#accidently wrote close to 3k words

[aliveinacoffin]

request ❤️

Not sure if you would do this but aizawa yandere! Maybe where the reader said something to him that made him angry and hurt them (the punishment) and he hurt himself in the process (like he punched them so hard or something and his hand started swelling). Then he just left them until he cooled down and then gave them food and came hours later and the food was untouched and they haven’t moved either and it turns out they were unconscious. (Something like that). If ur not comfortable to do this then u can delete this. Thank u!

Ofc! This seems so morbid and I love it lmao (this ended up being way longer than I wanted it too,,,,like over 2k words,,,, oopsie)

With my whole heart

He's the one who brought you into this hell hole and stole your life away, yet you're the one to blame.

GN!Reader, since you didn't specify the gender, I hope that's okay! :D TW: Violence, Yandere, mentions of stalking, brief mentions of kidnapping/drugging, brief mentions of non-con, manipulation, and overall toxicity

It's been six months.

Six fucking months since you've seen your family, since you've had any autonomy decisions over yourself, since you've even been outside.

The person to blame? Shouta fucking Aizawa.

You had met him by chance during one of his patrols, and at first you two had hit it off.

___________________________________________

"You shouldn't be out this late at night. It's dangerous for someone like you." A gravelly voice called from behind you, startling you terribly.

You turned around, shaking in your spot and clutching at your purse. Your quirk activated on the spot, adrenaline jumpstarting your sharp nails and teeth. You relaxed when you saw Ereaserhead, the Eraserhead! He wasn't a very known hero, as were most underground heroes. But somehow word of his existence had found itself in your corner of the world, and stories of him just followed you, and each time you couldn't help but marvel at how cool he was.

"Ah! You startled me Ereaserhead." You laughed gently, hand clutched at your chest. Your smile was wide, your eyes crinkled, you were the face of beauty in the pale moonlight.

"I apologize. Do you need an escort home?" He asked, keeping his distance from you.

"Oh I'm quite alright, my apartment isn't far from here." You waved him off, holding up your oversized fleece sweater. The warm spring air providing enough warmth for you to wear such things, the leftovers of winter still nipped at your exposed flesh. Even though you couldn't see his eyes from his goggles, you could feel his eyes raking over your exposed shoulders.

"You live around here? In such a dangerous neighborhood? This is no such place for a person like you." Ereaserhead shook his head, hands clutching onto his capture weapon. He stepped towards you, coming to rest just by your side. "I'll walk you home, it will put me at ease knowing you get home safe."

You blushed and hoped he wouldn't be able to feel or see the heat on your face. He was being so kind! No wonder he was such a great hero, he seemed to always go the extra mile.

"Oh, thank you, sir. It's nice to know such kind heroes are roaming the streets." Your voice was sweet, and you gave him a kind smile.

___________________________________________

You should have said no. You should have screamed and ran the other way.

Of course, you couldn't blame yourself for that. How could you have possibly known? There was no way you could've foreseen that such a monster was hiding under that demeanor. A monster who would three months later cut your family off from you, run off all your friends, and would drug, kidnap you, and keep you hidden deep in the fucking woods.

He had been kind, just like any abusive partner was at first.

___________________________________________

You heard a familiar and comforting dark voice call out your name, and as per usual you turned around with a smile on your face and curious eyes.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were following me Ereaserhead." You teased, waiting for him to catch up to you.

He pulled down his goggles, and you saw his eyes squint for a mere second before they went back to his usual bored expression. "I wouldn't do something as heinous as that." He said simply, not even looking at you while he said so.

"Oh I know, I'm just teasing. What's a hot shot like you doing around here?" You gestured to the rather lively city around you. Usually, the man was stationed around filth-ridden parts of the town. He patrols in the epicenter of crime, being one of the few skilled pros that could easily take down his foes.

"Just following my patrol route, they put me here today." Ereaserhead replied, slightly shrugging his shoulders. His hands stuffed deep into his pockets as he scanned the area like a hawk.

"Well, you must feel out of your element. Oh!" You gasped suddenly, leaving over to rummage around in your bag. Spring was steadily approaching, and the humid air was not kind. Tonight you were wearing a simple black tank top with simple black shorts. If you had taken a second to look up while you were searching, you would've seen the other man slowly rolling his eyes all over your body.

"I got you a gift!" In your outstretched hands was a tiny black cat doll, with black button eyes and a tiny tail. "I saw it and it reminded me of you, and I knew I just had to get it."

Eraser took a hand out of his pant pocket and grazed his hands with yours as you passed along the simple token of joy. It was made out of some cheap fabric, with even cheaper big button eyes. His face melted a bit, and the barest hint of a smile could be seen on his face.

"If you don't like it, I don't mind. I know it's kind of a bad gift, but I just couldn't help myself." You giggled nervously, hand coming up to scratch at the back of your head.

"While I don't condone such frivolous spending habits, I'm glad you got it thinking of me." He nodded in your direction while stuffing the little cat in his front pocket.

Your heart leaped with glee, shoulders bunching together in happiness. "I'm glad you like it Eraser." Your shit-eating grin pointed at him, slightly nudging him with your elbow.

"You can call me Aizawa." He said, and you were caught off guard at his words. Most people knew pros' real names, but underground heroes were in a different category. He must really trust you if he was willing to give you a piece of personal information with you! Before you could say anything in retaliation, he cut you off. "I'm assuming I'm walking you home like always?" He asked, peeking at you with humor in his voice.

"Like always." You don't know when, but during this habit both your arms always found each other interlocked. So you happily tottered to his side, easily slotting your arm in between his.

___________________________________________

You wished you denied all those walks home. You should've started to throw away all the gifts that had then thereafter started showing up on your front door. You shouldn't have done a lot of things, because all those little 'harmless' things had added up to one very dangerous thing. Still.

There's no use mourning the past anymore.

You had gotten used to this lifestyle, living as Shouta's personal slave. Living trapped in the hellhole he called your home. Doing his laundry, cleaning for him, and doing whatever the hell he wanted out of you.

It's not like you really had a choice anywhere. Where were you gonna go when he wanted to put himself on top of you? Who could you turn to when he got too rough with you during a fight? Nowhere. No one.

At this point, you had almost completely accepted him. He'd done inviting from physically hurting you to mentally torturing you. Shouta Aizawa had nearly broken your will.

But the key word here was nearly.

You'd always been as strong as you were kind. Most people mistook kindness for naivety or weakness, but while those two could go hand in hand, they were not interchangeable.

And today was just one of those days where you did not want to deal with his shit. Where you weren't willing to.

These were the thoughts you had while angrily cooking up spaghetti, the poor ingredients being the victims of your warpath. Angrily you threw the box down on the counter, almost shattered the can of source on the counter, and nearly dented the pot while getting water for you to boil. You couldn't help it, it's not like you could just go up to Shouta and hit him. Fuck, you could barely push the man. You quickly learned he was very lean and dense under all those baggy clothes.

Lost in your spiraling anger, you didn't notice a shadow grow over you.

You turned around, and when you saw the very man you were having thoughts of killing you almost dropped the pot full of water.

"Jesus christ you startled me, you need to wear a bell or something." You gasped, quickly turning away from him, trying to escape his grabbing hands.

It never mattered though, since he managed to grab your waist anyway, pulling you flush against his body. You sighed and tried to elbow him off. "I'm busy." That was all you said, temper already short.

"Why are so upset? Did you see something on the news?" Shouta asked, and you heard the annoyance creeping up in his voice. Somewhere, in the self-preserving part of your brain told yourself to drop the attitude and comply. To stop being so aggressive and be the perfect fuck doll he wanted. To stop. To just stop fighting. To give up.

But for some reason, today was not the day you would.

"No, I didn't. I was just reminded that I can't go outside, and to make up for the lack of sun I get, I have to take a fucking vitamin every day to make sure I don't get sick. From not going outside on the goddamn porch." You answered, bitterness lacing every word you spat at him. But even though your words were directed at him, your back was faced away from him. You couldn't see the mounting anger in his face, or his fists clenching the more you went on.

Suddenly, you were forcefully turned around, your back leaning over the steadily heating stove. One of Shouta's large hands found itself grasping at the top of your head, pulling at the hair that was there.

"Enough. I give everything to you all these months and you're still ungrateful. What have I told you about the attitude?" He growled, eyes glowing red and hair floating up. At this point in this fucked up relationship, you didn't know if he was activating his quirk because he didn't want you to hurt him, or because it was just a reflex he had when he was extremely pissed off.

Fear wracked your body for a moment before your brain just shut off. "Fuck. You. I hate you-"

You felt a thunderous pain on the side of your face, hot and heavy on the right side of your face before your whole world blacked out on you.

___________________________________________

Shouta sighed, trying to expel all the anger that had been left over. He had promised himself he'd no longer get violent with you since he didn't want you to be afraid of him. So far, that had been fine, you had slowly but surely accepted your role here without many hitches in the road.

He looked down to your form on the floor and rolled his eyes thinking you were just being dramatic. He heaved you up without much look at you and flopped you on the couch. "You know I hate hitting you, and I'm so sorry, I just hate hearing you talk to me that way." He admitted as if that atoned his past sins. Shouta huffed in annoyance when he didn't get an answer, assuming you were just giving him the silent treatment again. He walked away to finish the dinner you had started.

His hand hurt like a bitch the whole time, and the man realized he had busted one of his knuckles.

Shit.

He must've hit you harder than he wanted. Nonetheless, you endured worse from him. You'd live.

"I brought you your food, I hope you like it." He muttered, setting it down on the coffee table in front of your laying form. Shouta waited for you to say something, and he called your name in mounting annoyance. He reached a large hand to touch your shoulder, but as soon as he came into contact, you quickly jerked away from him. Shouta sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Fine, be that way. You'll see you need me." He turned to disappear in his study, having paperwork to process for the next day.

___________________________________________

The sun was setting by the time he was done, looking at the clock it had been hours since the dinner incident. Confusion crept into his mind, he would've heard you bustling in the kitchen by now, or you would've come in to apologize at the least.

But you hadn't done either of those things. Shouta got up and trekked down the hallway, and peeked into the living room. You were still paying on the couch, in the same position as he had left you in. His stomach dropped when he saw your food lay untouched.

He quickly made his way to you and rolled you onto your back. His grip tightened on your shoulder in shock when he saw your unconscious form.

Your cheek was completely swollen and red, the upper part of your cheekbone already fading into the telltale bluish hue of a bruise.

Fuck.

Shouta's heart and mind raced as he cradled your head, instantly checking your pulse. He sighed in relief when he felt your heart still beating steadily, and when he checked your breaths coming in a slow even rhythm.

Guilt instantly ate him up inside, as well as self-hate and disgust. Shouta never intended to hurt you this badly, your vile words undeserving of such a harsh punishment.

"I'm sorry, you're fine, I'm sorry." He slowly rocked you as his eyes slowly welled up with tears.

Shouta loved you with his entire being. The only reason his heart beat was to beat for you. He only breathed and lived for you. He only ate to make sure he felt well enough to talk to you, only drank water to make sure he could talk to you. He took more naps at work so he could be awake longer around you. He kidnapped you to make sure you were safe with him forever.

But a sick, tiny part of his brain told him you deserved it. He gave you everything you could ever want, devoted his entire being and life to you, and still, you said such hurtful words to him.

Either way, you'd be fine, you'd get up and you'd both apologize to one another.

But one of you would be more sorry than the other.

[yuyu1024]

