#I hate it I wish this never even happened for my thought process to have to shift into this

[gimmethatagustd]

kiss me more | jjk

It’s not just Jungkook’s rigorous boxing lesson that’s making your heart beat fast.

Relationship: Jungkook x Reader

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Tags: Boxer Jungkook, Fluff, Kissing, Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 1,697

“Come on, if you wanna kick my ass, you’ve gotta try harder!” 

Sweat made the hand wraps twisted around your hands chafe your wrists beneath the heavy boxing gloves, but you couldn’t mention it to your sparring partner. The loud, giddy “I told you so” he’d hurl at you would be too much for you to bear. You clearly hadn’t tightened the wraps as well as you should have. His expert eye noticed from the very beginning, even when you insisted it was fine. 

You brushed your forearm against your forehead to wipe away a few beads of sweat along your hairline. How was Jungkook bouncing from left to right on his toes with all the energy of a child at an amusement park? You were dying. 

“What is wrong with you?” You leaned backwards, gloved hands pressed to your hips, as you tried to catch your breath. “Can you give me, like, two seconds?” 

He flashed you a toothy grin, the action making crow’s feet appear at his bright eyes. 

“No way, girlfriend.” God, you hated it when he called you that. He sounded like an uncool mom from the early 2000’s. “In a fight, will your opponent give you a break? Do you think they’ll pity you? Nope! They’ll knock you on your ass.” 

He punched at the air a few times, demonstrating his sharp upperhook. 

“Jungkook, when will I ever be in a fight?” You straightened your back and lifted your wobbly arms up to make your gloves level with your face. Maybe you shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. 

He shook his head, flipping his sweaty bangs out of his face, and you swore you felt your limbs turn to jelly. Every day was the same shit, it just looked different. You could feed yourself excuses until you were sick. You were tired, lacked proper nourishment, didn’t take your vitamins. You were stressed, bloated, merely having an “off” day. If stuffing yourself full of thinly-veiled justifications for why your best friend made your stomach twist into knots every time he looked at you was a sin, then you were Queen of Gluttony. 

“You never know! With that mouth of yours…” The wink he sent you was Cupid’s bow shot straight into your heart. 

“Oh shut up, I’m ready.” 

Satisfied with your submission, Jungkook lifted his hands sporting the trainer punch mitts. The first time you’d trained with him you were so worried about hurting him that you barely tapped against his hands. His biceps rippled as he flexed his wrists, presenting the flattened side of the mitts for you to punch into. The t-shirt he wore had the sleeves and armpits ripped out, the holes running down his sides to expose his toned chest and abs when he moved to the side. You licked your lips and shuddered at the salty taste of sweat on them. 

Jungkook’s mitted hand flew out to boop you on the forehead, then quickly snapped back before you even processed what happened. 

“I know I’m cute, but pay attention!” 

The heat that flooded your face had nothing to do with working out. You planted your feet on the floor of the boxing ring and cocked your head to the side to crack your neck. Maybe a part of you thought you looked a little bit badass, but Jungkook quickly knocked you back to reality. He managed to hit you again, this time on the shoulder. 

“You need to loosen up. Be quicker on your feet.” 

“You wish you were as quick as me.” You gave him a little hop like he’d been doing before, your tongue stuck out in a violent point, nose scrunched. “When Muhammad Ali said ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee’ he was talking about me.” 

“Oh really?” 

Another boop to your head and you were starting to get annoyed. 

“Jeon Jungkook, I was not ready. That doesn’t count.” 

There was no mercy for you in those doe eyes sparkling in the fluorescent lighting of the boxing studio. Jungkook’s eyes crinkled as he chuckled a bunny-tooth laugh, getting far too much enjoyment out of your weakness. 

“Okay, okay, how about this. Do you remember the routine we did on Tuesday? I’ll wait for you to advance first.” 

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. You absolutely did not remember the routine from Tuesday, but at this point you couldn’t just say that. Another boop to the forehead was definitely in your future if you admitted you’d forgotten such precious knowledge. You were just going to have to make it up.

With a deep inhale, you released air from puckered lips and charged forward. In your head, you had this really fantastic image of you flying through the air with your fist strong and your elbow laxed, the strands of your hair whipping out of your ponytail, a true Valkyrie on a mission. It was rather glorious, flying through the clouds like a warrior of female empowerment, taking down the man.

Keyword, image. 

In reality? Your left sneaker slid against a glistening spot on the floor of the ring where you’d accidentally spilled some of your water bottle. Your body lurched forward, the heaviness of your boxing gloves making you top heavy. You were all limbs as you collided with Jungkook, and since neither of you had fingers to grab onto anything, you landed with a hard thud on the floor. If it wasn’t embarrassing enough that the skin of your sweaty legs was now sticking to the skin of Jungkook’s sweaty legs, you felt like you were going to pass out. There was no talking yourself out of this one, though, because the reason was very clear. 

You’d landed with your mouth smashed against Jungkook’s, with your teeth clinking together and noses squished into each other. Not only was it terrifying, but it was unattractive, and slightly painful? The universe took away your Valkyrie fantasy, and your kissing Jungkook fantasy, too. All in a matter of seconds. 

Horrified, you quickly tried to push yourself off of him, but Jungkook slung a heavy arm over your waist to hold you against his chest. 

“Did we just… kiss?” 

“Uhhh… no, no way. I just almost broke our front teeth.” Why wasn’t he letting you go? 

“Nah, I think we did. We totally did.” Jungkook leaned his head back on the floor and stared up at you with a grin. “We should do it again.” 

“What?” you croaked out, wiggling a bit in his embrace. He had to be joking, right? He was fucking with you. 

“Aren’t you supposed to listen to me as your trainer?” Jungkook reached up to boop you in the forehead again. “Kiss me again.” 

The intensity with which he stared at you made you want to shy away from him, but Jungkook held you firmly in place. Thankfully, he closed his eyes and you were able to look him straight in the face without feeling uncharacteristically shy. That is, until he puckered his lips at you. 

“Oh my god, Jungkook, stop teasing me.” 

The grin reappeared, though he kept his eyes closed. “I’m waiting.” 

With your heart somersaulting in your chest and your head reeling, you did the one thing you thought you’d been safe to fantasize about because it would never happen. 

The kiss was chaste, just as gently hesitant as when you punched Jungkook during your first day of training. He let out a soft sigh once your lips finally moved against his in a chaste dance. The sound startled you, half expecting Jungkook to throw you off of him rather than hum in satisfaction. That sweet sound was what made reality knock you in the head and you quickly pulled away. 

“Holy shit, that was awesome!” Jungkook tightened his grip on your waist and lifted the two of you into a sitting position. 

He ripped the mitts off of his hands, tossing them to the side. With his fingers free, he slid his hands along your cheeks, eyes roaming your face with a softness you could barely look into. He brought his face to yours again, chasing another gentle kiss with lips that were uncertain of where they belonged. The two of you fumbled over your movements and you found yourself smiling. The action made your teeth clink together once again, and Jungkook pulled away laughing. 

“You just wiped all your sweat from your hand wraps all over my face,” you blurted out, nerves shaking you to your core. What were you supposed to say?? Your best friend was willingly making out with you! 

Jungkook reached out to remove your gloves. You wiggled your fingers, thankful for the cool air running through them. But before you could truly appreciate the freedom, Jungkook grabbed your hands and pressed them to his cheeks. He really rubbed them in, squishing his cheeks to make his lips pucker and pout. 

“Now we’re even,” he said with a grin and finally let go. Snatching up his mitts, Jungkook stood up and held out his hand to you. When you pressed your wrapped hand into his, you felt your entire soul melt. 

“I guess we are.” You gave him a soft smile as you brushed yourself off. You had a tiny scrape on your knee from falling, but otherwise the only thing damaged was your ability to stay relaxed in front of your best friend.  

“Do you… want to go home…” Jungkook brought his hand up to ruffle his sweaty hair, looking at you through long lashes. “With me?” 

You squeezed the gloves against your chest and watched Jungkook carefully. “Only if you promise not to make me box anymore today.” 

A smile replaced the insecurity he had painted on his face. His arm, yet again, swooped out to boop you on the head with one of the mitts. Using one of your gloves, you swatted at him in response. “Is that a yes??”

Jungkook jabbed you on one side, then the other, until you were curled inward and doing your best to defend yourself with your beat up gloves. “Jungkook!” 

“Only if you give me another kiss.” 

Seemed like an easy exchange to you.

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you do a Sebastian Solace x Reader (gender neutral is fine) where he is led to believe the reader has permanently died? Somehow he receives this information. At this point, him and reader don't have to have an established relationship, but they definitely have a bond and affection for each other. Then, the reader comes into the vent the following day like always, and there's a happy ending? Angsty until then though please 🙏 Thank you so much

"What do you mean they aren't back yet?!"

"......."

"I lent them a token 'cause that was an unfair end to their run. They would've used it by now."

"I'll admit that the Harbinger's...unexpected arrival was most unusual. No one at Urbanshade knows where it comes from nor why it chose to show itself to the expendable."

"[Y/n]."

"Pardon?"

"It's...[y/n].." Sebastian's shoulders slumped as he looked to the enigmatic green man who decided to show up inside his shop, confused by his sudden presence. "And why are you here now? We agreed to only meet when--"

"You seem awfully attached to them, Solace. And that's not good for us." Mr. Lopee frowned slightly. "You're giving them special treatment, putting a name to their face. Don't you want to get out of here?"

"...of course I do! I'm not "attached" to anybody." The fishman muttered, although his nervous tapping against the crates betrayed his insistence. "They've just given me the most dirt on Urbanshade, and I'd hate to lose their business.."

"Well, unfortunately...they have not returned from the Banlands. I don't believe they ever will. I'd consider their soul to be lost in the ocean for eternity."

In an instant, he felt his heart sink into the pits of his stomach, trying to process the words he just heard. "What do you mean "lost"?? She can't find them?!"

"Death has grown weary of her duties." Mr. Lopee answered grimly. "That is all I know. I have no way to contact her, but this may be a sign that she's tired of resurrecting Urbanshade personnel. Those tokens have lost their meaning."

"No..no, no, no. That's stupid!" Sebastian snapped. "She can't just "decide" to stop now!! That wasn't a fair death!"

"Nothing is fair down here, my friend. You of all people should understand that. Now continue your work. Don't let yourself become distracted over one insignificant loss."

"....I won't, "boss"." The fishman sneered rudely, watching him disappear into a cloud of green and black smoke.

But the second he was gone, Sebastian dropped his snarky front, trying his best to stay calm despite the grim news he was told.

There was a way that an expendable can die...permanently?

Did the Harbinger have something to do with that? Or was the ferry lady simply uncaring and decided she was done reviving people?

He knew that she was going to be replaced within the next year or two, so maybe she thought it was all pointless now.

Either way, he'd never know.

And he'd likely never know what really happened to you. He only had to trust Mr. Lopee's words...and begrudgingly so.

""Distracted", my ass. They have to come back eventually. They...they made a promise.." His shoulders sagged as he glanced at the vent again, only for his ear fins to perk up at the sounds of thumping.

"[Y/n]? Hah. I knew he was messing with......me...."

Much to his disappointment, it was just another Wall Dweller infected with the rotten coral who decided to sneak into his shop. And with one swift motion, he dispatched it with his shotgun, watching its head explode into clay and gore as the remains flopped to the ground.

"Ugh..disgusting.." He grumbled, not happy that he had to pick apart the creature piece by piece, wishing he didn't have to touch the alien plant. But all of it was still edible, even for expendables who couldn't even touch the bloxy cola left behind after the lockdown.

You always joked about how it's the only way you could get "greens" in your diet-

'Shit..why am I thinking about them again?'

Sebastian's hands shook a little as he set the pieces on the table, wishing he could tear these stupid feelings out of his chest, wondering why he ever allowed himself to get so close to you in the first place.

He never should have opened up. Not to you. Not to anyone.

There were more important things at stake.

He shouldn't be mourning over you. What good would that do? Mr. Lopee had a point. Maybe he was getting distracted--losing sight of his goal and the burning hatred he had for Urbanshade.

He had to get out. He shouldn't care about some weak little expendable.

And yet...he couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to escape with you, and maybe even..get to know you a lot better without having to pretend to be business partners. He wouldn't have to pretend to despise you and find you annoying.

Now he couldn't even find out your exact status in the Banlands. But from what Mr. Lopee implied...your soul was forever trapped at the bottom of that dark ocean, surrounded by thousands more.

By thousands of haunted faces and screams he himself once heard when the ferryman scooped him out of the water.

It drove him insane for the remainder of the day, and despite trying to fight his exhaustion by organizing his wares and assets...sleep managed to find him for once.

Yet his dreams were anything but pleasant.

He was forced to witness the horrific scenario of that fabled Harbinger descend upon you, tearing into the locker you were hiding in whilst he was unable to do anything but scream for it to stop tormenting you.

His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he watched the demonic entity paint the entire room red with your blood.

...........

"Huh..that's weird."

Arriving to the 50th room, you were surprised that the vent grate didn't pop open like normal. You knew for sure Sebastian was there, given the spotlights shining directly towards the entrance to his shop.

So you opened it as quietly as you could--just in case he was sleeping. The last thing you ever wanted to do was startle the sleep-deprived traumatized fishman because of some noise.

He'd rarely doze off, and funny enough it only happened whenever you were in the shop, too, indicating he'd grown to trust you deeply.

You've come a long way in your friendship, although judging by the numerous discounts he's given you, the lack of landmines and ADS devices scattered around, his scoldings becoming less harsh and insulting, and his increasing worry for your safety the further you got into the blacksite....you wondered if he felt something more.

Like..attachment, almost.

But of course, you didn't want to assume anything.

Surely, you're just a means to an end for him. All he cares about are the documents you bring him and nothing more. He's only slightly more concerned for you because you bring him the most valuable stuff and barter with him better than other expendables.

However, as soon as you emerged from the other side of the vent and dusted off your pants, you could see Sebastian was almost...writhing in his sleep, his claws leaving deep marks in the crates as he whimpered, his tail flicking violently.

You had to duck as it suddenly swung over your head, but when you heard him utter your name, you froze with surprise.

Was he...dreaming about you?

You would've been flattered, if not for the realization that he was probably having a nightmare instead. So you quietly went over to him, wondering how you can wake him up and explain your....absence.

You couldn't return to the living world for some time after the Harbinger killed you, and surely...he's gonna realize that and get pissed off at you "wasting" another ferry token.

You just pray he believes you.

"Seb? Wake up." Stepping onto his desk was a risk, but it was one worth taking as it allowed you to get close to him so you could shake his shoulder. It took him some time to get used to your touch, and thankfully he's more comfortable with it now.

Suddenly, he gasped as his eyes snapped open, his upper body sitting up with such a start. You damn near fell off the table, but managed to keep your balance as you stared up at him.

He saw you, and only your uniform, and got angry.

"LEAVE ME ALONE!! GET OUT-!!!"

"Sebastian it's me!! It's me!!" You shouted, your voice rising a few octaves as you held your hands up.

He huffed and puffed, beads of sweat dotting his hairline as he looked down and slowly began to recognize your face.

And then the realization hit him.

You were here. Alive. Breathing.

You were back as if nothing had happened.

"[Y/n]?" He shuddered. "Shit..sorry. H-How are you...? I'm not seeing a ghost, am I?"

"I'm not. And know you're mad, so let me explain.." You sighed, putting your hands down. "I tried coming back, but the portal was busted, so I got...stuck on the other side for a while. The ferry lady was nice enough to show me how to repair it, though she didn't say much else. She seemed to appreciate me expressing my condolences for her husband, and....."

You trailed off as Sebastian put a hand on your shoulder, and at first you were worried he was going to throttle you for making him wait this long...

Only for him to pull you into a quick embrace, lifting you off your feet. "Ah..I'm sorry, Seb." You hugged him back, feeling guilty. "I guess I've been away too long, huh?"

"..it's been an entire day."

"Really?" Your heart sunk as he let you go, setting you back on the floor. "God, I...I had no idea. You must have been freaking out."

"Only...a little bit.." He muttered, managing to calm himself down as he brushed his bangs to the side. "Someone has...led me to believe that you died permanently. But they were wrong, so it doesn't matter anymore."

You were quiet for a moment, debating on whether or not to question who told him that, but you didn't wanna stress him out over the details, considering how shaken-up he got.

"Yeah, I guess it doesn't." You shrugged, deciding to look at the wares Sebastian had available.

Unfortunately, you lost all the assets you collected this time, although there wasn't anything of utter importance that you needed right now. But after grabbing the keycard to leave....he blocked the vent with his tail. "Seb?"

"Why don't you stay here a while? Hm?" He coughed, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Why? In case the big bad Harbinger gets me?" You chuckled, only to fall silent as he didn't laugh at all. "Alright, bad joke. I'll stick around for a bit."

Judging from how his shoulders instantly relaxed the moment you said that, you realized he did care more for your safety than other expendables. He didn't want you running back out into danger so quickly, especially as he knew that if you were to revive again, the ferryman...won't really like that.

It was kinda sweet seeing him act so clingy with just you, even when he didn't wanna outright admit it.

[midnightcrw]

I almost lost you

Pairing: Cregan Stark x fem!reader

Summary: You never thought you could be as sad as you are now.

Warnings: mention of losing your child, being stabbed (tell me if there should be more triggering things in this one-shot)

a/n: Even though I have never watched hotd before and only heard what happens in the show, I fell in love with Cregan Stark even though he was there for a few minutes. Also note that I'm not the best at writing, especially when it comes to hotd.

You thought you knew what sadness was when you couldn't get pregnant even after being married to Cregan for over a year, but this feeling was far worse.

You had finally fallen pregnant a few weeks ago, and that was probably one of the happiest times for you, as you had not told your husband and were waiting for the perfect moment, but things changed drastically when someone broke into your bedchambers while you were alone. You didn't even have time to react when a man wearing a cloak stabbed you and left you bleeding on the floor.

Painful wasn't even enough to describe it. It was agonizing the way your body froze in shock and you only registered the way the knife was pulled out of your stomach. You couldn't even remember the last four days because you were only lying in bed, not a single word leaving your lips as you had to process what had happened.

Cregan had not been here since that night. He was looking for the man who did it and he was furious, at least that's what the maid had said.

Slowly sitting up, your back now resting on the pillows as you traced the area of your injury, covered by a bandage and your nightgown over it.

"Lady Stark!" A woman's loud voice made you flinch as your heart threatened to burst out of your chest. Your eyes, now wide open, looked at the woman as you realized it was one of the handmaids.

"I'm sorry, my lady, but you didn't respond," the young woman said apologetically, looking down in shame. "Don't worry, it was my fault for letting my mind wander. Why did you come here?" Your voice sounded scratchy as you spoke for the first time in days.

"Lord Cregan Stark has arrived and wanted to know if you would like him to come in," at the mention of his name you got nervous, not knowing what was going to happen, but you nodded and motioned for her to let him in.

Only her footsteps could be heard as you began to fiddle with your fingers. You wanted to see him, but at the same time you didn't, too afraid of disappointing him.

The movement of your fingers stopped abruptly as you felt the bed sink down and your name was called softly in a whisper.

You were both in love with each other even before you got married, and you were perfectly content to call each other by name rather than by some title. It made you both more comfortable and felt better than calling him 'Lord' or you 'Lady'.

But in that moment, you wished he wouldn't. You wished that he would treat you as heartlessly as you deserved.

"Please look at me," his gruff voice was the only thing you could hear besides the wind from outside and you hadn't dared to look up, it felt like someone was starting to strangle you until you couldn't breathe anymore.

Your eyes were still looking down and you could see his hand hesitating to touch you as he pleaded with you again and this time you listened.

Slowly, you looked at him, your eyes almost lifeless as Cregan's were filled with concern.

When your husband opened his mouth to speak, you interrupted him by whispering, "I was with child.

