#and I would rather not have my rather expensive mattress smell like that

[quicksilversquared]

I'm down to just the last-minute stuff needing to be packed and I am so glad that my mom said not to bother with my winter coat, she has a spare, because now I have just enough room in my luggage for stuff.

....thankfully there are multiple things that will not be making the return trip back (ornaments that are being given as gifts and leftover cranberry-nut bread from the staff party because almost no one had any because everyone brought desserts; my mom was super excited to hear that I'm going to be bringing it, though lol; also materials to knit/crochet several cat blankets that I will leave with my parents to give to their cat-fostering friend), because otherwise I would have concerns about having enough space for gifts.

[rainyvandragon]

Oh those precious memories~

See I could tell myself that it's okay that I'm writing this because I am a catholic woman but let's be real those things just aren't true any more. So instead I am going to claim this as an emotional craving because of that time of the month. Definitely nothing along the lines of 10 year revival of my fanfiction writing phase. And it's totally, in no way related to any issues I might have. Totally sane, I tell you.

! 18+ Minors do not interact, I am NOT a fckn daycare!

Yandere! Hazbin Hotel x GN! Reader

Content warning: obsessive behaviour, stalking, slight NSFW (more in some parts then others), just a bunch of red flags and things that I do not condone irl

Charlie:

Honestly Charlie might be the most sane of the bunch in this regard

She isn't to interested in stealing anything from you, that is just not something she would be comfortable with – in general but especially with her Darling

However she doesn't mind keeping things that you let her borrow

It doesn't even matter what

You gave her a hair tie because one of hers broke? She'll cherish it forever

It was raining on a day she had to go out and you suggested she could use your umbrella? Pretty much hers now

Of course the greatest thing for her would be you lending her some of your clothes

She would most likely spend the next nights cuddling up to it in bed

Oh the frustration when the fabric no longer smells like you but rather her!

Yeah sure, she can give you your things back. She just forgot them in her room, oops! Don't worry she'll get them later

Unless she forgets again...

Vaggie:

She would never take anything you truly need or value

In all seriousness, Vaggie could never stand the idea of inconveniencing her Darling

However unlike Charlie she is just not close enough with you (yet) to count on you giving things to her

So instead she uses the position she has in the Hotel

There was a movie night with everybody invited?

Well somehow ever since the clean up the blanket you were cuddled up in is gone. Oh well, Vaggie will just get a new one, they weren't that expensive to begin with anyway (and if she is fast enough with it nobody is even going to notice anything)

Sadly those lucky occasions that allow her to grab some reminders of your shared time don't come around to often

And Vaggie respects you and herself to much to steal from you or go through your garbage bin

Thankfully she has the patience to wait for those windows of opportunity

And hey, since everything went relatively smoothly this week why not suggest another movie night to Charlie? Everyone involved seemed to enjoy it anyway – so there really is no harm done, right?

Angel:

Anybody who immediately thought of Angel stealing his Darling's underwear needs to take a cold shower!

Now don't get me wrong – he has thought about it

He does have a relatively high drive and desire for intimacy and sex

So sure the idea of taking something rather personal from you did cross his mind

But deep down Anthony just is a little sweetheart and he just couldn't take something like your underwear or other intimate items from you without any sort of consent

As for other, less private things

It doesn't matter if Angel and you have the same of different sizes – he WILL steal your clothes and wear them

If you wear make-up or nail polish he will definitely “borrow” things – especially lipstick

Now if his Darling is somebody who likes to keep a lot of pillows or plushies in bed he is definitely not shy about taking things from that pile either. Although, depending on how well Darling keeps track of those things, he might only borrow them for a night or two – maybe rotating between some, making sure to leave them under the bed upon returning so it looks like it just fell off the mattress

Alastor:

Now Alastor is already rather torn apart when he first noticed his desire for your belongings

He never once though about stealing from you...until you forgot something in the lobby – a book, notebook, pen, whatever it was – it was just lying there on the table next to the couches

Ever the gentleman he obviously wanted to return it to you but something inside of him fought against the very idea of it. This might be the closet he gets to having you (at least for now), his Darling

As his obsession towards you continues to grow some of his past life's interests stir awake inside of him

One day whilst helping out you cut yourself on some damaged bit of furniture. Alastor is immediately there to offer you a handkerchief to stop the bleeding – a handkerchief that quickly becomes one of his most prised possessions

If his Darling has a period he might steal some...used goods

However in comparison to some of the others, he is a lot less hungry for souvenirs

Although that is really just because, unlike them, he can use his shadows to be around you whenever and as close as he pleases

Husk:

Husk would never just go into his Darling's room to steal things from them – even if the idea sounds lovely

No instead he just checks for things you leave behind

Now his job at the hotel really helps him with that

You almost exclusively talk at the bar (“Redemption Based Group Exercises” being the only real exception)

At this point he has a rather large collection of napkins that you used or doodled on

Sometimes they disgust him but then he looks at them, the little doodles (even just to test a pen) you left on some of them, all those marks of you (bonus points for lipstick stained napkins) and he just can't

The guilty feelings are even worse with a tissue you once cried it. It's just to close of a reminder of you to throw away!

Anything small that you forget at or close to the bar gets saved by him – pens, small pieces of paper, hair ties, buttons from your clothes, whatever really. If it's small and unimportant enough for you to not really miss it he is going to keep it

Nifty:

Nifty is easily the worst of them all

She is small, fast, obsession driven and the hotel's maid on top of that

What matters most to her is how close to your body her little mementos are (it's pretty much the same way in wish the catholic church determines the value of a saint's relic)

Nifty will most definitely collect hair out of your brush

Or rummage through your garbage bins

Now if somebody is going to steal used period products!

She just really doesn't value her Darling's privacy in the slightest so she has no issues going through every little crevice of your room to look for some “hidden treasures”

Although her favourite thing to do is sleep in your used bedsheets

She is going to wash them – don't worry! Simply just not without first sleeping in them herself for a bit

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

Welp this is the first time in a long while that I've actually written fanfiction so I got those emotions to sort through I guess.

English is not my first language however given how arrogant I can be regarding my skills this should be well enough written. Prove reading was done by Open Office's spell checking system and my high ass.

[nibbelraz]

I thought about something the other day which I nearly wrote but I don't have the patience for- what if Mobei had a sudden epithany while snooping qinghua's house? cause obv hes gonna snoop. sqh is mad sus, and mobei has trust issues with his trust issues. but it suddenly occurs to him that the bed that he constantly steals from his little human is very much rather. luxurious. The mattress is thick and expensive, and sqh rotates and flips it frequently so it doesnt get lumpy. it has a topper(1)

(2) with cooling talismans all over it to make it a good temp for mobei any time he decides to sleep in it. the sheets are silk, soft, and light. they're in his colours. his shades. it's a huge bed- long enough for mobei to lay down fully stretched out and still have room. theres countless pillows made of whatever is best for mobei's hair. they're piled up and spread out in a decadance fit for royalty. its always clean. it always smells like him. hes never seen qinghua in it once.

(3) and surely, he must use it, right? it's still his bed, no matter how mobei frames it. But he knows what sqh smells like, and that scent has never been anywhere but in the fleeting touch of someone who changed the sheets. there's never been a lingering warmth from his humans body on the mattress. its the most luxurious, extravagant, expensive thing sqh owns. its not his. looking around the bedroom- is this his either? can he see anything that he might say with confidence is the cultivators?

(4) the answer is no. There's peak lord things in here, yes, but by the nature of being a spy, that's mobeis as well. So he looks- where does sqh sleep, if not a bed that (should? could?) be his own. The answer appears to be a cheap, small little daybed. It's uncomfortable. Mobei knows how big his human is, and this wouldn't fit him well. It's made well enough, but next to the actual bed in the room? It's a grade up from the floor. If Mobei laid on it he'd be off of it by his hips.

(5) honestly its not even good as a chair. It's uneven and kinda lumpy. There's a vague pillow- flat and showing signs of being folded often. A blanket that looks more like a repurposed curtain. It it bad so sqh doesn't lose it to mobei's wants? or worse, is it what he feels like he deserves? He already knew qinghua wasn't one to spend on himself but, he didn't think it was a possible fear of having it stolen from him. Does he have anything of his own worth having at all? Mobei doesn't know.

(6) anyway this obv leads into a comedy of errors where mobei is like. "qinghua. get into bed." and the man positively bluescreens because ??? literally how is he supposed to take that. and when he sorta makes a movement to just lay down on the day bed mobei is like. do you even fucking have any night clothes or do you just sleep like that. get night clothes. get into my bed. you're being cringe. my king with all respect due; crack? is it crack that you smoke? ))

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

He wants QINGHUA TO BE COMFY AND SLEEP GOOD IN A PROPER BED WITH PROPER CLOTHES AND WARM BLANKETS

Knowing them both it really would take Mobei an extremely long time to figure out that wait a minute, Qinghua doesn't sleep here at all?? Especially realizing the bed doesnt even smell like him, but the thought of him trying to fix that is so cute

I can also see him just picking Qinghua up throwing him into bed, Wrapping him up in furs and blankets and then tugging him to his chest

Yes he's comfortable now

ALSO QINGHUA BEING SO CONFUSED BECAUSE HE JUST UP AND DOES THIS WITHOUT ANY WARNING NOT EVEN SAYING ANYTHING

Ah I love how Mobei shows his love by trying to take care of his scared sweaty human

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER EIGHT: VEAL

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm

This is chronologically the eighth chapter in the series. Apologies for the reupload, the first was the incorrect version.

---

You lie in Hannibal’s bed like a bird fallen dead through a window, the back of your hand across your brow, to its fevered heat. The muted rush of the shower sifts under the bathroom door, or perhaps it is only the rain, or both at once, a sonic symmetry.

You feel something of yourself washed away in it, a dune left dry in your defeat. Almost in apathy you turn on your side, thighs closed over the moisture between.

Hannibal returns to the bed in pyjama bottoms, his hair damp, and smelling expensively clean. Rather than meet his eyes, you look at the pictures over the bed— Japanese woodblock prints, you think, the figures rendered indistinguishable by the hearth-lit dark.

“Why did you break into my house?” you ask, as Dr Lecter climbs in under the sheets, beside you.

“I curate all things in my life with ambition to procure their highest quality,” he says. “Frequently this entails a thorough knowledge and familiarity with their origins. I had to be quite certain of yours before I began our therapy.”

You envision him, in the market of life, touching your name in the letter your parents had sent to him for the synaesthesic taste of you.

“Like going to a vineyard to look at the grapes,” you say.

Hannibal smiles, charmed by the observation.

“Quite so. I believe you would make a most excellent wine.”

“Spit me out,” you mutter. “Pour me away. I’ll spoil.”

“Or age into magnificence. You dismiss your latent potential.”

You feel one of Hannibal’s deft hands tracing your back as comfortably as a paramour of ten years’ intimacy, a subtle exertion of dominance. Each stroke is a statement: I am king here, and you will kneel with your lips to my shoe.

You shrug from his touch, carving a gully of mattress between you.

“What makes what you’re doing to me any different from the Silicone Lover?” you ask. “To me, you’re one and the same. What makes you any better than he is?”

There is a practised caution as Hannibal answers.

“An elevated craftsmanship. There is little artistry in his dolls.”

The weather makes an ocarina of the windowpane, so like a scream as to be a cipher of dread.

“You’d murdered people, haven’t you?” you ask, softly. “I can feel it.”

Silence, then, densely impenetrable. You dare not glance over your shoulder, nor take even a breath in the certainty that you have smelled death on this man like a fox.

“You are tired, little one,” says Hannibal. “Go to sleep.”

He speaks almost blandly, the deflection more terrible than an answer.

“You’re not going to... do it with me again?” you ask.

Hannibal looks up at you from his pillow, his eyes a gelid null. To prise his face, lid-like, from its cistern of penumbra— you would give your heart to do it, eager to part with so useless an object in the trade.

“In the morning, perhaps,” says Dr Lecter. “Not now. Rest.”

As though by the conjuration of some fell magician you do, lying as far from the man as you’re able without tumbling from the edge of the bed.

You dream again of the forest, dirt-drowned and blood-mired in the October deep. The stag-horned man has his spade to your throat, one foot on the blade; only a second figure, a streak of night, coaxes the digger from his mortal blow.

“No,” he says, in Will Graham’s voice. “I want to keep her.”

The nightmare closes on the stag-man’s answer.

“Then, for your sake, she lives tonight.”

*

The light is the blue of Neptune’s morning as you choke awake in Hannibal’s room. Your dream hangs upon you like a mantle of lead. You wait for it to lift, and it doesn’t, for the stag lies beside you, his face made gentle by sleep.

As you lean over to extract yourself from the quilt his hands are at your wrists with an oily quickness, holding them above your head against the pillows. Fear thickens your throat, stoppering the cartilage of all ensuing sound— yet Hannibal is smiling, as he peers down at you, quite playful, a laddish glee about him.

“It’s early,” he says. “Are you so eager to leave my bed already?”

“Yes,” you say. “Obviously.”

Dr Lecter draws back the sheet to look at your body, a hand following his gaze until you are wet around his fore and middle fingers.

“Not so obvious. You welcome me.”

The head of his cock meets its slick mark, and you pull at the fist that restrains you, shamed and flushing against your delicacy in his arms.

You’re as supple as leather against him, the slow wax of his cock in your channel unfairly pleasant.

“I don’t want it,” you whimper even as you ache to ribbon your legs about his hips to lead him in. “Dr Lecter—”

He takes your jaw in his hand, the cup of his thumb against your windpipe recalling his deathly potentiality. You feel his pulse through it, and wonder that such a man can be alive, is not merely a vampiric creature stepped from some crumbled ruin, bloodless, wanting.

“Are you going to murder me, one day?” you ask him, in a child’s plaintive whimper. “If you do, don’t just throw my body away, like the Lover. Send me home to my family. Say it was my fault. An accident. Just let them bury me.”

Hannibal releases your throat, opening his hand, instead, against your heart as though he may rejoin its broken halves with its warmth, a soft, red, clay.

“You must trust that your life is precious to me,” he tells you. “It becomes more so with each day that you are here.”

Were you free of him you’d recoil, but now can only wince and utter your rejection of what is surely a saccharine lie.

Hannibal’s grip tightens on your wrist, and as he thrusts into you again you shut your eyes against the Lyrid shower of orgasm. You sense him leaning over you, pleased that you’re fawning when you could fight.

The Silicone Lover’s victims didn’t resist, and they died for it, floating, forgotten, through the lichenous entrails of the riverbed. You think of your dream, relieved from your grave by the man that first fucked you, and you realise yourself on the cusp of some epiphany, though its nature eludes you in the midst of ministrations.

A telephone rings, shrill in the sapphire room.

Dr Lecter presses an apologetic kiss to your brow and withdraws, still hard, pulling his pyjama shirt around him.

“Excuse me, my dear.”

He picks up the telephone receiver and leaves the room with it, noiseless as a spectre on bare feet.

You lie, prone, hearing your heart thump against your temporal membrane in a tinnitus that returns in times of particular agitation. As a child you’d imagined it as boot steps along some grimy underpass, the approach of some villain without a face you now know to have come.

Hannibal reappears, his expression guarded.

“It seems we are to receive another visitor today. My colleague, Alana Bloom, would like to speak to you.”

You climb out of bed, sucking a breath through your teeth at the cold.

“Really?” you ask. “How come?”

“Jack’s taken a liking to you. He has asked Alana to act as a neutral third party throughout your treatment.”

Though as cordial as ever, you discern a particular coolness to Hannibal’s tone you take as disapproval.

“You know I didn’t really tell Jack anything, right?” you ask, following Hannibal into the bathroom. “He doesn’t know what you’ve done to me. He has no idea.”

“No,” says Hannibal, taking his toothbrush from a cabinet by the sink. “But you’ve given him cause to believe you’d fare better in a specialised unit, amongst your peers. That’s not the impression you’ve given me.”

You think of the competition of inpatient treatment, amongst the women, the ferocity with which you’d starve yourself to shame their ranks with your commitment.

“My doctors used to threaten to send me to Forest Ranch or Six Stream,” you say. “They were like bogeymen for me. Now I... I don’t know. I heard they don’t let you out until you’re weight restored.”

Dr Lecter watches you plucking at your body in the mirror, an unconscious motion you withdraw from as you catch his eye.

“That’s not what I seek to accomplish,” he says. “It would be a predictable outcome in which relapse would be imminent. Here, I only expect flexibility from you, an open mind. Belief in my guidance.”

He pauses to brush his teeth, even this menial act carried out with a dignified grace.

“But Dr Lecter,” you protest. “If someone did what you’ve done here to Will, you’d want him to try and get away, right? You can’t be mad at me for trying.”

Hannibal spits into the sink, and it occurs to you that you’ve witnessed something quite intimate, an act unimaginable of such a sophisticated man.

“Any action that threatens my liberty to act and live as I please will be penalised,” he says. “I value my freedom above all things.”

Except Will, you think.

Aloud, you say, “I value my freedom, too.”

Reaching politely across you to the hand towel, Hannibal comments, “Yet it is hunger you kneel to as your God.”

Stung, you sit down hard on the rim of the bath.

“What would you have me worship instead?” you demand. “You?”

“A dangerous question. Priestesses in many cultures have been known to abstain from sustenance in servitude to higher powers. Likewise, some saints historically starved themselves to imitate the suffering of Christ, or else to demonstrate a miracle.”

Hannibal touches your chin, smoothing its obstinate edge.

“Were you to survive on manna alone would you think yourself relieved of what crosses you bear? Or is it that in evading sustenance you are purifying yourself in order to be worthy of an immaculate God?”

There is something in his words you relate to, though you’d lie on a bed of nails before expressing this to Hannibal Lecter.

“Come downstairs,” he says, into your silence. “I’ll make breakfast. Don’t misbehave, when Alana arrives. I wouldn’t want to be ashamed of you.”

*

There is something in the avocado toast, or else the accompanying orange juice, a medicinal venom. You think of past nights you’d drank yourself into a mirage of vertigo, each ending, moaning, on a bathroom floor as though the liquor had changed you back to the child you’d been in Jekyllian fashion.

You are like that now, gawky and uncoordinated, walking flat-footed in Hannibal’s wake as he makes order of the living room in preparation for Alana’s arrival.

Overfull, you wear your body like an ill-fitting dress, its clinging garments a mile from the outsize sweaters you yourself would have chosen. Shapeless, smothering, warm were your selections, in swatches of Nyx, lacquered nails and canvas shoes to match.

The colour of your dress is of suitable darkness, if not the style of it. Your teenage years remain indelible upon your sense of taste, time seeming to have broken down like an ancient engine in the decade your starving manifesto began.

Today you feel even younger still, a state contrived by Dr Lecter to tighten his control upon you in company, and make an obedient daughter of his embittered victim.

With scarce hope of turning any friend of Hannibal’s against him, you conform to his rigid will. Curling up with your head on the arm of the sofa, you count out seconds into minutes, another childhood habit.

Hannibal turns to you, appraising your ennui with a dry amusement.

“You’ll like Alana, my darling,” he says. “Just as you liked Jack.”

“Would they like you if they knew what kind of man you are, Dad?” you ask, cuttingly.

“They would not. That is why there are many faces I wear, and with them I choose only the most pleasant mask.”