Babe

Pairings: S.coups × y/n

Genre/tags: protective/possessive bf

Warning: 🔞🔞🔞 fluff but smut, unprotected sex, pet names, cursing, semi public, handjob

~~~ [lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 3k

Disclaimers:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

A/N: looong time no post. ✨️I was away... got sick and mentally not doing okay... and I dont think im 100% okay yet...Its been hard but still trying my best :)

i might be coming back to writing here and there... but not consistent. Hopefully you understand...

meaning, i will be a 🐌 in updating nor posting and won't be online mostly. 🖤

(i cant promise i can jump back to the Yoongi/Suga series yet also sorry 😭 hopefully one day but not soon.)

Me writing... is depending if im okay.

Also, Thank you for the kind messages in DMs. I really do appreciate them...even tho i don't reply 🖤 pls know its very helpful.

Thank you.

P.S its been a long time since i wrote anything so.... rusty.🥲 this is my just trying to get back to it.

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

Seungcheol, your boyfriend, texted you to meet him at school. Which surprised you the second you read it because it has been weeks since he went to school.

He has been doing special online classes these past weeks as he can't walk. Yet. He slipped while playing soccer with the boys two months ago causing an injury on his left leg. It was very painful to watch him yell in pain during that game. It was supposed to be just a fun game with his friends and you and their other friends watching but yeah, accidents happen.

"What are you doing here?" You gasp the second you enter the University clinic and saw your boyfriend sitting and chatting with the school doctor.

"Babe." He smiles and opens his arm, asking for a welcome hug

"Babe!" You squeal and immediately run and hugged him tightly.

"I missed you." He mumbles lightly lifting you off the floor even he's sitting on the clinic's bed.

He never lost his strength.

"Ditto." You say and kissed him on his cheek before letting go. "Wait... why are you here?" You ask again. "He can go back to school now?" You turn to ask the doctor behind you

"He can. But I still suggest no." He folds the folder his holding and sits down on his desk. "He can walk now with crutches easily yes... but... going up and down... walking building to building to classes...." doctor shakes his head

"I'm just here to visit, babe." Cheolie says caressing your back. "To report my health to him... to let know the team..."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry..." he press his lips together and giving you an apologetic look.

"I'll leave you two to talk... I have to go on a meeting now in the faculty. Just let the nurse know when you leave okay? So she can assist you with the wheel chair."

"Okay, doc. Thank you."

And as soon as the doctor leaves and shut the door close behind him, Seungcheol immediately grabs you by the waist, pull you close to his body and leans in to fully kiss you.

It feels rushed at the beginning but as soon as you find the perfect spot to lean your body weight to his, it felt smooth and just sensational. You even opened your mouth completely to let his tongue explore you.

You two haven't kissed for awhile. The rent is due.

"I missed you so much." He whisper as he pulls away to take a breather.

"This is the longest we've been away from each other..." you say as you straighten your stand

"Yeah... I got busy healing..."

"And I got busy at school... and at home..." you answer as you sit down beside him. "How are you feeling at the moment?"

"Good....well.. better now that I've kissed you." He smirks and plants a tiny kiss on your temple

"Babe..." you lean on his shoulder

"You know you always make me feel good..." he chuckles. "Also... Doc said my leg is healing pretty good..."

"That's good to hear..." you stand up once again. "So... can I--"

And before you could ask him another question about visiting him soon at home Seungcheol kisses you on your cheek and then on the back of your hand.

"Thank you for always calling me... every night... making sure to check on me... give me updates at school and being an understanding girlfriend. Even though you are tired yourself."

"I didn't do that much." You say holding his hand. "If only I could visit you personally I would..."

But you couldn't. It's not like he leaves far away from you. It's just that you wanted him to just rest. You know how he is when he sees you. He gets excited and acts everything is fine even though he is in pain.

He would probably force himself to get up when you visit him. It's kind og his thing to show off he is strong. Especially to you. He is your alpha lover.

"No...babe. just you calling has saved me from a lot of bad moods and not doing my therapies because... I'm not in the mood." He kisses your hand again.

"Well I'm glad... I could help..." you say smiling.

"And also..." he then bites his lower lip whilst smiling. You already know what he's about to say with those cheeky smirks.

"Hush..." you cover his mouth with your hand, scared that he might say it outloud and the nurse from behind the door might hear. "That's for us only..." you whisper.

He is referring to the video call sessions you do every now and then. To help him when he is... sad and horny.

"You promised... no one should know..."

"Of course..." he murmurs, his mouth is still covered by your hand. "The images are for my eyes to see and for my dick to feel only." He adds and then playfully licks your palm, making you jump a little.

"Hey!" You slap him on his shoulder

He is grinning so much. He is enjoying your reactions. "You're so adorable being shy..." he puts his arm around your waist, securing you between his legs. "My shy little fairy..." he mumbles just before he kisses you again.

You don't deny him of any sort of making out. Even at the clinic. Why woulf you? You missed him so bad too.

So bad that even his hands is skimming your body and even lifting your short A-Line skirt, exposing your bum, just to squeeze it is fine. Perfectly fine.

"Wait." He pauses and looks you in the eyes. "You are wearing a skirt this short... with no protective shorts under?"

"Hmm?" You look at him, confused for a second. "Oh."

He is yout alpha, yes. And one trait of him that is very dominant is him being protective of you. He does not like anyone hurting you, being mean to you and most especially drooling over you. You are his and only his.

"What you mean oh?" He raises a brow. "Well? Why aren't you wearing one?"

You don't have a good excuse. You just forgot. Well... you have been forgetting since he have been away.

"Y/N..."

"You're now calling me by name...." you move back away a little. "I'm sorry... I have no excuse..."

"What if some maniac sees you? When you go up stairs? Or the elevator in the media building? You know its glass right? They can see... what if wind blows and..." he sighs, frustrated. "You know how most guys are."

"I know... I'm really sorry." You pout. "I didn't purposely forget it..."

You see the change in his mood. He is very possessive of you so you know that just the idea of any guy looking at you because they find you cute or have interest of being close to you and whatever, he's already on guard.

He sighs again and also he's already grabbing his crutches.

"Leaving already?" You say in the softes tone.

"Yeah..." he stands up and calls on the nurse for assistance.

"Okay..." you lower your gaze.

You are not sure how to tame your boyfriend since this time you know you are at fault for forgetting and breaking a promise you told him after he was told to stay at home.

You stand up and sling your bag over your shoulder. "Just... call me when you get home."

"I will not call you." He says as he sits down on the wheel chair. "You're coming home with me."

"Wait. What?" You ask

The nurse enters the room and greets the two of you.

"Ready to go home?" The nurse asks

"Yes." Seungcheol smiles at her. "I have a scheduled therapy this afternoon..."

"Oh... I see... goodluck then." She says as she helps to push your boyfriend

"Y/N..." he calls your name out again.

This is the second time he called you by name. He is clearly not okay with the skirt situation. This never happened before.

***

You both arrived at his parent's house. They welcomed you and hugged you even. They thanked you for being a support system for their son even though physically you can't come because, well, they know how their son acts around you.

It's not a secret that their son is so in love with you that he's very clingy and trying to act cool and such.

"I already made food for the two of you so just reheat it if you decide to eat later."

"Oh. Thank you Mrs. Choi." You say

"It's nothing dear... also... thank you for being his care taker for tonight... we will enjoy our night on out staycation at the city." His mother says

You are stunned to hear what Mrs. Choi just said. You can't react beside just smiling and nodding. "Ah... ahm... don't worry about us... I'm going to take good care of him."

"Thank you, again." Mr. Choi says.

"We'll get going now... see you tomorrow afternoon, dear." She says to her son who is sitting in the sofa drinking his cola.

"Have fun, Mom and Dad!" He waves at them

And as soon the door shuts and you hear the car engine from outside.

"What the fuck was that?" You stomp you way towards him. "Care taker... tonight?? Babe?"

Nonchalantly he answers. "You will be staying for the night here with me... until tomorrow..."

"Why?"

"Why not?" He looks at you with a coldest stare. "Do you have any other plans? Are you meeting with anyone?"

"No..."

"And then... stay...."

"But... my parents..."

"I already told them... they are fine with it."

"When?"

"I called them earlier... before I texted you to come to the clinic."

You are in complete shock. "Cheolie..." you whine

"Now, you're calling me by name?" He raises a brow. "Why are you acting like that? It's like you don't want to stay with me."

"That's not it."

"Then what?"

You sigh. You are lost for words.

Yes you should be happy you are spending time with your boyfriend but he could've told you. You would say yes if he asked or told you.

You are just stunned maybe or confused with him doing this too since he's been being snappy at you since earlier.

"Whatever." You mumble throwing your bag to the floor and just sitting down at the chair opposite of where he's sitting.

Now you are the one in the bad mood.

"I still have the clothes and undergarments you left from last time..." he then says in a much calmer tone.

"Okay." You answer not looking at him.

You are not mad at him. You are just not happy with what he did. He probably wanted to surprise you with the idea earlier but since it got ruined during your clinic make out session. Now things are...

"Babe." He calls you

You turn your head to look at him. He looks serene now.

"Can you please come here..." he says

You get up and make your way to him, to sit down beside him.

"Not there." He says holding on to your wrist and leading you to move somewhere else. "Here..." he gestures for you to sit on top of him.

"But... your leg..."

"I can manage..." he breathes and then tugs you down so he could kiss you, cupping your face with one hand.

Your hands are now on his chest for balance support. You tried pulling away from the kiss but

"Sit..." he says in between the kiss.

And you do as he says. Kneeling down on the sofa, legs spread between his thighs, you sit down on him and slowly put your arms around his neck.

"Cheolie..." your lips part ways as you spoke and he tries to chase the kiss again but you bite your lips together. "Wait..."

"Why...?" He pouts

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" He runs his hands from your legs to your thighs and then underneath your skirt.

"You were just so cold to me... not even talking to me like I'm your girlfriend... and now you're kissing me and touching me..."

He throws his head back for a second and then sighs. "Babe, I'm sorry.... I was... well..."

"I said I'm sorry about the skirt... Don't worry. I will just wear pants starting on monday...."

"You sure?"

"Yeah... I promise." You kiss the tip of his nose. "I will just wear skirts when I'm with you."

"Really?" He raises a brow with matching smirk, biting his lower lip.

"Yeah..." you move your hips forward knowing what this tiny move will do to him. "I know you like to have easy access with me when we're together..." you softly say

He grunts as he feel you move a bit more. Rocking your hips over his erection that's sort of protected by his black jogging pants.

"I know what you're doing..." he hums

"And I know you like... what I'm doing..."

His smile goes ear to ear. "You're lucky I can't stand on my own yet... If I could..."

"What will you do?"

"Carry you over my shoulders and spread you on top of my bed..."

"And...?" You put your forehead to his.

"And...fuck you 'till dawn..."

Just the thought made you horny and wanting him. But since he can't do what he usually does to you, you decide to handle this on your own.

"You can still fuck me..." you say, grinning. "We have all night till tomorrow to find a way... a position you want me to be in."

"Fucking hell, babe." He grunts, sounding excited and turned on.

You adjust your position, making sure you can access him easily. Him meaning his long veiny length that's already leaking.

"Shit! Ah!" His mouth drops the second you hold onto him. His eyebrows is showing how he's loving the way you stroke and pump him. "Babe..." he moans. "Babe... aaaaahhh..." he throws his head back, his hands on his hair, trying to hold on to reality coz he is floating in heaven right now.

"Should I... let the tip touch me?"

"Touch... you?" He looks at you, brows furrowed from the high.

You already removed your panties off without him noticing.

"Yes... like this...." you then adjust your position back on top of him and lowered yourself just enough for the tip of his dick feel your entrance.

"Babe, fuck!" He snarls throwing his head back. "Your so damn wet already..."

You let him feel the wetness for awhile before you ease him in you.

"Holy... shiiiiit!"

"Ngggeeeaaah..." you breathe in as you suck him in whole.

"You're doing great babe." He pushes the hair off your face. "Don't rush it... just... feel it... feel me..."

When he's completely in you, you didn't move. You just hugged your man and took a breather.

"I can't believe my little fairy is being so daring..."

"Because I want to give you what you want... what you need..." you mumble on his neck.

"Babe, you know I can wait till I'm healed and ready to fuck you..."

"I know..." you look him in his eyes, "but I miss it too..."

"You do?"

You nod. "Us video calling... while we... you know... is not enough... I thought it was enough... but when I saw you earlier... I really did missed you more than I can imagine."

"You miss my dick?" He tease

"Babe!" You hide your face on his neck again.

"Ugh..." he suddenly moans. "Wow. I didn't know you get tigher when I tease you."

Seungcheol starts to move his hips a little, to ease dipper into you.

"Ah..." you exhale shakily. "Cheolie...hmmm...."

"You like that?"

"I do."

Then you start to move yourself.

You leaned back a little, pushing forward and pulling backward in motion to meet his slow but deep thrusting.

"Cheolie..." you cry his name as you feel like reaching your climax.

"Just let it go..."

"Fuck!" You throw your head back, panting and shaking. "Come with me..." you say, "come....with me..." you clentch more down there, making him feel the tightness.

"But babe..." biting on his lips, hissing and trying to control himself. "We don't have condoms."

"I don't care." You lean in for a sloppy kiss. "Come with me. I need to see you... melt with me..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Babe..."

"Please..." you beg, "I want to feel it..."

"Fuck it!" He snarls as he goes to squeeze your ass under your skirt as he picks up the pace with you

It's amazing how strong he is. Even with an injured leg he could lift his hips to meet yours.

"Aaah!!" You moan as loudly as you can as you felt something in you pop.

He growls as soon as feel his length starts to release and feel the warmth in you.

"Fuck babe..." he is panting. "Our first time you being on top..."

Embarassed after your orgasm, you hug your man and hide your face again. "I only did what I know and can..."

"You did amazing... your handjob is what I needed to get me into the a frenzy." Then he kisses the top of your head. "I fucking love you... whatever you do... makes me love you even more..."

"I love you too..." you go for a kiss again. But then burst into a giggle when you felt him move. "You are still in me... I can feel you."

A smile spread over his lips, "Maybe we should continue this on my bed. I can do other positions and pump more in you if you want."

You grin, blushing. "I'd love to."

[azurevi]

anchor

pairing: leona x gn!reader

summary: promise rings, some backstory i sprinkled on a whim, a few stuff from the tamashina-mina event. 3k

note: diversity loses! tormented writer posts more leona fluff despite being consumed by angst ideas. @twistedchatterbox gave me the idea of promise rings a while back then so here’s something i made! it’s a bit messy cz i wrote most of this on bus rides lol

This day couldn’t get any better, Leona thought, putting aside the fact that he was at a festival he really didn’t want to attend, and that he had been surrounded by his curious schoolmates the whole day, forcing him into the role of a tour guide. At least he got to show you around the place he’d grown up in, shower you with cuisine after cuisine that you couldn’t find anywhere else, and bring you to a hot spring that made him feel that his bones had been broken down and resembled again, all of which you responded with the utmost enthusiasm and amazement. Despite the love-hate sentiments he held for this place, knowing that you enjoyed the tour put him in quite the good mood.

Also, he was definitely putting ‘roadtrip’ on his non-existent bucket list now.

A content sigh slipped out as he sat sprawled out in his seat, head resting on his fist, a single strand of hair falling over his attentive gaze. Everyone had had their fill at dinner and was enjoying the dance show. Melodies swirled and clashed in the air, accompanied by the soft fluttering of the dancers’ outfits. His focus was, however, not on their flawless performance, but rather on the giggling group in front of the stage.

You were linking arms with Kalim, following his ecstatic steps with a touch of clumsiness. Lilia was linked to your left, even though he was just doing his weird moves that somehow resembled a bird. Grim was somewhere else, struggling to mirror the dancers and trying his absolute hardest not to get kicked at by accident. Once in a while the music would speed up, and you would all scramble to match the tempo, laughing when your legs bumped into each other.

The unbridled bliss on your face was as bright as the afternoon sun. Amidst the collision of songs, he made out your laughs as though they were a melody written especially for him. If the hotel was vacant but for the both of you, he would’ve jumped out of his seat and danced with you just so he could see how much you were enjoying yourself up close. Ideally he would have the song changed to something much gentler for him to soak in the moment under the glorious starry night. 

“…Leona, are you listening?” Vil’s voice dragged him out of the little fantasy he was conjuring in his head.

“I stopped listening the moment you brought up your something-something products.” He said, which was only half a lie. Even when he was distracted, he picked up a few lines, like how the climate here could've very well ruined Vil’s skin without the lotions he’d brought and how all the sweating could’ve melted his makeup had they not been waterproof. Basically just different words to show that he’d come prepared.

“Of course you did,” Vil rolled his eyes. Following Leona’s gaze, he glanced back and forth between the trio and the man beside him. “Lilia is quite good at dancing, isn’t he?”

“Yea.” The answer came mindlessly. By the time Leona realized himself, Vil already had that annoying smirk on his face. 

Darn you for distracting him. 

Vil took a sip out of his glass, letting the fresh juice swirl in his grip. “Even to this day, I still can’t believe that they are into you of all people.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” 

“Not in a thousand years.” He put down the drink. “It’s just that they’re bright and easy-going and all, and you’re… well, you’re you. You act like you don’t want anyone breathing near you most of the time.”

That’s true, to some extent. Leona had found your presence a handful at first, but you managed to sneak into his life anyways.

“But there are times when your feelings become painfully obvious,” as if remembering something, Vil’s assumed an accusatory tone. “Like today, when you made all of us feel like third wheelers while you went on this lovey-dovey date with them. But really, that just proves my point. Whatever doubts that I initially had about you two… they’re wrong.”

“Do you have a point?” Leona frowned. As much as he would like to call him out for sticking his nose into his business, he knew that he was just looking out for you. Ever since VDC, you two had got on friendly terms, and that meant he was going to care for you anytime he saw fit. It was his way of showing his love.

“If you’re really serious about them, you should put a ring on it.”

He’d never turned his head this sharply. “What?”

“Well, not to straight up propose, just get promise rings or something. A lot of my co-stars wear them to show loyalty and devotion. It’s a good way of telling someone that you’re committed.”

“I am committed.” He shifted in his seat. “And they know that.”

“It’s just a suggestion. Take it or leave it.” That was the last thing Vil had to say before Lilia proposed having a karaoke session, forcing him to intervene. 

…Of course you knew that he was committed. He’d made it abundantly clear, from remembering every little thing you’d mentioned in passing to showering you with gifts. He showed up to most school events for you, and he stood up for you whenever someone was dumb enough to pick fights. The list went on— surely he’d made it apparent enough how much you meant to him.

So why were you knocking on his door at 2 in the morning, with a hesitation that reminded him of when Cheka would stick his head into his room in the morning to see if he was awake? 

“Hey. I know you’d rather sleep by yourself, but I can’t really fall asleep, so I was wondering if you’d have space for one more?”

He rubbed his eyes, brain still a bit fuzzy, and moved to one side of the bed. You scampered inside with the blanket wrapped around you like a cocoon and dipped your weight into the mattress.

“Was the bed uncomfortable?” He asked, spreading his arm so you could roll right next to him. 

“No, I just can’t get used to new ones.” 

And with that, you were off to dreamland in a few minutes. 

The patterned ceiling stared right back at Leona. Where he’d just fallen asleep effortlessly, there was now a recurring thought romping in his mind. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d shared a bed with you. As a matter of fact, Ruggie often found him hogging you while he’s napping in the botanical garden, clinging to you like you were a life-sized plush. But most of the time, he was the one initiating it. He’d thought that it was enough of a demonstration of how he wanted you around, but in reality—

“I know you’d rather sleep by yourself.” 

Just how did you come to that conclusion? It wasn’t even the first time you’d said something similar. You’d always been on the cautious side, tip-toeing around the topic of intimacy like you were afraid that you’d be ‘too much’. 

Perhaps worse still was the fact that he’d never been straightforward about his feelings. They had always been wrapped in other gestures, hidden under layers of seemingly ordinary words. Who was to say that they couldn’t have been lost on you? 

“Put a ring on it.” 

At the end of the day, it was Vil’s fault for planting the idea in his head.

—

Sneaking around the palace was child’s play to Leona. He’d mastered the art of hiding in dark shadows and unseen corners since a tender age, when the guards and chamberlains would talk behind his back. Plus, nothing much had changed inside the palace. They were really driving home the idea of preserving the past.

Minor changes had been done to his room from the weekly cleaning, but otherwise everything was as he remembered. He made light steps to his empty desk and pulled open the drawer, searching for a jewelry box. Within were dozens of trinkets that would make Ruggie’s eyes twinkle like stars, from pendants to bracelets, all of which Leona had no interest in wearing. 

All except this. He fished out a brown pouch and flipped it upside down. Two identical rings fell right into his palm. Each was a bit chunky, with an untainted emerald embedded in the golden shank. He pulled out his hair tie next, checked the mark he’d made in the middle, and compared the circle it formed with the size of the rings. It was a perfect match, as he’d suspected.

Leona recalled the day he’d gotten them. He was sitting at his mother’s bedside, hands balled into fists on his lap. He recalled her fragile, glass-like smile, recalled the shake in her hand as she removed the rings from her fingers. He was still too young and naive to know what was going on, but he had a hunch.

She had placed them in his parched, dry hand then. His knuckles had been cracked and bruised from earlier that day, when he’d lost control of his unique magic during training. With a wistful sigh, she ran feathery touches on the cuts, as if she was trying to heal them. But no dice; she would’ve healed herself had she possessed that sort of power.

“What are these for?” He clenched the golden rings in his chubby fingers. They looked ordinary, just like any other accessories the chamberlains like to throw on him before grand ceremonies. The only thing that stood out were the stones, which seemingly matched his eyes.

“When you find someone who feels like home, and they feel the same about you, give them the rings to show your feelings.”

“Do you mean I have to marry them?” 

She laughed at his uneasy grimace— a sound that had yet to be lost in the currents of time. “Of course, or else they’ll go away forever.”

Young Leona immediately stuffed one of the rings back into her hand, “Then you must keep one! This way you’ll never go away from me, right?”

It would take a few more years down the road for him to understand why her eyes welled up at his words, or why one day Kifaji lifted him up in his arms and rushed him to her bedside, why that was the only time he would ever see her again. It was then that he realized that those rings were not charged with magic or blessings. They were just gold imbued with grief. 

“What are you doing here, Prince Leona?”

Kifaji was standing at the doorway, hands hidden behind his back. God knew how long he’d been watching. Leona must’ve been so absorbed in his little treasure hunt to have not picked up his footsteps.

“You sound awfully accusatory. This is my room, isn’t it?” He slid the rings back into the pouch and pulled at the string to seal it.

Kifaji watched him pocket it. “Those are your mother’s rings, aren’t they?”

It seemed like his keen observation hadn’t been lost in time. “So what if they are?”

“Well. I can’t and won’t say anything since they’re your possessions. But curiosity beats me, so I must ask: what do you intend to do with them?”

“I intend to wear them, cause that’s how rings are supposed to be used,” Leona nudged the drawer shut with his knee, feeling a bit irritated by the questions.

“Yes, but it’s certainly been a while. Why your mothers’ rings in particular, and why now?”

He sighed. Nothing ever went past Kifaji’s eyes. “Fine. It’s because I’m gonna give one of ‘em to someone else, okay? End of story.” 

He strode past the chamberlain out of the door, but the latter persisted, catching up rapidly. There was a moment when he was side by side with Kifaji, and was a bit astounded by the height difference between them. He never really noticed it before. To think that there was once a time when Kifaji could pick him up like he was nothing but a sack of rice.

“It’s that friend of yours that’s been tagging along, isn’t it?” 

Leona decided to focus his efforts on walking.

“I was skeptical at first when you showed up with a bunch of guys that claimed to be your friends. Except for that kid. They seemed different.”

He scoffed. “Why, because they were hugging a cat the whole time?”

“No. Because of the way you treated them.”

“Oh yea? Enlighten me.”