And that's when Cregan's expression turned to confusion. No one had told him since you had wanted to be the one to break the news, but unfortunately not in the way you had wished for.

"What?" It was the first time you had ever heard his voice so strained. He started to shake his head in shock as his eyes moved rapidly to find even a hint of a lie on your face and when he didn't find it, the silence grew.

You hated it, you hated the way he looked at you in sadness and you hated it even more that he wasn't angry with you.

"I couldn't even give you an heir," your voice finally broke as a tear ran down your face, your lip trembling as you bit down on it to keep yourself from bursting, but the moment Cregan's arms engulfed your frame, you began to sob your heart out as your body shook while your husband tightened his hold on you.

Even though you couldn't see Cregan's face as it was buried in the crook of your neck, you knew he was letting his tears fall as you felt them on your skin, and it wasn't because of the child, it was because he was terrified of losing you.

Every day he had made it clear that the only thing he ever wanted was for you to be alive, happy and healthy. Not once had he complained about the lack of a child in your life, because he was content to have you around.

"That's the least of an issue, yeah?" He said as he kissed your cheek, still holding you in his arms. "We can always try again whenever you want, alright? The only thing that's important is that you let your body heal first," he said as his lips kissed your tear-stained face several times while reassuring you.

"But you need an heir," you sobbed softly as he let go of your body to hold the sides of your face in his hands. The look on his face suddenly became stern as he maintained eye contact, "An heir can wait." He said as he slowly touched his forehead to yours, "I almost lost you," he fretted as his eyes became glassy like you'd never seen them before.

His beautiful eyes that you could never look away from and now all you wanted to do was look away, not to see the fear in them.

"But you didn't," you replied, "Yes, I didn't, and I've never been more grateful for anything in my life," the moment he finished his sentence, your lips met his with an urgency that was almost primal.

The kiss was raw and filled with emotions that neither of you could put into words. It was desperate, a clash of needs that both you and Cregan could feel as your hearts pounded against your chests.

Your hands tightly curled the fabric of his top as one hand cupped your face while the other tangled in your hair. The two of you were almost breathless as he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours for a second before giving your now swollen lips a feather light peck and pulling away completely.

Your eyes traveled the contours of his face as he began to speak breathlessly, "We should sleep, it is late," you merely nodded as he stood to undress.

And not once did you look away as he undressed, the scars around his skin always drawing your attention. Some of them were already so pale that you couldn't see them unless you got close, while the rest were in shades of red.

Catching yourself staring, you quickly shook your head and moved down to rest your head on the pillow, and a moment later, your husband was lying next to you, his chest unclothed.

"Your wound hasn't caused any problems, has it?" He asked as he turned to the side to get a better look at you.

Your hand made its way to touch the spot where your wound was, "It's healing well, from what I've been told."

"Can I see it?" Cregan seemed hesitant as he spoke, but you only nodded, slowly pulling up your nightgown as you lay on your side for him to see.

The moment your wound was visible, Cregan gently touched your skin. "It's already scarred," he murmured as his eyes inspected the red scar on your stomach.

"It looks ugly," you said as you slowly pulled the material down until your husband stopped you, "You never told me that mine looked ugly."

Without hiding the truth, you muttered, "Because yours are beautiful.

Cregan shook his head at your answer, his eyes softening a fraction as he looked at you, "That's not true. Both of our scars look the same, but you can't see beauty in yours just because it's marring your skin and not mine"

Without letting you respond, he continued, "You are beautiful, inside and out. There's no need to call any part of you ugly because you're insulting my wife, the love of my life, and the lady of Winterfell."

Not saying anything, you buried your face in his chest and that was enough for him, to feel your heart beating against his as you held on to him.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

lightning strike | h. iwaizumi

✮ tags ; afab + gn!reader, recently established relationship, mutual pining, pwp, dry humping + making out, nipple play, implied raw sex, super love-dovey, deliberate name change from iwaizumi to hajime 18+

✮ wc ; 4k (???????)

✮ a/n ; something deeply frightening happened to me in writing this but whatever. made it with ten minutes to spare happy bday mr iwaizumi

pls be nice if characterization is everywhere its been a while

He’s nervous.  

So nervous. 

You laugh at him over a can of beer, even harder when he visibly flinches at the sound. The room is too quiet since all of your company has left for the evening. Iwaizumi is tipsy but not drunk - though you think if he has another can he’ll get there just fine.  

“Your face is gonna get stuck if you keep frowning.”  

He shoots you a glare that makes your lips quirk up. “Shut up. You sound like my Ma.”  

“How is she by the way? Still good?”  

Iwaizumi snorts and takes a long sip of his beer. He tilts his head back against the couch, arm stretched along the seats. His muscles pull taut underneath the skintight material of his turtleneck. You find yourself sitting on your hands to calm down, but you’re too unfocused for it too work.  

“She’s good. She likes the countryside. Been growing squash and tomatoes and everything. Gonna try and stay with her a bit during off-season,” His voice is wistful and affectionate. An only son, filial and polite - you smile at him lovingly. “You should come visit with me.”  

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Guess it’s the same since we’ve already met but since we’re going steady I though you might be too nervous.”  

The realization settles in too late. Just when you thought he’d swallow the nerves down, they make an appearance once again. He sits up straight, clearing his throat, diverting his gaze to the coffee table separating you both. A blush spreads up, all through his body. His ears turn especially turn some shade of cherry red. Dusts all along his nose. He tsks at you, tongue clicking with a familiar petulance. You bite back a laugh.  

“Going steady? Seriously?”  

“Well,” Your face twists in mischief as you look up at him, your eyes locking briefly. “You’d get all hissy if I called us lovers.”  

His eyes go wide - in equal parts shock and mild disgust. You can’t hold the laugh back that time time no matter how hard you try. It bubbles up out of you, euphoric and hysterical. Your laughter is too loud to savor his displeasure, so caught up in it that it takes you a few minutes to calm down again,  

“I hate you,” Iwaizumi mumbles. A grin splits your face. 

“No, you don’t.”  

He frowns and his blush darkens just a touch  

The room goes quiet save for the sound of your heartbeat. You try and collect yourself. The house feels too quiet, all prior company absen. Not that Mattsun and Maki dragged out Oikawa to be considerate of your newfound love or anything. You’re sure you’ve already gotten a long text detailing your extortion related to the favor. Still, you’re glad to be alone with him.  

It’s easy to split your time between all of them separately when you’re all in the same place - but complicated to be all together. And alone time with Iwaizumi has always been hard to come by.  

You’ve been pining for him since highschool - the frequency you wish to see him tuned tuned by the passing years of your relationship and feelings. You’ve gone through the whole spectrum of desires. From wanting to see him everyday constantly, to hoping you’d never have to see him again. It took you well over a decade to make any progress, and the entire process (while surely heartfelt) has been unmistakably clumsy and so, so long.  

Spending alone time with Iwaizumi has thus always been complicated except for this one time. You got together, officially, just last week. The day he came home, where you incidentally found yourselves alone together. Something that’d been rare years prior due to said pining and trying to get over him. You don’t even really know how it happened. It felt like the most significant moment in your life thus far and incomparably anticlimatic at once. He was just sending you home since you’d got completely shitfaced, and before you left you grabbed him by the collar and announced it. Just like that.  

(You threw up half-way through the car ride back. Your Uber was nice enough to pull over so you didn’t do it in his car.) 

You went home after and didn’t speak for days. It took a few more days for either of you to work up the courage to sort things out forreal, but you made it work with the help of even more alcohol.  

Things get busy though, when Oikawa returns home and Hajime is off-season. It’s rare things line up, and when they do - it’s only natural you spend all your time together. You did today too, celebrating Iwaizumi’s birthday among the four of you with take-out and Godzilla movies on your nice flatscreen.  

But you haven’t been alone with each other since your chat establishing your relationship as not a pipe-dream, which was notably through text.  

He’s nervous, so incredibly nervous but so are you. Just a little.  

You look up after being lost in thought - to see Iwaizumi stare at you. The air shifts slow and steady, thick tension stirring in your gut. You bite the inside of your cheek, rubbing your feet together as you fold over yourself, chin resting on your knee. 

You wonder if you should be the one to break the distance. Iwaizumi beats you to the punch this time. You suppose you’re even.  

“Come ‘ere.”  

He pushes the coffee table farther away from him with ease, careful not to knock anything over. Your tipsy self swoons over his competence, but you’re sure you’d do the same sober.  

The look he gives you as you crawl over to him makes you feel bashful. You go over until you’re sitting side by side - stretching your legs out. Your thighs barely touches. Iwaizumi jolts, swiping a hand over his face in exasperation.  

“Sorry,”  

You shake your head. “It’s okay.” Because it is, then just to make sure. “Are we okay?”  

“More than okay,” He admits, a breath of relief following the words. “It was a good birthday, by the way. Thank you.”  

“They’ll get upset that you only thanked me,”  

He bristles immediately making you giggle. “I’ll thank those knuckleheads later.” 

You smile at him, wide and bright. He looks at you before quickly looking away, laughing a little humorlessly to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about but decide against asking, comfortable letting him go at whatever speed.  

“Can I uh—“ He clears his throat. “Wanna kiss you. Just uhh… shit.”  

You’d love to tease him, but you feel like your heart might explode out of your body so there’s not really much room. Nodding, you sit up on your knees and turn a little to face him. His features soften with remarkable fondness. You flush at the sudden attention. He sits up straighter, turning his head to face you. His forehead knocks against yours softly, noses brushes. His eyes are so sharp. You have to close your own when you feel him leaning in to kiss you.  

Iwaizumi is warm. His lips are softer than you thought they’d be. His hands feel big as one snakes up to cup your neck. He gives you one deep kiss, followed by two pecks before pulling away to make you chase him. He rewards you by kissing you agai. The sudden pressure makes your head spin.  

You pull away dazed. “You’re… super good at kissing.”  

“Yeah?”  

You press your thighs together at his reply. So sexy it’s unfair. “Uh-huh.”  

He gives you a weighted hum. 

His reaction spurs you on then. You pull away from him momentarily. Iwaizumi stares at you in reply, worry making his brow furrow. Before he can get the words out, you seat yourself on his lap. He’s taken aback as he realizes your intent, your arms around his neck. It’s not even really the alcohol, as much as it’s everything else. Cramped in your living room together, pressed up against your couch. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, and shiver in his arms smelling his cologne. Spicy with a hint of pine. He hesitates, hands settling so carefully on your hips.  

He lets you stay like that undisturbed until you’re ready to pull away. Like he senses you needed that. He’s always been so good at knowing what exactly you need. Suddenly restless you decide you need to look at him again - make sure he’s real. That this is real.  

“Hey,” He mutters. His pitch is low, sends your heart hammering.  

You giggle, fluttering nervously. “Hi,” And then, “You like me,”  

“Pfft,” His voice is so tender, so soft, so comforting. “More than that.”  

Suddenly overwhelmed by your own giddiness, you squeak. You want to bury yourself in his shoulder again, but he’s quick to hold your wrist and stop you. He pins you under his gaze. It’s so intense you can’t help but feel like a deer caught in headlights. Your head is empty and all he’s doing is looking at you.  

But maybe that’s the whole problem. He’s looking at you, and you’ve wanted that for more than a decade. Now having it is too much, too suddenly - and you’re almost afraid of having it. It’s just a gaze, but it’s yours. He’s telling he’s yours in a way that’s just like him.  

“You…” He starts on something before letting you go. “For a long time,”  

He doesn’t need to explain. You already know.  

“Me too,” 

He calms down when you get it..  

“Really?” He follows up. He doesn’t look at you as he goes on. “How long?”  

You think on it.  

“Since we were fifteen?”  

“Same as me, then.” He’s clumsy with the follow-up. “That’s…”  

“Dumb? Ridiculous? Too long?” You say, filling in the words for him. “I know.”  

The extent of your own longing comes to you in waves. Love, like the sea trapped behind ice - so easily shattered. You’re drowning, your lungs aching trying to get adjusted to what is finally yours. The shock of it comes and goes, but you’re surrounded by it all the same. Iwaizumi stares at you and you stare back and nothing in the world exists except this desire you’ve kept to yourself for years.  

His name comes out like a whimper on your lips. “Iwaizumi,”  

“Hajime,” He corrects, so tender. So sweet to you. “Please,”  

“Hajime,” You test the name out on your tongue. It’s sweet.  

He doesn’t say anything after that.  

Your breath hitches as Hajime crowds into your space again. His hands are firm on your hips as he kisses you again. It’s different from before, lingers longer - his tongue pressing along the seam of your lips until you open them and allow him in deeper.The taste of alcohol is clearer on your tongue, bitter remnants of malt making you drool at the corners of your mouth. You kiss hungrily, your hands carding through the short, black hair with a longing sigh. Hajime groans a little when you tug at the root and the only thing you can think to do is try to sink into him further. .  

The hear raises without warning. Your skin under your clothes feels like it’s on fire. It feels different too suddenly for you to adjust and keep completely calm. Lust that borders cosmic engraves into your bones. Crumbling under the weight of it, you kiss Hajime like your life would end without it. In the moment, it feels like it would. Exchanged breaths are the only source of air for that space and time. You feel frantic, hazy - and Hajime who you know to be so steady, proves to be in the same place as you. 

His hands are so big. You can feel how tight he grabs you, his thumb pressing into your hipbones - itching to go lower. You don’t want to pull away but you want more. In the second you take a breath you tell him as much. Your own delirium might bring you shame if you were in any place to really feel it. “You can touch me. However you want.”  

“Fuck. Don’t say that.”  

“Hajime, please.”  

You mutter something but you don’t catch what it really. Your head is swimming with unrepentant ardor and your tongue feels too heavy for your mouth. Hajime kisses you again and takes the lead. The pleasure echoes in how you sigh, your hips rutting against his lap as his hands squeeze your ass. His hands are so fucking big - strong and kind and hold you with no uncertainty. The groping goes straight to your cunt, stomach starting to twist with familiar arousal. You push your hips against him again.  

You’re hardly thinking about it. Hardly thinking at all - no coherency or sense thrumming through your brain except his name. Hajime, Hajime, Hajime. An incantation of destiny. A love song.  

You feel his fingers inch up to go underneath your shirt - all of a sudden feeling burdened by all the layers between you. You can’t calm down. 

He pulls away from you first in that instance. Before you can ask, he nudges himself close to your neck, kissing along your jaw. You feel the fabric of your shirt tug. “Can I take this off?”  

You nod rapidly, then mimic him wanting him to do the same. His laugh is raspy in the follow through - your shirt and bra discarded somewhere on the floor. He stops suddenly, flicking his gaze up to you like he’s asking permission again. You just nod, not knowing how else to convey your desires.  

Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal and cool air. Hajime’s tongue flicks from his lips.  

His gaze makes you feel ticklish. He runs his palms over your tits with an appreciative noise. His eyes linger long enough to make your skin go hot all over, your spine prickling with heat.  

“Staring,”  

He looks up at your face, amused by your pout then kisses you as he feels you up, calloused palms brushing against your nipples, tits fitting perfectly in his hands. He smiles a little against your mouth. “Guess I am.”  

“Take yours off,” You plea. 

He obliges you, peeling the tight shirt away from his body and leaving his bare torso in full view. The proximity makes your lungs tighten like they can’t get enough air - heat radiating from his skin. His physique is toned, layers of muscle soft and comfortable He’s structured and gorgeous like a statue. You’re greeted by his broad chest and the corded muscles of his biceps. All sinew and strength, down his core. Strong and stable and big everywhere you could possibly look. You feel awestruck, mouth-watering at the sight - clit throbbing. Objectively attractive, you’re sure anyone in your place would feel the same. But this is your Hajime and the body he’s worked so hard on, full grown and yours. The trail of hairs down his stomach, getting coarse. The v-line of his waist makes you clench. 

 Too much.  

 The words tumble out of you before you can stop them, like water spilling from a broken dam. “I want you to fuck me so bad,”  

His brows raise. You can feel something twitch hard against your clothed pussy. At full mast underneath the confines of his pants. \Your eyes go wet when you realize what it is. Mind sticky, you draw your lips into a pout and silent protest. Despite your desperation, you almost want to say it again, pleasure thrumming through your body at his reaction. It feels like electricity sparking up from the base of your spine all the way to the top of your head. 

 Hajime presses his face to your neck all over again - hot, open mouth kisses trailing from jaw to chest. You gasp when his mouth closes around your tits, tongue laving over the tender skin and making your back arch.  

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” He mirrors. His voice is scratchy and his grip is tight. “Been wanting to fuck you so bad for so long, you have no idea.”  

There’s something true and well pathetic about the yearning that wells up inside of your gut and settles itself in your sternum. It spreads and grows and tangles in your ribs, curls around the vessels of your heartbeat. The kind of yearning that makes your whole being tremble, makes you want to preen and sing like a canary. It’d be good if time stood still so he could fuck you infintely - never being able to go where you can’t reach.  

You rock against him and Hajime holds you steady like always. His voice drops down to murmur - speaking with alarming clarity. You’re teary from the sound of his voice.  

“Let’s cum together,” He offers as reprieve, so sweet despite the harsh grip on your hips as he draws your weight down closer to him. You’re suddenly conscious of your choice in clothes - how thin the fabric of your shorts really as as the rough outline of his cock presses against the seam. You’re glad you didn’t wear underwear “And then I’ll make you cum again. I’ll take care of you,”  

“You always take care of me,” You say with no awareness of your surroundings. He laughs breathlessly. ‘ 

“Yeah..since it’s you, it’s easy.”  

You go wide-eyed but don’t get a minute to dissect. Not bothering to unbutton his jeans, you gape at the hard outline of his cock confined in black boxers. his  He picks you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as your spine touches the carpet of your living room floor. You make a surprised noise as you’re let down gently. He doesn’t unfurl you from him. You spark back to life as his lips meet yours again chastely. The complaint you had dies on your lips when he trails down your jaw again. His voice is next to your ear, sinfully rough - warm breath tickling your skin. His teeth tug on your ear lobe and you shiver.  

“Tell me if it’s too much,”  

You don’t get a chance to ask about it.  

The sudden motion of his hard cock rutting and humping against your sticky, wet cunt punches the air of out of your lungs.  

There’s only a single layer of wet fabric keeping him from fucking you.  The very idea makes your pussy throb unhelpfully. You understand all of a sudden that this was what he meant about wanting to make you cum. But it’s Hajime, your Hajime - so making you do any work wouldn’t cut it. Humping you in missionary of all things like he’s already inside you.  

The thought overwhelms and you gasp.  

You don’t recognize the sound of your own voice, so high and pitchy with need. Pure pornography. But there’s no camera for you perform for, nothing but Hajime above with with a heavy gaze. Your spine arches at the sensation once it hits its stride, the angle of friction just right. The indirect touches makes your core throb. Your clit has been achingly sensitive for so long, and the release of tension in a single thrust is enough to make you shudder each time. It feels like you’ve been holding the feeling in your entire life. You wheeze his name out brokenly as he does it again - a sharp thrust, precise enough to be perfect like he already knows you that well.  

Your lower body feels week as the arousal starts to climb to a steady chorus. You pant for him like a bitch in heat.  

He’s not inside you but the smack of his hips against yours makes you feel like you’re getting fucked anyways. You imagine how it’ll feel when he really fucks you and can’t see straight after the fact. Each little movement spreads precum along your shorts, already wet with your own arousal. The friction of the damp fabric makes you cry out from pleasure,  animalistic with need. Your nails dig into his biceps as he kisses you all over, wherever he can possible reach. Along your neck, shoulders, collarbones chest. Any place he has accsess.  

You want him so fucking deep it’s frustrating, want him up to your throat - but the lack of direct touch makes you want him more desperately. And it makes it feel so, so good. The kind of pleasure that’s dull and throbbing but makes something in your spine go alight, like shoving your thumb into a bruise. You want Hajime to press himself into you hard enough to make the healed dull yellows vibrant purple and red all over again.  