Dr Lecter glances at another of his favoured woodblock prints on the wall, a depiction of kabuki actors in varying guises, and you see with a cold vein of shock that he has, across the house, hung up his soul for all to see, if only they knew it.

“You, too, take pains to manufacture appearance,” says Hannibal. “You play the part of the embittered introvert well, but there is a quarter of darkness, even a malice that is beginning to ascend the oubliette you have built to keep it in.”

Snorting, you shove your face under one arm.

“Wonder why.”

“I saw it in my office. It long precedes Will and I.”

There comes a jaunty little knock on the front door, the sound of a guest entering the foyer.

Dr Lecter smooths his manner into one of welcoming warmth, an alarming opposition to the man that fucked and restrained you to the tragedy of climax but two hours past.

Footsteps tread lightly through the house, with the click of low-heeled boots.

Alana Bloom appears, her hair smoke dark, her narrow eyes the blue of an enchantment, and of Hannibal’s room. Something of winter, in her beauty, pale skin whiter still against a suit of fitted darkness.

As with all women you meet, you analyse Alana, helplessly, finding her slim in the way that suggests health, but not restriction; you would know it at once from the shape of the bones in her hand or shoulder blade, a bloodlessness of the lips, a slow death in her gaze, the fairy-tale of hunger.

Some disorders of eating are invisible even to your eye, of course, thinness being no requirement for the trickster king of starving, but it is one guise it wears, when close to the edge, and the most familiar. Alana, however, is rosy with an undeniable vigour, having the face of a woman that adds sugar, unthinking, to her coffee, and enjoys a beer after a long afternoon.

She is the unachievable: beautiful, and well. You are suddenly, sourly jealous.

As Hannibal casts a mild glance towards Alana you see that there is a comfortable and entirely mutual attraction between them. This woman does not know the depths of Hannibal’s carnality, imagines him an affable eccentric, a sometime lover, nothing more. She returns his look with a crooked smile, and again there is that sanguine pulse of envy through you, turning you almost against her.

“I’ll leave you alone, for a moment,” says Dr Lecter, lightly. “I’m sure you’ll find Jack’s concerns largely unwarranted.”

“We’ll see,” says Alana, then, addressing you, she adds, “Hello. It’s lovely to meet you.”

You watch Hannibal dissipate into the shadows of the doorway, doubting he goes much further than the wall beyond.

“Hi,” you say, at last, quite listlessly.

Your mouth is loose around the word. You’ve never wanted less to speak.

“You know who I am, and why I’m here to see you today?” Alana ventures.

Her voice is soft, level, the tones of therapists the world over. Perhaps she hopes to incur a bond between you, to pierce your ice with a pick of female sensitivity.

“I know about you,” you say. “Dr Lecter told me.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

You see the tension in Alana’s forehead, an attempt to read the glaze in your eyes and coiled skink of your posture.

“You’ve made quite a friend in Jack already,” she says. “Usually he wouldn’t get involved with any of Hannibal’s work outside the FBI, so him asking me to see you means a lot. I want you to understand that. I’d also like you to know that while we’re both close to Dr Lecter, if this situation truly isn’t right for you, we’ll express that.”

Unmoved, you pluck at the edge of a couch cushion, letting Alana wade through the quiet alone.

“I have to admit that I was shocked to hear that you were staying here with him,” she says. “It’s... unusual. I’m still trying to figure out that decision.”

With Hannibal listening, an omnipotent threat, you only blink, rubbing your socked foot against the carpet.

“But,” Alana continues, sitting down beside you, “Hannibal has explained to me that he thinks you’d be unhappy in a facility.”

You edge away from her, trying not to look at her slender wrists, the small, lacquered fingers.

“Well,” you mutter. “I’m not happy here.”

“You weren’t happy at home either, so I’m told,” says Alana, softly. “So where would you be happy?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t felt it in a while, I guess.”

Misery overcomes you, and you begin to shiver, which Alana, with seamless tact, elects to ignore.

“When was the last time you were happy that you remember?” she asks, and you shake your head.

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Rubbing your eyes with the side of one hand, you say, “It was at my lowest weight. I felt so light, full of, you know, good cheer and kindness towards people because it was just easy to be nice when I felt good about myself. I knew I looked sort of scary, but I thought I looked sort of amazing, too.

“It’s weird. How I hated how sick I was. I hated myself, and I cried all the time, and yet I loved it. I felt like I belonged somewhere— there was this community for people like me, and I fit in. I was one of the best. Then the doctors said I had to gain weight, and it was all ruined. I lost my place, and I was back to feeling awful every minute of the day.”

You take a breath, cursing the childishness of your every mannerism, that you are so much less of a woman than the being beside you.

“Here, Dr Lecter controls everything,” you say. “Not one single thing is my choice, or what I’d do. I don’t even have a TV in my room. Everything I ask, he says no. I don’t have a future. Everything feels grey and pointless, and I wish he’d just leave me alone.”

Something pushes against one of your fists: a subtle square of tissue.

“I agree that there needs to be quite a few changes around here,” says Alana. “Maybe we can start by asking Dr Lecter to set you some short-term goals. Has he discussed any with you yet?”

“He wants me to finish a book,” you say, reluctantly. “The Idiot. Dostoevsky.”

Alana’s low brows rise.

“Wow. That sounds a little intimidating.”

The statement could easily be patronising, but isn’t. Like Jack, Alana has her reservations, and does not conceal them.

“So far it’s actually pretty good,” you say. “Sad, though. It’s about this poor guy who’s sort of in frail health, and seems kind of strange, so everybody is horrible to him. Every chapter you hope somebody will understand him or treat him right, and nobody ever does.”

“I see,” says Alana. “Maybe Hannibal is trying to make you be a little kinder to yourself. You’re an intelligent, creative young woman with a future ahead of you. I think Dr Lecter sees that in you, wouldn’t you agree?”

The affection in her eyes is so sure, so wrongly led, that it breaks you like antique glass.

“Alana,” you say. “What if I told you that Hannibal was—”

You remember his presence, suddenly, eavesdropping as you yourself have often done.

Alana frowns, her folded hands stilling in her lap.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

Don’t answer, you think, but your tongue unlatches of its solitary accord to speak.

“I don’t feel safe around Will and Hannibal. I don’t really like... men. There are things that have happened to me. I— I feel dirty all the time. When they look at me, touch me, it’s exactly like that.”

“I promise you that Will and Hannibal are not like that at all,” Alana says, firmly.

“You don’t know that,” you snap. “You don’t. They could lie to you.”

Alana looks at you for a long time before she answers, treading a pinched line between sympathy and duty.

“If something happened to you, I can help you report it. Even if it was a long time ago. Historic cases are a lot harder to prove in court, but it might benefit you to have it on record.”

“And if it was recently?” you ask, with daring abandon.

“Depending how recently, there’s a process you’d follow,” says Alana. “For instance, you could go to a hospital and have a rape kit taken. They’d document the evidence, take photographs, and your statement. It would be thorough and difficult, but it would help you find justice. Is that something that would be helpful right now?”

Forthright and serious, she nevertheless does not—cannot—believe that Will and Hannibal are your injurers, looking back through the tunnel of past at some assailant yet unnamed.

“I was just wondering,” you mumble, and Alana withdraws, realising she cannot get through to you.

“Alright,” she says. “I’m going to have a talk with Hannibal. See if he’s willing to make some adjustments for your comfort. I’ll come and see you again in a week or so to check in on you. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“Yeah,” you say. “It will. Bye, Alana.”

You look down, seeing the tissue ripped into dehydrated snowflakes in your hand.

Quietly, sensitively, the woman leaves.

It is half an hour before Hannibal renters the room, danger lying, flat-bellied, beneath his affable smile.

“I overheard your conversation, with Alana,” he says, plainly. “The thread of some notion of leaving with her. Of alerting the police. Let it go. I will never leave a trace of myself within you when guests are expected, little one.”

He pauses, seeming to search your face for a response that is not there.

“You don’t expect to see justice.”

You allow the pieces of tissue to fall from your hand, picking off the last damp shreds with the border of one bitten fingernail.

“No.”

“Then your attempts to escape are entirely self-harming,” says Hannibal, in genuine disappointment. “All your life you’ve been looking for someone to take responsibility for the acts that you must do to survive. To be caged, to you, is liberty, for behind such bars you’ll no longer be culpable for shame or failure. Why do you spurn what I would gladly give?”

“It wasn’t given,” you say. “It was forced.”

“By necessity, yes. For you to consent, you would have been made to acknowledge your own sin, and you’re not capable of that, are you, little one?”

Hannibal leans down and kisses a tear from your cheekbone.

“Soon, you will attend a therapy session with me. You will tell me what you were on the verge of offering to Alana.”

*

In the early evening, Will Graham arrives; you see him crossing the driveway from a window, pulling a leaf from one wayward curl with a grimace. Since Alana’s visit you’ve been on the couch in a drugged malaise, but upon hearing him stamp dirt from his shoes on the welcome mat you are taken up by the senseless notion to go to him.

He is not Hannibal. He is the man that saved you from the earth, in your dreams. A beast, but one you may learn to ride, being that, in his rudderless madness, he seeks companionship in the dark.

Certainly, you are not yourself, to think this, are exhausted to the point of insensibility by Hannibal’s slow cruciation of the mind.

Orphaned from logic, you run to Will, catching him as he strolls through the foyer. You behold a startled look of horror before you leap into his arms, unable to articulate yourself beyond a howl of sobbing hurt. He stands, ossified against you, an indurate oblong of disgust.

Then, with the suddenness of resignation, he sags into a nearby chair with you in his lap and rocks you there until you quiet.

His heart is quick under his shirt, his hands at your back quaking, dismayed. Glancing up, you see his mouth is a near lipless line, but then it breaks, and he hushes you, more as though you are a pet than human.

“An unexpected sight,” says Hannibal, looking into the foyer. “I didn’t think you had much liking for our girl.”

Will grinds his teeth.

“I don’t. But I do pity her. I’m afraid that by the time we’re done with this experiment she’ll be dissolved by our cruelty.”

“Like the little mermaid by the sea,” Hannibal comments. “Condemned by love’s rejection. Will you continue to rebuff her, after this?”

“I’ve been participating since the beginning.”

“And so you see that cruelty is often a necessary force. A common occurrence in nature, and in the culinary world. Veal is a biblical evil, for example, infanticide for the selfishness lusts of men.”

“We’re selfish, alright,” says Will, adjusting your weight in his arms. “Besides, doesn’t cruelty affect the flavour of the meat?”

Hannibal laughs indulgently.

“Are you intending to eat her, Will?”

The younger man lifts his chin.

“Are you?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” Dr Lecter replies, with a wicked merriment. “But in the other, we’ve both sampled her, and have no regrets. Do we?"

[phoenike]

Stable

Another fill that got way too long, for FFXIV Write day #10 prompt. My catboy WoL-to-be, all of 16, takes care of his mom while she's sick. Contains some descriptions of grave illness and mentions of death.

.

The ugly sound or the door turning on its rusty hinges rouses Bitty from her fevered doze.

When she forces her eyes open, there’s a figure standing in the open doorway, against the faint light from the hall. Through the pain churning in her head and the gunk crusting her eyes, the only thing Bitty can tell for sure is that unlike R’zaihi and the girls — whose voices ring loud from elsewhere in the handful of dingy attic rooms they now call home — the shape she can discern clearly belongs to an adult-sized male.

“Mum?” comes a familiar sonorous voice.

He’s back. He’s safe. Thank the Twelve. With a rush of muddled shame and relief, Bitty murmurs a response from the bed.

Tovi walks in, his boots still on, gear softly creaking.

“Gods’ spit, mum. It stinks like the privy in here.”

Worn old floorboards moan under solid footsteps — the few that are needed to take Tovi across the room. He opens the tiny window to let in the night air, the same she can smell in his wake, aside from a rather strong fragrance of brine, seaweed and hard labor. It has clearly been days since he last had a proper bath. Then again, it’s not like Bitty has any reason to feel superior in that regard.

Soon, Tovi’s own familiar scent becomes more evident under the other smells when he walks over to light the lamp on the nightstand. The softly glowing flame is anything but bright, but Bitty still flinches from it.

Sister Moon have mercy. That he should have to see her like this.

“Seven ‘ells…” Tovi leans to brush unkempt hair from her face, still outfitted in his daggers and fighting gear, just like four days ago when he left. Only the hat is gone. “I thought you were gettin’ better, mum. What happened? Have you taken your physicks? And what’s with the smell?”

“Sorry, kit.” She nearly weeps from the shame and the pain. “I had an accident. Two days ago.”

“Two days?” Tovi flicks his ears. His voice gets harsh, in a way it rarely does. “I hired R’zaihi to see to —”

“It’s not her fault.” R’zaihi did what she could, with what little time she had to spare from looking after the kits. But even if the poor overworked helper could somehow have given the bed more than a quick scrub, to a Keeper's sharp nose, the stink would still remain. “I’m sorry.”

He starts picking through the jars and vials on the nightstand. “I’m going to give you something. And then I’m going to get you a new mattress. You can’t be sleepin’ on that one.”

“It’s too late.” No one will sell him a mattress so late in the evening, even if they had the gil to spare — although knowing him, he might try. (Hopefully he won’t simply break into some warehouse and steal one. Bitty is all too aware that’s a possibility, too.)

“Good thing we got a spare, then. Here, take this.”

Too dizzy to resist, Bitty accepts a spoonful of sticky, overly sweet concoction. By some miracle, she succeeds in forcing it down her throat, in spite of some gagging.

“Tovi —”

But he’s already on his way out. Bitty closes her eyes and listens to the kits playing down in the parlor.

Thumping through a paper-thin wall tells of things being tossed about in another room. Then the footsteps return and something sizable gets dropped on the floor. When Bitty blinks her bleary eyes open, Tovi is standing next to the bed, his coat and weapons gone, sleeves rolled up.

“Can ye sit?”

She could try. But should she? She almost got sick already, and the medicine is expensive.

“Nevermind.” Tovi leans down and, without removing the bedcovers, threads his arms under Bitty’s shoulders and knees. “Hold on.”

Quilts and all, he lifts her up like she weighs nothing (granted that it’s getting closer and closer to the truth every day). When he carries her over to the pallet on the floor, even without sensing his smell all over it, she would know it came from his bed. It’s barely more than a sack filled with goat hair, but right now, it feels like a piece of heaven. Grateful and mortified, Bitty waits while her son gets rid of the stinky old mattress — by throwing it out via the balcony, by the sound of it, since the window in Bitty’s room is too small for the purpose — before he returns and hoists the whole sorry heap she’s lying in clean off the floor. The combined weight and dimensions of a mattress, a full-grown (albeit slight) woman and some quilts should surpass any normal person’s ability to easily lift, but Tovi barely even grunts before carrying them all to the now empty bed.

Is he getting even stronger? How?

“I’m going to give you a wash, mum.”

“No, Tovi, please. You must be exhausted.”

“I can’t sleep knowin’ you’re in this state.”

“R’zaihi —”

“R’zaihi is too busy with the kits.”

Bitty is too tired to keep arguing, and knows him too well. Sure enough, he proceeds to do exactly as he wants — and not for the first time, either, in this particular thing, or many others ever since he was too little to speak.

Afterwards, with her blessedly free of stink and fixed up in a clean nightgown and the rest of the dirty bedding changed, Tovi helps her into a half-sitting position and goes to fetch thin gruel from the kitchen. He must have told R’zaihi to make some when he went to toss the old mattress out in the alley. With the physick he gave her starting to work, Bitty is feeling strong enough to give eating a try, but when she raises her shaky hand to take the bowl, Tovi ignores it and sits on the edge of the bed to spoon the gruel into her by himself.

Usually, Tovi is careful about not letting her see any untoward emotion. Now, he appears too tired to pretend. But she knows his scowls and flattened ears and sharp tail flicks are not meant for her. He’s angry at the fate that took his stepfather away and forced them to sell everything they owned to settle the many debts his business ventures left behind. That same fate soon made Bitty too sick to even go out, let alone earn much needed coin. At no more than sixteen, Tovi became the family’s sole caretaker — and yet he has never complained.

He doesn’t need her to add even more to his burdens. But she needs to speak. At least he’s too dog-tired right now to do anything rash… or so she hopes.

“Tovi,” she says between spoonfuls of gruel. “Xirha’s relatives came by.”

Tovi looks up sharply. Gods be good, no sixteen-year-old going on seventeen should ever have such a hard look in their eye. From up close, the shadows beneath his yellow gaze are deep enough to show faintly even through steel-blue skin and dark markings.

“Again? That the reason you sickened?”

“Maybe.”

“Swive those bloody —” Tovi bites out the rest. “I made it clear last time how we felt.”

“Tovi, they said they’ll go to court and have me declared unfit.”

“Did they, now.” Tovi’s voice turns low and murderous, in a way he usually strives not to let her hear, probably on account of how much it unnerves her.

Bitty looks away and forces out what she must.

“I’ve been thinking. I’m not getting any better. And they’ve got the means to take care of the girls. Even if I make it, we don’t have the gil to pay for school, not for one, let alone all seven. Maybe… maybe it’s better if we —”

“What. No. Mum, they ain’t never going to let you see the kits again. And you are getting better. The healer said you ain’t always going to be stable.”

“We need to be reasonable. What kind of life can we offer —”

“I said no.” He keeps his voice level. “They’re my family, too. 'Sides, it’ll kill you, and I ain’t minded to let that happen. You’re just feeling low ‘cause you’re in pain. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this. Eat your gruel.”

Not even an onze of hesitation. If she could possibly love him more, she would — but she’s already near breaking point with it.

“Please, please, Itty. Don’t do anything foolish.”

“Oh, fer… I’m not goin’ to mill yer soddin’ in-laws.” Much as I want to, Tovi’s tone seems to say. “I’ll have a nice wee parlay with them. All you need to worry about is keepin’ strong for the healer’s visits, all right?”

Even if he doesn’t kill anyone, Bitty fears Tovi’s ‘nice wee parlay’ might mean something she would rather not know about. Possibly something involving the dangerous-looking people who come by to talk with him in hushed voices in the corridor and never agree to come in for a cup of tea. A handsome young Hyur by the name of Jacke. And a Seeker woman with flame-red hair and sharp eyes.

He’s right. Xirha’s family would never let her see the girls again. Which would very much kill her, just like Tovi said — and still.

“I want to do right by them,” she says.

“I told you not to worry, didn’t I? We ain’t going to live in this hellhole for long. Right now, the treatments cost too much, but soon as you improve, we’ll settle somewhere nicer. Then I can get Simha and Mirke started with a tutor. It ain’t going to be nothing fancy, but it’ll do before we can afford school.”

It’s not nearly the first time she has heard the same plan. All you need to do is get better. But she’s not getting better. The terrible migraines remain, and the dizziness and violent nausea that keep her confined. The expensive healer Tovi hired says there’s something nasty in her head. She grieved over Xirha so terribly, maybe it — 

No. Don’t think about it.

She knows it would be useless to argue right now, even if she had the strength. She will do it some other day, when the treatments are working and she can sit up properly and do some mending while they talk.

After helping her to lie down once more, Tovi gets up.

“Are you feelin’ strong enough to see the kits? They were askin’ for you. You ought to let the little ones sleep here tonight, now it’s all nice and clean.”