“Remember the mangoes at the Raintree Market?”

And then Leona was strolling through the lively bazaar again, watching his schoolmates try out local fruits. The vendor had planned to give you one half of a mango as he’d done so for the others, but Leona asked for the whole fruit and a knife instead.

“The right way to eat a mango,” he sliced the mango in half, and began cutting squares on the one without the seed. Then he held the fruit on its two ends and pushed the pieces out. “Is to cut it into bite-sized chunks.”

“Don’t you remember? I used to do that for you when you were young. You’d cry and thrash because you despised fruits, so I decided to cut them into tiny pieces and have you eat them while we played chess. You cleared the plate in no time.”

There was a certain tone to Kifaji’s voice that Leona couldn’t quite recognize. All he knew was that he was suddenly aware of the aged hunch of his back. Where he used to race him through the palace with ease, he was now panting with the efforts to keep up with his long strides.

Leona slowed down a little to let him catch his breath. 

“As the chief chamberlain, I do have the duty to ensure the integrity of anyone affiliated with the royal family. But I’m guessing you’ll do anything to get me off your back, so there’s no point anyways. Plus, if you’re taking out your mother’s rings for them, I suppose there’s no point in doubting your decisions.”

“Good.” Leona’s voice came out quieter than he expected. “I didn’t need you meddling in my business anyways.”

Some guards shot him confused glances when he passed by, but he ignored them. The two of them walked in silence until they arrived at the entrance. The sun had just emerged from the horizon, and was marking the land with a warm tint. 

“I’m glad you found someone, Prince Leona.”

“Yea, yea. I got it,” he waved him back into the palace, but stopped just before he could turn around. “Thank you for escorting me.”

Kifaji froze, then let out a light laugh. 

“That’s what I do.”

—

Securing the rings turned out to be the easy part. The challenge was in how to present them. Whatever plans Leona had been brewing in his head vanished thanks to the mishaps during the festival. By the time he remembered the rings in his pocket, you were already on your way back to the school campus.

Fine. He just had to adapt. He could book an expensive restaurant and do it with a band playing in the background. He could do it unexpectedly, in a totally unsuspecting occasion. He could recruit help from his dorm members to build a fitting venue.

But somehow, he just couldn’t do it. He’d had everything planned out in said restaurant, but he just couldn’t pull out the rings. He’d brought you to the beachside to watch the sun set, but he couldn’t make out the words. He’d prepared time after time what to say, but they never managed to untangle the feelings inside him.

The longer he held it off, the more he felt that it was a bad idea. What if you didn’t like rings, or what if you didn’t like him enough to dedicate yourself to that kind of promise? Even though they weren’t engagement rings, they still had a certain weight to them. Not to mention they were not any rings, but the ones his very mother used and left in his care.

He should really stop ruminating about this whole thing before he brought the rings back to the palace.

A crunch prompted him to look in your direction. You were lazing on his bed, back turned to him as you binge-watched one of those boring reality shows. There was another crunch.

“Are you eating chips?”

You froze in place. The video on your laptop went on, the audience’s laugh piercing the silence. “No?”

“Show me your hands.”

You shifted, and slowly raised them where he could see. There was salt on your thumb and index finger. He moved forward instantly, nevermind the chessboard next to him. After a bit of wrestling, he snatched the packet of chips from your hold.

“I said no eating on the bed!”

“Oh, so now you can eat on your bed but I can’t?” You argued.

“Yea, that’s the point.” He read the favor on the packet before reaching in to grab one for himself. 

“Hypocrite.” You rolled your eyes and held your hand out. As he gave it back, you caught a glimpse of something red on his finger. “Hey, what’s that?”

It was a cut, shallow but precise. It must've happened when he was pulling at the packet. He hadn't even realized it at the moment, but now it was starting to sting a little, with a bit of pink smeared on the flesh around it.

“A papercut,” he shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t papercuts sting?” You paused the show and leaned in to check its depth. 

“A bit. I’ll just avoid wetting it.”

“Nah, you should put a bandaid on it.”

“It’s a teeny cut.”

“My point stands.” Seeing as he wasn’t planning to do it himself, you sighed and threw your torso off the bed. "This is why you should never steal my chips, you know."

His steely eyes followed as you reached for the desk, or specifically, the drawer on the bottom, where he’d been keeping the rings. You didn’t seem to notice the addition of the porch to the miscellaneous mess inside, as you soon pulled out an unopened box of bandaids.

“May I have your hand, your majesty?” You gave him the best smolder you could muster, which just looked absurdly humorous. He complied regardless, letting you have your fun. 

“Mm. I’ve never seen a cut this deep in my years of being a healer, your majesty,” you nodded meaningfully and ripped the box open. “I must subject you to the most effective medicine I have here: a magical band-aid.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He said despite stifling a smirk at the name you'd been using on him. 

“And you’re in a life and death situation here, so I prefer that you don’t take this lightly.” You peeled off the seal and lined up the cotton with the wound, acting with a meticulousness that mismatched the insignificance of such a small injury. Strands of hair cascaded down your face, and he pushed them out of your face.

Well, wasn’t it just wonderful to have your attention solely on him. He wouldn’t even have batted an eye at something as trivial as this, but you took it upon yourself to care for him anyways, like you always did.

His gaze fell from your face to the band-aid around his finger. Had he been more distracted, he wouldn’t even have noticed that you’d been working around his ring finger, on his left hand no less. And he knew it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but as you smiled proudly at your flawless work, he couldn’t help but feel warmth crawl towards his heart. 

It dawned on him then: the only thing more wonderful than having you pamper him over a tiny papercut, was to have you do it for the rest of his life. Even on days when he couldn't care less about himself, to have you look after him all the same. The knowledgedidn't come as a spike of adrenaline or in the form of an epiphany. It felt like a moment of clarity, like the wind's kisses against a wind chime.

“Y’know what this looks like?” He asked as you threw the band-aids back into the drawer. 

“What?”

“A ring.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “It looks like anything but a ring.”

“Touché. It did feel like you were putting one on me though,” he stopped you just before you could shut the drawer, and rummaged through the mess blindly. Finally, his hand grasped something velvety. “To prove my point…”

The light-hearted smile fell from your face as you watched him take the content out. It was a bit ludicrous now, to think that after all the time spent creating the perfect atmosphere, he was just going to basically-propose-to-you on a whim, but there was no moment better than this. The gold weighed like rocks in his hands, but heavier were the words brewing in his chest.

“My mother left me these rings and told me to give one to someone I want to spend my life with,” he gauged your surprised reaction, “And I know it’s still early for us to even think about stuff like this, but I haven’t been this sure of anything for a while, so I gotta say it now. You’re the person I want to grow old with, and this will not change no matter if it's a good day or a bad day. I want to go to sleep and wake up to you every day, and I want you to know that there’s nothing that I want more than to be with you if you'd let me.”

He took your left hand in his, his thumb instinctively running over your skin. “So, would you let me take care of you for the rest of time?”

Your bewildered expression slowly shifted, and your mouth curled into a bright beam. “I say, that sounds like a wonderful future.”

The band fitted around your finger so flawlessly, it could’ve been made with you in mind. You planted a kiss on the ring on his hand, and the gold seemed to glimmer, now coated with not just his mother’s, but also your love. 

As you pulled him close, a gush of warmth seeped into his heart, claiming its spot in the depths of his feelings. Perhaps this was exactly where home was— with your arms wrapped tightly around him. Maybe one day, he could even build a home of his own, rooted in nothing but the certainty you'd given him.

[number1villainstan]

19, 22, 34

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

My writing journey? I'm not sure if it can be called that, but if it can be then it started young. Very young. I've always been an imaginative child, and I believe the story I have of mine is from third grade. My writing journey is my entire life, really, jumping from fandom to fandom, daydreaming and writing and daydreaming and stopping and starting in fits and bursts in a chaotic waveform with no overarching pattern except for forward and getting better. "When" and "why" I started are useless questions--I've been a writer since I learned enough language to be a writer. There have always been stories living inside my head. I am a writer because I am a writer. I was born that way. It is a core part of me.

That being said, there are certain specific milestones to remark on:

When I was 11 or so, I often had the constant urge to write down the stories that were in my head, but I ignored this urge too often. I don't remember why. ADHD task initiation struggles? Lack of access to a computer? An unclear path to accomplish the task? This isn't to say that I ignored that urge 100% of the time--this was around the age when I started making Google Docs with story names, or perhaps I did that earlier. I can't quite remember. But the fact of the matter is--I ignored that urge too often, and now it's gone and I do not know how to get that fire back. It would help greatly with my own productivity now.

When I was 12, I found FF.net and subsequently made an account. A lot of old, terrible fic is still on that old account.

When I was 14, in August of 2016, I decided to do a little writing challenge for myself--or rather, "so that my readers know I'm not dead" (even if I didn't really have any readers): I wanted to write a short piece every month. And I am still writing a 'short piece' every month. The earliest of those tend to be 300-500 words; nowadays they're upwards of 1000 words, and I believe the longest out of all of them is a solid 3k words. And while I've skipped a few months by accident here and there, I'm proud to say I've been quite consistent with this series.

When I was around 16 or so, two things happened: number 1, I decided to switch from FF.net to Ao3, and number 2, I got a cellphone. When I switched to Ao3 I decided to port only my monthlies, because I had a lot of basically-abandoned multichapter fics on there that I had no idea how to finish, and I made switching to Ao3 a new start--I was a chronic pantser at that point, and still am in many ways, but that was the point when I started actually writing out notes and small outlines and doing prep work for my stories. Getting a phone was also a notable moment because it enabled me to work on my stories away from a computer, and because of a little journal app called Day One, in which I began to do daily writing practice that wasn't working on a specific WIP.

As I started to close out high school, I wrote and published on Ao3 my very first finished (and currently only) multichapter fic: start living when your heart stops, which was originally supposed to be 5 chapters and ended up 9 chapters. It was my first proper exercise in plotting out a story, and it was made possible in large part by an enforced and regular routine that I lost when COVID hit and when I went to college.

(There were probably certain milestones that I hit while in college--such as participating in my first (and currently only) bang/fic-and-art exchange event, or switching from Google Docs to LibreOffice--but none are jumping out at me as important.)

As for where I am now? I'm still working on prep work, and I still don't have a good routine for writing. But the ideas that I have are evolving. I've entered an experimental era of sorts, dipping my toes into things I'm not practiced at writing, even with my extensive history of wild AUs, such as symbolism, real-world critiques, longer narratives and more complex narrative structures. I am also attempting to (at least sometimes) force myself to write more than one draft, because I know full well that my writing improves dramatically with more than one draft, but without a solid routine for writing (and with ADHD on top of that) it's difficult to make myself do so. Still, I'm hopeful.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

Not incredibly. I use mostly my computer and LibreOffice to write my stories, and my usual method of organization is to have an Outline/Notes section at the top of the document (or Brainstorming, if it's an MSP) and an Actual Writing section below that, with subheaders for different chapters or scenes. It allows me to make notes of things that may not be said outright in the story but would still inform character's decisions or plot events and to jump around and write scenes out of order without messing things up or losing track of the story.

I also have Day One, a journal app, which I use for daily writing practice--a lot of random ideas and snippets get written down and stored there, and the consistency of writing in it has (I believe) greatly improved my writing-related microskills, like sentence structure and word choice.

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

I love it. Can't get enough of it. It adds so much clarity and conciseness--why isn't it mandatory?

[creatorofuniverses]

Gt July Day 20 – Intimidate

This is a very fun prompt, and I had trouble deciding what to use for it. I eventually wrote something from The Sacrifice- fair warning, this is a canon scene I’ve had in my head for a while, so it’s a bit longer than most drabbles (about 3k+ words). Hope you like it!

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

It had been an accident, really.

Theophilos hadn’t even been overexerting himself, not like normal, at least. It took a certain amount of exertion just being the sacrifice to a god, but really, Evine treated him better than anybody ever had. Theophilos didn’t have to beg for scraps or work himself to the bone, not here. Here he got regular meals and as much sleep as he wanted in a real bed.

So when the coughing fit came on, spurred by nothing more than his own wretched lungs and a too-quick breath, Theophilos was shocked. Then, as a plethora of past misfortunes surged to the front of his memory again at the sound of his own coughing, he was panicked.

He doubled over, his hands over his mouth as if they could stifle the horrible, hacking coughs bursting forth from his spasming lungs. He knew they sounded terrible, were unpleasant, something that would offend his betters; but he couldn’t stop them. The more he tried, the more his quivering body rebelled, his chest heaving as if his lungs wanted to cough themselves right out of his body.

“Theophilos?” Evine said his name in concern, their enormous hands gentle as they reached around him, but the panic flooded through Theophilos regardless. His lungs grew even tighter as it overwhelmed him. No, no, this couldn’t happen again, not here, where he had finally felt safe… he had only been Evine’s sacrifice for barely a week, and already he was showing them that he was broken, worthless. What would they do?

This question ricocheted around Theophilos’s mind like a swarm of angry bees, drowning out everything but the panic.

Evine frowned, lifting him up to their face. Their perfect brow was creased. “What’s wrong, are you okay?” Theophilos couldn’t answer even if he had processed the question correctly, which he hadn’t; those horrible, hacking coughs still expelled any air he could manage to gasp, wheezing, into his lungs. Evine’s concern grew by the moment. “Hey, breathe, okay, you’re okay… it’s alright…”

This failed to do what it needed to. The god held their sacrifice cupped in both hands for a moment, themself feeling a shard of unfamiliar panic and uncertainty, before they turned and rushed to the other side of the room. Gently, they deposited Theophilos onto his bed, where he curled up, shaking and coughing. Reaching over to another section of the wall, they pulled a string – a very little one, compared to them – that generally summoned an attendant. Then, still anxious and impatient, they shouted, “Medic! Please, we need a medic in here!”

They rarely shouted. Their voice practically boomed, and a few of the doors leading to the human-sized hallways shuddered. Evine winced, but couldn’t find it in themself to regret it. One worried glance at Theophilos showed that he hadn’t gotten any better.

It took much too long for anybody to come. Evine waited impatiently for a few minutes that felt like hours, nervous to an extent they had rarely felt before. They were pacing, their long strides taking them across the width of the room all too quickly, when one of the doors opened.

Evine all but pounced on the human that stood there, ignoring the small squawk of alarm in favor of grabbing the newcomer quickly. “Please,” Evine blurted, too frazzled to realize they’d pinned the new human’s arms to their side. They set them down in Theophilos’s room, watching as the relatively little man – though, he seemed quite a bit bigger than Theophilos – staggered to keep his feet under him. He carried a leather bag, which he instinctively raised protectively up to his chest as Evine loomed close. “You have to help him,” Evine said. It was more of a plea than an order; but Evine was still the god of the temple, and this man wore the dark blue uniform of the temple staff, so it was no surprise to anybody when the man turned towards Theophilos to do so.

The medic knelt by Theophilos’s bedside and opened his bag. Evine watched closely, holding their breath in case that helped- at this proximity, they knew the humans would feel it. The medic was a middle-aged man, portly and solid in the way of one who had never missed a meal, and he brought out some tools with crisp motions. He threw a look over his shoulder, looking as if he wanted to tell Evine to move away, though he thought better of it.

He didn’t say a word to Theophilos either. Instead, he used his hands to push Theophilos up to a seat – though Theophilos tried to help, once he seemed to understand – and set a small cone against Theophilos’s chest. The medic put his ear to it, listening intently, before putting the cone back in the bag. He then put both his hands on Theophilos’s throat, feeling out the muscles beneath even as Theophilos was still racked with coughs. Evine longed to ask him to fix the coughing, as it seemed painful for poor Theophilos, but figured that must be what the medic was doing.

Evine lamented not knowing more about how humans worked, biologically speaking. It had never seemed all that important before, but now they were making a mental list of books to request from the speakers.

The medic stood, placing one hand on Theophilos’s chest and another on his back. He seemed to glean something from all of this investigation, because he closed his bag once more and turned to address the god. “Your Eminence,” the medic began.

Evine stood to attention at the title, making them a good fifteen feet taller than the medic where he stood in Theophilos’s room. “Can you fix him?” they asked, worry still plain in their perfect voice. Theophilos shuddered on the bed.

The medic pursed his lips. “No,” he replied. “The Diamandis family gave you damaged goods this time, I’m afraid. His lungs and throat are injured beyond repair.” Theophilos, still coughing weakly, his chest tight and on fire, pinched his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see the expression on Evine’s face, not now that the god knew that he was forever broken. He couldn’t be fixed. “If I were you, I’d let that family know you don’t appreciate the deception, and demand they give you a better sacrifice. You won’t want this one long-term, this sort of thing will just keep happening with him.”

There was silence after the medic’s confident suggestion. Theophilos, unable to stand the suspense, opened his eyes again; and immediately wished he hadn’t. Evine’s expression was stony, as if the god were a marble statue rather than a living deity. Theophilos had never seen them so serious- so intimidating. It wasn’t as if he had ever forgotten they were huge, or inhuman, but now those qualities seemed tangible, pressing… dangerous. They stepped forward, casting a shadow over the two humans even as they both tensed. Theophilos’s body still heaved with desperate attempts to draw in breath, but the medic was frozen. Evine reached out with a hand and Theophilos curled up, closing his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. Of course they didn’t want him, they would get rid of him, and what would happen to him then?

Instead of a hand wrapping tightly around him, all Theophilos felt was a swift breeze. It was enough to scatter his panicked thoughts, and he looked up, blinking wide, terrified eyes.

Evine had the medic clutched in one hand, and they did not look happy.

“Y-your Grace?” the medic demanded, sounding more shocked and offended than afraid. Fear was definitely still somewhere in there, though.

Evine’s voice was smooth and might be mistaken for unbothered, if one ignored the sharp edge of ice along it. “You talk about him as if he is a thing,” they said in response. “If he’s a thing, what does that make you?”

The medic puffed up, at least as much as he could while being locked from the chest down in the god’s hand. “I am a trained medical professional-”

“You are a human,” Evine interrupted, speaking over him easily by sheer volume of their voice. Theophilos shivered where he lay curled-up, and it wasn’t just from the weak coughs still plaguing him. “Right now, I think of humans as more than just things.” Their hand tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to still the medic’s movements, quicken his heartrate, and intimidate the everlasting hell out of him. “Are you suggesting I change my mind?”

“No!” the medic blurted. He wet his lips before continuing frantically with, “No, of course not, Your Eminence. I was merely-”

“You are done,” Evine coldly decided. They reached over and pulled the rope to request an attendant once more.

As they waited, still exuding a rather terrifying calm, the medic tried once more. “Your, Your Eminence, if I offended in any way-”

“Quiet.” The medic fell silent.

Theophilos sat curled up on the bed, wheezing quietly, hoping to go unnoticed.

When somebody came, it was not another medic or one of the usual attendants, but Speaker Cassius himself. The speaker took in the situation with his usual pleasant, smiling mask before turning his face up to Evine and prompting, “Yes?”

The medic was unceremoniously dumped at the speaker’s feet, where he immediately tried to scramble away without looking like he was doing so. He failed, and wound up staggering to a stand behind a bemused Speaker Cassius. Evine explained, still all too icy, “This medic would rather give me his opinion than help the situation. I never want to see him again.”

“Your Eminence,” Speaker Cassius began, his own voice smooth, unafraid, like a parent soothing a child. “Is that really necessary? I’m sure this has been a mere misunderstanding…”

“I want him gone.” The god’s voice rose, filling the room with chill and ire. “Th- my sacrifice is hurt, and he doesn’t want to help, so I want him gone and I need a medic who will actually do something!”

Speaker Cassius, whose smile had dipped precariously towards a frown at the god’s initial stubbornness, regained his usual manner at the telltale sound of upset rather than anger in Evine’s voice. “Of course,” he agreed indulgently. “I’ll arrange it.” He gestured the current medic out into the hall, a suggestion that the man had no trouble following, and left; the doors closed firmly behind him.

The moment they did, Evine rushed back to Theophilos’s bedside- or rather, the side of his bedroom. All the ice melted. “Theophilos?” they gently inquired, looking at him with nothing but open, honest concern. “Are you okay? Hang in there, alright, they’re going to, Speaker Cassius is going to get somebody better…”

They reached out, one huge fingertip ever so gently brushing against his shoulder, and Theophilos shut his eyes against sudden tears. The god murmured something in dismay and consolation, but Theophilos couldn’t explain to them that these tears weren’t from the pain in his chest.

He had been afraid, certainly, and panicked, and all sorts of other things meriting tears; but Evine, a huge, powerful god who could do whatever they wanted, had stuck up for him. They had said that he wasn’t a thing to be discarded. They… they wanted him, even though he was broken, and it was this revelation that made Theophilos nearly miserable with gratitude.

A few minutes later, the doors opened once more. By the time Evine turned, a bit of their stoic expression from earlier returning, they had already shut again. On the balcony a young woman stood, alone, clutching a basket and looking all too much like a sacrifice on their first day. That comparison alone made Evine soften a bit towards her, though they still loomed close, watching her skitter backwards a few steps with their golden eyes, and asked firmly, “Are you here to help?”

“Y-yes, Sacred One,” the young lady stammered in reply. She had every manner of a rabbit about to bolt, not that Evine had ever seen one of those in person. “I, I’m here to serve.”

Evine sighed. She really seemed to mean it, and they still needed help, even if Theophilos’s coughing had mostly subsided by now. “Alright,” they said. They picked her up, quickly but not roughly, and to her credit she didn’t shriek. She still trembled slightly as they deposited her in Theophilos’s bedroom, but even that fell away as she took in the admittedly pitiful sight of their current sacrifice.

“Ooh, poor thing,” she tutted, mostly to herself. She set down her basket and pulled out a white cloth. It steamed faintly as she handed it to Theophilos with one hand, gently guiding him back up to a seat with another. “Here, sit up and put this near your mouth and nose- yes, just like that, don’t cover them but try to breathe through it as much as you can. The steam will loosen your lungs.” Once Theophilos was dutifully holding the hot, wet cloth close enough to breathe in the benefits, the young woman bustled about in her basket. She pulled out a clay jar, unstoppered the cork sealing it, and poured some of the liquid within into a cup. This she blew on gently, wafting away even more steam, before rising and offering it to Theophilos. “When you feel up to it, take some sips of this. It will soothe your throat, and get some liquid back in you.”

Her demeanor was no-nonsense, surprisingly so given that she only looked to be in her late twenties- she spoke with the certain authority of an old housewife. Similarly, however, there was genuine care beneath her words, a warmth that guided her hand. It comforted Theophilos in a way few things in his life ever had, and he followed her instructions almost automatically, taking some careful sips once he was breathing more evenly again. The hot tea within the cup tasted like honey, and lemon. It was syrupy enough to coat the back of his throat, and as promised, soothed some of the raw pain there. His lungs still ached, but the coughing fit had passed, and he was still here. That was a lot to be grateful for.

“Theophilos?” Evine tentatively queried. They rested their hands on the edge of his room, leaning in close, and Theophilos couldn’t help but notice the new medic stiffen as the god’s breath washed across her back from mere feet away. “Are you feeling better?”

