind 

Him being awarded in school for good deeds

The girl’s friend telling her stories about how the guy actually seems nice. If this is a YA setting, you can even get away with explicit comments like, “maybe you’re judging him too hard”, etc. 

A good example is Bryce  in <Flipped>:

Bryce is an innately shy middle schooler who finds himself inadvertently influenced by his toxic dad, who looks down on the girl (Juli) and her family. 

By flipping over to Bryce’s POV, his reluctance for the “mean” things he’s done is revealed (he’s kinda scared of his dad + he’s never been taught better)

Eventually, Bryce grows up and learns to treat Juli better. 

If you’re going to use family history/backstory as justification, remember:

The backstory doesn’t justify anything by just existing. That’s called an excuse. 

The bad boy needs to have a point of realization and grow up, moving away from his dark past into the light, towards the love interest. 

Misunderstanding

Another way to redeem a bad boy character is to shift some blame on the female character too. In fact, every story has two sides - the girl has her own goals and biases. 

For example:

Academic or workplace rivals: since the girl has to compete with him, she will tend to take offhand comments offensively, etc. 

A third person badmouthing the buy deliberately to the girl

The girl overhearing the guy saying something bad about her (which wasn’t in fact the case) and being determined to not like anything he does after

Make Him Suffer 

If you want to give your girl some backbone, just make her fight back! “Fighting back” can be in different forms:

Ignoring the guy outright

Just giving her another potential love interest who treats her better 

She literally correcting him with awesome logic and maturity that make him shut up

She crying (either out of madness or sadness), then proceeding to avoid him actively

Write about how your bad boy will eventually realize his mistakes and come around after he takes a real blow. Think about why your bad boy is being mean in the first place: it’s to get her attention. Tit-for-tat can work for female characters who have some teeth, but doing the same things he does would mean that she IS giving him attention, which ironically fulfills his initial motives. 

Personally, I think the best way to “fight back” is to no longer give him the attention, hinting that the girl wishes to move on from this unhelpful relationship status. This will set off warning signs in the MMC’s head that if he doesn’t change his ways, she would be gone for good. 

The point is, if your girl cannot tolerate something, you can’t make her sit around. If your boy is mean and immature, she needs to be the one to take the mature step - and walk away.

Apologizing in the Other Character’s Style

What the MMC will need to do to gain the girl’s attention back will depend on what she thinks, but this will often involve:

Explaining his true motivations/resolving the misunderstanding

A genuine apology 

Spending some time apart during which he can reflect and make up to her 

Undoing the damage, if this is possible

If she’s been just as bad as him on occasions, make her reciprocate the apology! Re-establish healthy boundaries that didn’t exist before, and show how they stick to it. 

[maximumkillshot]

I Can't Lose You-Part 11

Warnings: Triggering memories of the miscarriage, Some is grabbing, shoving, graphic violent thoughts, Cursing, Bin Loses It, threats, Bin hurts himself unintentionally oh yeah and Han loses it too

Pairing: BangChan x Reader?

Characters: Bin, Soo 😒, Han, Stray Kids, Chan is mentioned quite a bit.

A/N: Happy Birthday @galamxy and I am so sorry to everyone in advanced. This one is gonna hurt, but... BUT I am letting you know ahead of time

I Can't Lose You Masterlist-CLICK HERE

Stray Kids Masterlist-CLICK HERE

ALL WORK IS UNDER ME AND MY BLOG. DO NOT TRY TO REPUBLISH OR STEAL MY WORK, AS THAT IS COPYRIGHTED UNDER ME AND IS CONSIDERED COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT WHICH IS A PUNISHABLE OFFENSE. 

ANY WORK THAT YOU SEE ON OTHER SITES THAT ARE MY WORKS PLEASE NOTIFY ME IMMEDIATELY.

Previously: “He won’t… too much respect… I however,” I stated very matter-of-factly, “Have a very hard line, Soo. I don’t touch women in any violent way ever… But if anyone messes with my family and with whe people I love? All of a sudden gender is irrelevant… So the next time you speak, I recommend you speak with that in mind.” I saw the blood drain from her face, I felt a new level of base in my voice. The anger is starting to reach a level I can’t control.   Minho added on with “Usually I’d have too much respect. That was before what you said about Y/N.  About her losing the baby being a good thing. That it’d make the divorce less messy…” My eyes went wide as my heart dropped on the floor, shattered. When did this happen? How did this happen? I looked away from Soo for the first time, “I don’t think I heard you correctly… She said WHAT?” 

Now:

I can’t believe that this came out of her mouth. Given I never would’ve expected this type of behavior from her either but here we are. I looked at Minho’s face and I could tell he wasn’t lying. I looked at Hannie who was sitting on my opposite side and his face said the same. 

If I wasn’t sitting I would have probably collapsed. I went from a relaxed position to leaning forward, cracking my neck as I tried to contain my rage. I wiped my hands down my face, Changbin, calm down, I told myself. I went back to what Seungmin told me, “You promised her you were coming back.”  

I heard Hannie say… “Wait.”

When I looked at him, his mouth was open in utter disbelief, “You knew…” he said to Soo… When I looked back at Soo all I saw was a smile creeping onto her face, “You knew they were trying to conceive?! When Chan told you, there was no gasp of shock, no condolences… even now…  You’re smiling because you knew…”

Soo smiled saying, “How do you think Chris and I started talking in the first place? It was clear she was broken, now the outside matches the inside. Maybe this will be a warning for you.” She looked at me, “She’s damaged goods, don’t you want to know what it’s like to be a dad?” How dare she. I looked at Han as he stared daggers at her. Hannie is not known for becoming angry, but he looks enraged at what Soo just said. I looked back to Soo.

I looked into her eyes as I wondered what she meant by that. ‘She’s damaged goods, don’t you want to know what it’s like to be a dad?’ I’ve never been good at hiding my fondness for Angel, that’s for sure, but I don’t know where she’s getting at. Angel has only had eyes for Chan, her person… hurt my person.

 I don’t know why she would throw something like her fertility at me like it’s some deal breaker. It isn’t. I could live in a shack with nothing except Y/N and I would be the richest man on the planet. Children would be nice, but if it meant giving her up, I don’t need kids, I need her. This is all hypothetical of course.

I was sure she could feel the tension shift as I could feel my face contort from the rage, “So not only are you so fucking desperate that you’ll cheat with your best friend’s husband. Not only will you cheat knowing they were trying to conceive, but when they finally do conceive, after TWO YEARS you say that it was a good thing that child died because it would make the divorce less messy?!” I've never felt this level of rage. It was almost accusatory the way she threw Y/N’s fertility. Like because she didn’t get pregnant, that’s why they cheated. 

I am feeling so many levels of disdain, hurt, and disbelief. How could anyone say that about anyone else? It is unfathomable to me how someone could hurt someone else like this. How someone could think that let alone voice it. That takes it to a different level of disgust for me. 

Han sighed as he said, “And you sit there, almost blaming Y/N for your sins? For Chris’ sins? You don’t know anything about what she’s been through. Constantly waiting for Chris, him making her feel like an afterthought,” Han added on, “telling her he has no time for her, that he has more important things to do. One of us,” He pointed to himself and me, “One of us slept in the same bed as her every night because she’d cry to sleep on her own. You know what? We’d do it again. All of it. Because she is worth that and more.” I could feel Han vibrating with emotion. I can tell I’m not the only one that is feeling this. 

I tacked on, “Meanwhile he’s cheating with you,” I scoffed, “Talk about trading in a diamond for a piece of glass. You are the lowest of the low. She isn’t broken. You two are!” I took a breath, “I don’t know what to do with what you’ve done. I’m hurt and angry, and I’m not even the one who was cheated on!” I barked at her.  

The images of me doing things I didn’t want to do started flashing in my head. She isn’t a woman anymore, hell, she isn’t even a person. I could see myself grabbing it by the throat, picking it up, throwing it across the room, and punching, and screaming while I did it. Using its face as a punching bag. I can’t… As much as I want to, I can't.  A sinister, yet just voice playing right next to Seungmin's in my mind, It’s right there in front of you. You’re in pain, agony even… Take it out on one of the people that caused it. No one would blame you. Meanwhile, Seungmin’s voice is still playing, “Don’t make her lose you too.” 

I almost lunged out of my chair before I caught myself. Instead of getting up and doing what I wanted, I screamed, “HOW?! How did she find any humanity in you!? A child died, an innocent child who did nothing wrong…died. Gone, will never have the chance to breathe. Somehow, you view it as a good thing?! THEN YOU COME HERE!!” I could feel every cell in my body burning, trying to just reach across and… “ YOU COME HERE, TRYING TO ACT LIKE YOU’RE HER FRIEND?!”

I looked at her as I grabbed her shirt, I got up dragging her to her feet along with me, “You want to know what I’m thinking right now?” I smiled at her. This felt good. Seeing her realize just how much danger she is in. She thought I wouldn’t move. Like I said before, I don’t discriminate when it comes to protecting my own.

I could see the tears start to form in her eyes as I vaguely heard Han, “Hyung? Bin!”

“I am thinking about how easy it would be to turn your face into a fucking suggestion, make the outside match the inside. Disgusting, putrid, worthless, bloody… Han and Minho are strong, but not strong enough or fast enough to stop me from crushing your windpipe with one hand.” I grabbed the back of her neck, squeezing enough to make it known. 

She yelped as I continued, “It wouldn’t be hard for me. I lift twice your weight for fun.” I laughed, “No one’s here to save you. Especially not your shitty boyfriend… He’s nursing a broken nose at home…”

I felt her body tense, “I don’t want to stop at a broken nose for you…” I chuckled. “I want to send a message so badly. I want to put you in the ICU,” I seethed just inches from her face.“I was happy you stood away but now you DARE walk into here. Demanding to see her, after you say something so vile, so…”  

I could feel Han trying to loosen my grip, I was barely registering anything except her deer-in-the-headlights stare, “Now that you tried to come here when I wasn’t here, trying to capitalize,” I saw that same smirk playing at her lip. “I was going to let you go if I ever saw you again… Now..” I could feel my chest heaving as I said, “Now I want to make it clear to YOU and CHRIS… you come near her… I’ll kill you… I meant it when I said it to him, looks like he needs a reminder. You’ll have to pay for both sins.” She started yelping as I screamed, “SHUT YOUR MOUTH. You have no RIGHT, no SHAME…” I don’t recognize my voice, it’s so heavy, leering… They turned you into this. Show them. 

I heard Minho, “Changbin-ah I know…I want to hurt her too, I want it so badly but we can’t… We aren’t them, Bin.” I shrugged him off as I dragged her to the nearest wall and shoved her against it.

I threw my fist at the wall right next to her head. I felt it vibrate with the hit, “You have no idea what I want to do to you right now. It is taking everything in me not to destroy you.”  She was whimpering as she cried, trying to look away from me. “The pain that I want to put you through is nothing compared to what Y/N is going through. Look at you, a coward that can’t even look me in the eye. She is more than you could ever be.” 

I could feel myself wanting to pick my fist back up and land it on her face so badly. I have never wanted to hurt anyone, until now. The disrespect, the pain, and the absolute lack of empathy make me want to tear her apart. I have been holding in so much pain and agony for so long that I feel like I’m going crazy. I need someone to take it out on. Who better than one of the people who stabbed Y/N in the back? Who else is more deserving than one of the people who killed her child? This makes sense, call it karmic justice. Even breathing just thinking about it feels better. 

I can vaguely hear Hannie… Not like I really can hear much of anything aside from Soo’s pathetic whimpers. For someone so brazen to be this cowering mess, all for seeing me like this. I felt my features soften at that as I smirked at her, even chuckling slightly at the fact that for some reason she decided coming down here was a good idea. If anything this is Darwinism at work, right? A part of me thinks so, at the very least.

If I were to fully embrace this… the impending feeling I knew would cause goosebumps at the relief. Seungmin’s in my head again, “Y/N deserves everything we got.” This mental tug of war makes me feel like I am being torn in half, I just want to cause pain. I want Soo to hurt. I made my decision, Get your relief… It’s not a person…

As I went to shift my weight, I heard “Binnie?”.... Y/N?

I could hear her coming from a phone. That once melodic voice quaking. She was reaching for me. Begging me by only saying my name. My whole body froze, and my vision stopped narrowing, hearing her. “Binnie? Hannie, where's Binnie?” I heard her say again. She sounds so scared. I could tell she had been crying, she needed me. I can’t do this to her. 

I saw Han come into my peripheral, his phone in his hand.

“He’s right here Anya... Binnie’s right here.” Hannie’s voice is so stiff, he’s never afraid of me. I hate it when people are afraid of me. When my eyes flicked to Han I could see the fear. He put his hand on my arm that I was holding Soo’s shirt with. That touch helped me ground myself and see things from a different perspective.

“Why is Binnie not talking Hannie? Did I do something wrong?” I heard her, loud and clear as I tried to gain control of my body again. I wanted to scream,

“No, it’s not your fault, Angel. No, I am just… I’m hurting, Love. I’m hurting so fucking bad and I don’t know where to place it. I only ever went to Channie Hyung when I was in pain. I don’t know what to do knowing he was the one that caused it, Angel. He hurt you, I trusted him to take care of you, you’re my heart… When you cry, I cry; when you hurt, I hurt. You could never do something to warrant me not talking to you. You have never done anything wrong, I love you so much,” My mouth isn’t working as the memories flash. My chest wants to cave in.

“No nothing’s wrong, Anya. Binnie is just listening to your voice, is that okay?” Han asked so gently. How is he so gentle right now? The woman in front of me is one-half of the reason Y/N is here. She’s in my hands right now. The screams replay in my head as I look at Soo, If she knew she never would’ve come here, I’m lying to myself now as my grip tightens on her. 

“Yeah, is Binnie coming back? He promised he would,” I heard her ask. Of course, I’m coming back. She’s my home, how could I leave her? Especially like this. Soo isn’t worth it, and neither is Chan, but I want them to pay. I felt my hand throb against the wall. Feeling the texture as it stands against my fist take some of the haze away. Pleading to Y/N in my head, “I want them to pay, pleeease let me make them pay. Let me make sure they’ll stay away, Angel. I need to protect you, you’re the only part of me that matters.” “Hannie I want my Binnie I’m scared,” I heard her so clearly, I could even hear the sniffles that she would allow to escape every once in a while. I could feel myself at war with what I wanted and what was right. I want to kill Soo, but killing is wrong. So I was stuck there with the love of my life practically begging me to choose her over what I wanted to do. I was trying so hard to open my mouth and try to sound strong but I was three seconds from collapsing. I’m scared too, Angel. I’m terrified. I can’t lose you. I won’t survive it. I’m not me without you. 

“M’here Angel. I’ll..” my voice betrayed me. I cleared my throat, “I’ll be there in a minute. I’ll see you soon,” I felt tears brimming in my eyes as I looked at Soo. I could see the shock on her face, that has to be enough for me. 

At the end of it all, hurting Soo would do nothing. It won't get Y/N anywhere. The pain, the suffering, it's all still going to be there, only she'll have to face it all without me. I can't do that to her. It's not fair, what happened to her. I have to let Soo go, to protect my Angel. That is more than doable. 

Hannie hung up the phone and I looked at Soo as I said, “You aren’t worth any ounce of effort anyone puts towards you. You are a nerveless little leech that sucked the life and kindness out of someone I love very much. You tell Chris what you saw here today. You tell him every detail… Especially this… If you or Chris ever try to come near her uninvited… I will not be this kind again… Do you understand me?”