Indeed, the sounds of play from the parlor are beginning to grow more muted, now that it’s late enough for even Keeper children to start feeling the hour.

Bitty nods. If she tries to thank him, she will cry.

“Where will you sleep?” she asks instead.

“On me feet if I have to.”

“Don’t give me lip, young man.”

He musters a quirk of a smile, in response to her rather weary fake rebuke.

“No, ma’am. The couch has me name on it, soon as R’zaiha can get them hellcats to bed.”

The couch is small and lumpy, and he’s already rather large for a Keeper. But for what she knows, he might just have spent four nights sleeping on the floor (or not at all), so perhaps it’s still an improvement.

“You’re too good to me.” She hates it when she feels pitiful enough to say it.

“I ain’t good. I’m a wicked scoundrel. You ought to cry for the Yellowjackets.” He turns to go, his every move as graceful as a Keeper’s can be. Only Bitty could ever tell he might be near collapse.

“G’night, mum.”

“G’night, Itty.”

Some time later, R’zaiha dims the lamp. The two smallest kits clinging to Bitty under the quilts are already asleep. With the door slightly open into the hallway, so people can hear if Bitty cries for help, the exhausted nursemaid heads for her own pallet.

The mattress isn’t as good as Bitty’s old one, which was not that good either. Still, it has Tovi’s scent in it, so she can’t complain. Bitty listens to the reassuring sounds of her son washing up and making himself supper before bed. To think that a mere six moons ago, she still barely saw him once every few weeks, and now they’re all living under the same roof. Gods, if she didn’t have him —

She cries a little, then. Quiet-like, so the babies don’t wake. Crying just makes her migraine worse, anyway.

He’s working so hard. And it could all be for nothing.

Then again… it could all be for everything, too.

Don’t worry, mum. He keeps saying it over and over. And so far, he has yet to let them down even once, so maybe the least she owes him is to give it a try?

Bitty holds her kits close, to feel them breathing in their sleep, and does the best she can.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

Please could you tell me all about your wool mattress? I looked into them a bit years ago (when I had chronic fatigue and was reading all sorts of scary things about the toxic fire-retardants in our mattresses we're breathing all night) but at the time I couldn't justify the expense, when my own mattress was only a few years old. Would love to hear why you love yours so much!

Where to start... XD

So, for everybody else that might not know this, in many places before the advent of modern foam mattresses, people slept in mattresses filled with wool, feathers, or hay. Where I live, as wool has been one of the main products for a long, long time, wool mattresses were the most common type.

(picture reference)

My parents' first home was a beach cabin, and we had wool mattresses there, which we left behind for the next owner when we moved; friends of mine that live on the countryside still have them in some places. So I had experience with them since childhood, and around last year, as I kept waking up with back pain every day, I started thinking more and more seriously about getting one, and earlier this year, after some research I found what is, to my knowledge, the only wool mattress maker in my city; so I bit the bullet and got one made for myself.

The saga of the purchase itself was something, because the shop was very folkloric, the owner a chatty old man who ballparked the cost of the mattress to me, and who also had on one of his tables something that looked like a wheel of cheese, but didn't smell like cheese but also didn't look like wood or a tool and I was too afraid to ask what it was. Anyways.

The cost itself in my case was around the same price a good foam mattress of the same size. The main difference that way is that a foam mattress will last you a decade, perhaps, a wool mattress can last a lifetime. BUT wool mattresses also require maintenance; you need to air them regularly (it will vary depending on the relative humidity of the place you live at, how many hours you spend in bed, etc), turn them around and flip them to distribute sinking, and because wool coils up, they need to be opened and the filling combed down and fluffled up once in a while (this also varies depending on your weight, hours spent in bed, level of comfort with flatness/stiffness, etc). Some say once every two years or so, it can be less it can be more. I think it is more organic that way, somehow (?) like how people joke about mattress stores being all fronts for money laundering because it is an item people so seldomly purchase, but when mattresses have maintenance, then the business does become sustainable. I digress.

So, experience these past few months: change of mattress hasn't really affected my fatigue at all, so probably the fire retardants are not relevant (wool itself isn't really that flammable at all without any additives, so that's still a pro if you are concerned about the fire retardant and other processing chemicals present in foam), but my morning back and neck pain is gone. GONE. And I sleep much better at night. You can feel the breathability of the material. Same with the support. The support of a foam mattress has a completely different tension. Think the difference of feel between stretchy pants and fitted pants that have no elastic component to them. The support is firm rather than tense.

Some people worry about wool attracting bugs, but I have never seen one of these get infested (?) so that's up for debate, I think. One pro of wool mattresses is that you can bend them and roll them up for cleaning and ventilation, but they also have the con that they are much heavier than a foam mattress, so I think if you aren't particularly buff, carrying a queen or king sized one from one room to another will require two people. The level of softness/stiffness of the mattress will depend a lot on the type and amount of wool it has.

I think I have covered all with this (?) If there's something else you'd like to know, please ask!

In general I am very happy with my choice and recommend it wholeheartedly to anyone for whom the pros as presented outweight the cons.

[manic-poetry-lover]

I Still Don’t Care For White Couches

Here’s a reality check that I think a lot of women need.

Girls…

For as long as both you and your partner work, or are in school, or have little kids-

And listen close-

The house is gonna be messy.

Please stop stressing about the mess, because you are far too important for that.

I understand that most of us were conditioned from an early age to have everything look like a damn Instagram photo but the reality is that when you come home from work or school or finally put the kids to sleep, and your partner comes home from work or school or finally putting the kids to sleep, neither of you are gonna want to clean.

There are gonna be days where the dishes in the sink pile up. There are gonna be days where the laundry bin is way too full. There are gonna be days where yeah sometimes you walk into the kitchen and realize you forgot to clean up the food mess from dinner last night.

But that’s okay.

I don’t know why social media has led us to believe that every part of our lives must be absolutely flawlessly spotless and perfect, but it isn’t true.

And frankly, I would rather live in a place that looks like a home.

I’ll take the kids putting those obnoxious-ass stickers all over the dresser that I can’t peel off before I take a sad and lifeless home with no proof that my family existed.

Of course I want my kids to grow up in a home that feels clean, but clean means that there’s no cigarette butts on the porch or liquor bottles on the side tables. The house will smell like fresh baked cookies and Texas toast and butter chicken, not some expensive signature scent of a celebrity that doesn’t even know me.

My home will not have a completely refined color palette because there are too many books on the shelves and too many hanged pictures of our loved ones on the walls. Our blankets will be comfortable and warming before they are pretty.

And yes, sometimes there will still be vacuuming to do while I’m cuddled up with him, watching our shows and getting crumbs all over the sofa when it is almost 3 am and we’re both exhausted but have been dying to watch the newest episode.

The house will go through seasons. Postpartum depression, then spring cleaning, then back to school, then Christmas, then that big party where you host and hate every minute of it but love the feeling you get when you see everybody smiling, then your teen will go through that weird anime phase, and then the littles are gonna end up finding the glitter jars, you get it. Dirty, clean, rinse, repeat.

My children will never have to worry about having sheets on their mattress or fresh socks on their little toes.

But I want my children to know what it is lay down on the couch that isn’t pretty or new but DAMN is it comfy, and I want them to not have a panic attack over spilled chocolate milk on my carpet.

I don’t want them to hyperventilate when eventually they get their tomato soup and cheesy sandwiches on my kitchen table.

I don’t want there to be marks on their skin as punishment for their existence putting a mark on this world.

So yeah, some days, I’m gonna not do anything about the laundry baskets on the couch or the toys all over the living room floor. I’m probably never gonna get that grape juice stain fully out of the rug, or scrub the glitter out of their knitted sweaters.

To be loved is to be changed, or at least I think that’s how the saying goes.

And I’ll be damned before this home and the people in it aren’t loved.

[shorkbrian]

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately. 

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.” 

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment. 

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way. 

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.” 

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie. 

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone. 

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed. 

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island.  It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words. 

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest. 

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face. 

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly. 

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it. 

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

[falcqns]

You’re Worth It

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x College Student!Reader

Summary: You visit Bucky’s apartment for the first time, and assure him that he's worth so much more than he thinks. 

Warnings: SMUT! age gap but its legal, very insecure Bucky, oral (f receiving).

A/N: Hope you enjoy!

You stood outside Bucky’s apartment door, watching your boyfriend dig his keys out of his skinny jeans, his other hand on a bag of groceries that contained your soon-to-be dinner. He pulled them out and located the door key, before turning to you. “Are you sure you want to stay here tonight, doll? I’m more than okay staying at your apartment.” He said, his eyes not leaving the ground in front of him.

You smiled, and placed your backpack on the ground beside you before turning and grabbing his stubbly face in your hands. “Baby. I want to stay here with you. I don’t care what it looks like. Whether it’s dirty or clean, the cutest apartment in the world, or the ugliest. It’s yours, and I want to see it.” You said, and he smiled before nodding. “Okay.” He said. He put the key in the door, and unlocked it. You followed him into the small apartment, and was immediately surrounded by the smell that was undeniably Bucky. 

You loved the way he smelled, you always had. He smelled like a field of lavender flowers on a beach, with a hint of salt water. He dropped his keys on the table, and turned around to face you. You placed your backpack on the floor again, this time by the table and looked around. There wasn't much, but he had a small chair and a side table, and a small tv stand where his tv sat. There was a chair in the corner by the kitchen island, and that was it. Your eyes ran over the pile of blankets on the floor, and you could feel your heart break.

He slept on the floor. 

He chuckled as you looked around. “Sad, huh?” He said, walking into the kitchen with the food in hand. “No.” You said, and followed him to the kitchen. “Like I said outside. It's you. You are building a life after a lot of suffering. Nothing about this is sad.” He shook his head as he took out the carrots and potatoes from the bag. 

“I couldn't even afford a full couch.” He said. You dropped your phone on the counter gently, and wrapped your arms around his waist. You rested your head in between his shoulder blades, and inhaled his smell. 

“Baby, it’s okay. You were gone for 5 years. So was half the world. Before that, you were living in Wakanda, where you didn't have to deal with the stresses of regular life. And, before that, you were trapped within someone who wasn't you. Don’t blame yourself for any of this. I love you for who you are.” You said, and Bucky turned around, his arms circling your waist. 

“How did I get so lucky?” he mumbled into your hair. You giggled, and lifted your head. “By saving my life,” You said, before pressing a kiss to his lips. He kissed back immediately, and pulled you closer. 

You pulled away when the need for oxygen became dire, and you smiled at them again. “All I did was pull you out of the way of a car that was out of control, doll.” He said, and ran his hand down your arm as you pulled out of the hug. “I would’ve gotten hit if you didn't. I’m not a super soldier like you are, its highly unlikely I would have survived if it weren't for my hero,” You mentioned, as you walked over to your backpack and pulling out your laptop.

Bucky chuckled, and watched as you sat down in the chair across from the tv. You tucked your feet under yourself, and sat your laptop on the arm before powering it on.

Bucky began to move about the kitchen and make the two of you dinner. No matter what you said, he couldn't stop feeling guilty about the state of his apartment. He could have at least bought a blow up mattress for you to sleep on, so you wouldn't be stuck sleeping on the hard wood floor with him. Better yet, he could have bought a bed. He had a bedroom, but he didn't feel comfortable in there. He glanced over at you while he washed the carrots in the sink and saw how you stretched your back before returning to your homework.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence for him to hang out with you while you do homework. He actually enjoyed watching you do school work. he could barely remember school, and he never got to go to college. Between working and taking care of Steve, he both didn't have time and couldn't afford it. Then the war started, and he thought about going after, but his capture by HYDRA kinda ruined that one. During his time in Wakanda, he had thought about going to college, but at that point he was still a wanted criminal and that was out of the question. He had been thinking about it more recently, and had decided to wait until he was finished making his amends to enrol somewhere. 

Mainly, he was just happy that you were getting an education. He planned on staying with you forever, marrying you, having kids with you, and growing old(er) with you, and he knew your future children would benefit from at least one of their parents having up-to-date school education. And, by up to date school education, he meant a curriculum that was developed this century.

He stirred the potatoes in the pot and smiled as he heard your fingers tapping on the keyboard. God, he loved you. You loved him for who he was, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you didn't blame him for anything that happened. He hadn't been expecting to be so open with you about his past when he asked you out on a date, but you knew who he was instantly, and thanked him for saving your life. He may have physically saved your life that day, but he felt that you saved his life in every other way by just being yourself. 

He continued to listen to you tapping on the keyboard, the clicking of your knuckles as you cracked them, and the slow but rhythmic breathing as you focused on your work. 

Dinner was finished a few minutes later, and you closed your laptop just as Bucky was plating the veggies. You placed your laptop back in the bag, and joined Bucky on the ground to eat. 

“Did you finish your homework?” He asked, and you nodded. You swallowed before speaking. “Yeah. I can't submit it yet, but it’s finished and ready to go,” You said. 

The two of you continued making small talk throughout the night, and Bucky tried to find a way to convince you that the two of you should sleep at your apartment instead, but he knew that it wouldn't work. He tried to bite back the tears while you were in the showers and he laid out the blankets and pillows on the floor for the night. They almost fell again when he walked out of the bathroom from having his shower and saw you snuggled up on the ground, scrolling on TikTok. He swallowed the lump in his throat as he got a cup of water for himself and for you. He thought he had a handle on his emotions by the time he had settled next to you, but the dam broke when he laid down and your had found its way to your chest as it usually did. 

Your head shot up when you heard his shaky breathing and his sniffling, and you immediately wrapped your arms around his neck. “What’s wrong, Buck?” you whispered, and his arms wrapped themselves around your waist before he answered. 

“You deserve to be sleeping on a bed.” he whispered, and you shook your head. 

“No. Don’t do that to yourself. I know how weird it is for you to sleep in a bed, and that's okay. I’ve been camping before, and I’m perfectly fine with sleeping on the ground. I’m fine, baby.” You whispered, but Bucky still shook his head. 

“I should be able to afford a bed,” He said, and you sat up. “Stop. Don’t think that. You’re doing the best you can with what you have. You can barely afford the bills you have already because of what the government is paying you, which is way less than you should be. You’re doing great with what you have.” You reminded him, and he nodded.

“I know. But, I probably should have spent the little money I did have on a bed rather than a TV, but if I don't have the TV on, my mind runs to places I don't want it to. I know that’s not healthy, but neither is reliving everything I did for those years. I wasn't really thinking about having anyone to share my nights with during that time, so a bed didn't seem important. But, I should have bought a mattress when we started dating. Everything is just way too expensive compared to when I was growing up.” He said, a slight chuckle in his voice. You smiled, and pushed him back by the chest. 

He smiled suggestively when you straddled his waist, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “Lets not talk about it anymore, okay? Maybe me riding you will help you forget it.” You said, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips that were red and slightly swollen from his tears. He didn't say anything in return, but kissed you back while running your hands up your back and under your sleep shirt. He moaned when he felt that you weren't wearing a bra. 

“Naughty girl, not wearing a bra,” He whispered, as you kissed down his neck. He grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled it up, leaving you in only your underwear. You moaned at his husky voice and ground your hips down on him. He moaned, and grasped your hips in his hands. 

He let you grind on him a little more, thoroughly enjoying it, before flipping you over. He trailed his hands down to your underwear, hooking his thumbs into the straps, before pulling them down your legs. 

He moaned when you were completely exposed to him. You looked at him with lust filled eyes, as he spread your legs, and settled himself on his stomach in between them.

He lifted your legs over his shoulders, and pressed kisses up your slit, making eye contact with you. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” he said, before diving into you. 

He swiped his tongue over your clit a few times, before attaching his mouth to it and sucking. You jolted slightly when you felt the cold metal of his pointer finger slowly push inside of you. He pushed it to the hilt, and then arched up to rub up against your g spot. 

You cried out suddenly and tangled your hands in his hair when his finger started vibrating right up against your g spot, causing you to fall over the edge into orgasm almost instantly. 

Bucky pulled off of you with a pop, and grinned, still moving his finger in and out while you rode out your orgasm. Once your breathing slowed, he pulled his finger out, and put it into his mouth, sucking your juices off of it. He laid on his back, and guided you with his hands until you were on top again. 

You began to shimmy down his body, but Bucky shook his head, and pulled you back up. “No. If you do that, I won't last, and I want to cum in your pussy not your mouth,” He said, and you bit your lip, and nodded.

His hands gripped your hips while you reached down for his now leaking cock, and gave it a few firm strokes, before lining it up at your entrance. You leaned forward and gripped your hands on his shoulder, before sliding down on him slowly.

“Fuck, doll. Always feels so damn good,” Bucky moaned, his hands tightening on your hips. You threw your head back and moaned as you began to move your hips, with Bucky’s help.

“Love seein’ you like this, babydoll.” Bucky rasped out, hit hips thrusting up to meet your movements. “Love how needy you get when you’re on top.” His words made you clench around him, and Bucky grasped your hips tighter to pull you down on his cock harder and faster each time. 

You could feel the pressure building in your abdomen, and you knew Bucky was close as well based on the movements of his hips. You ground your hips into his before continuing to bounce on him.

“F-fuck,” Bucky grunted as he was used over the edge, and released inside of you. You threw your head back as you felt Bucky’s cum smash against your walls, which sent you over the edge, and you shook as you came. 

A few minutes later, Bucky has cleaned both you and him up, and was coming back from tossing the wash cloth in the laundry hamper when he saw you sound asleep on the ground where he left you. He smiled slightly and carried you into the bedroom, along with the blankets and pillows. 

He laid you down and straightened out the blankets, and put your pillow under your head, before laying down next to you, and pulling you into his arms. He drifted off to sleep seconds later with the plan on looking for a second hand bed in the morning. You deserved to sleep on a bed, and so did he, he realized. 

At least the plush carpeting is softer than the hard wood. 

[pingutats]

at last!

it’s the morning after harry proposed, and here you are, in heaven.

warnings: some sexual content, not very graphic.

word count: 2k

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

As soon as you start to drift awake, you feel this overwhelming sense of bliss. Like everything is right in the world, properly aligned and in harmony. Your heart feels full, warm like the way a lover would cradle their hands around yours on a chilly winter night. 

The thing that pulls you completely from the gentle embrace of sleep into the morning is someone actually grabbing your left hand. Not just someone, but Harry. And, you remember suddenly like a crack of lightning bursting through your sleep-weary skull, he isn’t just Harry, he’s —

“Morning, love,” he murmurs, his voice croaky and slightly slurred from sleep still, as he pulls your hand over to him and slips the ring back onto your fourth finger. “Y’always look so pretty in the morning. ‘Specially today.”

“H,” you whisper back, barely able to form a coherent thought. He’s your fiancé. You blink your eyes open, rubbing at them as you adjust to the weak light streaming through a window. “Oh my god, Harry.”

He’s grinning at you, eyes still half-closed. He brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the ring. “Oh my god, Y/N,” he repeats back, and you giggle.

You hold your hand up to the light, twisting your wrist so the small, classic diamond sparkles.  You’ve seen it before, of course. You’ve known what it looks like for ages. The two of you picked it out together in a store a couple months ago. You’ve spoken about this moment, over and over — sometimes in practical terms to try and plan for your future, sometimes whimsically as you spelled out your wildest dreams to each other — but now it’s here. It’s real.