Theophilos looked up at them, smiling and nodding reassuringly. His eyes were still a bit red and puffy, and he still looked all too frail and shaky, but he did seem to be better and the god was visibly assured. Evine sighed deeply, pushing quite a lot of the medic’s long, dark hair forward into her face, and said, “Oh, what a relief. Thank you, um…?” They leaned back a bit to look at the medic, since she had been close enough otherwise for them to go cross-eyed.

She turned and bobbed a curtsy, her white-edged chiton swished around her brown ankles. “Melina, Sacred One,” she respectfully supplied. Evine hadn’t seen many women in their room, aside from previous sacrifices. Melina looked altogether different from them; she was rounder, more solid, her face less symmetrical, her nose a bit bigger. Her hair was half-tied, but untidy, somewhere awkwardly in-between straight and wavy. Evine supposed she must not be “beautiful”, that concept that seemed so important to the speakers when they chose their sacrifices, but Evine liked her regardless. She was cute, and she hadn’t screamed. She added, “I am an assistant to the medical staff here in the temple.”

Evine hummed thoughtfully. “Well, now you’re my personal medic,” they decided. Melina froze, staring, and Evine’s determination melted into something more like reassurance. “Or, well, you could still be an assistant in the other part of the temple, I suppose, if you want to! I only meant, I think it would be prudent to have a medic just for Theophilos whenever he needs one, and I want it to be you.”

Melina sucked in a breath, before bowing her head and hiding any further surprise. “You honor me, Sacred One,” she said in reply. “It would be my pleasure to serve you.”

Evine fretted in a pattern that was becoming familiar to Theophilos in a rather endearing way. “And you don’t have to be so formal either?” they proposed, sounding and looking as if they weren’t, somehow, the one in charge of this entire situation. “You can just call me Evine.”

The medic’s head snapped back up. “I wouldn’t presume!” Melina blurted, before shrinking in on herself in a fit of self-admonition so automatic that Theophilos, instinctively, shrank along with her where he was seated on the bed. “S-sorry, Sacred One, I-I mean, just…” She floundered for a response that would be both honest and tactful. “I don’t think the speakers would approve.”

“Oh.” Evine looked a little crestfallen. “You’re probably right.” Melina looked, if anything, deeply relieved. Theophilos understood being more afraid of the speakers than of Evine (after all, he was); he didn’t expect Evine to understand that, however. As he expected, the god just said, “Maybe I can talk to them.” That at least took the burden of trying to explain off of Melina’s shoulders, and by the way they slumped in relief, she knew it.

Evine turned, pulling the rope, and Melina refilled Theophilos’s cup of tea with a small, nervous smile, before packing everything back into her basket. Just in time, too- when Speaker Cassius returned, Evine swept Melina off her feet and deposited her gently onto the balcony.

Speaker Cassius barely spared a glance at her. “Another failure of the staff?” he guessed. “I suppose you’ll want another one?” Melina ducked her head, her shoulders hunched, quiet beside him.

The god blinked. “What? No!” they blurted in surprise.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Speaker Cassius looked confused. “Apologies,” he said, his permanent smile a bit strained. “I simply thought, since you rang…”

“Oh! I just needed you to come so I could tell you something,” Evine explained. “It’s not bad. I want her to be my personal medic. Well, not for me, obviously, but on my personal staff.” Speaker Cassius simply stared, likely trying to process this new, unexpected development, but Evine took that as more confusion and continued, “She’s nice, and she knows what she’s doing. So I don’t want anybody else to come if I ask for a medic, okay?”

Speaker Cassius finally found his voice again. “Your Eminence,” he began slowly, “the girl is merely a medical assistant… if you had expressed a desire to have a medic on your personal staff earlier, I could have suggested professionals-”

“No,” Evine interrupted, firm if not angry. Speaker Cassius looked as if he had just been slapped, his smile frozen in place. “I want Melina. That’s my decision.”

The speaker’s eyes flicked up and over towards the sacrifice’s room, before returning to alight upon Evine. His smile grew slightly, and he bowed his head. “As you wish.”

He turned, gesturing curtly with a few fingers, and Melina bobbed in his wake as he strode out the door. “I didn’t do much, honest,” she quietly told him, her voice plaintive. “It’s not like I asked, I just, I made some tea, that’s all, really-”

“You needn’t explain to me,” Speaker Cassius told her. “The god has decided.” The doors closed behind them.

[rumblelibrary]

Now that you are writing requests, I think it's only fair I send you a few after some of the ones you have sent me 😌 as you've said you were the original anon who requested Laszlo x Sapiosexual partner headcanons from me, I'm curious to see how you would write it. Take it in any direction you want to 😘

Thinking Alike [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Reader]

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mention of physical violence, mild stalking, smut (yup, there it is!)

Author’s note: My first smut, something easy breezy to begin with. Laszlo is an awkward mess and I love him.

It was embarrassing for Laszlo at first, to admit a weakness, so bluntly. Such a vile thing to do for a man like him.He tried reasoning through it more and more, lonely men went often to prostitutes, John himself did and with the extraordinary result not be devoured by syphilis or other diseases.He didn’t hurt himself nor others in the process.

The first time he met you it was by accident, he was invited by one of his former patients to visit her at her university, nothing unusual, he remembered her well: Julia, shy, small, bent down and backwards by a family that abused her very being, that abused her mind, development and growth.But to see her now a young woman, studying literature at university, thriving in her life and taking her own choices, she even started an internship with Sara, that was something that made a man like Laszlo proud of his job.

Briefly: that day was a success for him: from the meeting to the lunch they shared, she showed in every given moment how she treasured everything she learned at the Institute and, even though hard times were not over, she felt like she was able to face them.Then Julia asked him to join her to listen to a lecture, assuring he would love it so he obliged as it wouldn’t be too bad to feel like a student again and maybe spark some new interest in him.So he did, he sat down and leaned his back on the seat, the soft scent of the woody desks and chairs taking over his nostrils. He remembered how he was at that age, hungry, unnecessary aggressive and lonely. He smiled to himself at the memory.Poor John, still there to look after him and trying to give him a minimum of social skills.

Then the room fell into silence as you walked inside, your choice of clothing a white shirt and a burgundy skirt, a pocket watch on your side. A simple style, you wish good morning to the class and don’t indulge too much into talk.And there is where the unexpected happened.You open up simply, a picture, a quote. The description of man as William Blake: poet, engraver, prophet.To transcribe your words would be similar to the conflict of any man that ever found himself in the duty of writing, or better, transcribing a sacred text.The way you spoke, the way you held everybody’s attention, the way you moved back and forth or wrote on the chalkboard. The passion surging by your words digging into his flesh and bones, every cell into his body surging into an agonising desire to hear more. The way your words balanced, how you managed to go from interesting facts to more detailed ones, from hard critical informations to conceptual ideas.That was the beginning of something new, his brain wasn’t able to move past the thought of you. Literature wasn’t his field, but he felt like you were the spring of all truths. So it begun. He brought the books, he came to the lessons. He thrived in every stolen moment he got with you, he sulked when somebody caught your attention, even more if it was to make some silly comment or question, he adored the way  your hands traced shapes into the air symmetrically, it triggered him to wonder if you ever studied dancing, the pose of your fingers always so balanced. He learned every micro habit you had: the way you always looked at your pocket watch when it was almost half time throughout the lesson, how you changed pin in your hair every day, the way you tucked your reading glasses in your shirt only to then look for those when in need to read. His favourite moments were the ones when everybody was leaving the class and he could see you relax on the chair, gift little smiles around as you collected our belongings. Your presence was by now his safe place, those two hours he spent a the university were the only moments he felt free, even if unseen.

Until the day he was getting into the class to find it empty and you alone there.“Regular students got a card saying the lesson today was cancelled” you said and his heart sunk into his chest “I would be mad to have someone sneaking in my classroom, but I had the feeling to have seen you before”

He gulped down as you were so close by now, he could guess your favourite perfume.You handed him a book, his book with his picture inside followed by his name in cursive letters.

“What does an alienist says about my course?”

“I say, your dialectic is what many of my patients would need in order to survive”You were surprised, eyebrows raising and a slight tilt of the head, you expected to find him guilty and ashamed, surely he was, but that answer was bold.

“And you? Do you find solace in my dialectics?” He took a moment before staring up at you, you didn’t realised how tall he was by seeing him always sat in the back, but you noticed him at every lesson. How couldn’t you?An handsome, elegant grown man hiding among those twenty something, the walking stick giving away always his calculated late entrance in class, his eyes always on you digging holes.

“Constantly”His answer surprised you, you expected to confront him and send him away and now you’re torn between the feeling of cradling him in your arms and, what? “I could forgive you for a lunch” He smiles, his eyes shining “I know the perfect place”

That lunch became one of many lunches.Every time you had lesson he would wait for you and you’d share a meal.To open up to him felt almost too easy, but he was an alienist, that was his job. He also opened up with you, you shared books, and interests and long chats. He wrote you cards and you wrote back to him, he sent you his articles and you sent him yours. He asked for books to introduce children to literature and you visited the Institute helping him in the task in exchange of some entry level books about psychology. Lunches became dinners, long walks became longer, soft smiles became him offering you his arm to walk together. You were starting to develop some tenderness for him, you always wondered what he was thinking and what he would opinion over this or that, you craved to confront your opinions and Laszlo wasn’t feeling any less drawn to it.It was beginning to become difficult when you started to visit him in his dreams, he would dream of you in ways he didn’t dare to speak up about. Only the way you talked when you grew passionate about something gave him a sense of tension, a deep desire going through him as he touched his thigh with his sweaty palm to ground himself. You felt like he was growing distant, unaware of how he was growing somehow closer. Closer to the point he couldn’t resist you anymore, hide behind simple touches of courtesy, to feel your hand only when gloved, stare at every little stand of hair move unruly on your neck while you spoke so highly of any topic. It was unexpected the time, while sharing some impressions on a recent article, he put his  hand flat over the page and leaned in capturing your lips in a sudden but awaited kiss. You kissed him back realising how such a simple gesture meant so much to you. Your hand followed up resting on top of his still hiding the page from you. His lips soft, his beard tickling you lightly as your eyes shone.When he pulled back, only because in need to breathe not else, he looked at you but you smiled at him brushing your nose lightly against his making him break into a smile.  The happiest smile.

“Do you even realise how foolish is that?”

“Are you calling me a fool?” He growled at you. Yes, he followed a potential murderer across the city, got himself beat up, but he was alive and now he got more informations.

“I dare to say I am, loud and clear Laszlo”He frowned deeply, you calling him a fool?

“Take it back”

“No” “I said” he grunted as he breathed heavily through his nostrils  “Take it back” You never saw him this mad but you didn’t oblige his request, he made you sick worry and hid all this madness of crime cases from you through all this time, not even once he mentioned this …what? A hobby? Desire for adrenaline? “A man that doesn’t stand up to his own truths is a fool to me” you said coldly “all this time spent to talk about nonsense and you’re working on solving crimes? Who is the man that I know then? Does he exists only when Dr Kreizler is without a case? There’s even a real interest in what you ever said to me? Or you just needed a distraction?”

“Don’t you dare to contradict me, I am no liar”You smirked, by now he was close, almost threatening even if you know well he wouldn’t ever hurt you. “Then what are you?” He froze, his eyebrows furrowed, what should he tell you? That he loved the way your brain worked? That every time you bounced ideas back and forth he felt aroused? That you provoked in him a thirst for more, more knowledge, more passion, more life. You let out a breathy chuckle as he didn’t answer now, you were sad and disappointed. You indeed believed you had found your match and not another double faced man.You picked your coat and left his office even if your heart was shattering on the inside and begging you not to leave like that.You spent two weeks apart, two weeks in which his spot in the classroom was empty, both of you ate alone, walked alone, lived alone. An emptiness that was so heavy it felt like the sky would break under the weight of it. But he couldn’t think of you, the case was on, the victims were falling one after the other, and yet he couldn’t think clearly. Before just thinking of how you’d think helped him, but what about now? He couldn’t reach for you. You were right, he hid part of himself to you and he couldn’t ask you to risk your life or spend nights and days exploring the dark sides of human nature, even though your sensibilities and introspection would have made you the most valuable asset in any research. He locked himself in his office getting high on tea and pacing the room back and forth talking out loud trying to gain back the process you two formed together, the chemistry, the balance of thoughts. Until your voice reached to him. “What if it is not anger the motif?”You leaned against the doorframe staring at him, you gave up your anger.  You were there for him. He stared at you like he wondered if you’re even real. “How did you come in?” “I said I was from Miss Howard” “So you can also lie” You chuckled “Only for a good purpose” You moved inside closing the door behind you as you took off your coat and hat, you moved closer to him offering him your hand, palm up.He stared at your eyes, there wasn’t much to add.He put the eraser in your hand as you cancelled the chalkboard from all his previous work. What happened next was pure magic, clarity spreading through the space, every fact double checked by the two of  you as now the facts spread in order, clear, in a linear way, nothing was left to causality.You two closing each other’s sentences, you handing him books and him handing others back to you, papers, scattered pencils.Even you wearing his glasses by accident and handing those back as you reached for your own.It was a frenzy, a dance, a song. “So if this is a scheme…” you begin “…the killer will strike again on Friday” he concludes. You stare at him, a big smile creeps over your lips wide, you can save a life, it is only Monday now.He leans in holding onto your hadn’t with his left hand, but you’re just mimicking him as your lips collide. “How can you be like this? How can you be so perfect?” He groans against your lips not able to part from yours but to praise you. “We are” you correct him “we are perfect, together” he nodded slowly as you were completely right. He let you pull him on the sofa where he slept so many nights when he was too tired to go back home, a very cold and empty home. He took his time, he stood in front of you undoing those clothes he so carefully studied during your lessons almost to the point to know each item of your wardrobe. As you undressed him you realised how you never minded his arm or to help him undo his shirt, you found it poetic, you always found beauty in him, you saw it like a punishment due to something more special given to him.The poet Homer had to be blind in order to sing the war of Troy, Laszlo had to lose an arm to be able to see through others. So there you were, completely deprived of your clothing as he still conserved his bottom half, staring at each other’s eyes before he leaned his forehead against yours, shifting angle then to meet your lips with his. “Don’t, I waited enough” you whispered to him as his left hand between your legs to caress your folds with his fingers triggering a shiver down your spine. “I am the doctor here” he murmured as his fingers moved so smoothly over your slit gathering some wetness and spreading it together before pushing a finger inside you.

“I also am” you whispered back, voice shaking, even if a doctorate in literature doesn’t give you much of a position in this moment while standing helpless with him fingering you so nicely. “I know, it makes you even more beautiful” he assures to you digging his head in the crook of your neck nipping and sucking over your skin slowly adding another finger.You whined not able to move away from his fingers teasing your insides, and yet not what you were looking for. You pared your lips in a silent moan as he shook your hips making you grind slowly following his touch “I don’t want to play Laszlo” you begged “we have all the time to fool around, I missed you too much” “You can’t always use your words to boss me around like this” He smirked as he pulled his fingers slowly out of you, too slowly for your taste, he did it like you had all the time in this word, his fingers brushing over you inside, slowly slipping out covered in your wetness only to trace your clit with their tips.

He pulled back sitting down on the couch like a king on his throne, parted legs and back slightly slouched, while staring at your naked form in front of him moving his left hand to undo his pants as you approached. “You’re a vision”His whisper slowly pulling you in when you straddled him once his erection sprung free slowly guiding him to brush against your entrance. You looked up at him gulping softly before lowering yourself onto him. You stared at him as his eyes fluttered closer and you shook your hips a little trying to reach for the most comfortable position, he was thick stretching you deliciously and that little hint of pain only making it feel more complete, more needed, meant to be. A moan leaving your lips as you gasped for air, his weak right hand moving to rest on your thigh.You observed him as the desire was clouding your usual reasonable and efficient brain, his left hand grasping your hips when you begun moving on top of him. The pace erratic at first before the instinct kicked in, no more witty remarks needed here, you couldn’t make up your mind now.He groaned, his soft gasps and growls being the best sounds along with your moans, two reasonable intellectuals now lost into the simplest and most natural of the acts.Your hips yanked and lost control for a moment as his hand moved to touch your clit “So sensitive” he cooed, you were a mess of feelings, his head bowing down over your chest grasping your nipple between his lips. He teased and sucked, making all his fantasies real, finally touching and feeling you, your shivers due to him, your pleasure and pain completely in his hands.You gasped as he sucked too hard, he seemed to know you more than he knew himself and maybe it was true. He spent so much time watching you, studying you, indulging in every little reaction you had. His eyes dropped down between your joined bodies, he was mesmerised by the shapes your hips were tracing, just enjoying the view of himself sinking inside you filling you up completely, your wetness so evident making the whole process terrifically easy.

“You’re close” he sentenced “you’re so close” If you weren’t close you’d be after he said you were, like he decided it.His left hand leaving your clit as he wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you down over him. Now it was up to him as your mobility was restricted, he begun moving his hips up holding you down, he kept going so hard slamming inside you as he held you still with just that arm, the pleasure that his ruthless moves caused to you doing the rest. You couldn’t hold back any more, your moans getting lost into throaty sounds as your orgasm washed over you. 

But he wasn’t done, he kept going as you rode down your orgasm until he tugged you down one last time filling your body, a little yelp of pleasure leaving your lips as you got so full of him and your eyes fluttered lightly because of such a raw basic feeling, that fullness that was proper of a basic instinct you felt rooted into you. If you were reasonable and aware you’d be worrying about things like consequences and having to talk about the future. But you weren’t any close to it.You rested against him gathering air back in your lungs as he moved his hand on your lower back  slowly moving it up and down, his right hand’s thumb brushing over that same thigh in the smaller and sweetest gesture of attention. You shifted slightly after few moments to look at him slowly touching over his cheek with your fingertips. “Truth for the wise, beauty for the heart” He said, paraphrasing Friedrich Von Schiller, an author you used a lot in your lectures. “Truth for the wise, beauty for the heart” you repeated. That little motto became your code, the way you reminded each other the duality you were blessed with: your bright minds and your unfiltered passion. And you’d use it from time to time. You’d write it to each other’s notes. It was your “I love you” before the love word was even pronounced.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra Let me know if you want to get added <3

[hoe-doroki]

ana’s bnha x reader masterlist

first updated 11.17.20 last updated 07.13.21 desktop version found here bkdk masterlist: desktop | mobile

fics [38] drabbles [13]

Thanks for dropping by! I want to note that I no longer write x reader and instead am writing bakudeku shipfic. So! By all means, read, like, comment on my fics here! But I can't recommend that you follow me unless you like bakudeku. Hope you enjoy your time here regardless! <3

legend:

character x character

Title w/ link | [rating] | word count | genre

Synopsis

ratings are bracketed: e.g. [g], [t], [m], [e]

[g] - appropriate for general audiences [t] - appropriate for audiences 13+ [m] - contains non-graphic adult themes [e] - explicit, 18+ readers only

🌸 = personal faves

characters x reader: no ship (1), aizawa (2), bakugou (12), endeavor (1), iida (2), kaminari (1), kirishima (4), midoriya (7), shinsou (2), todoroki (19)

Everything is in alphabetical order <3

no ship

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort

The results are in and your class is all with you as you process the results

aizawa x reader

Stress Relief | [e] | 3k | smut

There's a new regulation that forces you to take an extra class before you can graduate college. When you learn that Eraserhead is teaching the class, you’re a little more interested.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.6k | hurt/comfort 

Aizawa reminds that you were prepared for this and, together, you can handle it.

bakugou x reader

Can’t Find My Breath | [e] | 4.2k | smut 🌸

At the beginning of the day, Ground Zero was just another hero you wrote articles about. Now it’s nighttime and you’ve just left a bar together. Companion to The Rest with No Sound

Christmas Cold | [g] | 1k | fluff

You and Katsuki manage to make it to your parents' house for the holidays, but you've come down with a little cold.

Doing Something Right | [e] | 1.8k | smut

You’re pregnant and happily enjoying domestic bliss when Katsuki comes in, unable to resist you.

Frustration | [e] | 3.1k | smut

request. After a long day of work, Katsuki comes home frustrated and you, suffering from a different kind of frustration yourself, know exactly what will help you both.

Gorgeous | [e] | 1.5k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask. When you have a negative response to Katsuki touching you in a moment of insecurity, he intends to do whatever he can to alleviate your fears.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

Magic | [e] | 2.2k | smut

request. Katsuki comes home early and catches you...taking care of yourself.

Miniskirts | [e] | 0.8k | smut 🌸

After a long day, Katsuki takes a shower and his thoughts turn to you.

On the Job | [e] | 4.5k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You.

The Rest with No Sound | [t] | 8.5k | slow burn, fluff 🌸

Bakugou thinks that people who wake up not remembering where they are are idiots. This is confirmed when it happens to him, head aching from a night of drinking. Idiot. But when he looks over, and sees you there, he realizes he doesn’t remember anything. So he has to gather the scattered pieces from the day before to figure out exactly how he ended up with you. Companion to Can’t Find My Breath

Stay | [g] | 2.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

ask. The last thing you want to do on a rough day is worry Bakugou with your problems. So you try to hide it. You should have known better.

Steamy | [e] | 2.7k | smut

request. You're a pro hero, rising in the ranks and, happy though he is for you, Katsuki's old jealousy begins to roil. After you've been paraded around all evening as one of Japan's finest, Katsuki finds himself feeling more than a little possessive, and can't help himself from taking you as his.

Steel and Lace | [e] | 3.8k | smut

The only one who manages to get Bakugou’s birthday right is you.

endeavor x reader

When the Smoke Clears | [e] | 17.4k | slow burn, smut

Soulmate AU. After his battle with Hawks against Hood, Endeavor wakes up in the hospital to find that a young doctor saved his life, their quirk being able to counteract the negative effects of his own. His first thought is that he has to talk to you–you might be able to fix the drawbacks of his quirk. His second thought is oh no, not again.

iida x reader

Broken Glass | [g] | 1.8k | fluff, mild comfort

request. In a quirk-related accident you find yourself surrounded by shattered glass. Worst of all, most of that glass is from every single pair of your boyfriend’s glasses.

Flotsam, Jetsam, Lagan, and Derelict | [g] | 1.5k | hurt/comfort

ask. Trying to hide a panic attack from your boyfriend isn’t easy when he’s right next to you. But you’re determined to suffer alone.

kaminari x reader

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

You share your unsteady hope with Kaminari.

kirishima x reader

Silhouette | [e] | 1.8k | smut, hurt/comfort

ask.  Before a gala, you’re stuck in the mirror, caught on all your old body insecurities. Kiri comes in and loves you regardless.

version 1: petite reader

version 2: curvy reader

We’ll See | [g] | 6.3k | gen, light romance 🌸

demisexual!Reader. After a fateful meeting, you and Kirishima keep running into each other. And although he’s so nice, you fear the fact that he might be interested in you. Even though all you want is, for once, to let yourself be happy and maybe fall in love, you can’t seem to be able to.

What We Look For | [t] | 15.5 | slow burn

Last time, you and Kirishima became friends—nothing more, nothing less. The idea of being something more sounds nice. But you can’t. You just can’t. So you won’t. Whatever happens will be on your own terms. Sequel to We'll See

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Kirishima freaks out while you experience a numb calm. You meet in the middle.

midoriya x reader

Bad Days | [g] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