She nodded violently as I released my grasp on her shirt, instead shoving her by her shoulder to Han, almost knocking both of them down in the process as I said, “Han, get her out of here before I change my mind.” I faced the wall as I tried to breathe. I have never wanted to kill someone more than just now. I’m scared, relieved, and also guilty. 

Just the fact that I was so close to possibly losing Y/N again while I was gone, shot through me like lightning in that car. Now I’m here and the threat’s gone. The original one is. That was relieving, but now I am so guilty.

If Y/N saw me like this, she would’ve been disappointed. Is that the kind of man I am? 

As soon as I register the door closing my knees hit the concrete and I’m blinded by my tears. Who am I? Soo was so scared… and I liked it? I wanted more of it. I wanted her to feel the fear Y/N felt. The pain she feels. Y/N would never want that for anyone. I almost caused her more pain. For what? To satiate my own need? 

“What kind of man am I?” I asked no one in particular as I felt the rage ebbing into whispers, staring at my hands, one already developing bruises from how hard I punched the wall, the other aching from how tight my grip was on Soo’s shirt. An image flashed of when Y/N went limp in my arms, her screams louder than the last time. My shoulders shook with the sobs that left me then. 

I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder as I heard Minho speaking softly, “You are the type of man that would do anything for the woman he loves. You’re the type that takes her pain as your own.”

I turned to Minho and said, “Hyung, I don’t know what to do. I can’t take it away.” my tears started running down my face. All I heard was Minho saying, ‘I got you’ and I let go collapsing on him. 

Minho said right into my ear, “You are a loving, caring person, Changbin. You trusted a person with your own heart and they destroyed it. It’s natural to want blood, Bin. You just proved to yourself that love is more important than revenge. You, Seo Changbin, are the type of man that is rarest of all.” I continued to cry as I held onto Minho, “You are unapologetically you. You live with your heart on your sleeve and you give without asking for anything.” “I can hear it all… Every time I hear her screams, I feel her go limp in my arms, I see the blood,” I gulped in the air, “I wa-want to make it better, Hyung. Why can’t I take it from her?” I asked.

I felt Minho quivering as he sniffled himself, “No one can, I’m sorry Changbin-ah.” I knew that answer. Logically I knew it. “But what you can do..” I looked at him, “You can show her, that loving a person is unconditional. It is as simple as breathing. You show her, that no matter what she can or can’t give you, you’ll be there. Not because you have to, but because you want to.”

I nodded as I tried to stop the tears with Minho saying periodically, “Take your time… Breathe, you’re okay. You’re good.” I was mumbling to myself how I couldn’t believe I thought what I thought and he responded with, “Don’t go there. I’m proud of you for stopping and thinking. That’s what matters.”I wasn’t sure how much time had passed as I heard Minho say, “Let me see your hand.”

I showed it to him. I could see the black and blue forming on my knuckles. When he asked me to make a fist, it was a little painful but not that bad. He smiled as he said “Good news, nothing looks broken… the bad news is there is no way you’re going to be able to hide it from Y/N. So what’s the plan Changbin, any ideas?” His eyebrows went up in question. 

“I’m not going to lie to her, Minho. I can’t.” I said plainly. She is already so fragile and lying wouldn’t help that. I also can’t tell her that I lost it and almost hurt Soo. Given, I was mad, but still. I don’t know. 

His eyebrows furrowed as he smirked, “You know sometimes you’re a little too chilverous.” I just grinned as he continued, “Alright I guess I’ll have to explain it… As far as I’m concerned you slammed your hand in the car door when you were trying to get back here. Sound good?” I nod. 

I heard Minho’s phone go off and I saw Lix’s face on the screen, “one guess” he giggles. He picked it up and put it on speaker.

“MinMin where’s my Binnie?” I heard Y/N loud and clear through the phone. She sounds a little better, I could hear the tease in it. “We were just wrapping up here Beautiful, everything okay?” He asked, smiling at me. 

“Yeah, just Inn-ah trying to eat the last brownie I’m saving for Binnie.” She giggled. My heart swelled. She was saving it for me? I haven’t had one of those in… almost a year now that I think about it.

I heard Inn-ah in the background, “Just a nibble, Y/N?” 

She giggled as she said, “Binnie hasn’t had one in a while Innie, and you live with the guy that makes them.” She laughed. She’s thinking about me? After all of this. She’s focused on me?? I think Minho could see the confusion as he looked at me.

I giggled as I said, “What about the bag of snacks we brought for the boys Seungmin?” I heard Seungmin’s voice loud and clear, “They picked it clean, vultures… I’m surprised the bag’s still there.” I heard Y/N laugh slightly louder. It melted me to my core as I laughed.

I heard Hyunjin say, “Says the one who had a whole pan of brownie to himself. I don’t mind eating clean but had I known I would’ve fought you for that pan, Seungmin.” I could see Hyunjin’s face in my head glaring at Seungmin. 

I laughed as I said, “OK Angel we are on our way. Sorry, it took so long.” I smirked at the phone, I couldn’t wait to see her. I always get this swell in my heart that spreads to all of me when I see her. 

“It’s okay. As long as you’re coming back that’s all I care about.” She giggled. Minho hung up and said, “What happened in this room, stays in this room.” I think he could tell that I was embarrassed about my breakdown. I’m used to being the person that people go to for support. I am rarely the one to need the support. This was Minho’s way of saying my breakdown stays with him. I patted him on the back, silently thanking him. 

When we walked out into the hallway I could see Hannie waiting by the door. Minho motioned for Hannie to come towards us. When he met us Minho whispered, “Follow my lead.” With that we walked back to the room together, Minho leading. When Minho went in he explained the hand injury away, “First thing’s first Beautiful. You’ll notice that Binnie’s hand is bruised, it was an accident, he’s fine and it’s not broken, okay?” He looked relieved as he motioned for me to come in.

When I came in I was met with a gentle smile from her. At that moment I realized something. Soo never told me why she was here. I know why she’s here. Chan was banking on me losing it, seeing her. He was banking on me getting myself arrested or at the very least kicked out so that I would be ripped away from Angel’s side. I smiled wider knowing that not only did I keep my cool, but this experience that he caused just made me want to stick closer to her. 

Every time it feels like the first time I see her. Always takes my breath away. Even in a hospital gown, chocolate remnants on her face. I smiled at her, “Hi, Angel, sorry it took a bit. You have something for me?” I asked as I went to sit in a chair. 

She looked at me with furrowed brows, “I want my Binnie cuddles,” She said as she reached out for me. How could I deny that? I saw Seungmin get up and walk to a chair, sitting down. 

I smiled at her as I nestled up to her in the hospital bed. She smiled as she handed me the last piece of brownie, “It’s the corner piece, your favorite.” 

She looked up at me and wiped a tear from my face, when did I start crying again? “Why are you crying, Binnie?” 

I answered honestly, “I’m so happy to see you giggling and seeing you save this for me. I’m just lucky to know you, let alone be a part of your life.” I dried a tear from her too as I smiled. 

She buried her face into my side as she giggled. That made everyone in the room break out in smiles. The rest of the night was passed in smiles and laughs until eventually, Y/N started yawning. I looked at her trying to fight the sleep until I guided her head to my chest again. She was sleeping before I could even notice. One by one, everyone was asleep except for me. Seeing everyone asleep. I permitted myself to pass out for the night too, and before I knew it, I was out like a light myself. 

_______________________________________________________

WANT MORE? Tell me So! Want in on the tags? Shoot me an ask and consider it done!

[syrupfog]

The first time Penguin sees him, it’s in the auction house at Sabaody, standing on the opposite side of the room. He’s hard to miss; tall and imposing, a mess of blond hair and a LOUD polka dot shirt. 

He leans over to Shachi. “Does this boiler suit make me look cool?”

Shachi smacks him upside the head. “No,” he says. “Stop making eyes at the enemy.” 

“He can’t even SEE my eyes,” Penguin sulks.

The second time Penguin sees him, it’s in Wano. And it’s, like, a whole thing. There’s a lot going on, and Penguin’s a bit BUSY, honestly, he’s got some other things to deal with. 

But he notices that the guy’s, like, seriously bulked up. It would be hard not to notice, really.

Penguin flexes his own muscles. He can’t see much of any change. Especially under the boiler suit. 

Shachi squints at him. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks. 

Penguin smacks him. “Shut up,” he says. “And give me those binoculars back.”

The THIRD time Penguin sees him, things are a bit different. 

And by a bit different, he means “SHIT SHIT SHIT FUCK SHIT WHERE DID BEPO GO? SHACHI— FUCK WHERE IS SHACHI—“ 

It’s HOT on this island, boiler suit stripped down and tied around his waist and Penguin is still sweating buckets as he runs down alleys and side streets with the sun beating down on his back. There’s only about twelve people running behind him, yelling angry-sounding things that Penguin doesn’t bother deciphering because WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYONE?

The bundle in his arms isn’t helping the heat stroke quickly approaching either. He’s gonna need Law to give him a rehydrating IV or something after this and then he’s going to be in trouble for wasting resources. 

Racing around a corner leads him to a crowded market street — a good sign, maybe he can get lost between the stalls. Or maybe not— the angry mob behind him seems to be gaining and they’re yelling honestly very rude things. WHERE the FUCK are his CREW— 

That’s when he sees him. HOW they ended up on the same island is a mystery, but—

“Hey! Oi!” Penguin yells, making a beeline straight for him. 

Killer, of the Kid pirates, is at a stall perusing mangos. He looks up, blue and white stripes zeroing in on Penguin. GOD the guy has some wide shoulders. 

“Yeah, you!!” Penguin yells. “Offense or Defence??”

“Uhhhhhhh,” Killer says, tilting his head. Very calm for a guy who MUST see the mob behind Penguin. “Depends on the game.” 

“Now!!” Penguin shouts, getting within throwing distance. He can practically SEE the question marks popping above Killer’s head. 

“…Defense?”

“Then CATCH” 

Penguin throws the bundle at him and turns on a heel, skidding into place mere feet in front of Killer and facing down the approaching mob. He sticks his hands deep into the pockets of the boiler suit and draws out two brass knuckles, because god these outfits are NOT good for hiding larger weapons in. 

“Uhhhhh,” says Killer behind him, voice echoey under the helmet. “Maybe I should be offence, actually.” 

“TOO LATE,” Penguin yells, charging toward the mob that has been quickly thrown into confusion now that their target has turned around.

Honestly, there’s not even any burning pitchforks or anything. It’s just a dozen or so citizens with sticks up their asses (and in their hands), and Penguin, well, he’s had to fight Clione for the last ice cream bar. 

He comes away with one nasty scrape to the cheek and a bunch of blood splatters on his outfit that Law will enjoy testing for STDs. When he finally shoves the brass knuckles back in his pockets, he turns around to find Killer still standing in front of the mango stall (although the seller has long since run for it)

And the bundle squirming around in his hands. 

“You good?” Killer asks. 

“Are you holding her upside down?” Penguin asks. 

Killer looks down at the bundle in his arms. He flips it over, and the squirming stops. A head pops out. A small child with an unnervingly large mouth full of triangular teeth, and a head of shockingly blond hair in two messy tails, is looking bright eyed at Penguin. 

Penguin gives the small child a thumbs up. 

She giggles, showing off her many unnerving teeth. There’s a second set behind the first.

“So,” says Killer, conversationally. “She yours?” 

“Oh god no,” Penguin says. “Found her chowing down on some offering to a local god and the townspeople were getting all angry at her.” He walks over, picking up a mango and holding it up to her. She neatly bites through half.

“Cool,” says Killer. 

“You got parents, kid?” Penguin asks. 

The small child shakes her head, mango juice dripping from her mouth. 

Penguin frowns. “Family?” 

The small child shakes her head again. She doesn’t seem sad. She probably didn’t know them.

“Aww,” says Killer. Penguin looks up at him. He’s oddly expressive for a man in a helmet. 

A chill runs up his spine, though, and he turns away, recognizing the feeling of conquerors haki. Sure enough, the captain of the Kid pirates is walking through the center of the now deserted market street. 

“Killer!” He yells, stalking over to them and ignoring Penguin entirely. That’s fair. Penguin likes it that way. “What’d you fucking do??” 

Killer tilts his head. With both hands he holds up the fishchild. “Got a baby,” he says brightly.

Kid blinks at the child. “What the fuck,” he says. 

Killer lowers the child and then points with one hand at Penguin. “His baby,” he says. 

“Well,” Penguin hedges. 

“What the fuck,” says Kid.

“I’m keeping it,” says Killer. 

“Her,” says Penguin. 

“That makes you a grandpa,” says Killer. 

“FUCK no it doesn’t,” shouts Kid. 

The child laughs. 

“You can’t have a BABY with the ENEMY,” Kid yells. 

“Well,” says Penguin. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, Mom.”

“Fuck you,” spits Kid. 

“She has her father’s eyes,” says Killer. 

Penguin’s not sure which of them is supposed to be the father. 

“My hair, though.” 

Ah, Penguin is the father. 

“We’ll have to work out custody agreements,” Killer continues. 

“I’d like a date first,” Penguin says

Honestly it’s fitting that that’s the first full sentence he gets out, somehow. 

“You can’t date my second in command!” Kid yells. 

“I mean, we have a kid together,” Killer points out. “You’re a bit late.” 

Penguin is halfway to a genius response of some kind when he sees  blue light wash over them. It’s all he can do to mime “call me” at Killer before he’s shambled back to the ship. 

“You’re late,” Law tells him. 

“I’m an unwed mother now I think,” Penguin says. 

Law sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to know.

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐀𝐍.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — MITCH MARNER x reader (est. relationship) wc — 4.5k synopsis — think hilary duff’s balcony engagement circa 2007

note — this belongs to the i don't remember this bar collection

specific content warnings below the cut.

cw — profanity and other vulgar language, taking the lord’s name in vain + other religious-ish imagery, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected PIV intercourse (multiple) + creampie/breeding kink, discussion/thoughts of cum play, outdoor sex and mention of previous exhibitionism, mention of previous choking + breath play (f!reader receiving), pain kink situation (both), one line of blood play (f!reader receiving), justified violence (not directed at reader!!!), slight d/s dynamics, and possessive!mitch being a domestic little horndog

“Before we talk about that beautiful, game-tying goal in the tail-end of the second and your overall command of the offensive zone throughout tonight’s game, I first want to congratulate you on some major life news. A few weeks belated; my apologies.

For those who don’t know, you came back from the All-Star break with more than just a tan; you came back with—and as—a fiancé.”

Mitch does nothing to dim his megawatt smile or to dull the sparkle in his eyes. The mere mention of you coaxes out an impossibly giddier version of himself, unencumbered by the stress and pressure of a waning season. It’s always been that way.

It's difficult to remember a time before you. He doesn't want to.

Despite of meeting on arguably one of the worst nights of his life, somehow, all he feels when the memory rises to the surface of his mind is joy.

He remembers your laughter, warm and buoyant, and the way the low light painted flattering shadows across your kind face as you spoke animatedly about your passions and dreams. He remembers being treated like a person before anything else, not some character in a video game or a pawn in someone else’s fantasy league, and he recalls your fervent, genuine interest in his off-ice hobbies. Not once did you ask anything invasive or demand he share more than he was willing.