He was insistent on being the one to propose. You could pick the ring, the wedding venue, write the guest list and choose his outfit and even curate the reception playlist, he offered— as long as he got to propose. You accepted, of course, without the bargaining. You wanted him to do it anyway.

Harry isn’t one for grand gestures. When you first met him, only knowing him as the glamorous rockstar that he performs as when he’s on stage, you had assumed he would be into the massive displays of affection, the lavish gifts and the kind of relationship that no one can tear their eyes away from. But he isn’t really like that.

Harry is a cup of tea set out for you in the morning before you even ask for one. The last segment of the mandarin he was eating, held out for you to take. A hundred kisses to your cheek over the course of a night out, for no particular reason except that he’s tipsy and he loves you. A playlist that he texts to you with a sweet note in the description. Making the bed by himself before you’re done brushing your teeth. Carrying you from the car to the door at three in the morning because your heels are killing you and he’d rather roll around naked on broken glass than see you in any amount of pain at all.

That’s what Harry is. So it made sense that, rather than flying you out to Paris and organising a string quartet to play in the background while he got down on one knee under the Eiffel Tower at night (something you had joked about often), he did it in his own little unassuming way. 

You wanted a surprise. That was all you asked. If he was going to ask, he better make it good.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t grand or especially beautiful. You had been baking together all afternoon: flour all over the place, a small pile of chocolate chips that you’d “accidentally dropped” on the counter and were snacking on, cookies in the oven making the kitchen smell all warm and cosy. The echoes of your laughs and playful banter still lingered in the room. An Etta James album was playing in the background — Harry’s choice, of course. You were bending in front of the oven to check on the cookies. 

“They’re looking good, H,” you said, gazing at them.

“Y/N,” he said from behind you.

“I think we’ve got a perfect batch on our hands.” You straightened up, reaching over to swipe a couple more chocolate chips from the shrinking pile. “Better than last time, those were all hard and —”

“Darling,” he said, a bit more firmly.

“Yeah?” You turned around, sucking on the chocolate, and froze.

There was Harry, on one knee on the kitchen floor, holding a little box and smiling gently up at you.

“Hi,” was all you managed to breathe out, once you regained the ability to move.

“Hello,” he said, smile growing. He cleared his throat. “I love you so much, you know?”

“Harry, you’ve got flour on your nose.”

“Do I?” He was grinning widely now, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he tried not to laugh. “I’ll fix that later, love, got something more important to do right now.”

“Okay.” Your voice was shaking slightly.

He chuckled, and then took a deep breath to steady himself. “Y/N. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You make my days better, every day. Most gorgeous, funniest, kindest, sweetest girl I ever met. You’re so fucking amazing — sorry, I shouldn’t swear. Probably ruins the moment.”

“It doesn’t,” you said quickly. You could feel tears threatening to prickle at your eyes. “Keep going.”

“Nothing’s going to stop me, angel,” he promised. He set his face, playing at being very somber. “I really need to ask you something.”

You bit your lip through a smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause every day I wake up and hug you and I think to myself that I never want to let go of you. Ever.” 

You nodded, unable to speak for fear that you would just collapse from how unbelievably sweet he is.

“Y/N,” he said, finally. He took a deep breath and pulled open the lid of the little box, and there was your ring. His smile returned to his face again, bright and dimpled and so Harry you nearly starting sobbing right there. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You were saying it before he even finished his sentence. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—” and you kept saying it until he was back on his feet and had swept you up in the tightest hug, pulling you into his chest and spinning both of you around. 

You clutched at the front of his fuzzy sweater and pulled him into a kiss that made the world feel like it was shifting. Because it had. Everything had changed now. It felt like the two of you had taken the world and cracked it open like a walnut, finding a completely new kind of life inside. A kind of life where you both completely, irrevocably, belonged to each other.

When he pulled back from the kiss, he rubbed his flour-covered nose over yours, then pecked another kiss on your cheek. “Got flour all over you, love.”

“Best go take a shower, then,” you said to him, grinning.

He raised his eyebrows, that mischievous glint in his eye that you so adored appearing. “Yeah? Okay, whatever my beautiful fiancee wants.” He let you take his hand and start to pull him toward the bathroom, before he suddenly jerked you back, making you stumble into his chest. “Shit,” he murmured. “Give me your hand, darling.”

“Oh.” You held out your left hand, and gently he slid the ring onto your finger.

He looked up at you, eyes shining. “Can’t believe I nearly forgot the most important part.”

“Me too. Silly goose.” 

He snorted, and you leaned forward to kiss him again. He held his hands to the small of your back, pulling you closer to him. He was warm, his embrace firm, his mouth gentle. Tasting him, the sweetness of the cookie dough he had been stealing out of the bowl, the vanilla of the lip balm he used — you could have lived in that kiss forever. Any kiss, really. You weren’t picky when it came to Harry. But he pulled back, and ran his hands down to the back of your thighs.

“Jump, darling,” he whispered, and he pulled you up to wrap your legs around his waist, your arms looped behind his neck. He pressed his lips to yours again, then carried you to the bathroom, your giggles echoing through the house.

He got on his knees for you again in the shower — “Wanna treat my fiancee like a proper gentleman” —  with your leg thrown over his shoulder, your hand with the ring in his hair, your head thrown back against the tiled wall. He was always good (outstanding in the field, you would joke) but somehow today he was better. Like he was trying to tell you something just by the way he licked up your folds and sucked on your sensitive little bud until you were shaking and your hand tightened in his hair in a way that was surely painful. Like he was trying to show you just how much he loved you, as if everything else wasn’t already enough.

Later, you opened up the expensive bottle of champagne you’d been saving and split it over the takeout he had ordered over the phone in a rush while your hands were slowly creeping down his bare chest and playing with the waistband of the sweatpants he had thrown on after the shower. You ate outside. It was a pleasant night and as stars started to dust over the sky, you were sure they were shining just a little bit brighter.

And when you finally made it into bed, he was immediately over you, his arms snaking underneath you and hugging you to his chest while he thrust into you, deep and passionate. He had his head buried in your neck, his moans vibrating into your skin and you knew he was feeling more than just the physical. It was beyond that for both of you. Treasure this moment, you kept thinking. Keep this day safe forever.

You came together. As he got close, his steady rhythm starting to falter, he grabbed your left hand and pushed it down into the mattress, so you could feel the ring pressing into your skin. That was what sent the both of you over the edge.

Sleep came easily, your limbs still tangled together, your ring lying on the bedside table because you were scared to sleep with it. Harry must have fallen asleep after you — as you dozed off, you could hear the rustling of his pillow as he kept turning his head to look at the ring glinting in the full moon’s light coming through the window. His strong arm wrapped around you, holding you close, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you to sleep.

“I’m so fucking happy,” he says now, in the morning, quietly, breaking the silence that had descended over you. He says it like it could be the last sentence he ever speaks. A neat epilogue.

You look at him, your arm still raised in the air between you. His eyes are trained on the diamond, and you could swear his eyes are sparkling just as much as the jewel is. He blinks, and glances back to you. “So, so fucking happy.”

“Me too,” you tell him. You let your hand drop, finding his and intertwining your fingers. “Love being engaged.” The word rolls off your tongue easily, and that was thrilling. You’re engaged. “’S better than I imagined. Better than anything else, ever.”

“Mm,” he hums, running his thumb over the ring, and then along the empty space of your finger just below it. “I think it just keeps getting better from here, love.”

.                               .                           .                               .                           .

hope you enjoyed!! i wrote this in barely two hours around midnight (obviously with at last by etta james playing in the background) because i just had to get this concept onto a page. it’s only been very lightly edited so if there were mistakes or it was structured messily ........ sorry. but i am just so in love with these very domestic, un-grandiose proposals because the important thing is the love between the two rather than the big displays... yeah. anyway hope you liked and if you want to send me a request or just chat, my askbox is very much open!!!

[binniesthighs]

wetter | reader x minho

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho 

Genre: smut, angst,  pwp 

Tags: harddom!minho, sub!reader, fuckboi!minho, fratboy!minho, waitstaff!reader, hookup au, degredation, penetration (r), oral and facefucking (m receiving), several mentions of gagging bc of deepthroating, fingering (r), semi-public sex (bathroom), quickie, cumshot (face), several allusions to infidelity 

Word count: 2.5k 

Requested: “hard dom!minho... with degradation...pls...”  &  “my thoughts are filled with hard dom!minho with degredation 🤤” (original ask)

There’s something intoxicating about hooking up with a person when the only thing that you know about them is the heat from their lips. 

Some would argue that this makes them less of a “person” but more of a fantasy. If you had know their name, it would’ve made other strings twist in the mix. If you had known their name, maybe you would have been inclined to look them up maybe, or even worse, fall asleep with their name running over and over in your mind. 

It was best when they tasted like sin and like the daydreams that you had never uttered. 

He wasn’t like the other men that you would lead into the spotless bathroom of the country club which practically shone from the hard work of janitors who were paid less than the meals served at the god-forsaken place. As a part of the wait staff, your pay was dismal, but at least you could get a good fuck out of it once and a while. 

Then men that would frequent the country club and golf course were always the kind that had starving hands and dicks that would twitch under their belts from the slightest brush of your hand. They were the kind of men who had wives, mistresses, and even handsome young men who could be at their beck and call. You liked to think that you were unlike those who they secretly craved. If anything, you were their daydreams. 

This man seemed to be no different--at least in looks. 

He sat with his legs spread where he socialized with his young friends on the veranda. The small group ate their salmon on bagels and caviar along with expensive cocktails that you barely knew the names of. A couple of them already had girls on their laps, and they fed them cherries which stained their plush (and likely fake) lips. 

This man sat alone with his cardigan and perfectly pressed pants and loafers that appeared to have never been worn before. He had barely touched his food, but rather seemed to satiate his appetite from the teasing and dumb laughter of his friends. Judging off of his chunky and extravagant watch, there must’ve been no way that he had paid for the thing himself. Daddy or Mommy’s money made him appear as if he was some heir or prince. He even smelled like one too. 

The male patrons would often follow the way that your hips moved when you walked to and from their table, or how your hands would rest on the crystal glass tables as you took their orders. You knew they must have been imagining what your fingers would’ve looked around their cocks. 

He even gave you the same look. 

You had guessed that he must’ve been college age or some kind of graduate. His friends wore Greek letters, so you assumed that he must have been one of the “brothers.” A long time ago, someone had told you to be especially careful of his breed of boy. 

“Care to accompany me away from this crowd?” He had whispered into your ear, tickling it, when you had reached across to grab the plates. 

 The other boys had decided to go to the pool or the gym--not that it mattered--and his hand crept behind your waist as soon as he had excused himself from the rest of the group. 

“I’ve got to call my mom real quick. If she wasn’t such a nag all the time...” 

He held your hand as if he had known you, but it was likely not to rouse suspicion. 

“Nice to meet you.” He sneers, looking back and passing the crowds of women in their feathered hats and other golfers in their finest designer polos and slacks. 

You nod, noting that his hand feels strong and domineering in your own, and you can’t even begin to wonder where he might be taking you. If you were lucky, they would take you to their rooms and lay you down on the California King Sized Mattress, then you wouldn’t have to bend uncomfortably. However, this wouldn’t always be the case. Most of them favored coat closets, bathrooms and powder rooms. 

You kept your head down as he pulled you further down hallways, praying that none of your coworkers would take notice. Some of them already had, however it wasn’t like any of them cared...not when they would often indulge in the same vice. Unhappy marriages were where most of you found some brief moments of happiness. 

The young man snickered finding his hiding place and promptly lead you along with him into the towel closet which had been unlocked by the pool boys. The door was painted white and louvered with slits for airflow. It was then when you knew this would have to be one of the times when you would have to bite your tongue back. 

He closed the door as quietly as he could, then turned to shove you back against it, and smear his heavy breaths over your mouth where he slicked his tongue against yours immediately. As he did so, his heated fingertips set to shrugging off your apron and hastily throwing it aside. You returned by sinking your fingers under his leather belt and jingling the metal around. If he was to see you bare, you wanted to see him too--something told you that he had something to show under his designer cardigan and this cotton shirt which must’ve cost a similar fortune. 

His abs were toned as you had expected, and they rippled under your fingertips. The young man popped the button to your pants, and you reciprocated doing the same. Just like the others, it barely took anything for him to get hard. His length swelled against your stomach and he grinded it into you too just so you could feel his eagerness. 

“You were practically asking to get fucked? Weren’t you? You whore.” 

The young man smiled out his poisonous words, but they felt as luxurious as they usually did when you had heard them grace your ears. He kissed you once again with a mixture of teeth and tongue that ran your lips raw while you pulled down his pants to his ankles and tugged at the elastic to his briefs. 

“Fuck, you really do want it that bad don’t you baby?” 

His hands palmed at your own quivering sex which had slicked with your own arousal from his greedy advances. His hand pushed at the confines of our underwear and pants where he started to rub incessantly, then ate up your shuddering moans which floated from your lips to his. 

All at once, he removed his hand and left your knees to buckle from the sudden lack of contact. With a deathly glare, he brought his fingers to your gasping mouth. 

“Wetter.”  He demanded before dipping them onto your tongue. You lathered them with your salvia where he twisted them around your muscle with the taste of bitter sweat and your own cum. 

Once he saw fit, he drew his soaked fingers back down to your waistband and resumed teasing at your sensitive skin. 

“You’d like to taste my cock wouldn’t you? Are you hungry enough for it, kitten?” 

You nodded, trying to hide your whimpering from his touch. 

“Get on your fucking knees then.” 

He nearly shoved your shoulders to the ground, but you didn’t need him to prompt you. You pulled down his briefs on your way down his body, springing free his hardened member that was wrapped in thick veins. You firstly jerked at his hooded shaft beading with his cum, and you kissed at his tip roughly too for good measure. 

“Did I say to tease me? Take me in your throat, you slut.” He slapped at your cheek, then aligned his dick with your lips. “What? Scared that it’s too much for you?” 

“No.” You answered while testing him from below. “I can take it.” 

“Show me.” 

You did so--even though his considerable length burned and stretched out your throat at first. You knew that sometimes they liked it when they saw you cry, so you let the tears well at their own will. You hummed against his dick while he pushed at your gag reflex. With your right hand, you took his shaft back to twist at it while your head bobbed. Your steady pace kept your gags at bay, but every so often he would jerk his hips a little with a grunt, and you would nearly loose your composure. 

“Is that as deep as you can take it? Fuck...here I was thinking that you would feel different...” 

The young man laced both of his hands to the sides of your face: the exact place to give a cue into his intentions. 

“Let me know if you need me to stop.” He growled. 

He fucked your face deeper and deeper, gradually working up to a pace that felt comfortable while you puffed up your cheeks. Gag after gag he teased, and the strings of your drool slicked and bubbled on his cock while dripping down your neck too. 

“Your pretty, tight, little throat feels so fucking good on my cock. Is that how you like it you cockslut?” 

Hot tears dripped down your cheeks while you nodded the best you could in response, and your feet startled to tingle where they had fallen asleep where you knelt. 

“Oh fuck yes.” 

All that you could do to steady yourself was claw at his lower back, then moan helplessly against his length which stretched you out so well, it was impossible that it had felt this good before. 

The young man pulled out after leaving your lips raw, pausing to pant like a wild animal while still firmly holding your head. You gasped, open mouthed, and sucked in air greedily while your spit strung from your lips to his cock. 

“Stand up.” He commanded, and pulled you to your shaking feet. “Ready to get fucked sweetheart?” 

“Y-yes.” You said, lightheaded, wiping the drool from your mouth onto your uniform sleeve. 

The young man smirked out before turning you face first into the door. “Good. Don’t make a fucking sound doll. That is, unless you want to get caught? To have someone see you fucked out like this?” 

“N-no...”  

“Lets feel then how tight this hole of yours is.” 

He let out a devilish sounding chuckle while bringing his hips to yours and coaxing his cock into your leaking entrance. He was just as thick in your hole as he had felt in your throat, and you squeaked out feeling the challenge. With your face pressed against the wooden door with ventilation slits, you could see the feet of those walking past, barely even knowing what had been occurring on the other side. Light from the hallway peeped in and striped over your whole body which the man ravished. 

“Spread your legs farther...that’s it...just like that.” 

The stranger thrust slowly at first, like he could just barely give you a taste of his full length; like you barely deserved it too. 

“Fells good, doesn’t it? Such an obedient little fucktoy for me, aren’t you? I bet you were dreaming of this happening weren’t you? ...Looking at me the way that you were...” 

“P-please...” You begged for him to quicken, but that wasn’t even your place. 

“Do you fuck everyone like how you fuck me? I should have guessed that you would put out for anyone with those coy glances. I’m no idiot.” 

“H-harder...fuck me harder...” 

“Harder?” The rich young man scoffed, “I get to decide when I go harder.” 

The man rolled his hips, and the patting of skin filled the darkened room. He gasped out while finding his rhythm, then reached around his fingers to tease at your lips once more. 

“Wetter.” He chanted. 

You did as you were told, he and rewarded you with the harsher grinding of his hips. Once his digits were properly wetted again, he brought them back to your throbbing sex, and rubbed at it with the same ferocity that he snapped. 

“Cum all over my fingers you whore, cum like you fucking want it.” 

His words were dizzying, and you gently rocked yourself over his hand and focused everything you could to drawing out your orgasm which was nearly there. 

“That's right. Fuck my fingers kitten.” 

The stranger too began to shake and you could sense that he had started to let go as well. The door rattled where he had you pressed against it, but he didn’t appear to care in the slightest. 

“Oh god,” You peeped as quietly as you could, and felt your orgasm begging wildly. 

He stopped for a couple moments to tap lightly into your arousal nearly on the edge, then laughed wickedly at the way that your whole body shook in response. All the while, his hips maintained their quick drags. 

“Cum for me.” He demanded once more, and you obliged, finally erupting over his fingers with the cream of your cum lathers over your thighs and wrapping around his digits. 

The words came out airy and broken, “S-shit....s-shit...” 

He had become unchained, then turned his whole attention to the way that his fingers dug into your hips and how he could graze you so deep inside, it was like nothing you had known of before. He then grabbed at your ass with the bite of his fingernails while he pumped with hitched breaths. 

“Back to your knees.” The command was sudden, but soon you found your shaking legs right back on the ground. 

The stranger jerked himself fervently with eyes screwed shut and his own soft moans trailing from his pink lips and wetted tongue. 

“Look at me.” He whispered. With one more flick of his wrist, he sent himself spewing his white and warm cum all over your face; ruining every feature. You closed your eyes to protect them but permitted your tongue to him freely where he jerked out the last of his milkly liquid directly onto your taste buds. His cum had painted your cheeks, and dripped from your jaw. At last you swallowed down the most you could with the bitter aftertaste that you had loved so much. 

“Well, that’s certainly a sight.” The man reveled at his work. 

You gasped out for him and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the rest away, although he appeared somewhat disappointed by this. He too took a towel to wipe off his length and sweating forehead. After, he was silent picking up his clothes, and jingling his belt once more back over his waist. It often ended like this: the few words spoken in the moments before they left. 

“Thanks for that babe.” He grinned. “Name’s Lee Minho. ‘Hope I’ll be seeing you around again.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[hualianff]

Vampire/Human AU

(Slight NSFW, angst)

Thinking about vampire HC who owns a vampire-friendly bar with humans who apply as donors to supply fresh blood for vampires willing to pay the expensive prices. When a human with beautiful amber eyes, soft facial features, and blood that smells absolutely delectable, walks in, every vampire whips their heads towards the door. The human approaches one of the staff, YY, to inquire about becoming a donor. HC watches as the enticing morsel follows YY into a room to finalize his application.