Izuku helps you get out of bed.

Sunlight | [e] | 2.1k | smut 🌸

request. An early afternoon in bed with your husband, Izuku.

Surprised, Just Once | [e] | 5k | smut

request. You were planning on just another predictable night out with the girls. What you got was much, much more.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.3k | hurt/comfort

Izuku holds you close while you watch the results.

Multiple unrelated oneshots with Deku with an s/o with an eating disorder | ask

Gratitude | [t] | 1.4k | hurt/comfort

After having been with Izuku a while, you’re suffering a relapse and he helps you through with some gratitude practices on date night.

Picnic | [t] | 1.8k | hurt/comfort

Izuku surprises you with a picnic on your second date, much to your horror.

A Start | [t] | 1.2k | hurt/comfort 🌸

You ask Izuku for help when you realize you need it.

Trust Yourself | [t] | 2.3k | hurt/comfort

Shortly after moving in together, Izuku learns of your struggles and tries his best to comfort and encourage you.

shinsou x reader

Passing the Night Stars | [g] | 3.2k | hurt/comfort

The party was neon and you needed darkness.

2020 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.4k | hurt/comfort

Shinsou helps you prioritize yourself.

todoroki x reader

All Dressed Up | [e] | 4.6k | smut 🌸

quarantine fic. It’s been months since you’ve dressed up, felt pretty, and felt seen by anyone. Your husband’s birthday is a perfect excuse to get all dressed up. And then take it right off.

All the Wasted Time | [e] | 3.2k | smut, fluff

Three months ago, you’d been ripped from Shouto’s side with something less than a love confession, something more than a show of feelings. Now that you’re back, you’re eager to make up for lost time. Siberia sequel, First Snow prequel

Bad Days | [g] | 0.9k | hurt/comfort 🌸

Shouto comforts you when your demons arrive unexpectedly.

First Snow | [g] | 2.2k | fluff

A year after the events in Siberia, you and Shouto are happily together, and it’s the first snow of the year. Siberia and All the Wasted Time sequel

On the Job | [e] | 3.4k | smut 🌸

Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just of porn and fantasy--they’re common and too often fall into the wrong hands. When heroes get hit, someone has to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be?

You. Sequel to On the Job (Bakugou); can be read alone

Siberia | [e] | 13.8k | pining/angst, smut, fluff 🌸

On the field, you and Todoroki are rising stars amongst hero pairings. Off the field…you’re kind of in love with him. After a successful capture, you’re boss brings you in to let you know you’re being sent on assignment in foreign country…alone. Before you leave, you have to act. You’re not partners anymore, after all. And with a little liquid courage you do. Then, the next morning, you still have to leave. All the Wasted Time and First Snow prequel.

Worth it | [t] | 0.3k | gen

The morning after with your boyfriend, Shouto.

2021 Election Night Comfort | [g] | 0.5k | hurt/comfort

The stress of election day comes back swiftly during the Georgia runoff and Todoroki’s quick to notice.

all works below are within the world of the a spare heart series:

A series about a fem, American reader who had to transfer to U.A. partway through second year. You’re there to become a hero, that much is obvious, but why else did you come? And, more importantly, what—or who—makes you stay?

timeline

may, year two:

- reader finishes junior year of American high school early

- reader transfers to u.a. from the united states

The Meeting | [g] | 0.1k | gen

Reader meets Tokoyami for the first time. Sequel to first impressions from my wip list

Hollow Victory | [g] | 9.6k | gen, action

chapter 1 | chapter 2

You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. No one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they’re going be meeting it head on and you have the advantage: surprise.

june, year two:

Illiterate | [g] | 2.1k | fluff, comfort

Being unable to read Japanese makes you feel so stupid. And who comes into the common room after midnight just as you’re about to cry? The boy who hasn’t spoken to you in three weeks.

sequels

The Offering | [g] | 0.4k | fluff, gen.

The Mission (Shouto POV) | [g] | 0.3k | fluff, gen., silly

september, year two:

Impetus | [g] | 2.1k | friendship

Ever since Shinsou found out what your quirk was, the two of you have been each other’s best friends and confidantes. But when he turns a casual training session into a tease over your supposed crush on someone in your class, that trust might just break.

january, year two:

This Clock Never Seemed So Alive | [g] | 1.2k | fluff, comfort

You and your boyfriend, Shouto, always walk to class together, but today you haven’t yet left your dorm. When he checks on you, he finds you awake, but curled on your side, suffering from period cramps.

sequels

The Questions (drabble) | [g] | 0.1k | gen.

The Sweetness (double drabble) | [g] | 0.2k | fluff, comfort

february, year three:

Between Fear and Guilt | [t] | 2.5k | light angst, comfort

You and Shouto only started being intimate a couple months back, but you’re already experiencing a dry spell. Today you’re going to figure out what’s up with your boyfriend once and for all.

fifteen years after graduation

Something Perfect | [e] | 3.7k | smut, fluff

After years of questioning if Shouto would ever want children, he’s finally decided that he really does. Overjoyed, the two of you decide to get started.

[keilemlucent]

half-day

hawks | takami keigo x reader 

word count: ~3k

absence helps the heart grow wounds 

warnings: reader takes medication, angst, sad uwu 

beta’ed: @hawnks

a/n: so in the middle of all the horny, here’s some angsty, SFW, hurt/comfort i wrote as a vent. enjoy 💗

...

“Did you take your meds yet?”

You paused on the edge of the bed, rubbing at your eyes with the inside of your wrist.

“No, I forgot. Sorry.”

You kicked yourself for how weak your voice came out.

Keigo’s wings drooped, though you could only tell by the wide shadow they cast on the wall of your shared bedroom.

It was late, far too late for you to be awake, but you’d forced yourself to stay lucid and somewhat lively to wait for Keigo to arrive home after patrol. It wasn’t something you did often, as he so often was kept past his scheduled hours.

This night was no different.

He’d come through the balcony door in the early hours of the morning, sighing harshly and kicking off his boots with a huff before even noticing you blinking at him from the couch.

And with a single look, his heart sank.

Keigo wasn’t an idiot.

You looked so tired.

Your eyes were shadowed, punched with sleepless bags and the corners of your pretty lips pulled down and taut. You worried your hands, picking at your cuticles and fingernails.

You mustered up a smile, and fuck, if it wasn’t one of the weakest things he’d seen in a long time.

He’d been quick to whisk the two of you off to bed after that. A short shower later, he slung on some sweats and draped a towel over his shoulders. He tried to keep his look casual, despite his own exhaustion, aches and anxiety.

Because you looked shitty.  

Not that you ever looked bad, Keigo had seen you in any number of states. Fucked up, fucked out, bright and shining like the sun itself and tear-streaked—

But none hurt in the same way or as much as he’d been seeing you lately.

When he crept into the bedroom, your gaze was vacant, trained on the floor as you picked at a hangnail on your thumb.

So he asked about your meds, just probing, seeing where you were at.

Truthfully, Keigo’s work had been keeping him from home, though he wasn’t actively avoiding you like this.

But, he did have the undeniable knowledge that his absence was hurting you.

Guilt.

“You don’t need to be sorry, dove,” Keigo slipped next to you on the sheets, letting his wings stretch out and back over the thrown back covers. “Do you want some fresh water?”

You shook your head, silent, as you grabbed your pill organizer from your nightstand.

Keigo eyed the old glass of water, frowning. He could practically see the dust settling on the surface of the stale liquid.

“Are you sure—”

“It’s fine, Kei’, let’s just go to bed,” Your voice was so hollow, half-broken and swallowed up by the gulp of water you took down with your meds.

Keigo managed to keep a grin on his face, but it was hard.

He couldn’t restrain himself from taking your cheeks in his hands, worrying your undereyes with his thumbs the moment you set the murky glass down.

You didn’t say anything, just sagged into his grip, brow creasing.

There was a tension in the air, but nothing that could be cut or the kind that could easily immolate. This was the kind of sluggish frustration that pulled on your muscles and ligaments like gummy syrup.

It dragged the two of you down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You spoke without thinking, your hands inching towards his knees.

Why was he?

“Lots of reasons, the first being that I love you,” Keigo reminded you, softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

It was all the touch you needed to fall into his shoulders, pressing your face into the wet towel around his neck.

It would’ve been cumbersome, a deterrent from fully touching him, but in that moment, it soaked up the budding tears at the corners of your eyes.

He didn’t need to know how poorly you were doing.

Why did his little affections send you spiraling?

Why did each of his touches feel like aloe to a wound that was deep and tarry, impossibly endless and nothing that could be tackled in a night?

Why did it hurt so good?

“I don’t want to hear the others,” you told him, squeezing his covered knee. “I think I know. I’m sad, not dumb.”

Your quip earned you a half-hearted chuckle, Keigo smoothing a hand up and down your spine.

“Can you lay with me?”

You gave a wordless answer, slipping into the sheets with him while feebly rubbing at your eyes.

Keigo sends a few feathers to click off the bedside lamps, keeping on a small light atop the dresser, the kind that throws pinpricks of faux stars onto the ceiling in oscillating little rings.

It was a false comfort, but you’d both take it.

You laid facing each other, naked in mind and body by then.

With your cheek squished into your pillow, it was even easier to see the tear tracks and worry that you carried.

Keigo had to be careful, he knew he had to, if he pushed you too hard for your words or feelings, you could just lockup, deflect and drift off into fitless sleep yet again.

You didn’t make him reach for too long, didn’t let him worry himself for very long, before you spoke up, weakly, and interrupted his thoughts.

“We’re okay, right, Kei’?”

The question sent splinters of worry into the tender flesh of his heart.

Keigo responded instantly, dragging your body into his as his feathers twitched and ruffled, “Yes, yes, we’re completely okay, better than, I love— “

“I know,” You pressed your face into his sternum, locking an arm over his lower back. “I know you love me.”

You still sounded so empty.

Keigo didn’t know what to do, fuck, he was grasping for even what to say.

“How can I make it better?”

He had to try, right?

Maybe that was the reason why he’d been rushing off so often and for so long lately, without rest, no matter how he felt.

He was a hero, his job was to make things better. He wanted to fix things, mend and stitch the ills and pains of others.

Yet, the person closest to him was splitting at the seams.

Work had been busy, busier than normal, and it just gave him the excuse to avoid his personal problems, like any sane, normal person.

Maybe, he was justified in shoving off the weight of everything, maybe, but only because every time he asked how he could help, you’d just say—

“You can’t, Kei’. It’s okay.”

Just like you did then.

Except, in the past, your voice would just echo from your lips as you gave him a sad smile.

This time?

Your voice broke and your breath hitched as you tried to tug him closer.

He can feel your tears wet his chest.

You tried to fight for so long.

You still were, notably. Against the loneliness and against the odds of your odd relationship, you smiled and mused your way through the struggles of it. You loved Keigo, and the burdens were bearable. They were never from him, they were from the fucked circumstances of his employment and the conditions around it.

You had a deep, heartfelt understanding of this. It was communicated about since the beginning of your partnership, and you had learned, quite well, how to deal with Keigo’s job as a hero. You’d peace with it, mostly.

A lot of the time, contending with this reality was hardly difficult.

But, it was distinctly entirely unmanageable during times when your own mental health started to spiral downward.

So, here you were, beginning to weep into your partner’s chest over all of the weight that was bearing over your mind.

Each moment, your mind sparked with a new poison, until one slipped out amid your muffled tears.

“I can’t even fix m-me— “

You snapped.

And you damn near shrieked into his chest.

Keigo hadn’t seen you do this poorly in a long time.

It hurt, all of it did, but like fuck he was going to push off the responsibility any longer. You’d never admit it, but his absence had to be doing some damage.

“You don’t need to,” Keigo promised, shifting to straddle your hips.

Maybe, on a different night, things would’ve gone a different direction.

Not that night though.

Keigo pressed his weight over your chest, tucking your face into his neck as his feathers settled up and over the two of you. A scarlet shield that read black in the witching hour of the evening.

You didn’t really notice, but you could feel Keigo’s breath and body over the top of yours. He was like some sort of barrier towards the outside world and god did you need it.

You tried to reply, but your words came out as blubberings, broken by tears and ragged breath as you buried yourself into Keigo.

Despite the fact that Keigo was over you, it was the unseen, soul-crushing weight of you that bore down on him.

How did you let it get this bad?

You choked on another sob, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

Your nails raked down his back, an accident borne from your own frustration. Keigo didn’t react to the pain, even when it tread so close to the sensitive roots of his wings. He could bear it— if you had to, he would as well.

This is the least he could do, right?

Be there, though he definitely should’ve been there sooner.

He nuzzled his nose into your temple, brushing his lips over the sweat and tears gathering.

“Cry, dove, I’ve got you now.”

And god, did you.

You sputtered and wept against him, whatever hollow sheen you’d been carrying falling away to a flood of pent up pain.

Keigo had his own mess of emotions about being complicit in letting you get to this point, and what that said about him as a partner, but he swallowed those feelings down to the pit of his stomach and busied himself with comforting you.

He wiped the tears from your cheeks, kissing away the stray ones that dripped down to your jaw and neck. His fingers and nails scratched and massaged your scalp, part of him prayed that the little circles he drew would pull some of the tension and stress from inside your skull, but that was just fantasy.

Ultimately, the only thing to do was nothing, and that was probably why Keigo avoided it for so long.

Powerlessness was not something he was used to, nor did he want to become familiar with it. He was the number two hero in the nation, for fuck’s sake. The last thing he ever felt was helpless, sans a few choice feelings about his arrangements with the Commission.

But with you?

He felt so useless in moments like these.  

But, that was the nature of these things, and he knew this, the two of you had been over that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel himself getting choked up.

And as much as he wanted to suppress his own feelings, he just fucking couldn’t.

And everything spilt over at once, as things tend to.

Keigo scooped you up, pressing your front to his, pressing your cheek into his own, a few of his own tear tracks forming.

The feeling of Keigo’s own sadness tugged you from your own panic.

You swallowed thickly, your dry tongue sticking in your mouth as you tried to speak coherently.

“H-hey, Kei’?” You asked, trying to rub away at his tears. “C-could you take a h-alf day tomorrow? You don’t need to, but— “

Keigo shushed you with a kiss, sagging over top of you a moment later.

“Yeah, y-eah, of course,” Quietly, Keigo added, muffled into the crook of your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to ask.”

“It’s okay, but it’s how i-it is,” Your voice shook as you coaxed Keigo to meet your gaze.

And oh, to bear souls with another is quite an intimate thing, don’t you think?

Especially when there was so much raw between the two of you, things that weren’t quite right, and things that hurt a bit too much.

Yet, at the same time, as you searched Keigo’s pretty ambers, more vibrant next to his reddened eye whites, you held nothing against him. There was both implicit and explicit understanding swimming in the air between you.

The unavoidable harshness of your arrangement with the truth that both of you cared so much, even if you didn’t know how to chew of your chunks of reality. It was comforting, seeing Keigo give you a broken little smile as you rubbed his tears away, and he yours.

“I love you,” Keigo's wings fluttered with his words. “I’m sorry for not being here like I should’ve been.”

“It’s okay,” It was, mostly. “I’m sorry for pushing you away.”

You both needed to be better, but being ‘better’ was a process in and of itself.

Carefully, you rose, your hands finding Keigo’s bare hips while his helped prop up your back.

You swallowed around your fat tongue, grimacing and reaching for the stale glass of water.

Just before you could grab it, Keigo reached past you, stopping your hand from closing around it.

“Let’s start small,” Keigo gave you a weak smile. “Can I grab you some fresh water?”

You nodded, the warmth and care of the gesture immediately relaxing you. Quirking a brow, you managed a small grin, “Yes, thank you.”

And you let him.

And all that you’d been carrying with you didn’t dissolve, but it maybe felt lighter.

...

You spent the rest of the night twisted up in each other.

Truthfully, Keigo felt greedy. He’d been too absent and that had made him needy for you and your touch, even if it was just idle and soft.

He craved you in other ways, but you were more than enough.

By the sun rose came, he was hardly sated, but he had calls to make and things to arrange.

...

The next morning, you awoke alone, though the sheets were warm.

A few feathers laid around you, snuggling up to your cheeks and under the covers, fluttering every so often against your bare skin.

As you drew back to lucidity, you could hear Keigo’s muffled voice from the kitchen.

Your body ached, but in a necessary way. It reminded you of the night prior, along with your scratchy eyes and raw throat.

You threw on one of his shirts and padded towards his voice.

Despite your state, and the rawness of the air, Keigo still managed to stun you speechless, as he so often did.

He stood in the kitchen, hip popped against the counter with a pair of sweats hanging dangerously low on his hips. His phone was tucked between his shoulder and ear as he spoke low, hushed and hurried, his hands and a handful of feathers helping prepare two steaming mugs of coffee.

You didn’t eavesdrop, only approaching when Keigo breathed a sigh of relief and the phone was set down on the counter.

Somehow, you were able to surprise him.

Your arms looped around his waist from behind, circling and squeezing.

“I’m guessing you’ve gotta run?” You mumbled into his spine with a weak laugh. “I should say fly, huh?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, turning to drape his arms over your shoulders, “Nope, neither, dove. Two days.”

“… Two days?” You scrunch your brow, though Keigo was quick to smooth out the wrinkles with a quick kiss.

“Two days off a month, barring emergencies, not counting today. Fully off and all yours. And that’s not counting today,” Keigo’s smile warmed his voice. “Sound good?”

Your scrambled psyche rushed to catch up with the revelation that ‘holy fuck, Keigo actually had real, scheduled time off.’

“I can see how hard you’re thinking, chickpea,” Keigo tsked, somehow wrangling you onto the counter top, slotting himself between your parted thighs. “I’ve got this one, okay? I want to be around more.”

You bit your lip, gaze pointed towards the ground.

“For me or for you?”

“Why can’t it be both?”

You swallowed your tongue, still frowning.

It easily could.

Keigo needed the rest, even if he had trouble admitting it. As much as he claimed to be lazy, he was more so a workaholic due to his background. It was difficult for him to ever stop working for any considerable length of time.

Perhaps it wasn’t in his nature, just his training.

All the same, the idea of having Keigo around and mostly to yourself for a few days a month seemed goddamn fantastic.

“... Can it?”

Keigo softened visibly, rubbing at your side, just below the bottom hem of your sleep shirt. Maybe, he was a bit sheepish in those moments, but he’d had to be pretty stern making the calls he had that morning.

Speaking to the right people to allow him to get that time off had been a pain, but seeing the slow way you were deflating and melting into his arms made it worth it.

Not to mention he needed some lazy days as well.

“Of course it can,” Keigo gave a soft little smile. “Both of us getting a bit of extra rest, don’t you think?”

You flickered your gaze to his, where the gooeyness of his amber eyes caught and held you.

A part of you, one that had been particularly loud lately, screamed to ask for more reassurance. That in some way, Keigo was lying and you had to know.

But, with a deep breath, and a press of your forehead to his, you relaxed a bit.

Not enough, but it was a sure start.

“Alright, but only if you promise to let me help you relax too, and that includes today,” You silenced any retort he might have with a gentle kiss.

The moment you tried to pull away, Keigo’s hand was on the back of your neck, holding you steady and close.

“I dunno dove, it is my half-day,” He hummed with a raise of his eyebrows, the dark circles under his eyes hardly detracting from how luminous he so constantly was, “I think I’ll do whatever I’d like.”

You gave your own little grin, “That’s alright too, I guess. As long as you get some rest today.”

“So, a lazy day, that’s what I’m hearing?” Keigo’s wings fluttered at the concept.

With a nod and one more stolen kiss, you hummed, “A lazy day it is.”

[wlntrsldler]

“You’re in love” (song) x Fred Weasley

PROMPT: based on you are in love by taylor swift (an installment of my taylor swift x harry potter series. to read more about it, click here) The three times Fred knew he loved you and the one time he said it. 

A/N: i did NOT come up with this prompt but i really loved this idea so i wrote my own version of it!! credit to whoever started it first ❤️

WC: 3K+

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

-

you are in love (f.w one shot)

The first time Fred realized he loved you was in his 5th year, right before everyone said their farewells for the holiday season. It was the last Hogsmeade trip of the year, snow falling softly around everyone’s body, and a chill in the air that made everyone want to snuggle up beside the fireplace in their house common rooms. George and Lee left the two of you alone, hoping that the romantic ambiance of the holiday season would finally give Fred the confidence to tell you how he felt. 

And Fred tried, Merlin, did Fred try. He spent the whole afternoon talking to himself in the mirror, practicing his lines so he wouldn’t stumble on his words. He didn’t have a problem talking to you as he normally does; you were his best friend after all, like George and Lee, but once he tries to tell you that you make his heart beat faster, make butterflies flood his stomach, and makes him lose all his senses. George had to drag him out of the room, complaining about waiting in the common room for “fifteen bloody minutes” already. 

Eventually, he met you and Lee at the front gates of Hogwarts and walked with you to Hogsmeade. The entire day, he felt so jittery, like he couldn’t stay still. You remained oblivious to the fact that Fred was about ready to burst from the inside from how nervous he was. Lee and George, on the other hand, couldn’t contain their laughter. By the time the sky began to fade into the night sky, George and Lee decided that now was as good of a time than ever and made up an excuse to leave the two of you alone. 

Now here you were, walking beside Fred, bundled up in your house scarf, and the cutest red blush on the tip of your nose. You readjusted your beanie, looking up at him to start conversation. Fred felt his words get stuck in his throat, unable to remember how to speak with you staring up at him with the twinkle of oblivion in your eye. 

“Freddie?” you giggled, bumping shoulders with him. You wrapped an arm around yourself, the chills from the Winter air growing harsher as you walked closer to the castle. “Am I that boring that you can’t even pay attention to my blabbering?” 

“Godric, no,” he blushed, finally able to string words together. Without thought, he wrapped an arm around your body, shielding you from the cold. You melted into him, sighing in content. Fred swore his heart swelled three times its size. 

The snow crunched under your boots as you walked up the path. The lights lining the cobblestone street gave a yellow tint to the sight. He walked with you in silence but in his head, he was going over exactly what he wanted to say. This was the perfect time. The snow falling slowly from the sky, little snowflakes tangled in the strands of your hair. You were pressed up against his chest, so close to him that he could smell your perfume, sweet and addicting. There were no other students around, all too eager to find sanctuary in warmth that the castle brought. It was the perfect time. 

He stopped walking, halting you with him. He let you go for a moment, taking a deep breath in and slowly let it out. You watched as the cloud of fog escaped his lips and dispersed into the air. His red hair poked out from under his hoodie, matted on his forehead. Fred looked down at his wet boots, kicking around snow that pooled around the soles. Finally, he looked up, taking your two hands into his palms in the process. 

You smiled at the gesture, your heart fluttering in your chest. You looked at him, offering a comforting look as you raised your eyebrows up in suspicion, “What’s up, Freddie?”

And just like that, all of the words he worked so hard to conjure up, slipped right out of his mind. When he saw you looking up at him, eyebrows raised, cheeks and nose tinted with a light shade of pink, and your lips plump and red, he realized that there were no words to describe what it was he felt about you. You watched him in silence, studying the way he gave you a lopsided smile when you tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear. He leaned into your touch, letting out another sigh of relief. 

“Nothing,” he finally spoke, letting go of your hands. He wrapped his arm around you again, hoping you won’t hear the marching of his heart in his chest. “You’re my best friend.” 

-

The second time he realized he loved you was when you spent the summer at the Burrow with him and his family. You were outside the house with Ginny and Hermione, talking about who knows what, and you threw your head back in laughter. The sound of your voice was the only thing he could hear, despite the bustling noise of the other inhabitants of the Burrow.

He stood beside his mother, washing the dishes, as he looked out the window, a smile playing on his lips. Molly watched in adoration as her son stared at the woman he loved, gently nudging Fred with his elbow as she dried the plates. 

Fred snapped out of his thought, blinking rapidly before taking the dried plate from his mother’s hand. “Huh?”

“Truly, Fred, when will you just tell Y/N how you feel?”

He ducked his head, blushing furiously that another one of his family members caught onto his affections, “What are you talking about, mother?” 

“I gave birth to you, boy,” Molly scolded, picking up another wet plate to dry. “I know you.” 

“I’ll tell her soon.” 

“Blimey, Fred,” a voice whistled from behind them. Molly and Fred turned around, seeing Ron munching on a biscuit as he leaned on the door. “You’ve been saying that for like a year now. How soon can soon be?” 

Fred walked over to Ron, hitting him with the rolled up towel he was using to dry. “Shut it, you git. I’ll tell Y/N when you have the guts to tell Moine how you feel.” 