You gasp helplessly each time he rocks his hips into you. He’s whispering such filth against your ear, into your mouth each time you kiss and you can’t reply with anything but his name. He praises you each time anyway, goads you into saying it again. Again and again and again until you can’t find your own voice.  

“Say it again,” Hoarse, punctuated by another thrust that nearly drives you over the edge and makes your eyes go wide. “Say my name again, baby”  

“Hajime.” So you say it- can’t think of any substitute since you’re not sure god would suffice. Locked between you in the warm sticky air is just Hajime, all yours.  

Every muscle in your body starts to lock up as you hit the final stride to your orgasm. You want to cum so badly for him and only him. All over his cock in any way he’ll light you. The thought pushes you over the edge. Over and over and over until you hang over the precipice of your own orgasm. When it hits, it hits like a crash of thunder on open plain. Like suddenly everything in you that’s every been grounded in Earth is scattered with sparks, skating and careening across your body. You feel him in the fiber of your being. Your toes curl at the sudden release, not able to voice a warning that isn’t just a soft gargle in the back of your throat. He doesn’t stop or stutter in his motion, instead gripping your hips tight as he can while lets you run through your high - nothing but praise and affection.  

You can feel him more than you can see him cum along with you. Sticky, hot seed flowing in spurts as his dick twitches for you - his ragged breathing covering your skin in goosebumps. You moan at the warm sensation drenching your poor, covered pussy and find the load to be wasted though you feel contented anyway. 

 You’re barely sane enough to catch your breath, but he eventually lets you down - though you can’t keep from hugging him. You pull back to look at each other.  

You brush the sweat matted hair away from his forehead with a lovesick sigh and giggle. He looks down at you with a grin, pressing his forehead to yours with.  

“Can’t believe I came in my pants like a teenager,” He says through a laugh.  

“It’s like making up for lost time,” You say warmly, all floaty. “Plus, the way you were fucking me but not fucking me…definitely a man. It was really hot, you know?”  

He groans. “I’ll get riled up again.”  

You smile at him. “Let’s fuck lots for your birthday, Hajime.”  

“Is that the present you mentioned earlier?”  

You pretend to think on it. “Mm..no. Not just the sex, anyway.” 

He looks at you confused as you lean in closer to him. “It’s safe so there’s no condoms anywhere in this apartment, unless you wanna go stop to get some.”  

He gives you a blown out look of lust with a soft breath, voice bordering a growl. “As if I’d make it through the door now.”  

You laugh helplessly happy and kiss him. “Happy birthday.” And then a little quieter. “I love you.”  

He softens visibly but doesn’t say anything else. You don’t need to hear him to know.  

You think the spare copy of your keys might make him cry. So you decide you’ll give it to him later. 

 The clock hasn’t hit midnight yet, anyhow. You have plenty of time.  

Now and always.  

[rovingotter]

Heavy spoilers for Joker: Folie à Deux beneath the cut.

Joker 2019 is a movie that is often misunderstood, and one that means a lot to me.  It doesn’t quite manage to nudge out some of my childhood animated favorites like The Last Unicorn and Watership Down, but Joker is definitely in my top three favorite live action movies.  It got me back into writing fanfic after a long dry spell.

I didn’t think it needed a sequel.  Most people didn’t.  The first movie told the story it needed to tell.  I was wary going into this.  After hearing that it was a musical (and with Gaga as Harley?), I didn’t know what to expect but I thought that even if it was bad, even if it completely misfired, it would at least be an entertaining and funny trainwreck. 

Turns out, it’s not funny at all.  This movie gutted me.

I wish it didn’t exist.  The experience of watching it was…I’m still processing it, but I think I can say at this point that it was an unpleasant experience, but also a captivating one.  I hate it but I also weirdly have a higher opinion of it than most people seem to.  I feel like it was tonally true to the first movie.  I think Phoenix and Gaga both breathed life into their roles.  The musical numbers didn’t seem strictly necessary but they also didn’t detract from the experience for me. Music was an important element of the first movie as well.

I also think the central premise is an interesting one.  Arthur, incarcerated in Arkham, is facing the possibility that he’ll be sentenced to death for the murders he committed in the first movie.  His lawyer is aiming for an insanity defense and tries to convince the jury that the Joker is a separate personality—that Joker, not Arthur, killed those people.  In order to save his own life, Arthur needs to convince the jury that he’s not Joker…or he can take a different path. He can say "fuck it," fully embrace the Joker persona and live whatever time is left laughing and watching everything burn.  This is what Harley "Lee" Quinzel, who admires Joker and the chaos he represents, wants him to do.

In the end, he does neither.

After being forced to sit in silence for days and listen to a defense that both infantilizes and dehumanizes him, reducing him to a set of symptoms, stripping him bare and putting all his pain and humiliation on display, Arthur can’t take it anymore.  He fires his lawyer (who represents his best hope of survival) and elects to represent himself.  Initially he tries to represent himself as Joker, to lean into that persona, but he’s not feeling it anymore…especially after the confrontation with Gary Puddles, the guy who was probably his only true friend before he became Joker.  In the first movie, Arthur spared Gary’s life but left him deeply traumatized after he witnessed the death of Randall, the coworker who bullied Arthur.  This conversation with Gary was one of the most riveting parts of the movie for me.  There is a nakedness and rawness to it. Arthur tries to say "fuck it," but ultimately, he can't. Not in the face of Gary's pleading and pain.

After this, some horrible things happen to Arthur in Arkham.  The guards beat him and brutally assault him.  They kill his fellow inmate who tries to offer him support, because the system is still ruthless and still failing vulnerable people.  Arthur is left broken, helpless. Again. Some people have interpreted this scene as the reason he ultimately sheds his Joker persona, but I think it would have shaken out differently if not for that earlier conversation with Gary.  Because Gary is possibly the only person who truly cared about Arthur, when he was only Arthur—a fellow outcast, and the only guy who never made fun of him. 

Joker makes fun of Gary, because Joker makes fun of everything.  And Arthur realizes that he’s not—doesn’t want to be Joker. At his core, he's sick of pain and violence, both his own and other people's. He wants to try to break the cycle.

In the end, Arthur stands before everyone not as Joker but as Arthur Fleck—he stands alone and naked, shattered, traumatized, with no remaining allies, and he takes responsibility.  He says that he did those things.  He did them because he was having a mental breakdown, yes, because he was wounded and wronged by an unjust world, but he regrets it, now.  He hurt some bad people, but he also hurt some people who didn’t deserve it.  He’s tired of being the clown.  He just wants to live.  That was all he ever wanted, really.  Just a little bit of kindness and respect.

This is his truth:  Joker is a part of him, but a part that was born out of pain.  His deepest self is Arthur. In admitting that, he lays it all on the line, in that moment. And this is, in my opinion, the bravest thing he could have done.  I had my hand over my heart for this whole scene. 

And for this small, fragile act of courage, he is utterly forsaken by the world.  Lee—the one person who he has a connection with—is in love with Joker, not Arthur.  She walks out of the courtroom.  She abandons him in his moment of greatest need—not out of malice, but out of weakness. Because she wants to live in a fantasy world and she can't handle the reality of who he is:  not an embodiment of chaos and power, not a symbol, but a man, a vulnerable man who is full of regrets but who is trying, in his own confused way, to be better.

The first movie was bleak but it offered a glimpse of a twisted kind of hope at the end with Arthur finding inner peace even as he’s condemned to a life in psychiatric incarceration for his actions.  This movie takes that bit of hope and grinds it into the dust.  It’s a tragedy, through and through.

Arthur’s random, pointless death at the end feels almost redundant because it’s made clear by that point that his spirit has already been slain.  His connection with Lee was all he had, and when it’s revealed to be an illusion, that’s it.  He can no longer exist as the Joker but he can’t exist as Arthur, either.  He tried his best and was rejected for it.  It didn’t work.  He’s done. 

There are a lot of takes about how this movie should have gone, and honestly, most of them sound terrible to me.  I think this is the only way a sequel could have gone while remaining honest, which is why I didn’t want a sequel.

You can’t hear me, Arthur, but I love you, and I’m proud of you for standing before the world as yourself, and you didn’t deserve to die the way you did. 

This world is fucking cruel.

[lemonabouttodrop]

Say what now?

Part 2 of 'How could you?'

Azriel x f!Reader

Summary: Azriel came with apologies stitched into his silence, but when his gaze met yours, the words slipped away. What he offered instead wasn’t quite what you'd hoped, but for him, it was a tether, a reason to keep you a little closer, a little longer.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, insecurity, kinda crack?, mentions of Irish forms of art, scars? (sorry y'all, still haven't exactly figured how to write warnings yet)

Note: Probably has mistakes but I'm re-using my 'first fic' card again since this is still a part 2 of my first one. thxthx.

part 1 linked here.

Azriel didn't remember how to stand. Where do his hands go? Behind his back? Too child-like.

In his pockets? Too casual.

Should they dangle? Probably not.

So he just stood there frozen with his hands flailing around unsurely and his wings fighting against twitching as he processed what just happened.

You'd spoken. Albeit uninterestedly, like you wanted nothing to do with him. He'd never heard you sound so- well, dull. He hated that he was the cause of that. It had been a week since he heard you properly. And oh, how he wished he could turn back time.

But he couldn't, so he'd just take a tiny bit of joy from what just happened.

You'd spoken .To him. To him.

He'd been in the kitchen, the place where his suffering first started, boiling tea when you'd walked in and not immediately turned around, instead you'd spoken. To him. Hell, you were even looking at him so he clearly wasn't hallucinating. He hadn't even heard what you'd said, he'd just heard your voice again and his heart had done its best to lurch out of his chest.

"Huh?", he said and immediately cringed at how dumbfounded he sounded.

"I said I'm done with the mission report. It's on your desk." You repeated blandly. The report.. about the mission after which he'd ruined it all. His face fell, once again reminded of what he'd caused.

It seems you recollect it too, for you turned around to leave

"Wait!", he says, slightly too loudly to be anything but desperate.

Shit. The plea had left his throat before he could stop himself. Now what? He hadn't thought this through at all.

You were looking at him, now facing him again, with a brow raised and arms crossed.

He was looking at you, with his hands suspended mid-air and his eyes slightly wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm- Can we.. talk?", Mother above he needed to get it together. Stop this stuttering.

"About?"

Good question. That's a really good fucking question that he does not know how to answer.

His shadows twirled mid-air as if taunting him, and he knew that if they could speak his tongue, they'd most definitely be doing just that. Infact, they'd probably be cursing him out right about now.

Though they were attached to him, they'd always taken every available opportunity to be next to you, to side with you, to take care of you. Even now, most gravitated in your direction no matter how strongly he held them back.

You must have realized this silence meant he had no goddamn clue what to say to you. He saw it in your eyes and as he anticipated your departure, you stepped forwards and sat at the island, looking at him patiently.

His heart, which happened to still have been doing the Irish jig in his chest, seemed to just about stop and skip multiple beats. Because he had no clue, no clue how you let him be anywhere around you after what he'd said.

How you hadn't yet punched him or tried to in any shape or form. He deserved that at least. What he didn't deserve was this kindness.

But he'd be foolish to refute it, and so he sat down too and he knew what to do.

He'd get you back.

His shadows seemed to nod resolutely.

A mission. A gods damned mission?!

You'd expected anything but another fucking mission.

Then again, you assume your emotional instability due to the words of an overgrown bat cannot surmount to enough reason to put the court politics on halt.

You thought back to the whole encounter just hours ago as you packed your bags for tomorrow.

When he'd called out to you like that, you'd thought he'd apologize. You would have accepted it, you would have brushed off how hurt you truly had been, you'd definitely have found a way to convince yourself that an apology was enough. That whatever he said next was enough. Instead, he'd said nothing. He'd just stood there awkwardly, and yet you hadn't wanted to leave again. Gods, could you be any more desperate? Probably not.

One last chance. You thought to yourself.

Your mind told you to uphold your dignity and get the fuck out of there while you still had the chance, keep some semblance of self-respect. But a very tiny part of it still fought back and reminded you of all the quiet, beautiful moments you'd had with Azriel. How you'd surely never get any more if you left, but if you stayed? There was a possibility. The very tiny part made good points.

So you'd sat down and watched him patiently, hoping he wouldn't make a fool of you and leave you there. But he'd taken a seat as well, too clumsily, too fast. What was wrong with him? You wondered. You'd never seen him act so... disoriented.

He still didn't say a word. Just stared. It had been a while since you'd allowed yourself to look at him, to not turn around and flee at the sight of him.

He was beautiful, always had been. You couldn't help but give him a once-over. His sharp cheekbones seemed sharper, his hands were gloved. His hands were gloved? Why-

Oh.

Realization dawned on you like a brick on your face. It was winter, you'd massage his hands and relax the tense muscles of the scarred appendages everyday in this cold season. Or else his hands would cramp up. Badly.

How absorbed had you been in your self-pity to forget such a thing?

Cringing, you promised yourself to help him as soon as possible.

You looked up at him again to find him already staring, now catching your expression. You schooled it and looked him in the eyes.

Gods, his eyes.

They were more sunken than usual. Had sleep not been good to him lately? Who were you to talk? You knew you didn't look any better. And was it really bad that it felt good to assume you were the reason for his sleepless nights, like he was for yours? Yes, yes it was.

His shadows curled over his wings, as though peeking at you. Some slithered over the table in soft curves, inching over to you. They were always nice to you, you thought, smiling softly at them as a few wrapped around your wrists on the wood.

You'd wondered how long this whole game of silence would last.

And just as that thought passed your mind, he'd spoken.

And you'd just about had an aneurysm.

You looked at your stuff, mentally checking your list of essentials. It was a mission to the mountains. Nowhere near the camps, thank the Mother for that. He hadn't told you why it was a two person job and you hadn't asked. He also hadn't told you how long it would take and you hadn't asked. Turns out there's a bunch of stuff you should have asked.

Are your hands okay?

Did you go get Madja's soothing oils?

What kind of crack are you on to think that taking me, of all people, on this mission would ever end very well after what happened?

Who's hosting my funeral if I throw myself off a cliff in the duration of this business trip? Do I get insurance?

You laid down on the bed, content with your preparations. You'd done your best to not let your insecure thoughts plague you during the day but it was the night that was hard these days. Thoughts of inadequacy would rise every single breath you took. Mind would overflow with different interpretations of every interaction with him.

Heart would pace as thoughts of him took over your very being, until the world faded away and the pacing stopped. Until even the sounds of the wind dulled, until the magic in your veins fell into slumber and so did you.

Only to wake to a new day.

A new beginning? A better one?

Y'all, i got zero clue where i wanna take this. Still love that i have the ability to take this any which ways but would def def def love some suggestions. Thank you for all the likes pookies, thought no one would read my stuff but OMG are y'all sweet or what.

currently preparing for a big big big test that def decides the course of my life so i just do this when im stressed. Prolly not consistent but yuhpp. thank yewww.

and if you haven't noticed yet, i love commas,,,,,

@saradika-graphics for those gorgeous dividers. IN LOVE.

[sfznyxio]

-ˋˏ WITHIN THESE CASTLE WALLS ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. saving twins from getting killed who turn out to be rulers of the celestia kingdom isn’t part of the plan. neither is being instated as a member of the royal guard as their gratitude. with the alarming increase of assassinations, you’re wary of everyone in the castle. who is your ally or enemy, or who will be the one to capture your heart?

CHARACTERS. albedo, arataki itto, dainsleif, diluc, eula, jean, kaedehara kazuha, kaeya, kamisato ayato, sangonomiya kokomi, tartaglia, thoma, xiao, zhongli

CONTENT. gn!reader. royal au. fluff. 1.3k words. rewrite of within these castle walls [i] at my old main blog @/verxsyon. inspired by fire emblem: three houses. mentions of assassination attempts which many of them failed. assassination attempt (tartaglia). seduction (sangonomiya kokomi).

VERA. can't believe it's been two years since i wrote wtcw. time flies by really fast. i miss this series so much. will i rewrite for the other parts? no, because respectfully, they suck oof. initially, wtcw was supposed to be one part so here it is lol. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ALBEDO

a noble descended from a lineage of alchemists. albedo prefers to stay at home to tend to his research and to avoid social interactions. in spite of believing that relationships are bothersome, he’s only interested in you. as an attempt to create a friendship, he brings you flowers which one of his books suggested. he becomes self-conscious that his efforts may not be sufficient, you appear happy when thanking him and complimenting his thoughtfulness. for a split second, an awkward smile graces upon his lips.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ARATAKI ITTO

a mercenary of oni blood. infamous in his hometown for causing trouble with the authorities with his gang. itto is a popular figure because of his “dashing” looks and abrasiveness. his overconfidence is one reason why you can’t stand him. you never met someone this unbearable. he always disturbs your training by challenging you to a duel, lots of them. comes determined to win the match, but loses every single time. perhaps you’ll indulge him once more, just to see what happens when he finally will be victorious.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. DAINSLEIF

captain of the royal guard and royal advisor to the throne. assassination threats have been circulating throughout the kingdom, so he constantly puts his guard up even though you saved the twins. it’s the fact that they trust a complete stranger with battle experience who can kill them any time. nevertheless, he takes you under his wing in accordance with their wishes. his paranoia is understandable, but you believe he’s too harsh on you. he assigns you extra work to prove your worth as an asset. you hope you’ll survive the initiation process.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. DILUC

head of house ragnvindr, tycoons of the wine industry. everyone swoons over the flame-haired man. one of the girls at the flower shop can’t stop talking about diluc like a knight in shining armor. your opinion of him is that you don’t get the hype. politics are supposedly not that important to him, but it’s a whole different story when the royal guard is involved, opposing their operations. it’s suspicious that his comments align with a vigilante who wears a ridiculous costume at night. for sure, you think he deserves respect to protect the place called home. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. EULA

exiled daughter of house lawrence, the clan with a tarnished reputation. the twins are gracious enough to grant eula a position of a royal soldier, upsetting the majority of citizens. you admire her dissociation with her clan’s history, wishing everyone sees her past that. she doesn’t deserve hate for something that is beyond her control. you want to befriend her, but her sense of humor is unique in a way that it kind of gives you chills down your spine. if it makes you feel any better, she likes you for seeing her as herself.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. JEAN

head of house gunnhildr. jean dedicates her life to serve the kingdom, to the point where she tends to overwork. more worried about the state of the state more than her own health, she doesn’t know how to reconnect with her younger sister and what romance feels like out of the romance novels she reads. as someone who spends most of their life in one place, you sympathize with her, therefore offering to solve her dilemma. after all, both of you need breaks from interfering with assassinations. she is confused as to why she feels warm when you’re around.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

a former refugee from an insular empire. upon entering the kingdom a few years ago, kazuha was thought to be an assassin which he of course got arrested for, but was pardoned and given the option to live here and serve the crown. in the present, he patrols the seas to fend off intruders. at the end of the shift, he disappears from his crew just to find you. his captain knows that he is smitten with the soldier who was trained as a mercenary. the poems he recites at sea are essentially confession letters in hopes to make you his one day.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAEYA

a fellow royal soldier adopted into house ragnvindr. the elderly consider kaeya like their own grandson, but he is so far from angelic. he misleads patrollers to another direction of the crimes and dodges your questions regarding his whereabouts. the citizens might be involved in his antics, avoiding eye contact with you whenever you mention him. apparently, you’re dense, failing to notice the signs of him trying to make a move on you. he’s been doing those things to make you pay attention to him and have you all to himself in private.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. KAMISATO AYATO

head of house kamisato. responsible for managing external affairs, ayato is required to travel, always away for business. although it’s said he goes on trips most of the time, his appearance is a mystery. rumored to be tall with blue hair and a mole near his mouth, everyone joins in the hunt to find him at the royal party, sending his sister and retainer in a frenzy to protect his identity. your dance partner fits the description to a t. when the guests discover that you were dancing with the commissioner, your partner kisses your hand and whisks away into the night. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. SANGONOMIYA KOKOMI

head of house sangonomiya. kokomi is also its military strategist. having the ability to foresee the tactics and its outcomes of another army, she is a force to be reckoned with and a valuable ally to the crown. you had the pleasure of being invited to her guest room, where she was waiting for you in an extremely thin nightgown. not the type to show emotions, it’s rare to see her amused, and she beckons you to come inside. not only is she well-versed in the art of war, she’s surprisingly an expert in the art of seduction as well.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. TARTAGLIA

a diplomat from a neighboring kingdom, or so he claims to be. there is something about childe that sets him apart from the other diplomats who visited the kingdom. your first encounter with him is not pleasant. a mutual distrust forms between the two of you, yet the space you both share is tense. one night with crazed eyes and a knife at your neck, he reveals that he was assigned to assassinate the twins. you’re in the way, but oddly enough, he doesn’t want to hurt you. it seems like he’s doing this against his will, or it’s the tension talking. 