Nor did you fish for tickets.

For Mitch, privacy was paramount, and the sentiment echoed throughout your lengthy relationship. It was your through-line, and it should’ve blanketed the intimate proposal in safety.

He gets hot under the collar just thinking about it.

Mitch will entertain the host’s questions to an extent. Because, despite his insistence on privacy, he will never pass up an opportunity to sing your praises or brag about his luck.

“Did you bring anything else back? Any special souvenir to commemorate such a momentous occasion?”

Mitch is instantly hard, his pale cheeks ablaze, eternally grateful that the camera is filming from the chest up.

Carried in on a warm evening breeze, the evocation is so palpable he can taste the blue curaçao on his tongue and feel its muted burn in the back of his throat. The air smells of pineapple and your fragrant shampoo, a comforting scent that clings to him like a second skin. The phantom of your touch sends a shiver down the expanse of his sore, sweat-drenched back.

“—holy fuck.”

The crinkled, two-word curse tumbles from Mitch’s mouth with little effort.

Every modicum of tact was either battling against the warm rum coursing through his body or fighting to keep his guttural, damning moans at bay.

They are getting hot and heavy on a patio, after all.

Mitch knows this isn’t smart. He knows he should’ve moved the celebration indoors, that he should've waited until you were curtained in safety to give in to his desire and your wandering hands.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

The problem is he just doesn’t care.

Mitch wasn’t about to delay the appreciative mouth of the woman he was going to make his wife, not even for a second.

Even if she dropped to her knees with only a hedge to play look-out. A line of decorative foliage is their first and final defense, the leaves carelessly swaying between them and the rest of the luxury resort he booked for All-Star weekend.

It’s difficult to make sound decisions when the hand wrapped around your cock is newly weighed down by five carats.

The dazzling rock shines proudly in the concluding rays of a setting sun. Glittery and perfect, like the woman who wears it.

Mitch hisses when the tip taps the back of your throat for the first time that night. The sensitive skin melts into your tongue like an ice cube, the creamy droplets of anticipation swallowed greedily by your ravenous mouth. He sees stars in the cotton candy sky peeking through the palm trees.

It hasn’t been that long; his day began with your nose nuzzled against his pelvis, his head limp against the cool tile of the shower a few feet away.

When it comes to you, nothing is ever enough to curb his appetite.

Always needy, never satiated—a pair of perverted peas in a pod.

Your tongue repeats the delicious motion it had previously, too, lazily tracing along the underside of his length until he’s whimpering with no regard for anything besides spilling himself down your throat. He feels you smile around his thickness, pleased by the ease of his undoing. You were damn good; you deserved to be proud.

In all honesty, it took very little effort on your part to make him weak in both his knees and in his resolve.

However, there was a special kind of magic in your pretty face, now dusted by a salty sheen, nestled against his taut abdomen, his cock engulfed by the vice-grip of your throat.

Mitch is close already.

White-hot sparks descend through his quads and calves to zap his sandy toes. Electrified, his hips sputter of their own volition, but like the godsend you are, you accommodate every jolt and tilt in stride.

With one hand braced against his hip and the other gently massaging the heavy weight of his balls cradled in your palm, you peer up at him through a fan of fluttering lashes.

He whines—at the mischievous glint in your glassy eyes or the bite of your manicure as you sink your nails into his burnt skin, he can’t be sure.

Some of your fingers curl into the nasty bruise eating up his lower back, the by-product of a gruesome communion with the ice a few days prior. Sharp nails nip at the fragile skin. Mitch doesn’t know if the twinge of pain was intentional on your part, but he loves it either way. Perhaps a little too much, he thinks to himself as he twitches violently in your grasp.

And perhaps you aren't the only one with a masochistic streak. It's clear from the heaviness of your lids the converse applies to you.

His sweetheart's sick and sadistic. He's never been prouder.

“Get off,” he husks. Abruptly, he steps out from your embrace.

In retrospect, Mitch could’ve been nicer about it. At that moment, however, he was far too desperate for chivalry.

Staring down at your wide, despondent eyes—a pup deprived of her favorite bone—your fiancé amends, “Calm down, sweetheart. I’ll give it back soon. There’s no way in hell I’m wasting a load in your mouth when I know how good your pussy feels around my cock.”

Heat scales Mitch’s spine as he spreads you wide open against the chaise. Your folds glow brighter than the jewelry on your left hand.

With the tip of his finger, he tests the waters. Gingerly, at first, like he's still unsure you'll be able to take him. That charade hardly lasts, but tonight, it's barely a blip.

Your body eagerly welcomes the attention, mouthing at him before sucking the touch past the taut, elastic ring of your entrance. Your faint groans elicited by the intrusion harmonize so sweetly, so perfectly, that Mitch’s eyes fall shut in tranquil bliss.

When your hips rock against his palm, they snap open.

Blinking at him hard and fast, your teeth sink into your bottom lip, turning the plushness a sickly shade of pink—of desperation. Tears crowd your lash line but never cascade down your shiny cheeks; they, like you, are impatiently waiting for reprimand.

Mitch almost laughs. You did jump the gun, so he can't fault you for expecting the corresponding punishment. But it's a special occasion—you're celebrating, so it never manifests.

And Mitch wants to do more than just spank you silly. Plenty of time for that later. A lifetime's worth of it.

Instead, with the flick of his wrist, Mitch encourages you to take your pleasure.

The subtle, tantalizing movements, building in speed and ferocity with each pass, beckon him forward until his sunburnt skin is close enough to burn yours. Feeling you beneath him, feeling his weight rest against your body, feels better than heaven, and he’s barely started.

Like before, Mitch is painfully aware he won’t be able to last long. Judging by how silky-slick you are against his palm, you won’t be either.

With his free hand, he catches your jaw and, with little resistance, tilts your head to keep your gaze from straying. Your mouth falls open when he slips another finger inside. Mitch grins down at your lust-blown pupils and the feel of your hot breath against his lips. He leans down and licks into your idle mouth. A third finger causes your bottom lip to tremble between his and your forehead to ease, every little muscle going soft and pliant between the cushion and his chest.

“Atta girl,” Mitch praises. His lips press briefly to your cheek before beginning their descent along your throat. The touch is featherlight and sends a shiver down your spine, coaxing your chest further into his. “—love seeing you like this, all beautiful and open. And all fucking mine.”

Mitch wouldn't necessarily consider himself a territorial person, and he can't recall ever feeling possessive of a partner. Until he met you.

It had nothing to do with trust or a lack thereof; you were his the minute your eyes met through the crowd, and you reassured him of that fact constantly. It was never you that needed a reminder—it was everybody else.

The men who openly leer at you from every corner of Scotiabank Arena. The NHL hopefuls in your Instagram comments shamelessly flirting as if he didn’t exist or wasn’t in the photo, too. The unprofessional commentators who found ways to sneak in a lecherous comment or two under the guise of camaraderie whenever they spoke about his prowess.

You weren’t some object to be won or bought. You made a choice, and he’d make sure they knew and respected it.

Sure, the engagement ring will aid in this up-hill endeavor, but a little due diligence never hurt either.

“Tonight, it's gonna take. I’m making damn sure of that, sweetheart.”

Your walls squeeze his digits in recognition. Mitch chuckles, dark and dry, against your shoulder. You might like the implication more than he does.

You two weren’t trying, but you weren’t not trying either. Seeing you wearing his ring—the one he picked and purchased—kicked him down a perverted spiral. Flipped the last switch, cut the final cord. He wanted to complete the picture. He wanted to give those good-for-nothing losers one more reason to keep their mouths shut and their eyes to themselves.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Love for me to fill you in a way that’ll last? C’mon, sweetheart, tell me what you want. Tell me how badly you want to be stuffed full of me, how much your pussy needs it—how badly you want to be heavy and swollen with my kid."

Mitch tends to your clit, keeping you borderline incoherent as he tickles your ears with more filth before you can reply to the first goading.

Your eventual responses are muffled by a long, primal whine.

When he has you swaying on the brink of collapse, he’s painfully hard against your inner thigh. There's an iridescent river pearling from the weeping head, freely flowing down to pool beneath your ass. It beams in the dim light like a beacon.

Transfixed and desperately in love, Mitch could cum right now. Just like this.

But staining a stupid fucking cushion would be more of a waste than shooting himself your throat. So, much to your chagrin, he, once again, retreats back onto his knees.

“C-come back,” you whimper with a loud hiccup. The choked sound is as pitiful as your attempts to reach for him. “Please, please, please—”

Satisfaction spreads over the bridge of his nose, leaving him rosy from one cheek to the other. He pins you with a heated, half-lid stare as he strokes himself.

His palm doesn’t feel as good as yours, but Mitch is grateful for that. He wants to drag this out. Instead of rutting into you like a teenager in the backseat of a car, or like himself after a long stint away.

That can’t—and won’t—happen if he keeps touching you. He has to back off before he loses his ever-loving mind.

“Stop being a tease,” you chide. Irritation weighs heavily on your voice. “Haven’t I waited long enough?”

“There’s something I want you to see first, you little brat,” he replies, adopting your sharp tone as he brings his open palm down on your inner thigh.

You shriek, but your eyes beg for another. Maybe he shouldn't have cut you any slack earlier...

He grants your silent wish with a matching blow to the other side before guiding his rigid cock to rest over your body.

And it was better than Mitch ever imagined.

He groans at the sight, “Can you see it? Can you, sweetheart?”

Mitch waits patiently for it to click in your mind, but the confusion that swiftly overtook your fucked-out features never dissipates. Eyes rolling, he shifts forward. Hand still wrapped around the base, Mitch leans over until the full length of him sits against your bare stomach.

Your body quivers over the contact, so he has to hold your hips down to keep you from wiggling and ruining everything.

“I know you can feel it, but I want you to see it. I want you to see how deep I get inside of you, sweetheart. All the way up…” Mitch trails off as his hands glide from your outer hips to the center of your abdomen.

His voice is so deep. So hungry. Your whole being—mind and body—goes weak at the foreign richness.

With tender thumbs, he applies pressure beneath his swollen tip. “—here.”

Mitch moves slowly at first, as if he'd just been sheathed inside of you. With each careful thrust, his stones caress your aching clit, all puffy and pouting.

It feels wonderful to be touched again, even if only in short bursts. But it's not enough friction or force to do much more than aggravate you further. Even when he picks up speed, it’s more hurtful than helpful.

Still, you cannot tear your eyes away from the angry, ruddy head dribbling out ropes of arousal or voice a shred of discontent. The opaque beads form a nonsensical pattern, but it's mesmerizing nonetheless.

If you were any less needy, you’d take your time running your fingers through the milky mess. Swirling around in the evidence of Mitch’s desire until you had enough to lick clean.

As if privy to your thoughts, he pins your wrists at your sides again.

Mitch isn’t faring much better than you. His eyes are trained on the shadow bisecting your middle. Locked, laser-focused. This little…exercise was as much for his amusement as it is for your education. He knows how far he can reach inside of you—knows how fucking fantastic it feels to be buried at the root, but seeing just how deeply he can fuck you is something else entirely.

It's enough to make him question why and how he ever stops fucking you. He’s an idiot for depriving himself. For neglecting you. An exercise in frustration as much as his fruitless effort to shun the rose-colored perversions dancing wild in his mind, Mitch has wasted so much time.

Fuck penance and fuck propriety—it would be a sin to do anything other than worship at your altar as a devoted acolyte. Cardinal, even.

His stomach tightens as he considers how empty you must feel in his absence—and how deliciously whole you must feel when he drives home. He wonders how forlorn your folds must look right now as he keeps what you covet just out of bounds. His body obstructs the view, but Mitch knows you’re open and fluttering around nothing, pleading for mercy.

If he were a cruel man, he’d ignore your begging and continue on like this until his balls were empty and your chest was covered in ivory threads. Lucky for you, your future husband is of the clement variety.

Before you can get another babble, his mouth is back on yours. He keeps your arms tight to your sides, so you’re incentivized to convey your fervent need for more—of anything, really—through your lips and tongue.

Mitch is greedy when he kisses you and needy while lapping up your fire—happily, and without pause. His head pounds like he finished a handle in a single sip, but he doesn’t want it to stop. Ever. It’s disorienting, and yet, he can’t seem to get enough no matter how much of you he drinks down. Mitch wants to spend the rest of his life drunk on your lips.

Begrudgingly, he tears his mouth from yours. Then, tanned chest heaving, he positions himself between your glistening southern lips. Mitch looks down at you, and when your vision finally focuses, his eyes have been shadowed in darkness by his hulking brow.

His prior impatience dwindles ever so slightly even though he's on the precipice of complete satisfaction. Mitch hasn’t gotten a good look at you since your nimble hands relieved him of his shorts some twenty minutes ago, and you are glorious. A celestial nymph with dominion over his heart, devastatingly beautiful and all-consuming in every conceivable way. The hold you have over him is dangerous, verging on obsession. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or say if it appeased you so.

He isn’t fearful. He’s honored. The gratitude he feels knowing that you were, and remain, receptive to his devotion is overwhelming. And now, watching the lucid waters of lust ebb and flow in your glazed eyes, he’s never felt luckier.

Mitch thumbs the gem resting atop your finger, and you shudder as if it were the one tucked between your thighs.

His other hand lingers around your right wrist, though not as tightly as before. With his pulsing head shallow in your heat, he knows you’ll behave. Disrupting him now would only prolong his teasing. A lesson you learned—and were often reminded of—the hard way.

As his fingers trace the metallic band, warmed by the tropical sun and his furnace-like touch, Mitch pushes his hips forward, slow and steady, until he’s fully enveloped by your wanting walls. With your snug, pillowy softness stretching and constricting to accommodate his generous blessing, his grip on reality slips.

“You’re a fucking dream,” your fiancé rasps.

His hands are now splayed wide on either side of your head, effectively caging you beneath him as he builds a faithful rhythm. Teeth clenched, he works diligently to fashion a tribute worthy of your ethereal beauty and power.

“—always so warm and wet for me, just begging to be split open on my thick fuckin' cock. How long have you been this needy, sweetheart? Since I bent you over on the boat? Right over the railing where anyone could’ve seen you?”

You nod, bruised bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Tears well in your eyes.

Your afternoon tryst had been as quick as it’d been rough. Sundress bunched high, the fragile fabric wrinkled between your hips and the cool metal railing as Mitch’s right hand wrapped around your throat. His talented fingers pressed firmly into your sun-kissed skin, relentless in their torment, as he pawed at the pathetic knot struggling to hold your bathing suit in place. His mouth curled into a smirk as it whispered a heady mix of degradation and praise. All while you preened for him, a large crowd just steps away.

That wasn't the first orgasm you were robbed of today.

The hem of the thin material that clung to your anguished body floated demurely above your ankles, landing just shy of the bone. The sullied garment hid the incriminating evidence that inched down your sore thighs with every step you took. The irony was not lost on you as you walked back to your room.

“D’you know how hard it was to stop myself from fucking you in front of all those people? To hold back like that—to not bend you over and take in broad daylight? Of course you do, you sweet, sadistic minx. You always know how to rile me up—and you always find a reason to.”

Mitch grins against your lips before his teeth momentarily replace yours. They nestle into the grooves as if that was the expressed purpose of the faint indentations.

“With the way you’ve been behaving, I’m willing to bet you want a better souvenir than a gift shop tchotchke, hm? Y'gotta be patient for me, though—good girls wait for their rewards. Jus' wait… Oh, I don’t know, nine months? Give or take? Think you can do that for me?"