Right after the human leaves thirty minutes later–YY probably having said it would take a few days to find him a match–HC pulls YY aside, demanding to have a look over the papers the new donor filled out. After a quick scan, HC shoves the papers back to YY with a click of his tongue,

“No need to find him a match. He’s mine.”

A human whose blood smells heavenly, who has never been bitten or even nipped by a vampire. HC wants to corrupt him. Ruin him.

The next night, HC has the human, XL, meet him in his personal feeding room. There’s a luxurious velvet couch to the side, a pristine glass table with fancy wine and glasses, and a king-sized bed with crimson silk laid upon the mattress.

HC, like most vampires, typically feeds while stimulating their donors. This can be done with something as simple as kissing or full-on intercourse. Not only does this relax the human’s nerves so they won’t tense up before being bitten, but the toxins injected into their system after being bitten feels incredibly euphoric, serving as a kind of aphrodisiac. Many humans donate their blood in this way for the sole reason of attaining this heightened sense of pleasure.

But as soon as XL enters the room in front of HC, his mind freezes as he sees the bed.

“I’m a virgin,” he blurts out, wide eyes panicked as he looks at the vampire. HC raises his eyebrow, unperturbed.

“We can work with that.”

XL gulps.

“I’ve also never kissed anyone.”

HC runs a tongue along his sharp fangs.

“Do you want to change that?” The vampire asks, walking up behind the human, pressing his chest against XL’s back. HC hears XL’s heart rate pick up at the proposition. It’s an unspoken yes, though XL also imperceptibly nods his head. He does not see HC’s lips spread into a vicious grin. However, XL does feel lips brush against the shell of his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

“Use your words, precious. Do you want to be kissed? Want to be touched, experience pleasure beyond comprehension?” HC murmurs, skimming his lips across XL’s nape. “I can fuck you too. Push into your little body as I sink my fangs into your neck. I’d place them right here-“ HC taps XL’s jugular, the human jerking to the side with a gasp. “-oh? So sensitive. All the better. I can make you feel so good.”

XL’s breath quickens, ever so slightly leaning back into HC’s tall frame. HC leans forward to catch a glimpse of those doe eyes regarding him with caution. Oh, how he wants to eat this human alive. HC turns XL around by his shoulders. He lowers his head to bump foreheads with XL, forcing the human to look into his red-tinged eyes.

“Is that a yes?”

XL blinks those doe eyes once, then twice.

“Yes.”

HC brings his hand up to brush a hair away from the human’s head.

“Wonderful.”

***

XL is at the point in his life when he lost everything. He chose to pursue a career outside of his parents’ embroidery business despite being expected to take over the shop after college. Abandoning college altogether, XL went off on his own to chase his dream to become a singer.

A few years later, where XL was provinces away from home, XL’s parents’ business had gone under, devastating them as they could no longer pay for their medical bills. Upon hearing the news, XL rushed back home to take care of them. It seemed they had kept their declining health conditions under wraps. They were too prideful to admit their weakening physical states; they also did not want to guilt XL into giving up on his ambitions to take care of them.

XL’s parents lasted one year before passing away, his father first due to prostate cancer, his mother one month later after succumbing to exhaustion and grief. XL lost their home along with the shop merely a week later, unable to pay off the debt. His parents had used up their savings for their medical expenses and XL had been scraping by as a musician for years. Additionally, there was no one he could confide in. He had lost contact with his friends as he moved from city to city, busking on streets, attempting to catch the attention of music labels.

XL was utterly alone. There were days when not even music could bring an ounce of comfort. However, music was the thing that kept him sane between the various side jobs he managed to pick up to keep him off the streets.

As if the fates decided XL had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, a CEO of a fairly well-known label offered him a business card after a busking session. It was JW of Capital Records who gave XL hope of achieving his dream. XL spent most of his late 20s under the label, training and practicing and producing. He had the chance to record a couple of singles and one mini-album–which he didn’t get to participate much in the production side–but other than that, XL didn’t make it far. He was tremendously overworked and yet, still discarded to the side.

Wondering why he wasn’t provided the opportunities other artists received to further their careers, XL scheduled a one-on-one meeting with the CEO to ask what he was lacking. JW had insisted he could give XL more opportunities if XL could offer something more than just his serene vocals and pretty face.

The unspoken suggestion that XL offer up his body pierced his heart with yet another stake. Overwhelming disappointment and betrayal crashed into XL, but perhaps he should have known better that the whole situation was too good to be true. XL vehemently rejected this idea, angering JW who eventually tore XL down to the point of a medical emergency that allowed him to leave the agency without repercussions.

At age thirty-two, XL was left with no family, mental and physical trauma, and a dying will. Ironically enough, the song lyrics he’d written after experiencing so much loss were the closest thing to making music he’d gotten. But in the end, XL still felt like a failure.

Now in Xi’an, XL was left with limited options to earn money for rent. He already worked two part-time jobs in addition to writing music—though even time set aside for this has dwindled.

One night, as XL was walking home after closing up the convenience store, he saw the neon lights of the sign “Ghost City.” He’s heard many things about this club and is no stranger to the existence of nonhuman creatures roaming amongst human society. After hours of research, XL decided to apply to become a blood donor. It’s not like he had a better option that paid more anyway.

XL’s hope to somehow redeem his past actions has all but fizzled out. He doesn’t expect a vampire like HC to care about his comfort or consent when feeding, though HC still prioritizes these things for some reason.

XL has never looked at his body and thought about the best ways to pleasure himself. HC shows him how. HC caresses and kisses XL like he’s worth being handled with care; HC also invades XL’s body as a threat to break it, broadcasting a vampire’s strength, speed, and endurance in the bedroom.

XL can go as far as to say he even looks forward to his time with HC. In between a busy work life and dealing with people who would rather look the other way than give him the time of day, XL’s mind and body steadily weaken.

It starts with memory loss, where XL can’t clearly remember the conversations he’d had the day before. One of the reasons this develops is because he goes through many days without having anyone to tell about his day. It’s like the life XL lives is so insignificant, nothing about it is worth remembering.

Then, it’s the lack of eating. Most of XL’s money goes towards rent, essentials, and groceries. But he’s not a great cook. And he’s already drained by the time he gets home after working both jobs and visiting Ghost City. XL’s stress doesn’t help, adding to the fatigue that gradually shuts his body down.

While HC might not be able to taste a difference in XL’s blood, he does notice how frail the human moves around. How delayed XL responds, more so than he should be–even as a human. XL has scheduled more visits: three times a week this time. However, his words become less. He stops telling the little stories that brought a small smile to his face. XL doesn’t even mention the songs he’s been working on lately.

HC forces himself to ask about them after an especially rough coupling.

“How’s the songwriting going, darling?” HC asks quietly. He props his elbow upon his pillow, resting his cheek on his hand as he intently observes the human struggling to catch his breath, eyelids fluttering.

“I haven’t written anything new,” XL breathily answers. HC purses his lips. He ducks down to affectionately tongue at the skin his fangs pierced.

“No? In how long?” HC asks. XL sighs heavily.

“Maybe three weeks.”

HC doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s not one to console anybody. No one had afforded him that luxury, and naturally, he did not grant anyone else his concern. The silence that follows is unbearable.

***

The next time XL visits, he’s the one to initiate their first kiss. HC growls happily against his human’s lips, pinning him against the closed door of his private room. XL moans obscenely as HC languidly licks into his mouth. His arms desperately wrap around HC’s neck to bring him closer.

“Someone’s eager,” HC says with a chuckle as he pulls back. XL instantly attaches his lips to the vampire’s jaw, peppering light kisses along the pale skin. HC can’t help but think he’s taught his little human well. XL hums while trailing his lips back to HC’s, capturing them in a kiss that’s the sweetest one yet.

HC should’ve noticed how unstable XL’s legs seemed, how dreadful the bags under his eyes looked before indulging in their bedroom activities. He should’ve kept track all along of how thin XL is, how much more skin and bone he had become. HC is certainly not one to intrude on someone else’s life and scrutinize all their choices. But he should’ve said something sooner.

Maybe then, XL’s heart wouldn’t have stuttered so violently, or completely stopped beating for five counts.

HC watches in horror as XL’s eyes roll into the back of his head. His human’s body goes limp in his arms, collapsing into HC’s chest. When XL’s heart beat starts up again, it’s very weak. There’s a noticeable abnormality in its rhythm.

HC quickly gathers XL in his arms and speeds to the bed. He sits back against the pillow, placing XL to recline against his front. HC hooks his arms around XL’s middle from behind, anxiously listening to XL’s irregular heartbeat that seems like it takes all of his human’s energy to pump. Luckily, XL awakens a few minutes later. He registers a cold embrace and warm puffs of breath lingering near his ear.

“Did I pass out?” XL wheezes out, unconsciously melting into the body behind him.

“Yes,” HC says tightly. “Your heartbeat is uneven. Something is wrong.”

XL can’t tell if he’s imagining it but that sounded like worry in the vampire’s tone.

“Oh.”

HC inhales sharply.

“You just fainted, Xie Lian. Hell, your heart just stopped for a few seconds, and all you have to say is ‘oh?’” HC grinds out.

So he is upset. XL swallows thickly, not wanting to escalate things and further upset the vampire.

“It’s okay,” XL says. “I’m okay-“

“No. You’re not,” HC interrupts.

XL takes a deep breath, wincing slightly as HC tightens his arms around his hips. He’s more sensitive than normal, XL realizes. Before XL can defend himself further, HC grasps XL’s chin and turns his head to face the vampire.

“You’re hiding something from me,” he states. He hears XL’s heart speed up. “There’s no use in lying. I can tell you’ve grown weaker since you first came.”

“Well, I have been donating my blood to a certain vampire for a few months now. I’m bound to be a bit weak in my legs,” XL replies as a matter of factly. He means to poke fun at the situation rather than acknowledge the severity of it. HC knows this because he’s done it numerous times himself. But when XL does it, it makes HC’s blood boil.

“Are you saying I am causing this- this deterioration in your health?” HC asks tensely. XL lets out a gasp, whirling around in HC’s arms, immediately backpedaling.

“No! No, not at all.”

HC’s eyes assess his human who trembles slightly in his arms. He cradles XL in between his legs, hands shifting XL further up his body so he can rest his head on HC’s chest. HC gently pets XL’s hair, an action that was uncharacteristic of him months ago, before XL had walked through the entrance of his bar.

XL gently smiles in an attempt to placate the vampire.

HC’s eyes flash a frightening scarlet.

“I don’t believe you.”

XL’s face crumples.

“It’s true! I’ve just been really busy is all. Work has been hectic and- and-“ gone is the innocence that HC once saw in XL’s doe eyes, instead replaced by stress and utter brokenness that alarms the vampire to no end. A voice in the back of HC’s head snarls that those emotions had always been behind XL’s eyes; they were simply better hidden, and HC had been too lust-driven to notice.

XL continues his rambling, frantically shaking his head. “-I took some extra shifts because I needed the money to pay for some water damage that flooded half my apartment. I’m fine—truly.“

If HC had a beating heart, it would have dropped down to his stomach at the sudden realization. His fingers dig into the paper-thin skin of XL’s hips, then trace up the bony knobs of his spine.

“You’re not eating right.”

“Wait- S-san Lang-“

The nickname HC had asked XL to call him is hurdled back into his face like a stone aimed to shatter. It sounds like a cry for help.

“And you’re not getting enough sleep,” HC concludes with a disapproving frown. His eyes now glow a deep crimson, matching the silken sheets that HC ensures are in perfect condition every time XL visits.

“Fuck, XIE LIAN, you know you need proper nutrition and rest to recover from each night you spend with me!” HC is nearly shouting now, voice wavering out of his control. Who knew another creature could make him feel so strongly?

“I-I am!”

“I SAID NOT TO LIE TO ME. I CAN TELL WHEN YOU’RE NOT BEING HONEST,” HC explodes, spatting those words with a poison that he often uses with uncooperative subordinates, but never directed at XL before.

Tears glisten in XL’s eyes as he’s cornered with no way out, no relief from the building pressure that suffocates him. Right now, after everything XL has been through, this seems to be his tipping point. He never expected HC to care this much. Or perhaps HC is just concerned his reliable supply of blood is flaking out on him, just when he’s had a feasible taste.

XL is sure HC has plenty of other donors to feed on. It’s not like XL is particularly special in that way. Frankly speaking, XL had time and time again asked the universe to give him one last sign that his life mattered in some capacity. But if he couldn’t see the value in his own life, who else could?

XL scrambles off from HC’s lap, allowing himself to speak with the deep-seated spite that has grown in his heart like an untamable weed.

“THERE’S NO NEED TO GET SO WORKED UP OVER MY HEALTH!! I’LL BE GONE SOON ANYWAY! THE DOCTOR GAVE ME THREE MORE MONTHS,” XL screams, having to catch his breath after exerting so much power into his voice. “So there. You have my answer. I’m not lying this time. Just one a couple more months and then- then you won’t have to deal with my shit anymore, okay?”

HC can’t move. He can’t speak either. The shock taking over his system renders his mind and body completely useless. He can only stare blankly at XL whose tears now cascade down his cheeks.  

No, this cannot be happening-

XL’s whimpers pull HC out of his head. The human hugs his own frail body, shivering from a coldness that does not exist in the room.

How did HC let it get so bad?

“I’m sick, San Lang. Very, very sick. Not just physically,” XL whispers defeatedly, letting out a small hiccup.

HC doesn’t hesitate to surge forward to throw his arms around XL, hugging him once more. It’s a habit now—to hold XL whenever he could. Now, HC wonders how many more times he would get this chance before it was inevitably the last.

“Xie Lian…”

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I-I just can’t eat. Sometimes from stress, other times I completely forget. And I want to rest, but I end up laying in bed awake for hours a-and my mind just won’t let me sleep-”

For the first time in over a decade, there is someone else to hear XL’s agonized wails.

“Please believe me, San Lang. Please."

[ahtsumu]

the mystery of love ; kuroo tetsurou

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

synopsis: kuroo tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. he believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. but that doesn’t mean he can’t believe in love.

tag(s): sweet summer lovin’, friends to lovers, inspired by call my by your name, university student!kuroo tetsurou, lab intern!kuroo tetsurou, so much pining lol, fluff, angst, slow burn ; warning(s): profanity, mentions of alcohol ingestion (it’s legal bc they’re in italy!), suggestive themes ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday tetsu!! i hope you guys like this. i really enjoyed writing it ♡

Kuroo Tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. He believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. At least, that’s what he tells you. Sometimes you treat this information as a source of hope; other times, you’re not sure what to make of it.

This, you realise with his shoulder pressed against yours and both your bodies sprawled across his wrinkled bed sheets, is one of those other times. You turn your face to look at his.

“What?” he asks, one side of his mouth curling up in a smile.

For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you just said it. You could blame the alcohol. Get away with it scot-free. While you mull the option over in the dead silence of his room, your brain suddenly registers the music still playing from the living room. The low bass reverberating through the walls. How close your lips are. The sound of his breaths.

“Earth to Y/N?”

And like that, the little what-if that rose in your mind falls back with its tail between its legs. You bite your lip, look around his room like the walls have a script printed on them. Unfortunately, they do not.

“I was just thinking about my shirt.” It’s not great, but it’s the best you can do while still feeling the vodka and orange juice burn in your stomach. And smelling it on yourself.

Kuroo’s laugh booms through the room and you can’t help but giggle along with him. “I said I was sorry!” he says, hazel eyes twinkling with mirth. He pauses and glances at his closet, then nods his head in its direction. “Take a hoodie. Your pick.”

A smile–– one you try to downplay but fail miserably to–– creeps up your face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo replies. “You can also shower here if you want. It's the least I can do after spilling my drink all over you.”

When you emerge from Kuroo’s bathroom in one of his thinner hoodies, a lot soberer and drying your hair, he’s not on the bed anymore. Quietly, you step out of his room and look for him through the house. People are crashed everywhere–– on the sofa, over the kitchen counter, even propped up against walls. The floor is covered with plastic cups and mysterious pools of liquid. Wrinkling your nose, you try your best to step around the messes, looking in every corner in the house for the raven-haired boy.

You find him back in his room, actually. He’s back on his bed scrolling through his phone, the light illuminating his sharp features. When he hears you close the door behind you, he looks up, eyes immediately zeroing in on the black hoodie over your torso. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Where’d you go?” you both ask at the same time. He chuckles; you grin. Crawling back onto the bed, you tell him to go first.

“I went around to make sure nothing’s broken,” he explains. “Perks of being the only sober intern in the house, I guess.”

A beat passes.

This house is rented. You forgot about that. All his expenses are paid for by your mother’s lab. You forgot about that. He fits in your world so well, like maybe he’s always had a spot there, that you forgot that Kuroo Tetsurou is only here for the summer.

“Right.”

Kuroo raises a brow. “And you?”

“I went to look for you.”

He smiles and holds his hands out like a magician at the end of a trick. “Well, you found me.”

“Yeah,” you muse. “I guess I did.” Aren’t you lucky.

With that, something shifts in the air. A contemplative expression crosses Kuroo’s face. Maybe he’s realised how his words come out sometimes. Kuroo often says things that sound like they have more than one meaning and it used to throw you off, but now you just go with it. You’ve even picked up that habit yourself. “Do you ever wish that you’d met someone earlier? Maybe under different circumstances?” he asks.

Sighing, you fall back against his mattress and stare up at the ceiling. Telling the truth feels easier when you can’t see him. “Yeah. All the time.” A few seconds pass. “Do you think we would’ve been friends if we went to the same college?”

He also lies down. You’re both back in the same positions you were in an hour ago, but something’s changed. “No,” he admits. You’re not surprised–– that’s what you’d expected. “I’d be a junior and you’d be a freshman. We probably would’ve never met. And even if we had, I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with a… freshie.” He chuckles softly at the end. “And look at me now,” he adds softly, more to himself than you. You look over at his face. A contemplative smile rests on his lips.

That urge to just say it returns.

“Kuroo, I think––”

“You’re my favourite p–– oh, my bad. You first.”

And it goes away again.

“Um, uh,” you stutter, “how long do you have left here?”

Kuroo raises his brows. “On this planet? Hopefully a while, Y/N.” He sees your unamused expression and drops the front. “Three more weeks.”

Your eyes widen. Eight weeks have already passed. Blood rushes to your ears. Eight entire weeks have already passed, meaning that in three weeks, Kuroo Tetsurou will leave forever. And in four, you will, too. Except you’ll come back. You’ve done so every summer since you were born, probably will do until you die.

But this place will never be the same as it used to. Not after him.

“Y/N?” Once everything comes back into focus, you see the concern riddling his features. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

Say it.

“You didn’t have too much to drink, right?”

Say it.

“I just got buzzed. What about you?”

“The only drink I was planning on having all went to your shirt.”

Say it.

“Kuroo.”

“Yeah?”

Not yet.

“Let’s go on an adventure.”