𝄞༉‧₊˚. THOMA

retainer of house kamisato. thoma is a fan favorite among the royal staff by being the type of servant they needed. honestly, you don’t like him. but you don’t dislike him either. the epitome of perfection, but too perfect for your taste. he’s also too nice for his own good, hearing him apologize things he isn’t at fault for and saying yes to all requests from the staff. as he serves a clan full of swordsmen, he knows how to fight. so when you unleash a surprise attack on him, he doesn’t retaliate. it reminds him of a similar incident in the past that changed his life for the worse.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. XIAO

a deity sworn to protect the kingdom centuries ago as a promise to one draconic god. xiao finds humans strange, but you’re even stranger, as a child who fought against a beast by yourself in the forest, accidentally fulfilling a commission for a mercenary group who struggled to kill it for months. he despises crowds, but decides to pose as a royal soldier to meet you. when you encounter a dangerous creature during your patrol, he comes to your rescue. then he whispers into your ear to call his name in times of desperation before disappearing into thin air.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ZHONGLI

a knowledgeable historian. zhongli is friendly and enjoys having casual conversations over tea. there isn’t anyone within the castle who has not been invited to his corner of the library. you have been there as a regular you already lost count. from those meetings, you track his mesmerizing amber eyes. you swear that you’ve seen them in some history books of a draconic deity who once presided over this kingdom. it’s impossible, as higher beings perished during the cataclysm, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise.

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

After a few weeks, you’re forced to acknowledge you were wrong about Coriolanus.

His mere presence assuages your hurt, and none of his actions bear a hint of impropriety.

He’s simply being a friend, comforting you and supporting you in a time of need.

His visits grow more frequent. 

You’re amazed he even finds time between the University and his apprenticeship with Dr. Gaul. Still, Coryo never misses tea time with you, sometimes even bringing books and sweets. You’re thankful for the time he spends doting on you, even if you hate keeping him from his studies. You know how eager to succeed he’s always been. 

But you can’t deny you missed the feeling of having a brother, of having this person who cares for you, looks out for you and protects you unconditionally. 

And while you’re aware Coriolanus isn’t your actual brother, having him besides you helps alleviate the weight of grief and loneliness. Being with him makes you feel closer to Janus. You’re also solaced by the knowledge it’s what your departed brother would have wanted.

There is one person however who isn’t too keen on the rekindled bond between you and Coriolanus Snow.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with him,” William notes, tracing the lines in your palm.

You’re both lying on the couch in the sunroom, your back against William’s chest, fingers interlaced with his. Sunlight spills from the stained glass in the ceiling, painting your fiancé’s brown curls in bronze hues. 

This is a moment of tranquility you’ve longed for, a sliver of calm amidst the storm and chaos wedding planning has turned out to be. You reckoned it’d be easier than it has been. Instead, it seems nothing ever goes right. Between incidents with the cake, your wedding dress somehow being lost by the store, and the venue perpetually being booked…you’ve grown disheartened and exhausted by the entire process.

It’s almost like some higher force is trying to prevent you marrying William. It’s ludicrous, of course. But the ceaseless string of bad luck is beginning to drain your hope that your wedding will happen before the year ends. 

You and William even had to push back the date. There was no choice as hurdles kept emerging.

So you bask in your fiancé’s presence, soaking his warmth and familiar smell, reminding yourself why you’re going through so much trouble. Marrying William is worth it.

“Yeah. He’s my friend,” you state casually. 

“Your friend. Baby…” There’s a brief pause during which William appears deep in thought. When he speaks again, it’s with a softer tone. “At the risk of sounding jealous, the way he’s looking at you…are you sure that he knows that?”

His words make you sit up straight. 

“William,” you admonish, taken aback by his preposterous insinuation. 

Coriolanus’ a gentleman. He hasn’t made any moves towards you and he wouldn’t. Sejanus trusted him and you trust him too.

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs.

“I’m just saying. We’re getting married soon, and everything’s been so…tumultuous. I just want to make sure that you won’t…”

You search his forest gaze. Shock fills you at the doubts you find lurking there.

“That I won’t what?” You give a light punch to his chest. “Get cold feet? William, are you mad?”

His shoulders slump. “I know your parents wish I was from a great house like him.”

William looks away and you put your hands on his face, drawing his focus back to you.

“It doesn’t matter what my parents think. I love you.”

He smiles, that beautiful sunny smile that blows a warm breeze through your chest every time.

He grabs your hands and kisses them.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

“William, you’re good and kind and caring. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You hold his eyes. “He’s just a friend, I promise you. You…You’re my future.”

William studies you, love and devotion illuminating his features. His lips then collide with yours. He nudges you down on the plush beige upholstery, humming low in his throat.

When his hands find their way below your skirt, you push against his chest.

He immediately stops.

Your hot, rapid exhales mingle as you steady your breath. 

“You know I’d rather we wait for our wedding night,” you mutter apologetically. It’s not the first time things got hot and heavy between you and William and you slowed them down. You know how frustrating it has to be for him and you commend his patience. “ I know it’s old-fashioned but I…”

He quiets you with a tender kiss on the forehead.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, holding hands with you. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got carried away.” Pink dusts his cheeks as he adds, “You just smell so good and you’re so beautiful.”

A smile breaks across your face. “You’re not too bad yourself, pretty boy.”

He tilts his head and laughs. 

“How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when you talk to me like that?” He bites his lip, his lids dipping to half-mast. “Can I at least get another kiss?” he whispers suavely.

“Hm, we’ll see about that…” you mumble, closing your own eyes.

“Apologies, hope I’m not  interrupting anything?”

Coriolanus’ sharp inflection shatters the spell, making you leap away from William.

Heat nestles in your cheeks as you rise to your feet, hastily smoothing the wrinkles in your dress. Your fiancé clears his throat and runs a hand through his tousled locks.

“No, we’re…William was leaving,” you stammer, struggling to meet Coriolanus’ stark blue gaze.

William’s brows squeeze together at that. But you shoot him a glare that pulls a deep sigh from him. He nods and pulls you to him one more time. 

He kisses you but you note it lasts much longer than usual, his fingers curling around your waist possessively.

Embarrassment flares inside you that this is happening right in front of your friend.

When he releases you, you’re breathless.

“Coriolanus,” William greets stiffly as he brushes past the blond.

“William,”Coriolanus replies, his tone somehow icier.

Once your fiancé has left, a weary exhale floats from your mouth.

“I don’t understand why you two can’t just get along. You both matter to me.”

Coriolanus smirks. “Oh, princess. You wouldn’t understand.”

“What wouldn’t I understand?” you inquire, blinking up at him curiously.

His tight-lipped smile expands as he gauges you. 

“Nothing.”

You scrunch your nose, displeased by his answer. He’s always so cryptic. A chuckle peels from his lips at your sour expression. His knuckles sweep over your cheek.

“There should never be a frown on such a pretty face.” He digs inside his satchel before retrieving a slim, leather-bound book. He places it in your hands as you gape at him, puzzled.

“Here, I brought you this. This will cheer you up.”

You examine the book. Surprise mingles with elation when you notice the words on the cover. The engraved letters spell out a familiar title. It’s one of your favorite books from when you were younger. It bewilders you that he even remembers. As if no time has passed.

“Oh my god! How did you…” An excited squeal leaves you. Then your voice lulls to a whisper. “It’s a first edition, Coryo.”

“It was printed and bound before the war,” he explains. “It wasn’t easy to dig up.”

Your brows rise. “An antique. You shouldn’t have.” You cradle the book against your chest. “You’re too good to me.”

His mouth quirks lopsidedly.

“Anything for you, princess.”

You both sit down for tea, cakes and macaroons. Time flies as you chat about everything and nothing with your friend. As always, you do most of the talking as he dutifully listens, only interjecting to ask you to elaborate on a particular point. 

No matter what you jabber on about, his interest never appears to wane.

You eventually land on the matter of your wedding planning. You share all the troubles you and William have had and Coriolanus hums in response.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He sips from his cup of Earl Grey. “How…unfortunate.” 

He then pauses, seeming to ponder something. “I have a proposition.”

Your brow arches in question.

“Clemmie is throwing a party tonight. Let me take you, get your mind off of all this.”

Your lips part. Clemensia? A party? None of it sounds enticing to you.

“I’m not sure…” you trail off, your eyes finding the floor.

“What better way to cheer you up than a party, princess?” Coriolanus’ voice mellows as he adds, “You can’t stay cooped up here forever.”

Words falter on your tongue as your eyes swell with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern oozing from his gentle tone.

You shake your head.

“You’re crying,” he insists, reaching over the table to lift your chin.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says sternly. “Talk to me.”

His unwavering  inflection nudges you to admit, “I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of, princess?”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“Every part of this house, every nook and cranny carries a memory I have with Janus.” You glance about the sunroom. Here alone you can count so many hiding spots from games you and your brother played when you were kids. “It’s easy, keeping him close here. It’s just that…”

“You’re scared to move on,” Coriolanus finishes for you. His thumb glides over your cheek, collecting a tear you didn’t realize had spilled over. “But you have to.”

“Sejanus wouldn’t want you to wilt away in this house like one of your roses.”

You mull over his words. You suppose he’s right but you’re still not convinced. Parties like the kind Clemensia is fond of hosting aren’t exactly your scene. 

A lame excuse flows from your lips.

“I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Then I’ll choose for you,” he replies without hesitation.

“What?”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Before you can protest, he seizes your hand and drags you upstairs.

“Wait, Coryo…”

He ignores you, making his way to your room with brisk strides you can barely maintain pace with. Once he’s there, he rummages through your closet. You let him do it, half-skeptical, half-jaded. Most of these garments weren’t picked by you anyway, but by your mother based on whatever fashion trend raged in the Capitol at the time. And those trends change every other season. You since long gave up on trying to keep abreast of them.

“Hm, this one is perfect,” he announces, drawing a red number from the closet.

You gape at the dress he chose. It’s a slip satin dress the color of blood. The waist is cinched with a thin belt and the lace sleeves, adorned with embroidered flowers, flow elegantly.

It’s beautiful, radiating a timeless elegance…but the neckline is low, displaying more cleavage than you’re used to. 

Your cheeks warm. “Are you sure?”

“Just trust me. Try it.”

Your eyes bulge but you relent, something about his tone curbing your impulse to argue. “Okay,” you quaver.

Trying not to squirm beneath his intense stare, you grab the dress from him and slip behind the wooden divider screen.

Chewing on your lip, you peek above the folding screen.

“Maybe you could…get out while I change?” you suggest while fumbling with the lace strings of your day dress.

Coriolanus casually sits on your bed, his crimson coat pooling around him. He leans back and spreads his large hands over your bed sheets. A small smile dances along his pink lips.

“I won’t look, I promise. Don’t you trust me, princess?”

“I do but…”

“But what?” he challenges, cocking his head in question.

Stumped, you come up short of a decent answer. “Nothing,” you mumble.

You shed your clothes quickly to try on the red dress. The whole time, you can feel the weight of Coriolanus’ unnerving scrutiny on the other side of the wooden screen.

He gives you a sluggish onceover when you step out from behind the screen. Your skin prickles as you shake.

“Hm nice, twirl for me.”

His blue eyes sparkle when you do as he says. He gets to his feet. He slowly strolls towards you.

Once he’s in front of you, he also arranges a few wisps of your hair in a way that he likes.

“Gorgeous,” he lauds when he’s done. 

He tilts your chin up, his gaze corralling yours.

“See? All you have to do is to trust me, princess.” His deep voice dips to dulcet tones. “Just trust me and, I promise you, everything will work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.”

“You came,” Coriolanus points out, that signature smirk of his adorning his lips.

“I promised I would,” you defend.

He snorts. “I’m glad. Saves me the trouble of having to drag you here myself, princess.”

Nervous laughter peals from your lips at his strange joke and the intent way his eyes rest on you. For a while, he doesn’t say anything, drinking in the sight of you in the crimson dress. The very same one he picked himself.

He then loops your arm around his, bending near your ear to whisper,

“Let's re-introduce you to everyone.”

You look around yourself, curious as you’ve never been to Clemensia’s house. The atmosphere is more intimate than you expected. The only source of dim light in the Dovecote’s sumptuous living room emanates from candelabras scattered all about, the wobbly candlelight casting twisting shadows over the damask walls. The crackle of the logs burning in the gigantic fireplace mingles with the soft piano tune filling the living room. 

“Coriolanus, did you bring a ghost to my party?” Clemensia jests when she sees you. Her expression then turns serious as she studies you. To your utter surprise, she wraps her arms around you and hugs you. You freeze, too stunned to return the gesture. The two of you were never close, the opposite in fact. It all stemmed from the way she and her friends ostracized you and your brother in school. Maybe it’s all water under the bridge now that you’re older. “Oh, you poor thing,” she laments. “I’m here for whatever you need, okay?”

You nod stiffly. “O-Okay.”

Coriolanus hardly conceals his amusement at the interaction, mirth swaying in his cobalt orbs. 

He and Clemensia keep introducing you to people. Some you recognize; some you don’t. 

It makes you realize how much you missed. 

After a while, faces blend into each other. You end up nodding and smiling to most of the small talk, your attention span dwindling by the minute.

Eventually, you decide to retreat to the bar to take a break. The barkeep nudges a drink your way and you thank him quietly. You swirl it in your hand, your thoughts drifting. Maybe this is what a return to normalcy must feel like. Slightly strange and overwhelming.

You gasp as Coriolanus appears at your side. “Are you alright, princess? Too much?”

Your startled reaction draws a chuckle from him.

A slow exhale drops from your chest. 

“A little,” you confess. “But…I’m glad you took me. A change of scenery is nice.”

It occurs to you that you haven’t had time to wallow in your sadness, too caught in conversation with other people. However frivolous the topics, it did keep your mind off of things. No thoughts of dead brothers have crossed your mind tonight.

It might not be much but it’s a start, you suppose.

Coriolanus’ brow curves teasingly. “See? This is why you should trust me.”

“Don’t push it, Snow. You’re on thin ice.”

A laugh bursts from his chest but, as he peers down at your drink, all humor vanishes from his face. He swipes it from you and sniffs it. 

“Hm, what’s wrong?”

A frown puckers his forehead. 

“Who served you this drink?” he rumbles.

You shrug. “I don’t know. It was just…brought to me.”

“There’s something in it.”

“What?” Ice spills in your veins. “Oh my god.”

Your mind whirls as you peek at your surroundings, paranoia creeping in. You wonder who could have done this and why. Just to mess with you? Or maybe even worse…

Your gut sinks. Thank god Coryo put a stop to whatever awful thing could have happened to you.

He puts his hand on your arm reassuringly. “I’ll bring you a clean one.”

“T-Thanks,” you stutter. “Just nothing with alcohol in it, please.”

“Of course.”

He returns with a brand new drink in a jiffy. 

“Thanks for looking out for me,” you beam before taking a sip. You were starting to get a little parched.

“Always, princess.” He grins at you while you take another sip.

A wave of queasiness suddenly hits you. 

The room starts to spin around you, blurring into crooked shapes and colors. You try to stand but your knees buckle instantly.

If it weren’t for Coriolanus swiftly catching you you’d be a heap on the floor.

“Coryo…I’m not feeling so good,” you slur, struggling to speak. Cotton seems to fill your mouth, the mere act of forming words demanding great effort.

“It’s okay, lean on me,” he says, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Head…heavy.”

“You’re alright. Just hold on to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl.”

In a daze, you stagger along as he escorts you through a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs. You grow so weak that you slump against him. With ease, Coriolanus hoists you in his arms, carrying you bridal style the rest of the way.

You fall onto something heavenly soft that sinks under your weight. Like fluffy clouds. 

Your thoughts collapse, muddy and haphazard as you blink up at the ceiling. An antique chandelier hangs from it.

“You just need a little bit of rest.”

Coriolanus’s voice is warped, disembodied almost.

“Rest…” you echo.

But as soon as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of your dress hiking upwards tugs you back to consciousness. 

Befuddled, you look down. You’re welcomed by the sight of Coriolanus wedged between your parted legs, hands clasped around your thighs. His waistcoat and white blouse are gone, exposing his pale, broad chest. 

“Coryo, what is happening-”

His soft lips cover yours, stifling your protests. His tall frame pins yours to the bed. He purrs against your lips, framing your jaw when you feebly pivot your head to the side. 

When his lips free yours, your mouth still tingles with the forcefulness of his bruising kiss. 

He returns to the space between your thighs. 

You lie back, your bones like jelly, as you feel the delicate material of your panties sliding down your legs. 

Your brows twitch. “Coryo…”

His blue eyes glow strangely in the darkness. A chill slithers through your core. 

“Shh, don’t worry about it, princess, just sleep.”

You want to move. You feel you have to. But you can’t. 

“I…”

The syllable dies in a sharp gasp as Coriolanus’ cool tongue drags down your slit. Long fingers spreading you open, he traces wet circles around your bundle of nerves. He rasps against your center and the vibrations rock through your core. Your breath hitches. Your chest tightens. Heat builds in your stomach as he makes you dangle off the cliff of pleasure. He soon adds a finger and you cry out.

Coriolanus pumps in and out of you, gauging your expression as he grazes a particular spot that has your toes flexing. You writhe over the sheets, eyes blindly rising to the ceiling. 

You clench around his finger, your cunt clinging to him reflexively.

He sinks a second digit inside you and you whine, back arching at the abrupt stretch.

Short, chaotic breaths rush through your lungs as he works you open. His slow, meticulous drags have your chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Your legs quake as the coils in your belly grow unbearably tight and hot.

He stops as you’re on the cusp of your undoing. Your boneless frame sags onto the sheets.

He leans back and you hear the rustle of his pants coming undone. You get a faint sense of wrong trying to pierce through the haziness, but you can’t grasp at it.

Still, your fingers stretch towards the edge of the bed, your body rolling to the side. The meek attempt is interrupted as Coriolanus yanks you back onto the sheets, snatching your wrists and pinning them above your head. His frame drapes over yours. The scent of roses coats your senses.

“We’re not done, princess,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your face.

A painful pressure starts prodding your entrance. He grunts, hovering above you as he pushes past your tight ring of muscles. 

You feel as if you’ll tear as more of him buries inside you. Every second is agony, your core burning at the blunt intrusion.

A sigh of pleasure floats from his mouth when he reaches the hilt of you. He stays there a while, seeming to bask in the feeling of you around him. 

When he starts to move, your eyes flutter open. He sets a steady pace right away, thrusting inside you as if his life depended on it. Wordless screams rip from your throat. He releases your wrists, his long fingers latching onto your waist instead. 

Each of his slow, deep thrusts sparks warm tingles through your body.

Sweat collects between his brows as he grunts in pleasure.

“I knew you’d feel just perfect around me,” he rasps, delighted. 

His cadence quickens, his hand digging bruising grooves over your hip. Choked moans spill from your throat. His other hand crawls beneath the thin satin of your dress, fondling your breast and flicking your pebbled nipple. His hands feel everywhere at once and that sense of wrong rolls over you again.