He’s being cheeky on purpose. He likes the way gentle irritation plays out between your legs—always has and always will.

Mitch releases your lower lip again, but only after he’s nicked it with his canines. A dainty bead of crimson materializes. Covetous, his tongue laps it up without pause. Painted lips kiss from cheek to cheek.

Your back arches. Your hips lift to rock in time with his thrusts.

“God, I can’t wait till we get those fuckin’ keys,” Mitch mumbles, almost absentmindedly.

The lean muscles of his upper body ripple as he sits up to grab ahold of your jaw, a calloused hand on either side. He has an unimpeded view of your dazed, saccharine countenance. His hips slow until they match the thumbs stroking escaped tears into your cheeks.

“—m'gonna take you in every room, against every surface. That way, there won’t be a single thing in our home that—fuck—that doesn’t remind you of me and how well I take care of you—you and your tight cunt.”

With little fanfare, he threads his arms under your dewy legs. Mitch uses the newfound leverage to tug your body even closer.

A shriek rips through the firm seam of your lips as his length traverses an unexplored depth. Your knees snuggle against the pit of his elbows, pleased to be so close in spite of the pain.

Mitch holds your gaze, reveling in your silent screams. He winks, then slowly lowers himself down until your body is folded squarely beneath his. Your muscles burn with the fury of budding resentment, which you’ll surely feel towards him in the morning after this unprompted foray into acrobatics, but the new angle is too good to do more than just... take it.

His hands are glad to have been relieved of their duty and, eager to take advantage of their newfound freedom, palm your chest as his mouth descends on your poor neck. The delicate skin is utterly defenseless against the desire thumping deep within his chest and spilling over his ribs.

Mitch wants to stake his claim—to mark his territory. A stammer of expletives accompanies the vulgar jut of your hips when he rolls your sensitive nipples, swollen and begging for attention, between thumb and forefinger. Bracketed by his forearms, you surrender completely.

Mitch hums at the lewd, sucking sound made by your arousal. Wet squelches ricochet off the adjacent wall with each and every thrust.

“I’ve really made a mess out of you, haven’t I?”

You nod, eyes pinched in concentration.

You’re close. He can feel your body trying to milk him dry. Fortunately, Mitch isn’t far behind. You feel too fucking good to prolong the inevitable.

He brings a hand to your clit, and it moves in messsy circles as he speaks, “Not done yet, though. Gonna flood this pretty cunt—gonna leave you all sticky and hot. I know you want it, but I need you to cum for me first. Go on, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You unravel on command, your chin falling to the side in ecstasy. Mitch’s firm hand is quick to wrench it back; he needs to watch your face contort as you crumble like he needs air to breathe. Mitch won't be able to think straight until he reaps the rewards of fucking and rubbing you through it.

The sob that wrecks your body is high-pitched and perforated by little gasps, and the rush of wetness is more pathetic than any noise you could and would make in your lifetime. More than you ever thought your body was capable of, more than your new fiancé expected, more than either of you anticipated.

He's soaked in a matter of seconds—as are you and the cushion dripping onto the concrete.

Mitch's climax comes in quick succession but, unlike yours, without warning. Undoubtedly, his peak was triggered by the gush of your undeniable satisfaction.

Drained dry, Mitch hunches over to capture your lips once more, determined to distract you from the inevitable bodily ache on the come-down. Delicately, he places your trembling legs onto the chaise and nestles into the space they vacated. He feels every little muscle twitch and spasm when he hugs you tightly to his body.

The world is muted, fuzzy around the edges, and drowned out by the aftershocks, so you miss most of his sweet-nothing rambling, but the relief and contentment that flood your spent body is reply enough.

He isn’t sure how long you stay like that—tangled together in paradise. You doze off, dipping in and out of consciousness, and wake just after the buttery sun slips entirely behind the horizon. Through the darkness surrounding your bare bodies, silvery moonlight replaces the golden rays of sunshine, but you—and your ring—shine as if nothing's changed.

You keep up a quiet conversation. Nothing of importance is spoken; it's carried on purely for the enjoyment of one another’s voice. Mitch peppers your skin, sticky from humidity and exertion, with tender lips, and you return the favor tenfold. You’re both smiling so wide, so happily.

And you keep grinning into the night, even when your cheeks begin to ache. It’s only when the light breeze ghosts over your bare skin that either of you consider relocating. In no rush and reluctant to leave your deep warmth, he’s leisurely about moving into the dim suite.

Mitch freezes abruptly. His stomach splatters at his feet when his mind catches up to his instincts. Murmuring. He hears murmuring. Terror races down his spine like an ice-cold chill. It's quiet at first. Almost as if the evening wind picked up a distant conversation yards away and softly settled it in his paranoid eardrums. He can’t make out any particular words—except his last name.

His mood sours beyond repair with the realization that the juvenile whispering is much too close, the giggles muffled only by the permeable wall of greenery bordering the suite’s ground-floor patio.

“We just wanted to be the first to say congratulations!” A teenage voice devoid of tact and respect calls out above a chorus of snorts and giggles.

Mortified, you bury your head into the crook of his neck. His chain is cold in comparison to your shame.

Mitch growls and reaches beside the chaise. He shouts something that would’ve made even the most shameless of shit-talkers blush, then sends a half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon clear through the leaves. It shatters, and the crisp bubbles spill out on the concrete, sending the herd of inconsiderate assholes scattering like mice.

“I’ll go pick up the glass,” he sighs, knowing you’ll chastise him for the mess. "—later."

Mitch couldn’t be honest with the journalist.

He wouldn’t even if he could.

He shares so much of himself and his life with the world already—a hazard of the flashy, public-facing occupation he chose—and you’ve offered up far more of your world than he’d ever ask of you. He doesn’t mind a photo here or a video there, sometimes a press junket or two in a philanthropic context, but Mitch won’t bring the media into your private moments beyond where they’ve already encroached.

Especially not for a leading question intended to bait him into saying something stupid. Or to prematurely announce the impending arrival of your first child.

So, instead, he simply says, “Towels. But if the Four Seasons—or my future wife—asks, I’m totally joking, and I definitely put them all back.”

⤑ to my inbox💌

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[hiraethwa]

to be loved is to be known

one; you are not meant for me // but the heart wants what it wants

<the collection — to be loved is to be known>

pairing. kageyama x reader

cw. angst, timeskip, setter!reader, one-sided pining, blasphemy, currently married!reader, fluff if you squint (no adultery)

wc.4.2k

featured track. the 6th summer by PLAVE

my heart knew it was you from the moment we met. but you were never mine to begin with.

kageyama tobio is a logical person. his teammates would describe him as a mechanically precise monster who can effectively deconstruct opponent plays and use his insights to counter strategize their own attacks. a highly rationale driven individual, known to be impassive off court. 

in his high school years, he has watched his senpais yearn after their manager, even hinata, falling for a classmate in their third year, the relationship ending in tears when they broke it off because hinata was leaving to brazil. he has seen love take precedent and how it always seem to break the hearts of those involved. 

but he never understood why someone would put so much of themselves on line to love someone who could choose to walk away at any point in time. 

unlike most people’s beliefs, kageyama isn’t heartless, or emotionless, or indifferent to love. after all, he loves volleyball just fine. it’s just—he figures, why love someone, when they always leave you behind, whether voluntarily or otherwise?—why love someone, when he can choose to devote himself to volleyball which will never abandon him?

and then you came into the picture, wholly unaccounted for. a fellow setter, a true rival, and he found himself wanting to fly with you. someone who understands his pivotal role in his team’s offense, the control tower, as he had once said to hinata. someone who obsesses over every little detail as he does.

at first, he had attributed the feeling of recognition to meeting a true rival in you as a fellow setter. that feeling that he had yearned for as a middle schooler watching the senpai he looked up to, oikawa-san, serve and set like a god. the connection he missed due to rivalry, and the connections he severed unknowingly to be the team that stays on the court the longest. 

it couldn’t have been love, because if it was, then he would also be in love with hinata like everyone keeps saying. besides, why would he fall for someone who is in a relationship?

it would be immoral to fall for you, he reasons, you are dating kuroo-san.

he quickly learns that despite the warm demeanor you have when it comes to volleyball, you keep everyone at an arm’s length outside of it. he notices the line you draw between your professional career and your personal life, and he is careful to stay on the right side. 

he allows you to set the boundaries that you are comfortable with, keeping to the practice meets that became a monthly routine where you exchange your latest updates on your plays and offer pointers on improving, dissecting each other’s games that quickly spilled over into its own afternoon meetups over coffee. 

slowly but surely, it turns from a fan and her idolized player into two equals analyzing and plotting improvements for their next game strategies. 

of course, kageyama shares the admiration that comes from picking your brain on his weekly calls with hinata. 

“i don’t know how i didn’t think of that before oumae-san suggested it—” he stops himself as he catches hinata giving him a look of sympathy, snapping at the older boy, “what?”

“kageyama, do you know how many times i have heard you talk about oumae-san in the past months?”

“huh? why would i be keeping count?” he frowns at him through the screen.

hinata nods in pity, “exactly. i don’t know either because you are constantly saying oumae-san this, oumae-san that.”

kageyama averts his eyes from his friend, feeling the tips of his ears warming under his inspection. “i don’t talk about her that much.” it comes out in an unconvincing mumble.

“you know i would support you no matter what you do, but oumae-san is getting married to kuroo-san soon. i don’t think it’s good for you to keep pining after a soon-to-be married woman.”

he wishes he could snipe the orange haired boy through the screen, only because he is right. he drags a hand over his face in frustration. damn him, he knows that he is falling for you, but he is utterly helpless in stopping himself. 

you’re a dreamy sunny day that he wishes to bask in forever. too bad kageyama is the snow storm that sweeps through winter. 

kageyama tobio well knows that he is truly hopeless from the moment he realized that he fell for you, the mind behind the name. 

he is in love with the way your mind works to find counters against your opponent’s defense and open up a path for your team’s attacks. the way you find just the perfect moment to do a setter dump, catching the other team unaware. the way you dissect and analyze plays calmly during timeouts. the way you listen intently to him when he speaks.

the worst part is that you are not even trying to make him fall for you. you are just being your perfectly normal self, keeping all your interactions at a respectful and professional level—probably more professional than respectful at this point, since you would give him shit for his unforced errors. (actually, he also likes that you keep him accountable, unlike most people who would brush them off as mistakes that happen sometimes.)

that gods-forsaken line between your professional and personal lives now more solid than before as a married woman. 

and yet, he had fallen for you without even trying. 

he had tried to follow hinata’s advice to move on from you, to quote him directly—“stop putting her on a pedestal. she’s only human, she is bound to have something that irks you.”

he tried, really, to find your faults in your interactions. the tiny crease between your eyebrows as you think hard about the game you are exchanging analysis on, the small pout on your lips as you work through possible counterattacks. your dry reply when he says something dumb, or the excitement in your eyes when recounting a strategy (that you both came up with together) that worked. 

it’s not working. in fact, it’s achieving quite the opposite of moving on from you.

he curses hinata shoyo for his shit advice as he watches your practice match against france from the vip section in the stands. something feels off, he thinks, finding that you are not landing evenly on both feet when you set to your spikers. 

he realizes a moment too late that you are heavily favoring your left foot over the other just as you land awkwardly on your ankle—your shrill yelp sounding from the court. 

kageyama jumps to his feet worriedly, hands gripping the back of the seat in front of him as he peers over to you. he reminds himself that he is just another professional acquaintance of yours, forcing himself to take a seat as your coach and teammates rush over to you. 

you don’t play for the rest of the game. 

later that night, upon finding no news from any media outlets about the severity of your injury after scouring the internet, he starts typing out a message to you—how are you doing?

no, that won’t do, he shakes his head, deleting the small letters on his phone before typing out another message—is your ankle alright?

he pauses for a few moments, wondering if he would be crossing a boundary to inquire about your wellbeing. i probably shouldn’t, he decides against it for the better, choosing to believe (or hope) that no news is good news. 

he erases the message to your number, letting the device fall next to him as he puts his arm over his forehead. fuck, what am i doing? 

you have a loving husband to go home to, who will take good care of you. there’s no place for someone as removed as him to be worrying after you.

after all, gods are meant to be worshiped from a distance, and you would fit right in next to the ones who torment him so. 

to his dismay, his delusions of relief only lasted a few days. 

kageyama tobio knows something is wrong the moment he finds the court empty on the third friday of the month. the court that you live and breathe on. the court that he always finds you practicing your serves while waiting for him. 

his heart catches in his throat as he rings your number, holding his breath as he desperately hopes that you are okay. 

you pick up on the seventh ring. “kageyama-san? ah, sorry. i forgot to tell you that i won’t be able to make it to practice today.”

“it’s fine, kuroo-san. i was at your match on sunday. are you doing alright?” you both stubbornly stick to using formalities when addressing each other—kuroo-san to remind himself that you are so far beyond his reach that he can just forget about it. (he doesn’t.)

“oh, that? i’m fine,” kageyama breathes out a sigh of relief from hearing your words. relief that comes too soon, as it is quickly followed by your strangled yelp coming from the other end.

“that didn’t sound like you are fine.” he realizes you must be saying that just to keep him from worrying, any rational thought flying out of his mind. 

he had seen kuroo-san, your husband in passing at work just this morning, but if you’re injured, and still stubbornly moving around, or worse, even keeping it from your own husband—“send me your address, i’ll be over soon.”

kageyama ends up having to call in the team physician to look at your horribly swollen ankle, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep himself in line. the tips of his fingers twitch every so often when you wince at her touch as she inspects your ankle. 

he tells himself that you are so, so strictly off limits. 

though, he makes the mistake of asking about kuroo-san, your husband. he wishes that the words never left his lips as his eyes catch the microexpression that betrays your emotions. you quickly brushes off his question with a joke, as if you have had plenty of practice.

he barely keeps that haze of anger in check as he calls your husband after excusing himself for the night and wishing you a speedy recovery, not allowing himself to ponder on the ‘what could have been’s—of how he would never put work above you, especially if you’re hurt.

he politely explains your situation to your husband, and yet kuroo has the audacity to sound offended at his request to spend more time taking care of you in your condition as an outsider.