At two AM, everything is different. The streets feel different, the villas look different, and you–– you can’t put your finger on it but Kuroo Tetsurou has changed, too. He sits behind the wheel of your father’s white 1953 Cadillac with the convertible roof down, unruly hair blown back by the breeze, a euphoric grin stretched over his face. In the passenger’s seat, you sit with an equally large beam and your hands raised into the dark sky.

“Where to, Miss?” he shouts over the wind.

“The stars,” you shout back with a laugh. Kuroo’s cat-like eyes briefly flit over to your side profile, lips curving to form a smaller, more tender smile. But you miss that–– your gaze falls on him just a second after his return to the road.

“I heard you say Jack’s,” he says, smirking.

The 24/7 diner sticks out like a sore thumb in the row of sun-baked stucco and stone buildings with its bold neon lights and shiny exterior. During the day, it seems gaudy, way too American for a small town in northern Italy. But at night, this place feels like home. You’ve been stumbling into Jack’s completely shit-faced since you were sixteen. Of course, all those other times had been with the kids of your mother’s coworkers. All those other times, you could hardly remember what you even ordered when you woke up hours later.

But this time, you walk in with Kuroo Tetsurou at half-past-two in the morning, the chemicals running through your bloodstream epinephrine and dopamine, not ethanol; if you’re drunk then it’s on a feeling and your only poison is the boy next to you. You study his face and consider that thought. No, he’s not poison. He’s the antidote.

“Y/N!” the server exclaims, rushing over with two menus. “And Kuroo! My two favourite customers, but together this time!” Giovanni ushers you two to a booth by the window and takes your orders, purely for show, of course. He knows your orders by heart: the Lorenzo for Kuroo and the Quentin for you.

“With fries on both, please,” Kuroo adds, throwing you a wink. “Aren’t I a gentleman?”

“You only did that to have more for yourself,” you reply drily. Having him over at your house for dinner every night made picking up his idiosyncrasies so unbelievably easy. You know them like they’re your own. You know him like he’s your own.

Kuroo clutches his chest and pretends to be offended, then changes the conversation to what happened at the lab today, or rather, yesterday. That your mother and the other researchers are so close to finding a cure for the strain of virus that’s recently hit crickets in southern Italy.

“You should drop by again sometime,” he says. “Last time you came around was, what, two weeks ago?”

Your face breaks in a grin. “Are you saying you’ve missed me? Chemistry getting boring?” you tease, drawing a loud laugh from him.

“Sodium hydrogen, you little shit.” Your mother’s used this one on you before, but hearing it from him makes you giggle anyway.

Giovanni comes back with two plates, each loaded with fries. You both say your thanks and he retreats to the kitchen again, but not before wiggling his eyebrows at your reddening faces. Wordlessly, you grab your fork and knife and transfer at least half of your fries onto Kuroo’s plate. Kuroo stares at you with the slightest smile. That look sends your stomach into flips.

“What?” you question nonchalantly, cutting into your burger.

“Nothing,” he says, mirroring your actions. “Nothing at all.”

It’s hard to imagine that after spending almost every day together for eight weeks straight that there’s still more to learn about each other, but there is. You tell him more about your real home. Your best friend who called you at 3 AM last night because of timezones. Stories from every summer before this one, when you were a different person in the same place you are now.

He tells you more about Kenma, his best friend from high school. How they played on one of the best volleyball teams in Japan. Stories from training camp, literature class, the metro ride home after school–– you listen to every single one in rapt attention. There’s not enough time in the world for all the things you want to know about Kuroo Tetsurou, so you take what you can get. If only you’d known him before you’d known him.

“If we’d met earlier here, do you think we would’ve been friends?” you ask after paging Giovanni for the check.

“No,” he replies, picking up a few remaining fries with his fork instead of his fingers. The corners of your mouth turn up. That’s your thing. He considers the scenario seriously. “I think we met right when we should have.”

“What about the future?” you press, leaning into the conversation. “Let’s say we meet in two years here, instead of now. Would we be friends?”

Kuroo sets his fork down, eyes you steadily. “What’s this about?”

You blink. “What?”

“What’s with all these hypotheticals today?” Perhaps worried that he came off too harshly, Kuroo adds, “I thought I was the scientist.”

“I just… it feels like I’ve known you since forever.” This feels like it was meant to be, you don’t say. And I want to know you forever.

A sigh–– fond, but still a sigh–– blows through his lips. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates,” he says with a wicked grin.

“Are you calling me your soulmate?” The question, shamelessly genuine, painfully hopeful, leaves your mouth without you intending it to and you regret it instantly. Because Kuroo Tetsurou has told you many times that he does not believe in soulmates.

Is it so bad to dream, though?

You watch him carefully but he doesn’t say anything, just continues smiling wryly like you’d intended to tease him. Like he knows that you know better. But you don’t.

“Are you?” he suddenly replies. Sharp eyes hold yours, daring you to respond. Do you dare?

At that moment, Giovanni returns with the check. “Who’s paying?” he asks, unaware of the tense exchange that just occurred across the table. Inaudibly, you sigh in relief. Kuroo is about to say that it’s on him when he catches himself in the middle of his sentence, looks your way, then back to Giovanni. He says you’ll go Dutch. You nod in approval.

“So,” Kuroo drawls once you’ve both paid for your meals. “Where do we go from here?”

Good question.

Kuroo Tetsurou has never been to an outdoor club period. And though he’s been clubbing, he has never once gone dancing in his lifetime. You tell him that’s about to change as he parks the car in a lot near the venue. Before him, all your summer nights were spent here.

“You’ve been here for two months and you haven’t been to an outdoor club yet?” you ask while unbuckling your seatbelt. That can’t be possible. If you’d been in his shoes… an attractive college student in a foreign country for the summer, you would have gone wild.

“Nope. I’ve been a little busy, y’know, spending my days in a lab, handling chemicals, studying viruses, washing lab equipment, writing up reports for your mother and her colleagues, working on my own research on the side… the usual.” He flashes you a bright, sarcastic smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, ruffling his hair. Kuroo laughs while you continue messing with the dark locks. “Was your first full day here the only tourist-day you’ve had so far?” His weekends, you already know, are spent either lounging around cafés, pools, or the great outdoors with you or the interns. But you’d assumed he’d had time to do some exploring on his own.

Kuroo nods. “And my guide wasn’t even that great,” he mutters, shooting you a dark look. “She sped through every attraction and hardly spoke a word outside of the tour to me. I think she hated me.”

You giggle and open the door, letting the music from the outdoor speakers infiltrate the bubble inside your car. “Maybe she was just nervous!” you say as you get out. That’s a lie.

“About what?” Kuroo follows suit, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. “I was so friendly to you and you just brushed me off each time.” He pouts.

But you don’t reply. Instead, you just grab his hands and pull him towards the venue. As you step into the boundaries marked by fairy lights and rustic wooden fences, Kuroo stops in his tracks and tugs on your intertwined hands. You glance down before up, trying to memorise how his hand looks around yours in the few seconds you can steal.

“Y/N,” Kuroo says. The strobe lights paint his skin pink, blue, purple like it’s a canvas. “Tell me why you were nervous.” Grammatically, it’s a command. And yet it sounds like he’s begging.

“What’s it mean to you?” you ask, feeling your heartbeat speed up in your chest. So what if you just… said it? What would happen?

“Everything?” he replies with a cheeky smile. The odds that he seriously means that are slim. But… they’re there. You shake that possibility out of your mind. That’s just the hope talking.

“Depends how convincingly you say it.” You tug on his arm. “C’mon. Let’s dance.” But he doesn’t budge–– he just continues to stand by the entrance of the club with an expectant look on his face. People are starting to stare.

“Fine,” you say with an eye roll. “I’ll tell you." Kuroo smirks, something self-congratulatory ready to leave his mouth, but then you let go of his hand and dance backwards into the throng of moving bodies. “But first, you’re gonna have to dance with me!” 

You allow yourself to be swallowed by the lively music, the people, the moment. Seconds later you’re deep enough into the crowd that you lose sight of Kuroo. Something in you says that he’ll show up soon, though. For now, you let yourself breathe. Forget about the heaviness of what-if’s, the itch to confess, the dread of the aftermath. Feelings are a lot like gravity. Sometimes they keep you grounded, other times, they weigh you down. This is one of those other times.

You dance up to a friendly-looking group of teens your age. Three guys and two girls. You shout your name and follow up with how it’s nice to meet them, hoping one of them finds you nice enough to keep around. Dancing alone in a club is one of the worst things that can ever happen to someone. Luckily, one of the girls–– the one wearing a purple wig–– pulls you in for a hug, drunkenly shouting back, “Bianca!” Bianca pushes you into their circle next to one of the guys and, just like that, you two start moving to the beat, feeling it in your feet, shoulders, hips. At one point, you turn around and take a good look at his face. The guy’s cute enough, but he’s not Kuroo. Still, you say nothing as he moves closer to you and grabs your hand, lifting it up and motioning for you to twirl.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grip firmly onto your waist and pull you out of the circle. “Hey!” You look down, suddenly realising they’re Kuroo’s. A shiver runs down your spine. He spins you around to face him. His lips are set in a firm line, eyes completely devoid of humour, nostrils slightly flared.

“Hi,” you say quietly, testing the waters.

“Hi,” he replies curtly. His hands are still on your waist. Selfishly, you choose not to point that out. Instead, you try to defuse the situation with a light question. Playful tone.

“Where were you this whole time?”

“Looking for you.”

“Well… you found me.” You flash him a sheepish grin. A peace offering of some sort.

“I did.” He doesn’t take it.

“Lucky you.”

Irritation finally seeps through his features. “You just left me on the dance floor!” he snaps. “And then when I find you after searching the entire venue, you’re dancing up on some random guy!”

“It was in good fun!” you retort, wriggling out of his grip. “And I wasn’t dancing up on him.” You want to ask if he’s jealous so badly, but you take a good look at his face and decide against that.

“Fun?” he asks incredulously. “Worrying about losing you, worrying about myself getting lost, then having to worry about that guy after finding you isn’t very fucking fun to me, Y/N!” The words fly out of his mouth like daggers without pause. Once finished, he looks at you with a disappointed gaze, shaking his head lightly, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, looking down at your shoes. It doesn’t matter if you disagree with him–– a sort of shame drills itself so deeply into your conscience that all you can think about is making things right again. “I didn’t think my actions through.”

A second passes. You wonder what he’s thinking.

“Hey, look at me.” Kuroo lifts your chin up with an index finger. Your wide eyes meet his narrow ones. Just as a pink beam glides over his face, his gaze softens, falls down to your lips. And then you feel his thumb on your chin, barely grazing the skin of your bottom lip. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. The revelry in the background fades to dull beats against your eardrums. Suddenly, you register that he smells of, as usual, blackcurrant and amber.

But now you also smell of blackcurrant and amber.

You’re wearing his clothes. You smell of him.

Kuroo’s eyes crawl back up to yours, wide like he’s just been caught in the middle of a crime. You blink expectantly, ignoring the furious way your heart pounds in your chest. Shallow breaths puff through your slightly parted mouth.

“I am.” It comes out barely a whisper. C’mon. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me––

You gently touch the hand he has on your chin. Kuroo jolts back like he’s been burned. “I’ll, uhm, I’ll be in the car,” he stutters, looking away from your face. He pushes through the sea of people, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, body doused in blue light, fingers touching the area his thumb had been as if preserving its print.

Kuroo hardly notices you slip into the passenger’s seat minutes later. He’s got his forearms hanging over the steering wheel and gaze fixed ahead into the darkness, mind probably running off to a place he wishes his body was, too.

As soon as you’ve buckled yourself in, Kuroo starts the car.

The entire drive home is silent.

Once Kuroo pulls into your courtyard and parks, he turns off the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of the car. Wordlessly, you follow his actions and meet him by the stairs to your door.

“Hi,” you say quietly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Hey.”

The two of you stand outside your front door in silence as you both consider what to say next. This can’t be the way it ends.

“I shouldn’t have… done that,” Kuroo says first.

“Done what?” You choose to play dumb. Call it selfish, but you want to hear him say it. Maybe then it’ll feel as real as it had been. Kuroo sighs and leans his shoulder against the stone wall, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s no way he can dance around what happened. Perhaps the past two months can be summed up as the development of a strong friendship with skilled doublespeak and metaphors and just enough artistic licence, but this can’t. And Kuroo knows that. He can’t feed you an alternative truth like he’s done so many times before. What’s more, he can’t lie to himself anymore. So maybe it’s better just to not speak at all.

Your eyes burn holes into the side of his face. Fine. You’ll concede first. “I was never nervous.”

Kuroo blinks, turns his head around to look at you. “What?”

“I was never nervous. I was playing it cool because I didn’t want to risk befriending you and getting attached.” I’m still playing it cool, you don’t say. And I’m already attached. “Guess I just came off as a bitch instead.” You laugh. “But can you blame me? You were this cute, older guy. Smart, too, since you were interning with my mom. You were my dream guy.”

An amused breath blows out of his nose. “Were?” he questions, grinning, only remembering the fragility of your platonic relationship a second later. “Um––”

“Are.” It slips out of your mouth without you realising. Fuck. Kuroo stills. It’s too late to take back your words now, so you might as well just keep going. “You still are my dream guy.”

Seconds pass and neither of you says anything. Sweat gathers in the palms of your hands. You start to feel your heartbeat through your neck. The buzz of the cicadas grows louder. Oppressive. Behind Kuroo, the sky is starting to turn pale blue and pink in the horizon. That means it’s almost sunrise. The night is almost over, and, hopefully, so is this awful conversation.

“And… you don’t feel the same.” Funnily, you feel like you’re lying. You’re telling Kuroo how he feels and you think you’re lying. Does that make sense? None of this night even feels real. God, you hope this has all just been a dream. Mustering a soft smile, you say, “That’s okay. Thank you for the party. And the adventure.” It was fun while it lasted. You feel the house key in your pocket and turn to unlock the door. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us, Kuroo. Can we still be friends?” The words leave your mouth feeling like barbed wire. You know damn well you can’t still be friends.

And suddenly, you feel his calloused hands around your cheeks. Suddenly, his hot breath fans over your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Your eyes close instantly. “Yes, please.”

And suddenly, his soft lips are on yours.

Kuroo breaks the kiss seconds later. “Fuck,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours, touching the tips of your noses together. “Y/N, I don’t want to be friends. Fuck.” A dry chuckle leaves his mouth. He pauses to collect his thoughts but decides that that can wait. Instead, he presses another kiss to your lips so fervently that he backs you up against the wall with no space between your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat like this, chest to chest. Kuroo’s hands travel down your waist and rest on your hips. His tongue runs across your tongue, your teeth, the insides of your mouth. You gently suck on it, drawing a satisfied moan from him. When the kiss ends, you see that his lips are red and cheeks are swollen. A warm feeling spreads through your chest. “I thought I could be happy just being friends with you but I can’t. I want you so bad it hurts. Not to mention, when I saw you in my hoodie?” His fingers pinch the material. “I thought God was testing me or some shit.”

“Sure didn’t feel like you wanted me that way,” you retort, still breathless.

“In my defence,” Kuroo says, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, “I was very scared.”

“Of what?”

It looks like he’s about to tell you, but he changes his mind and doesn’t answer. He grabs your hand and pulls you back to the car with a cheeky grin. “I’ll tell you only if you tell me where we can watch the sunrise.”

Kuroo holds your hand, stroking your thumb the entire drive there.

After a short hike, you plop down on the grassy hillside, supporting your body with outstretched arms in the back. Kuroo sits down beside you with one of his hands covering yours, fingers intertwined like a honeysuckle vine around a hazel tree. You tell him that you grew up running along this hill with your parents. It used to be your playground. Maybe, you think, it’s time to make new memories here.

“Beautiful,” Kuroo breathes, a wonderstruck look in his eyes. The sun’s just risen halfway above the pink and blue horizon, the saturated orange casting the entire city below gold. It’s not just the city, though. He’s also gold. He’s just as beautiful. You watch him with a soft smile on your lips, noting how his wide eyes and slack jaw return to normal as he stares off into the distance. After resting your head on his shoulder, you fix your eyes on the sunrise ahead. You wonder what he’s thinking so quietly about.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask once the sun has finished revealing itself.

Kuroo blinks, returning to reality, but continues to stare straight ahead. “I was just thinking about… soulmates.”

You lift your head off his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates now,” you tease.

“Hmm.” He turns to look at you, the sun turning his hazel eyes the colour of honey. That same wry smirk from Jack’s returns to his face.

“You wanna know why I was so scared?”

“Pray tell.”

“Because I’ve never felt this way towards anyone.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No,” Kuroo laughs, laying his head down in your lap, looking up into your eyes. “I’m serious. I used to purposely stay away from girls in high school. Same in college. Same all the way until you somehow wormed your way into my life. That’s why we wouldn’t have been friends.” You cock your head to the side.

“Why?” you ask, running your fingers through his hair.

Kuroo’s eyelids flutter shut. He inhales deeply before talking. “My parents are divorced. The years before the divorce were… very ugly.” 

(He spares you the details of the midnight arguments, the smashed plates, the holes in the walls. He spares you the details of how he only ever knew how to fall asleep with his head sandwiched between two pillows, how he hasn’t seen his sister in a decade, how he’ll curse and snap but never yell because he always feels like a child again around the noise. That’s for another time, if you’ll have any.) 

“I still remember all the fighting and yelling. For the longest time, that’s all I knew about marriage and relationships.”

“Did you think all relationships were like that? Fighting and yelling?” you ask.

“For a while, yeah. I’m still a little scared of that, to be honest. Ending up in a relationship where all you do is fight.” Kuroo sighs. “But that’s not the only thing. I thought I wouldn’t know how to love someone, growing up like that.” At that, your fingers pause in his hair.

“Wait,” you say, furrowing your brows. A wave of immense sadness (not for yourself, for him) washes over you. “You think you wouldn’t know how to love someone else?”

“Thought.” Kuroo cracks open his eyes and smiles up at you. “I’m in the process of changing my mind.”

[anyoneseenadam]

The Moon Spirit - three

Dorian x reader, Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: Fenrys being cute, badass reader but like a shit ton of angst, allusions to sexual assualt (Fenrys canon stuff), mentions of weapons? idk if that counts

word count: 4.4k

a/n: so this took a while but it’s finally done, please comment it genuienly keeps me going cause it’s super easy to get unmotivated, hope you enjoy <3

——————————————————————————

After he left you, Fenrys begrudgingly found himself back at the palace, bowed on one knee in front of Maeve. She looked cruelly beautiful as always but there was something more sinister sparkling in her eyes today, remaining quiet as he stood back to his full height, meeting her gaze with wavering confidence.

“Who have you been with?” she finally broke the silence and he cursed himself for thinking he could ever get away with that.

“I just walked a young girl home, she was new, and I was afraid someone may take advantage of her if she was alone,” he spoke truthfully, allowing Maeve to push into his mind as she searched for a hidden lie.

He watched as she drew in a sharp breath, something like fear flickering across her face before her tightly drawn lips spread into a wide smile.

“Come here,” she commanded, and he went to stand in front of her, close enough to smell her sickening perfume and to see the flawless texture of her skin. “Do you love this girl?”

He shook his head, no, and she ran a hand down his face in a motherlike way. “Good, you will be recruiting her.” His eyes widened and he had to put his energy into not flinching away.

“What?” he spoke with an incredulous tone and Maeve glared at his lack of respect making him bow his head. “Sorry your majesty, I’m just slightly confused. She was just a young girl and didn’t seem to have any former training.”