The younger boy’s eyes widened, immediately growing flustered at the mention of Hermione. Molly stood by the sink, arms crossed as she watched the two boys argue and fight. She cleared her throat, “Both of you need to tell them how you feel.”  

As the two boys continued to bicker, the three girls made their way inside, Ginny smirking to herself as she knew exactly what was going on. She’s been around her brothers long enough to know that Ron was head over heels for Hermione and Fred could never shut up about you. Wanting to embarrass them, she spoke up, “Tell who?”

Fred froze in the spot, hearing the smug tone dripping from his sister’s words. He looked at her, sending a glare her way, before giving you a kind smile. He scoffed, “Mind your business, Gin.” 

Your heart sunk in your chest, thinking about Fred having feelings for someone. It wasn’t hard to notice that you had fallen in love with the older twin. Your touch on his arm lingered a bit too long, you stared at him in pure adoration, and you always looked for him everywhere you went. It was a shock that he never caught on. Unbeknownst to you, he was too busy trying to conceal his own feelings to even notice yours. 

You sent him a tight-lipped smile, unable to stop thinking about the possibility that Fred is in love with someone else. Truth be told, she would probably be smitten with him too. Who wouldn’t be? Fred is amazing and everyone was able to see that. He could make you laugh more than anyone else could. He’s so caring and careful with you, like one wrong move and he’d break you like you were made of fine china. He was adventurous, a contrast to your more reserved personality. Fred was amazing. Any girl would be lucky to have him. 

You didn’t realize that you stood in the middle of the kitchen as everyone else excused themselves or made themselves busy. Ginny and Ron already walked out, muttering something about bothering Harry. Hermione struck up a conversation with Molly, now taking Fred’s place in helping with the dishes. Fred stood in front of you, arm reaching out to touch you. He cocked his head to the side as if asking you what’s on your mind. 

Fred grabbed a hold of your hand, pulling you into his chest. He felt your uneasiness, and although he didn’t know what caused it, he knew it was up to him to make you feel better. So without saying anything else, he wrapped both of his arms around you, letting you rest your cheek on his chest. He kissed your temple and rocked you back and forth, not even caring that Molly and Hermione were staring at the both of you. 

As he looked down at the girl on his chest, he realized this is what he wanted for the rest of his life. He loved you. 

-

The third time he realized he loved you was after the war. After all of the casualties and his accident, that almost cost him his life, his life was turned upside down. He woke up the next morning only to find out that you skipped town the night before. You left with no note, no notice, no anything. He just woke up to an empty spot next to him on the makeshift bed they had to make on Hogwarts’ concrete floors. 

It took them two months to start the store up again. When they reopened, the line was out the door, circling around the block. People wanted some happiness after everything that happened. Fred would be lying if he said he didn’t want that either. 

George patted his brother’s back, watching from the staircase as parents bought their children anything they wanted, just happy that they survived the war. Nobody has heard from you in months. All everyone could do was hope and pray that you were safe and doing okay. Not even Hermione heard from you. She probably took it the hardest after Fred. She considered you one of her best friends and it hurt her that you left without saying goodbye, but a part of her also knew that it was probably too much for you. 

Fred knew you were probably out travelling the world, just as you told him many times before. It was your dream, he knew that, but a part of him always thought that he’d be right beside you. Everyday that passed, he cursed himself for not telling you how he felt before you left. Would it have made a difference? He’d like to think so. Even if it didn’t, he, at least, wouldn’t have to live every single day thinking: “What if?” 

The sight was pitiful. George would see him in his office, staring blankly at the picture of the two of you that he framed. He had it perched up on his desk, reminding him of what he could’ve had. George tried to get him to move on, but even he knew Fred was in love with you, and you were someone special to the both of them. Nobody could compare to you and nobody would ever dare try. 

It wasn’t until six months later when you stumbled into their shop, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. A part of you knew you didn’t have the right to be there because you left them with no warning. You wouldn’t blame them if they asked you to leave the premises the minute their eyes landed on you. You knew you deserved the cold shoulder. Merlin, if they were the ones who did that to you, you knew you wouldn’t be so forgiving. 

The shop was fairly busy, kids running around trying to get their hands on everything they wanted before the school year. You saw the displays of the love potion, smiling sadly as you remembered your lonely months alone. Fred consumed your thoughts. He was the only one you could think of when you left. Every little thing reminded you of him. 

You spent a few weeks in Paris, living amongst the Muggles, and watched the sun set behind the Eiffel tower. You would turn to your left, half-expecting Fred to be there, only to be met by an empty space. You went to Greece and ran into the water, laughing freely at your found spirit. You began to search for his laugh behind you, waiting for his arms to pick you up and spin you around in the light of the moon. But then you remembered what you did and you felt sick to your stomach. 

That’s why you came back. You couldn’t take it anymore, not after 6 months of being alone. You knew you needed time but now you needed your friends, your family, your Fred. You wanted nothing else but to bury yourself in his warm embrace and feel his lips kiss the skin of your forehead. You yearned for nothing else. 

Your eyes locked with a pair so familiar. He dropped the vials in his hand, not even caring that the contents spilled down the steps. His jaw was hanging wide, eyes blinking rapidly as if they were playing a trick on him. You smiled at him, unsure of his reaction. 

Fred watched you for a moment before a grin broke out on his face, running and shoving paying customers out the way to pick you up. All the feelings he still had for you, tripled. His heart rumbled in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Even after all this time, he was still so in love with you. 

He began bumping into displays, dropping some of his own merchandise. You squealed when he reached you, his head sitting comfortably in the crook of your neck. His laugh carried throughout the store, disrupting everyone in the vicinity. But he didn’t care. You were home. 

-

It didn’t take long for Fred to tell you how he felt after you came back. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Every moment that he didn’t get to call you his, chipped his heart. His brothers and his sister were growing tired of it, encouraging him to just say it because they were certain you felt the same. Fred tried to ignore them, not wanting to get his hopes up, but he couldn’t help but think about how amazing it would feel if you told him you loved him back. 

You just came over to have dinner with the Weasley family, Molly and Arthur insisting that they missed you too much to go out to a restaurant and cut the celebration short. After a hefty meal, you and Fred excused yourselves and walked out into the garden. His hands were in his pockets, unable to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time. He’s been practicing what to say to you since Hogwarts and yet, he still felt unprepared. 

You were walking silently beside him, taking in the silence and calmness of the life you’re living now. You no longer had to worry about anything, just the day to day necessities, and your feelings for Fred. Subconsciously, you intertwined your fingers with Fred’s snuggling up to his side for some warmth. 

Fred froze for a moment. This is it, he thought, this is the perfect moment. 

Before he lost his confidence, he spoke, “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

“Yes, Freddie?” you asked, rubbing your thumb over the top of his hand. “What is it?” 

He held you in your place, stopping in the middle of a field of flowers. The moon illuminated one side of your face, showing off your perfect features. Fred smiled, reaching over to caress your cheekbone. With tears in his eyes, he said, brokenly, “I’m so bloody in love with you.” 

You gasped softly, looking up at him, “What?” 

“I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Fred sighed, connecting his forehead with yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.” 

In a small whisper, you asked, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I’ve been so afraid of what you’d say.” 

“I love you, too, Freddie.” 

At first he thought his ears were deceiving him. You loved him back? His eyes shot open, pulling away from you as he stared at you in disbelief. “Y-you love me?”

“Yes, you silly boy,” you chuckled, pulling him closer to you. Your lips ghosted over his, causing him to shiver. With your lips dangerously close to his, you continued, “I’ve been in love with you for so long.” 

“I’ve been a down right idiot, haven’t I?” 

“Yeah.” 

And with that, he kissed you. All those years where he hid his feelings came pouring out in this one kiss. His hands cupped your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his like there was any more space between the two of you to close. Your arms looped around his neck, allowing him to dip you once one hand snaked down to your waist to steady you. He kissed you, pouring in all his regrets, mistakes, apprehensions, into his love, no longer wanting to pass up an opportunity to love you for the rest of his life. You giggled against his lips as he peppered you with kisses, unable to stop himself. 

Once he stopped, his chest rumbling with laughter like you, he beamed at you. He pecked your lips, one more time, his kiss feather light, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

On your way back to the house, you felt it in the air. The love. It lingered between the two of you, surrounded you and suffocated you, but it was the best feeling in the world. Fred Weasley was in love with you. You are in love.

-

TAGS:

@rexorangecouny

[blueskrugs]

Four Times Fate Brought You to Vince Dunn, and One Time You Found Him on Purpose

I wrote this simultaneously with another Vince 4+1 (coming tomorrow, hopefully!) and yelled to @captainpetty​ and Erin​ about them constantly. Sorry guys. 

length: 3k words

An Accident You met Vince Dunn for the first time in an emergency room in St. Louis. Normally you worked the pediatric floor, and not on the night shift, but sometimes you floated to the general emergency room for an extra shift because, well, money is money.

You liked pediatrics because dealing with kids was far easier than adults, in your opinion, even when parents could sometimes be just as difficult as a screaming toddler. But at least screaming toddlers could be calmed down with the promise of a sticker or a lollipop. 

“Hey, can you pick up the new guy that just came in?” one of the other nurses asked as she breezed past you to handle one of her patients. “I think they said something about him being important around here.”

“Being important” meant that, when you pulled the curtain back to face your newest patient, you came face-to-face with a very drunk Vince Dunn and a significantly less drunk Colton Parayko. You simply raised an eyebrow and moved over to the computer to start charting.

“I’m not really sure I want to know what happened here, but I think I have to ask,” you said, trying to ignore the fact that you were pretty sure Vince was whispering to Colton about you.

“Is there any way, like, our training staff-”

“And Petro!”

“God, yeah, and Petro, won’t find out about this? Because I wasn’t supposed to let anything happen to him, and we have a game tomorrow,” Colton finished. 

That really didn’t answer your question, and you weren’t sure how anything that brought the two of them into an ER after midnight was going to be easily hidden for a game the next night. You turned then, properly looked at the boys, took in Vince sitting on the bed with his feet swinging above the ground like a child. His shirt was a little wet with what was probably beer, and, when you looked closer, blood. His left hand was wrapped in a bar rag–that you really hoped had been clean when they got it–that was definitely blood-stained. 

Colton explained to you, as you started an IV in Vince’s right arm and cleaned the gash in his palm that would definitely need stitches, that they had gone out in spite of their captain telling them it was a bad idea. Vince had had one beer too many and had ended up on a table, then fell off the table, catching his fall on someone’s pint of beer. By the way Vince winced when you moved his hand around to clean it, you were pretty sure his wrist sprained, too.

You hovered a bit as one of the ER doctors came in and checked out Vince’s hand and wrist. Vince was quiet, but you could feel him watching you as you fidgeted around the small room. By the time everything was ready for him to be sent home, he was definitely more sober himself, but that also meant he was lucid enough to be embarrassed about how he ended up in the ER. You watched as Colton led him out of the ER and to a waiting Uber, and you wondered just how the hell they were planning on hiding his hand from everyone the next day.

At a Bar The second time you met Vince Dunn was, somewhat ironically, in a bar. You had seen him as soon as you walked in, laughing with some of his teammates in the corner, but you diligently ignored him as you headed to the bar with your friend to get a drink. Why would he remember some random ER nurse from over a month ago, when he had been drunk? You shook your head, determined to ignore the loud hockey boys in the corner and have a good night yourself. 

You had been at the bar almost an hour and had done a pretty good job of ignoring and avoiding the hockey players in the corner. You headed over to the bar for a second drink, when you felt a hand press against your lower back. You tensed, twisting around as much as you could in the crowded bar to see who was behind you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Vince said, but he didn’t move his hand. He raised his left hand to get the attention of the bartender, and you saw the flash of a still-healing scar on his palm, pink even in the dim light of the bar. “You were that nurse from the ER, yeah? I never thanked you for taking care of my drunk ass that night.” He smiled, then, wide and genuine, hand still warm against the small of your back, and you relaxed a little bit. 

You were surprised that he recognized you. You’d heard stories of the younger players on the Blues wheeling multiple girls at once; you vaguely wondered how they kept track of them, much less a nobody nurse he’d met once. 

You didn’t say that, though, just smiled back at him as the bartender slid two beers in front of you. You reached into your pocket to pay but Vince grabbed your wrist.

“Nah, this one’s on me. Said I had to thank you, didn’t I?” he told you. You tried not to think about how green his eyes were up close. 

You shook yourself again; you didn’t need this. You didn’t need this. Besides, how many more times could you run into Vince Dunn?

In Enemy Territory It was in Pittsburgh, of all places, when you saw Vince Dunn again. One of your brothers had moved out there for work, and you were visiting him for a week, helping out with babysitting his kids, hanging with your sister-in-law. You hadn’t even thought to check the Blues’ schedule; you had no idea they were on a road trip to play the Penguins. 

You were standing in line at a Starbucks, your two-year-old nephew balanced on your hip, your sister-in-law still outside with the other kids.  You heard the door open behind you, and a loud group came in, but now you were focused on ordering before the toddler you were carrying decided he got bored and threw a tantrum. You were struggling to reach your card one handed when someone else reached past you.

“Add it to ours,” the voice belonging to the arm said. You spun, only to see Colton Parayko looking down at you with a smile. You looked over his shoulder to see several of his teammates shoving each other playfully in line. That would explain the loud group you’d heard come in. Colton was introducing himself to the two year old you were carrying, but you were still watching his teammates. Vince caught your eye from where he was trying to put Jordan Kyrou in a headlock and grinned, immediately letting go of Rouzy. You smiled back, a little caught off guard. 

You stepped to the side as you waited.  Before long, you were joined by Vince, both of you trying to ignore the catcalls from his other teammates. 

“And who’s this little guy?” Vince cooed, actually ignoring you aside from a quick smile. You raised an eyebrow a little bit at his baby-voice.

Your nephew tucked his face into your neck, suddenly shy. “Oh, come on now,” you said to him. “This is Jake, he’s my brother’s youngest,” you explained to Vince. Vince continued to talk to your nephew in that same high, gentle voice, until he was giggling and chattering right back. The barista called your name, and Jake picked that moment to decide he was done being patient and started fussing, very close to crying and screaming. You couldn’t balance two drinks and two sandwiches as well as a fidgeting toddler, and you groaned. 

“Here give him to me,” Vince said, reaching out to take him before you could protest. Jake settled immediately, and you glared at him a little. You could hear Vince talking to him more as you scrambled to pick up all of your order. He followed you outside, and you ignored the interested stares of the rest of the guys. 

He continued to hold Jake as you handed off your sister-in-law’s half of the order, stood there to chat with her and the other kids, long after Sammy came out with Vince’s drink. He used the same voice he had used to befriend Jake on the other two kids, but he talked and laughed with you and Sarah in the next breath, even teasing her for the Pens shirt she was wearing. 

You were doing your best not to think about how that voice was making you melt every time he used it. His teammates eventually dragged him away to get back to the hotel before the game, but not before Vince talked you into exchanging phone numbers. 

You tried telling yourself that you were never going to use it. 

In a Grocery Store You were pretty sure the universe was laughing at you at this point. Your mom had invited herself over for dinner, and you had nothing in your apartment to cook. Which meant you rushed to a grocery store on your lunch break, and you ended up at a different one than you usually went to because it was closer to work.

Why couldn’t all grocery stores be laid out the same? You were trying very hard to make it look like you weren’t turning in circles as you tried to find everything you were looking for when your phone buzzed. You pulled it out with a huff, fully expecting it to your mom again, but instead the name on your screen read, “Vince Dunn.” 

You paused. It had been nearly another month since Pittsburgh, and neither one of you had texted the other one. You were (mostly) perfectly content with leaving it that way, but clearly Vince had other ideas. The screen had gone dark, but it lit up again, reminding you it was there. You read the text, the simple words “you look a little lost.” With that you spun around, and, sure enough, Vince was standing a couple feet behind you, leaning against a shelf with a smirk on his face.

“I don’t have time for this,” you said, turning back around and starting to push your cart in a direction that hopefully ended in pasta. 

“Hey, wait,” Vince said, taking a couple annoyingly long steps to catch up to you and put a hand on your cart to stop you. “Lemme help. It’ll be faster. I’ve been watching you walk in circles for like ten minutes.” You blushed as he smirked again, but his eyes were soft. 

You wanted so badly to just push past Vince, forget you had ever met him, and then met him again and again, delete his number from your phone, but you also knew he was right; he would probably get you out of this damned grocery store a lot faster than you could probably manage on your own, and maybe you really wanted to spend a little time with him, too. 

So you sighed, handed Vince the list you had scribbled on the back of a gas receipt, and let him lead you around the grocery store. He let you rant about your mom, and then about work, only pausing to offer opinions on the food he was putting in your cart. After a while, you realized you had actually managed to get everything on your list, but now Vince was wandering aimlessly around the store, sneaking junk food into your cart. You raised an eyebrow as you watched him slip a package of cookie mix behind the box of pasta. He looked up at you as you leaned on the cart handle, sheepish now that he’d been caught.

“What?I like snickerdoodles,” he said in defense.

You shook your head and pulled the package out of the cart. “I can make better snickerdoodles from scratch, dude.” You looked closer at everything in your cart. “And I don’t like jalapeno Cheetos,” you said, throwing the bag at Vince.

“Is that a promise on the snickerdoodles?” Of course he focused on that.

“I don’t know, maybe. Now go put the damn Cheetos back.”

Vince laughed. You willed yourself to focus on getting out of the store and home to cook dinner, not just kissing Vince in the middle of the baking aisle. 

“Don’t knock ‘em until you try ‘em. Thommer’s gotten the whole team addicted at this point,” Vince told you over his shoulder as he went to put the Cheetos back from wherever he found them. You turned around and headed back in what you thought was the direction of checkout. Vince found you again as you stood in line. You had honestly thought the whole Cheetos thing would be the end of this interaction with him, but apparently not. 

“Don’t you have your own grocery shopping to do?” you asked, realizing just how much time Vince had spent with you in the store. “Instead of helping some random girl?” you added, allowing the insecurity you were suddenly feeling slip into your voice. 

Vince started putting your groceries on the conveyor belt. “Nah, Sammy just wanted some snacks, and he can wait.”

You let Vince load the rest of your stuff onto the belt, you didn’t let him pay–though he fought you on that one for several minutes–and you let him walk with you to your car and put all of your groceries in the trunk.

You were halfway home before you thought to wonder if he actually went back and got snacks for Sammy. 

At a Hockey Game When your best friend texted you and asked if you wanted to go to a Blues game with her, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. You had grown up a hockey fan, had found Hannah in high school, and there you two were, years later, still yelling about the Blues over texts and phone calls and in person. Your eagerness had absolutely nothing to do with Vince Dunn. 

You also didn’t hesitate to snap a picture of your ticket and send it to Vince after Hannah handed it to you. You didn’t really think he’d see it so close to puck drop, but you still regretted it as soon as the tiny little “sent” appeared underneath the picture. 

The game was exciting, and the Blues won, which helped distract you from the anxiety you were feeling over Vince. Mostly. Until he scored a goal, and his eyes swept the sea of blue in Enterprise Center, and, for a split second, you let yourself think he was looking for you. 

Until after the game, when you and Hannah were getting up to leave, and an usher appeared next to you, saying your name and telling you to follow her. Getting down below the arena was a blur of people and security, being given neon wristbands and convincing people that, “Yes, I was invited down here by a player, I belong down here,” even if you didn’t really believe that second part was true. 

You both hovered awkwardly in the doorway to the room where all of the WAGs and kids were waiting, and suddenly you regretted wearing your Parayko jersey just a little bit. You were thankful to have your friend next to you, though, and you explained the whole grocery store thing to her while you waited. You were starting to debate leaving, telling everyone that, yeah, actually, letting you down into the tunnels was a mistake, that you have no business being there, when you’re wrapped up in a hug suddenly, and there’s Vince, freshly-showered and back in his suit– and this is new, but it’s nice and you let yourself relax into the hug.

Vince pulled back, and he was smiling at you and introducing himself to Hannah, and Colton was standing behind him with a matching smile. You remembered the 55 sprawled across your back, and you knew Colton saw it, but then he was wrapping his arm around your shoulder and didn’t say anything about it.

You weren’t so lucky with Vince. “I’ve gotta get you a new jersey,” he said. You just rolled your eyes and shrugged. 

“I’ll sign that one for you,” Colton whispered. 

Vince and Colton started arguing over that, and you were starting to think that this is something you could get used to, since this was apparently your new normal, when Alex Pietrangelo comes over to your little group, and you were reminded a little just how not normal this was for you. 

“Is this the nurse Dunner won’t shut up about?” Petro asked Colton, who nodded over your head. “You really freaked him out when you texted him before the game,” Petro was talking again, this time to you. “We thought he was gonna go out into the stands to find you himself.”

You laughed, more at the bright blush that was spreading over Vince’s cheeks. “What happened to ‘Petro can’t find out about this?’” you asked.

“That went out the window pretty fast,” Colton told you.

“And I don’t know how you ever thought you could hide eight stitches in your hand and a sprained wrist from me,” Petro added.

“You should have heard him after we saw you in Pittsburgh. He kept looking for you at the game that night, too.” 

You smiled up at Vince, who was blushing all the way up his ears now, but he just wrapped his arm around your shoulders and buried his face in your hair. Yeah, you could definitely get used to that. You elbowed him in the ribs a little bit, but his arm just tightened around your shoulders. 

He and Colton walked you and Hannah back to your car outside the arena, Colton chirping Vince relentlessly the whole way.

Vince grabbed your hand before you could get in your car. “I’ll text you, yeah?” He looked unsure, which was probably the first time you’d ever seen him nervous around you. “Sammy won’t stop asking me when you’re baking us cookies.”

“I don’t remember saying anything about baking Sammy Blais cookies,” you laughed. “Text me when your next day off is, and we’ll see about those cookies.” And then, because apparently you couldn’t stop doing impulsive things tonight, you pushed up on your toes to kiss Vince on the cheek before climbing into the car.

Your phone vibrated in your cupholder less than five minutes later, and you knew without checking that it was Vince. 

[s-oulpunk]

Here’s the third, and final, of the unfinished fics.  It’s just over 3k words and was last edited February 25th.  It was meant to be a fic going through the movie plot, but with Richie originally being part of Bowers’ Gang (and with more reddie and stenbrough).  Over time he ends up being friends with the Losers and leaving the Bowers’ Gang behind.  But I only ever wrote the beginning.

-

“Ya know, Rich, I was thinking.  I think it’s time for initiation.”

Richie glances up curiously.  Henry’s a bit blurry through the recent exhale of smoke, but his smirk is still clear as day.  It makes Richie’s stomach twist and curl in on itself.

He takes his time removing the blunt from his lips.

“Initiation?” he says.

“If you want to be part of the group…” Henry trails off, leaving Richie more anxious than before.

“I thought I was already part of the group,” Richie says.  He shoves all the words out at once, as if he can’t stand the taste of them in his mouth.