“she’s my wife, i know how to take care of her.”

then act like it. kageyama bites back the retort, knowing that it wouldn’t help matters—that it might actually add to your burden instead of easing it. 

he bristles when kuroo tells him that he has to go finish up some work before he could leave, mystified as to why kuroo would ever put work above you. 

kageyama pockets his phone and lets his arm hang lax by his side, shaking his head at himself. it’s not his place to worry over you, much less tell kuroo how to be a husband. 

the gods have judged him, and deemed him unworthy of you. 

kageyama tobio knows your serve routine by heart. a tuck of your hair over your left ear, then your right, followed by a swish of your ponytail to confirm that it is holding securely. fingers smoothing over the hem of your jersey. your left hand outstretched with the ball in front of you, you would lick over your top lip, teeth catching your bottom lip before you launch the ball upwards and forwards, body coiling into a spring that shoots the ball out across the net.

he knows the extra time you take to warm up your right wrist due to a prior injury. the overly bubbly personality that you hide behind when you are upset or disappointed. the modest smile that is dazzling (he swears that you really do sparkle when you smile like that), not because you’re pulling your charm out, but because you are not. 

your unpretentious smile that comes from the heart still guts him each time becoming less common, to his disappointment. and gods, does he try to coax that smile from you when he sees you, would give you the entire universe with all the planets and stars in it if he could, just to see the unfiltered crooked smile from you. the one you claim to hate because it reveals the singular dimple on your cheek. 

he also knows that you love flowers, deduced from the bouquet of peonies on your lockscreen and the different floral arrangements that you post to your social media each week. and your order at the coffee shop that you get without fail—latte with lavender and honey instead of simple syrup.

he knows all the details he picked up from his observations in the time he has known you, details that he absolutely adore, while being hyper cognizant of the line drawn between you. 

he knows, lives at the edge of that boundary drawn by you, enforced by him. his iron grip on his own actions to hold the line, keeping his desires as they are—a daydream of a world where the gods favored him. 

kageyama knows this all too well. 

and because of that, he knows something is not right when your contact lights up his phone screen with an incoming call on a friday night. 

your number is saved under kuroo y/n, a reminder of where he stands in your life. he addresses you as kuroo-san, another constant reminder to stand firm on his side of the line. 

he hesitates, but his index finger swipes across the screen, accepting your call before his logical side could stop it.

your voice crackles across the line before he could get a word in. “you finally picked up!” 

he could just picture the pout on your face (that also appears during practices when you mess up), but it was the childish whimsy that accompanies your slurred words that dusts his cheeks in pink—the intimacy in your tone that he suspects is not meant for his ears.

“i miss you,” you admit softly, sadly, in a tone that makes his heart clench in pain. as much as he would like to give you comfort, anything you ask him for, really, he knows he’s not the one you’re really looking for. 

“yuki, give that back!” you complain, sounding further away from your phone. another female voice comes into the call, “no, is that kuroo tetsuro? that asshole!” 

kageyama thinks he should say something to clear up the situation, but the words die in his throat—what could he say, really?

“wait, what? kageyama?” the other female mumbles to herself, and kageyama assumes that whoever that yuki is returns the phone to you as your sweet voice calls out to him again. 

“are you done with work yet? you’ve been so busy again lately…” you trail off, “do you think we will go see the cherry blossoms outside of tokyo next year? you promised we would this year, but something came up with your work.”

he really doesn’t want to jump to conclusions about your marriage, but he would be lying if your words don’t make him upset on your behalf. it makes his blood boil to even think about his senpai prioritizing work over his wife. from what he witnessed when you were injured, and now this—you begging for his time, it is exceeding hard to believe otherwise. 

why would he choose work over you? he tries not to read too much into the situation, but—if that asshole is really making you live on scraps of his love, why are you still with him? 

oh right, because you love kuroo tetsuro. 

if kageyama was in his shoes, he would never make you ask him for his time. in fact, he would make sure you feel like the most loved person in the entire world. what do you even see in him— 

he shakes himself out of his intrusive thoughts, wondering instead if he made the right decision to give kuroo a push back then; if he just contributed to dragging out your situation rather than helping. he reminds himself that you had looked happier in the following weeks, until now.

he opens his mouth to say something, but your friend beats him to it. “say, you should come pick y/n up! it’s pretty late and she’s so plastered.”

finally, he stumbles to his words. “kuroo-san, i don’t think—”

he isn’t sure if you hear him over the loud music in the background and your friend’s insistence for him to come pick you up. “i’ll send the address to you, please come get her before she drinks herself to death.” 

he wonders if she knows. 

it isn’t long before he pulls up at the address you sent him, parking at a street lot that opened up as he drove by, lucky him. kageyama feels out of place among the partygoers in the club, dressed in sweats and an oversized hoodie over his plain t-shirt. 

he wonders if you would be disappointed to see him instead of your husband. your good for nothing husband who is apparently still at work on a friday night.

kageyama tells himself he shouldn’t feel as crestfallen as he does at that thought. just as he shouldn’t feel the skip in his heartbeat when his eyes land on you, or the urge to pull you into his arms and kiss the top of your head. 

or the protective instinct that kicks in as he gets closer, sensing the exhaustion in your demeanor, wishing to shield you against everything that the world throws at you. 

he really, really shouldn’t feel the relief that floods his veins at the gratitude in your eyes—not disappointment, he notes—and the gentle smile that graces your lips at his approach. that smile that he loves so much, knocking the breath out of him, reflecting on his own features that are normally set in a disinterested scowl. 

gods, is there anything he wouldn’t do to keep that smile on your face?

“tobio, you came.” his name leaving your lips for the first time, as you fling yourself into his arms with such familiarity that he has never seen from you. it takes every inch of his willpower to not crumble to the floor before you, beg you to let him love and worship you for the goddess you are. 

it takes every shred of his resolve to keep the words from overflowing past that cursed line. to keep his features neutral, intercept the storm ripping through his winter from touching your pleasant spring. 

so he holds on to you awkwardly, savoring the rare moment of affection, mumbling into your hair, “you called.”

“mmm, we’re celebrating my birthday! do you want a drink?” he releases you first, letting his arms fall to his sides. you tug him towards the bar before another woman stops you, disapproval set in the lines of her face.

“i let you out of my sight to go to the bathroom for a few minutes, and you’re already making a beeline to the bar.” this must be the yuki on the phone then. her eyes flicker behind you to kageyama. “this is kageyama?” 

“kageyama tobio, nice to meet you.” he manages a stiff nod.

“tsuda yuki. thanks for coming on a short notice, i appreciate it. she really doesn’t want to leave, and kuroo isn’t picking up.” yuki keeps a firm grip on you, tugging you in the opposite direction—to the exit, narrowing her eyes when you pout at her. 

you seem to have mellowed out since kageyama arrived, the sadness behind your eyes just a tad lighter if the strobing lights weren’t playing tricks on her. oh, whatever works, works. it’s almost two in the morning, and she thanks the gods that you are finally willing to go. 

yuki exchanges a few words with kageyama before they come to a mutual decision to have him drop you home since he has a car and she has to call a cab in the opposite direction of where you live. 

“be good for kageyama, please?” she basically begs you to be on your best behavior as her cab shows up. you’re clinging onto her like your life depends on it.

“we’ll be fine, tsuda-san.” kageyama tries to assure her, but she shoots him a look of disbelief. 

“you don’t know her like i do. she is… really out of hand when she has alcohol in her system. the last time she was this drunk, she tried to—” the cab honks at her to hurry up. “are you sure you got this?”

“yeah, i’ll have her call you when i drop her off.”

tsuda-san is right. kageyama comes to that conclusion after spending 15 minutes trying to get you into the passenger seat and checking that you put your seatbelt on.

he breathes a sigh of relief, focusing on the road ahead as you finally settle down, preoccupied with the buildings and bright lights that pass by in a blur. strangely enough he finds that he didn’t mind it one bit, having his hands full with taking care of a drunk you. he actually found this wild, unchecked side of you endearing.

he gently shakes you awake once he parks the car. it seems like most of the alcoholic effects have worn off during the drive as you lean onto him for support in the elevator, yawning and rubbing your tired eyes. 

your apartment is dark, devoid of life as you enter, kicking your shoes off in the entryway, mumbling a tadaima, mostly to yourself. kageyama would have missed it if he was not following closely behind you, making sure you don’t trip and fall over. 

his heart aches at the thought of you coming home to an empty apartment, your tadaima announcing that you’re home unmet with its other okaeri half from your husband to welcome you back. 

“make yourself at home, tobio,” you curl up on the couch, putting on a travel vlog on the tv on a low volume before dialing yuki’s number, letting her know you’re home safely. 

“hey, why don’t you change into more comfortable clothes? let me get you some painkillers. where is the medicine cabinet?” he nudges your shoulder. you lean back against the headrest, pouting at him again. if only you knew the effect you have on him.

“i’m lazyyy.” 

kageyama attempts to reason with you. “c’mon, you can go to bed right after too.”

“too tired to move.” you cross your arms at him. 

“kuroo-san…” he sighs. 

“why do you always call me that? my name is y/n, you know.”

“y/n, would you please change into pajamas?”

“nope.”

“what can i do to change your mind?”

your grin splits your face from ear to ear. “you could carry me to the room.”

“what—” he rubs the spot between his eyebrows. “okay, fine.”

kageyama scoops you into his arms effortlessly, and can't help but notice how the shape of you fits perfectly against him. your eyelashes flutter close as you rest your head against his shoulder, inhaling deeply and exhaling the spooled stiffness in your frame. 

the fullness in his heart lasts less than a minute. he catches himself staring at you when you meet his gaze, fingers smoothing against his brow as your feet touch the floor. “you’re going to get wrinkles before your time, tobio.”

he scurries back to the living room, leaving it at that. his cheeks are colored again, his back against the shut door of your bedroom, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. 

“stop it.” he mutters, more so at himself than anything, looking through the cabinets in the kitchen for some painkillers, and filling two tall glasses of water for you. he knocks on your door after a few minutes, easing the door open carefully when you tell him he’s clear to enter. 

he hands you the pills in one hand, water glass in the other. “drink up.” 

kageyama notices the melancholy in your eyes resurfacing as you lean back against your pillow on your side, hand outstretched towards the empty half of the queen-sized bed, but he wisely chooses to leave it be. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, turning on your side away from him. “good night, tobio. thanks for coming.”

“of course.” anything for you. kageyama tucks you under the blanket, fingers smoothing over the duvet, itching to run them through your hair. he curls his hand into a fist and shoves it in his pocket before his body betrays him. 

“happy belated birthday, kuroo-san.” he whispers into the darkness, leaving the full glass of water by your bed, and quietly closes the door behind him. he turns off all the lights in your apartment and washes up the other glass, fighting the strong urge to check on you when he hears a muffled whimper coming from your bedroom. 

you probably don’t want him to see you like that. 

he forces his feet out the front door. and a smile onto his face the next day when he sees you with puffy eyes and no memories of the night before. 

he really, really wishes he met you first. 

kageyama tobio curses the gods that put him on this trajectory. 

taglist. @hatsukeii @daisy-room @soulfullystarry @kitsune-kita @bakery-anon @hiraethwrote @thechaosoflonging @bakingcuriosity (open! askbox for taglist)

a/n. the pining, the heartache, the devotion; kageyama you will be loved </3 y'all i love him so MUCH i actually don't have the words to describe it... tobio brainrot all day every day <33 please expect slow updates!

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

[svkahug]

once more to see you

[chapter three; ao3 link]

tags: slow burn, injury, forced proximity, quarry!reader, hurt/comfort

summary: On the run with the Empire on your heels, a bounty hunter seems to be your only option and your best bet to getting back home.

a/n: heard someone say tumblr has no fluff well i shall provide

---

Space is so… quiet . So empty. Sometimes there’s not another breathing creature for miles. Then you hit a planet. You’ve tallied all the planets you’ve been on recently as the Mandalorian goes on the search, relentless. Yavin, Geonosis, Lothal. Desolate and lifeless planets. But you never see them. The Mandalorian isn’t exactly a tour guide but he does talk to you more often as you strap yourself onto the co-pilot seat beside him. Him and the kid are gone for days at a time, no longer than a week. 

You eat, you sleep, you dream. You’ve snooped around every nook and cranny of the Razor Crest. It’s not as if he’s going to pop out of nowhere and chastise you. You can probably traverse this ship from memory alone. 

You find what you assume is his bed. But you don’t sleep in it. Not even on the days where he’s gone. It’s just as small and cramped as the ship and you simply can’t believe anyone even uses that thing. 

The worry that he might have perished out there crosses your mind. But you couldn’t let it get to you. He uses the ship's emergency comms to check in at night. Sometimes he doesn’t.  

You shuffle through the supplies, you use the fresher, you stare outside the windows of the cockpit then you sleep on the floor. Until on the nights that you don’t. You think it started when they left for Lothal. They were gone for four days and you barely slept a wink.

It was the nightmares, you think. Twisted and vile things that were a manifestation of your fears. 

You don’t like to think about it. When your ship crashed on Jakku. You lost people. Guardsmen that've been with you since childhood. People died violent deaths to protect you. 

The memories come in flashes, unwanted and painful. They chased you through that rocky and desolate planet. The Empire rained hell. You ought to be flattered seeing as how they would go through all this trouble for you. If not for the night terrors you had of being back in that rubble, of seeing people drop dead like flies, and smelling the stench of gasoline from their flamethrowers. 

You wake up, heaving and choking back sobs, the heat of the flame feeling too real and too close. On the good nights, you’re able to talk to the Mandalorian through the emergency comm on the console of the ship. 

You’re mulling around the cockpit, memorizing the console controls, wondering what each one does when a soft crackle gets your attention. You’re so used to the quiet that the soft sound causes you to perk up immediately. 

“Mando?”

“— Hello ?”

“Took you long enough.” 

“ How’s the ship?”

You look at the blinking communicator as if it’s done you some personal offense. “...I’m fine, thank you very much. Ship’s intact, at least. Old thing.”

“... And you?”

“Are you asking if I’m still intact? Because the answer is no. I’ve lost my mind. I think I can hear colors.”

“ Yeah, isolation will do that to you .”

“What about you? Any sign of her?”

“... No. I'm in a village. No one’s seen anyone matching her description. Fob’s no help either. ” 

“Oh.” It’s nearly been two weeks. Four planets and more parsecs than you can count. “A village?”

“ Yes. Almost a day’s trek from the ship, so I’ll be back there by tomorrow. ”

You hesitate. “Can you stay? Just for a bit?”

“ Have you been sleeping? ”

“Not really.” 

“...I can keep the line open for a bit. Try to rest. ”

—

Two weeks later.

Batuu was green. That was the first thing you noticed. As the ship geared closer to the surface you see that those are actually trees, densely packed together to form a jungle. 

The ramp lowers and you can’t help it, you stand on the mouth of the ship, admiring the life of the planet. They’re gigantic, with bark twice the usual size and vines hanging from their branches, unlike what you had back at home.

The Mandalorian falls into step beside you and you can already sense what he’s about to say so you beat him to it.

“I’m just going to look.” The crest is parked in a clearing in the middle of the forest, flattening the long grass. It smells like damp soil and you can hear birds cawing in the distance. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you as you slowly walk down the ramp, grateful for the fresh air. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s ancient.” He counters, his boots crunching on the ground as he flanks you. “These trees have been here for a thousand years. They’re sacred.”

You turn to him. “Don’t you think I should—”

“ No .” He says firmly. 

“She’s trained. Been in military command for as long as I can remember. She can outsmart you and she can fight….She wouldn’t run if she saw me.”

“Believe me, I can handle it. If she’s even here. I’m not risking you for an intel that could be weeks old.” He says, wading through a field of long grass, the little kid hovering nearby. 

“You’re no use to me dead.”

You make a face, smiling sarcastically. “ Charmed .”

“You’re welcome.” He deadpans. “Now get back on the ship.” 

—

There’s a storm outside when the Mandalorian comes back two days later.  You’ve fallen asleep to the sound of the smattering of rain on the roof of the ship when there’s a loud clang outside and you shoot up almost immediately.  

Suddenly, the ramp creaks awake as it opens, letting the water in. The sound of the rain is deafening now and you’re barely up on your feet before the Mandalorian sprints inside the vessel, the child’s pram zooming shortly behind him. He makes his way up into the cockpit immediately, firing up the engine before you can even hear the ramp shut below. Another crash comes from outside, and what sounded like an animal growling and clawing on the ground. Panic rises inside you as you stumble into the cockpit. 