“Ever since I saw you in this dress, I’ve been dying to fuck you in it,” he confesses, lust bleeding in his fevered tone. 

The mattress squeaks as he relentlessly rams into you.

A uniquely sharp thrust has your slick walls tighten around him. His cock stirs, a throaty moan pouring from his chest.

The repeated friction against your soft spots has you seeing stars.

A feral glint bounces in his blue eyes as he admires your panting form, lost in the throes of pleasure. Strangled shouts escape you as another wave of pleasure crashes over your frame.

His pace slows, sloppier than before as his cock twitches between your walls. His eyes roll back as he sighs, tension draining from his muscular frame. Hot ropes spill inside you, overflowing until you feel the warmth dripping along your thighs.

Your mouth wobbles, silent tears streaming down your face.

Coriolanus cradles your face, kissing away each of your tears with tender brushes of his lips.

“Shh, don’t cry,’ he mumbles. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.” His cock stiffens inside you once more. He lifts you and snaps his hips viciously into yours, drawing a broken whimper as he bottoms out. A lopsided smile blooms on his lips when he begins to move inside you. Helplessly, you lie back as he takes you again.

“I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

[the-artist-grimm]

Hi, so, um... just discovered this AU, and it's very cute! I love hurt/comfort/healing relationships (especially if said relationships eventually bloom into love), so I'm deeply invested now and can't wait to see more from you (already binge read the entire AU - lore, asks, art and all... I might have a problem). **cough, cough** Aaaannnyyway, that was just a really long winded way to say, I love this, I love your characterizations, and I love your work in general. If I could ask a question, what ended up happening to Anthea's gift/the courtship fleece after the betrayal arc? Did she ever end up giving it to Narinder (and if so, what was his reaction), or did she hide/burn it as it brought up too many old wounds? Apologies if this has been answered somewhere else before, but I didn't see it as I was binging earlier.

It got locked into the hope chest at the end of their bed! Anthea already had it stowed there with the intention of sneaking it into their bag before taking Narinder on a walk the day after he was freed, but when things didn't go to plan they just didn't have the heart to get rid of it. They hated looking at it, but also hated the idea of destroying it, since that'd kinda be like destroying what it had represented; their love, their commitment to him, their dreams of a future together. So it just stayed hidden for the first few months.

Yet as time passed and they slowly become friends again Anthea gradually began taking it out more and more, and suddenly doubting themself about it. It was a courtship sash, that's practically a proposal-what if it had been too presumptuous? What if it had been a mistake, seeing as them working on it was what caused Narinder to fear a betrayal? Such a little thing destroyed so much, yet they still couldn't bring themself to get rid of it.

But once the whole situation with the Bishops is said and done, Anthea decides that it's time to just get it over with. They and Narinder both approach each other with the intention of asking to speak about what happened, and they agree to meet at the fountain by the doors by nightfall. To which Anthea brings the sash, because they might as well show him just what that gift they'd been making was.

Then they just...talk. Narinder talks of his fear of another betrayal, his remorse for not saying anything when he doubted them, his regret in being so quick to judge alongside an apology for how things had happened that day, yet also his confusion of just what gift was so important that Anthea stopped talking to him as much and lied about the reasons why. Anthea talks about how they didn't consider how their actions appeared and apologizes for not explaining, says that they regretted not speaking to him after that final fight and letting things fester till the twins were revived, yet they also stop and admit that there's a reason why they were so caught up in their gift. Why they were so hurt.

They hesitate for a moment, then pull out the sash.

"I was making you a courtship sash. After you said you wished to leave the Gateway together...I had to make it. I've always just done what was best for everyone else...and yet...you were willing to stay trapped even in what I'd thought was the theoretical so long as I left with you. No one had ever been so...so selfless for my sake. And...I realized just how much I wanted that. I kept...having all these thoughts and ideas and fantasies of what a life with you could be, and before I knew it I was planning the sash. I'd never wanted anything like this before...and I needed something physical to reassure both you and myself that it was real."

Which for Narinder, at first it's this sudden swell of shock then elation-like he knows what that sash represents in sheep culture. Commitment and love, woven from the gifter's wool and crafted by hand in a process that takes weeks. To be gifted one is the most serious declarations of intent, and despite everything Narinder had never stopped being hopelessly in love with Anthea.

So he has this brief thought of 'They love me, they wanted to be with me, they love me-', then that heart-plummeting realization what that meant his betrayal had done. It re-contextualizes everything. Anthea's shock, their anger, their avoidance and their hesitation after the fact. Though he hadn't know, Anthea had been prepared to hold out their heart to him, and he'd crushed it. They'd for the first time stepped out of this mindset of hiding their feelings, their wants, their needs and tried to reach for something, and he'd burned them for that.

Narinder basically speedruns the seven stages of grief in the span of like 2 seconds, before deciding that well there went his shot and so be it. Though they're friends again and raising the kits together, whatever love Anthea had must be long gone after him basically giving them the equivalent of a rejection. Like yeah both sides know it was a misunderstanding now, but feelings surely could never survive or return after that. He goes 'Ah I see-' in this not sad way, but in this resigned acceptance, and anticipates that to be it.

But then Anthea starts getting nervous at his almost muted reaction and starts to slip a little. They were being very honest and basically implied their feelings without directly stating them, but they're now worried so they try to play off the sash as this silly, frivolous thing made in the heat of excitement because they think they've made him uncomfortable. That they overthought what he'd said, (see the Bishops Arc section of Anthea's Overview) and shouldn't have taken his words as seriously as they'd had.

"It was mostly intended as a thank you, really! I just let the fantasy of things get the best of me...a-and however you would've had me...that would have been more than enough...I...I know you wouldn't have wanted...that what I felt was... I know it wasn't the same."

And Narinder looks at them and suddenly sees a mirror of himself. Longing, uncertainty, anxiety, and...love. So much love that it hurts. They're playing it off, but a courtship sash isn't nothing. No one puts in all that time in just a 'thank you' gift, if it had been that there are plenty of other things Anthea could've made.

And he realizes there's something still there. Fragile and scared...but it's there, and he's not going to ignore it twice.

"What if it was?''

And Anthea stops spiraling. They look over, really look over, and notice how uncertain he is but also...there's a warmth there-a hope. A tenderness as on the ledge of the fountain he takes their hands and cradles them so, so carefully within his with a brief glance to the cloth folded in their lap.

"If...if you still had the chance...would you gift the sash now? And if not in this moment...c-could you one day?"

They'd seen him tear up once or twice back then, back when they were vessel and god-since then Anthea hadn't seen Narinder cry once, not even when the boys were revived. Not even when his siblings returned one by one. And yet here as he looks at them with a hesitant smile and tears in his eyes, they realize what he's left unspoken.

'Could you love me again?'

It's a confession. Unspoken and silent as theirs had been, but it's a confession.

And it's not the way they had dreamt it-they had planned to take him to their father's stargazing spot and do it there in a field of white flowers and starlight. But that doesn't matter as they all but throw themselves into his chest and hug him tight and bury their sobbing face into his neck.

It's relief and regret and more murmurs of apologies between them both, and it could be minutes or hours that they sit there together in the evening moonlight, but that last weight upon their chests is gone and everything is suddenly so much more clear. When the tears have stopped Anthea sits cuddled in Narinder's lap as they quietly hand him the sash and watch as he traces the different patterns and threads, and it should feel new or different but it just feels like this is what they've always done.

Then he asks them to help him tie the sash about his waist because he can't quite figure out how it goes with the stiffer cloth, and they can't help themselves and just kiss him.

---

(This question is from December dear GODS. Sorry for the wait!!!!)

[neominthe]

SPOILERS FOR SCTIR FOR +CH 200

CW: (possibly) Eating disorder ED, depression

Something that keeps me awake at night: at the beggining of the story, Yoohyun's death isn't so painful for the viewers, because we only see what is on the surface of the Han brothers' life. It's through memories and flashbacks that we get to learn 3 facts: Yoojin dedicated his entire life to Yoohyun, they parted ways and in the end they reunited, only for one of them die. That's the introduction of SCTIR for us. Moreover, Yoojin is desesperate to leave the past behind, so he doesn't linger on his traumatic memories for too long, hence why the pain of reading SCTIR isn't instant.

It is gradual.

Yoojin and we learn that the past was never erased. It still happened, and exists in the form of Yoohyun's body out in the cold. Gradually, it becomes more apparent how Yoojin is still so affected by his previous life, despite his fear resistance skill. It starts with small things like him avoiding eating unless someone tells him to do so, always occupying himself with tasks that could be handled by someone else, negative thoughts about himself for every single action he takes and so on. I love, with all my heart, the manhwa, but the novel makes it so much more apparent how Yoojin loathes himself, to the point he keeps wishing he wasn't a human being, rather an item for his brother to use. It's so messed up to want to abandon all your humanity, feelings and concept of self just so you can be of help.

SCTIR is fun to read, but even more so with the unreliable narrator that is Yoojin. He sees what he does as nothing impressive, considering the people he is surrounded with, despite running the kisengsu facility, negotiating with the hair loss company to develop a new product, managing Seok Hayan's research team, mantaining diplomatic ties with Japan, training and helping other hunters and, most importantly, caring for all the S classes. He worries for their well-being because it's only natural for him to do so, as the Perfect Caregiver.

And, in the middle of it all, the only thing Yoojin spares for himself is hate. He doesn't want to live long for himself, but rather for Yoohyun, even though Yoojin already has been through the pain of loss. When Yoojin died in chapter 241, the first thing that he thought was Yoohyun. He didn't even think about how much it hurted dying (with a freaking shot on the head)! He just wanted to reunite and soothe Yoohyun that he was okay.

Speaking of which, in Sigma's arc, as Yoojin was alone, he really stopped caring for his well-being, so Sung Hyunjae took that role and did everything he could to help Yoojin. But, for him to even have to create a quest just so Yoojin could eat is what sparked my lizard brain to write this post.

My point is, there isn't an arc dedicated for recovery (at least until the chapter I have read that is like, ~300) and that is beautiful, because Yoojin is still processing what he went through, and we get to see that. Yoojin has such an interesting character arc as he begins wanting to forget the past, as it is too painful, to start running after it. He can't let go of it, because letting it go means letting his little brother go too. Which is why he says he will never be okay again in chapter 278.

[girlfromflor]

I'm not even anon asking this you know it's me

Price/Gaz and/or Ghost/Gaz Fauxcest my beloved 😍. Do with it what you wish.

First of all, I mean it when I say I'm so thankful you requested that. Also, I made it ghostgaz because I couldn't miss the opportunity. Hope it makes sense and that you enjoy reading. Thanks again, Merlin. NSFW - MDNI. cw: fauxcest, (dad)dy kink, dd/lb, explicit sexual content.

Simon absolutely didn’t plan this to happen.

He thought he knew himself on a deep, deep level. He thought he had discovered every one of his nuances, every little thing that made him icky and all the things that made him be comfortable with who he is.

That is, until Kyle happened.

Sweet, loving Kyle who’s always good and obedient, who listens to every single word from Price and does as he’s told. Who never competed with Johnny for attention even if the Scot did so vigorously. Who was kind and understanding, who was everyone’s favorite – well, except for Ghost. Because, yes, Kyle was very much good in general, but God he was a pain in Simon’s ass.

And, as if having a personal, one-sided beef with his teammate wasn’t enough, Simon started to find him attractive.

The Lieutenant didn’t know what it was, but he could see it in Kyle’s eyes – a secret type of hunger, something Simon hoped to be misunderstanding.

The first time Ghost clocked it was by mistake. He had been boring his eyes at Kyle whilst the younger man was occupied watching an interaction between Price and Soap – more like, eavesdropping their conversation.

“That’s all, son.” Price finishes their small convo, parting ways with the Scottish man, who goes away in his own path – leaving Gaz and Ghost alone in the room.

What Simon didn’t expect, though, was to catch the way Kyle’s body visibly trembled at John’s words – and it wasn’t even directed at him. The way his mouth parted only enough to let out an exhale, the gasp bordering a moan. The way he immediately crosses his legs and avert his eyes somewhere else – anywhere else –, and how utterly bashful he looks after catching Ghost’s eyes on him – almost as if he was caught doing something wrong.

Simon doesn’t understand it entirely at first. It takes him some time to process how much he’s projecting onto Kyle. Because why did Kyle always listen to John so willingly and not him? What did he have to do to earn that spot? To be able to boss him around, maybe get close enough to call him son too—

Simon hated how easy he fell into that trap, only it was himself who put it up in the first place. Maybe Kyle never did something to piss the Lieutenant off, maybe he was just stupidly pretty and obedient to the wrong people.

Either way, Simon decided he should do something about it – so he did. After collecting enough information about Kyle’s possible interests, he decides it’s time to test his theory. So, in a particularly uneventful afternoon, Simon jumps into action.

They’ve been out for minor, undercover missions, having to gather intel before doing anything else. So each one of them was chilling at their own place, whilst they worked on having a strong base to start their mission on.

Simon approaches Kyle from behind, masked face not allowing the air to hit the younger man’s nape as he whispers to his ear. His tone is a bit strained when he speaks, but that doesn’t take away the clear intentions he has with the words. “Nice job today, son.”

Gaz is caught completely off guard, brows furrowing in confusion but he can’t help the small, flustered smile that adorns his lips. “Uhm, thanks– Thank you, Sir.” He has to clear his throat in order to not say something else. He never had Simon calling him that, even less complimenting him – he didn’t know what to do.

They move around each other in synch, Simon resting the side of his body on the wall as Kyle turns to face his Lieutenant. Simon simply clicks his tongue as an answer. “Y’know, for someone who usually has a sharp tongue, you sure do seem a bit… Flustered, Sergeant.”

Kyle lets out a nervous laugh. “Huh… Is tha’ so, S-sir?” He didn’t mean to but he averted his eyes from Simon’s, if the man was anyone else he could have gotten out easily, but Simon had a mysterious hold to Kyle’s being.

“Heh, was tha’ a stutter, Kyle?” Simon did actually laugh this time, amazed. If he knew it was that easy to get to the boy, he would’ve done it way sooner. “Can’t tell what’s making you so worked up… If it's the compliment or…” Simon trails off with a smirk under his mask, but before he can finish his sentence, Price calls them to the meeting room.

Kyle’s heart is about to spill out of his mouth. Was Simon almost catching him red handed? Why did he enjoy that so much? Could he get Simon to do it again? So many questions started to plague his mind, he had to physically shrug to get rid of them.

Their relationship got weird after that. Simon would call him ‘son’ every other day with an affectionate glint in his eyes, Kyle would start calling him ‘sir’ automatically, and Simon couldn’t help but get a bit frustrated – the day he found out why was completely chaos.

Kyle had been especially sassy that day, replying to everyone with snarky remarks and huffed out breaths. Simon didn’t want to be harsh, but he knew he couldn’t let that slide.

“Innit time for you to fix tha’ attitude?” Simon stated bluntly, making Kyle pout, annoyed.

“And who are you t’say tha’? My dad?” Kyle rolls his eyes, but he’s surprised at his own words, knowing he might’ve crossed a line with the Lieutenant – the man could take only so much.

“Oh, don’t start now, son.” Simon is quick to put him back in his place, the pet name only making this sound so fucking right at the moment because God what he wouldn’t give to listen to Kyle call him daddy. “Wanna try tha’ again f’me, kid?”

“Uhm– I’m sorry, sir. It won’t… Happen again.” Kyle lowers his head at Simon’s tone, not wanting to get in trouble. After apologizing he starts to move out of the room, to avoid panicking over Simon’s new choice of nickname, but the Manc stops him.

“One more thing,” he says, putting a hand in front of Kyle’s belly to stop him from walking. Simon didn’t have time to think about if this was appropriate or not, he started speaking before he could stop himself. “Next time you talk t’me like tha’, I’ll have to really put you in your place. Understand?”

“Mhm– I understand… Sir.” 

“Good. Tha’s it, son. Not so hard, now, was it?” Simon is pushing Kyle’s limits, he knows, but the younger man doesn’t look anywhere near uncomfortable.

“N-no. It wasn’t, sir. Sorry.” Kyle can’t fight the urge to please, he feels like he owes something to Simon now that he had to be called out to fix his attitude.

“‘Sorry’?” The shift in the blond’s tone takes both of them by surprise. “What’re you sorry for, kiddo?”

There it is, that damn word again. “Nothing.” There’s a suppressed, nervous laugh from Kyle. “Jus’ reflex, I guess?”

“Uhm… ‘kay, then.” They share a way too charged look before Simon is excusing himself out of the room.

For the next few days, they keep on tiptoeing around each other, until Kyle has enough.

After spending 5 whole minutes pacing on Simon’s doorstep, he finally knocks on the wooden door, determined to make things clear between them.

And that’s how Kyle finds himself sitting on Simon’s lap, the Lieutenant’s mask tossed somewhere around the room, his head thrown back with a strangled moan trapped in his throat as Kyle rides his achingly hard cock.

Despite the way he keeps moaning, Kyle is smiling as he looks down at the fucked out expression on Simon’s face – blissed out, eyes almost closed, mouth agape. He can’t help but feel whole then, because—

“Fuck– You’re m-making daddy feel s-so good– Ngh,” Simon moans, words barely understandable but they work on making a rush of pleasure run down Kyle’s body. “Y-you– Ah– Like riding dad, kiddo?”

“Mhm,” Kyle hums eagerly. “Fuck– Like it s-so much– Feels s-so good, dad— D-daddy–” Kyle feels so fullfilled, he could only live that with Simon – Simon’s the only one who’d never judge him.

The blond has to be thinking the same, the way he smiles looking up at Kyle – the way he worships his body with his eyes and hands only –, makes it clear how much they both feel like they belong.

“Tha’s it, baby, cum for daddy.” Simon’s words are affectionate, they scratch a deep part of Kyle’s mind, pushing him over the edge with ease. Simon can't help but come with him.

Once they catch their breaths, Simon is the first to speak.

“Thank you… For trusting me, for coming all the way here.” Because Kyle could’ve just let that be, but he was the one who decided enough was enough.

“Thank you for letting me.” There’s no arguing that Simon was the one who created the safe space for Kyle to come to him – and for that Kyle will be forever grateful.

We really do belong together, Simon thinks to himself, before falling asleep in Kyle’s arms.

[merthosus]

Wounded nights part 2

🌶️SMUT WARNING: If you don't like it, don't read it!

Summary: After being found sleeping in each other's arms, by the whole family, you and five speak about what exactly happened. How the conversation with you two ended, none of you would have expected...

For @groovydazephantom,@taygrls,@selfishlittlebeing and all the other people, who wished for part 2 of wounded nights! And especially for

Here to Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/merthosus/759567714952019968/wounded-nights-summary-after-having-to-do-a-very?source=share

“I hate how you make me feel…these goddamn feelings…”

You both sleep though in each other's arms till the morning. Klaus saw you while wanting to get out and meet his drug dealer, not believing himself. He got all of his siblings surrounding you. You were still sleep as they all watched you. "Someone should take a photo", Allison whispers. "How did this happen? I thought they hate each other?", Diego asks also whispering. "You think they dead? Do they even breathe? Maybe they stabbed each other", Klaus suspects. Everybody signed and shaking their head.

Luther and the rest of the siblings stood there, still trying to comprehend the sight in front of them. The sight of Five, the most stoic and coldest member of the Umbrella Academy, holding you tightly in his arms, both of you asleep. It was such a stark contrast from their usual interactions, constantly bickering and arguing, that it was almost surreal. Everyone stared in disbelief at the two of you.