Henry laughs, loud and boisterous.  It makes Richie flinch.  He does his best not to show it, but judging by the way Patrick grins at him, lips pulled back and teeth bared, he’s not sure he does a great job.

“Not officially,” Henry says.  He takes a drag of his own. “But don’t you want to be?”

Richie shoves his blunt back between his lips, if only so he doesn’t have to answer.

“C’mon, Tozier,” Patrick drawls.  He speaks around a blunt of his own, muffling the words slightly, and twirls his favorite lighter between his fingers.

Richie suddenly feels incredibly small.  Henry’s gang towers over Richie, who’s sitting with his back pressed harshly against the grill of Henry’s car.  His knees are pulled up to his chest, and he hopes it looks casual, but he’s hugging them closer and closer like he’s a spring ready to shoot forward.  Henry’s gang are all standing, lazily leaning against any hard surface they can find.

Their stance is casual, but they’re watching Richie like a hawk watches its prey.  Like they’re waiting to pounce.  Like they’re waiting for him to break.

But if there’s one thing Richie will never let them do, it’s break him.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course I do.”

Henry grins wider. “Good.”

“So what is initiation?” Richie asks, forcing himself to hold eye contact.

“You’ll see,” Henry says.

“Don’t worry,” Patrick says. “It’ll be fun.”

And that is truly terrifying.

Because anything Patrick Hockstetter deems “fun” has to be some psychopathic level shit.

“Alright,” Richie murmurs, because what the fuck else is he supposed to say? “Are we gonna do it...right now?”

“You ask a lot of fucking questions,” Henry huffs. “No, we’re not gonna do it now.  Clearly.  I don’t have any of the stuff.  Jesus Christ, use your head.”

“How am I supposed to fucking know that?” Richie snaps, because he doesn’t know when to shut up apparently. “You brought it up!”

“Shut it, Tozier!” snarls Henry.

So Richie shuts it.

“We can do initiation tomorrow,” Patrick says casually. “Should be easy enough.”

Easy for them, maybe.  But Richie’s sure it’ll be hell for him.

He forces a grin anyway. “Great.”

-

Richie had been half hoping that something would postpone initiation.  But, sure enough, Victor Criss intercepts him on his way to the arcade the very next day.

“Already?” Richie squeaks out.

Victor almost looks sorry for him. “Already.”

Richie’s legs feel like jell-o as he follows him through town and deep into the forest.

He hears Henry’s gang long before he sees them.  He can hear their jeering insults and pointed laughter, and he can hear someone else.  Someone whose voice he doesn’t recognize.  Someone who’s screaming insults like his life depends on it.

But then Richie rounds the corner and his heart drops.  Because he does recognize the person.  Not enough to know his favorite color or why he wears a fanny pack or any of that dumb stuff.  But he knows he’s one of Stan’s friends - Eddie something - and he’s pretty sure that wasn’t an accident.

He feels out of it, like he’s watching the debacle from somewhere outside his own body.  But then Henry says, “Tozier!” and suddenly he’s standing at the foot of the crime.

“Hi,” he says, because he’s lame like that.

Eddie doesn’t look too roughed up.  He’s got a scrape going down the whole left side of his face, and there’s a noticeable handprint on his arm.  But that’s practically nothing compared to Henry’s usual work.

Richie swallows thickly. “Initiation?”

Henry looks pleased that he’s figured it out. “Yup.”

He shoves Eddie with perhaps more force than necessary, sending him flying to his knees at Richie’s feet.  He can hear Eddie hiss in pain as various rocks and gravel dig into his knees.  It makes Richie wince.  Which can’t be good, because he’s sure he’s supposed to be doing more than just staring at him.

“For fuck’s sake, Tozier!” Patrick snaps, making Richie jump nearly a foot in the air. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just - give me a minute,” Richie says.

He glances back down at Eddie, which is a mistake because he looks like he wants to murder Richie right about now and it makes Richie’s entire throat close up.  His unease must show on his face because Eddie’s on his feet in a flash, squaring his shoulders and trying his best to look tough despite being a good four inches shorter than Richie.

“Who the fuck are you?” he spits.

Richie glances helplessly towards Henry.  Richie isn’t supposed to be at the front of the lines.  He’s supposed to be at the back, cheering Henry on and pushing back any lingering feelings of guilt.  But Henry isn’t any help now.  He just shrugs, his face emotionless, which is basically code for: figure it out, bitch.

“What’s wrong, Tozier?” Patrick drawls. “Scared of some little fag?” He cocks his head curiously. “Or maybe you’re one of them.  Maybe he’s caught your attention.”

And Richie’s not sure what it is.  If it’s the fact that Eddie’s stare is starting to make him feel a little frozen, or if it’s the fact that Patrick’s words hit a little too close to home.  Either way, Patrick’s barely finished the words before Richie’s grabbing fistfulls of Eddie’s hair and chucking him back to the ground.

Eddie hits the ground with an ‘umph,’ landing face first in the dirt.

Richie can hear Henry and his gang spring to life.  They’re cheering and screaming and it’s all making Richie’s head hurt.  But the silence is worse.

“Is that true, Eds?” he taunts. “Are you a fag?”

Eddie grits his teeth. “That’s not my name.”

“Oh, but the rest of it is true?”

“Fuck off!” Eddie’s stumbling to his feet faster than Richie can comprehend “Why don’t you just go and fuck off!  What the fuck do you know?”

Richie can feel his stomach churning.  And yet he pushes forward anyway.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that.” Henry and his goons are howling around them, only spurred on by Eddie’s reddening cheeks. “Tell me, is it exciting being surrounded by this many men?”

“Fuck off,” Eddie repeats, weaker now.

Richie forces himself to grin, doing his best to copy Henry’s shark impression. “Don’t you want my - Oh, fuck!”

“Oh my God!”

“What the fuck?”

“Dude?”

“Tozier, what the hell?”

Richie coughs wetly, still doubled over at the waist.  He does his best not to wince as spit dribbles past his lips, landing in disgustingly large drops on Eddie’s shoes.  Not that it matters much.  He’s already covered in Richie’s vomit anyway.

“Sorry,” Richie whispers, because he’s an idiot.  Eddie, who's taken to gagging loudly, doesn’t seem to hear him.  Which Richie supposes is the best case scenario based on their situation.  But he still can’t help but wish Eddie had heard him.

“I’m - I need - I can’t-”

“Calm down,” Belch huffs. “It’s just some vomit.” He shoves Eddie harshly, hardly blinking as he lands on his hands and knees in the vomit pile.  Eddie gags loudly, loud enough that Richie fears he might vomit himself, but doesn’t dare get up again, not with Henry looming over him like he is.

“C’mon, Tozier,” Henry hisses.  His eyes are lit up, making him look even more crazed than before.  This is fun for Henry, Richie realizes.  Not only hurting Eddie, but torturing Richie into doing it as well. “Hit him.  Just once.  Just once, and you’re in.”

Eddie’s eyes are wide and pleading.  They remind him of the look the mama birds would give him and Stan if they crawled too close to their nest.  Quiet and wary and silently begging them not to come any closer.  That feels like an eternity ago.  He always used to complain when Stan would drag him out to go birdwatching, but currently he would give anything to be there instead.

Unfortunately, he has nothing to give.

“C’mon,” Henry repeats.  He sounds more frustrated now, and it makes Richie flinch. “It’s not that hard.”

“I - I can’t-”

“Sure you can!” Henry chirps, as if they’re talking about a math problem he can’t solve. “It’s easy.”  He swings his fist out, pulling it back mere centimeters from Eddie’s face.  Though it doesn’t make contact, Eddie still lets out a yelp and flinches backwards. “See?”

“I don’t - I dunno-”

Henry sighs heavily. “Do you want to do this another day?”

Richie perks up a bit at that.  That’s an option? “Can I?”

“Of course,” Henry says flippantly. “Probably better anyway, we can find someone more suited for the position.”

He doesn’t name a name, but the threat hangs in the air anyway.

Stan.

Before Richie can second guess himself, he pulls his fist back and swings it against Eddie’s nose.  The smaller boy flies backwards, landing with a thud backwards on the ground.  His hands are pressed up against his nose, fresh blood spilling between the fingers, and his eyes are squeezed shut.  Richie thinks he can see a few stray tears escape.

For a single, ridiculous, moment he wants to rush over and wipe them away.  But then Henry’s clapping him on the back and Patrick’s congratulating him, and Richie is harshly reminded of his place in the world.

-

Richie does not go home after that.

Instead he walks the all too familiar pathway to an old friend’s house.  The roads haven’t changed, he doesn’t think anything’s been renovated his whole life.  It’s almost painfully nostalgic.  A reminder of an easier time.

Stan is the one to answer the door, thank God, and while he doesn’t necessarily look disappointed to see Richie, he definitely looks less than happy.

“Rich?” he murmurs, glancing around like he expects someone to jump out at him.  Richie supposes he can’t blame him. “What are you doing here?”

“Stan,” he whimpers.  He finds he missed the feeling of his friend’s name on his tongue. “I did something bad.”

This, to his horror, starts the waterworks.  Tears come pouring down his face at an alarming speed, dripping down his cheeks and fogging up his glasses.

Luckily, Stan doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.  It’s been months since they’ve had a proper conversation, but he doesn’t waste any time wrapping Richie in his arms and tugging him close.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, though Richie’s sure he knows it’s a lie. “You’re alright.  I’ve got you.”

“I-I didn’t wuh-want to,” Richie moans brokenly, trying to ignore how his voice breaks. “I swuh-swear I didn’t, Stanny.”

“I know,” Stan mumbles. “It’s alright.”

Except it’s not alright, because Stan doesn’t know. The thought just makes Richie cry harder.

“Hey, hey,” Stan coos. “Do you wanna come in?  I can make hot chocolate.”

Richie finds himself nodding before he can fully process what he’s doing.  Not that he minds, he’s missed Stan a fuckton in the last few months.  And, besides, Stan makes the best hot chocolate in the world, even if he doesn’t put in nearly enough chocolate.

Richie’s dragged inside the Uris household, where luckily Stan seems to be the only one home.

Stan grabs a chair from the dining table and drags it into the kitchen, setting it gently next to the stove so Richie can sit with him as he warms the milk.

It’s silent, for the most part.  Richie sits, tear tracks drying on his cheeks, and Stan stirs the milk gently.  He doesn’t press for information, which Richie is grateful for.  He doesn’t know how he would explain.  But a part of him thinks Stan only refrains from asking in fear of what the answer might be.

Richie hardly notices Stan’s finished the hot chocolate until he’s pressing the mug into Richie’s hands.  Richie takes it gratefully, clutching it between both hands as he raises it slowly to his lips.  Stan even put extra chocolate powder in for him.  That thought alone is nearly enough to make Richie start crying again.

Stan kneels next to him, one hand gently resting on Richie’s knee, the other reaching out to intertwine their fingers together.

“You don’t have to hang out with them, you know,” Stan murmurs.

The sentence makes Richie’s throat close up again.  He desperately wishes that it were true.

“Who do you suggest I hang out with instead?  Your mother?” Richie jokes lamely.

Stan rolls his eyes. “My mother is the one who bought that hot chocolate mix, show some respect.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Uris.”

Stan chuckles quietly. “I’m serious, though.  They’re awful people.”

“So am I,” Richie huffs. “Who else is gonna handle my annoying ass?”

“Well, I’ve been doing it for eleven years.”

“Yeah, need to give you a break,” Richie grins, though it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Anyone stuck with me for that long is bound to go crazy.”

“Believe me, I’ve gone crazy.  And I’m sure my friends would all love you, Rich.”

Richie bites back a wince. “I dunno about that,” he mumbles, barely audible.

Stan cocks his head, as if he’s about to ask why, when the phone rings.

“Hold that thought,” he sighs.  Stan walks away and Richie immediately feels a wave of cold wash over him.  He wants to call out to him, to ask him to come back.  He can’t stand the feeling of being in his own head.  But he’s asking so much of Stan already. “Hello?  Oh.  I’ll - Yeah.  Jesus Christ.  Okay.  I’ll be right there.”

Richie knows what’s just happened before Stan even turns around.  All he can do is sit and wait, heart nearly beating out of his chest, as Stan stands, steaming, next to the telephone.

“Richie,” he finally says. “Did you punch Eddie in the face?”

Richie tenses, his grip tightening around the mug. “I threw up on him too.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“I know.”

Stan pinches the bridge of his nose, and for one ridiculous moment, Richie can’t help but notice how much he looks like his father.  It makes Richie feel like a little kid again, about to be scolded for spilling his mac and cheese on the freshly cleaned couch.

“Why?” Stan says. “Why’d you do it?”

Richie just shrugs.  Because what answer could he give that would satisfy him, anyway?

Stan stares at him for a moment longer, as if he still expects an answer.  When one doesn’t come, he lets out a heavy sigh. “I have to go.  You’re welcome to stay over if you want.  I just - I’ll be back later.”

And then he’s gone and Richie is, once again, alone.

-

Eddie does not look good.

His nose is swollen, there’s blood caking his upper lip, and he still smells vaguely of vomit.  It makes Stan just a little sick himself to think that Richie caused this.  He’s sure that it would be worse if one of Henry’s other goons decided to pick on him instead, rather than forcing Richie to do their dirty work, but it’s still strange.  The Richie he knows wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Holy shit,” Stan croaks out.

“I know,” Eddie groans.  His words are slightly muffled by the pack of frozen peas Bill is holding to his face. “They said it was for initiation.  Bowers’ gang officially has a new member.” He fakes a weak cheer.

“I don’t understand why anyone would want to join that group,” Mike says, shuddering.

“He’s probably a psychopath,” Bev grunts. “You would have to be.  No sane person would willingly associate with Henry Bowers.”

A part of Stan wants to jump to Richie’s aid, to insist that he’s just a confused kid.  He’s no different from the rest of them.  But another part of him agrees.  Richie has to be crazy to continue putting himself in situations like that.

“But why Eddie?” Ben frowns.

“He www-wuh-was just at the wrong place at the wrong tt-tuh-time,” Bill says, eyes never leaving Eddie’s bruised face. “It could’ve b-been any of us.”

Except it couldn’t have.  Because the Bowers’ gang has been going surprisingly easy on Stan ever since Richie started hanging out with them.  It’s not much, he’s still getting shoved into lockers and tripped in the hallway, but he’s never cornered when they spot him alone anymore.

A part of him is glad, it’s nice not to watch his back anymore.  But another, bigger, part of him is overrun with guilt.  He hates seeing the fear in his friends’ eyes when he knows he has nothing to worry about.

And yet he still fears the day it all comes to a halting stop.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Stan murmurs. “That’s fucked up.”

“So who is it?” Bev asks. “Who’s our latest torturer?”

“Richie Tozier,” Eddie says. “That asshole from english who talks way too loud.”

“Oh,” Bev murmurs. “That’s - That’s not who I was expecting.”

Bill finally tears his eyes away from Eddie, insteading blinking curiously at Bev. “Yuh-You know him?”

“I didn’t know he had any friends,” Eddie grumbles.

“We’re not -  We just smoked together a couple times freshman year,” Bev shrugs. “He seemed alright.  But, whatever, fuck him.  He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, fuck him,” Eddie mumbles.

“Maybe,” Stan starts, then immediately tries to fall back.  But the whole Losers Club is staring at him, waiting patiently for him to continue.  So he does, “Maybe he’ll have a change of heart.  You said it was only - only his initiation, right?”

Eddie scoffs. “Please.  As soon as you willingly choose to hang out with Bowers, you’re unredeemable.”

“I dunno about that,” Mike says, because he’s the kindest soul Stan’s ever met. “I think everyone’s redeemable on some level.”

Bill glances at his curiously, a fond smile on his lips. “E-E-Even Patrick Hockstetter?”

Mike chuckles. “If he worked really hard, yes.”

-

If you liked the story, feel free to reach out and maybe I’ll continue!  I don’t write for Richie much anymore, but I do still really like this idea, and I have a few scenes for this fic that I never got to write.

[anninhiliation]

Everytime

 A/N I feel so bad I didn’t get inspired by Moonlight Records for Zabdiel kind of making him the odd one out but I’m going to look at it as giving him special treatment. He is my cheat lane anyways. So Everytime, is the acoustic version that caught my attention for Zab. I found it under the user Nathan Bourrut Le! Anyways as I wrote before check my masterlist, for when I post the other boys or check back here or I could tag you! Also, I own nothing this is all fictional and I have no rights.

Masterlist

Thinking ‘Bout You - Chris

Goodnight n Go - Erick

Better Off - Richard

In My Head - Joel

Warnings: Toxic relationship depicted, drinking, smut, cursing. 

Word Count: A little under 3k

 Back to you, back to you, back to you

Back to you, back to you, back to you

I go back to you, back to you, back to you everytime

You and Zabdiel were in an off and on again relationship. He was the fire to your oil, the key to your ignition. The two of you were toxic for each other but could not keep away from each other. There was something about the 6'2 blonde Puerto Rican man that kept driving you back to him.

I get tired of your no-shows

You get tired of my control (yeah)

They keep telling me to let go

But I don’t really let go when I say so (yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)

You sat at a café waiting for Zabdiel tapping your heel against the wood floor. You had already ordered your favorite drink and finished it half an hour ago. You eagerly checked your phone hoping for a notification from Zabdiel who wanted to meet with you, to begin with, in the cafe. The waiter approached you, giving you a weak smile as you stared at your blank phone. 

“No rush.” He said as he handed you the check. 

“Thanks.” You replied looking up returning the weak smile. 

You took out your wallet and placed seven dollars in the checkbook. You grabbed your purse and strutted out of the café. Annoyed you leaned outside the cold brick wall of the café and called Zabdiel. He picked up on the fourth ring which only fueled your anger. 

“Ya?” He nonchalantly said. 

Great, he’s high you thought to yourself.  “Thanks for wasting my time yet again. If you wanna meet you’re going to have to come and track me down. Fucking asshole.” You barked as you hung up the phone. 

You got into the car and drove to your apartment. The drive to the apartment was everything but peaceful which only drove your nerves even angrier. There was an accident that made traffic chaotic, and of course, construction was being performed on the back roads. Finally, you reached the parking lot of the apartment complex and took a deep breath. You opened your apartment door and your roommate was with a mutual friend. The two were sitting in the kitchen table drinking chilled white wine. 

“Mind if I join?” You asked with a heavy sigh as you opened the fridge and uncorked a fresh bottle of white wine. 

“No, not at all!” Marci, your roommate spoke up. 

“Great because I’ve had a day.” You protested as you began to drink straight out of the bottle.

“What happened?” Andrea, the mutual friend, questioned.

“Wanna take a guess?” You questioned back as you laid your head down on the counter.

“I swear to god Y/N if you went out to see, fix or do anything with Zabdiel I will kill you.” Marci threatened. 

“Ding ding ding!” You cheered. “But guess what? He stood me up!” You shrieked as you took another sip from the bottle. 

“I just don’t get it Y/N. Why do you stay, and go back to him? He’s such a douche bag.” Andrea groaned. 

“I promise you guys that I’m not giving him another chance after today. If he wants me back he’s going to have to fight like hell to get me back.” You said wholeheartedly. 

I keep giving people blank stares (yeah)

I’m so different when you’re not there (yeah, yeah)

It’s like something out of Shakespeare (yeah)

Because I’m really not here when you’re not there

Andrea and Marci convinced you to go to the club with them. Marci’s argument was the best way to get over a boy was to find a rebound and have the boy you’re done with fucked out of you. Andrea’s argument was simpler and it was to have a good night out and to delete the old boy’s number. You were so fed up with Zabdiel that you agreed to the girl’s plan and even deleted Zabdiel’s number in front of them so they knew you were over and done with him. You gave yourself one last glance in the mirror before walking out of your room. Your dress hugged you in all the right places and you showed enough cleavage to gain attention but not enough where you were in danger of having a wardrobe malfunction. You paired the dress with your favorite silver sparkly pumps which accentuated your legs. The three of you walked onto the street of a popular road that was mostly filled with bars and clubs. You guys decided since everyone practically pre-gamed at the apartment, it was easier to just go to your favorite club and find you a cute guy to dance with. As you guys entered the club the smell of alcohol and the blasting music overpowered your senses. You beelined up to the bar and ordered a vodka tonic. Taking your drink you made your way to the dance floor and swayed your hips to the beat. As the song ended, Despacito came on and a guy grabbed your hips helping you move to the beat with him. He was much taller than you, which you couldn’t help but think of Zabdiel. You turned around to look at the mysterious man’s face, secretly hoping it was Zabdiels. When you looked up, it was a stranger’s face. You stared into his eyes as you danced, and you couldn’t help but fall into your own world. As the song ended you placed your finished drink down and ordered a new one. You did this for a couple of songs, varying the drinks and the guys. You began to feel annoyed that no guy was matching your energy or igniting a fire within you. 

I’ve tried to fight our energy

But everytime I think I’m free (yeah, woo!)

You get high and call on the regular

I get weak and fall like a teenager

Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you?

You had reached your limit of dancing with strangers and wanted fresh air. You found Andrea and Marci having the time of their lives, laughing, dancing and still drinking. 

"Guys I'm going to go get fresh air." You screamed trying to overpower the music. 

Marci nodded and Andrea gave you a thumbs up. Leaning in Marci yelled in your ear,

"We will be right out after a couple of songs." 

You nodded in response and headed out the club door. The cooler air hit your glistening skin and it felt sensational. You leaned against the brick wall enjoying the quieter atmosphere and felt the vibration of the music rumble through the wall. The door to the club burst open, to which you thought nothing of it because of the atmosphere you were in, thus you did not bother to look. 

"Aye Mami," a familiar voice growled at you. 

You shot your gaze over to the tall blonde who was eyeing you up and down hungrily. 

"Keep walking Zabdiel." You scoffed.

"Mi Amor, but you said if I wanted to talk I should track you down. Pero yo veo que Dios me eso el trabajó." Zabdiel responded.

He slowly inched towards you, with lust forming in his eyes. Every step he took closer to you, the wetter you began to feel. It did not take long for him to place both hands on the brick wall, caging you in. His face was centimeters away and you could feel his warm breath radiate towards your ear.

"En seriamente quieres que me vaya?" Zabdiel whispered as he nipped your ear lobe.

I get drunk, pretend that I’m over it

Self-destruct, show up like an idiot

Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you?

You pushed Zabdiel out of the way. 

"I can't do this. I'm gonna go get drunk." You muttered. 

You re-entered the club, taking a deep breath of the strong smell of alcohol and allowing the strong beat take over your body. You slowly made it to the bar and ordered a tequila shot. The more you danced the more tequila you took. It did not take long for you to become inebriated because you are a lightweight. Andrea and Marci soon found you dancing with a crowd of people shaking your ass on some random guy. 

"Y/N!" Marci shouted once she got close to you. 

"Marciii!" You slurred as you pulled her in for a hug.

"Let's go home." Marci politely demanded as she helped you exit the club. 

"Okay!" You giggled.

"I'm ordering the Uber now," Andrea commented once the fresh air nipped your skin.

The three of you waited outside of the club for about three minutes until the car pulled up. The drive home was filled with the noise of your giggles. Once the uber parked outside the apartment the three of you all piled out. Purposely you left your purse behind, in the middle seat. 

“Excuse me! Miss! Your purse!” The uber driver shouted.

Smirking, you looked at Marci and Andrea. 

“You guys go inside I’ll meet you there in a second.” You cheered as you walked towards the uber. 

You sat down in the back seat once the girls were out of sight. 

“Hey here's thirty dollars, drive to this address please.” You asked the driver as you handed a ten and a twenty while showing on your phone with Zabdiels address. 

The driver nodded and the two of you sped away.

I go back to you, back to you, back to you

Back to you, back to you, back to you

I go back to you, back to you, back to you everytime

Once the car came to a full stop outside of Zabdiel’s house you rushed out. Shouted a thank you to the driver and proceeded forward. Dashing towards his front door and banged on it. He was quick to open the door and look at you in a bit of a shock. 

“Que-” He began, but before he could finish what he was going to say, you got on your tippy-toes and slammed your lips against his. 

Zabdiel kissed against his shocked reaction and roamed your body with his large hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he lifted you up by your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he held onto you. Zabdiel turned you around so you were facing the open door. He kicked the door shut as he carried you to the bedroom. Zabdiel threw you on the bed and hovered over your body. 

“Princesa fuiste tan mala conmigo en el club.” Zabdiel growled.

“Pero you forgot about our date papi.” You whined. 

He kissed your jaw and made his way down to your neck and collar bone.

“Pero ya te dije…” Zadiel mumbled as lips paid attention to your sweet spot. “Lo siento princesa.”

 A moan escaped your plump lips and he attacked all of your sweet spots. He flipped you over and unzipped your dress while planting kisses down your spine sending shivers all over your skin and electricity to your core. You helped him out of your tight dress after the zipper was fully down. The cold air nipped at your bare skin as your dress was thrown carelessly across the room. Zabdiel flipped you on your back admiring your breasts bounce against the movement. Zabdiel sucked on one nipple and palmed the other. You arched your back against his touch and spread your arms against the covers grasping for life. Zabdiel went to the other nipple and did the same thing, which made you moan his name. He planted soft kisses down the valley of your breasts and stop at the hem of your panties. You bucked your hips begging for some friction. Zabdiel slowly removed the fabric covering your core and kissed your inner thighs as he fully removed your panties. 

“Bebé estás tan mojada” Zabdiel whispered as he ran a finger through your slit.

“Zab no teasing you've done enough of that.” You whimpered as you snaked your hands around his blonde locks trying to get his lips closer to where you needed him the most. 