“ What is that —?”

“Strap in now . We’re leaving.”

You do as you're told. “Did you find her?”

“No.” The ship lifts off the ground, and there’s something clanging on the side of the ship now. 

“ Who is that? ” They found us, you think. They fucking found us. 

“Bandits.”

“Wh– Seriously ?“

You’re in hyperspace when you finally notice it. You couldn’t help the gasp that escapes you, “ Holyfuckingshit , Mando—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He says, voice a little more ragged than usual, as if he didn’t have a knife sticking out of his fucking back.

You shoot up from your seat. “Shit , what— what do we do ? Holy —fuck .” It all comes out in a tumble. He’s facing you now but you can still see the knife sticking out of him. It’s really fucking huge. Especially because it’s halfway stuck inside him.

“Wait, wait here.” You’re practically flying through the ship when you come back with the kit, ripping it open on the floor of the cockpit and rummaging through its contents. “Here, what do you need?”

“The cauterizer.” His voice sounds thinner, even through the modulator, and it only adds a layer of panic to your already worsening state. “Look for the cauterizer— That— Yeah that one. Good.” You hand it to him. “You’re doing good. Now, you’re going to take it out—”

“What? No way .” You step back.

“Listen–”

“I don’t know how to — ”

“Hey, hey, breathe .” He grasps both your hands in his. His gloves are damp, and you see the droplets of water on his armor, his chrome visor staring up at you. “Calm down. It’s going to be alright. As long as I don’t bleed out, it’s fine.” 

“You’re kidding me right? How is that fine ?”

“Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

Trust him? That’s literally something the two of you couldn’t get right for nearly a month now. Now he’s basically putting his life in your hands and asking you to— Fuck . “Fuck, fine. I—I’ll do it.”

“Okay, you’re going to take out the dagger. Then you’re going to cauterize the wound with this.” He flicks some sort of switch and it fucking zaps . He places it in your hands. “Are you ready? You’re going to have to be quick, alright?”

He makes quick work of his chestplate, the armor clanging on the ground just as you come back with the scissors, ripping violently through his undershirt. You don’t think, you just do it and to your horror and surprise, the blade comes out easier than you expected. He lets out a long and loud groan, doubling over and gripping the console just as the bloody weapon joins the rest of his armor on the ground. You place a hand on his back to steady him, his skin warm.

“Maker, I’m sorry.” You say sincerely, gripping the cauterizer in one hand and steadying him with the other. He barks out a shout just as the laser makes contact with his skin. “ Stars , I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry… I’msosorry .” Your apologies turn into a whisper under your breath like a mantra, staying laser focused on the task at hand as he makes pained, broken noises underneath you. His fisted hand comes down onto the edge of the console.

It’s done eventually. The process felt longer than it was and there’s a moment when all you can hear is his heavy breathing mingling with the peaceful hum of hyperspace. It’s a juxtaposition of sounds. You couldn’t possibly imagine the pain he’s in and all he’s got to show for it now is a fresh jagged scar on the back of his shoulder.

You want to sit, but before you can even move an inch, he beats you to it. Suddenly, he’s tipping forward, a little too much and you recognize the fact that he’s going limp. You move just in time to catch him, letting your entire body support his weight as his helmet digs into your stomach while you try to get him back up into the chair without hurting his freshly closed wound. You hear garbling coming from underneath the armor. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hands on his pauldrons to support him, smearing red all over the metal. “It—It’s okay, I have you.” Literally. You don’t see any other option on how to move an injured man twice your size without hurting him right now and you’re too tired to think of a solution. So, you let him rest like that; his head on your stomach. 

You take a deep breath, your dominant hand cramping and your limbs feeling like you just strapped weights on them. You’re also getting colder and colder as the water he brought in earlier mingles with your sweat. Your hands are bloody. He makes another pained sound, a gloved hand coming up to grip your hip. 

“You ok?” You whisper. 

“ Mhm .”

“...Th—That wasn’t them, right?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Relief washes over you and you hardly feel his thumb brush a circle on your hip. 

You stay like that for longer than a moment. At some point, he’s placed his elbow on his knees to relieve some of the weight on you, still keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you whizz through hyperspace. 

You let out a sigh, trying to focus on anything but how uncomfortable you are. 

It dawns on you you’ve never been this close before and you’ve never touched him, let alone seen his skin. It’s the first time you see him underneath all that metal. 

Suddenly, to you, there’s a lot of him. Weeks of looking at him and seeing nothing but metal and now the large expanse of his back is exposed to the cool air where you cut through his shirt. He’s a little pale from the injury and you also think it’s something to do with not being exposed to the sun that much. Your fingers grip his bare shoulder as you push him up just enough to make sure he doesn’t slip. His skin is damp, and he vaguely smells of rain, and something earthy. He’s a man underneath that armor, you almost forgot.

You watch the steady rise and fall of his torso as his lungs expand, muscles contracting as he tries to take in more air, and you notice the moles on his back. Tiny and completely unnoticeable marks scattered on the expanse of skin unless you stare really hard. You wonder if he knows this. Without thinking, you drag a clean hand, from his pauldron, to the small spot on his back, tracing it. Then to the next, and next, careful of his bad shoulder. It seemed like something you should do naturally and with no hesitation. You’re completely out of it, then, gently running your fingers along his back in a trancelike state, like your action and him feeling anything were two completely separate things. You hear him release a breath underneath you but you don’t feel the shudder that runs up his spine. You don’t see him shut his eyes underneath the helmet, don’t notice him lean back into your touch. Mando tries not to feel the throbbing pain on his shoulder, instead he focuses on the feel of your hand against his skin. He wonders if you were doing it on purpose. Or if you were in shock.

“Are you okay?” comes his question. He sounds more full now. Like he’s back to his usual self.

“Yeah,” you breathe, hand stopping in the middle of his back like you just traced a map and finally settled on a location.

You feel a squeeze on your hip, his head resurfacing from where it rested on your stomach and you’re suddenly faced with the chrome visor of his helmet.

“I’m fine. The kid’s fine. It’s over.” He says, sensing your distress. You nod silently. You can see him, and your reflection on his helmet but you can’t really… see it. Everything feels so cloudy and far away. You don’t want to look at the blood staining your hands, on his back. 

After dropping out of hyperspace, you lock yourself in the fresher and don’t come out half an hour later.

—

You assumed he was passed out from where he sat on the floor of the hull, resting, when you got out of the fresher until he said something. “We’re going back to Nevarro.”

“What for?” you whisper, meticulously laying out a fresh set of blankets on the floor. You were trying not to think much about anything right now. The baby is asleep, the hull is dark and silent, save for your whispers.

“I’m meeting with my employer, and we need supplies.” He’s changed out of his damp clothes now, and didn’t bother with putting the beskar back on yet.

You frown, listening to his attempt to get up. “You’re going to work for him?”

“Yes. I’m not made of credits.” You could argue that, technically, he was. But you feel like that would have been borderline offensive. He finds himself expecting you to say something back, but you’re quiet. He at least expected you to fight him on this, like you usually do. 

“Hey.” Comes the modulated tone of his voice, sounding hesitant. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You chuck your damp clothes in the corner, not meeting his eyes—or rather, the chrome visor now staring in your direction.

“I think you’re in shock.” He takes hold of your elbow as you make your way across the other end of the hull. “Talk to me.”

You stop in your tracks, feeling oddly vulnerable in your state. “...You just scared me.” You state plainly and just when the words leave your mouth that’s when you’re able to pinpoint what it is you’ve been feeling all alone. Fear. An image flashed through your mind—limp bodies on the ground, eyes wide open but so empty and lifeless. The memories rears its ugly head at you tonight, resurfacing faster than you can help it. 

“ Maker —” You breathe out a puff of air, pressing the palm of your hand to your eyes until you can see stars. “I—I don’t want to do that again. Please don’t—don’t make me do that again. I—I don’t know why I’m—I mean, shit, you were the one with th—the knife in your back.” 

The Mandalorian’s hand drifts down from your elbow to grip your hand in a gloved hand, his filtered voice surprisingly really soft. “I think you’re just tired…. It’s alright.”

A wet sob fights its way out of you. Stars, it’s pathetic. It’s so fucking embarrassing . 

You wipe away your tears angrily with your free hand, a lump forming in your throat as you try to stifle a sob. You just stand there, frustratingly wiping away your tears as they come, sobbing quietly into the palm of your hands. It’s all really caught up to you now. How much the past few weeks—hell, months —really fucked you up. He was right. You were tired. You wanted to go home. You wanted to grieve . 

You suspect he might just leave you there, tell you to at least get some rest before going back up the cockpit to maneuver the ship to Nevarro but he doesn’t. 

The hand that’s holding yours starts to tug you closer, hesitantly and you go willingly, still wiping tears until you’re close enough to wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his good shoulder, letting him soak up your fresh tears. He’s warm without the beskar, and you practically melt into him.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You shook your head against the soft cloth of his black undershirt running down to cover his arms, now wrapping securely around you, albeit awkwardly like he really didn’t know what to do and was simply improvising. “...It’s okay.” He runs his hand across your back soothingly and you hum softly against his shoulder.

A part of you is surprised at the gentleness in which he handles you, something you only ever see him reserve for the kid, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away. While he never showed any ill intentions towards you, you could never really read him. This was a job. You were a job to him. And he never failed to treat you as such. The things he did, you always assumed, was to benefit him and the kid. Your protection was just a byproduct.  You had no qualms about it, but months on the run, weeks alone, and the uncertainty of it all was getting to you, you admit and you just needed… you needed someone that wasn’t hunting you down or trying to kill you. 

You stay like that until your sobs subside and you’re taking calming breaths against him, his hand lingering . It was nice. This was nice. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, where there’s a spot where a patch of skin is showing. You find yourself wondering what he looked like all of a sudden

Suddenly, a soft cry pierces the silence of the ship and you’re suddenly reminded about where you were.

Slowly, you part. “I’ll get him,” you say with a nod. 

That night, you fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

[matchavellichor]

No Better Way to Warm Up - Pt. 2

Sebastian x Ominis x f!MC - (NSFW) - 4.5k words - ao3 link

Shameless smut, first part here ╰(*´︶`*)╯

“This is the second time we’re watching her sleep, it’s getting a little creepy at this point, isn’t it?”

“Well, I’m not watching anything.” Ominis retorted, twirling a small lock of her hair in his fingers, his movements soft and gentle, cautious not to rouse her.

“Yes, and what an unlucky bastard you are.” Sebastian cheeked, tracing over her silhouette under the covers, the soft linen hugging her curves. If he had a bit less self-control, he’d be tugging the fabric down to stare at her properly, but she looked far too precious sound-asleep that it’d break his heart to wake her.

“It’s nearly noon,” Sebastian frowned, shifting to glance at his watch laying on the bedside table. “Maybe you’re right, we pushed her too far last night.” 

“We’ll make it up to her today.” Ominis assured, leaning down to place feather-light kisses on her bare shoulders peeking out from under the covers. She was so soft and warm, he wanted to sink into her skin and live in bed with her forever.

Soon enough she stirred from the contact, a sleep-drunk smile breaking out on her lips, as if she’d just woken from the sweetest of dreams. The sight made Sebastian’s heart swell until he simply couldn’t help himself and was leaning down to place a kiss on her lips before she could even fully wake.

“Happy Christmas, darling.” Ominis murmured in her ear from behind her, barely concealing his own smile at their sleeping beauty finally waking. She turned to face him, smiling even wider as she received the gentlest wake-up call she’d ever received in her life, the both of them working to coax the sleepiness out of her with tender kisses and caresses.

“What do you want to do today?” Sebastian asked, intertwining his fingers with hers and brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “It snowed a mountainload last night, we could go sledding.” He leaned in close, his voice hushed in her ear. “And team up to pummel Ominis with snowballs.”

She grinned at the suggestion, but Ominis beside her looked far from amused. “I’m blind, not deaf.” He scorned before inevitably breaking into his own smile. “We’ll have some breakfast and open presents first.” 

“I haven’t gotten you gifts.” She gasped, frowning at the realization.

“How despicable,” Sebastian teased, feigning great offense. “Don’t worry, I have plenty of ideas of how you can make it up to us.”

Ominis rolled his eyes, restraining himself from hitting the brunette on such a holiday. “You’re already our gift.” He placed a kiss to her forehead reassuringly. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” 

She smiled affectionately at the blonde, wondering how she managed to get so lucky. They made her feel so warm and syrupy inside, like she might drown in how much love they showered her in. They had always cared for her throughout their friendship, but this kind of doting was on another level. Sebastian placed kisses to the knuckles of each one of her fingers, admiring how small her hands looked in his and she felt Ominis’ hand splayed over her waist, big and warm over her skin, his thumb rubbing soft patterns on her hipbone. 

She wanted to reciprocate this kindness. Wanted to make them feel just as adored as she felt, wanted to worship their skin the way they worshiped hers all of last night and this morning. They were both still clothed on either side of her, while she was naked under the sheets wrapped around her, a realization that sparked her determination even more. 

She leaned into Ominis, her lips pressing against his. He melted into the kiss with little resistance, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. He smiled in amusement against her lips when he noticed her fingers coming up to work at the buttons of his shirt. “What are you doing, darling?”

“I wanted to…make you feel good.” 

“You already make me feel good.” He stilled her hand, placing a kiss to the inside of her palm. “You don’t have to do a thing.”

She frowned and Sebastian noticed her disappointment, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “He’s saying this now, but if you move those little hands of yours a bit more south, what do you think you’d find?” Sebastian instigated, letting go of her hand that was still tucked in his and coaxing her to touch him. 

She trailed her hand down over the blonde’s chest slowly, feeling the ridges and taut muscles defined beneath his shirt. He opened his mouth to protest yet again, but as soon as she reached the front of his trousers, it was as if he had lost the ability to speak. She was surprised to find him so achingly hard already, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. 

“He’s been running his hands over you all morning while you slept,” Sebastian informed in another whisper against her ear. “He’s just too shy to ask for what he wants.”

She smiled to herself at this revelation, unsteady fingers tracing over the stiff length in his trousers, exploring him gently. She had felt how big he was pressed behind her, but pressed against the palm of her hand he felt even thicker.

“You really don’t have to— Gods,” Ominis groaned at the touch, his eyelids fluttering and his resolve faltering, his hips instinctively coming up to meet her touch. Her eyes were fixed on his face as she palmed him through the fabric, on all his reactions. On the way his cheeks tinged pink and how easily he unraveled with just the lightest of touches. He was clearly very pent-up from not getting any release last night and she craved desperately to give him that relief.

“You can touch him more, it’s alright.” Sebastian continued his encouragements, just as enraptured by the sight in front of him as she was. She was nervous about how she should touch him, if she was doing any of it right. Sebastian noticed her apprehensiveness, taking her hand in his and guiding it to the button of Ominis’ trousers, coaxing her to take him out. “It won’t bite, I promise.” He chuckled.

She fumbled with the buttons before finally getting it open and Ominis’ breath hitched in his throat at the action. Sebastian dipped her hand inside slowly and she was surprised to find how warm he was to the touch, a bead of precum making her fingers sticky when she ran a thumb over his head. 

“ Oh — t-that’s,” Ominis keened at the touch, his lips parting at the sensation of her fingers wrapping around him, stroking him ever-so softly. She looked up at him through her lashes, enamored by the sight in front of her, how he seemed to melt in her hand.