“I don’t believe it…” Diego says, staring at the scene before him. Alison looked just as shocked as the others, a small smile on her face. “I never thought I’d see Five so…soft.” Luther crossed his arms, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion “It’s bizarre….they’ve always hated each other. It doesn’t make any sense.” Klaus let out a snort of laughter, a mischievous smile on his face

“Oh my God, I’m never letting Five hear the end of this” Diego rolls his eyes at Klaus’ statement. “Don’t be a dick, Klaus”. “It’s almost like a paradox…or a glitch in the universe.” Diego then spoke up, a small grin on his face. “Or maybe they were just secretly in love the whole time, and we idiots just never noticed.” Five slowly stirred awake, groggily opening his eyes.

The first thing he felt, was you. The feeling of you in his arms, your body against his, it was overwhelming. For a moment he just stayed there, his eyes half-lidded, his mind still trying to process what was happening. Then, he realized that everyone was there, watching him and he stiffened, eyes widening in realization and a hint of embarrassment. He slowly uncurled his arms from around you.

He gently disentangled himself from you, his cheeks starting to flush red. He glanced up and saw the collective look of shock on his siblings’ faces. Klaus had an amused look on his face, Diego had a small smirk, Allison looked delighted, Vanja had a slight expression of surprise, and Luther looked confused. “…what?” five said, still slightly groggy. Klaus was the first to speak up, a mischievous grin on his face. “Well, good morning sleeping beauty. You two looked so cozy together, we couldn’t help but watch.”

Diego chuckled, a smirk on his face. “You two looked pretty cute together. I never knew you had it in you, little bro.” Allison had an amused expression on her face. ”You two looked so peaceful, we didn’t have the heart to wake you up.”

As you stir awake, Five’s gaze flickers down to you. He quickly glances away, a hint of embarrassment still on his face. The others notice you waking up and suddenly start grinning Klaus gives you a cheeky smile. “Good morning, sunshine. Had a good sleep?”. You turn around, looking at them not really realizing what's happening. "W..what?", I ask while rubbing my eyes. Klaus chuckles softly, still looking amused by the situation. "I'll repeat myself, good morning, sleepyhead. You and little Five there looked awfully cozy together, we were just ogling you two lovebirds."

You look down confused not realizing You am still sitting on Fives lap. You look in his eyes. He meets your gaze, a faint hint of embarrassment on his face. The sight of you sitting on his lap, still tired and slightly confused, it’s doing something to him. He can feel the weight of your body, your thighs resting against his, your hand loosely intertwined with his…it’s driving him wild and he swallows hard. Oh god", you say embarrased. "Fuck off, all of you creeps!", you say.

Everyone just grins at your reaction, clearly enjoying getting on your and Five’s nerves. Klaus: “Aww, come on, don’t be so embarrassed. You two looked absolutely adorable together". “It was a pretty cute sight, have to say.”, Allison said with a smile in her face.

"Fuckkk", you say to yourself looking at five slowly getting up from his lap. You sightly shudder at the sudden loose of warmness and contact. The whole night your body's held the body warmth of each other. As you get up, Five instantly misses the feel of you against him. He almost wishes you wouldn’t move, he wants to pull you back and keep you in his arms again, but he’s still hyper-aware of his siblings’ presence. He silently curses to himself, knowing that the others are still here, still watching the whole thing with way too much interest.

"I wanted to get a cup of tea and we tripped, getting into a paralysis", you lie already knowing they won't believe it. Klaus lets out a snort of laughter. "Ah, you "tripped. I'm sure you did." he says in a sarcastic tone. "And then you fell asleep…perfectly molded against each other. That was a result of tripping, too, nein?". Five slowly gets up, groaning softly, still reeling from the embarrassment of the whole situation. He glances back over at you, a hint of redness still on his cheeks, silently admiring how cute and disheveled you looked at this moment. With the thought of finally getting out this awkward situation, you get to your room.

As you train for the next mission, the day passes and it's getting dark. You stand in your room still thinking about the past mission you did. To get the horrible memories out of your head, you begin to tidy up a bit. Five, meanwhile, was in his room, his mind occupied with thoughts of you. He couldn’t seem to get the image of you and him cuddling together out of his head. It was driving him insane, the memory of how you felt against him, how warm and soft you were, the feeling of your arm around his neck…he was going to go mad if he continued to mull over it any further.

As you tidy up, you hear a soft knock at your door. Five’s voice comes from the other side. “Hey, you in there?”. "Come in", you say.

With a familiar blue flash, Five appears in your room. He looks like he’s been running his fingers through his hair, the locks looking unruly and messy. He gives you a slight nod in greeting. “Hey.” "Hi" you say awkward. He shoves his hands in his pockets, the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks. “Uh…can I talk to you? About something?”. "To be honest I know what you want to say. I am sorry. I shouldn't have done this, let's just forget about it", you mumble concentrating on tiding up.

His expression shifts slightly, an almost hurt look in his eyes. “But do you regret it?”. He swallows hard, trying to fight back the emotions bubbling up inside him. You suddently come to a halt, your back turned to him. "I...I", you stutter. He takes a small step forward, seeing you stop abruptly, your back to him. You dont want to turn yourself around, you can't look into his eyes. "Five, we hate each other since the day we strated to think", you explain to him. He takes another step closer, his voice is slightly strained, but there’s a hint of pain in it.

“Right…we hate each other. Then why did you sleep in my arms last night?”. "Because I felt lost five", you answer only saying half of the truth. He’s standing right next to you, his voice quiet but filled with emotion. “So you’re saying you only used me to make yourself feel better?”. "No i... Five don't say that", you say. He swallows hard, his emotions growing stronger with each passing moment. “Then what am I supposed to think? We hate each other, that’s all we ever feel for each other…and then you suddenly come and cuddle up next to me?!”

"Do you reget it?", you ask him balling all of your braveness together. He lets out a long breath, he can’t look at your face, he can’t bare to see the expression on your face. “Yes, and no…I don’t regret the fact that we cuddled together, it felt…good, to have you so close. But I do regret knowing you that you only did it because you were feeling lost and confused.” "I didn't mean it like that", you stutter.

He finally turns to look at you, his expression slightly distraught. “Then why did you do it? If the only reason you cuddles up against me was because you “felt lost” and “needed comfort”, why didn’t you just go to Klaus or Allison?”. "Because.... You know what fuck you", you say while turning into his direction and walking fast to him. He backs a little up, thinking you are about to punch him. But suddently you grab his cheek and smash your lips onto his.

He makes a noise of surprise against your lips, his eyes widening in shock, but only for a moment. In a flash, he melts into the kiss, his hands instinctively moving to your hips, pulling you closer, crushing your body to his. He deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping between the parting of your lips to tangle with yours. He suddenly pushes you back against the wall, pinning you against the cold surface, his lips leaving yours to kiss fervently down your neck, licking and sucking, leaving a trail of love bites in his wake. Feeling his lips on your throat, makes you moan out your words. "I hate you", you moan.

He nips a sensitive spot on your neck, his mouth still working on marking your skin. “I hate you too…”. he growls against your skin, his hands slipping under the edge of your shirt to feel your skin under his touch. He moves his lips back to your own, kissing you deeply, his body pressing into yours, pinning you against the wall as his hands roam your body under your shirt, tracing your curves, tracing over all the new marks left on your skin from his eager mouth.

His hands move with urgency, exploring the soft contours of your body as he presses you harder against the wall, his lips devouring yours with a hunger that’s been building for far too long. Every touch, every kiss is filled with a fierce intensity, a desperate need that neither of you can ignore any longer. Your hands find their way into his hair, tugging him closer as you deepen the kiss, your bodies molding perfectly together again. The heat between you is overwhelming, a fire that has been simmering beneath the surface finally erupting into flames. The tension that once defined your relationship has transformed into something else entirely—something passionate, raw, and undeniable.

You grip his shoulders, pulling him closer as his hands roam lower, finding the waistband of your pants. He hesitates for a brief moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all he finds is the same burning desire that he feels. Without another word, his hands dip beneath the fabric, and a gasp escapes your lips as his fingers find the most sensitive part of you. “Fuck, Five…” you moan, your head falling back against the wall as he works you with skilled precision, each touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He swallows your moans with his mouth, kissing you deeply, passionately, as his fingers sweep over your clit.

Your hands aren't idle as Five continues to work his magic on you. Even as you lose yourself in the sensation of his touch, your fingers find their way to the hem of his shirt, sliding beneath the fabric to feel the warmth of his skin. The muscles of his abdomen tense under your touch, a sharp intake of breath escaping him as your nails lightly graze over his skin. You trace the lines of his body, your touch both gentle and firm, exploring every inch of him that you can reach. You can feel his heartbeat, fast and strong, just like your own, and it only spurs you on. The sense of power you have in this moment—knowing that you’re affecting him just as much as he’s affecting you—is intoxicating.

As your hands travel up his chest, you feel him shiver beneath your touch. His breath hitches when your fingers find the sensitive skin along his collarbone, and you take advantage of the reaction, leaning in to press your lips against the spot where your fingers had just been. You kiss your way up his neck, feeling his pulse quicken under your lips, leaving a trail of soft bites and gentle nips as you go. “Fuck…” Five breathes out, his voice rough with arousal. His grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer, his own control slipping as your hands continue their exploration.

One of your hands moves lower, skimming over his belt and finding the growing hardness beneath. You palm him through his pants, the fabric doing little to hide his arousal, and the groan that escapes him at your touch sends a thrill through you. He’s hard, straining against the confines of his clothes, and the feeling of him in your hand only adds to your own desire. “You like that, huh?” you murmur against his ear, your voice teasing as you continue to rub him, applying just enough pressure to drive him wild.

Five’s response is a low growl, his hips involuntarily bucking against your hand. He captures your lips in a fierce kiss, his hands moving up your back to pull you even closer, as if he can't get enough of you. Your hand slips beneath the waistband of his pants, finding his heated skin, and he curses under his breath, his head falling back as he surrenders to your touch. You wrap your fingers around him, feeling the heat and hardness in your hand, and you start to stroke him, slow and deliberate, savoring every gasp and moan that escapes his lips.

Five’s breath is ragged, his control slipping with every movement of your hand. He’s always been the one in control, always the one calling the shots, but now, in this moment, you have him completely at your mercy—and it’s a heady feeling. He groans your name, his voice raw and needy, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. His hands move to your hips, gripping you tightly as if to ground himself, but his movements are growing erratic, his body trembling with the need that’s consuming him.

You continue to stroke him, your pace increasing as you feel him getting closer to the edge. His breathing is labored, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he looks at you, and the sight of him, so undone and vulnerable in front of you, only makes you want him more. But before he can reach his peak, he pulls you away, his hands firm on your wrists as he steps back, his chest heaving. There’s a wild, almost desperate look in his eyes, and he’s shaking his head, as if trying to regain control.

“Not like this,” he says, his voice strained. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both passionate and tender. “If I’m going to come, I want it to be with you. I want to be inside you.” His words send a rush of heat through your body, and you nod, your own desire mirroring his. Without another word, you start to undress, your clothes falling to the floor as he does the same. When you’re both bare, he steps closer, his hands caressing your skin as he pulls you into another deep kiss.

The sensation of his body against yours, skin to skin, is overwhelming, and you can feel the heat radiating off him as he guides you toward the bed. You fall onto the mattress together, his body covering yours, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the feel of him, the weight of him pressing you into the sheets. He hovers over you, his eyes locked onto yours, and there’s a moment of silence, a moment of connection, before he finally enters you. The sensation is electric, a rush of pleasure that has you arching into him, your nails digging into his back as he moves within you, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, more urgent.

Your bodies move in sync, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your hands roam over his back, gripping him, pulling him closer as he drives you both higher, the tension building between you until it’s almost too much to bear. He leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s almost bruising in its intensity, his hips snapping against yours with a force that leaves you breathless. You can feel the pleasure coiling in your belly, tight and ready to snap, and when he angles his hips just right, hitting that perfect spot, you’re lost.

Your orgasm rips through you, your entire body tensing as you cry out his name, your nails raking down his back. The sensation pulls him over the edge with you, and you feel him shudder, his release following yours as he groans into your neck, his entire body trembling with the force of it. For a long moment, you both just lie there, tangled together, your breathing heavy and your bodies slick with sweat. The intensity of what just happened lingers in the air, and as Five finally pulls back to look at you, there’s a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“I still hate you”, you whisper, a small, teasing smile playing on your lips.

Five chuckles, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as he leans in to kiss you softly. “I hate you too”.

But the way he kisses you, the way he holds you close afterward, tells a different story entirely...

Tell me what you think about this, my first smut story published here!

[chokepoet]

Cruelty & Empathy 18+

gif by @romulussy

Summary | A night alone in the office has Roman and his assistant escalating their tension past a point of no return. The aftermath of which leads to confessions that will change the trajectory of their relationship forever.

Genre | Angst, Fluff, Porn With Plot

Content | anxiety, biting, blood, bondage, choking, crying, dom/sub tones, degradation, dirty talk, mentions of past physical abuse, power struggles, thigh riding, sadomasochism, slapping, spitting

Word Count | 8.5k

A/N: Y’all this fic is fuckin’ filthyyyy… but like in a romantic way??? I wasn’t going to share it but my best friend insisted. If y’all hate this I volunteer as tribute for boar on the floor lmao

Roman Roy’s Office | 10:33 pm

He was sprawled out across the couch as if this were his family’s private estate. It might as well have been. The building’s climate control always seemed to be blowing a peculiar air. One that felt like his father breathing down the back of his neck at all times. Left calf draped over the backrest, right hand cradling a whiskey, and head tilted back over the armrest. His once-slick hair now hung limp, with loose strands reaching for the carpet below. His upside-down gaze willed me to stop my attempts at meeting our deadline and to focus solely on him instead.

My bank account's dwindling had my morals emaciated. They’d weakly played tug of war with my last braincell when I'd accepted Roman’s job offer nearly two years prior. About 6 months into being his assistant, I found myself earning another role: his best friend. His only friend. My typing picks up speed as I contemplate what level of fucked-up I had to be in order to actually enjoy this job. I decide it must have been top-tier when my thoughts drift to the one Roy that had me feeling this way.

In the past 22 months, I came to understand Roman better than anyone else ever had. He somehow wormed his way into gaining just as much insight into me as well. It made me feel strangely protective over him. Oddly enough, he seemed to reciprocate. We still rarely aloud ourselves vulnerability in the presence of the other. We much preferred self-immolation. I don’t think he ever intended to grow so attached to me. He certainly would never admit to it. If you had asked me if the feeling was mutual, I’d lie through my teeth.

I loved him madly.

I don’t exactly know when or how it happened. I do, however, vividly remember when I first realized he held something soft for me.

Siena, Italy | 4:21 am

He was drunk off his ass, his head resting on my shoulder. He had been leaning into my frame for support long before he even needed it. Roman mumbled something about liking me because I was the only “sad sack of shit” in the office who could make him laugh. I asked him why I was a sad sack and not just a regular sack. He blew out a huff of air, causing his lips to trill. The sound was quickly preceded by the flipping of his wrists in a few circles.

“Isn't it obvious?” I nudged my shoulder against his head.

“Because I work for your sorry ass?”

He clumsily tapped the tip of my nose with his right pointer finger, nearly blinded my left eye in the process.

“Bingo, bongo, banjo.” The nonsensical words tumbled out and the rest of his drink tumbled in. “Itstheeyes.” I’d been unable to make out the slurred syllables mumbled just under his breath. For all I knew, they could’ve been Latin for ‘bastard’.

“What?” He dropped his now-empty glass into a historic fountain as we passed. I stopped to try and fish it out, but he dragged me away. I remember wondering if he had made a wish on it in his drunken haze. Rich and careless enough to pretend it was a penny. Maybe that had been why he was so adamant about me not retrieving it. My mind wandered as I pondered what Roman could have possibly wished for. His father's approval? An endless supply of luxurious Korean face creams? A pair of stunning Italian supermodels to lean into instead of me?

Tripping over his own two feet, I instinctively gripped his bicep. Stubborn as ever, he shoved me and muttered something along the lines of 'fuck off'. God forbid he’d take my help. Throwing my hands up, I left him to walk alone a few steps ahead of me. He weaved for a while before slowing his pace until he could lay his head back on my shoulder.

A beat passed, where the only sound was the soft crunch of our shoes against the weathered cobblestone. I caught one of his bleary eyes peeking over at my face. Content with whatever it was he found, he nodded to himself.

“Yep.” He popped his lips on the 'p' and absentmindedly kicked a pebble from our path. “It's the eyes. Sad sack of shit eyes. You've got 'em.” The laugh that had left me seemed much too loud as it ricocheted off every crumbling brick ahead of us. Roman smiled proudly for a moment. “I love your laugh.” The words were said mostly to himself. My cheeks warmed considerably.

“Really? It's obnoxious as all hell.” His brows furrowed, and he shook his head.

“No, it's fuckin’—fuck off. No, it's not.” He kicked another stone. “It's pretty. Pretty like… like your face.” Pretty. “Nothin’ like a hyena.” Hyena? “I think I'm gonna puke.”

He did.

Roman’s Office | 10:47 pm

“Hi.” A small voice lounging across from me pulls my attention. I look up from the computer and rest my head in my hand, my elbow propped on his desk.

“Hi.” I smile softly with a raised brow.“Need somethin’?” The grin that breaks across his features is almost childlike. His big brown eyes could even be mistaken for innocent; I knew better.

“As a matter of fact…” Extremely happy to have garnered my attention, he pulls himself to a sitting position. “Yes!” With a swift motion, he slams his whiskey onto the coffee table. The sharp sound of glass on glass reverberates throughout the room.

“Yes?”

“Yes?” His voice drops into a cartoonish impersonation of my own. His hand was still clasped around his drink for some reason. Flipping his face up to me with a saccharine simper, he adds, “Will you kindly suck my cock?”

“Will you kindly go fuck yourself?” My impression of him was just as cartoonish as his of me. The hand holding my head returns to typing. Groaning loudly, he lets go of his glass to dramatically fall back into the couch.

“Will you? ‘Cause I’m fuckin’ bored!” He drags out his words until they turn to whine. “This is fucking boring. Aren’t you bored?”

“Yes, you’re extremely boring.”

“Hurr-hurr.” He mocks while crinkling his nose. “I’ll have you know I’m anything but and am widely known as delightful company.” A snort escapes my nose and Roman smiles.

“Really? I thought you were widely known as a terrible person.” He rolls his eyes as I quote his cousin.

“Yeah, yeah fuck you.” He gives me the finger. I flip him off in return. “The fuck does Nosferatu fuckin’ know anyways?” The nickname makes me chuckle and has Roman mimicking Greg. “Oh, I—I couldn’t help but—couldn’t help but notice that my gargantuan height may be alarm—alarming the schoolchildren. I—is that why Iverson is um c—crying? Or is he like, I—I mean, is he… y—ya know… special?”

The laughter still bubbled up uncontrollably even as I tried maintaining focus on the task at hand. My passive interest towards Roman was annoying him to no end.

“Come on! I want entertainment! Entertain me, woman!” I roll my eyes. A cinnamon tinted stare was steady burning apertures into my features, willing me to stop ignoring him. “Come—Come on…” His hands outstretch in my direction, middle and index finger beckoning quickly. “Come show big daddy watcha got.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, my typing stops and I fully turn my attention towards him. His face contorts in a grimace already knowing what was to come. My brows raise as I slowly repeat his words back to him.

“Come show big daddy what I got?” Roman’s hands drag down his face and he groans loudly as soon as big leaves my mouth.

“Oh, fuck y—shut the fuck up.” He sinks lower into the couch with high hopes of it swallowing him whole. The smile that breaks across my features is downright malevolent. I couldn’t recall having ever seen him this embarrassed. Surprising, considering all the lewd shit he spews at me daily. There was something sick inside me that enjoyed it. The urge to play cat rather than mouse overtakes me.

“No, no, no. I just want to understand you clearly, Mr. Roy.” Our dynamic had never been much of a professional one. I couldn’t recall the last time I had addressed him so formally but I wanted to really get under his skin. Oddly enjoying my place in its prickled embrace. Rising from my chair, I place both palms on the desk and lean forward with a pout. “Are you saying you wanna shut me up with your cock, big daddy?”