“And that’s why I’m in charge, you men are too foolish. That was a powerful girl, and I would rather she remained on my side than any other.” He frowned, powerful? She had seemed kind, lost and strong enough to hold her own – but not powerful.

“I need you to see her again, convince her to join.” Fenrys physically felt the command go through him and he stood taller again, nodding gruffly as she waved her hand in dismissal.

--

Your first few days of work had been harder than expected, and you had gone home with aching muscles from lifting books and sore cheeks from plastering on smiles. Albert had made your days easier, drinking hot tea with you as you slowly revealed more and more about your past to him, his kind, old eyes lulling you into a comforting state.

But you didn’t receive rest when you got home. Ploughing through books on spirits and practicing using the limited magic you had found until the early hours of the morning, getting barely two hours of sleep a night unplagued by nightmares. By your fifth day Albert had handed you a pot of cosmetic product to hide the circles forming, commenting on scaring the customers away as you stuck your tongue out at him but smearing some on regardless.

On the second Saturday after your arrival you had a day off and used it to venture into the market, your empty shelves no longer sustaining you, let alone Amaris. Your basket soon filled with colourful fruits and vegetables, and you were browsing the fish section when a shadow fell over you.

“Let me take that for you,” you turned to see Fenrys standing over you with that same easy smile, his head tilted slightly. You rolled your eyes, trying to block out the feelings expanding in your chest at just the sight of him.

“And here I thought I had lost you,” you muttered, and he laughed, taking your basket from you, and paying for the wrapped salmon you had just been passed. “You don’t need to do stuff like that,” you told him, and he took your arm as he led you out of the market.

“Can’t help myself, I see a pretty girl in need and boom, I have to help.” He joked and you laughed lightly.

“Oh yeah, the damsel in distress disease, I’ve heard that’s a nasty one to cure,” he smiled down at you with a sparkle in his eyes.

“Not really, all I need is a kiss,” he tugged you closer and you squealed, shoving him away as he laughed.

“As I said, nasty.” He dramatically put a hand to his heart, throwing his head back in distress.

“You wound me darling,” he complained, and you laughed, hating how much you genuinely enjoyed his company. You reached your apartment in no time, and he stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to your door.

“So no invitation of tea, a glass of wine, a home cooked meal?” he asked, and you rolled your eyes,

“I’m afraid I reserve that for people I like,” he raised his eyebrows, hopping up the steps two at a time.

“Even if I have genuine cause to talk to you?” he asked and the sincerity in his eyes made a shot of fear run through you. He couldn’t know, could he?

“What is it?” you asked, and he smiled softly, a little pain shining through his loving eyes.

“The queen has a proposition to make.” His voice quietened and you straightened your posture, your entire demeanour switching in a second.

“Come in.” you opened the door and stepped in, allowing him to duck as he followed.

The first thing he noticed was how barren your apartment was, a simple kitchen, connected to a room with a pale blue sofa and worn coffee table. Your shelves were bare, and he sneaked a look into your room as he passed the open door, your mattress on the floor covered by only a thin blanket and a few cushions, one incredibly expensive looking gold dress on the floor, stained dark red. But before he could venture further in he heard you cooing in an impossibly soft voice.

He turned the corner and blanched at the sight he saw, “What the?”

You turned from were you were feeding small bits of salmon to a pure white bundle of fluff that hissed as soon as it saw him. “Amaris, be polite!” you scalded, and he surveyed the cat with a wary look, untrusting of the small creature.

“You have a cat.” He stated, suddenly completely unsure of his taste in women.

“No he’s actually a spider,” you deadpanned and Fenrys pouted.

“But I thought you’d be a dog person,” he complained, and you laughed, moving to throw open the curtains in the room before you started putting away the food you had bought, boiling a pot of water over your stove.

“I just like animals, why does it matter?” you asked, and he threw his arms up before transforming into his wolf form. You gasped and Amaris meowed loudly, scampering to hide behind your legs.

“You’re a wolf.” You stated and he turned back with a smile.

“No I’m a spider,” you flipped him off as you turned to put the rest of your food away.

“I prefer you as a wolf, they’re one of my favourite animals,” you told him and he smiled, sticking his tongue out childishly at Amaris who just sauntered of to doze on a pillow.

“So, what does the queen want?” you asked, pouring the hot water into a pot you had prepared, and he sat down on your worn-down sofa, cringing as it creaked under his weight. You followed suit soon after putting the pot and two mugs down, curling your feet underneath yourself as you looked at him.

“Well, she has told me that you’re actually extremely powerful and because of this she wants to recruit you. She wants you to join the Cadre.” He spoke surely and confidently but his eyes shone with wariness.

“Okay first of all, I’m not at all powerful, secondly how would she even know if I was, which I’m not! And third, what is The Cadre?” he laughed slightly and moved forward to pour himself a cup of tea.

“Well you clearly are because she recognised you and always knows these things, trust me. She’s never wrong about this. And The Cadre is a group I’m in, elite soldiers sworn to protect Maeve.” He explained and you shook your head.

“Fenrys I barely know basic self-defence, I’m not a soldier. And I don’t want to be sworn to royalty.” Your hands were shaking slightly at the thought of being sworn to another tyrant, “Plus in all honesty I only found out I was Fae on Monday, so I’m not exactly well versed in this shit.”

“How did you not know before?” he asked – frowning.

“The country I… come from, there was no magic. The king wiped all magic out years ago.”

“Why?” It was an understandable question but still made you panic, he couldn’t know.

“I don’t know, all I know is he did, so those alike me – with magic but born into a magicless world – never got to know.” You were good at concealing emotions, that much Fenrys could see. You seemed to have iron walls built into the clouds around your heart, protecting it as fiercely as you would Amaris.

“Well, Maeve wants to meet with you soon, so let me know when you decide gorgeous,” he stood, and you smiled at him gratefully for not prying further.

“I’m really sorry Fenrys I just don’t think it’s a good idea. As I said I’m not a soldier.” He nodded but his eyes still conveyed a sense of worry.

“Well keep in mind you would get to train with me, probably shirtless.” He joked as you opened the door for him, grinning when you laughed loudly, shoving him through the door.

“Bye Fenrys,” you said, eyes sparkling as he waved, whistling his way down the street comically.

You closed the door as your smile fell, a weight settling on your chest as you already knew why he looked so wary – Kings and Queens didn’t understand the word no.

--

You practically ran to the library the next day, opting to bring Amaris with you as he peeked out of the small handbag you had found stuffed into the back of your closet. When you flew into the library you instantly sought out Albert, who took one look at your flushed, shining appearance and abandoned the pile of books he was putting away, motioning for you to sit down.

You sat quickly, huffing out a breath as Amaris crawled out of his makeshift home and started exploring the new territory of the small backroom reserved for staff only.

“What bothers you child?” Albert’s voice was steady as always and his dry, warm hands grasped yours gently as your eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I just – I needed to talk to someone,” you stuttered out, your breath coming in harsher pants as he shushed you.

“Take a minute and allow yourself to breathe first dear,” he commanded, and you pressed a hand to your heart as you tried to slow its pounding. “Start from the beginning, tell me what’s wrong.”

“The man I loved, his- his name was Dorian, Dorian Havilliard.” You said quietly and Albert let out a small chuckle.

“I presumed as much, I visited Adarlan once, and an old man never forgets the face of a princess.” You looked at him through blurry eyes, confused.

“You knew?” he smiled sadly at you.

“I was 90% certain, but I would never have pressured you to reveal secrets like that.” He passed you a tissue, “But I sense that’s not all that weighs heavy on you?”

You shook your head, “Queen Maeve has made clear that she wishes me to join the Cadre.”

Albert’s face changed with the clear shock, and you bowed your head, shamefully.

“And what did you say?” he asked slowly.

“No, of course! I don’t have any desire to be another monarch’s puppet.” You stated and he shushed you again.

“You need to remember that people always listen.” He scolded, repeating one of the first things he had told you when you started working. “I agree that you should be cautious, but perhaps gaining the queens protection would be beneficial. Plus you would become an extremely skilled swordsman.”

“I am not a man, nor do I wish to be.” You said through gritted teeth, “And I vowed that I would become skilled on my own and go back to Dorian.”

“Yes but if you join, you will be more skilled than ever before,” Albert reasoned and you shook your head, tears welling up again.

“I thought you’d be on my side for this, you are the one who told me to be careful around powerful people.” You felt unjustly betrayed as he spoke and his shoulders slumped slightly, sighing before grasping your hands lightly again.

“I am dear, and I urge you to do what you think is best. But I am simply reminding you that if you truly want to beat this king you are being offered power on a silver platter right now, and perhaps it would be foolish to deny yourself it.” You let his words run around your head as you worked overtime trying to figure out a plan.

“Say I joined – what do I need to do to ensure I don’t become another puppet?” you asked, and he smiled at you.

“First of all, she will offer a blood oath and you must refuse it with everything you have in you – she came to you remember you hold the power. On that note you must summon all those queenly powers of yours and ensure when you speak to her, she is meeting you and she is trying to win you over. Never the other way around.” You nodded, pocketing the information in your head. “When in the palace you are always being watched, always being listened to, so keep your wits about you. But I’m sure you’re used to that by now.”

You laughed under your breath, “It’ll be just like going home,” you commented, and he smiled.

“Sadly yes, now take this money. Go but a new dress and tomorrow you will take a carriage, you can’t walk there.” You thanked him softly, placing the gold in the purse you held, “You’re a kind girl, that is what makes you strong and that’s what will make you a good queen. Don’t let them take your heart.”

Your throat tightened and you nodded due to the lack of trust you held for your voice, standing, and collecting your bag in one hand and Amaris in the other. Albert stood to take you to the door with a smile, and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

“You can have tomorrow off work as well, however I feel our work together is already coming to an end.” You smiled softly, allowing him to pet Amaris’ head softly before he kissed your cheek gently, ushering you out the door.

“Have a good night Albert,” you said, turning to see him watching you with sorrowful eyes.

“Remember what I told you dear, don’t let them take your heart.” Your smile was sad as you spoke,

“I won’t.” You both heard the lie but, neither of you decided to correct it. Not tonight.

--

Of all the things Fenrys expected to see the next morning, you were the one he hoped for. But as he looked around at the powerful men surrounding the room he felt white-hot panic seize him as he realised what you were about to do. You hadn’t even looked at him when you walked in, keeping your eyes trained solely on Maeve, not even dropping them as you dropped in a low curtsy.

He was even more shocked by the blood red dress you adorned, the v-neck deep and skirts long with a slit up either leg, high enough to reveal the halter you wore with a silver dagger and a ruby encrusted hilt secured into place. Every man, woman and mouse watched as you walked through the room – head high and shoulders back, revealing enough to entrance everyone in the room but covering enough to keep them wanting more and he felt his anger grow as he watched you.

You waited with a soft, but condescending, smile on your face, allowing Maeve to regrasp some power by speaking first – every movement so calculated and precise. As he watched you he saw the power and understood the fear and lust building in the room.

“So I guess you heard my offer.” Maeve finally said, drawling low with relaxed posture.

“I did.” Your statement was short, to the point but you saw it grate Maeve’s nerves and smiled as sweet as spun sugar, “Your majesty.”

“And?” he watched as Maeve grew more agitated and was surprised she hadn’t killed you yet, usually not standing for even an ounce of insubordination.

“I am willing to accept on one condition – I’m not taking a blood oath.” He had to fight jumping in the air with glee as you spoke, so afraid you were going to get tangled in the mess he was in. Maeve’s face grew dark, but you held your ground, never letting your eyes stray lest she see your weakness.

“Well that’s simply not viable,” she stated, glaring you into the ground but you just smiled again, nodding with a polite laugh.

“I see, well this was a lovely meeting, gentlemen.” You raised your hand politely as you moved to leave, your eyes finally flittering over him and the rest of the cadre. You bowed once again to Maeve, making to leave when Maeve raised her hand.

“We are not finished.” She stated.

“Well I’m terribly sorry your majesty but I’ve made my terms extremely clear, and since you refuse to budge - I believe we are done.” Your voice was still sweet, but he watched your face change slightly, every bit a queen looking down upon her people. He couldn’t help but wonder were you learned to speak this way, but Maeve simply laughed.

“Yet here you are,” she spoke with a mocking tone, and you smiled with your teeth this time.

“Need I remind you that you sought me out, if I have terms it should be in your best interest to meet them if you wish me to join your miniature army.” Fenrys heard Lorcan snarl lowly next to him but gripped his arm in warning.

“Oh your training is impressive princess, but I’m afraid it will be of no use.” Your face didn’t budge as Maeve spoke, but Fenrys watched as something flickered through your eyes, “You see, I learn of misdemeanours in other courts very easily and I wish to show you what I learned of Adarlan.”

“There’s nothing you could show me that I won’t have seen before,” you said, and he watched the two of you laugh like you were mingling at a party instead of standing of in a court.

“Oh I’m afraid this is relatively new, you might reconsider your terms after this,” you stood straight as Maeve walked down the steps and moved to whisper something the rest of them couldn’t hear in your ear, her hand pressed lightly to the base of your neck.

She pulled away after a few minutes and he took in your now shaking hands, eyes filled with tears you clearly refused to let fall. You took in a steadying breath before speaking, “You’re lying.”

“Oh I wish I was princess, but I can only show the truth and it appears your prince had moved on rather quickly, what use is there going back to a country where you can no longer rule.” She stroked your hair condescendingly and you chewed the inside of your lip as it quivered. “But here, here – under my control – you have power of your own. Men will no longer hold onto you like a prized pony, you will become something they fear, you will be my perfect princess, the daughter I never got to have.”

Fenrys inhaled sharply, he knew Maeve never planned to relent the throne, especially not to a woman from another country. She looked at you like you were a doll, something for her to reshape and change. You must have seen it to, but through your blurry eyes everything had changed.

“Okay,” your voice was smaller than before, and he wanted to tear Maeve limb from limb for having broken you down so harshly with just a few words. She smiled cruelly at you as she cut a small line along her forearm and you bowed your head in pain, before falling to your knees – graceful even as pain consumed your entire being. You brought your lips to her wound and drank as she repeated the words that he remembered all too well.

When you rose your lips were sparkling red, and your eyes were glistening with tears still unshed – but you raised your head like a queen and Maeve smiled.

“I believe you have already met Fenrys, he will be training you as the training you have received is not proficient, I’ll have all your belongings brought to a room here.” Maeve waved her hand to some guards, but you stopped her.

“I only need Amaris brought here; the rest can burn.” You muttered.

“And for your new wardrobe?” She asked and you smiled looking down, wiping your mouth slowly.

“Make it red.” You finally met Fenrys eyes, and he stepped forward, desperate to drag you far, far away.

“Shall I escort her to her new room?” he asked Maeve and she flitted her eyes to him, then to the hand he had pressed to your back.

“Yes and then afterword’s come find me,” she smiled cruelly at him, and he felt you stiffen under his hand, but he just nodded and began to lead you out of the room.

He led you through the corridors and up the stairs in silence, angry at you for accepting and at himself for not putting up more of a fight. When he reached the room he presumed would be yours he opened the door for you, following you in as you sat on the bed, your usual lightness replaced by the weight on your shoulders.

He watched you bow your head and came to sit beside you, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise; this was my choice.” You said and he reached an arm around your shoulders, but you quickly shrugged him off.

“I shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, if you and the queen are…” you trailed off and Fenrys bowed his head in shame.

“It’s not like that, she, she makes me,” he muttered, and you inhaled sharply, turning to him with those watery eyes.

“I had no idea, I’m sorry,” you whispered, instantly looping your arms around him neck and holding him tight. “She’s a monster.”

Fenrys huffed a laugh, pulling away, “You’re telling me.”

He reached a hand for your face slowly, wiping under your eyes where a tear had escaped, “how did she change your mind?” he asked, dark eyes searching your face for clues as your bottom lip quivered in pain.

“She showed me home,” was all you said, and his shoulders dropped. He would leave it for now, you were young and clearly not ready to speak – and now, they had all the time in the world to speak.

“Sleep tight, training starts at seven tomorrow,” he stood and kissed your head lightly and you nodded, words getting caught in your throat. He left quietly, walking away as quickly as he could to avoid hearing the soft sobs that erupted as soon as he closed the door.

--

You could barely contain your tears until you got to your room, repeating rule thirteen over and over in your head, crying in public is only appropriate at funerals and weddings. But as soon as Fenrys left your room you sobbed into your hands, wailing, and crying like a child throwing a tantrum as you let out the emotions, the screams that have been locked inside of you for so long.

You had done everything for Dorian, changed every part of yourself and become the perfect princess, girlfriend, fiancé – and he, mere weeks after you had to run, was already moving onto a new girl.

As hard as you tried you couldn’t get rid of the image of him and the blonde girl out of your head. How he kissed her softly, his hand on her lower back where it always used to rest on yours. The smile when he pulled away, the way he laughed with her, the way Chaol smiled at his brother when he was happy. You had been forgotten, replaced, almost instantly, the warmth you used to feel when you thought of home, of your princes’ arms replaced by a tight chest and a cold feeling encompassing your heart.

“I’m sorry Albert,” you whispered into the air as you stood looking out on your balcony, gripping tightly to the rail as you feared your legs would give out, “She already took it.”

You were interrupted by a quiet knock on your door, wiping your eyes as you opened it – taking Amaris from the tall guards’ hands as a flurry of women pushed in, filling your drawers with clothes and cosmetics, candles and hair pins, books and plants, a million supplies for Amaris and then some. You smiled politely at them as they left without saying a word, in and out extremely quickly as you stared at a knot in the floor.

Another knock sounded soon after and you turned your head to see one of the Cadre staring in with piercing green eyes. You motioned for him to come in and stood, tilting your head up to meet his gaze as he took in your messy, tear-stained expression.

“You’re the first female member of the Cadre, ever.” He stated and you blinked slowly.

“Lucky me,” your tone was sarcastic, voice rough from the crying but the man smiled.

“I’m Rowan, it’s good to meet you.” He reached out a hand and you met it, allowing him to kiss the back gently.

“(Y/n)” you returned, with a slight curtsey.

“I look forward to fighting with you (y/n),” he stated, releasing your hand and turning to leave, stopping right before he reached the door, “Oh, and don’t lose that dagger, you’ll find a shocking number of men dislike powerful women.”

“First I’m hearing of this,” you deadpanned, and he chuckled.

“Goodluck kid.”

[songbirdsingingthings]

Girls Day - Shoto Todoroki

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Work for you this week was grueling to say the least. Your agency had assigned you to lead a coalition of heroes to take down a group of villains holding hostages, which for you was no problem. What was a problem, however, was the fact that some of the heroes in your group got sloppy which led to some of the hostages getting injured. Thankfully none of the injuries led to fatalities, but a couple came pretty close. This stuck you working in your office for four days straight writing up paperwork and detailing exactly how everything happened. You knew you had no fault in this, and so did your superiors, but you were technically responsible for those who did make mistakes. 

After you finally finished dotting the last i and crossing the last t, you scanned and faxed the documents over to your higher ups, stuffed any necessary paperwork that involved other agendas into your work bag, and finally, finally, turned off your laptop. You took a deep breath and ran a hand through your hair, but stopped halfway when you got a call on your cell. You see your good friend, Ochaco Uraraka, soon to be Ochaco Midoriya, is the contact listed as calling. 