She couldn’t help but admire with great adoration how pretty he looked, his features pinched in pleasure, when she barely had even touched him. Sebastian couldn’t help but admire how pretty the both of them looked, his eyes fixed on their expressions as she slowly got the hang of pleasuring him. He watched with a soft smile on his face as her wrist moved up and down on his length, her little fingers struggling to even wrap all the way around him. He was already painfully hard from just watching and found himself rubbing against her from behind, his erection pressed against the small of her back.

“You’re doing so well,” Sebastian murmured in her ear. “Look how good you’re making him feel. Such a good girl, touching him like that.” She felt her cheeks warm from the praise, a bit ashamed to admit just how great of an effect his words had on the heat between her thighs. 

Sebastian slipped his hand over her front, his fingers stretching over the flat plane of her stomach. Her breath hitched from the contact and he took it as his cue to touch her more, caressing her soft skin and gliding his hand lower. She bucked up against him when he finally dipped between her thighs, running his fingers softly through her folds. “ Fuck , you’re such a mess. You like touching him that much, is that it? Is that what’s gotten you like this?”

She nodded unabashedly, trying to bite back her moans as Sebastian toyed lazily with her most sensitive parts, smiling to himself at the way she squirmed against him, rubbing herself on his erection. She tried to continue to stroke Ominis, but Sebastian was making a distracted mess out of her, leaving the blonde to buck his hips desperately into her hand.

“So perfect, you’re so— so soft,” Ominis panted mindlessly under his breath, his head clouded with pleasure. She liked seeing him like this, such a stark contrast to his normally orderly and put-together manner. He was usually so restrained, yet here he was, falling apart for her. He pressed kisses to her throat and continued to search for friction against her palm, rutting against her like an animal in heat. “Gods, I want to fill you.”

“I-I want that,” She breathed out, Sebastian’s hand between her thighs only adding to her growing desire to have Ominis stretching her open. 

“You like the sound of that, huh?” Sebastian asked in her ear. “You want him buried right in here?” His fingers traced over her entrance with feather-light touches, teasing her. “Poor thing, would you even be able to fit all of him?” He doted, the slightest hint of taunting in his voice that made her grow even needier.

“It’ll fit,” She nodded, an array of pleas falling from her lips. Ominis cursed under his breath at her begging, his self-restraint wearing thin. If he had to listen to her pleas in his ear and stroke him so deliciously for any longer, he would surely snap. His cock twitched in her hand at the thought of burying himself inside of her, of feeling her tight, little walls squeeze around him. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asked, his hand wrapping around her wrist to still her movements. “We—we can wait, I promise I won’t mind.”

“I’m sure. Please , Ominis.” 

Ominis captured her lips in his, passionate and intense to the point it made her head dizzy. She could tell he was just as needy as her, could taste the desperation on his tongue while he explored her mouth. He rose from where he was laying beside her, settling in between her legs. She could feel him throbbing from where they were pressed together at the hips and she whined from the sensation. She watched as he slipped his shirt from his shoulders, tugging his trousers down to his knees and rocking his hips slowly against hers, reveling in how warm and slick she was.

Sebastian grabbed his wand from the bedside table, muttering a contraceptive charm over her lower stomach. He brushed her hair back from her face and shoulders, collecting it in his hand and placing a reassuring kiss to her cheek. Her shoulders were strung up with nervous anticipation and Sebastian rubbed at them, easing her anxieties. “Just relax, princess. He’ll be gentle. Won’t you, Ominis?”

“Of course,” Ominis leaned down to kiss her softly, his lips moving slow and tender against hers to soothe her worries. His forearm rested beside her head as he lowered himself over her, his other hand on his cock, rubbing himself against her slit, collecting her wetness. “Do you realize how precious you are to me?” He whispered against her lips. “My little angel.”

She keened at the term of endearment, her hips bucking up against his, desperate for more friction. She whined against his mouth and he stilled her with a steady hand on her waist, pressing her down to the mattress. “Patience.” He calmed her, slipping two fingers between her thighs to press against her entrance. “Need to work you open first, princess, understand?”

She nodded, breaking into a moan at the feeling of him pushing inside, his fingers stretching her deliciously and making her clench around him. He worked slowly in and out of her, making her whine for more. 

Ominis appeased her begging with another soft kiss, pulling his fingers out and making her whimper with how empty she felt. He replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, pressing ever so gently against her entrance. “You tell me if I hurt you.”

She nodded and Ominis dipped his head to rest against her forehead. He panted against her mouth as he slowly began to press inside her, his hips moving to meet hers slowly. Her head fell back against the pillow at the sensation, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands coming up to cling to his arms on either side of her, her nails leaving little crescent moon imprints on the skin of his biceps.

Sebastian’s hand slipped behind her neck, tilting her head up off the pillow and pressing reassuring kisses to her temple. “Watch, baby.” He ordered softly. “Open your eyes. Look at him stretching your pretty little cunt out.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze falling to where their hips were joined, to the sight of Ominis slowly easing himself inside of her. His hand splayed along her hip to keep her steady, attempting to adjust to the sensation of her walls squeezing around him.

“That’s it, good girl.” Sebastian praised, smiling softly at her. “Look so pretty like this. Gorgeous.” 

“So perfect,” Ominis groaned through gritted teeth when he finally bottomed out inside of her, his hips stilling as he panted. He dipped his head to kiss along her collarbone, trailing his lips along the column of her throat soothingly. “Does this feel okay, love? Am I hurting you?” 

She shook her head, her legs wrapping around him to pull him in even deeper. “More…please.”

He eased his hips back slowly, sinking them back flush against her once again, careful to let her adjust to his size— to let himself adjust as well. “Fucking hell.” He muttered under his breath, his fingers digging into her hips. “You’re going to kill me, darling— fuck , squeezing this tight around me.” He breathed out, kissing her shoulder.

“Fuck her properly, Ominis.” Sebastian remarked beside them, growing impatient. He knew Ominis would take his time with her, but he could see she was getting appetent for more as well. He wanted to watch her eyes roll to the back of her head, wanted to see her squirm underneath him, just how he’d seen last night. “She can take it.”

Ominis couldn’t help but oblige, his own self-control wearing thin. As much as he would be willing to fuck her achingly slow, to roll his hips against hers for hours, he knew that’s what neither of them needed right now. There was too much pent-up desire, desperation filling them both to the brim. His lips hovered over hers when he finally eased his hips back and thrust in harsher this time, reveling in the way she gasped in his mouth.

He slipped a hand under one of her thighs, pushing her leg back until her knee was pressed against her chest so he could get a deeper angle. “Oh my God ,” she moaned at the feeling of him pushing up against her walls, hitting a particularly sensitive spot over and over again that made her toes curl against his hips. “Ominis, Christ , you’re — f-fuck.” Her words grew incoherent, the sensation too much and not enough at the same time, feeling him so deep inside her. 

“I know, sweet girl, I know.” He hushed her with a soothing kiss. His hips pressed flush against hers with every deep thrust, her nails raking up and down his skin. He couldn’t help but settle into a merciless pace, pulling all kinds of pleas from her throat. She felt far too good for him to even attempt to hold himself back.

“My little angel. Making the prettiest noises for me. Fuck , gonna make you cum all over my cock.” He pushed her other thigh up against her chest, deepening his strokes, insatiable. She choked on her moans, overwhelmed by the sensations, yet begged him not to step. “ Gods yes , fucking take it.” He grunted and she felt a warmth course through her at the sound of Ominis being so lewd, at him murmuring all kinds of filth into her ear that she would never have imagined coming from him.

“Fucking look at you,” Sebastian commented, enamored by how beautiful she looked like this, his eyes glued to where their hips were joined and Ominis was pumping in and out of her. He had freed himself from his trousers some time ago, stroking slowly up and down his shaft at the sight. “Prettiest baby, taking his cock so well. Fucking gorgeous.”

Sebastian stopped stroking himself to lean in and dip his hand between her thighs, quickly finding her sensitive clit to rub tight, little circles while Ominis continued to pound into her. Her head fell back against the pillow from the pleasure, her lips parted. 

Sebastian took the opportunity to tilt her chin towards him with his other hand, taking her lips in his and swallowing every pretty moan she let out. “So beautiful,” He murmured, wanting to drown in the feeling of her lips. “Our pretty baby. All ours, huh?”

She nodded frantically, feeling the coil of tension inside her wind tighter and tighter until she was ready to burst. Ominis’ hands found purchase on her waist, his fingers digging roughly into her to pull her down harder against his hips. He was voracious, and the feeling of her clenching around him when she finally reached her peak brought on his own orgasm. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He groaned as he spilled inside her, thrusting a few more times with each spurt of cum. His forehead fell against hers, breath coming out in hot, heavy pants against her mouth. “So perfect, gods, gonna— gonna marry you.” He murmured, delirious from pleasure and the endorphins following his orgasm. He kissed her lazily, delighting himself with the way she was smiling saplessly against his lips, absolutely euphoric. He smothered kisses all over her sweat-damp face, coaxing syrupy giggles out of her that made his heart leap in his chest. 

Sebastian kissed her temple after Ominis finally slid out of her, shifting off her to lay beside her. “Don’t mind him, he gets sentimental when he cums.” Sebastian teased, chuckling.

“Oh, you’re one to talk.” Ominis rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sentimental all the time,” Sebastian retorted with a smug smile, tilting her head towards him to plant tender kisses on her lips while she was still recovering from her orgasm. “Everyone knows I’m a romantic.”

She sighed against his lips, leaning into him. He couldn’t help but take advantage of her in this limp, drowsy state, pulling her leg over his waist and then tugging the rest of her body towards him. She let out a little yelp and he nearly melted, utterly infatuated with the woman in his arms and the soft, pleasure-drunk smile on her face. 

“You’re going to ruin the poor girl, Sebastian.” Ominis muttered beside the two, turning to face them. “Let her rest.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You hear that, Ominis?” Sebastian grinned, a mixture of satisfaction and pride in his eyes as he looked down at her. “She doesn’t mind.”

“You’re going to be sore, you little nymph.” Ominis retorted sternly, leaning in to place kisses on her bare shoulders.

“Good thing I have the both of you to take care of me.”

“That’s right.” He kissed her flushed cheeks, enamored by how pretty she looked so freshly fucked-out. “Always.” His hands ran affectionately over her back, tracing little patterns over the ridges of her spine. “Can I take care of you right now?”

She nodded, smiling against his lips, half-convinced she had lost the ability to say no to anything that came out of these boys’ mouths.

“On your tummy, love.” Sebastian murmured and she obliged immediately, sliding off his chest to lay on her stomach. She sighed against the soft duvet as Sebastian rearranged her to his pleasing, her limbs still soft and languid. He lifted her hips with an arm under her waist, slipping a pillow beneath her to prop her up. He towered over her, his hands running down her sides and massaging at her shoulders. 

“Gorgeous,” He said under his breath, hands kneading her soft flesh, running down her sides. Her hips squirmed back against him and she could feel how hard he was when she pressed against his clothed erection, his trousers rubbing against her bare skin. He chuckled, placing an appeasing kiss between her shoulder blades. “Always so needy.”

She heard the tell-tale sound of clothes ruffling behind her, the pull of fabric against her skin as he pulled down his trousers, slow and deliberate, as if he knew what he was doing to her. Her fingers tightened in a little fist around the sheets when she finally felt him pressed against her, warm and throbbing against her ass. She squirmed back against him and he stilled her eagerness with a firm hand on her hip, pressing her against the mattress. 

“ Please , Sebastian.”

At the first sound of pleading Ominis had crawled over to her, laying down beside where she had her cheek pressed against the covers. He tilted her head towards him, feeling her needy little pants against his lips as Sebastian rubbed himself against her wet core. “Patience, darling.” 

Ominis captured her lips in his, deepening the kiss when Sebastian finally pushed into her, delighting himself with the desperate little moan that escaped from the back of her throat, swallowing her gasp. “ Oh, god ,” She murmured against his lips, struggling to adjust to the feeling of Sebastian stretching her out.

“ Fuck ,” Sebastian cursed under his breath, eyes glued to where he was disappearing inside of her. His hands tightened around where he was holding onto her hips, his lips parting at the sensation of her warm walls enveloping him. “Fucking heavenly.”

She wriggled back against him, desperate for more, desperate to feel him push rough and fast against her, into that one little spot that made her stomach clench and her toes curl. Sebastian huffed out a laugh at her impatience, a hand splaying over the small of her back as he eased his hips back. He brought them back against her with a firmness that pulled a little gasp out of her lips, her fingers curling even tighter into the linen sheets beneath her.

“Feel good, darling?” Ominis murmured against her ear, placing a tender kiss to her hairline. “You like him fucking my cum back into you, hm?” A pathetic moan slipped from her at his words, filthy and desperate. She nodded frantically, unashamed.

“Fucking filthy,” Sebastian groaned, his forehead resting against her shoulderblades, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses against her skin as if in worship. His thrusts became more firm as he lost himself in the feeling of her, her entire body jolting with each press of his hips against hers. “So desperate to be filled. You want my cum in this little cunt too? Is that it, baby?”

“Please, yes ,” She keened, lips parted at the sensation of Sebastian pounding into her, pressing relentlessly against that spot of hers, as if he’d memorized her body from watching Ominis fuck her and knew exactly what would ruin her. 

Ominis pressed his lips to hers again, wanting to feel every little moan that Sebastian pulled from her lips, wanting to feel her breath hot and heavy against his mouth. He delighted himself with the way she struggled to kiss him back properly and stole kisses from her anyways, his hands cupping her cheeks as she was turned into a pathetic mess. He brushed her hair back from where it was falling over her face, collecting it into a fist behind her head and brushing his lips over her cheeks, her jaw, anywhere he could access.

“ S o—so good, feels so good,” She mumbled, pleasure-drunk and overwhelmed by how full she felt, by the feeling of Sebastian angling into that sensitive little spot in her walls that made her sob against Ominis’ lips. She buried her face against his shoulder, feeling her orgasm so close, dangling on the precipice. 

“You make such pretty noises, you know that? You’re doing so well, darling, making us so proud.” Ominis praised, tugging her head back with his fingers still tangled in her hair so she couldn’t hide, so he could kiss her even when she felt too fucked-out to kiss him back. “Our perfect little angel.”

The coil of tension building in her stomach snapped with Ominis’ praise, her entire body shuddering with her orgasm. Sebastian pressed her even harder into the mattress as he fucked her through her climax, chasing his own release. 

He came inside her with her name spilling from his lips in a groan, placing kisses in adoration on her shoulders while they both panted and came down from their high. He was euphoric, feeling her tighten around him, feeling her little trembles from the aftershocks. 

He scooped her up into his arms, chuckling at how her head fell onto his shoulder, limp and loose like she was on the brink of sleep. “We’ve killed her,” He chuckled, placing a kiss to her sweat-damp cheeks, nipping just under her jaw. She giggled from the bite, lazy and syrupy, feeling like a pat of butter on a stack of fluffy, warm pancakes. Her head was dizzy from the endorphins and she let Sebastian arrange her however he wanted, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“How tragic,” Ominis teased from beside them, sitting up from his place on the bed. He slipped on his shirt, buttoning it and adjusting the rest of his frumpled attire. “You grab her arms and I’ll grab her legs, I know where we can dispose of the body.” Ominis pulled her towards him by the ankles, ignoring her giggles and protests as both boys picked her up and dragged her off to the bathroom.