“I’m going to fucking kill myself.” He was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Aw! Weawwy, Daddy? Jus' 'cause I won't suwck yo big thick cock?” At that, a cushion flies towards my head. I narrowly catch it as I’m doubling over in laughter. He’s standing now, hands overtly animated.

“I swear to GOD, I’m going to fucking—fuck! Fuck you! Out the window!” He’s angrily pointing towards the giant window panes beside him. “I’m going to throw you out the fucking window!”

“Oh wow, you’re gonna fuck me out the window?” His face was the deepest shade of crimson I had ever seen it.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I swear to Christ I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” I was doing a piss-poor job at stifling my laughter.

“I just fucking told you. Ass through glass.” He dismissively waves a hand in the air.

“Bullshit.” Finally looking at me, I cross my arms. His eyes flicker to my chest. “You don’t have the balls.”

“Are you saying I don’t have the balls to murder you?” The words come out in a bemused laugh. “I could murder the fuckin’—murder the shit out of you. Easily.”

“Okay.” With a shrug of my shoulders, I feel a dark coil in the back of my mind start to twist. “Prove it.”

“Prove it? You want me to—to what? Throw you through the goddamn window right now?”

I smirk back at him with a shrug, an inkling I had about him spilling to the forefront of my mind. It colors my vision and stains my tongue. If there was ever a time to find out if my suspicions held true, for some reason, I decided that now was the time. The office was definitely empty at this hour, and the privacy blinds were drawn, so no cameras. Risky as all hell, but if things go south, maybe I could play it off as riffing. I could be quite the convincing liar when I needed to be. My mother saw to that.

“See? I knew it.” With hands on my hips, I tilt my head to size him up. My tone shifts into something silky as sin. “You won’t do shit.” The air begins filling with static causing Roman’s lips to twitch. “You and I both know it. Don’t we…” I slide out from behind the desk, feeling taller as I grow closer. Feeling bolder seeing him swallow. “Romulus?” Using his father’s nickname for him causes his nostrils to flare. A clench in the jaw, a quick exhale. I fucking knew it. “So why don’t you just…” Fully standing in front of him now, I look down with a smirk “sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up for once in your life.”

The air was now overcome with static. Thick and heavy. The subjugated desire etched into his features felt so familiar to me. While I had never seen him this way, or anyone else for that matter, I myself had given that look many a time. That inkling I had was no longer an inkling. It had grown roots that smiled with wicked teeth; I was right.

The electric silence between us started to prick at my skin. My bottom lip twitches as it fought against every instinct to fill the silence with some form of an apology. To try and turn my sudden shift from dominance back into normalcy. His eyes dart to my mouth immediately; he knows.

“Make me.” His head slowly tilts upwards, as do the corners of his lips. The heat that had been slowly brewing between us for well over a year licks up my thighs. He was sneering up at me as we stood toe to toe. His burnt espresso eyes had my mind spiraling in their steam. The look on his face said everything. He saw me, he had me, he called my bluff, he won.

No.

My hand wound itself in the silky hair at the nape of his neck and I use it to jerk his head back. His jaw immediately goes slack. Something akin to a whimper escapes his throat. Surprise has my brows raising and Roman feeling embarrassed. His heavy lids fall and he turns himself away. Reaching up with my free hand, I grip his jaw until he’s facing me once again.

“Look at me.” He does in an instant and I’m flooded by a mixture of emotions. Relief, power, love. I never want to forget how he looks beneath my hands. The way his pupils eclipse the hazel of his eyes. The way his freckles scatter under the pinkish hue of a blush. The way his lips part slightly as his breath shakes out across them. Just as my eyes dance across his every feature, his do mine. Is he etching my features into his own memory?

He attempts to lean forward but I hold him steady. Roman wanted to kiss me but I wanted to tease. I press my lips beside his mouth before trailing them along the smooth path of skin leading to his ear. Sucking his skin into my mouth, I bit gently. A soft sound of content slips from his lips, so I trace up the shell of his ear with my tongue. Upon my return, I bite down once more; harder this time. Just as my teeth release him, the fist tangled in his hair gives a sharp tug. His hum bleeds into a moan that has me squeezing my thighs together. A cool plume of air billows past my lips along the now damp skin; goosebumps erupt immediately. I slide my hand from his jaw until my fingers wrap around his throat to hold him.

“Do you like this, Rome?” The soft whisper has him murmuring his satisfaction. “Come on…” I lightly squeeze his throat. “Be a good boy and use your words.” When I pull away to look at his face, I find his lids are nearly shut.

“Y-yeah.” He swallows in an attempt to steady himself. It doesn’t. “Y-yes, I like it.” He could barely look me in the eyes and it made my stomach flip in the best way possible.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this.” The words slip out before I have the chance to stop them. He inhales sharply, and the air seems to rattle through his skull. His eyes quickly leave mine as his face warms considerably. My heart beats as if it were trying to rip itself from my chest and collide with his. The blood rushing in my ears was chanting 'I love you' over and over again. My teeth dig into my cheek until the taste of blood envelops my tongue. I'm raging a war with my own body in silence. This newfound power was locking talons with my own subjugated nature and death spiraling through the emotion in my chest.

His pulse was racing underneath my thumb. My voice cascades over his flushed skin as I let feather light kisses rain upon him. His first name glides along the tip of his right cheek, his last over the tip of his left. Hovering just out of his reach, I whisper into his open mouth.

“Tell me what you need.” He desperately tries to press his lips into mine but I just pull back. He grunts in frustration.

“Just fuckin’ kiss me already.”

“No.” Releasing my grip, I shove him into the couch. He trips backwards, gracelessly collapsing into the cushions. I climb onto his lap with my knees pressed to either side of his hips. With one hand, I weave my fist around his tie and pull him to me. My other grips his jaw tightly. “You wanna try that again?” His jaw clenches beneath my fingers. His eyes were wild as they flared up at me. Suddenly, his hands lock onto my hips, hard. He pushes his face into my fingers until the tips of our noses bump together.

“I said, just fucking kiss me and I meant do it now.” His words were caught somewhere between a hiss and a growl. He never could handle the word no, so his response shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. The power I’d been holding over him was now leaking through the lace under my skirt. My thighs instinctively flex around him and it has him digging his fingers in harder. A liquid heat spreads through my chest at the thought of later seeing the bruises he was surely leaving behind.

“Well?” My teeth clench and the hand holding his jaw twitches. The attitude lacing his voice drug it’s nails up my spine as I’m reminded of how entitled he could be. He wasn’t supposed to be the one making demands anymore. His smile twitches as a darkness blooms behind his glee. “You wanna hit me don’t you?” My grip loosened; my lungs suddenly feeling like he held them in his fist.

“W-what?” I didn’t want to hit him. Did I? He was selfish, he was arrogant, and he could be so goddamn cruel. Still, the urge to physically harm him was something I had never once encountered. Knowing the history of his childhood and having bared witness to his father’s present day violence against him had made me hyper aware of the constant pain pulsing below his surface. My eyes rapidly blink as they search past his burning stare and into the darkened crevices of his soul.

Oh—he wanted me to hurt him.

His need for it radiating from the blackened pits to scald me. It scared me. It scared me because it felt dark. It felt wrong. But it scared me the most of all because suddenly in this moment, I wanted to. “I-I don’t-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Again, my teeth clench and my grip retightens on his jaw. His smile grew. Mother fucker knew what he was doing. He was basking in it.

He reaches for my hand wound in his tie, quickly unraveling before bringing it to his throat. His own then slide towards my ass. Gripping tightly, he pushes me down against his length to make sure I felt how badly he wanted this. He throbbed against my center; he wanted it bad. “Listen to me. You’re gonna let go of my jaw and you’re gonna fuckin’ slap me, aright?” I nod and release him. “Fuckin’ hit me.” As I draw back my palm, his tongue peaks out to wet his bottom lip.

Slap.

My palm makes contact and brushes across his cheek. It was a sad attempt really. Weak. Even though I knew he wanted it, needed it, something inside held me back.

I was still scared of harming him.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Come on!” He roughly digs his fingers into my ass, significantly harder than before. “I said fucking slap me!”

Crack.

I slapped him. Hard. His face jerks to the side. My hand stung as it instinctively goes to cover my mouth in shock of myself. His lips twitch before slowly turning up in a demented grin. A bloom of red seeps out from his bottom lip and his tongue slides across it. With the taste of his own blood, his smile widens. He laughs softly to himself and I slowly lower my hand.

“There she is.” His voice low, a rumbling purr. “You fuckin’ bitch.” The hand I had just used to strike instantly flies into the mess of his hair; our lips collide. A groan escapes, but from which of us—I didn’t know. The metallic taste of him fueled me. It felt frantic, bruising, needy. We pushed ourselves into each other as if we were feral creatures, held captive and starved. Feeding on something we had buried deep inside only to be found behind the teeth of the other. Sucking his tongue into my mouth causes him to moan and set me ablaze.

I force our mouths apart with a pull of his hair; desperately needing to catch my breath and clear my head. Panting heavily, we stare into the depths of the other in quiet disbelief. This was really happening.

“You sure you want this?” I needed to hear him confirm that he did, in-fact, want to go where we were obviously heading. I knew Roman long enough to know he had serious intimacy issues. Their seeming lack of presence in this moment had me in a whirlwind. He pressed himself into my center once again, his nails bruising crescents into my skin.

“What do you fuckin’ think, dumbass?” I let go of his throat and dig my own nails into his jaw to grip him harshly. He openly smiles with swollen lips.

“Tell me then. Tell me exactly what you want.” His expression falters and his jaw tenses beneath my fingers, eyes flickering from mine.

“You know what I fuckin’ want.” His words seep through gritted teeth. I press my forehead to his. Ever so slowly, I begin rhythmically grinding my hips down upon him. The friction causing his eyes to slip shut. A loud groan escapes from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Roman, I swear to God I’ll stop.” He doesn’t say anything so I still my hips. Umber eyes shoot open and he tries to move me himself. I won’t budge. “I will get up and I will fucking leave you here like this. Pathetic and alone with nothing but your hand.” As the words leave my mouth, so do my hips leave his. His brows snap together and tries in vain to pull me back down again. Still, I don’t budge. “I will walk out this door and you will never fucking see me again. Is that what you want?” The threat was hollow but said with a bite that had shaken me. I was falling into this role a little too easily, a little too well.

He gapes up at me when I completely let go of him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I attempt to push myself off. It’s him who doesn’t budge this time. He yanks me back down with every ounce of strength his small frame contained. The sudden action has all the air escaping my lungs. With a hand clasped to the back of my neck, he seizes me into a searing kiss.

“Whatever you want.” The words frantically rush into my mouth. “I don’t care.” Fighting against the grip on my neck, he finally gives. I pull back to contemplate his words. Tilting my head slightly, my gaze falls to his tie. An idea begins forming as I slowly untie the silk. My nimble fingers unbuttoning his shirt has him intently studying my face. Whatever I want.

Cupping his warm face in one hand, I smear the blood of his bottom lip with my thumb. He parts his mouth and sucks it in. With my other, I reach for Roman’s and slide his own thumb into my waiting mouth. As I swirl my tongue around him, Roman’s eyes darken and he sucks me harder.

Pulling from his lips with a pop, I rub my now wet thumb against his nipple. A soft moan is let loose. My tongue continuously plays with him inside me. He shudders as I pinch the bud beneath my fingers before doing the same to the other. Letting go of his hand, I reach forward to pinch both simultaneously and he groans loudly.

My cheeks hollow around his thumb as he slips it from me. He drags it down my bottom lip and stares intently. Transfixed by my spit glistening in the incandescent light. Cupping my jaw, he pulls me forward to replace his thumb with his tongue. That familiar groan returning when I suck him in. His other hand tangles itself into my staticky waves and he kisses me with everything he has.

“Give me your wrists.” The order was partially muffled against his mouth.

“Huh?” The question was mumbled into my lips.

“I said,” Threading my fingers into his own hair, I pull him back. “give me your fucking wrists.” With a dramatic tug, his tie is jerked from underneath his collar in a rush. He sat still, blinking up at me. The walnut shells of his eyes fall into my hands. There was a slight apprehension, a nervousness to them. “Do you trust me, Rome?”

“Y-yeah.” His voice was hushed as he presents his hands to me and I slowly start wrapping the silk around his wrists.

“We can stop at anytime. You know that, right? Just say the word and I’ll stop immediately.” My reassurance seems to irritate more than comfort. He rolls his eyes with a tilt of the head.

“Would you fuck off? I’m fine.” A crease digs itself into the bridge of his nose and my actions immediately still.

“I’m not going to fuck off unless I know that you know that you’re safe with me, okay?” This dominate role was far from the submissive one I was innately familiar with. We obviously had never discussed boundaries and I didn’t know where the lines were anymore. “I need you to know you can speak up. That I’ll stop the second you tell me to.” Roman looks like he’d rather get a root canal than continue this discussion, but I don’t care. This was far too important. “I need you to know that your comfort is important—that your feelings matter.”

“I fucking know it, alright?” He snapped before groaning and throwing his head back. “God, what the fuck else do you need to know before you just shut the fuck up and get on with it already?” My hand quickly finds its way to his throat with a squeeze. He seems more than pleased by this response.

“Do you wanna fucking cum?”

“Clearly I wanna fuckin’—“ My other hand slaps over his mouth and I can feel him smiling underneath my palm. Roman was gladly trying to piss me off. He was itching to see me lose control; yearned to meet the creature locked inside me. The wicked one I never acknowledged or came near; the demon only he could see. She bathes me in the blood of solidified suspicions.

Roman didn’t want my empathy.

Roman wanted my cruelty.

“Then are you fucking stupid? If you don’t shut the fuck up I’ll make damn sure to have you crying like a little bitch before I even think of letting you cum.” His eyes blackened as he watches my succubuss unhinge her jaw to swallow me whole. “Got it?” He nods quickly. Rapid bursts of air shoot from his nose across the back of my hand. “And lose the fuckin’ attitude.” Removing my hand, I slap him across the mouth; handing myself over to his desires completely.

Having finished binding his wrists and setting them behind his head, I rise from the couch. Standing between his ankles, I unzip my skirt and let it fall to my feet. The muscles in his forearms flex. His tongue peaks between his lips as he gawked at the damp lace between my thighs. Sliding my finger below his chin, I tilt his head until he meets my eyes.

“You know what I want, Roman?” My hand takes home around his throat once again. Now having his full attention, I feel him swallow as he shakes his head. His excitement was palpable. Settling my right knee between his thighs, I nudge it gently against his hard length. His nostrils flare with a sharp inhale. “I want you to watch me get myself off on your thigh.” He groans loudly. I couldn’t tell if it was out of desire, frustration, or a mixture of both but the response delighted me nonetheless. Placing my left knee to the other side of his thigh, I fully seat myself upon him. “Knowing there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.”

“Fuck.” Slowly grinding against the fabric of his thigh, my lashes flutter at the sensation. A soft moan escapes me before I can stop it. I was dripping wet and could already feel myself swiftly ruining his ostentatiously expensive pants.

“How does it feel Roman? To have me use you like this?“ A whimper meets my ears. His eyes transfixed on my clothed center sliding roughly against his thigh. There was a fire beneath his skin and he was entranced by the sight of kerosene being poured upon it. “To ruin you like this?” His smokey gaze flickers up to mine and I use the moment to grind myself harder against him. The rough friction elicits another moan from me, louder this time. “This is all you’re good for—” My final word comes out in a whine causing Roman to tear into his bottom lip hard enough to draw more blood. “Tell me. How does it feel?” I nudge my knee into his throbbing member once more and the deepest groan ripples through his teeth. His arms jerk against his binds as I use my free hand to sharply twist his nipple. “Answer me!”

“Good! It feels—Fuck.” The sentiment came out hoarse and husky. He shoves his head back into his tied wrists, thrusting himself against my knee. “Feels so f-fuckin’ good.” Digging my thumb into his pulse point, I slide my knee back. He whines; all hopes of friction dashing in an instant.

“No. You don’t get to cum until I say you do. Got it, you demented little fuck?” He’s a whimpering mess beneath me; eyes wide and watery. I wanted to drown myself in the sight and never touch the light of day again.

My thong bunches to the side from the aggression in my movements. Now fully bare against him, a shiver rushes through me as my clit kisses the luxurious fabric of his thigh. I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“If you don’t fucking behave I swear to God I’ll leave you like this—tied up and soaking for whoever to find.” The bite in my threats were losing their edge. My voice lost somewhere between a moan and sigh. An impending orgasm flicks it’s tongue at the base of my spine.

“Wouldn’t want it to be your father who finds you like this, would you?” A mangled whine shakes itself from his throat and has me smiling.

The blood seeping from his parted lips seem to glitter under the city light of his windows. I flatten my tongue across his jaw and drag it up his chin until my mouth fills with copper. The taste causes a sigh to slip from my mouth into his.

“You’re close. I-I can feel it.” His voice tight and high-pitched as he starts to slightly bounce his leg. “You’ve f-fucking drenched me.” The jolting of his thigh into my clit has my head falling into his shoulder; grinding harder and faster against him. The nails of my right hand embed themselves into the skin of his waist. A carnal mosaic of the flesh born below my grip. I was at the brink. “I-I wanna feel you cum.” He’s whining as he starts to bounce his leg faster; face buried in my hair. His shaking breath against my cheek has my entire body erupting in goosebumps. “P-please lemme f-feel you cum.” His beg hitches to an even higher pitch. His thigh nearly vibrating under me, desperate pleas rippling through me. Every nerve ending in my body felt ablaze.

It was all too much.

A scream rips from my lungs and I sink my teeth into the flesh of Roman’s shoulder. He tasted of salt and brimstone. My nails frenetically scratch into his skin as my thighs tremble and squeeze. Groans barrel up from his chest to mingle with my own. My release shatters through me with a blinding intensity I had never experienced before. I was overflowing; drenching his thigh to seep into his soul.

The heaving of our chests pressed tightly together slowly lulls me back down again. My fingertips absentmindedly painting shapes into his skin with the blood I’d drawn from his waist. Sparkles of light and voids of soot twirl across my vision. An indention of my teeth remained etched into his shoulder. He shudders when I press a soft kiss onto the bruised skin. My head falling heavy when it replaces my mouth to lean into him.

I’m suddenly reminded of Roman’s own much needed release upon finding his hips desperately grinding circles into empty air. He’s whimpering; body begging. My hand still cradled his throat so I languidly brush my thumb along his pulse point. His heart was racing.

“Do you need to cum, Roman?” A loud, high-pitched whine answers me.

“Please.” The word comes out in a choked sob. “I need—“ He was fighting against his binds, the silk digging painfully into his wrists. “Please.” He frantically presses open mouth kisses into any inch of my skin that he could reach; pleading with glassy eyes. “Please lemme cum.” I leave his throat to gently cup his cheek and smile softly before pulling back from him. “No—“ He stops himself when I thread one hand into his hair and place the other bloodied one atop his chest.

“You gonna cum your pants for me, Romie?” I take my sweet time sliding my palm towards where he needs it most. “Like the needy little slut that you are?” The whispered words were dripping in ghost pepper honey that had him swallowing. “Are you that desperate? That pathetic?”

“Yes.” The answer comes out in a quiet quick rush of air. “Y-yeah, I am.” My hand finally reaches his pulsing length and it twitches beneath my fingers. He immediately ruts against my palm and I squeeze him before jerking his head back.

“Stop.” He clenches his teeth but surprisingly does. Tensing beneath me, using every ounce of self control to still himself. He was trembling beneath my grasp. Frustrated tears caressed his lashes and began streaming down his flushed cheeks. His breath was coming out hard and shallow through flared nostrils.

A memory flashes through my mind: Roman’s captivated stare watching his glistening thumb press into my bottom lip.