Zabdiel complied and attached his tongue to your nerve endings, drawing figure eights. He effortlessly inserted his digits inside you and curled them right into your g-spot. Zabdiel was an expert in knowing your body, knowing how to make you feel amazing and send you to a whole other planet with a flick of his tongue. 

“Zab...please….fuck me.” You panted out between the moans. 

A knot was forming in your pit, but you wanted to hold it in. You wanted to orgasm around Zabdiel’s rock hard cock knowing how crazy that always drove him. Zabdiel removed himself from you and removed his pants along with his boxers. His member sprang out, and Zabdiel instantly lubed his dick against your slit hitting your clit each time with his tip. You felt as if you could just cum right then and there with the amount of build-up Zabdiel was teasing you with. 

“Zabdiel!” You whined begging for him to get on with it. 

Instantly Zabdiel shoved his full length inside you and released a loud groan. He gave you no time to adjust and roughly pounded in and out of you. Both of your bodies began to glisten as the knot in your stomach began to grow. 

“Zab I'm gonna cum.” You moaned out. 

“Dale nena.” Zabdiel encouraged as he placed his thumb on your clit. 

You released, rolling your eyes back and bucking your hips. Your walls tightened around Zabdiel causing a groan to fall from his lips. His thrusts quickly became sloppy and he joined you in his own orgasm.

Just when I get on a new wave (yeah)

Boy, you look at me and I slip outta my lace

They keep calling me a head-case

‘Cause I can’t make a good case why we can’t change

As you returned to your apartment complex at 4:00am after finishing with Zabdiel and ending your time with him in a fight...again. You tried to enter as quietly as possible and sneak into your own bed. You attempt was proven to be useless as Marci and Andrea sat on the couch and patiently waited for you. 

“Y/N! What the fuck?!” Marci shouted annoyed.

“I don't even know.” You yawned

“No that's not an excuse we did not go out for a girls night for you to end up right back where you started!” Andrea interrupted. 

“Listen guys I’m really drained can we continue this tomorrow?” You pleaded

“No we want a good answer as to why you can't just get over Zabdiel. You both treat each other like shit Y/N!” Marci huffed.

I’ve tried to fight our energy (yee, yee!)

But everytime I think I’m free (yeah)

You get high and call on the regular

I get weak and fall like a teenager

Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you? Mmm (Back to you, baby)

It has been a week since you or Zabdiel have communicated with each other. Your friends believed you were officially getting over him until the ninth day when he called you out of the blue. 

“Hola Princesa ¿Qué tal?” Zabdiel asked 

"I've been good what about you?" You replied

"Want to grab dinner?" Zabdiel offered in his thick accent that always drove you crazy. 

"Are you even going to show up?" You snapped trying to fight every bone in your body that wanted to see him again.

"¿Como no? Te levantó a las ocho." Zabdiel ordered.

I get drunk, pretend that I’m over it

Self-destruct, show up like an idiot

Why, oh why does God keep bringing me back to you?

The dinner went just as you expected it would even though you tried changing the never-ending loop. You ended the night with Zabdiel, and just after climax the two of you ended in a heated argument. You left in an Uber and went to a sleazy bar. Your goal was to get as drunk as possible and have someone else pay for it. As the night went on you danced on strangers who were buying you drinks. You began to feel the alcohol in your veins and were officially letting loose. As you planted your lips on a handsome stranger you could not help but compare him to Zabdiel. You ended up leaving the bar, alone to just end up at Zabdiel’s front door ready to apologize once more.

I go back to you, back to you, back to you (I go back to you)

Back to you, back to you, back to you (back to you)

I go back to you, back to you, back to you everytime (I go)

I go back to you, back to you, back to you (yeah!)

Back to you, back to you, back to you

I go back to you, back to you, back to you everytime

[bensonstablers]

Writer Asks

Tagged by - @sdktrs12 <3

I tag - tbh if anyone wants to do this, please feel free, haha buuuut I specifically tag @conscience-killer @constant-sinner​ ... I know both of you haven’t written fic in a hot minute but I like it when y’all talk about your work :)

ao3 name: watermelonriddles 

fandoms: uhh, since December 15th 2018 I’ve pretty much exclusively written for Good Girls with like one Graceland fic during that whole period, haha. I’ve written for like 15+ fandoms over the years though (9 of which are on AO3 — I deleted any that were also on ff.net).

number of fics: 56

fic I spent the most time on: it’s unintentionally between Shared History and Degree of Separation and yikes, I don’t want to think about the fact that I still haven’t finished them

fic I spent the least amount of time on: A lot of my fics that are below 3k are probably good contenders for this. Although I feel like I probably deleted a lot of the fics that took me the least amount of time, ha.

most hits: Degree of Separation. It’s joint as my longest fic right now so I guess it’s not too surprising?

most kudos: Degree of Separation despite it being a long fic, this is still a little surprising to me, ha.

most comment threads: Shared History.

most bookmarks: Degree of Separation although it’s currently only one up from Shared History.

highest total word count: Shared History but there are only a few hundred words between that and Degree of Separation.

favourite fic I wrote: None. I mean, I’ve had a ton of fun working on Shared History and Degree of Separation which is why I’ve never abandoned them despite it taking me so long to update but as I draw closer to endings of those, I’m getting more stressed (still have fun, just a little stressed, ha). I feel like I’ll consider them favourites once they’re actually complete?

Off the top of my head, out of my AO3 fics Milkshakes (Good Girls), For Warmth (Good Girls), On a Dare (Good Girls), You & I (Graceland), Marked (Preacher), and Pained Pleasure (Gotham) were all super fun to write at the time but I honestly don’t know if I’d call them favourites or not :’)

fic I want to rewrite/expand on: I feel like it has to be Milkshakes? I’m constantly surprised by how many people actually want a sequel/more to that story but it did make me feel good writing it. It just depends though. People also ask if I’m going to continue my Riverdale fic No Matter What Happens which... Listen, I feel bad ‘cause I haven’t updated it since 2018 and I do want to finish it but I honestly don’t know if I ever will.

As for re-write, No Matter What Happens would probably fall into that but there’s a lot of older fic I want to re-write, even stuff from my old ff.net account :) 

share a bit of a wip or story idea you’re working on: I’m not really working on anything right now ‘cause I want to finish Shared History and Degree of Separation buuuut the following are some W.I.P I started last year (or even the year before, yikes) and have put on hold:

AU: The Bolands are more well off than they are in the show but Dean still manages to get them into debt by borrowing money from the wrong people. Rio (and his boys) run the Security Company that Beth hires to keep her family safe.

Pre-show: While Beth is out running errands with Danny (who is relatively young compared to the show), they’re happened upon by Rio and another guy. The former is in trouble and she and Danny end up being sucked into the drama of it all. It’s technically going to be three (relatively short?) pieces taking place at three different points in Beth’s life: around about the time she gets pregnant with Jane (the youngest Boland in this fic), when she’s several months pregnant with Jane, and some (yet to be determined) point after that. Although, it’s unclear if the third point/fic will actually happen or not. 

Pre-show: Beth gets deep into crime as a teenager after accidentally selling drugs at the wrong park (the wrong park is the accident, not the drugs, she’s well aware she’s selling them, haha). +Sequel fic: This was originally the only one I was going to do and basically Beth is the one who is robbed of half a million dollars by Rio who got out of crime after having Marcus. While figuring out backstories, I ended up with some ideas for a prequel, ha.

There’s also a couple of Annie/Rio fics and AUs I have in mind (as well as some Graceland and even Mad Men stuff, which the latter is a total surprise to me, ha,) but the actual ideas are pretty minimal right now. I’m just... Trying not to get too distracted until I finish my current multi-chapter fics plus, once I do complete those I want to try and write fics to completion (or as close to it as possible) before I start posting :)

[bitch-ass-bangtan]

The one about how you met.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 3k

A/N: ay yo figured I could share my writings for once instead of just writing it and then never looking at it again like I normally do, hah. Anyways, enjoy some good ‘ol fluffy Yoongi. I wrote this at 3 am and never bothered to edit because I figured I would lose it between all the other stories but guess who just played themselves? And to be honest I can’t really be bothered to edit now because I’m lazy lmao. Also, please message me I have 0 ARMY friends and I want some to cry share all the memes with because oml.

Yoongi watched from where he was sat at his desk, smiling contently, as you slept peacefully on the sofa in his studio. An overwhelmingly sickening feeling of love and luck coursing through his veins. His stomach turned as he realised just how lucky he was to have found someone so pure, so beautiful, so content with just being with him. He slowly drank in every bit of you from the way your hair was sprawled out over the back of the armrest, to the way your arm was thrown over that same armrest, slightly covering your face. He smiled slightly as he heard you sigh contently in your sleep.

Yoongi didn’t realise how long he had been staring until his computer screen went black, indicating he hadn’t touched his mouse or keyboard in at least fifteen minutes. He didn’t even bother to get it to light back up, nor did he take the time to close it down properly like he know should do. He just simply stood up and sauntered over to the sofa. His heart hammered in his chest, the overwhelming feelings not fading in the slightest. In fact, they seemed to intensify with every step he took towards your sleeping form.

In the single year you had been in his life things had changed for him. He never knew how much impact a love interest could have, only knowing the incredibly romanticized version of the movies he would sometimes watch. The ones he would always deny to have seen whenever he was asked about it. But here you were, sleeping soundly on his sofa, and her he was, heart hammering against his ribcage at the reality of him having you here.

As soon as he was in reach he stuck out his arm, the back of his hand softly caressing your cheek as he crouched down next to your sleeping form. His touch seemed to have tickled as you scrunched your face and turned away from him, your body fully turning so that you were on your side. Your face was pressed into the back cushion of the sofa and your arms crossed in front of your chest.

Yoongi smiled, not even bothered by you turning away in the slightest. He knew he should wake you, get you to bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so quit yet.

He enjoyed the peace and tranquillity that coated the room like a thick blanket. Completely silent apart from your heavy breathing.

He looked at your back, his eyes resting on the exposed skin of your lower back where your- or in all fairness his- hoodie had risen up slightly. Once again Yoongi couldn’t help himself as he reached out to touch the exposed skin. It was cool under his warm touch and he smiled slightly at the goose bumps that appeared as he ghosted his nails over your skin.

His mind drifted once again as he absentmindedly drew patterns. He thought back to how you met. Your wide eyes, a bit anxious and full of wonder, still fresh in his mind as you took in him and his bandmates. At first he had thought you were a fan, stunned by seeing them in person, but as you stuttered out for your manager to come and help you he realised the only reason you were so shocked was because Namjoon had spoken to you in Korean and you –at the time- didn’t speak a word of it. Namjoon had apologized profusely, none of the boys realising you didn’t speak their language, and you had just smiled politely before telling him not to worry about it.

It had peaked his interest. He had wanted to know why you were working in Korea when you clearly didn’t speak a word of Korean. Hell, you didn’t even know how to greet someone in the language.

So, the next day, after Yoongi had left his room key in his room and closed the door by accident he found it a good enough reason to saunter back to the hotel lobby. He had felt so dumb as he slowly walked up to the desk, his cheeks slightly tinted pink as you were the only one there and he had to test his English abilities without help of his friend Namjoon.

You had greeted him with a smile, asking him how you could help him, and Yoongi had stuttered. Slight panic was evident on his face as he pondered over his words.

“I- um, I left my keys.” He nodded firmly, confirming to himself that it was in fact a solid English sentence. However you had frowned at him.

“You mean you lost them?” You questioned.

Yoongi shook his head. No, if he had lost them he wouldn’t know where they were.

“It’s in my-uhm.. room.” Proud of yet another sentence he met your eyes.

You smiled brightly at him, amusement radiating off of you as you nodded.

“Do you want a new set or do you want me to walk up with you to unlock your door?”

Yoongi had lost you there. He had no clue what you just had said, the words had flown out your mouth way too quickly, so he just sheepishly stood there.

“Yes?” he tried, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

This time you couldn’t help it as you let out a small laugh.

“I’ll just walk with you to unlock it, then,” you nodded.

Yoongi smiled at you as you made your way from behind the desk. Your master key card was hanging from a keychain around your belt and you tapped it in confirmation.

“What room were you in again?” you asked, leading the way to the elevator. Yoongi followed you, stumbling over his feet as caught up to you.

“Uh- one, five, three, nine?” He really hoped he had the correct translation to the numbers, otherwise this would turn out to be an even more awkward experience. And if he was honest, he really wasn’t looking forward to that, especially not at 1:15 in the morning.

Yoongi watched as you pressed the button for the elevator to come down. He kept a respectful distance, his eyes studying your movements.

The elevator dinged as its doors opened and both you and Yoongi got in. You went to press for the number 15 but Yoongi had beat you to it, resulting in an awkward touch of hands and an even more awkward elevator ride.

Yoongi cleared his throat as he folded his hands together, looking up at the ceiling. He was silently praying for God to end his misery already.

The doors to the elevator closed and the ride up begun.

Yoongi couldn’t stand the tension in the small space and cleared his throat again, desperately searching for a way to start up conversation. If only he had studied harder with his English, he thought.

“Why-,” he started, grabbing your attention, “Why you in Korea?”

You smiled at him, his attempt to speak English endearing you.

“Adventure,” you had simply shrugged, and it had peaked a whole new interest on Yoongi’s part.

“You learn Korean?” Yoongi, even though he still felt awkward, felt his ego grow as he realised he was having a conversation in another language. The boys would never believe him when he’d tell them.

“I want to, yes,” you smiled, trying to keep you sentences short so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed with foreign words.

“Maybe I can teach!” he smiled happily. You smiled back, his smile was contagious. Eyes crinkled and cheeks puffy.

“Maybe,” you mused.

The elevator dinged, indicating you had reached the right floor, and this time it was Yoongi who led you through the corridor. He stopped in front of his door and waited patiently for you to unlock it.

“Thank you,” he smiled, nodding at you.

“You’re welcome,” you had smiled back.

The two of you had stood there rather awkwardly, simply just smiling at each other, before you cleared your throat.

“Well, have a good night, sir.” You spoke politely before turning around. Yoongi didn’t reply, as he didn’t know how, and just watched your retreating form until you rounded the corner.

He pursed his lips, biting the inside of his cheeks as he entered his room. He really wished he could have spoken more to you.

After that it had become a habit for Yoongi to leave his key in his room, but only when he knew for certain you were at the front desk. Every night he would saunter down to the lobby with a sheepish smile and a little shrug.

By the third night you had caught on to his little act, but you didn’t say a word about it as you both stepped into the elevator.

On the fourth night you had surprised Yoongi by asking how he was doing in Korean. Your foreign tongue was evident, but Yoongi had been so impressed by it that he answered without even thinking about it. You had chuckled sheepishly as you told him you weren’t able to understand his replies yet, and Yoongi had laughed loudly at that.

On the fifth night Yoongi came down you were already waiting for him. You had grinned at him, waving your key card, and he just grinned back shook his head in response. You were surprised when he threw a bag of snacks onto the marble top of the front desk. He leaned on the marble surface with his elbows and smiled sweetly.

“I would take you out on a date but you’re working so this is the next best thing.”

His English had been so perfectly that you were rendered speechless. For a second you were convinced his entire broken English thing had been an act. But Yoongi had smiled as he opened up the bag.

“I practise that all day,” he had stated proudly, holding out the bag for you to grab some chips.

You had smiled brightly, a slight blush on your face. You couldn’t believe he had been practising just to talk to you and it made you feel special.

“So this is a date now, huh?” you asked, leaning forward in your seat.

Yoongi simply nodded, not even questioning whether you were okay with it. He figured if you weren’t you would have told him.

“Cool.”

On the sixth night Yoongi came down, but he wasn’t alone. Namjoon had caught on to what he was doing and was adamant to come down with him to make sure Yoongi would be too embarrassed to  do it again.

You were slightly confused as you saw the two of them together, Namjoon dragging towards the front desk Yoongi by his arm.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you but Sugahyung seemed to enjoy his midnight adventures so much that I just wanted to join and see for myself!” The tall man had smiled brightly.

You had been too taken aback by his appearance and behaviour that you completely failed to see Yoongi shaking his head with pleading eyes.

“Sugahyung?” You questioned, choosing to focus on just a tiny bit of his sentence.

Namjoon smiled brightly, letting go of Yoongi’s arm, and nodded.

“It’s what we call Yoongi, but anyways; so what do you guys do? I find it hard to believe it’s talking.”

The silent jab by Namjoon made you frown and look at Yoongi for the first time in a while. He just looked at you guiltily as he grabbed his elbow and pushed his arms into his chest. You instantly felt sorry for him just by looking at him.

“We speak a lot, actually,” you shrugged looking back at Namjoon.

The tall boys eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Really? How?” He questioned, his smug and annoying attitude faltering for a second. It was only just a second, though, because Namjoon quickly remembered why he had come down here in the first place.

“Anyways, Yoongi-hyung keeps falling asleep during the day because he thinks his night time adventures are more important than our careers, care to tell him anything about that?”

You just frowned and shook your head.

“Namjoon, please,” Yoongi felt ashamed as he begged his friend to back off.

Namjoon turned to Yoongi fully and shook his head at the uncomfortable looking man.

“No, you have to understand that wasting your sleep just to get some ass is not the way things work!”

Yoongi looked shocked, eyeing you and praying you didn’t understand a word they were saying.

“Stop, that’s not what we do,” Yoongi spoke, his voice weirdly monotonous for the argument they were having.

“Right,” Namjoon nodded with a scoff, “you two talk.”

At this point you had had enough, the initial shock had worn off and you really didn’t like the way the dude was talking to Yoongi as if the poor man was 5 years old.

“Look, excuse me,” you started, catching both of their attention. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I would really appreciate it if you’d act like an adult here, we don’t want to scare away our clientele now, do we?”

Your voice was sickly sweet, the typical customer-service voice, as you smiled at Namjoon. The man looked around before looking at you like you were insane.

“There is literally no one here.”

You just simply shrugged, “My lobby, my rules.”

Now it was Namjoon who was taken aback.

The corner of your mouth quirked up at the fact you finally got to quote Mr. Mosby before you looked at Yoongi. He just mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again as he looked at your completely mortified. You just smiled calmly at him, wishing you could fix this situation for him.

“Look, just tell him to stop coming down here after 10 at night, or something,” Namjoon all but whined.

“Once again I’m sorry sir, but I am not mister Min Yoongi’s mother.”

Namjoon just scoffed as he looked between you and Yoongi, the latter not being able to hide a small smirk at how worked up you had gotten his friend. It was quite impressive if he was being honest.

“Please, it’s nothing personal,” Namjoon tried again.

“I think mister Min Yoongi is very capable of making his own decisions, sir,” you nodded with a polite smile.

“Oh, drop the act!” Namjoon cried out. “No need to use the customer-service voice on me.”

You just smiled, not giving the man a single inch.

“Fine,” the tall man huffed, “have it your way, then.”

He stomped off towards the elevator and Yoongi looked at you apologetically.

“I’m sorry for this,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled brightly at him and shook your head.

The seventh night you hadn’t expected Yoongi, and you couldn’t blame him either. But when the elevator dinged at 2 AM and a smiling Yoongi stepped out you couldn’t contain your smile.

“Second date, huh?” you questioned as he neared the front desk.

Yoongi smiled brightly, his eyes turning into slits, and nodded before throwing a new bag of snacks on the marble counter.

“If you still want, yes,” he spoke, his smile faltering slightly.

You snorted and without a reply ripped open the bag, causing Yoongi to smile brightly yet again. If the single most embarrassing thing that has ever happened in his life didn’t scare you away he had a good feeling about it.

“You learned new Korean?” he questioned, popping one of the sweets into his mouth. Both of you choosing to not mention the previous night as you fell in conversation with each other.

Yoongi cringed at the memory of that faithful night where Namjoon had acted like some psycho father. It had taken a whole lot convincing on his end for you to start liking Namjoon once the dates you two had turned into something more serious.

Right now, though, he was happy with the way you liked his bandmates. You all got along greatly and he wouldn’t wish to change things for the world. It was very important to Yoongi to be able to share his entire life, his highs and lows, with you. And BTS was a part of that. A huge part.

The fact that your Korean had gotten better to the point where he hardly even needed to speak English anymore filled him with pride. You were so smart, and beautiful, and loving, and funny, and persisted in learning Korean just so you could talk with his parents when you met them, and he was completely whipped; but he couldn’t give a shit about it.

Yoongi’s hand ghosted through your hair and you whined softly, alerting the man that you were waking up.

As you turned your body towards him, stretching in the process, and Yoongi couldn’t help but smile. You smiled back tiredly, your face scrunching up as your supressed a yawn.

“Hey,” you mumbled, closing your eyes again.

“Come on, it’s late, we should go to bed,” he mumbled, his hand stroking through your hair again.

You sighed, enjoying his touch, and nodded. The sofa was comfortable, but it was nothing compared to Yoongi’s bed.

“I love you,” you stated lazily, still not moving and eyes closed.

You suddenly felt his lips touch your own as he captured you in a kiss that made you feel so incredibly loved you almost cried. When Yoongi pulled back you opened your eyes to stare up at him with big eyes.

“I love you, too,” Yoongi smiled, his eyes looking into your own.

You reached out to touch his face, a smile breaking through on your own. Yoongi leaned into your touch as you cupped his cheek. You pulled him back down for another kiss, your arm wrapping around Yoongi’s neck while the other grabbed his sweater.

Yoongi chuckled through his nose at your response and pulled you up, never once breaking the kiss until you were stood up straight. As he pulled away you whined softly, missing the feeling of his lips on yours.

“Let’s go to bed,” Yoongi spoke lowly, a tiny smile gracing his lips.

“Yeah, let’s.”

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster.  The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.  This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack  of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others.  Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies.  John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven. 

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together.  He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but  already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it.  A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp.  Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention?  To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one.  I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon? 

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch.  I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice.  I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts.  I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat.  The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man. 

[bellsybuilds]

Six Sentence Sunday 4 Feb (Castlevania, Trevor/Alucard, T)

Yesterday I wrote Overwatch Doomcio, but today in classic My Style, I missed all the churches (I had four services to choose from and they all passed me by) to stay home and write 3k of Castlevania. I’ve been wanting to write something non-Doomcio to keep things fresh, and this was a happy accident that’s ballooning into something bigger.

It is so nice writing for characters who are actually on the same side and have bounteous canonical interactions and shared events. It’s so much easier, you guys.

Anyway, I feel these six sentences are too long, but this is the experimental phase (before the padding in reviews, before the final edits). In this phase, I  repeat words a lot and abuse punctuation and grammar. English is a silly language.

///

Hands lift to cup his face and Alucard is arrested by the startling blue of Trevor's gaze searching his face. A hint of mischief tucks in the corner of his smile blushed red from their kisses, from the way he took Alucard's mouth like he wanted to swallow him down. Alucard's face is tilted up again with a soft gasp and his heart hammers. "I'm going to kiss you again, if there are no complaints?" Trevor murmurs, close enough to share his air, close enough the words are a caress and all Alucard has to do is glance at the hunter's mouth; he must wear his lust on his face because that's all the permission Trevor needs. Their lips meet in a silken crush, and a bone deep groan shudders between the heat of their bodies (who did it come from? Did Sypha teach him to kiss like this?).