Ominis set her down on her feet while Sebastian ran the faucet of the bathtub for her, dipping his hand in the water to test the temperature. “Go on, in the tub.” 

“Is this your way of saying I stink?” She narrowed her eyes. 

He responded by pressing his face against her while she giggled and pushed him away, holding her to him and nosing her skin, inhaling when he got to the crook of her neck. “Oh yes, repulsive.” He rolled his eyes. “Just get in the tub, you little brat.” 

“Fine,” She obliged, sinking into the warm water while Sebastian knelt beside her, pouring lavender-scented soap and producing a nice lather. “Then after we can go outside and pummel Ominis with snowballs?” She asked in a whisper, biting back a grin. 

“I heard that!”

[in1-nutshell]

Hello! It's me Again! Firstly, I want to say thank you so much and I really enjoy/love it!

If it's okay to request could you do another part of this request (Elita One's twin sister w/ Sg Blackarachnia)?

The reactions/interactions of other Cons, Shockwave, Lockdown, Swindle (you can change/add Wasp or other cons, if you like);

Or reactions/interactions of Autobots (team Prime)?

(Takes place after reuniting with Optimus Prime, Autobots meeting Bot and their reactions/interactions to her)

also if it's okay to make a one of them as a separate request?

(Sorry if it's too much/complicated. Also take your time and thank you so much!)

She is back!!! Our Spider is back!!

I will be posting the second part to this request later on.

Hope you enjoy!

Elita One's twin sister with SG! Blackarachnia's personality reaction to Shockwave, Lockdown, Swindle, and Wasp

SFW, Platonic, Hint of Romantic, Slight Angst, Cybertronian (techno organic) reader

TFA

As Megatron’s personal and only medic in the Decepticon army, Buddy sometimes had to travel where he went. From across the mountains to someone on the opposite end of the screen. That was how she got to know many mechs in the army.

“We are going out.”--Megatron

“We?”--Buddy

“You and I.”--Megatron

“Me? Sorry, not today My Lord. I have to work on the med bay.”--Buddy

“What needs to be done in the med bay?”--Megatron

“Not going to tell you because then you’re just going to get someone else to do it. And no one here can organize my stuff the right way. I was trying to fix Blitzwing’s servo, my tool kit was nowhere to be found. For about half an hour I was searching for it, and it was under your throne. Who puts stuff there?”—Buddy

“You have been stuck here for the last couple of cycles. I do think it is wise for you to get out and stretch your struts.”--Megatron

“You would love to see that wouldn’t you?”--Starscream

“Starscream!”--Megatron

“Wait what did he say?”--Buddy

“Nothing! We are going!”--Megatron

Megatron grabbing Buddy’s servo and leaving without a word.

When Buddy met Shockwave, it was through the main screen in the Decepticon HQ on Earth.

Shockwave had all her information from her Academy records. To say he was skeptical of Buddy’s position on the team was an understatement.

It wouldn’t be the first time the Decepticons would have a former Autobot change sides. No doubt Buddy would be the last one to do so either.

In this case, however, it nearly seemed too good to be true.

Shockwave going through going through Buddy’s file before the video meeting.

“Let’s see here… death certificates with no body found… former student at the Autobot Academy…several medical certifications, impressive… Special powers? Strange... Excellent marksmanship… Former protégé of some field tech, boring… Most likely to follow the Prime status? Unexpected but nothing more…what… had connections with Ultra Magnus?!”--Shockwave

It truly seemed too good to be true, but he kept quiet about his skepticism to himself. His first step was to get close to Buddy and try and get some information on them. Maybe find out if she is a mole or any potential blackmail material.

Shockwave was expecting someone sketchy trying to fill in the stereotypical Decepticon role or an Autobot with a poor, and or, offensive Con skit memorized.

Not someone who had their own unique style that would be associated with Decepticonism and who deeply cared for their comrades.

“Shockwave.”--Megatron

“Lord Megatron.”--Shockwave

“This is our newest chief medical officer on Earth, Buddy.”--Megatron

“Hello Shockwave, it is a pleasure to meet you.”--Buddy

“Erm—thank you Buddy, is it? Such a peculiar name.”--Shockwave

“Yes, it isn’t a common name or one that sparks any fear into the sparks of the enemy but, that is who I am. How has your day been?”--Buddy

“My what?”--Shockwave

“Oh, sorry was that not an appropriate question to ask?”--Buddy

“I—it has been a good day as of now.”--Shockwave

“That’s good to hear. We can’t have one of the Decepticon’s top spy’s in a rough shape can we?”--Buddy

“Top spy?”--Shockwave

“Yes! I have read a little bit about your work through the reports.”--Buddy

“You’ve read my reports?”--Shockwave

“You’ve read some of the reports?”--Megatron

“Of course! They are interesting to read. And it also doesn’t help when you leave some of the data pads out in the open My Lord. Especially around my work area.”--Buddy

“Don’t you have to go and reorganize the medbay’s newest supplies?”--Megatron

“Oh yes! Good-bye Shockwave! I do hope to get to know you better and that your work is truly—”--Buddy

“Buddy.”--Megatron

“All right, all right I’m going. Bye!”--Buddy

Buddy walks out of the room.

“… She seems like a nice addition to the medical wing.”--Shockwave

“Yes…”--Megatron

“… I am not looking for a relationship now, My Megatron. Anyways Buddy is not my type.”--Shockwave

“…”--Megatron

Shockwave was left a bit confused after that interaction with Buddy. It only got worse once Buddy had willing gone to the screen to contact him.

“Hello Shockwave!”--Buddy

“Hello Buddy. Has something happened? This call was unscheduled.”--Shockwave

“I know but I wanted to talk to you.”--Buddy

“About what pray tell?”--Shockwave

“Anything.”--Buddy

“I’m not sure I am following…”--Shockwave

“Last call you seemed… well you seemed a little bit lonely. It cannot be easy keeping up the façade of being Longarm Prime all day, especially in front of the council, Ultra Magnus, and the entire Elite Guard.”--Buddy

“…It is not. But there are certain bots here that are a bit dimmer than the average bot. It makes things easier. One of the Prime’s has the IQ of a bag of rusty bolts.”--Shockwave

“Is that so? Ouch! Do tell more.”--Buddy

“I believe one of the Autobots are on to me.”--Shockwave

“Are you sure? Do you need back up or something?”—Buddy

“No, not at the moment.”--Shockwave

“Good, you can never be too safe.”--Buddy

“Yes…”--Shockwave

Shockwave was in denial of the friendship that was forming through those calls. He didn’t need friends talking to his audial all day long!

It’s not like he looked forward to having those talks with Buddy.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

It’s not like the two of them have swapped personal com lines to further talk about personal things and away from the prying optics of other Cons that entered the room.

It isn’t until one late night he realizes how deep he is in.

Longarm listening to yet another boring presentation with the other Primes, trying not to stab Sentinel’s big chin with a pen. His mind slowly wondering what Buddy is going to talk about this time when he tells them about Sentinel’s big chin.

He freezes.

Oh.

Oh no…

He has a friend.

He has a good friend now.

How does one keep a good friendship like this from falling into pieces in the face of a war?!

A little while later Shockwave starts searching up ‘Ways to keep good friend’ on Bing.

Blurr opening the door, giving Shockwave just enough time to go back into Longarm form.

“I know there is a spy here Longarm! I can feel it—what are you looking up?”--Blurr

“Umm… engex bottles.”--Longarm

“…”--Blurr

“…”—Longarm

“Oh really! What years are you looking at? I personally think—”—Blurr

Longarm/Shockwave sagging in a bit of relief from the scare.

Swindle and Lockdown met Buddy at a weapons meet.

Megatron had invited Buddy to meet his arms dealer and favorite mercenary, Swindle and Lockdown. Buddy didn’t get much information on the two, being that they were on the borderline sections of potentially ‘sell outs.’

“Lord Megatron, is there any more things I need to know about these two mechs?”--Buddy

“Lockdown will not speak out of line. He is more interested in getting the latest gadgets for his collections.”--Megatron

“Mod collector, got it. And this ‘Swindle’?”--Buddy

“Any price he tries to get you to buy is a terrible one. Leave the bargaining to me.”--Megatron

“And when you mean bargaining, you mean peacefully or using intimidation?”--Buddy

“Yes.”--Megatron

“You are impossible sometimes.”--Buddy

“Only for you.”--Megatron

“What?”--Buddy

“Here’s our stop.”--Megatron

Swindle had been told beforehand that Megatron was bringing someone else to meet him. The new medical chief, from what he understood.

He thought about displaying a couple more weapons for this new Con, maybe get them to buy something.

Swindle placing a big cannon on the table.

“That’s a bad idea Swindle.”--Lockdown

“Oh hush! You don’t know what he is like.”--Swindle

“First, she. Second, I did my homework.”--Lockdown

“But they could have a fascination in cannons once they see this beauty.”—Swindle

“Like I said, I did my homework. I heard around that the medic isn’t too found in weapons.”--Lockdown

“If that is true, then why would she even want to go to a weapons meet with Megatron?”--Swindle

“I don’t know—Speaking of which, look who’s here.”--Lockdown

Megatron landing on top of the platform with huge mechanical spider coming off of his back as they both transformed.

“I thought you said Earth spiders didn’t get that big!”--Swindle

“That’s the chief medical officer, numb nuts.”--Lockdown

The two Cons were not expecting Buddy.

Well, more Swindle, after all, Lockdown did do his homework.

Lockdown kept to himself while politely introducing himself to Buddy. She politely responded back with a small smile.

Swindle kept on showing the weapons to Megatron as the other two made small talk about modifications.

“Hey Buddy!”--Swindle

Lockdown mouthing ‘no’.

Megatron wondering what this was about.

Swindle wrapping an arm around Buddy.

Megatron’s optics are staring at it like it did a capital offense.

“What do you think of these bad boys? I’m sure that there is something here that has caught your attention.”--Swindle

“Oh? Sorry I’m just here to visit, I’m not interested in buying.”--Buddy

“Oh please, I’m sure we can work something out. You’re the new chief medical officer, right? How about I show you some of the tools I—”--Swindle

Lockdown coughing.

“Lockdown and I got at another exchange. Top notch and… and…”--Swindle

“Umm, Swindle are you feeling, okay? You’re looking a little bit queasy?”--Buddy

Swindle just now noticing the Death Glare Megatron was giving him, specifically at the arm still wrapped around Buddy’s frame.

Swindle quickly dropping it.

“How about this, Buddy. I give you these tools, for… free. For free, and you tell everyone at the base about the great deals you got here!”--Swindle

“I mean, I could—”--Buddy

“That’s wonderful! Here they are and here are the weapons you purchased Megatron!”—Swindle

Megatron still glaring but nodding.

“Oh! Okay, Bye Swindle and thank you for the tools. I’ll be sure to tell everyone back on base.”--Buddy

“Anytime Buddy!”--Swindle

“Good-bye Lockdown. I hope you have a good time finding those new mods!”--Buddy

“Much obliged Buddy, bye.”--Lockdown

Megatron and Buddy transforming, Buddy getting on Megatron’s back as he zooms out of there.

“… Did you soil yourself?”--Lockdown

“N-no!”--Swindle

Swindle brushed him aside and continued organizing his stuff in his chassis.

Lockdown just wondered if one day he might see Buddy again. It was nice to have someone else besides Swindle to talk to sometimes.

Buddy met Wasp under less pleasurable circumstances.

Buddy had been taking a break from the stuffy base one night and decided to take a walk on one of the islands nearby.

They had been walking around the area when they heard noises.

Like rapid little pede steps.

It couldn’t have been the Dinobots. Their steps were a kin to a mini earthquake.

It was someone else.

Quickly, she webbed herself to a nearby tree and watched.

A small green mech appeared from the brush.

He looked scared.

But what could have scared him?

Sure, Grimlock and the others were a bit much but if they were after the mech then Buddy would have heard them.

No, someone or something else was after the small guy.

“Wasp!”--Optimus

Buddy freezing.

“Wasp, I know you’re out there! Come out with your servos up!”--Sentinel

Wasp making more whinnying noises.

Buddy quickly snapped out of it and webs him up into the tree with her.

“Ah--”--Wasp

“Shh! Don’t scream, I’m here to help. But I can’t help you if you continue to scream, okay?”--Buddy

Wasp nodding slowly.

It was Optimus and Sentinel.

As much as Buddy wanted to know what was going on with both parties, her attention was on the shaky mech that looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

Wasp didn’t know what to think at that moment, but right now this bot was helping him get away from the Elite Guard so he decided to play along.

The Autobots suddenly came out of the brush.

Buddy and Wasp froze seeing them from their hiding place.

Wasp was already looking for a way out when he saw his savior start to shake.

At first, he thought it was out of anger and that they were going to pull out their weapon and start shooting up the place.

Until he saw her optics.

Big, wide, shaky, filled to the brim with fear.

He had seen those optics before. Those were his optics sometimes.

What had those Autobots had done to this Con to get a reaction like this?

Buddy thought that she had finally come to terms with everything that had happened, especially when Optimus showed up.

Seeing Sentinel there sent another wave of flashbacks her way. It was too much; it was too much. She knew that she should have been listening in on the conversation, it could drop some important information for the team.

But the flashes of Elita’s smile, Sentinel’s antics, and Optimus’s laughter filled her senses like no tomorrow.

Buddy was in such a shaky state she didn’t know it until the little green mech held her servo gently. Like one would do to their kid if something was scaring them.

He was trying to calm her down.

She slowly stopped the shaking as the Autobot’s left the area. After a bit more of waiting, the two climbed down the tree.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to see that. I was the one trying to help you and you ended up helping me.”--Buddy

“Wasp is glad you okay. Nice lady bot scaring Wasp a bit.”--Wasp

“Again, sorry about that… Wasp? Is that your name?”--Buddy

“Yes. This is Wasp.”--Wasp

“Well, I’m Buddy. You have some scratches on you. I have a med kit with me, I can fix those up right now if you want.”--Buddy

Wasp looking at Buddy hesitantly before nodding.

Buddy getting to work.

“You are doing such a good job at staying still Wasp. Most of my patients like to move a lot. You’re doing so much better than they are right now.”--Buddy

“Wasp doing good job?”--Wasp

“Yes, yes you are Wasp.”--Buddy

“Buddy bot too nice to Wasp.”--Wasp

“No one can be too nice Wasp. It’s just that sometimes… sometimes empathy can get lost in wars like this.”--Buddy

“Wasp don’t like Autobots.”--Wasp

“I feel you Wasp…”--Buddy

“…Autobots hurt Buddy bot? Hurt Buddy bot bad?”--Wasp

“…Yeah, you could say that…”--Buddy

“…Autobots hurt Wasp too.”--Wasp

“I’m sorry to hear that Wasp…”--Buddy

“Wasp sorry for Buddy bot…”--Wasp

���Welp, I finished fixing those scratches and dents.”--Buddy

“Thank you!”--Wasp

“…Would you like to come with me to the Decepticons? That way you’d be safe from the Autobots.”--Buddy

Wasp pausing not sure what to answer.

“Listen, you don’t have to answer that right away. That’d be selfish of me to expect that from you right now. This is my private channel, if you need me, just call me.”--Buddy

Wasp in amazement simply nodding.

“You take care okay, Wasp.”--Buddy

“Bye Buddy bot!”--Wasp