“Open your mouth.” Again, he follows my orders instantly. Hovering my face above his, my lips purse with a drop of spit. He catches it with a moan that I immediately kiss into my mouth. “Cum.” My voice drops just above a whisper against his raw lips. “Make a mess of yourself.”

He instantly begins fucking himself roughly into my grip. The heat of his flesh searing me through the fabric. Grunting into my open mouth as I tug his hair into the cushions just below his wrists. His hands opening and closing before locking into tight fists. “Look at me.” His eyes shoot open. “Such a good boy for me.” A familiar emotion swirls through the sliver of hazel around his pupils. His lids flutter as he fought with everything in him to keep himself rooted in my gaze. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Roman.”

His hips shoot from the couch as he explodes and spreads me open across his thigh. The sensation causes my breath to catch in my throat. A gravely yell rips from the deepest parts of himself and tears apart every muscle in my body. He pours everything he has into the fabric beneath my hand with wide eyes never leaving mine. He collapses hard with shuttering breaths; body limp and twitching.

I release him to bring my palm to my lips; the slightest bit damp from him. My tongue paints his taste into my memory with pupils blown. Jaw slack, he watches intently through heavy wet lashes. His muddy eyes fill with that same emotion I had seen from him earlier.

“Lemme taste you.” The request was nearly silent but it rattled me like a wail. If I was any further from him I wouldn’t have heard it, but I did and couldn’t believe he had asked. Lifting my hips slightly, I run two fingers through my sensitive folds and shiver. He immediately takes notice and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips.

My fingers tremble as they rise towards his mouth. He inhales deeply before parting his lips for me. Slipping into the velvet of his mouth, his eyes flutter shut. His pointed tongue runs up between their gaps before flattening to drag back down. He was savoring every drop as if he were a starved man lost at sea. An involuntary hum reverberates from his throat into my skin and his cheeks seem to darken even more. He playfully bites down with sparkling eyes when I slip my fingers from his warm mouth.

The sight had the blood pounding in my ears beginning their familiar chant: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’ It overwhelmed me and I couldn’t help but pull him into one last searing kiss. Tasting myself on his tongue had my head spinning. Here on my knees, I prayed to a godless sky that he could taste my heart overflowing into his mouth. Cupping his cheeks in both hands, my thumbs brush away the damp paths left by his previous tears. His forehead suddenly creases beneath mine.

“You okay, Rome?” He shakes my hands from his face and turns away from me. My own brows knot together in worry.

“I’m fine.” His face further contorts upon hearing how his voice cracked. It might as well have cracked my ribs right along with it. He clenches his jaw before gnawing at the inside of his cheek. His hands form into tight fist behind his head. He was trying not to cry again.

My fingers twitch in my lap and it takes everything in me not to wrap him in my arms. Instead, I reach for his wrists and bring them forward. They felt heavy and limp in my hands. Right as I began my attempt at untying them, a small sniffle brings my attention back to Roman’s face.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay, you know?” I try to gently reassure him but it only deepens the tortured disgust in his features.

“I said I’m fucking fine.” The words are spit with a venom that eats through to my bones. Feeling me search his feature has him crumbling before me. Fresh tears immediately start spilling down his cheeks and into the pits of my soul. I couldn’t help but reach for him. He surprisingly lets me cup his cheek, so I gently turn him to face me. His eyes squeeze tighter below my lips as I lightly kiss their corners. The small gesture of affection has a mangled sob ripping from his chest. Fully burying his face into my hand, he lets himself weep into my palm.

Brushing back the strands of hair sticking to his sweat, I feel my own eyes filling with tears. Refusing to let myself cry, I leave his hair to clumsily attempt untying his wrists with one hand but the knot had grown significantly tighter. No doubt from Roman constantly pulling against it all this time.

“Hey, Rome?” He responds with a mangled sound in the back of his throat. A desperate need to comfort and free him started anxiously clawing at my throat. “Listen, I know you’re totally fine and everything but I’m actually not.” His watery eyes glance to me, not registering that I’m joking. “The she demon that possessed me, she—the bitch was a Girl Scout from hell. This knot’s tighter than a goddamn hangman’s noose.” Roman pulls his face from my hand while rapidly blinking. The sounds of grinding metal fill my ears and their smokey scent tickles my nose. I flash him a goofy, albeit nervous, smile and the gears inside his head finally click into place.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” There was no bite to his words, having spoke them through a bemused chuckle. He wipes his nose with back of his hand and inhales the remnants of his vulnerability. Grateful relief balms the scrapes at my neck left by worry’s desperate claws.

His smile falters when I suddenly get up and leave him; it's as if a burst of panic fills his chest. However, when he watches me pick up a pair of scissors and the joggers from his gym bag, I sense the tension in him ease slightly. It's only when I climb back atop his thigh that he appears fully relieved. The weight of my warmth sinking into him seems to ground him.

After tossing his change of pants onto the cushion beside us, I carefully slide the blade under his tie and free him. The silk had dug in painfully, leaving nearly raw indentions in it’s wake. I mentally make a note to check my purse for some soothing lotion later as my fingers lightly brush across his skin. My thumbs begin rubbing into the muscles of his forearms. Roman was studying my face intently.

“These feel okay?” Shaking out his wrists, he rotates them a few times before letting them fall limp in my lap. It was his way of silently asking me to continue with my actions. He had far too much pride to express his desire for such a tender expression.

“Feels fine.” He fights off a shy smile when my hands pick up where they left off, massaging him gently. “My side on the other hand feels like fuckin’ cruise papers with the way ya shredded me.” He chuckles but I could still hear the residual emotion behind it. I lift the corner of his shirt up to take a look. The sight has my stomach instantly dropping; tangled weeds of angry wounds imbedded deep into flesh. Needles of red hot guilt begin sewing threads of shame up my legs. Looking down, I’m greeted with his blood caked under my nails. Memories of violence and words of degradation take ownership of my lungs.

“Fuck Rome…” My voice cracks and I suddenly feel my own tears holding a knife to my throat. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Roman quickly tears the fabric from my grasp and yanks it down.

“Oh shit. No no no no no—fuck fuck fuck.” His panicked expression made me feel so much worse. The canines of an anxiety attack drag up the nape of my neck like a threat. “I—I was fucking kidding!”

“I shouldn’t have d—done that to you. I—I shouldn’t have hit you. I shouldn’t have said—I didn’t—Rome, I didn’t mean them! The words—I—I’m so sor—“

“Oh dear God, would you fuckin’ stop.” He quickly cut me off but I had already dove to the deep end of a molten lava shame spiral.

“I—I made you fucking bleed Roman!” He rolls his eyes. “Multiple times!” His hands slap themselves onto the sides of my face, pressing hard into my cheeks.

“Yeah and you licked it up and it was the sexiest fuckin’—” I couldn’t open my eyes to look at him. If I looked at him I’d most certainly start crying. “I mean, I’m literally fucking drenched in cum right now.” My mouth was set in a hard line but my bottom lip quivered. “Come on now…” Nope, didn’t have to look at him. Turns out his voice alone could send tears falling. “I was kidding! I liked the fuckin’—fuckin’ feral scratchy shit! It was hot! And—and I told you to hit me! I—I wanted it! I wanted you to say all that fuckin’ nasty shit!” His fingers press into my skin harder as if he could force his sentiments to penetrate my skull. “I…I fuckin’ loved it. Like a lot. Okay?” My head was shaking back and forth trying to gain some control over my emotions, shake free of my tears. Roman didn’t know that though. How could he? I wasn’t speaking. He probably thought my actions were just my way of rejecting him. “Please don’t fuckin’ do this.”

My eyes crack open as I remove Roman’s hands from my face. The knotted look of bewilderment etched into his features summons the childhood phantom of my mother. Taking her disembodied palm to slap me across the mouth and rattle me with shrill screams: ‘You need to pull yourself the fuck together!’ I follow suit, digging the heels of my palms into my eyes.

“Promise?” My question came out pathetic and small. I fucking hated it and I fucking hated crying. I’m being fucking ridiculous. Stupid.

“Again, and I can’t stress this enough, soaking in my own cum right now.” His reassurance comes with a laugh that tugs my frown up slightly.

“I just—I’m sorry. It was one thing in the moment but just like… I dunno. I’ve never done anything like that. I—I don’t know what came over me.” My face felt feverish as the backs of my hands wipe the shame staining my cheeks. “Seeing the aftermath just kinda, it just—The thought of actually hurting you makes me feel fucking sick, Rome.” I feel the back of Roman’s knuckle brush away the tears I had missed. Chancing a look at his face gifted me the softest expression I had ever seen from him. “I never want to cause you any real harm.” My voice sounded almost foreign, weak with emotion and vulnerability. Where did all my bravado go? Oh yeah, it’s dripping down my thighs.

“Well you didn’t, alright? I’m fine. Like completely. A-o-fuckin’-kay over here.” He throws me the okay symbol and tries offering me a reassuring smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But you were crying, Rome.” The smile instantly drops.

“That? No, I wasn’t—“ He shakes his head before scratching at his jaw. “It—it wasn’t because of that.” My brows furrow, and he groans, hands dragging down his face. “Look, I didn’t—I don’t—fuck!” He shakes his fingers through his hair and looks as if he’s about to rip it out. Refusing to meet my eyes, his stare finally settles on my hands lying face up in my lap. “It was your fuckin’—your hands, okay? It was your fuckin’ hands.” My eyes fall from his face and focus on the blood staining my fingertips. So it really was because I hit him. “The way you—“ He sighs. “The way you held me.” Oh. His head falls back as a long frustrated groan escapes him, eyes searching for heaven in the ceiling. “I dunno, okay? It just felt—it felt—“ He couldn’t finish. His eyes fall shut before he continues, his voice even quieter than before. “All I could think about was how you had looked at me.” I swallow before whispering just as quietly as he.

“How did I look at you?”

“I don’t know.” His voice grew thick with emotion once again. He shakes his head and finally meets my eyes; looking so defeated and sad. His pain bled me. “You’re always fuckin’ lookin’ at me like—like—“ Again, he can’t finish. He clenches his jaw like a threat towards the words caught in his throat.

“Like I love you?” His eyes squeeze shut and he turns his face from me once again; hiding himself from my words. I watch him clench and unclench his jaw until courage clenches my own. “Because I do love you, Roman.” Every muscle in his body seemed to tense beneath me, but I couldn’t stop my feelings from shattering their shackles. They’d been locked up for so long that their first taste of freedom sends them sprinting. “I love you so fucking much.” He clenches his fists, still unable to open his eyes and look at me.

I let myself lean into him and lay my head onto his shoulder. His fist start to unfurl and he lets his head fall against mine. A shuddering breath leaves him and he buries his face into my hair, hands tentatively resting on my hips. We sit in silence as I listen to his breathing slowly steadying. Once it had nearly returned to normal, I feel his lips gently press into my temple.

“I love you too.” The words were murmured into me, a heavy sigh follows after them. “You have no fucking idea.” The wilted buds of my heart and mind begin to bloom. My arms wrap themselves around him and squeeze him to me tightly. He reluctantly wraps his arms around me as well; slowly tightening his embrace until he’s clinging to my soul. Turning my head I press a kiss into the side of his throat and hear him sigh once again; the weight between us was dissipating.

“I’m sorry for freaking out earlier.” The words he had stuttered out when trying to calm me drift to the forefront of my mind. “I—I liked it too.” The warmth of his skin embraces my shy confession. “What we did together, I mean.” I hear him snort and it has me smiling against him. The air was feeling lighter.

“I’d fuckin’ say so, ya fuckin’ banshee. You shoulda seen how fuckin’ hard you came. I mean—Jesus Christ, you were fuckin’ feral.” I hide my face further into his neck but can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from me. “And now you act all fuckin’ bashful and shit? How the fuck does that even work? You literally tied me up and road my thigh like a buckin’ bronco.” I bite his throat and my body shakes from his laughter vibrating through me.

“Fuck you! I’m complex.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He tangles his hands in my hair and pulls me back to face him. “You’re fuckin’ insane, you know that?” He was smiling as he said it. “You drive me fucking insane.”

“The feelings mutual.” His smile only widens and he bounces his leg. I yelp in surprise, frantically gripping at his arms to maintain balance. He’s giggling uncontrollably. “You’re a sick fuck, Roman Roy.”

“Ooo round two already, thigh master?” He bounces his leg again. I try to slap his chest but he catches my wrist with his freehand and pulls me into a kiss I’m never going to forget. It was different than all the ones we had shared prior. This one was so much softer, so much gentler. Our foreheads rest against one another. His smile against my lips illuminates every crevice once void of light; I was loved.

[evilwizard]

The Lich Who Stole Christmas

Every tumblrina in tumblr liked Christmas a lot.

But the lich, who lived just north of Tumblr, did not!

The lich hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be his skull wasn’t screwed on quite right. It could be, perhaps, that his skin was too tight.

But I think that the likeliest reason of all… was his heart was encased by a strange lead-lined ball.

“Last year I made something that I thought in would usher

A new age of magic—my prized OrphanCrusher.

But my patents were stolen, and my sweet new invention

Is now being used… with good-ish intentions.

You see, Christmas wishes contain lots of magic;

And my device extracts it through methods so tragic

That I dare not mention them directly here

Though the name might clue in certain readers, I fear.

The Wizard Council, now that they possess this device,

Might use it, this year, to stamp out wizard vice.

Though the process might turn quite a few kids to carrion,

The Wiz Council’s ethics are utilitarian.

So what shall I do? What is to be done?

It seems rather clear that this Christmas can’t come.

But I’ve read a few books, and I know a few tricks

So this year I’ll steal Christmas, while dressed as Saint Nick!”

So the wizard of evil returned to his lair

Stitched a red suit, and did up his hair

Built a sleek sled—and—who among us,

Could hope for a much better Rudolph than Krongus?

They took to the skies, that next Christmas Eve,

And tailgated Santa, whom they hoped to deceive

At every house he left presents, they quickly descended,

And stole the decor and the gifts he’d intended.

And when the dark wizard’s sleigh was full-loaded with gifts,

He tugged at the reigns, and they made for The Rift!

A place where the veil between worlds was thin…

And a brilliant place to dump the gifts in!

“You see,” he told Krongus, as they approached that strange crack,

“Once something goes in, it can never come back!”

“Moreover, it’s perfect,” the wizard did sing,

“For The Rift destroys every part of that thing!”

“Every instance, every atom in all multiverses,

Will be undone as though by my special dark curses.

Not a gram, not a dust speck or mote shall remain,

And no one will even remember their name!”

“But sire,” muttered Krongus, “would it not be more precise,

If you simply put in the OrphanCrusher device?”

The evil wizard thought of this, parking his sleigh in the snow.

He’d made quite a trip, and this seemed quite a blow.

“I do have one here,” he told that weird devil.

“But destroying Christmas seems rather more evil!”

Then, far behind him, and the gifts he had pillaged,

He heard a small noise coming from Tumblr Village.

It was simply a song, of holiday spirit,

But the wizard was utterly shocked just to hear it.

“It came without ribbons! It came without tags!

It came without packages, boxes or bags!”

Then the lich thought of something he hadn’t before.

Could it be Christmas was some kind of contagion or spore?

What happened next? Well, in Tumblr, they say,

The lich’s dead heart exploded that day!

And the combustive force of that villainous blast,

Airlifted the sleigh, and brought it right back,

To the village, where Tumblrinas rejoiced!

Then continued to sing, and lift up their voice.

And back at the rift, the lich, with head in a spin,

At the edge of the rift dropped the OrphanCrusher in.

So Christmas was saved, by accident mostly,

Though performing a good deed turned the bad wizard ghostly.

“Come, Krongus—we must now return to my tower,

While I wait several months to return to full power.”

And at Wizard Council HQ, certain strategist seers,

Saw all this occur through the orbs that they peered.

They smiled, and high-fived, and struck up the band,

Pleased that these events had gone just as planned.

[stylesluxx]

wildflower – a.hotchner

[warnings: self doubt, relationship doubt, angst]

summary: in which y/n doubts her spot in hotch’s heart – inspired by wildflower by billie eilish

word count: 825

main masterlist

You've always known that Aaron had a love before you. It's impossible not to—Haley was a part of his life through so many milestones for many years. He's never talked about her in-depth, but the memories surround him, a lingering presence that never quite fades. Some days, you catch the look in his eyes, far away, like he's somewhere else entirely. And every time it happens, you can't help but wonder if it's Haley he's thinking of.

It's been a couple of years since her death, and though Aaron has moved forward, there's a part of him that you fear might still be anchored to the past. That maybe, you're not enough to replace what he lost. You've tried to ignore it, tried to convince yourself that your worries are unfounded, but the thought lingers.

Tonight, it's especially strong. You're sitting on the couch with Aaron, his hand resting on your knee as you watch a movie together. But his mind isn't here. You can tell by the way his gaze flickers, unfocused, staring at the screen but not really seeing it. It happens more often than you'd like to admit, and each time it sends a twinge of insecurity through you.

"Where are you?" you ask softly, trying to keep your voice light. He looks at you, startled as if he didn't realize you were speaking.

"I'm here," he says, offering you a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

But you're not convinced. You've been holding this in for so long, pretending that everything's fine, but tonight, you can't help yourself. The words spill out before you can stop them.

"Are you, though? Because sometimes it feels like...like you're somewhere else. Like you're still thinking about her."

Aaron's expression shifts, his smile fading as he turns to face you fully. He opens his mouth to speak, but you can't stop now. The floodgates are open.

"I get it, Aaron. I know how much she meant to you, how much you loved her. But sometimes I wonder if you still...if you still love her. And I know that's unfair of me, because how could you not? She was your wife, the mother of your child, and she was taken from you in such a horrible way. But where does that leave me? Am I just here to fill a void?"

He's silent, his brows furrowing as he processes your words. The air between you feels heavy, thick with the weight of what you've just admitted. You hate yourself for saying it, for pushing him when you know how much he's been through, but the fear has been gnawing at you for so long, that you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Finally, Aaron speaks, his voice low but steady. "You're not filling a void."

You look at him, surprised by the conviction in his tone. He leans forward, his hand tightening around yours.

"I'll always care about Haley. She'll always be a part of me because she's part of Jack's life. But I'm not in love with her anymore. I haven't been for a long time, even before she died."

His words make your heart stutter. "You haven't?"

"No," he says softly, his thumb brushing against your hand. "When I met you, I didn't know I was ready to love someone again. But you've given me something I didn't think I'd ever have. You gave me hope, and you've made me feel alive again. I don't look back at what I had with Haley and wish it were still here. I look forward with you."

Tears prick your eyes at his words, the weight of your insecurity beginning to lift. But still, there's a lingering doubt, one you're almost afraid to voice.

"But do you...do you regret it? That you're with me now?"

Aaron shakes his head firmly. "Never. I'm with you because I want to be. After all, I love you. You're my future, not my past."

He cups your cheek, his touch gentle but grounding, and you lean into his palm, the warmth of his hand seeping into your skin. His gaze is soft, and earnest, as he brushes away the tear that slips down your cheek.

"I'm sorry if I've ever made you feel like you're second to Haley," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "That was never my intention. I love you. Only you."

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, their truth sinking in. You know he's being honest, that his heart is yours, but a part of you also knows that love doesn't erase the past. And maybe that's okay. Maybe love is about accepting that there will always be echoes of what came before, but choosing to move forward together, despite them.

When you open your eyes, Aaron is still watching you, waiting for you to say something. You reach up, covering his hand with yours as you press a kiss to his palm.

"I love you too," you whisper.

And for the first time in a long while, you believe that it's enough. You're enough.

[AN: I want to start posting multiple times a week but idk how I want to schedule that yet. maybe every 3 days? also I was supposed to post this days ago but forgot to queue it … AND AS YOU GUYS ARE READING THIS IM OMW TO MY SECOND ERAS TOUR SHOW HEHE. anyway, here's my taglist]