“Hey Ochaco, what’s up?” You asked, fatigue clear in your voice.

“Hey Y/N! Nothing much, I was just wondering if you were free tomorrow! I was thinking of having a girls day - you, me, Momo, Tsu, Mina, Jirou, and Hagakure! You in?” Relishing in the idea of a relaxing day off, a smile spreads across your face.

“Hell yeah I’m in. Where are we all meeting?” You say as you simultaneously begin to shut off the lights in your office.

“Well, those new outlet malls just opened up, I was thinking of heading there! There’s sure to be a lot of cute things, maybe you could get something for a date night with Todoroki!” You blushed lightly as she mentioned your boyfriend’s name and rolled your eyes. 

“Yeah, well, we both have to have time off for a date night to happen in the first place. You know both of us well enough to know that we’re workaholics.” You joke. It was true to an extent, though. Both you and Shoto were busy people whose work schedules, more often than not, didn’t line up. The two of you made it clear to each other when the relationship started that you couldn’t really get mad at eachother for occasionally canceling dates or having dinner late. The life of a hero was tough and erratic - you couldn’t really count on when a villain was going to strike.

“If Shoto Todoroki sees you wanting to have a date night, he’s going to make it happen. Add a fancy outfit to that? Girl, you’re set.” You laugh at Ochaco’s statement and lock your door, making your way to the elevator. You give parting smiles to the people still working at the desks on the main floor and a quiet wave to your receptionist. You continue to chat with Ochaco about fun ideas for the day tomorrow like where to eat, if you were going to get your nails done, and maybe heading to the brand new spa. 

“Oh, that just sounds like heaven. I’ve been dying to get a massage - I’ve been stuck at my desk for the past few days and my shoulders are absolutely killing me.” You open the big glass doors that belong to your agency, finally making your way outside to where a certain red-and-white haired man stood waiting with a bouquet of (your favorite flower). Your face immediately softens and you give him a giddy smile. “Hey, I’m gonna have to call you back. I can’t wait for tomorrow!” You and Ochaco say goodbye and you hang up. 

“Who was that?” Shoto asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Ochaco,” you respond as you stuff your phone into your coat pocket, “the girls and I are going out for a girls day tomorrow.” you announce happily, leaning into Shoto to give him a quick kiss. You trade your bag for the flowers, at his insistence, and take his free hand in yours.

“That’ll be nice - you deserve a nice day out.” Shoto says, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. You hum in response and smell the flowers, sighing at its aroma.

“What about you? Do you have to go in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but it’s a short day for me,” he says, “just finalizing some recruitments for internships.” You smile at his words.

“It’s so great that you're doing that Sho,” you say, “I remember how happy I was when I got to go intern for Hawks. I probably didn’t stop smiling for weeks.” Shoto chuckles at that.

“Yeah I remember. You were practically buzzing with excitement.” Recollection of another memory crosses his mind which makes him laugh harder.

“What?” You say, grinning.

“I remember you calling me and telling me how Tokoyami basically had to shut you up because Hawks was too nice to tell you to stop talking when you were on a mission.” At this point he was cackling. You laugh with him and swat him with the flowers causing some petals to fall away. 

“Ugh that was so embarrassing,” you say, watching Shoto wipe a tear that had escaped as he was laughing, “the hue of my face was practically identical to your red hair.

The drive back to your shared apartment was full of laughter and more memories from your time at UA. When Shoto finally confessed, when your relationship became official, and all the silly moments in between. You finally arrive home and the two of you decide to have leftovers for dinner and watch a movie on the couch. You were so perfectly happy at this moment. You and your boyfriend, unwinding at the end of the day. The fact that you were so comfortable with living with each other now that you could be slouched on your couch, eating leftovers right out of the tupperware, and watching a stupid rom com on T.V. . 

Finally it was time to go to bed. Your eyes were already shut by the time Shoto finished washing up and you feel the dip in the mattress beside you. It was quiet as you were wrapped in his arms. Well, quiet until Shoto nudged your shoulder with his chin.

“Take my credit card when you go out tomorrow.” He says quietly, pressing a kiss against the back of your neck.

“Shoto Todoroki, I will do no such thing.” You mumble, eyes still closed.

“Please?” He asks quietly, making you melt a little, “I want tomorrow to be completely relaxing. I know you credit yourself as a smart shopper, but I want you to just spend whatever you want on anything you want.” He says as he nuzzles you.

“Sho, I make almost as much as you - I can go shopping with my own card.” You respond. However, his next few words make you agree rather quickly to using his.

“The one I’m giving you is tied to my father’s bank account.”

“...Okay deal.”

By the time you wake up the following morning, Shoto is already gone. You stretch your arms and back and groan. You push the stray hair in front of your face behind your ear and see a little note next to a danish and a silver credit card.

“Breakfast for you, my love. Have a great day. Also, I booked a reservation at that fancy restaurant in town that you like for 7:30 p.m. . Go crazy with the card, my father won’t even notice. Love, your Shoto.”

Your heart always flutters when he writes you letters and signs them with “your Shoto”. It’s a sweet affirmation that you have his heart. You nibble on the danish as you scroll through messages on your phone, the most recent ones from Ochaco and the girls.

Mina: We’re meeting at the outlets at 11:00 a.m. right?

Ochaco: Yup! Get excited!

You eventually roll out of bed and stroll into your closet, looking at the array of clothes hanging up. You decide on a casual yet chic outfit and get dressed. You grab the coffee waiting for you on the counter in the kitchen, yet another gift from shoto, stuff Endeavor’s credit card into your purse, and make your way to the outlets by taxi. When you finally get there, you see that the whole group is there. You thank and pay the driver quickly and rush out to meet up with your friends.

“Y/N!” they all say, giving you a big hug.

“Hey guys! Wow, it’s so great to see all of you here together - I can’t remember the last time we all met up!” You say, grinning. As a group you all make your way into the mall, stopping by some high end boutiques and designer stores.

“How’s the fiance?” You ask Ochaco, wiggling your eyebrows. She gives you a smile as she looks through some of the skirts hanging on the rack next to her.

“Oh, Izuku’s great. Couldn’t be more excited about the wedding, if I’m honest.” She says giggling. The two of you talk about the wedding planning and everything for a bit, listening to Ochaco gush about how involved Izuku is with the process.

“What about you Y/N? Any wedding bells in your future?” Mina says, popping into the conversation. You blush and try to make yourself look busy by inspecting the hem on a shirt very carefully.

“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, Shoto and I are going super well right now, it’s just that the both of us are so busy. I always thought that we would get married but I don’t really know about how he feels about it.” The girls quirk their eyebrows at this, confused as to how the two of you hadn’t had a conversation about that yet. Quickly, you clear everything up. “I just don’t want him to think of his parents’ predicament - I mean that was his first view on marriage, and I know that he knows that that’s not how marriage works, but I feel like it might be a touchy subject.” The girls nod and give you reassuring smiles.

“Oh Y/N, you have got to try the dress on. I mean, it’s made for you.” You hear Momo say. You follow her gaze to a mannequin and couldn’t even try to hold back the gasp that left your mouth. It truly was beautiful. The dress was navy in color and was clearly made of an expensive material. The sleeves, which were long sleeves, were also sheer and dotted with small pearls. On the mannequin as well were matching shoes and a bag. You just couldn’t keep your eyes off of it. It was so expensive, in fact, that you had to ask the store manager directly to go into the back and grab you your size so that you could try it on. You had to say, when you put that dress on, you felt like a million bucks. Momo was right, it really was made for you. Sliding the curtain back so that the rest of the girls could see, you didn’t even try to hide your smile as you saw the girls’ reactions.

“Y/N L/N, if you weren’t already taken I would pounce on you myself.” Mina says, making you laugh. You get similar compliments from the rest of the girls, making you smile, and taking the dress and the accessories up to the register. The woman there kindly wraps the dress, shoes, and bag carefully in tissue paper and places the three items into a pretty shopping bag. You had fun during the rest of the day, eating lunch, getting a mani-pedi, and a massage, but you couldn’t contain your excitement at the thought of wearing that dress to yours and Shoto’s dinner date that evening.

After your busy day of shopping, you immediately run home to shower. You had about an hour to wash your hair and body, making sure to shave your legs so that you looked totally put together that evening. You manage to do your hair in your favorite formal style, slip on your dress and shoes, and swing the small matching bag over your shoulder. You put on a tiny bit of make-up, just a light coat of mascara and a sheer layer of lip gloss. You look at yourself in the mirror and almost explode. You even had to admit it to yourself. You. Looked. HOT.

You finally make your way to the restaurant and ask the hostess at the front to direct you to your table. She led you to where Shoto was sitting, looking at the menu. As soon as he registers people coming towards him, he looks up but almost chokes. Seeing you in that dress almost made his eyes pop out of his head. He couldn’t even form a coherent thought as he mindlessly thanked the hostess and watched you sit down across from him. Smirking, you gently wave a hand in front of his face.

“Earth to Shoto! Is someone in there?” You said, giggling softly. The only thing Shoto could say was something that he had been thinking about for the past two years non-stop. With no filter and no reason to stop himself, he made that thought known.

“You wanna get married?”

[daddy-chiluc]

Sing You To Sleep | Chiluc Week Day 2

College AU/Only one bed/preforming arts

Chiluc Fluff | M/M

TW: Explicit Language

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“This is absolutely not happening.” He whispered under his breath, nails biting into his palms as he marveled at the vast room before him. The view of the city was beautiful, the balcony promising endless nights of twinkling lights and gorgeous starry skies. A full sized bed in the centre of the room lured him forwards, gently laying down his violin case to succumb to the soft sheets of the bed.

He took in a deep breath, relaxing as the faintest of smiles shyly touched his lips. The warmth of the linens was enough to almost lull him to sleep. To his dismay, a knock rang through the small room just as his eyes began to close. Hesitantly, he sat up, walking to the door to find his professor and a classmate behind him. Childe.

“Mister Ragnvindr,” he nodded, turning to present the out of breath ginger than gave a cheeky grin, monster and guitar case in hand, “Due to the sudden addition to the performances this week and lack of available rooms, Ajax here will be sharing this room with you for the remainder of this week.” And there goes his brief moment of relaxation. Gone within seconds.

Of course he’d be the one to pair with him. There had been an odd amount of people who had signed up for the trip to the Mondstadt Theatre, well known judges and critics there to give them feedback and training before their big show by the end of the week. He just so happened to get the short end of the stick and be the only person with their own room. It was nice for the five minutes it lasted.

It was rather rude the way Professor Zhongli had pushed him into the hotel room — his eyebrows stuck in a permanent state of irritation with each twitch as he tried to keep a friendly smile. Childe had stumbled in, eyes wide and glued to the guitar case, stickers and writing covering the case. They looked like…children drawings? Perplexed, Diluc saw it fit to ignore the matter for now.

“Hey…uhm,” a subtle hint of pink dusted along the other’s cheeks, stretching to his ears, “You’re that violin player right? With the solo this week?”

“Yeah, what about it?” His voice was heavy and almost intimidating…if it wasn’t for his beauty.

“I just thought…well, I…you’re just really cool.” He stuttered, his voice soft as he scratched at his bird’s nest of hair. It was rather endearing the way he was so…so shy around him. Typically he’d see him causing some form of ruckus at the college, in the middle of class. Always having crazy ideas to try different notes here and there, different instruments in one piece and another singer in this piece. Yet, when it came to Diluc’s performances and practices, he’d be silent. Dead silent, eyes wide in a childish wonder and fascination that always confused Diluc. It confused him to a point he’d try to ignore it but no matter how hard he tried, he’d always be there, eyes sparkling in amazement in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you.” It was blunt, quick and straight to the point. He wasn’t in the mood to dwell on such pitiful small talk. It annoyed him, wasted his time…not that he had anything to do to begin with. To be honest, for some reason, the other had annoyed him. Annoyed him so much so he found himself rolling his eyes subconsciously.

“…There’s only one bed.” Horrified, Diluc’s head turned to look at the full sized bed that once promised peaceful nights, now mock him. It mocked him as the faint sounds of car horns blared in the background, drowned out by his anxiety that prickled and pinched at his skin, “I can sleep on the floor.” His kindness was a harsh stab to his gut. Of course he had to be this nice to him after he berates him in the deepest corners of his mind.

“It’ll be alright, we’ll just put a pillow in between us.” Him and his stupid puppy dog eyes guilt tripping him and making him feel bad. Fuck him for being cute. Diluc’s cheeks flushed a deep red at the sudden thought. Surely not. No. Absolutely not. There was no way he found Childe cute.

He found Childe cute.

Earlier that afternoon he had bought them food, insisting on buying the most expensive food he could find, and coming back with enough food to hold them over until dinner. He’d gone off to explore, giving Diluc the option to go with…and when he returned, he came in with bags in multiple sizes, an elated grin plastered on his face.

“This is for you!” He handed him a bag and inside it was a numerous amount of keychains — animals all in the color red and a little rose keychain inside, “I didn’t know what to get you.” There were a lot of red items, a dog, cat, pheonix, a slime, you name it, it was probably buried in the vast amounts of knick knack items. He remembered trying to give them back, desperately trying to get him to take them back…yet he insisted he keep them. So he had, attaching the phoenix keychain to his violin case.

When night came he was more than anxious. His heart would thump in his chest, his mind busy with far too many what ifs and possibilities for sleep to come easy. Surely he knew he detested him. Why else would he go off and spend his money on such intricacies? It didn’t make any sense. He was sure he disliked him. Of course, his…assumption was quickly disproven.

With fiery cheeks and wide scarlet eyes, he caught glimpse of Ajax — black sweats with droplets of water streaming against every dip and crevice of his upper body. He could hear a faint wince, the sound muffled by the towel he used to dry his hair. The pull and twitch of every muscle didn’t aid Diluc in stilling his heart and gathering his breath.

“Sorry about that,” he laughed, his voice light and airy as he headed to his shirt, discarded and almost forgotten on the floor, “Dropped it on my way over,” Slipping it on, it was rather baggy, the sleeves coming down to his elbows as he yawned.

“Right, I’ll…” he paused, cerulean blue eyes gazing down at him, “I’m gonna go down to the lobby to see if they sell tea…you can head to bed if you’d like.” He smiled softly, his kindhearted demeanor — far calmer than his normal chaotic self — was rather off putting. It made Diluc’s spine shiver with anxiety and his skin rise with goosebumps. He watched as he headed out the door and for a brief moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with his freedom.

Deciding to wear a faded, gray sweater and black shorts, he turned off most of the lights, leaving on the desk light for when Ajax had returned. Undoing his hair tie, he crawled beneath the sheets, letting his weight sink into the soft mattress. He wasn’t sure how long he was alone in the hotel room, but he heard the soft click of the door opening, the lights twinkling and distant sound of cars driving below not doing much to overpower the quiet noise to ease his worry.

He could hear every step he took — they were hesitant and quiet, almost scared to move in fear of waking him up. Truthfully, Ajax had never been more terrified. Part of him wanted to check and make sure he was asleep, but he knew if he had, he wouldn’t be able to look away. Diluc Ragnvindr was beautiful. Far beautiful than anyone he’s ever laid eyes on…so to even be allowed to sleep beside him doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel like he should. So his best bet?

His acoustic guitar. It would be loud, without a doubt, but he’d play it out on the balcony and keep the door shut. It wouldn’t do much but it would be enough. So, undoing the clasps of his case, his fingers running over the pictures Teucer, Anthon and Tonia drew for him, he gently picked up his acoustic from it’s case as he slipped outside.

Sitting outside, he let himself be soothed by the gentle breeze, the pads of his fingers coming to rest flat against the strings before he strummed, checking each string to tune them before mindlessly playing. It didn’t take much, it was almost second nature. He could stare off and simply play, his calloused hands having a mind of their own.

There were numerous questions that poked and prodded at Diluc’s mind, all of which he chose to ignore in favor of listening to him play. The sound was beautiful, he couldn’t help but get swept up within its current, letting it drag him into a sense of security he hadn’t felt in quiet sometime. Minus how rambunctious Ajax could be at times…he was rather relaxed.

Choosing to set that aside for now, he could smell the aroma of the tea, chamomile, as it’s scent filled the rather small space. Leaving the comforting, warm embrace of the bedsheets, he covered his hands in the sweater as he carried the scalding hot cup of tea out to him. The slide of the door was enough to grab his attention and he swore he could feel his heart almost jump out of his throat.

He was stunning. Too cute for him to handle in all honesty. His hair a fountain of red as his locks began to shine under the city lights. Part of him desperately wanted to run his fingers through his hair, braid it, brush even if he was just cradling his head, he’d be satisfied.

“Your tea will get cold.” His voice was quiet. Very quiet. Almost out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was because of how tired he was.

“I didn’t wake you did I?”

“No, it takes me awhile to sleep. You didn’t wake me up.” His kindness felt out of place. Sudden. Ajax wasn’t sure what to make of it, he was so used to Diluc giving him the cold shoulder, it was different having him treat him like this.

“Let me sing for you?” It was abrupt as he gulped, his jaw clenched as he searched those scarlet eyes. From where he sat he couldn’t see a single sign of hatred or resentment.

“Sing for me?” Ajax nodded, as he gently set the guitar against the wall.

“I could help you sleep tonight. Only if you’re okay with that though.” Diluc knew why he accepted his offer, he just wasn’t ready to accept it yet. Ajax wasn’t a bad person…he was just…Ajax. There wasn’t much else he could say. Maybe he just needed to hang around with him for a little while longer and get to know him better. This seemed like a nice start though. For now.

Crawling back into the warm linens of the sheet, his hair pooled around him as the soft pillows sunk under his head. The taller male slid in beside him, practically melting into the warmth of the bed as the comforter covered them both.

“Any requests?” He smiled, the small pull in his lips reminding Diluc that yes, he was in fact sharing a rather small bed with Ajax.

“I don’t care, so long as they aren’t children lullabies,” he grumbled, fingers twisting in the bed sheets as his eyes fluttered shut from time to time. Turning on his side more, Childe studied him, thinking briefly before lying on his back. It was just to help him sleep, he wouldn’t get onto him about form would he? All well, guess he’ll found out in the morning.

“Fly me to the moon sound good to you?” He whispered as he turned his head. His breath catching in his throat. He was relaxed, his cheek resting against his palm as he hummed. The faint blue lights seemed to make his skin glow even more.

“Yeah…,” he whispered as his shoulders sank forward. So that’s what he did, he sang for him. His face burning bright enough to light up the room as tiny snores soon filled the room. He didn’t mean for his eyelids to get so heavy. For him to fall asleep next to him, the promise of a pillow to separate them quickly forgotten as they bathed in each other’s warmth.

“In other words…,” he mumbled as his heavy arm came down to wrap around his waist, “In…other words….”, he voice became a hushed whisper, eyes falling shut as the end of the song rang in his head.

I love you.

*

Waking in a panic to find himself cuddled beneath Ajax, he shoved him off the bed, a loud thud ringing through the room.

“Ow! Fucking shit—!” Curses and a mix of Russian spewed from his mouth as he held his head.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Diluc’s panic didn’t ease as he groaned, laying flat against the floor.

“Just…just give me a moment,” he sighed, laying flat against the floor.

“C’mon and sit on the bed, I’ll go get ice for your head.”

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